Page 62 of Prime Time

“You will join us this weekend, won’t you? John is so looking forward to meeting you.”

Shay nervously twisted the telephone cord. It wasn’t that she really minded her mother marrying again. Celia Morrison had been alone too long. After having been happily married to Shay’s father for twenty-seven years, his death had been a hard blow. John Douglas had been described to Shay as a retired businessman who was interesting, fun, handsome, and deliriously in love with her mother. Of course, that had been her mother’s assessment.

“I don’t know, Mother. You’re barely out of the honeymoon stage and—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We really do want you to spend the weekend with us or else we wouldn’t have invited you. Please, Shay. It’s very important to me to unite my new family.”

A weekend in a cabin sounded a bit lame to someone with Shay’s zest for life, but she supposed she could make this one concession to her only parent. It might not be full of fun, but she could get some well-earned rest. “Where and when?” she asked.

“Oh, how marvelous,” Celia cried enthusiastically. She gave Shay directions to the cabin near Kent Falls in western Connecticut. Shay insisted she drive her own car rather than take the train. She didn’t want to have to rely on train schedules to make a speedy escape should the boredom of the weekend induce her to leave before Sunday afternoon.

“The countryside is lovely. Wait until you see the cabin,” Celia gushed.

Shay glanced at her watch and realized she would be late for a sitting if she didn’t hurry. “I’ll be there sometime Friday evening if I can get off work Saturday. That’s customarily a busy day at the gallery.”

“I’m sure you can arrange it if you explain the circumstances to Mr. Vandiveer. We’ll have such fun. I can’t wait for you to meet Ian.”

“Ian?” Oh, please, no, Shay groaned to herself. “The son?”

“Why, of course. This is the joining of two families, remember?”

Terrific. A whole weekend in a remote cabin in the woods with an older couple acting like silly adolescents in the throes of first love and a new stepbrother who probably wouldn’t be any more enthusiastic about the arrangement than she was. “I’ve got to go, Mom. I’m posing for a photographer this afternoon.”

“An artist?”

“No. Very commercial this time. Legs only. An ad for a lady’s razor.”

“Oh.”

Celia kept it no secret that she sometimes felt uneasy about her daughter’s profession. Before she could launch into an interrogation, Shay said, “I’ll see you Friday. Bye, Mom.”

Now Friday afternoon found Shay climbing up the wooden steps to the wide front porch of the cabin, a weekend hideaway belonging to her mother’s new husband. The legs that had been photographed au naturel only a few days before were now encased in tight-fitting jeans that molded to her figure. They hugged her shapely calves and enhanced the length and form of her thighs.

The front door of the house had a note tacked to it: “Go on in. John and I buying groceries. Back soon.”

Shay was surprised when she tested the doorknob and found it unlocked. Apparently there were still places in rural America where people felt at ease about leaving their houses unsecured.

The door opened onto a room that ran the width of the house. Cozy and homey, it offered several couches and chairs to curl up in, a stone fireplace, uncovered windows with a panoramic view, throw rugs on a polished oak floor, vases of fresh flowers placed strategically on tables and shelves, and countless books and records stored in floor-to-ceiling shelves. Shay was impressed as she closed the door behind her.

Making a cursory inspection of the lower floor, she saw a friendly kitchen that was thoroughly modern but quaint in design, a dining room with a long maple table and captain’s chairs, and a storage pantry with a washing machine and dryer.

“John doesn’t believe in roughing it,” she said to herself as she returned to the living room and climbed the stairs to the second story. Directly in front of her as she stepped onto the landing was a wide window with a spectacular view of the gently rolling countryside. On either side of the stairs were doors leading to bedrooms. Another note almost exactly like the one on the front door was tacked to one of these: “Shay’s room.”

“Mo

ther thinks of everything.” Pushing open the door to the bedroom, she got only a flashing first glance at the brass headboard with white porcelain knobs, the apple-green quilted comforter over the white eyelet dust ruffle, the white wicker rocking chair, and the cheery lace curtains at two windows before she was brought to attention by loud singing coming from an adjoining bathroom.

The masculine voice was singing an innovative rendition of a Beach Boys song. Shay laughed out loud. The voice was singing all the parts from the lowest bass to the highest falsetto. Every once in a while he threw in a ba-da-da-da to emulate drums. He was accompanied by the pulsing rhythm of the shower’s spray.

“Hello,” Shay called out, wanting to alert the shower-taker that he wasn’t alone and that he had left the door to her bedroom open. The song continued even as the water was shut off. Shay heard the click of the shower door being swung wide. She opened her mouth to speak again, but no words passed her lips. She stared in speechless awe as a long, muscled leg extended out of the shower stall. A foot, well-shaped with a high arch, groped for the bath mat before standing firmly on it. A lean body followed the foot. A sinewy arm and a hand that conveyed both sensitivity and strength dragged a towel from the bar on the shower door.

Shay rushed across the room, intending to shut the door before the man saw her. He was now singing into the towel as he vigorously rubbed his head with it. Momentarily, almost involuntarily, she indulged herself in a view of the naked male form in all its splendor.

Wide shoulders and chest tapered to a slender waist and narrow hips. Water ran down the magnificent torso in crystal rivulets that called attention to the texture and hue of his tanned skin. Droplets beaded on dark, curling hair that matted the deep chest and halved the flat stomach with a ribbon of black satin. The muscles of his back rippled smoothly as he moved. His legs were bunched with hard, sleek muscles. Taut buttocks tightened as he leaned forward over the basin to peer at his reflection in the mirror. He slung the towel haphazardly around his neck and ran slender fingers through his mop of wet black hair.

Then he saw her reflection in the mirror. Her expression was rapt, her lips slightly parted, her brown eyes wide with admiration.

“What—” He spun around as though he had seen a ghost and needed desperately to assure himself that it wasn’t really there.

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