The Last Dance

by Nan Ryan

  The stars were out. The ocean was beautiful. The night air was warm and sweet. They found a secluded spot far down the deserted beach. Blackie dropped his shoes, handed Lucy the champagne, and shrugged out of his suit jacket. He spread the jacket on the sand and seated Lucy on it. While she hugged her knees and watched, Blackie gathered driftwood and built a small fire.

  He uncorked the champagne, handed the bottle to Lucy, and moved around in back of her. He sat down directly behind her, trapping her inside his spread knees. He drew her back against his chest, wrapped his arms around her, and said, “Know what I want to do, what I’ve wanted to do all evening?”

  “Tell me,” she whispered, lifted her arms and clasped her hands behind his head.

  “I want to kiss you,” he said, his hands spanning her ribs. “I want to kiss you all night long.”

  Blackie shifted then and, turning her a little in his arms, lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her with such devastating tenderness Lucy felt her bones melt. She sighed and cuddled against him, praying he really would kiss her all night long.

  They stayed there on the beach in the moonlight until the champagne bottle was empty, and Lucy was a more than a little tipsy. Blackie was stone sober but he was more than a little aroused.

  “Lucy, Lucy,” he murmured, pressing her back across his bent arm, bending to her, his hand sweeping her white tulle skirts up her bare legs, exposing her pale thighs to the night air and to his hot touch.

  Lucy felt an overpowering rush of helplessness, a surging warmth that left her limp as Blackie kissed her again and again. The warm, soft kisses had swiftly graduated in intensity until she clung to him, the world spinning, he the only solid thing in it.

  Her head cradled in the crook of his strong arm, she sighed and squirmed while his hot, insistent mouth pressed kiss after kiss to her parted lips and his hands caressed her barely covered breasts and naked legs. Dizzy with desire, Lucy moaned softly when his searing mouth sank into the pale softness of her throat and his thumb rubbed back and forth over an erect nipple through the soft fabric of her dress. Her head fell back and she could hardly breathe as his hot, open mouth slowly spread a trail of fire from the sensitive hollow of her throat down over the exposed swell of her breasts.

  When the low-cut bodice of her white tulle gown finally stopped the downward progress of his questing lips, her heart was beating so fast it frightened her and she felt faint. Blackie laid his dark cheek against her rapidly beating heart and held her quietly while she calmed a little.

  “Blackie,” she whispered breathlessly, “Oh, Blackie.”

  “I know,” he murmured, raised his dark head, and looked at her with passion-glazed eyes. He shuddered deeply, exhaled heavily, and kissed her again.

  A thousand heated kisses were inadequate and Blackie was tempted to snatch Lucy from the sand, carry her straight up to his hotel suite, and make love to her.

  But he was trapped with a good girl, so he took her back to the Atlantic Grand to her own third floor room.

  Lucy put the key in the lock, opened the door, and turned slowly to face him, unsure exactly what to do or say.

  Blackie smiled at her, returned her shoes, stockings, and one ice blue garter. The other he kept, with her permission, for a souvenir.

  They stood making small talk for a long, awkward moment, Blackie with his hands in his trouser pockets, Lucy clutching her shoes and stockings to her breasts.

  At last Blackie exhaled, took his hands from his pockets, touched her cheek, and said, “We had some fun, didn’t we, Lucy?”

  Her throat suddenly so tight she could barely swallow, Lucy smiled weakly, “Yes, we did. We had some fun.”

  Then, his beautiful, midnight eyes reflecting some of the torture she felt, Blackie moved a step closer, gently cupped both of her pale cheeks in his tanned hands, and kissed her. A light, quick brush of his tongue across her lips.

  “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said, turned, and walked away.

  Chapter Thirty

  Lucy watched him walk down the silent corridor. He didn’t look back. She was sure he would turn to wave and smile when he reached the elevator. He didn’t. He disappeared into the waiting car and was gone.

  Stunned, dejected, Lucy went inside and slowly closed the door. She deposited her shoes and stockings on the round drum table beside the porcelain vase that held a huge bouquet of gardenias. Every morning since that first day he’d sent them, Blackie sent a fresh bouquet of gardenias. Lucy looked at the velvety petaled flowers and sighed. She unpinned the wilted gardenia corsage from the low bodice of her white dress and laid it beside the shoes.

  Edgy, unnerved, she left the lamps unlit, the room in a patchwork of deep shadow and bright moonlight. Barefooted, she moved across the deep-piled aqua rug, stepped out on the tiny balcony, and drew a slow, deep breath of the heavy misted air. She stared unblinking at the moon-silvered sea. Great ocean waves were rising, breaking, then rising again.

  Lucy told herself she was glad that Blackie had gone. Glad nothing really happened. But she couldn’t quite convince herself that she was.

  She loved him.

  Loved him without condition or expectation. Loved him intensely, completely, passionately. Loved him now and forever.

  Lucy’s chest was so tight she could hardly stand the pain, and that great empty feeling which had been so much a part of her life for too many years already was returning.

  She turned and went inside.

  She paced fitfully in her bare feet, agonized by the knowledge that she would never, for as long as she lived, see Blackie LaDuke again. Tonight would be the last night he spent upstairs in the north tower penthouse suite. The last night she stayed in this third floor room.

  With the dawn, Blackie would be gone. Gone for good. Gone forever. She couldn’t let him go without…

  Suddenly all Lucy knew for sure was that if she didn’t take this one chance to grab at life—real life—she was going to explode! Shatter into a million pieces that could never be put back together again. Just once in her life she had to live. Really live.

  Blackie stepped inside the darkened drawing room of his penthouse suite and closed the door. He didn’t bother with lighting the lamps. He didn’t bother taking his shoes from the pockets of his wrinkled, sand-dusted suit jacket. He shrugged impatiently out of the jacket and, in a fit of frustration, wadded it up and threw it as hard as he could across the room. Jacket and shoes struck the wall with a loud thud and fell to the carpet below.

  Immediately ashamed of his infantile behavior, Blackie exhaled wearily, took off his wrinkled shirt, and hung it neatly over a chair back. He took a cigarette from the silver box on a nearby table. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth, cupped his hands, lighted it, and shook out the match. He inhaled deeply, drawing the smoke down into his lungs and holding it before slowly releasing it.

  Bare-chested, smoking in the darkness, he paced the shadowy drawing room like a caged animal, his lean body straining against invisible bonds.

  He abruptly stopped pacing and his black eyes closed in pain when the knock came on his door. His naked belly tightened reflexively and a deep shudder passed through his body. He knew it was Lucy. He knew he had to turn her away. Not answer the door. Keep silent until she gave up and returned to the safety of her own room.

  Nerves raw, every muscle in his tall, lean body taut with agony, Blackie stayed where he was as she knocked again, a little louder, more insistent this time. A vein throbbing on his forehead, he stubbed the cigarette out in a crystal ashtray and ground his even white teeth.

  A long minute passed.

  Again she knocked, a rapid-fire rat-a-tat, her fist forcefully pounding on the solid door. And slamming into his aching heart.

  Blackie stood his ground.

  I’m doing it for your own good, sweetheart, he murmured soundlessly, miserably. Go away, Lucy. Run for your life!

  He held his breath and waited.

  Finally the knocking stopped. All was silent. She
had given up. She was leaving.

  Oh, God, she was leaving!

  Unable to stop himself, Blackie tore across the darkened room and yanked the door open.

  Lucy, half-way down the hall, stopped, whirled about, and saw him. Wordlessly they raced toward each other. Laughing, crying, Lucy eagerly threw herself into Blackie’s outstretched arms and felt those powerful arms close firmly around her. She drew his handsome head down and kissed him. And in her kiss was all the love she had saved for a lifetime.

  When finally their lips separated, Blackie swung Lucy up into his arms, marched back down the corridor and into his suite, kicking the door shut behind them. Continuing to hold her high against his naked chest, Blackie stood in the darkened drawing room, kissing Lucy hotly, hungrily, like he’d never allowed himself to kiss her before.

  At last he raised his dark head and gazed into her adoring eyes. A pulse throbbed in his tanned throat and his chest constricted.

  His voice a gentle caress, he said, “Are you sure, Lucy? I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart. I don’t want you regretting…”

  “My only regret,” she interrupted, “will be if I allow you to leave without making love to me.” Her arms tightened around his neck. “Love me, Blackie. Just this once, love me.”

  “Oh, God, Lucy. Sweet Lucy,” he said and carried her straight to the bedroom.

  No lamps burned in the spacious bedroom, but bright moonlight streamed in the open balcony doors and fell across the turned down bed. Shimmering sheets of pale white silk looked silver in the moonlight. A half dozen silk-cased, down pillows rested against the bed’s tall, black walnut headboard.

  Lucy looked at the vast bed without any indecision or apprehension.

  She loved him with all her heart and soul and she trusted him with both. And if she never saw him again this side of Paradise, it didn’t matter.

  Tonight he belonged to her. No one was going to take this moment or this man away from her. There was no past, no future, no fears. Only this night. And there was nothing she wanted more than to lie in the moonlight and make love with Blackie.

  Blackie walked directly to the bed. He sat on the mattress’ edge and drew Lucy down to sit his left knee. His arm tightened around her waist and he hugged her close.

  She pulled away just a bit and, looking at him with such total devotion he felt his heart kick against his ribs, said, “You do desire me a little, don’t you, Blackie?”

  “Oh, honey, yes,” he told her honestly. “I want you more than you’ll ever know.”

  Satisfied, she squeezed his bare shoulders and leaned her forehead against his. “I’m so glad. I was afraid maybe…”

  “Lucy, Lucy,” he murmured and his mouth captured hers in a kiss that assured her he really wanted her.

  As he kissed her, the tips of his tanned fingers lightly stroked her face, her throat, then swept slowly over the pale flesh exposed above the low cut bodice of her white evening dress. When the long, drugging kiss finally ended, Blackie’s fingertips were inside her dress, gently caressing her left breast.

  “Lucy,” he said again, very softly, and Lucy thought she had never known her name was so beautiful until she heard him say it.

  Her blood was stirring, her heart beating fast, she felt flushed from head to toe. Her hand played nervously on Blackie’s naked chest, her fingertips raking through the crisp, black hair, palm spreading on the bare bronzed flesh. He was hot to the touch and that thrilled her, pleased her beyond words.

  His smooth lips brushing kisses to her to face and throat, Blackie lifted a hand to her hair, carefully removed the pearl-studded pin Lochlin MacDonald had given her, and laid it on the night table. In seconds he had dexterously removed all remaining hairpins and Lucy’s curly, chestnut hair cascaded down around her face and shoulders.

  Blackie put his hands in her hair, running his fingers through the thick, curly locks. When Lucy looked into his eyes, his lean fingers tightened and he drew her mouth down to his. With deliberate slowness, he kissed her, his spread fingers clutching her hair.

  His burning lips so dazzled her, Lucy never knew when his hands left her hair. But soon she found that just as the pins had easily slipped from her hair, her clothes easily slipped from her body. Masterfully enclosing her in a world that reached no further than the tightness of his arms and the heat of his kisses, Blackie undressed Lucy as she sat there on his knee in the moonlight.

  Dizzy with desire, consumed with a kind of hot mysterious longing that was totally alien to her, Lucy sighed and swooned and felt her clothes being taken away. It registered vaguely somewhere in the passion fogged recesses of her mind that Blackie was doing the same thing she had done earlier as she had dressed for the dance. She had dressed backwards, now he was undressing her backwards. He was taking off her underwear first. She felt her lace trimmed knickers slide down her quivering stomach and over her hips. One-handed, Blackie coaxed the undergarment from beneath her and it whispered down her legs and over her bare feet.

  Lucy shivered.

  “Kiss me, Baby,” Blackie murmured. “Kiss me good.”

  Tingling all over, hot and cold at once, Lucy cupped his tanned jaw in her hand and lowered her lips to his. This was different from the preceding kisses. Blackie allowed—made—Lucy become the aggressor, forced her to be the dominant one.

  Lucy kissed him hotly, urgently, feeling the rise of her feminine power as she commandingly took the lead. Molding his mouth to hers, she kissed him with complete abandon, holding nothing back. It was a fiery, sexual, prolonged kiss to which she gave her all, her lips eagerly drawing on Blackie’s, her tongue thrusting into his mouth to tease and torment his.

  She kissed him good.

  Caught up in the lusty, open-mouthed kiss, Lucy was hardly aware that as she kissed him, Blackie was calmly unfastening the hooks going down the back of her dress. That wasn’t all. His hand had moved up under her dress, was gently stroking her knee.

  Feverish, Lucy finally tore her kiss-puffy lips from his. Gasping for breath, heart pounding, she hugged his dark head to her breasts. She sighed when Blackie sat her back and lowered her loosened dress, pulling the sleeves down her weak arms, pushing the white tulle bodice to her waist. Whispering her name and looking into her eyes, he lifted a hand to the small bow at the top edge of her lace-trimmed camisole. He gave it a gentle tug. It came undone. Using only his curled little finger he managed to unhook the tiny clasps going down the center of the wispy camisole.

  Lucy shuddered involuntarily when he pushed the camisole apart and her small, pale breasts were exposed. She held her breath as he gazed at her bared flesh, a hot light burning in his dark hooded eyes. She murmured his name when Blackie slowly bent his head and kissed the undercurve of her right breast. Then her eyes closed in rapture when his hot mouth enclosed the aching nipple. With his strong arm supporting her back, Blackie’s plucking mouth stayed at her breasts while his hand moved up the inside of her pale thigh beneath the white tulle dress.

  Lucy winced softly when his fingertips raked through the tight chestnut curls between her thighs and touched her where she’d never been touched before. Her eyes opened and closed in wonder and her nails dug into Blackie’s bare shoulder as he began to slowly, seductively caress her. Lucy bit her lip and squirmed, unsure if she liked what he was doing.

  She was undecided for only a moment.

  “I have wanted,” she heard Blackie say in a low voice, rough with emotion, “to touch you this way all night.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “You looked so beautiful tonight, Lucy,” Blackie continued, his breath hot against her flushed cheek, “while we danced I dreamed of holding you like this, loving you like this.”

  His smooth baritone voice, his shocking words sent a new injection of heat through her entire body. Lucy’s heartbeat again accelerated. Waves of erotic impulses surged inside her, pressing her pelvis up and forward to meet the increasingly pleasurable touch of Blackie’s long, skilled fingers.

 
Calm down, she silently screamed at herself, but found it impossible to do.

  Then Blackie’s mouth was back on hers and she knew his blood was racing, too, from his devastating kiss, a kiss almost savage in its hot urgency. She felt the same urgency, an intense yearning that was rapidly escalating.

  Lucy could no longer think clearly, no longer wanted to think. She surrendered totally to the sweet new passion consuming her. She thrilled to every intimate touch of Blackie’s hands and mouth. She arched and sighed and moaned while Blackie held her on his knee and patiently, expertly prepared her for total lovemaking.

  Lucy didn’t know exactly when the white tulle dress came completely off and was cast aside. She did become dreamily aware, at some point, that she was totally naked, but she couldn’t quite remember how it came about. And she didn’t care. The heat and need of her bare body was all, was everything.

  On fire, Lucy whimpered softly when Blackie took his loving hand away from that burning spot between her legs, the spot which had become her entire universe.

  “Blackie,” she breathed her objection, desperate for him to continue.

  “I know, Baby,” he whispered as he rose to his feet with her in his arms.

  He turned and gently laid her in the middle of the bed. Lucy sighed gratefully, delighting in the soothing caress of the soft, cool sheets against her hot, bare skin. Her hands sweeping anxiously over the shimmering silk, her bare belly contracting, she saw the play of moonlight on Blackie’s rippling muscles as he hastily stepped out of his trousers.

  Enthralled with his physical beauty, she had only a second to admire him before he was in bed beside her, holding her close, every inch of their naked bodies touching. His hand sweeping down her back, Blackie held Lucy to him, purposely giving her the opportunity to become acquainted with his fully aroused male body. He pressed his pulsing erection to her, letting her feel the throbbing hardness against her bare belly. His hand cupped and caressed her soft buttocks, then his fingers slipped between the crevice to touch and fondle and keep her in a state of hot excitement. Trembling, burning up, Lucy arched anxiously to him, so Blackie smoothly pressed her down onto her back.