by Amii Lorin
No! The voice of reason denied that possibility. A similarly worded note from a man like Larry Gordon would have left no doubt of a brush-off. But not from Adam. Adam was the exact opposite of the Larry Gordons of the world. Wasn't he?
Fighting tears and a demoralizing sense of rejection, Jen hung on to the phrase But not from Adam through a glass of juice, the subsequent trip through the lobby, and right past the two people stationed at the entrance doors.
"Jen?"
The sharp sound of Liz's voice shattered the protective shell of concentration Jen had drawn around herself. Unaware that her face had a shockingly fragile look, or that her eyes betrayed her fear, Jen twisted her lips into a grim smile.
"Good morning Liz, Ted," Jen greeted the couple in what she hoped was a carefree tone. Their facial expressions left little doubt that she'd failed.
"What's wrong, honey?"
Sudden tears, fiercely hot, filled Jen's eyes at Ted's tone; he sounded so much like her father. Her poor excuse for a smile faded as she blinked back the tears.
"It's something to do with Adam, isn't it?" Ted went on softly.
"He's gone," Jen whispered starkly. "He left around six this morning." Swallowing convulsively, Jen looked around distractedly. "He left a note but—Ted, I'm afraid I've been a fool—" Her words trailed off as her voice became caught in the thickness of her throat. Moving jerkily, she put her hand out to push open the large door. A firm hand on her arm stopped her erratic motion.
"Jen, wait!" Though still soft, Ted's tone held enough of a command to halt Jen's flight. "I feel positive there's a good reason for Adam's sudden departure. He's not the type to—"
"How can you know?" Jen interrupted wildly. "How could any of us really know what type he is?"
Liz's softly gasped "Jen!" brought realization of the shrillness of her voice. Breathing deeply in an effort to control the surge of emotion over reason, Jen went on more quietly, "Maybe our judgment was clouded by what you yourself called 'snow fever,' Ted."
"I don't believe that, honey," Ted disagreed sternly. "I think you're too levelheaded to be caught up in something like that, and I've been in too many similar situations to get carried away with it."
And yet you latched onto Liz as quickly—no, more quickly—than that stranger latched onto Lisa, Jen argued silently. Aloud she murmured tiredly, "I want very much to believe that, Ted, but I—I have this fear that maybe Adam strung a line and I, very accommodatingly, swallowed the bait." Glancing up at him, she managed a weak smile. "I trusted him completely, and right now I'm trying to hang on to that trust. Please don't look so worried, Ted. Misplaced trust or not, I assure you I'll live."
Within the few steps required to reach the bus Jen somehow managed to compose her features into an expressionless mask. Smiling and nodding at the several greetings called out to her, she made her way along the bus's narrow aisle to the seat she'd occupied previously.
"You look like you're either still half asleep or stoned, and even knowing you such a short time, I'm sure it's the first and not the second."
Jen smiled bleakly at Lisa's teasing quip and nodded briefly at a crumpled-looking, sleeping Terry.
"It must be contagious. Terry looks completely out of it."
"Dance lag," Lisa laughed softly. "I practically had to drag her off the dance floor at four thirty this morning."
Four thirty! A wave of despair washed over Jen at the sudden memory of where she'd been at exactly four thirty. Dropping her handbag, cap, and mittens onto the aisle seat, Jen slid into the empty seat next to the window with a muffled, "I'm about ready to join her in dreamland. Wake me when the bus pulls into Barton's parking lot."
Lisa's soft chuckle and easy "Gotcha" relieved Jen's concern that her hint that she didn't want to be bothered during the return trip had not been received as an insult.
After making herself as comfortable as possible in the limited space, Jen shifted her mental gear into neutral and closed her eyes, determined to sleep and not think. She was only partially successful. Drifting in and out of a doze, she heard the bus door close; heard the murmur of conversation as Liz moved slowly down the aisle counting heads; felt Liz's presence and ensuing perusal when she paused briefly at the empty seat beside Jen. The last thing she was aware of was the lumbering motion of the large vehicle when Ted drove off the lot.
"What time is it?"
Terry's question, issued around a yawn, wakened her. Eyes closed, Jen waited for Lisa's reply. It came softly.
"Twelve fifty-one exactly, and we've been on the road for about two hours." Lisa's tone held a rueful note. "I sure hope we stop to eat soon. The toast and coffee I had for breakfast lost its power about an hour ago."
Jen grimaced at the mention of food and hunched her shoulders inside her jacket. At that moment she was positive she'd never want to eat again. Nevertheless, when Ted maneuvered the bus into the parking lot of a large restaurant some half hour later, Jen duly filed out with everyone else. This time they were not expected and the word was do your own thing, but please, do it within an hour.
Sitting in a booth with Ted and Liz, Jen pointedly avoided the subject of one Adam Banner. Shooting her worried glances but following her lead, they made a desultory attempt at conversation.
"Are we going to see anything of each other after we get home, Jen?" Liz asked somewhat hesitantly.
"Yes, of course," Jen answered quickly. "Call me some Saturday and we'll have lunch."
The look that crossed Liz's face, the way her fingers clutched the saltshaker she'd been toying with, made Jen realize how hollow and insincere her reply had sounded. Talk about classic brush-offs.
"I mean it, Liz," Jen insisted warmly, "I seldom work on Saturday, and then only in the morning. I could meet you for lunch somewhere, and then we could spend the afternoon shopping."
"And if I'm free, and you let me know in advance," Ted inserted, "I'll meet you later and take you both out for dinner."
Jen had to work at not letting her surprise show, for she had been sure that Ted and Liz had been indulging in a weekend fling. Hadn't Ted mentioned that he lived out near Harrisburg? Rigidly controlling her disbelief, Jen teased, "I never turn down an invitation for a free meal."
Surprisingly, Jen found her appetite restored with her first bite of the char-broiled cheeseburger the waitress placed in front of her. After polishing off the sandwich and the side order of french fries that came with it, she pushed her plate aside and drew her second cup of tea forward with a sigh of repletion.
"Now you look like you might live," Ted commented wryly. "When you sat down you looked like you'd been boiled, starched, and hung out to dry."
Jen obligingly gave him the smile he'd so obviously been angling for. With a nod of satisfaction Ted ushered them out of the restaurant and back onto the bus.
Jen's smile disappeared after she'd once again settled her long frame into the narrow seat.
"Going back to sleep, Jen?" Lisa inquired as Jen depressed the button that tilted the seat back.
"If I can," Jen replied softly, hopefully.
This time it didn't work. The numbing blankness of sleep, or even drowsiness, eluded her. Instead of lulling, the low murmur of conversation from the seat behind her tugged at her attention. Unwittingly she was cast in the role of eavesdropper.
"Believe it or not, he didn't lay a hand on me," Terry informed Lisa. "All we did was talk. That guy is so in love with his fiancée, he doesn't know which way is up. And I got the impression, more from what he didn't say than from what he did, that that sweet thing is leading him around like a trained poodle." Even though Jen mentally gave Larry Gordon's frustrated friend a pat on the back for decent behavior, she felt the same disgust for his fiancée that laced Terry's tone. For several seconds, as she mused on the stupidity of that sweet thing, the talk from behind swirled over her head, vaguely heard but not registering until a statement from Lisa made itself felt.
"Yes, I went to bed with him." The boldly, if softly spoke
n words jolted through Jen like an electric shock. But there was an even bigger shock to come, for Lisa continued in a dreamy tone, "And he's serious, I mean really serious. We're talking marriage-city."
Lisa's lightly flippant tone did not hide the underlying excitement and happiness bubbling beneath the surface. Jen's lids closed against the sting that attacked her eyes. As Lisa went on blithely, Jen's hands gripped the seat's armrest in silent protest.
"Keith's a salesman, and he lives out near Pittsburg. He has to finish the sales route swing he is on now, but he's coming to Norristown to see me before he goes home."
God, the same routine, Jen thought sickly. Songs and dances and fancy repartee, only in this instance, the words to the song were changed to fit the situation. Jen could almost hear the man's oh-so-very-sincere voice. I've got to finish my route, baby, but I'll come to you as soon as I can.
Jen moved her head restlessly against the seat back. She didn't want to hear Lisa's story. It was much too similar to her own and, spoken aloud, sounded much too improbable, too brief encounterish.
"And you believed him? Oh, Lisa, that has got to be the oldest line going!" Terry exclaimed softly. "Sez you," Lisa returned smugly. "And, yes, I believe him. Not only because I want to, but because he has proven himself to me."
"In what way?" Terry's skeptical question echoed the one in Jen's mind.
"By speaking to my parents when I called them to let them know I was safe," Lisa replied loftily. "He introduced himself to my father and mother in turn, accepted an invitation to dinner next Sunday, and then, after hanging up, he called his own parents and introduced me to them. And as if that was not enough proof, he asked his mother to call mine and assure her of his sterling character." Her soft, delighted laughter rippled raggedly along Jen's rigid spine. "But there's still more. He gave me, as a token, his class ring that—as you can see—I'm wearing on a piece of string around my neck."
Jen was electrified. Without her awareness, her hand released the armrest and moved to the base of her throat to begin a fruitless search. On Thursday night she had labeled Lisa a fool. In her arrogance, and from her citadel of virginity, she had made moral judgments on just about everyone. And then, less than twenty-four hours later, she had—Jen shifted uncomfortably as the word "eagerly" slithered into her mind—broken her own moral code. So maybe, she mused, in one form or another, we are all fools.
The motion of her fingers crawling agitatedly around her neck brought realization of their action—and the object of their search. With the realization came memories— sweet, painful, and a little bitter.
She had been awakened the previous afternoon by erotic tremors rippling through her body. The source of those tremors was the teasing play of Adam's lips. Moving with infinite slowness, his mouth explored the upper part of her back, inch by minute inch.
Still half asleep, Jen's body had moved sensuously in time with the rippling tremors. Her squirming had alerted Adam to her wakefulness. He had murmured something she didn't understand before brushing her hair aside to expose her neck. Now, a shiver feathered her nape at the memory of the sensations the touch of Adam's mouth against her skin had generated. So vivid was the memory, so intense the feelings inside her body, Jen lost all sense of time and place. She was no longer cramped into a narrow seat on a bus full of people. In the grip of memory she was warm and comfortable, curled lazily against Adam's smooth, hard body, his desire-husky voice barely reaching her ear.
"Do you like that?" Adam's warm breath, fluttering over the supersensitive skin at her nape, drew an involuntary moan from her throat. "Does it do funny little things to you?"
"Yes," Jen gasped softly on a quickly expelled breath.
"And this?" The warm, breathy flutter, the excitingly moist touch of his lips, moved down her spine.
"Oh, yes." Jen's gasp had a choking sound now.
"And this?" Adam's tongue, feeling to Jen like a hot, licking flame, drew circles in the hollow at the base of her spine.
"Ooooh—God, Adam!!"
Jen began to feel slightly delirious as Adam's mouth and tongue climbed back up her spine. By the time he turned her to face him she had the uncanny sensation of floating inches off the bed.
"This time there will be no pain." Adam's teeth nipped playfully at her lower lip in-between teasing kisses. "From now on it's sweet pleasure for both of us."
The truth in his promise was soon borne out. Jen had had no inkling of the varied and exquisite pleasure the act of making love could give. And the most delightful thing was that not only was the pleasure derived from Adam making love to her, the pleasure she derived from making love to him was every bit as wild, if not more so.
The tremors that awakened her the second time were of an altogether different kind. Jen knew it was late because most of the light had gone from the day. Except for the tepid tea, she had had nothing to eat or drink since breakfast. And the tremors rippling through her midsection were caused by her stomach's growling demand for food.
Slowly, carefully, she pushed back the covers. As she moved to sit up, Adam's arm curled around her waist, holding her still.
"Where are you going?" His voice was low, sleep-fuzzy.
"To my room," Jen answered softly, simply.
"Why?" Fully awake now, Adam's tone had grown an edge.
"Because I'm hungry," Jen laughed. Turning inside the circle of his arm, she leaned to him to kiss the side of his jaw. "And because I want to have a shower and get dressed." Having decided she liked the taste of him, she trailed her lips to his chin. The low growl her action drew from his throat gave her a feeling of power that enabled her to add, boldly, "And since it's your fault I missed lunch, I'm going to let you pay for my dinner."
"Really?" Adam's soft drawl was a delight to Jen's ears. "And here I had convinced myself that since I had brought some mild diversion to an otherwise dull afternoon"—he paused to nip gently at her lobe—"you would insist on repaying me by picking up the dinner check."
"Adam Banner!"
Rich male laughter followed her shocked exclamation.
Pulling her tightly to him, Adam kissed her breathless before bothering to reply.
"You rang?"
"Your ears will ring from my blows if you ever again even hint that I would pay for—"
"You mean it wasn't worth the price of a dinner?" Adam interrupted in mock astonishment.
"Let me up this instant, you devil." Jen's command had very little force, issued as it was against his lips.
"A perfect match," Adam declared contentedly. "A devil and an angel." His mouth crushed hers for long moments, and Jen was beginning to have that floating sensation when he lifted his head to whisper, "I'd better let you go, my snow angel, or you'll be lucky to get out of here tomorrow morning for breakfast."
Jen sighed blissfully as she stood under the hot, revitalizing shower spray twenty minutes later. She was in love, and it was every bit as wonderful as she had hoped it would be. She felt fantastically good. Adam was perfect. The motel was perfect. The snow was perfect. Even she herself was perfect, if a little silly at the moment. Laughing aloud she shut off the spray and stepped out of the tub. As she patted at the rivulets glistening on her skin, Jen suddenly realized she was tinglingly aware of herself as a woman.
Standing on tiptoes, she examined as much of herself as possible in the small bathroom mirror. Not bad, I suppose, Jen thought, her eyes noting in detail the upper part of her torso. A little lanky, maybe. Lips pursed, she cocked her head, her glance resting on her breasts. At least they are reasonably full, she mused, and high. Wide-eyed, she watched a rosy-hued stain creep up her neck and mount her cheeks as the echo of Adam's whispered, "Your breasts are beautiful, Jennifer. They fit my cupped hands exactly, and make my lips hungry for more" came back to her tauntingly.
The very depth of her response to his hands, his lips, and above all, to his body, had been a shocking revelation to Jen. She had gloried in his all encompassing touch and, in turn, had reveled in the fee
l of him against her own hands and lips and body.
The heat stinging her cheeks, the tingling in the hardening tips of her breasts, and the leg-weakening tightness in her thighs startled Jen out of her erotic reverie.
"You are a bona fide diz," Jen chided her reflection softly. "And if you are not very, very careful, that very, very sexy guy is going to wrap you up and stick you in his pocket." Somehow the soft admonition had the opposite effect than the one desired, for the girl in the mirror grinned expectantly and begged, "When? When?"
The door- to a room a short distance down the hall closed as Jen, finally composed and dressed to vanquish, left her room. Her emergence was greeted by a low, appreciative male whistle. Glancing up, Jen's smile changed to a frown of consternation. Larry Gordon ambled toward her, his hot-looking eyes insolently stripping her of the soft, clingy, spaghetti-strapped dress she'd moments before slipped into.
"You look good enough to eat," Larry praised unoriginally.
Not by you! Jen thought waspishly. Aloud she managed a tight "Thank you, Larry."
Coming to a stop beside her, he turned to face her, one hand reaching out to grasp her arm.
"Have dinner with me."
Jen's back stiffened at the command—for it had been a command.
"No, thank you, I—"
"C'mon, honey, loosen up a little," Larry cajoled in a tone Jen felt sure was calculated to melt the heart of the most frigid of maidens. "We'll have a good dinner, a few drinks, a couple of slow and easy dances and then"—he paused to grin boyishly—"we'll really have some fun."
Yech! Jen was hard put to keep the rude noise to herself.
This creep, she thought scathingly, obviously believed he was Robert Redford, Adonis, and Lord Byron all rolled into one irresistible entity.
"Larry," Jen began patiently, "I don't want to have dinner, or drinks, or dances or"—his grasp tightening on her arm snapped her patience—"or anything else. Now, take your hand off my arm," she finished icily.
"What's wrong with you anyway?" Rather then loosening, his grip tightened still more. "You hide out all day like some kind of recluse, you don't join in on the fun. I know, because I've asked, that you've barely spoken to any of the men on the tour. Are you made of ice, for chrissake?" His mouth twisted nastily. "Or do you like girls?"