by Kay Hooper
Serena instantly felt a pang of hunger, and wondered if she would ever conquer her appetite. “We won’t,” she told her brother.
“I’ll see you … when I see you.”
“Bye, Josh.” Serena reached to cut off the sound of his laughter, then punched for room service. Hearing a response she said firmly, “Food. And champagne. For two.”
The voice was a bit bewildered, but game. “Yes, miss. That is to Mr. Ashford’s—?”
“Certainly to Mr. Ashford’s room,” Serena responded with hauteur.
The voice recovered its own poise. “Of course. The menu. That is, we offer an excellent brunch.”
“Fine,” Serena said, amiable now. “How long?”
“Three quarters of an hour, miss.”
“Fine,” she repeated, and cradled the receiver gently. She turned her head to watch as Brian’s eyes slowly opened.
His gaze, focusing on her face, was bemused at first. Then the green eyes darkened and the arm around her waist drew her even closer. “How can I want you again when I’m barely awake?” he asked huskily.
“I don’t know, but I’m glad.” She turned in his arms, her own going around his neck. Her lips lifted to his, responding instantly.
“We have to talk,” he murmured against her warm flesh.
She trailed a languid hand up his back, feeling a dizzying sense of power when he shuddered at her touch. “Later,” she said hoarsely, probing ribs covered with hard flesh, tugging at the soft hair on his chest.
“Later. Too late. Damn you, Rena.” But it was a thick caress rather than a curse, and his touch was possessive and tender, his kiss urgent.
The waiter was forced to cool his heels for some minutes after he knocked. When Brian answered the door wearing a robe, signed for the meal, and took charge of the cart himself, the waiter didn’t even think of offering to open the champagne. He’d heard a giggle and a muffled curse, and knew a busy man when he saw one.
Brian rolled the cart into the room and went to open the drapes, wincing at the bright light that immediately assaulted him. When his eyes were finally adjusted to it, he turned to gaze at the lady sitting up in his bed. It took about two seconds for him to realize their food would grow cold as long as Serena remained uncovered.
He glanced around to spot what she’d worn to his room hours before, finding a scrap of lace and silk that wouldn’t have offered cover for an open-minded midget. He lifted the creation, subjected it to a pained stare, then looked at her.
“You could have been awake,” she said in explanation.
“So you came loaded for bear?”
“Something like that.” She smiled at him.
Brian sighed, dropped the confection onto a chair, and went to unearth one of his shirts, which he tossed at her. “Put that on before I let a perfectly good meal go to waste.”
Serena slipped into the shirt, then hesitated playfully before drawing it closed. “Maybe—”
“Serena.”
Meekly she buttoned the shirt. But her eyes danced.
“Wanton,” he said accusingly.
“Wantin’ is right,” she murmured.
Brian refused to take notice of puns. He took notice of the cart instead. “Champagne,” he said, startled. “Good Lord, it’s our first meal of the day.”
“Champagne isn’t for a time, it’s for a state of mind. I was starving and happy. So, food and champagne.”
Brian seemed about to say something, then shook his head and began working on the cork while Serena slid to the edge of the bed and uncovered the dishes.
Their glasses clinked together in a silent toast, and they ate while sprawled casually on the bed. Serena, as usual, ate enough for two all by herself.
“Feeding you,” Brian said, “would break the budget of a small nation.”
Some time later, after the dishes had been piled on the cart, he said finally, reluctantly, “It didn’t change anything, Rena.”
SEVEN
BRIAN BRACED HIMSELF for her reaction. He had expected—what had he expected? Pain? Tears? Recriminations? However, again Serena fooled him.
“I know, Brian.” Her voice was gentle as always, her smile tranquil. Curled on his bed wearing only his shirt and holding a champagne glass, she was so lovely, it hurt him just to look at her.
Brian took a deep breath. “Rena, I won’t make a promise I might not be able to keep.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
He fumbled for the words to make her understand, wondering if he wanted that understanding for her sake or for his. “I don’t—dammit, I didn’t want to hurt you. Don’t you understand that it’ll be worse now?”
“Because I could forget a first love, but never a first lover?” She shook her head slightly. “No, Brian. It would have been worse if I hadn’t come to you. Don’t you understand? I would have felt cheated for the rest of my life.” She hesitated, then added very softly, “There never would have been another lover, you see. Because there’ll never be another love.”
He groaned. “Dammit, Rena.”
“Yes, I know.” Her lips twisted. “That wasn’t fair. I suppose I have to be so honest to atone for the tricks. But this isn’t a trick, Brian. And after this we won’t talk about it. When you want out, I’ll know it. I won’t try to hold you. It was my decision to take what I could. You aren’t responsible for that, any more than you’re responsible for my falling in love with you.”
“If you’re telling me not to feel guilty,” he said roughly, “forget it.”
Quietly, firmly, she said, “I’m telling you that I hope you’ll enjoy this affair of ours every bit as much as I will. I’m not deceiving myself, and I’m not pretending—I promise you that. And I won’t have any regrets when it’s over.”
Brian wanted to believe her. He didn’t have to look too deeply into his soul to know that he couldn’t have left her right now no matter what her response might have been. He had never felt as he had with Serena in his arms, never known that depth of emotion; his desire for her was stronger than it had ever been … and impossible to fight.
But he knew from experience that desire waned, and that was what troubled him, because she seemed certain her love would not.
“Brian.” She set both their glasses aside, and went into his willing arms. “Just accept that it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, all right?”
“I don’t seem to have much choice,” he murmured.
“No.” She smiled at him. “You don’t. I took the choice out of your hands. And now, do we really have to keep talking? Seems like an awful waste of time to me.”
Brian couldn’t have agreed more.
Brian stopped thinking of the future and endings and pain. He wasn’t accustomed to being an ostrich, to burying his head in the sand, but he knew only too well that if he faced the reality of his relationship with Serena, it would be the beginning of the end.
And he didn’t want that.
He felt a curious compulsion to grab what he could, to hold as much of Serena as he possibly could. It was an emotion he’d never felt before, and he ascribed it to his certainty that their only future was now.
He also discovered, rather to his surprise, that his fascination with Serena the woman continued, even grew stronger. The troublesome “child” he had escorted for four weeks seemed to have grown up. Yet she was still a woman who cared about people, and because she cared, she embraced their troubles.
• • •
Brian realized over the next few days that the entire hotel staff was known to her by name, from the manager right on down to the maids and maintenance people.
He had to make a few phone calls one morning to check on his company, and when those were completed, he went to the door to find out if Serena had finished changing. Her things remained in her own room, even though every night was spent in his.
He opened the door and poked his head out, surprised to see a maid coming out of Serena’s room. Serena, dressed in a long terr
y-cloth robe, stepped out into the hall with her, and they stood talking quietly for a moment.
Watching silently Brian realized that the maid had been crying; she still dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief. Serena pressed something into the woman’s free hand with a firm gesture.
Curious, Brian left his room and headed for hers. Seeing him coming toward them the maid broke off in the middle of an impassioned jumble of words to Serena, sent him an embarrassed look, and scurried down the hall.
Serena stood on tiptoe to kiss Brian’s chin when he reached her. “I’m sorry. Have you been waiting long?”
“No, I just finished the calls.” He followed her into her room, enjoying as always the movements of her slender, graceful body. “What was that all about?” he asked.
Serena was stretched across the neatly made bed, scrabbling through a huge purse on the floor; she always carried it with her while traveling, but left it in her room otherwise. “What? Oh, Peggy has a problem. Did I—? No, here it is.” She sat upright holding a small black address book in her hands, and began searching through it.
Tearing his gaze from the length of golden legs her movements had bared, Brian cleared his throat strongly and leaned against the low dresser. He wondered how long it would take for him to get over this strange inability to think straight in her presence. “The maid has a problem?”
“Uh-huh,” Serena responded absently. “Oh, here it is.” She reached for the phone. “This’ll just take a minute, darling, then I’ll—Hello, Matt?”
Brian felt his throat tighten as he reflected that she never used an endearment unless her mind was on something else. Consciously Serena never stooped to even the mildest emotional blackmail. Never by word, look, or gesture did she indicate possessiveness toward him.
He forced the thoughts from his mind and listened to her end of the conversation.
“Am I what? Well, I’m sorry I woke you; I keep forgetting the time zones. Of course it’s important! Matt, stop yelling. You’ll wake Diane. Oh, is she? Tell her I’m sorry. All right. All right. Well, I have a case for you. The little boy’s name is Scotty Jenkins. Denver. I’ve given your name to his mother; she’ll alert the hospital so they’ll have the records ready for you. No, Matt, it’s just that the bills are breaking her. No, I have a feeling the attending doctor is a little too eager to schedule surgery. Probably—eventually—but it may not be necessary just yet. The foundation can handle it. Right. Well, you did such a good job on—”
Serena’s eyes focused on Brian and flickered slightly; she didn’t complete the sentence.
“Will you, Matt? Thank you. Yes. And I’m sorry for waking you, really. Okay. Bye.”
She put the receiver in its cradle and rose to her feet, smiling at Brian. “Are we still going riding? I know I packed boots—”
As she passed him to go to the closet, Brian caught her hands and stopped her. “What’s wrong with the little boy?” he asked quietly.
Standing between his knees, Serena linked her hands together behind his neck. “A heart defect, poor kid,” she answered readily. “Peggy’s nearly frantic about him. I noticed she was worried about something, so when I saw her in the hall I asked her to come in. She needed to talk. Anyway, I happen to know of a foundation that takes care of hospital and surgical bills for kids with medical problems. Matt’s a cardiac specialist; he’s on the board,” she finished.
Brian searched her face intently. “And who was it he did such a good job on?”
“Lots of people,” she said evasively.
He had never thought of himself as an overly perceptive man, but Brian had discovered that faculty sharpened in the last weeks—and particularly in the last days. “Who, Serena?”
She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Me.”
“You?” He felt shaken, and must have looked it.
“It was a long time ago, Brian. I was a child. It’s not uncommon. I was born with a minor heart defect, which was corrected by surgery. And that’s all.” Her voice was matter-of-fact.
“You don’t have a scar,” he stated.
“Oddly enough, any scars I get fade away after a while. It’s a good thing, too, because otherwise I’d look like a road map. I was a tomboy—always falling out of trees and coming home bruised and scratched.”
The hands at her waist drew her suddenly closer, and Brian rested his forehead against hers. He felt cold. “There isn’t any danger now?”
“None at all,” she said cheerfully. “I have a perfectly normal heart.” She kissed him; only when they were alone together was she demonstrative. “Now, are we going riding?”
“Maybe we—”
Serena stopped him with another kiss. “That’s why I hadn’t told you,” she said softly. “Brian, I’m fine. Ask Josh. Or call Daddy. Look, didn’t I beat you at tennis yesterday?”
He smiled slowly. “Your backhand beat me.”
“Well, then.”
Brian hugged her hard. He still felt shaken, almost sick, as though someone had kicked him in the stomach. And his compulsion to hold her now made it nearly impossible to release her and smile as if he were reassured. “All right. We’ll go riding this afternoon. I’ll call the desk and arrange for the horses.”
“And I’ll get dressed.” She grinned at him and headed for the closet while he sat on the bed and made the call.
She went into the bathroom to dress, and it was, Brian realized, yet another subtle indication that Serena would not attempt to tie him to her. As familiar as he was with her body now, and even though she was never shy with him, Serena was also never casual.
If she undressed in front of him, it was because he started things—and she always responded instantly to whatever he initiated. In bed with him, she abandoned herself, always warmly responsive and eager, and only there would she allow herself to be the first to touch, the first to kiss. If he touched her in public, she responded; the very rare touches of her own were made only when something had distracted her.
In effect, she claimed none of a lover’s rights, except when she lay in his arms.
Brian wanted to tell her, strongly, that those rights were hers. That it was her right to touch him on impulse, no matter where they were or who was watching. “Treat me like your lover!” he wanted to say. “Share my room as well as my bed. Don’t leave me to dress, as if even that small part of our lives is separate. Let me brush your lovely hair for you, fasten your dress. Let me watch while your tilt your head in that curiously feminine way while you put on earrings. Let me share all the casual, unguarded gestures of lovers….”
He couldn’t tell her. He had denied any future for them; she had accepted that. He had no right to demand.
Brian heard Serena humming in the bathroom; he knew she would be completely ready when she came out. Dressed, hair arranged in whatever style she’d chosen, light makeup and jewelry in place.
She was a woman who would notice the distress of a maid, care enough to find the source of that distress, and offer compassionate help. A woman sensitive enough to see the fine distinction between an affair with a future, and one with none. And to act accordingly.
No matter what it might cost her.
Brian knew now that Serena would never again allow him to see any pain he would cause her. She had seen his pain that first morning, and she possessed the special quality of wanting to protect others from hurt whenever she could.
She didn’t speak of the future, she imposed no emotional demands, and on the rare occasion that she spoke of the pleasure they found together, the word she used was a cheerful chemistry.
She had not spoken of love since that first morning.
When they were together, when he could look at her lovely, tranquil face or hold her in his arms, Brian forgot his own emotions. It was during the moments he spent alone that he felt tense and unsure, that his mind was groping toward something it couldn’t see, couldn’t recognize.
“You’re such a patient man,” Serena told him readily. �
�Are you starving? I am.”
“What else is new?” Brian said, his voice dry as he rose to his feet.
Refusing to be offended by this reference to her remarkable appetite, she preceded him to the door. She was wearing jeans that could have doubled as her skin, and a filmy silk blouse the exact shade of her gray eyes. Her hair was worn in a single braid, the style emphasizing her delicate bone structure.
Brian wondered if breathing was truly necessary to life; he didn’t seem to do much of it around her.
He caught her hand as they walked toward the elevators, and held it firmly. It was only when the elevator opened to the lobby that he remembered a question he had wanted to ask her. “This foundation you mentioned—”
“Oh, damn! I’m glad you reminded me; I need to call the director. Why don’t you get us a table while I use the phone?” She waited for his nod, then headed off toward the bank of telephones near the desk.
Brian made certain the private investigator was on duty in the lobby, then headed for the restaurant. He ran into Josh as the other man was leaving, and while they stood idly talking he asked Serena’s brother about the foundation.
“Serena’s?” Josh nodded. “They do a hell of a lot for sick kids. She conned me out of an endowment years ago, and Stuart too. Started it with her own money, of course, but—”
“You mean it’s her foundation?”
“Sorry, I thought you knew.” Josh looked at him rather curiously. “It’s one of hers. I’m a trustee, and so is Stuart. Serena set up the policies, and of course she made sure we could help every kid with a skinned knee.” He chuckled.
Brian cleared his throat carefully. “Look, I know Serena is a hell of a lot more intelligent than she lets on, but just how much more? I mean, foundations, policies—”
Josh looked at him seriously for a moment. There had been no constraint between the two men since Brian and Serena had become lovers, probably because Josh was an unusual kind of brother. And also because he genuinely liked Brian.
He smiled faintly. “We both know she is a multilayered creature, our Serena.” He waited for Brian’s nod, then said dryly, “One of those layers just happens to be composed of a keen business mind that I would dearly love to have on any or all of my corporate boards. She graduated from Stanford, you know. Top honors. She minored in business.”