by Amii Lorin
The affronted waiter withdrew stiffly, and, pushing the salad around with her fork, Vichy went back to thinking of the cause of her anguish—one Bennett Larkin. Dammit, where was he?
Possibly signing in at another hotel this very minute! Vichy brightened at this new thought. Of course! What an absolute nit she was being. She had seen for herself on her way in how crammed full the city was. The possibility was very real that Ben had been unable to secure a room in this hotel. But that did not preclude the possibility that he'd booked into another hotel.
Her reasoning had the effect of not only lightening her mood, but of sharpening her appetite as well. Suddenly hungry, Vichy dug into her salad. When she lifted her cup to drain the last of her coffee, the light became tangled in her gold bracelet, causing the metal to glitter as if it were winking at her. At least that was the whimsical thought that sprang into her mind with the reflecting gleam.
Hiding her smile behind the cup, Vichy told herself she had no more sense than a teenager, yet her optimism was restored to the point that she bestowed a brilliant smile on the now-confused waiter as she paid her check and left the restaurant.
Vichy stayed in her room all day, doggedly hanging on to her optimism as the day waned. At seven, her confidence slipping rapidly, she left her room long enough to have a quick meal. She was gone less than an hour, and after she returned she paced restlessly, berating herself for her lack of pride. It would have been obvious to everyone but a besotted fool that he simply was not going to show up, she told herself scathingly. And still she paced—waiting, waiting, waiting.
A few minutes after ten, tired, yet unable to sit still, Vichy paused by the desklike dresser to shake a cigarette out of the pack laying there. She had placed the cigarette between her lips and was raising her disposable lighter to it when her eyes came to rest on the already overflowing ashtray.
"Damn," she muttered aloud in self-disgust. She had cut down on her smoking drastically during the last few weeks, and now, here she was, laying down a veritable smoke screen.
Flinging the unlit cigarette onto the dresser, she turned and stamped into the bathroom. You just don't learn, do you? Vichy chided her reflection in the mirror above the sink as she scrubbed the acrid taste from her mouth with her toothbrush. Men, in general, are not to be trusted, she advised her bleak-eyed image, and gamblers more so than most.
She was wiping her lips with a hand towel when she heard the light tap on the door.
"Vichy?"
Ben! The hand towel dropped to the floor—and her own advice dropped from her consciousness—unnoticed as Vichy went running out of the bathroom as if the skirt of her robe were on fire.
She wasted several precious seconds fumbling with the lock, and then she pulled the door open, exclaiming softly, "Where have you—" That was as far as she got before she was enveloped in a bone-cracking embrace.
"Oh, God, I thought I'd never get here," Ben groaned as his mouth honed in on hers. His lips were cold, but they warmed rapidly on contact with hers.
Vaguely, Vichy heard the door close before she gave herself to the sensations his hungry kiss was creating. Inside the protection of his crushing hold, she forgot the hours spent waiting.
"You taste like toothpaste," Ben grinned as he lifted his head to stare into her face. "You weren't going to bed without me, were you?"
Vichy felt her throat close with the emotion that welled up inside. Oh, God, he looked so, so—beautiful! She had known she was in love with him. But how very deeply in love became evident now. She had never been the clinging type, yet now, suddenly, she wanted to cling to this man for all she was worth. The strength of the emotion raging through her was frightening. Grasping at her swiftly dissolving sense of self-preservation, she loosened her hold and attempted to move away from him.
"What's wrong?" Ben demanded softly, his arms tightening to keep her close. His grin vanishing, he frowned down at her.
"Nothing's wrong," Vichy shook her head to emphasize her denial. "I—I thought you weren't coming," she rushed on in a whisper.
Ben's hand came up to capture her chin and give it a light shake before he dipped his head to kiss her mouth gently.
"I told you I'd be here, didn't I?" he growled softly.
"Yes, but—"
"But I got hung up in a family day at my parents'," he cut her off. "I had planned to take Chad there early this morning, stay a short time, and then leave to come here." He sighed. "Besides Mike and his family, the house was full of assorted aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews. I hadn't seen some of them in years, and I just couldn't walk out on them." He smiled ruefully. "As it was, I spent the majority of the day glancing at the clock. I finally escaped after supper."
He paused long enough to steal a quick kiss. Then, releasing her, he ordered, "Get dressed and pack up. We're getting out of here."
"Dressed? Pack? Getting out!" Vichy repeated stupidly. "What do you mean? Getting out to where?"
Ben walked across the room to pull her suitcases from the top of the clothes rack. "I've booked a room in a motel on the outskirts of the city, practically on the beach." He tossed the cases on the bed and opened them before adding, "We'll be more comfortable there."
"But, I—" Her protest stuck in her throat when he whipped around to face her, his expression settling into harsh, austere lines.
"But what?" he clipped. "You had planned on us staying together, hadn't you?"
Had she? Vichy smoothed her hand over her tangled hair. She had really not consciously thought about what their sleeping arrangements would be, but, yes, she admitted to herself honestly, subconsciously, she had known they would stay together. Vichy felt her face grow warm as she whispered the admission. "Yes."
"All right then." Ben's locked tight expression relaxed.
"Surely you didn't think we could stay here?" A wave of his long hand indicated the confining area of the small room. "We'd be bumping into each other every other time we turned around. I stopped to check out the place and drop off my own stuff before coming here. It's large and roomy." A teasing smile pulled at his lips and his sherry eyes glittered at her. "And the bed's almost twice the size of this one." He jerked his thumb at the bed beside him. "Now, come on, Vichy. Pull a pair of slacks on over your nightgown, throw your things in these suitcases, and let's get out of here." He grinned rakishly. "I've got the car sitting where it shouldn't be, and I asked to have your car brought out."
"Pull a pair of slacks over my nightgown? Are you crazy?" she cried. "I can't go out like that."
"Sez who," Ben retorted. "You're going to wear a coat, so who'll know?" Now his grin was downright wicked. "Besides, it'll save time once we get to our room. If we even get there," he added pointedly.
It was the "our room" that did the trick. Vichy so liked the sound of it, she did exactly as he'd directed. The entire move, from packing to unpacking again, was completed in less than an hour.
As Ben promised, the room was large, an efficiency with a tiny kitchen area at one end and the rest a combination bedroom-living room.
"There's another reason why I was so late getting here," Ben said after he'd stashed their valises out of the way. Strolling into the kitchen area, he opened the cabinet above the sink and the door to the small boxlike refrigerator. "I stopped to do the grocery shopping," he grinned, indicating the full shelves. "Are you hungry?"
Suddenly she was, ravenously. "Starving," Vichy admitted, grinning back at him.
"And me," he agreed in a husky murmur that sent little tingles up Vichy's back. Walking to her slowly, he slid his arms around her waist and drew her close to his hard body. "But that will have to wait." Bending his head, he tasted her mouth with his tongue. "Mmm, yes," he whispered. "I'll have you for dessert."
All thoughts of food went flying out of Vichy's mind. In fact all thoughts of any kind dissolved, replaced by a burning need to appease the four-week-long hunger of a more earthy nature.
Sighing his name, Vichy curved her soft body to th
e rigid length of his, a fresh flare of excitement surging through her at his immediate and obvious response.
"God, I want you," Ben groaned huskily against her parted lips.
"I have wanted you continually for the last four weeks."
Very slowly, as if to savor every minute, his trembling fingers betraying the intensity of his arousal, Ben removed her robe and then her nightgown. Without touching her, his sherry-colored eyes sparking with red shades of light, he stood still, his gaze drinking in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst.
Motionless, her breathing painfully shallow, Vichy withstood his devouring glance until she began to tremble visibly.
"Ben, please," she pleaded in a throaty whimper. "I need you so badly, I hurt. If you don't touch me, love me soon—"
The room tilted as, with a half growl, half groan, Ben swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed.
There is something extremely erotic about the glitter of gold when it is the only adornment on a woman's unclothed body.
Vichy came to life with the touch of cool metal against her exposed skin. The air was chilly and even before she opened her eyes she moved with unconscious sensuality toward the warmth of the body beside her. Her movement intensified the feeling of metal against her skin and, frowning in confusion, she opened her eyes and glanced down.
She had not been imagining the metallic coolness! Eyes widening, Vichy stared at the length of gold draped across the rounded fullness of her breasts. It was a necklace, the match to the bracelet that even now circled her wrist, unclasped and strung across her body.
Stiffening, Vichy stared at the expensive, glittering trinket that looked almost indecent lying there against her naked breasts.
What was this, some sort of payment for services rendered? The sickening thought jolted through her mind, freezing her already stiffened form.
"Merry Christmas."
The tenderness embodied in Ben's soft tone banished the degrading question. Twisting her head, Vichy stared up into eyes so warm the chill was banished from her body as well.
"I couldn't resist." A devilish smile pulling at his lips, his eyes shifted to the adornment, then back to hers. "It was wrapped so beautifully too." His smile grew to reveal even, white teeth. "Like a little kid, I couldn't wait for you to wake up and open it. I wanted to see it against your soft skin." Now his smile held pure wickedness.
"In my shifting around while opening it, the covers kinda slipped to your waist. And I just couldn't resist placing it on such an enticing spot." His face sobered and his tone took on the sound of an anxious little boy. "Does it please you?"
"Yes," Vichy whispered around a sudden tightness in her throat. "Very much. Thank you."
He was lying beside her, propped on his elbow, and now he lowered his head to bury his face in the side of her neck.
"I'm glad," he murmured huskily. "Because you please me in so many different ways."
Trailing tiny, exciting kisses, his lips explored her neck, her face, and then her mouth before he lifted his head again.
"You appear so calm, so self-contained, almost detached." Ben's eyes smiled, as if with a secret. "No one looking at you would believe that behind that cool exterior hides a very passionate woman."
Vichy's cheeks flared with warmth and she lowered her lashes at his teasing chuckle. She couldn't deny his assertion. How could she after last night? Her flush deepened as she relived in her mind the hours she'd spent in his arms.
After laying her gently on the bed, he had undressed with slow deliberation, his eyes compelling her to watch him. Once again Vichy had been struck by the beauty of his tall, slender, yet muscular form.
She had been burning for him by the time he came to her, and the fire consuming her had met its equal in the blaze inside him. Together their hungry fires had caused a sensual explosion. Touching, with hands and mouths and their entire bodies, they had driven each other to the very edge of pleasurable madness before, in silent agreement, they had joined together in a near frenetic search for shattering completion.
Now, her whole body warm with memory, a shiver feathered her skin as Ben's forefinger lightly outlined the ribbon of gold adorning her breasts.
"You're so very beautiful," he whispered against her parted lips. "And I'd love to spend the entire day right here with you, but"—he paused for effect, his warm, sherry eyes beginning to dance—"I'm positively weak from hunger for real food."
Feigning indignation, Vichy gathered her strength and pushed him out of the bed, onto the floor.
"Just for that, you get to cook breakfast," Ben growled in an attempt to conceal the laughter that erupted from his throat.
CHAPTER NINE
Thus began what was to become for Vichy a week out of time.
It was a slice of life's rarely offered perfection, beginning with the breakfast she served Ben that consisted of eggs, bacon, juice, toast, coffee, and his Christmas present, which he accepted with genuine surprise and delight.
After breakfast, bundled up against the cold late December wind, they walked the deserted beach arm in arm. The walk was to become a morning ritual for them, one that was always followed by another, more basic and warming ritual.
"I wish you didn't have to go to work," Ben sighed that first morning when they were once again cocooned within the warmth of the bedcovers and each other's arms.
"But I do have to go to work." She softly forestalled the request not to go that, she could discern from his expression, was hovering on his lips. "I have signed a contract."
Her eyes begged him to understand. "I have never broken a contract, Ben. Not for illness or any other reason. I can't now." She did not add that, as this particular contract was her last, it was a matter of pride for her to end her professional career with her record unblemished.
"Okay, I'm sorry." A rueful smile curved his lips. "And your assumption was correct. I was about to ask you to renege." He kissed her mouth lingeringly. "We'll just have to make the most of the time we do have together."
And make the most of it they did. They laughed a lot, and made love a lot, and, during the hours she was not working, behaved as if they were the only two people in the world.
In effect, what they were doing was playing house. Vichy knew it, but refused to examine it too closely.
Ben had made no commitment to her, nor had he asked for one from her. Yet, like a bud slowly unfurling to full bloom under the warmth of the sun, Vichy's love for him blossomed with each succeeding day.
They talked, at times casually, at others animatedly, about anything that came to mind, sometimes agreeing, other times arguing on a range of subjects, including politics and religion. And, although their conversation covered both the impersonal and the personal, not once did either of them venture into the future, beyond Vichy's present engagement.
If she allowed herself to think about it, it hurt, so she simply did not allow herself to think about it. Hanging on to each moment greedily, Vichy pushed all outside considerations to the very back of her mind. Included within those considerations was the beginning of a twinge of doubt concerning her irregular monthly cycle.
During her working hours at the hotel, Vichy's entire person, including her voice, reflected the happiness Ben so lovingly created inside her when they were closeted together in their so carefully guarded hideaway.
Ironically, now that she had made the decision to quit, her audiences responded to the new life in her voice with what amounted to wild enthusiasm. Being normal, Vichy lapped up their enthusiasm like so much cream. Also being normal, Ben displayed a delightful tendency to be jealous of every male member of her audience who evidenced the slightest interest in her.
Ben sat at the same table he had occupied weeks before, through every performance, glowering and scowling—to the growing amusement of her same back-up group of the weeks before.
By Tuesday, barely able to contain her own amusement any longer, Vichy, her lips twitching, advised him to go lose some of his mo
ney at the tables, adding, chidingly, "Then you'll really have reason to scowl."
Ben had the grace to grin sheepishly. "Have I really been scowling?"
"Enough to break up the group." Vichy nodded, her blue eyes bright with laughter. "Especially Ken, on the drums. I half expect him to fall off his perch momentarily."
If being the cause of her back-ups' hilarity bothered Ben at all, he hid it well. Lifting his hand, he caressed her smooth cheek with his fingertips. "Okay, sweetheart," he smiled tenderly. "I'll make myself scarce." He turned to walk away, then paused and glanced back, his sherry eyes glittering. "And, Vichy, you can tell Ken I said he should go take a flying leap."
After that Ben's attendance at her performances was spasmodic, but when he did show up, he made a point of buying her back-ups a drink after the set, bantering back and forth with them easily.
When the last set was finished Wednesday, Vichy had to go on the hunt for Ben. Up until then she had skirted around the casino in her comings and goings as if the floor had been implanted with land mines.
Her progress was slow, as the room was packed with people, all apparently eager to risk their hard-earned money in hopes of pulling off a fantastic coup.
Mentally shrugging in her bewilderment over the number of people who were avid gamblers, Vichy inched her way through the spacious room, her glance bouncing off the faces of strangers in her search for one dear and familiar.
As she passed one row of slot machines a telltale ringing and a woman's excited scream alerted Vichy to the fact that a machine had been "hit." Pausing, she glanced down the narrow aisle, amazed at the crowd that had gathered around the laughing winner. Silently advising the woman to grab the winnings and run, positive the advice would be ignored if tendered aloud, Vichy moved away from the excited chatter.
Vichy finally spied Ben at one of the craps tables, the sight of his tall form bringing a catch to her throat and increasing her pulse rate. He was standing rather indolently, leaning against the side of the table, and his expression bespoke boredom. Lord, he looked elegant. His fashionably cut, three-piece chocolate brown suit hugged his wide shoulders and slim body as though it were in love with him. His shirt was the color of thick, rich cream, and contrasted perfectly with his dark suit and hair. His tie was almost the exact same shade as his sherry brown eyes.