Jordan hopped the tram to the Mandalay and slipped into the same bar and into the same seat where she’d first met Dez last night. She ordered the same imported beer and tried not to look like she was on a mission. God, what an adolescent idiot you’re being, she told herself. Waiting around here like some groupie hoping she’ll show. Could you be more pathetic? She couldn’t help herself though, and she wondered suddenly if it’d felt this way for any of the women who’d chased her—hoping Jordan would notice them, hoping she’d choose them, like trying to stand out on a shelf full of identical soup cans.
She finished her beer and ordered a second one. She’d drink it up, then leave. If Dez didn’t show, oh well. There would be absolutely no failure in going back to her room alone at the MGM, watching a little TV or reading. She’d already determined she was done with the one-night stands, fast sex and flimsy relationships. Done, done and done, she reminded herself. Yeah, right. Then why are you waiting around here hoping to get lucky with Dez Adams?
She began to argue with herself. Dez is not the same as the others. She’s interesting and mature and beautiful and incredibly talented. I’m only interested in her because she’s special. She’s not like the others. This is not like the other times!
As the beer in her glass diminished, so did the hope that she was succeeding in outwitting herself. So what if Dez was older and more mature than the Pop Tarts she’d dated. The end result she was hoping for was still the same as always—a satisfying fuck or two, maybe dinner, end of story. Same box, different label. Well, that crap wasn’t who she was anymore, no matter how alluring Dez was. Matter of fact, Dez could walk in here half naked with a blatant proposition and she would simply turn her down flat. Yeah, that’s what she’d do, by God, she’d say no. That’s—
“This seat taken?”
Oh, God! That unmistakable voice. “Help yourself.” Jordan turned and smiled, let her eyes drink Dez in. She’d changed out of her stage outfit into jeans and a loose white cotton blouse that showed enough cleavage for Jordan to have to cross her legs and will away the sudden wetness.
“So,” Dez answered softly, claiming the seat and signaling for a beer. “You’ve discovered my little secret about what I do for a living. I saw you in the audience tonight.”
“I guess you didn’t think to mention earlier that you’re a famous singer?”
“Well, if I was so famous, how come you didn’t recognize me?”
Jordan laughed and mentally scored a point for Dez. “At least I can’t be accused of being a groupie.”
Dez’s dark eyes glinted. “And I can’t be accused of taking advantage of an exuberantly willing fan.”
“Sounds like the perfect combination.”
Dez’s eyes were frank in their appraisal. “No. What would be perfect is getting out of here and going up to my room.”
Jordan didn’t quite believe she’d heard right. She also didn’t quite believe her luck. “Are you asking?”
Dez blinked, the only evidence of hesitation. “Yes.”
In the elevator, Dez’s eyes again swept over her body like a bold caress. No hesitation there, and no hesitation in the greedy smile that hinted at devouring Jordan in one bite. Oh, she could stand being devoured by Dez, plundered by those long fingers and strong hands, subjugated by those soft but demanding lips, immortalized by that mouth. Yes, Jordan thought with a little gasp of astonishment and a sly smile. I want to be your bitch tonight.
Inside the penthouse suite, Jordan barely gave a glance in the direction of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking The Strip. Its lights of bright pink and green and blue illuminated the otherwise dark room in a hazy glow, and Dez’s dark skin shone beautifully in the soft, dancing light.
“Care for a drink?” she asked.
“No.” Jordan walked up to Dez and boldly clasped her arms around her waist. “I only want you.”
Her lips claimed Dez’s. Dez closed her eyes and both women abandoned themselves to the kiss. Kissing wasn’t usually essential to Jordan, but was this woman good at it! Her lips were soft and assertive, playful yet bold in the way they responded. The kissing was a little like playing with fire, and yet the flame, so hot and hypnotic, beckoned in a way she could not resist. Maybe it was because she didn’t have to be in charge for once. She could let this very capable, very skilled and very sexy woman take the reins. Let her take what she wanted. And oh, she wanted to give to Dez. Dez’s tongue was now dancing inside her mouth, and then roughly she thrust Jordan up against the wall and began grinding—so slowly and sweetly—against her, that she wanted to melt on the spot.
Jordan moaned loudly, not caring that she was so weak and so desperately in need of a good fucking. Let Dez think she was in charge because, by God, she was. Her fingers were wending their way inside Jordan’s pants. They roamed there, bringing Jordan to a whole new level of wanting. She was so wet and so hard, and those fingers were massaging and tickling and exploring her, driving her insane, making her harder and wetter. It was almost too much.
“Oh, God,” Jordan uttered, breathless and shaking. She wouldn’t beg. Never had and never would, but dammit, if Dez didn’t give it all to her soon, she didn’t know what she would do. Her legs quivered, her pelvis rolled and pushed hard against Dez’s hand. Dez’s mouth was at her neck, kissing, sucking, nibbling, biting, whispering incomprehensible things. Oh, how she just wanted it hard and fast and now! Oh yes, hard hard hard! She might have even whispered it out loud, because Dez’s two fingers suddenly thrust deeply into her, filling her instantly. She jerked in response, then gushed new wetness and opened wider for Dez, wanting her deeper and faster. Her hips enthusiastically met each thrust, increasing the friction and depth. With a greed and hunger that knew no bounds, she wanted—needed—Dez’s mouth against her and her tongue inside her too, and the vision of this pushed her over the edge. She came with a ferocity that frightened her for a moment, having climbed to a great height and then fallen long and fast and hard. It frightened her that she might never be able to reach such heights again with anyone else. She was ruined now. Ruined and collapsed in this marvelously wet and quivering heap in Dez’s arms.
Moments later they were lying in the massive bed, naked and facing one another, caressing each other’s bodies as though they had all the time in the world. It was the antithesis of fast and hard, but oh, it was so sweet. It was going to be a very long and very satisfying night.
Chapter Thirteen
Claire
Standing outside her car, hand impatiently on her hip, she punched in Jordan’s cell phone number one last time, caught between exasperation and annoyance. Jordan hadn’t appeared at the appointed time in the lobby for their trip to the desert. Typical Jordan. She probably hooked up with some tramp last night and can’t get her ass out of bed this morning. The phone rang half a dozen times before Jordan finally picked up.
“Where the hell are you?”
“And a good morning to you too, Claire.”
“I thought you were coming with us today?”
Jordan laughed devilishly, making Claire instantly regret that she’d confided in Jordan her feelings about Amanda. Jordan would never let her forget this. She’d lord it over her, make fun of her for, oh, about the rest of her damned life. She shouldn’t have said anything, but she so desperately needed to talk to someone, and Dani and Shannon were definitely not the ones she could talk to. Jordan, however, was enjoying this far too much. Claire could practically hear her saying, Have fun you little lovebirds! Or perhaps, Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—some childish refrain like that. “Sorry, I can’t,” was all Jordan said.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I can’t, that’s what I mean. I’m busy today. Sorry, bud.” Another woman giggled in the background and Jordan whispered something unintelligible to her.
Shit. She should have figured Jordan would stand them up like this. It was unforgivable! “All right, fine.”
She disconnected angrily, then tried to scra
mble for an excuse to cancel the trip. She couldn’t possibly be alone with Amanda all day. Could she? They’d talk, and Amanda would ask all kinds of personal questions and they’d find even more things they had in common, and Amanda’s eyes and dimples and that gorgeous smile would melt her again and again, suck her in so deep that she’d forget about Ann, and she’d forget she was forty-seven years old, and she’d forget how crazy and inappropriate all this was. She’d be unable to resist acting like she had every right in the world to flirt and spend time with this adorable and wonderful young woman.
Christ, Claire, get a grip. It’s not like that. It’s not like that at all. It’s just your imagination going a little crazy after being alone so long. You can do this. You can have a nice day with a nice woman who’s practically family. And what’s the worst thing that could happen? It’s not like this new car is going to break down and your phone’s going to quit working and you’re going to have to shack up for the night with her in some little hick town motel with one room available and one bed that sags conveniently in the middle. Though it would be kind of fun, she had to admit.
“Something wrong?” Amanda asked as Claire climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Jordan can’t make it.”
“Oh. Is she all right?”
“Yup. Found something better to do I guess.” And someone better to do it with. She started the car, cranked up the air conditioning, and carefully pulled out of the parking lot.
After another moment of silence, Amanda asked, “Is everything okay?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I mean, with us taking off for the day like this.”
“Sure. What makes you think it wouldn’t be?” Ah, the old saying, the best defense is a good offense!
“Okay. You seem a little upset about Jordan not coming, that’s all.”
Jordan wasn’t the issue, but she wasn’t going to tell Amanda that. The only issue was with herself, and she was going to get over it, dammit. She took a quiet, calming breath and forced a smile. “It’s fine, honestly. We’re going to have a great day and I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good, because I’m kind of glad it’s just you and me.”
Claire swallowed nervously. “You are?”
The look Amanda gave her was hard to decipher, and maybe that was a good thing. Oh, God, she thought, what the hell am I doing? But her panic subsided when Amanda reached for the satellite radio dial and found the classic soul station. “Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone” was playing and Amanda began singing the words. Too shy to sing, Claire hummed along and soon the city disappeared behind them in a haze of dust, the voice of Bill Withers filling the car. They found other songs to enjoy, and the respite from conversation was having a calming effect on Claire. It was refreshing, invigorating, to just be for a change.
Rust-colored mountains dotted the horizon, looming closer with every mile, and it occurred to Claire how hilly and mountainous the desert really was and not as flat as she might have believed. The colors were amazing—every hue of brown and orange and red imaginable, rich textures that ranged from smooth to jaggedly rough. The highway unfurled before them like a roll of tape along a seam, and with it came a liberating sense of irresponsibility and freedom. She was free. They both were.
“Wouldn’t it be amazing,” Amanda said, “to do this drive in a convertible?”
“Yes, it sure would.” She could picture it in her mind perfectly, blasting their old tunes out into the dry, endless air. “And to have absolutely no agenda would be wonderful.” No one to answer to, no patients to worry about, nothing to rush back to.
“Oh my God, yes. To not even know where you’re going to end up or how long you’re going to be gone. Wouldn’t it be amazing to take off like that?”
Claire couldn’t help laughing out loud at the absurdity of the idea. She had patients and a crap load of obligations. Enough to keep her busy for years. She shook her head, a little mournful that her time for such whimsy was long past her. “Yes, it would be amazing, but totally unrealistic.”
“Yes, I know exactly what you mean,” Amanda said on a long sigh.
“See, the thing about getting older is that stuff like that is just a fantasy. Something you think would be cool, but you know is never going to happen. You end up with so many obligations, you can’t just jump off the merry-go-round and drop out. Work, bills. You, on the other hand. Whatever you want to do, Amanda, do it now before you get locked into jobs and relationships and mortgage payments.”
“That’s just the thing. I’ve got obligations and bills to pay too. I already took a year off from my education, and now it’s full steam ahead.”
“Did you do anything fun on your year off?”
“Worked two jobs, and no, I wouldn’t call it fun. People think that just because you’re young, you’ve got it made. Like you have all kinds of freedom and nothing to worry about. And you know what? It pisses me off. It’s not fun not knowing how you’re going to pay your tuition and your living expenses, how taking a part-time job might totally fuck your school work, how you’re going to graduate with good enough grades so you can get shortlisted for the best employers. And as for a mortgage, I probably won’t even be in a position to have one for at least ten years.” Amanda whipped off her sunglasses. Her expression was hard, implacable.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” Claire reached over and touched her arm. “People like me sometimes forget life is no picnic when you’re young. We see it nostalgically as a time of freedom and lack of responsibilities, and not for what it really is.”
Amanda was not appeased. “That’s another thing that upsets me. You act sometimes like you’re so much older than me. Like we’re a different species because of it.”
Shocked, Claire could only look at her as she continued. “I’m not a kid, okay? Why do people do that anyway? Why do they assign us into categories based on our age? Make us feel incapable and inferior because of something as arbitrary as age? It’s insulting. Saying I’m too young to understand something, or that you’re too old to try something new, is every bit as horrible as saying black people can’t do something because of their color, or a girl can’t do something because of her gender. It’s stupid and I hate it.”
Jesus, Claire thought, chastened. There’s a lot of fire in there when she’s pissed off. The image of Amanda angry, flushed, so fired up and feisty, made her smile. And appreciate her even more. “You’re totally right. It is stupid. I don’t mean to act like your age is some kind of impediment to anything, okay? I’m really very sorry.”
Near tears, Amanda said, “I get that kind of crap from Aunt Shannon all the time and I just . . . I don’t want it from you, okay? I don’t want to be a kid to you.”
“You’re not, Amanda.” Her ass suitably kicked, Claire swallowed her pride. Amanda was right. It was time to treat her like the intelligent, mature, capable woman she was. It happened to be easier to think of her as a kid only because it was safe that way. Claire could never fall for a kid, could never be tempted by a kid. But by a woman, she could. She felt her voice quaver with emotion as she said, “You’re a beautiful, bright, wonderful woman. I respect you and I like you very much, and I don’t ever mean to hurt you or demean you in any way. Okay?”
Amanda’s smile was in direct contrast to the tears pooling in her big green eyes. They looked like shimmering emeralds, Claire thought, and she gasped a little at their beauty.
“Thank you,” Amanda said. “And I’m sorry I lost it.”
“No,” Claire said. “I’m glad you set me straight. I needed it.”
When Amanda’s hand crept into hers on the console, it felt good, damned good—like they’d held hands many times before, and neither was in a hurry to pull away. A week ago, she never would have guessed she’d be driving through the Nevada desert with a beautiful young woman, holding hands. Even if it was just platonic. And kind of surreal. God, Maria would pee her pants if she could see me right now!
> “Hungry yet?” Claire asked.
“I’m always hungry!”
“Me too. Unfortunately I don’t have the body you do, so it takes a considerable amount of self-restraint to keep from blowing up like a whale.”
“Oh, Claire, you are so funny sometimes. I think you look absolutely perfect.”
Claire did a double take after seeing something in Amanda’s eyes she hadn’t expected—something that hinted at much more than just an innocent compliment. It sent her heart into a momentary arrhythmia until she convinced herself she was imagining things—imagining that Amanda was attracted to her. Surely to God that was a fantasy.
“I thought we’d have a little snack at a picnic area before we hit one of the trails,” Claire said.
“Wow, we’re here already. That was fast!”
“Only thirty miles from Vegas, but it’s a world of difference, isn’t it?”
“Oh yeah. This is what I came to Vegas for!”
Claire paid the five-dollar toll and drove past the welcome center to a parking area near a picnic shelter. Behind them the red jagged mountains, beautiful against the blue sky, beckoned. “You up to a little hiking?”
“Anything you want to do sounds great to me.”
Anything? Claire thought roguishly. For a moment she allowed herself thoughts of lying on the beach next to Amanda, pulling Amanda’s short-sleeved blouse aside enough to kiss the base of her neck, those lovely eyes looking at her with lust or perhaps even love. Oh, stop it! And stop thinking everything she says has a double meaning! To distract herself, she retrieved a picnic basket and two nylon roll-up chairs from the trunk, then led Amanda to the picnic shelter. Three-foot-high cacti and an even taller Joshua tree gave them privacy from passing cars.
The Wedding Party Page 9