In Confidence. Karen Young

when nobody knew but us, Francine. Complications will begin to multiply, big time. We need to be prepared.”

      “For what?”

      She couldn’t be as unconcerned by the consequences as she seemed, he thought. He drew a breath and spoke patiently. “What I’m trying to say is that both of us need to be on the same page, especially with Walter. He’ll have questions. We need to settle between us what we’re going to answer.”

      “Forget Walter. I’ll think of something. Whatever he says, I’ll handle it.”

      “He’s not going to accept you sleeping with me, Franny. You need to make him understand this isn’t just some meaningless affair that’ll play itself out if he’s patient. You need to tell him it’s serious between us.” Ted rubbed at a temple, now throbbing. Maybe it was the onset of a migraine. He wished for a couple of Darvon tablets, but he’d taken the last of them just a couple of days ago. “Has it occurred to you that Rachel may be talking to him right now?”

      “Rachel wouldn’t do that,” Francine said. She lifted one long leg and began removing the black stockings. It was an invitation, but he still wanted to try to settle this. She dropped the nylons delicately onto the floor. “She’s too…”

      “Too decent?”

      “Yeah, decent. Too nice for the real world. People like Rachel will always get the short end of the stick.”

      Ted felt a prickle of unease at her attitude. She was a maddening, irresistible mix of female charm, sexy allure and street smarts. And the package was captivating. It made him uncomfortable to admit it, but he felt almost enslaved. He couldn’t get enough of her.

      Sensing she’d crossed a line, Francine reached out and, with a wicked little smile, ran a finger down the opening of his fly. “C’mon, you worry too much.”

      He removed her hand and sat down beside her. “You don’t worry enough. We’ve got to talk about Walter. When he finds out, he’s going to be one pissed-off son of a bitch. I’m not sure he’ll be able to control himself. He’s crazy where you’re concerned.” As crazy as Ted himself was, which was another fact that worried him.

      She unhooked her bra and tossed it on the floor. “Like I said, let me worry about controlling Walter, sugar.” Up on her knees now, she slipped her arms around him from behind and began unbuttoning his shirt. She got it off him and pressed her naked breasts against his back as her hands moved all over the front of him. “Hmm, I love doing this,” she crooned, sifting through the hair on his chest. “Walter’s got a gut and he’s about fifty pounds overweight,” she complained, tweaking his nipples with her fingers. “Show me a man with muscles and a flat belly and I get really hot, sugar.” She was nibbling on his ear now and he felt himself weakening.

      His lust for Francine had been a keen motivating factor in the exercise program Ted had undertaken a year ago. As a result of hours in the gym, his abdomen was as flat as that of a man fifteen years younger, and his reward was the uninhibited enjoyment Francine took in letting him know it. God, it was a turn-on knowing he excited a woman like this.

      One of her hands wandered lower now, slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs. He groaned as her fingers curled around him, and he gave up trying to have a practical discussion. Later, he promised himself as he fell back on the bed and let her strip off his pants and briefs. They could work on the practicalities of continuing their relationship later. Rachel might prove difficult once she’d had some time to come to terms with the fact that he was in love with Francine. And Walter was definitely a wild card. He was one possessive bastard where Francine was concerned and Ted could identify with that. But he’d go to hell and back before giving her up.

      She had climbed on top now, smiling and tempting him with her lush, heavy breasts cupped in both hands. She still wore the thong and she moved like a belly dancer on top of him, bewitching and utterly sexual, an enticing siren of a woman. Francine called to something deep within him that he’d never known was there and that no other woman had ever tapped. With a groan, he fumbled at the thong, tore it off her and violently buried himself to the hilt. She might deny they were in for trouble, but Ted knew stormy times were ahead. But that thought was lost as he gave himself up to the lust of the moment.

      Three

      Rachel never had a chance to lay down the law to Ted that night, even if the opportunity had presented itself. Which it didn’t. Marta had fixed dinner for Nick and Kendall, but her loyalty as a friend did not extend to doing the dishes, and without Rachel’s supervision, neither had the kids. So, by the time Rachel had tidied up, supervised homework, monitored television time and urged the kids upstairs to shower and get into bed, it was late. Taking a minute for herself—finally—she had barely begun filling the tub for a long soak and some deep thinking about her marriage and Ted’s infidelity when the phone rang. It was Monk Tyson. She was in no fit shape to discuss Jason Pate’s problems, which she assumed was the reason for his call. She was swamped by her own problems. But Monk was insistent. Consequently, she was tied up for another half hour sharing the details of the boy’s arrest and release from Juvenile in Dallas. It was almost eleven when the call finally ended. And still no word from Ted.

      She showered—forgoing the long soak—and turned the covers back on her bed. Waiting up for Ted was something she usually did, or rather, she’d been in the habit of doing so until his hours became so erratic. Now that she knew about the affair, that intimate little ritual of marriage was ended. She felt a pang, knowing Ted probably hadn’t valued that effort on her part for the past year, anyway, considering his infatuation with another woman. He’d be sleeping in the guest room now and was probably relieved to do it. She lay flat on her back, dry-eyed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She vowed he wouldn’t see her desolation or find her red-eyed and weepy when he finally showed up. But hours later as the clock struck two and then three, she realized he wasn’t coming home at all.

      The numbness that had gripped her until then suddenly disappeared. Since the moment Ted had admitted the affair, her stomach had been in a knot, but she’d crammed so many other things into her day that her personal problems had been crowded out. How could he be in love with someone else, and Francine Dalton, of all people? Francine and Walter were their friends. Walter, older and more settled in Rose Hill, had partnered up with Ted when they’d first started the practice. A few years later, he’d married Francine, who’d been twenty years younger than Walter. Francine, Rachel thought now, was twelve years younger than Ted. It was ludicrous.

      It was crushing. A sob caught in her throat. Just last month, she and Ted had celebrated their eighteenth anniversary at a restaurant with Walter and Francine. Had there been signs of Ted’s infidelity then? She thought of the new suits he’d suddenly decided he needed, the silk boxer shorts he’d begun wearing, the diet he’d undertaken to lose weight, the ambitious exercise program he’d been fixated on at the gym. Moments of sexual intimacy between them had become increasingly rare. She remembered the ongoing search for an additional partner in the practice that required trips to Dallas or Houston or Los Angeles, Boston, New York. Always excluding her. How had she been so blind? Didn’t a wife sense these things? Didn’t she somehow know deep down in her heart that her husband had fallen out of love with her? Is that what had happened? Had Ted fallen out of love with her and she hadn’t noticed? But how could that be? She was a psychologist. She was supposed to be able to read people, to see beyond the obvious. Was she a failure there, as Cameron Ford seemed to think, as well as in her role as Ted’s wife?

      And now, what next?

      There was no school the next day, Saturday, and fortunately Nick and Kendall were still sleeping when Ted finally came home. Standing on the sunporch drinking a cup of black coffee, Rachel waited while he went into the kitchen, poured himself some coffee and then went looking for her. At least, she assumed he was looking for her. She said nothing, unwilling to call out to him as she once would have done to let him know she was in the sunroom. After a few minutes, he found her.

      For a moment, as he stood in the door, they simply looked at each other. He still wore the Armani suit from yesterday, she noticed,