Chapter 8
"I have to be going now." Relena gave Dorothy a quick hug. "I still can't believe that Randolph tried to kill you!" She shook her head, then headed to the door with Dorothy and Heero following her. Heero opened the door, but Relena paused on the threshold. "I guess you really can't judge a book by its cover. I confess that I was a little bit envious of you when you first introduced him."
"Is that so?" inquired Heero as he leaned against the doorframe. "And why was that?"
Relena glanced at him. "Well, he had the looks of a Greek god, and he was a little more reliable than some men."
Dorothy watched Heero lean in close to Relena. "He would bore you to tears."
She sighed as she swayed toward him. "I guess I can settle for something a little less than a god."
Heero stepped back. "I might see you later."
Relena sighed with disappointment, then waved to Dorothy before she left her house. Heero didn't close the door until Relena had settled into her limousine and it pulled away followed by security.
"Are you ever going to do something about her?" asked Dorothy as she turned and headed to the kitchen.
He ignored her question as he followed her. "You have anything to eat? I didn't have a chance to eat either lunch or dinner."
"I'm not much of a cook and the maid has gone home for the day." Dorothy opened the refrigerator and was relieved to note that the food prepared for her earlier but which she hadn't returned home to eat was in a dish on a shelf. She could handle using a microwave, so she tossed it in, then set two places at the table.
Heero looked around the kitchen for a few moments and she wondered what he was thinking. Finally he said, "I am curious as to your motives for moving into this neighborhood."
"I didn't want to live at my grandfather's home," she explained. She pulled a bottle of wine from a wine rack. "Would you care for some?"
He shrugged. "I'm not on duty. Why not?" He came to her and took the bottle and corkscrew. "I would have thought that one of the Eastside penthouse apartments were more your style."
She leaned against the counter as she watched him. "What is wrong with this neighborhood?"
Heero popped the cork, and then poured wine into the two glasses she pulled from the counter. Setting aside the bottle, he took one glass then gently tapped it against hers. "To being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Dorothy frowned at him. "That was a rather macabre toast. Don't you feel any sort of pity for that woman?"
"From what you have told me, justice was served."
The timer on the microwave went off, so Dorothy took the meal out and placed it on the table. While she found some bread, Heero dished them both up. They ate in silence for several minutes before Heero continued with his interrogation.
"It's a nice neighborhood if you need this kind of thing. A playground nearby, large but comfortable, homey houses, and I've noticed quite a few children playing in the backyards."
"I like children," she said after sipping more wine. Heero topped off her glass, and she smiled. "You're not thinking of getting me drunk?"
"Might be a good thing. You almost had your brains blasted out."
She winced. "I was trying not to visualize that."
"Randolph was a pretty damn good shot, especially from a moving car."
Dorothy didn't even think Randolph owned a gun, but apparently he had managed to get his hands on one. "I suppose the investigation will turn up a lot about him that we didn't know."
"I suppose there is a nursery upstairs," commented Heero in a radical change of subject as he swirled the wine around in his glass.
Dorothy stared at the dark liquid for a moment before answering. "I turned it into an office."
"Good thing Randolph didn't work out. He wouldn't have wanted to convert it back to a nursery."
"You haven't answered my earlier question. I don't think it's fair to Relena to string her along as you have."
"You don't talk to Relena much, do you?" He drained the glass of wine and poured himself another. "She likes playing the naughty rich girl."
"How do you feel about playing the spy that sneaks into her bedroom window during the night?" Dorothy smiled as his eyes widened a bit in surprise. "I do talk to Relena, and she probably tells me more than you would like."
Heero chuckled. "I can't think about settling down with her when there are threats to the Earth Sphere United Nation."
"There are always going to be threats," Dorothy said with annoyance. "I think you had better do something now before some Greek god sweeps her off her feet and she starts locking her bedroom window at night."
Heero seemed genuinely annoyed by the possibility, one he probably had never considered. Relena dated men when he was gone, primarily to keep up appearances, so the opportunity for her be attracted to another was there. However, Dorothy knew that Relena would never be satisfied with anything less than Heero Yuy. She enjoyed making him uncomfortable.
When they finished eating, Dorothy cleared off the table but did not go as far as washing the dishes. That was what she paid a maid to do. She joined Heero in the living room where he had taken the half-empty bottle of wine and their glasses. He had already refilled hers. Dorothy knew she was going to have to be prepared for his subtle interrogation.
"You said that Atifah Al-Shabat was at the plaza to meet you. What did she want?"
Dorothy kicked off her shoes and curled her legs under her as she propped an arm against the back of the couch. "I don't really know. Shortly before I left the building, I got a phone call from her. I met her in the plaza, but she didn't get much of a chance to say anything before the shooting."
"What did she say?"
"She seemed to be afraid."
Heero raised a brow. "Of you?"
"Hardly. I don't know what she was afraid of." That wasn't quite true. Dorothy clearly remembered Atifah telling her that Quatre's men were looking for her, but she didn't want to admit that to Heero. She took a drink of her wine, hoping that Heero wouldn't realize that she had lied. "She told me that I didn't understand, and she told me that there was something that I needed to know."
"Something you will never know now." Heero refilled his glass of wine. "I can count on you to serve the good stuff."
"I don't own anything but the good stuff."
Heero looked around the living room. "As I said before, homey, comfortable. So I have to ask myself what the hell Dorothy Catalonia is doing in a place like this."
The intercom to the security system buzzed, and as Dorothy went to answer it, Heero went to the window to peer out. "It's Winner," he said before she pressed the button to answer. "The fool is traveling around without his security again."
Dorothy hesitated in pressing the button to speak to him. Heero was watching her with the expectation that she would allow him to enter, that her new duties required her to encourage Quatre.
She pressed the button. "It is getting late. What do you want?"
"To talk to you, Dorothy." Quatre sounded agitated. "I heard what happened to you today."
Heero crossed the room to where she was standing at the security panel and he put his hand over the microphone. "He may be able to tell you something about what that woman wanted of you or why she was afraid. I'll take the back way out."
He removed his hand and Dorothy said to Quatre, "You can come in for a short while. Heero Yuy is here." She disabled the security long enough for Quatre to get through the front gate.
Heero stopped on his way to the kitchen, then turned to look at her with a frown. "Since when do you need a chaperone?"
"Since my dates started shooting at me." As Dorothy went to the door, Heero returned to the couch where he re-filled both their glasses.
Quatre paused a few feet away from the door, and she was touched by the relief on his face as he proved to himself that she was not harmed. For a moment their gazes locked and she felt as if the world were tilting around her.
Heero's voice broke the spell. "Get in here before someone uses your blond head for target practice."
Dorothy stepped aside for Quatre to pass by her, then closed the door. Quatre was looking at Heero sitting comfortably on her couch, his feet propped on a polished coffee table, and Dorothy could almost read his thoughts because they were plainly visible on his face. He wasn't expecting to find her with anyone, and certainly not a man.
"Can I take your jacket?" she asked.
He slipped of the leather jacket and handed it over. As she carried it to the closet in the foyer, she breathed in the scent that was Quatre, his subtle spicy cologne, a hint of cigar mingled with the leather of the jacket. She shouldn't have done it because it brought back memories of long hot nights wrapped in his arms.
"I don't drink wine," she heard Quatre tell Heero, bringing her back to Earth.
Dorothy returned to the living room. "Can I get you something else to drink?" When he shook his head, she resumed her place on the couch.
For a moment no one spoke. Dorothy knew Quatre wanted to speak of things that he didn't want Heero to hear, and she wanted to avoid that at all costs. She didn't want to dig up the past. Everything that had happened to her was too painful so she didn't want Quatre to force her to relive it. They had gone on with their lives. She had established a respectable career that had nothing to do with her Dermail connections and Quatre had married and become a father. What happened between them in Barbados had to stay in the past where it belonged.
"I escorted Dorothy back here," explained Heero for lack of anything else to say.
"I didn't feel like driving myself," she said.
Quatre nodded. "I was quite shocked to hear what happened. Preventer officers came to my hotel suite to tell us of Atifah's death."
Silence fell over them again. Dorothy sipped her wine as she looked at anything but Quatre, and Heero drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of the couch, looking from her to Quatre and back. He finally took it upon himself to attempt to continue the conversation. "Are you aware that Atifah called Dorothy to arrange a meeting in the plaza shortly before her death?"
Quatre's blond brows arched in surprise. "I did not think she even knew of Miss Dorothy."
Heero smirked, obviously amused by Quatre's insistence on using a title before her name. She had once been annoyed by it, but he seemed to consider not using the title as being far too intimate. And she remembered many moments of intimacy when he didn't bother with the title.
"Is it possible," began Dorothy, "that Jamila spoke of me to Atifah?"
"I suppose so. She seemed to have a close relationship with Atifah." Quatre was thoughtful for a moment before remarking, "I was a bit surprised to discover that she was hurting her."
"Sometimes we don't know people as they really are." Heero was looking at Quatre with assessing eyes, and Dorothy knew that he was trying to decide whether Quatre was capable of financing the start of another war in space.
Quatre looked at Dorothy. "I think I will take you up on your gracious offer and ask for a cup of tea."
She was glad to leave behind the tension in the living room for the quiet kitchen. But she had barely had time to put the kettle of water on the stove before the kitchen door opened and she turned to see Quatre watching her.
"I had to see for myself that you were not harmed."
"Not a scratch," she told him before opening a cupboard and pushing things in her search for tea. She found coffee, but no tea, so she turned to ask if he would accept coffee and found that he had silently moved across the kitchen and was standing so close that she could feel the heat of his body.
"I didn't expect to find another man comforting you."
She put her hands on the counter behind her to steady herself. "Don't be ridiculous! Heero?" The idea was laughable.
Quatre put his hands on the edge of the counter on either side of her, trapping her. "What is so ridiculous? I've noticed him around you a lot."
"Strange that you always seem to be around when he is. Don't you think that is a coincidence, especially when he is a special operative for the Preventers and your safety has become a prime objective to them." Dorothy wanted to escape this forced intimacy, and yet she craved more. If she moved ever so slightly, their bodies would be touching, and the thought made her giddy and breathless.
"He had no idea I was coming here tonight."
"Are you jealous?" she asked, trying to sound angry but hearing a thrill in her voice.
"Do you want me to be jealous?" Putting his hands around her waist, he lifted her on the counter top then leaned into her. Dorothy couldn't help the jolt of excitement that ran straight through her. "Why don't you kiss me, Dorothy? You want it as much as I do."
She leaned toward him, closing her eyes and felt his warm breath as his lips neared hers.
The teakettle began to whistle.
Dorothy came to her senses and tried to push him away. "How can you do this when you have a wife waiting for you at home?"
"I don't have a home," he said bitterly before grabbing her shoulders, and keeping her still, he covered her mouth with his. Dorothy was angry that he forced this kiss on her, but that only seemed to heighten the pleasure, and soon enough she had tangled her fingers in his hair, returning the kiss without any thought except the need of him. No other man made her feel this way, not even close, and she didn't want it to end.
His hands moved off her shoulders and around her back, and he pressed her to him before dropping his hands to her hips, grasping them and pulling her against him so that she could feel exactly how much he wanted her. Dorothy was ready to surrender to the uncontrollable desire she felt. Nothing could save her; nothing would stop her.
"An odd way to make tea."
Heero Yuy's voice from the doorway made Quatre step quickly away from her. Dorothy slid off the countertop and smoothed down her skirt, then turned her attention to the whistling teakettle. Her hands were shaking, her wobbly legs nearly failed her, but she managed to remove the kettle and noted with dismay that most of the water had steamed out. No tea and now no water.
"I think you had better go," she told Quatre in a voice that was far calmer than she felt.
The phone was suddenly ringing, and Dorothy crossed the kitchen to pick up that extension. She turned back and held the phone out to Heero. "Your boss wants to speak to you."
As he took the call, Dorothy left the kitchen with Quatre following her. They didn't speak until she was handing him his jacket and he covered her hands with his.
"That isn't enough for me," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.
She met his gaze. "What you can offer isn't enough for me."
Heero's entrance into the living room prevented any further exchange. "Good, you haven't left yet. I have some news that concerns you both." He looked at Dorothy. "Randolph Morrison turned himself in at headquarters when he learned of his death in the news."
"Randolph wasn't in the car?" Dorothy stared at him in disbelief. "But...but who would try to kill me?"
Heero now looked at Quatre. "When they realized that Morrison was not the driver of the car, the forensics squad analyzed the remains and came up with an identity: Khalid bin Fayiz. I believe he is in your employ."
Quatre stared at him incredulously. "Khalid? Khalid is dead?"
"The question is, why was your man trying to kill Dorothy Catalonia?"
Dorothy looked away from Quatre. She knew now that the attack had not been meant for her. Atifah had been the target. But why? And who had arranged it?
Arriving at the dance club, Quatre climbed out of the car, tossed his keys to the valet who hailed him by name, then went around to open the door for Dorothy. She could hear the loud music from inside, and there was a crowd outside. Dorothy was apprehensive about going into a place like this, but she allowed Quatre to lead her past others waiting to get in. She heard his name called a few times, so she knew that he was frequent patron even before the man guarding the door ushered him through, earning as his reward the very large bill that Quatre pressed in his hand.
Immediately disoriented by the flashing lights, the heavy beat of the music, and the crush of bodies moving together on a dark dance floor, Dorothy stumbled along with Quatre as he navigated his way through people. He was greeted many times, mostly by women, and he acknowledged them with a nod or a smile as he continued toward his destination.
She was surprised that there was a table free, then suspected that the bouncer at the door had radioed ahead to clear what appeared to be Quatre's table. Breathless, nerves on edge, Dorothy was relieved to finally be seated.
Almost immediately, a waitress stopped by. "Hey, Quatre! You want the usual?"
"And bring my companion a drink with an umbrella in it." He winked at Dorothy.
The waitress glanced at Dorothy. "Haven't seen you here before." She looked back at Quatre as if in question.
He ignored her to turn his attention to Dorothy. "Shall we dance?"
She felt anxious about joining the crowd, but she didn't want to look like a coward, so she nodded. Quatre was grinning as pulled her into the throng of dancing men and women. When she was hesitant to mimic the movements of the others, he took her hand and pulled her against him.
"You have to learn to move with me," he said, then leaned in close to murmur in her ear. "It may come in handy later."
For several awkward moments she felt like a rag doll, tossed about and bumping into him or other dancers. This dancing was far different from what she had done at the cafe. The music was faster, the beat heavy and non-stop. The flashing lights disoriented her, as well as the constant touching of her body against his, and worse by the occasional unidentified hand touching her.
When she finally learned to dance, coaxed by the rhythm of his body once again, he released her hand to dance on her own. She stayed close to Quatre, and for awhile his attention remained on her, but they were soon joined by two women, one well endowed scantily clad red-head and the other a lean dark-skinned woman. They knew his name, and the smile he flashed them as well as the appreciative gaze he passed over their bodies told Dorothy that he was more than just a little acquainted to them. Soon he seemed to forget that she was there and Dorothy found herself dancing with another man, then another, and when she decided that she had enough, she pushed her way through the crowd to return to their table.
The drink was waiting, so she drank half immediately, then turned to look out at the dancers, searching for Quatre. She saw him immediately, dancing with one, then the other woman, the three of them thoroughly enjoying the suffocating press of bodies that Dorothy had escaped. Needless to say, the granddaughter of the Duke Dermail had been schooled by dance masters who taught her a proper waltz that she could dance at a cotillion. Until now, she hadn't realized how sheltered her life had been. But she was quickly realizing that she preferred the security of that life and not the chaos that Quatre Winner seemed to thrive on. He was sandwiched between the women, completely oblivious to her absence from the dance floor if not her entire presence at the dance club.
Glancing at her watch she saw that it was well past midnight, and her head was beginning to ache from the loud music. The waitress dropped off another drink, which she finished without wasting any time. Dorothy wanted to leave, and so she looked about for Quatre again, but she didn't see him anywhere, nor did she see his brazen dance partners. Disgust and hurt roiled inside her, but she took a deep breath and berated herself for being so naive.
"Would you like to dance?"
She looked up to see a dark-haired, dark-eyed man waiting for her answer. He was attractive and didn't eye her like a piece of meat, but she didn't want to go back on the dance floor. "I would rather go home."
Without her invitation, he took the chair across the table from her. "I saw you come in with the rich boy. You could be here all night if you're leaving with him."
Dorothy turned her attention back to the dancers, but she still couldn't find him.
"I wouldn't mind getting out of here either. Can I give you a lift?"
She didn't even think about it. Grabbing her purse, she stood. "Let's go."
He took her around the edge of the dance floor, then to a back exit leading to the parking lot. An attendant gave him a set of keys, and they were headed toward a car when a voice behind them made her turn back.
"Hey! Where are you going?"
His hair was tousled, his shirt open and hanging out, and there was a half-dazed look on his face that warned Dorothy that he wasn't quite himself. As Quatre came closer, his eyes were blazing blue fire.
"Are you taking my woman?" Quatre demanded of the man whose name she had never discovered.
"You seemed to have your hands full," he responded calmly as he took Dorothy's arm and pulled her behind him.
Quatre came close enough to shove against his chest and Dorothy took a step back. "She came with me, she's going home with me."
Dorothy could almost feel the disapproval of her ancestors crushing down on her, as she seemed to be in the middle of a potential brawl. "I'm tired and I have a headache," she told Quatre. "He's just giving me ride since you seemed to be enjoying yourself."
Quatre shoved at the man again. "The only one giving her a ride will be me."
Shocked by his obvious insinuation, Dorothy gasped in outrage. Her chivalrous rescuer swung at Quatre and caught him in the jaw. He stumbled back and Dorothy tried to go to him, but the man shoved her back and pursued Quatre to punch him again. But Quatre charged at him and they were soon exchanging blows until the man finally threw him off and from out of his back pocket he pulled a switchblade that he snapped open. By the way he handled the weapon, Dorothy knew he had used it before and she chastised herself for walking out of the dance club with a man that was carrying a knife whose name she did not even know. When had she become such an idiot?
He took a swipe at Quatre who easily leaped back to avoid the tip. Shouts from the valet soon had a crowd gathered, and probably fearing arrest, the man quickly fled, jumping in his car and driving away, the wheels screeching as he left the lot.
The bouncer appeared on the scene as Quatre was getting up. "Are you all right, Mr. Winner?" He was checking him for any serious injuries.
Shoving him away, Quatre ran shaky hands through his hair and he swayed a bit before catching his balance. "I'm just fine." His voice was slurred as if he were drunk although Dorothy knew he didn't drink.
The bouncer shook his head, then went to the attendant to get a set of keys which he brought to Dorothy. "Take him home so he can sleep it off." The bouncer then ushered the crowd back inside before the police noticed the activity and decided to check out the dance club.
Unlocking the car as she walked toward it, Dorothy realized he must have been getting drugs from the women and the bouncer didn't seem surprised. Quatre was standing on the passenger's side, draped over the top of the door and she wondered if he was going to be sick on the way back to the beach house. As she settled into the driver's seat and Quatre threw himself into the passenger side, she scolded herself for believing Quatre Winner was still the pure of heart gundam pilot she had faced on the Libra. His erratic behavior made her depression look like a brief fit of confusion.
As she drove the car, she gritted her teeth, angry with herself for almost allowing him to drag her down with him. He reeked of sweat and cheap perfume and she knew he was high on some drug. During the short drive back to the beach house, he didn't say anything until she had stopped the car and reached over to open her door.
"This was a bad idea," he said, his voice coming from the dark.
Dorothy didn't respond. She felt a tug in her chest.
"I thought you might like it."
"Like what?" she asked, her hand still on the door handle. "Having my life threatened by your reckless driving then being treated like a tramp?" She shoved the door open and stepped out of the car.
Quatre got out of the car too. "Don't expect an apology from me. You chose to stay here, and if you're not liking what you're getting, then maybe you should get the first flight out tomorrow."
She turned around to look at him. They stared at each other silently for a moment, the only sound from the ocean. A gust of wind whipped stray strands of hair around her face, and she didn't realize that she was crying until he came around the car and folded her in his arms.
"Don't get involved with me, Dorothy," he murmured against hair. "I can't give you what you need. I have nothing left; I am empty inside."
Returning to the suite very late after going for a drive, at times faster than prudent until he had a sudden vision of a little girl dressed in black standing at his grave, Quatre was annoyed to find that Sadirah waiting for him. She was dozing on the sofa in a pose she must have thought he would find irresistible, a silky white negligee clinging to her provocatively. Any other sane man wouldn't hesitate to lift her lovely body and carry her to his bed where he would keep her well into the following morning if not afternoon. But just looking at her gave Quatre a sour taste in his mouth.
He quietly moved through the suite, stopping to check on Jamila and finding her sound asleep hugging her pillow and clutching the angel in her hand. She was probably going to break the delicate figure one night in her sleep, but Quatre couldn't take it away when it seemed to bring her such comfort. When he kissed her forehead, she smiled and burrowed further into the pillow. Quatre's heart ached as he watched her, knowing that he could never give her a happy home, not when he spent every waking moment wanting to be with Dorothy. But he couldn't be happy with Dorothy either, knowing that he had to sacrifice Jamila to Sadirah's care.
"I didn't think you would come back."
He heard her sleepy voice from the doorway. "Go to bed, Sadirah."
She stepped aside so that he could exit Jamila's room, but he noted that she didn't so much as look in on her daughter. Sadirah followed him to his room, which was across the room from his own. They had never shared a room, and when they were first married it bothered him that she shut him out, but now he was glad that he could shut his door on her.
When she waited at his door instead of going to her bed, Quatre was forced to acknowledge that she wanted to speak to him. Without looking at her, without speaking, he waited, and she waited for him to say anything until she lost her subservient patience.
"I had some time to think while you were out."
"About your next shopping trip? About your next lunch engagement? Your next investment?" Quatre didn't bother to hide his sarcasm.
Sadirah drew in a breath and laid a hand on her chest in a move so blatantly melodramatic that he almost laughed. "I...I am hurt that you believe I am so shallow!"
"Shallow? There is no depth to you at all, Sadirah." He leaned against the doorframe as he looked at her. "If it weren't for Jamila, I would have ended this useless marriage long ago."
"I have tried to be a good wife to you. Have I ever betrayed you?"
He honestly couldn't say that she had.
"I know that you won't leave me because of Jamila." Sadirah came close and put her hand on his chest. "Perhaps I have been selfish in the past, but I can change. I know it would make you happy if I gave you another child. A son?"
Quatre grabbed her wrist and thrust her hand away. "I can't imagine anything more irresponsible than forcing another innocent child to suffer you as his or her mother."
She stood glaring at him, her features twisted into an ugly mask. If she ever showed this face to the public she would soon lose her throngs of admirers.
"Do you think I will stand for this? Do you think I have no resources on my own?"
Quatre smiled at her. "I'm hoping you'll try something, Sadirah."
"Are you threatening me? Are you going to have Rashid and your men dispose of me like you did Atifah?"
His eyes narrowed. "How did you know...?"
"The Preventers returned after you left to inform us that Khalid killed Atifah!" She gave him a smug smile. "Maybe I should tell them that you were furious about what Atifah did to your daughter, that you sent your men after her."
"You do that, Sadirah." Quatre wanted to slap the gloating smile from her face. "I have nothing to hide. Besides, you have had just as much an opportunity to solicit an attack of vengeance on Atifah."
She stared at him in silent fury for a moment, then spun on her heel and walked into her room across the hall, slamming the door behind her.
The following morning Quatre called his office to inform her father that he would not be coming into work, then he ordered the hotel nanny to dress Jamila for a trip to the zoo. Sadirah watched silently, her disapproval obvious, and sensing that her mother didn't want her to like his planned excursion, Jamila dragged her feet and even whined about having to see the poor animals. Once the elevator door closed, she hugged Quatre's leg, and he picked her up to kiss her cheeks.
"Thank you, papa! I do so want to see the zoo! But I didn't want mama to be angry."
"Mama is not angry at you," he told her as he tucked a platinum blond curl behind her ear. Quatre knew that Sadirah was furious with him. After last night, their relationship, which had been existing on appearances only, was doomed to crumble in every way. But he didn't want to save it. His only concern was that Jamila not be hurt.
The zoo was across the city, so they enjoyed a comfortable limousine ride, escorted in front and in back with cars containing his security. The car phone rang once, and checking to see whom the incoming call was from, Quatre decided not to take Barak's call. There wasn't anything planned for him to do that day that his manager could handle on his own, so he didn't allow Jamila's grandfather to interrupt her fun.
Jamila was delighted with the many animals, and Quatre was impressed with the attempt made to create natural habitats. This was no zoo with filthy, pitiable animals, although Quatre did agree with Jamila that they probably would prefer to be elsewhere.
They were observing the antics of some monkeys when Jamila turned and suddenly exclaimed, "Is that Miss Dorothy?"
Quatre turned in the direction she was looking and did indeed see Dorothy approaching, flanked by two men carrying cameras. Dressed in a gray silk suit that molded to her body with every movement she made, Quatre had not a single thought to the business that she might have with him and wondered how any other man could. Her skirt didn't reach her knees, and the sight of her legs made him recall a particularly pleasant memory of those limbs entwined with his own.
She extended her hand as she approached. "Good morning, Mr. Winner. I called your office and Mr. Barak told me that you had come to the zoo with your daughter, so I thought this would be a perfect opportunity for some shameless publicity. You must realize that keeping such a facility open requires a great deal of money."
Quatre took her hand and resisted the urge to pull her against him. "I'm not sure what you would like from me. If it is a donation..."
She signaled to the men accompanying her. "Perhaps if you would allow us to take a shot of you and your daughter enjoying the zoo..."
"Absolutely not." He reached out to pull Jamila behind him.
Dorothy seemed disconcerted. "Are you sure I cannot persuade you..."
"No."
She sighed and turned back to the photographers. "Well, you heard the man. Why don't you guys return to the office and pick up another assignment." When they had gone, Dorothy looked back to them and reached down to shake Jamila's hand. Jamila didn't hide her delight to see Dorothy. "Are you enjoying the zoo, Jamila?"
Jamila nodded enthusiastically. "Have you seen the lions, Miss Dorothy? They are so grand! Will you come with me to see them?" Jamila was tugging on her hand.
"Jamila, you are being rude," Quatre gently scolded her.
Dorothy laughed softly. "I would be delighted to visit the lions with you. Let me have a moment to speak to your father." She looked at Quatre, and for a moment, she didn't say anything as their eyes met. He ached to hold her in his arms, but they had to stand apart in public. "I'm sorry about the little production. I know that you do not allow Jamila to be photographed out of concern for her safety. I needed some type of excuse to see you."
"Then it is fortunate that we came to the zoo." Quatre didn't dare hope that she had no other reason to see him other than the same compelling need that simmered inside him.
A smile curved her lips. "I'm sure I could have thought of any type of excuse to see you. That is why I get paid so much."
Jamila tugged on her hand. "Let's go, Dorothy."
For the rest of the morning, Dorothy joined them in their zoo visit. Jamila monopolized her time and Quatre was chagrined to realize that he was jealous of his daughter. Dorothy bought her a balloon and cotton candy, and she was a fount of information on all the animals that they saw. Jamila soaked it in, and Quatre imagined that she would be recounting the story of her zoo visit for many days to anyone who would listen.
Finally, they visited the petting zoo together where Jamila was overjoyed to touch the domesticated farm animals. When a chicken avoided her fingers, Jamila pursued it to the amusement of the staff. Not a single one would deny the only child of the richest man alive.
As Jamila chased the chicken in the pen, Dorothy stepped out to stand by Quatre.
"This is a very nice way to spend a day with your child. Where is your wife?"
"She hates zoos."
Dorothy turned to watch Jamila corner the hen. "Too bad."
Quatre leaned close to her, moving so that his body brushed against hers. "She would spoil the day."
"I'm sure she would." Dorothy turned her face away from him, and he realized that she was more levelheaded than he was. Quatre didn't need the kind of publicity he would get if he kissed her in public.
Jamila came back to them, out of breath, her cheeks pink, but she was crushing a squawking chicken in her hands. "Look, papa! I caught a chicken!"
When the visit came to an end, Quatre was probably as much or more disappointed than Jamila. Standing before his limousine, Dorothy dropped to a knee before Jamila, and giving her a hug, told her that she had enjoyed spending time with her. Jamila threw her arms around her neck and held tightly, and Quatre could see that she was valiantly trying not to cry. She desperately needed a mother.
Finally she stepped back. "I hope I will see you again, Miss Dorothy."
"I am sure that you will."
Jamila fished around in her drawstring handbag, and then her eyes widened before she jerked it open and looked inside. When she looked at Dorothy, her eyes were glistening with tears. "I wanted to show you that I am taking good care of the angel. I forgot her in my room!"
Dorothy smiled at her as she stroked Jamila's cheek, then tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You may bring her to visit with me another time."
Jamila climbed into the car, and Dorothy turned to Quatre.
He wanted to kiss her and thought he saw the same yearning in her eyes, but they did not act. "Thank you for making this an enjoyable day for Jamila."
Reaching in her purse, she withdrew and handed him what anyone watching might think was her business card. "If there is anything I can do for you, Mr. Winner, please do not hesitate."
Quatre got in the limousine, and as it pulled onto the street, he looked at the card in his hand. It was a card key to a room in his hotel several floors below the suite he occupied. She had scribbled a time on it, and glancing at his watch, he saw that it was an hour away.
The hour between now and then would feel like an eternity.
