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burnished the rich wood
so that the piano seemed to flow into and blend with Molly’s
dress.
    Woman and instrument were one. The heavy jazz
beat of the music increased, and Molly started singing.
    Samuel had never heard anything like it. Her
voice was a throaty, bluesy whisper, and she was promising to make
a saint turn into a sinner. He didn’t doubt it for a minute. He was
on the verge of sinning himself.
    He called on every resource to combat this
strange and disturbing attraction. He told himself it was only a
game they were playing. Still, his desire rose like a phoenix from
the ashes of his harsh and bitter past. He blamed it on the
moonlight, he blamed it on the music, he blamed it on fatigue.
    The tempo of the song increased and so did
his heartbeat. Molly was promising to be a naughty baby, and he
longed for it. He leaned heavily against the mantel, more for
support than anything else. Molly’s voice drugged him. The room
seemed to spin away and he imagined the two of them together, legs
entangled as the silvery dress spread underneath them.
    Jazz flowed around him and through him, and
from a distance, Molly’s voice drifted to him.
    He felt the solid reality of the mantel.
Molly was still beside the piano singing and he was still standing
in front of the fireplace. To find himself there came as a shock.
His fantasy had been so real he could almost taste her lips.
    He wiped his face and tried to concentrate.
There was a musical interlude, and thankfully her sultry voice
stopped. But then, to his amazement, she danced across the floor,
her shoes marking a sassy rhythm on the polished wood. He suddenly
realized that that’s why she had disappeared and why she had made
such a noise when she had come back: she was wearing tap-dancing
shoes.
    Jedidiah segued into another song, and Molly
stopped dancing and started singing again. This time Samuel
recognized the song—”Embraceable You.” He’d once dated a woman who
had been fond of singing that song—badly, as he remembered. Not
like Molly. Not at all like Molly.
    The husky voice set him on fire again, but he
clung to the mantel and to his sanity—barely. When she sang in that
suggestive voice that she wanted her arms about him, he had to
clench his hands into fists and ram them into his pockets to keep
from obliging.
    Finally he became aware that the music had
stopped.
    Around him there were vague movements and
sounds—Jedidiah inviting his mother for a moonlight stroll, and
Glory Ethel accepting. But he was lost in song—the remembered
melody vibrating through his body and clouding his mind.
    Suddenly he felt the swish of gossamer skirts
against his knees.
    “Daddy wanted me to sing.”
    “You do it beautifully.”
    “Thank you.”
    Molly felt the tension flowing from him, and
her body came alive under his intense scrutiny. She felt both taut
and loose at the same time. Part of her was melting and part of her
was so tightly wound she wanted to scream. He was a handsome man;
virile, desirable. But there was something deadly about him,
too.
    She backed away from him. He cocked an
eyebrow.
    “What’s the matter, Molly. Afraid?”
    “No. Is there any reason I should be?”
    He was silent for so long, merely staring at
her, that she wet her dry lips with her tongue. Finally he reached
out, ever so slowly. She felt the whisper touch against her cheek,
the lightest brushing of fingertips against her skin. And then he
withdrew the hand.
    “I’m a man. And I’m not accustomed to turning
down such blatant invitations.”
    She didn’t trust herself to speak.
    “The song, Molly. You practically invited me
to make love to you. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”
    She resisted an urge to put her hand over her
racing heart. “It wasn’t an invitation.”
    “What was it, then?”
    “Do you really want to know the truth?”
    “It would be refreshing to hear the
truth.”
    “Music, dance, drama, painting—Daddy loves
all the arts.” Molly moved