Fools Rush In. Gwynne Forster

musing over his life, he told himself that he, and not Justine, was the problem. He had to figure out what he wanted between them and behave with her accordingly. Armed with this determination, he crossed the hall and risked knocking on her door.

      “Yes?”

      “Did Mattie tell you I’m having a dinner party tomorrow night? If I had seen you, I would have told you myself. Just a few close friends.”

      “She said some people were coming over. Do you want me to help?”

      He realized then that he didn’t think of her as a servant, and maybe he ought to. Seeing her in that light might have a taming influence on his libido. “No, indeed. That’s Mattie’s job. You’re invited as my guest. See you this evening.”

      For once, she didn’t look him in the eye the way she did when she wanted to get a point over. Instead, she gazed so intently at something over his left shoulder that he had to control the impulse to turn around and see what had her attention. “Uh…Thanks for the invitation. How casual are your dinner parties?”

      The question took him back a bit. What kind of dinner parties did she go to? “Well, I put on a jacket and tie. You mean what should you wear?” At the risk of annoying her, he grinned broadly. “That red jumpsuit would be just the ticket.” He’d wanted to see her in it again.

      Her eyes widened, and she shifted her gaze to his face. “Really?”

      “You bet. And don’t forget those big silver earrings.”

      She stared at him as though in wonderment. “Why’re you so surprised? Believe me, you made quite a picture in that get-up.”

      “Thanks.”

      For once she didn’t have a come-back, and he wondered what she thought of the way she looked. As far as he was concerned, she had what she needed and plenty of it in just the right places. “See you this evening. Oh, yes. Those things you ordered for Tonya…I’ll pick them up Saturday.” He braced his left hip against the doorjamb. “You grooming her for a show in the National Gallery of Art or for the Metropolitan Opera House? Hell, Justine, she’s only a year old.”

      Her shoulders squared and her back stiffened. She’d gone from kitten to lioness in a second, and he prepared himself for their first argument. But her gentle voice belied her battle-ready demeanor. “Duncan, she’s a thirteen-month-old who sings all the time and draws on everything. If she doesn’t have crayons, she uses her little fingers.” She laid her head to one side, and he knew he could expect a challenge. “Do you know how Picasso and Leontyne Price got started?”

      He didn’t, and he expressed his capitulation in joyous laughter. “Remind me not to confront you unless I’m ready to do battle.”

      Justine hummed a few bars of “Mighty Like A Rose,” one of her mother’s few legacies. Whenever she hurt, her mother would kiss and rock her and sing a few bars of that song. She didn’t remember the words, because she was five when her mother died, but the tune lived in her memory, a cherished possession.

      Overjoyed as she was to be with her child, happiness eluded her. The flame between Duncan and her would someday erupt into an inferno, and when it did, the Piper would come to collect his due. She picked up a copy of The Evening Post, glanced at her column, and threw the paper aside. What would she do if Duncan’s self-control deserted him and she found herself locked to him in the consuming passion of which she’d begun to dream? He’d send her away, because he didn’t want an involvement with her any more than she wanted it with him. But oh, how good it had been to feel his hands on her and her breast against his rock-hard chest. She had wanted to scream at him, Just take me and love me and show me what I’ve missed. Shocked at her thoughts, she walked out on her balcony and gazed at the forest of oaks that proudly displayed their orange, red, purple, and yellow autumn leaves. She sucked in her breath in awe at the beauty her eyes beheld. Her mood of minutes earlier dissipated and a smile crossed her face. Maybe this was where Mattie got ideas for her hair. The thought enlivened her spirits.

      Was she his partner? An extra woman for the unattached man? Would he have a date? She considered staying in her room rather than be seen as an extra at the dinner table. Her older aunt invited couples only to dinner, and the widowed one did the same, except for the “friend” who’d been a “friend” for as long as she could remember. Justine had long ago decided that her aunt’s friend was her lover and had been years before Uncle Benedick had passed on. She wondered if she should check the dining room; Mattie could be sloppy. She stamped her foot in frustration at her awkward position in Duncan’s house.

      She hung a long rope of silver beads around her neck, setting off the deep red silk jumpsuit and silver hoops. She had always regarded that jump suit as casual wear, something in which she lounged in her room. But if he wanted her to wear it, she would. She didn’t like high heels, but wore them anyway as she tripped down the stairs and nearly stumbled when she reached the bottom. Duncan stood nearby, tall and handsome in a dark business suit, talking heatedly with a tall woman whose flawless skin had the color of fresh pecans. She raised her head and started past them.

      His arm lightly on her shoulder brought her to a quick halt “Justine, this is my sister, Leah.”

      Leah’s knowing look told Justine that Duncan’s sister had noticed her relief that she was his sister and not his date. “Hello, Justine. I’ve been anxious to meet you. Duncan talks about you a lot.”

      He looked down at his feet and then toward the living room. “Leah lets anything that comes to her mind drop out of her mouth.”

      Leah shrugged a shoulder. “I’m blunt. And nobody calls me Leah. I hate the name. Call me Banks if you want me to answer.”

      Justine extended her hand. “I’m happy to meet you, Banks. Duncan hasn’t mentioned having a sister.”

      Banks let a rueful smile linger on her face. “I embarrass him, Justine. He’d love to have a dainty, ultra feminine little sister who’s brainless.”

      Both of Justine’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure? He’s been acting like an egalitarian with me.”

      “I’ve known him longer. He thinks I need a total makeover.”

      The grin that settled around Duncan’s mouth assured Justine that she shouldn’t take the conversation seriously. Duncan and his sister adored each other.

      “I’d be satisfied if she’d quit walking around like a chimney belching bituminous smoke.”

      “Grant me my one vice, Duncan. I don’t interfere with yours.” She turned to Justine. “You’d think he’d introduce me to his boss. I’ve been trying for six months to meet that man on square ground when I have the advantage, and my own beloved brother has access to him every day, and won’t get us together. I was just telling him what I thought of him when—”

      So that had been their argument! “If he won’t do it, ask somebody else.”

      “I asked my girlfriend, Melissa Grant Roundtree, to introduce us, but the opportunity just won’t come.”

      “Excuse me while I answer the door,” Duncan said, looking down at Justine’s face. “Be right back.”

      Chills snaked down her back. What would she do if he walked back to them with a woman on his arm?

      “Wipe the worry off your face, Justine. Duncan doesn’t have a woman. He’s sworn off them for life.”

      “Wh…What?”

      “Sorry, but I saw right away that you like him. Just be careful. He’s a great guy, but he goes by the title of man, if you know what I mean. And I don’t expect he’s going to expose himself to what he just got out of any time soon.”

      “Leah. I mean, Banks, what are you talking about? I’m Tonya’s nanny.”

      “Come on back in the kitchen. Duncan won’t let me smoke anywhere else in the house, and Mattie doesn’t mind.” They walked