by Cathryn Fox
Laura joined her as she stood near the bar surveying the crowd. “Not a bad evening. Barry Dennis sure is a big attraction,” Laura said, waving her hand in the man’s direction.
Roxanne checked her Rolex and took a deep breath. “He certainly is.” The party would be winding down soon.
“I noticed you haven’t spoken to him all night,” Laura prompted. “And I know you worked hard to charm the wallets out of the pants and purses of everyone else tonight.”
Roxanne laughed. “Just doing my job.” It was time she talked to Barry. She’d been chicken long enough. “But you’re right. I’m going to remedy that right now.” She zeroed her gaze in on him and walked toward him, but she was stopped before she got there.
“I realize you don’t know me, but I’d like to introduce myself. I’m Kevin Moroni, sports writer with the Boston Globe.” He put out his hand. “I know who you are. In fact, didn’t I read somewhere in the paper that you were recently widowed?”
The reporter’s freckled face and youthful appearance gave him a Mr. Nice Guy look. She imagined he did very well interviewing people.
“Yes, I bet you did—along with all kinds of other juicy insinuations I’m sure. Let me guess, you would like to know if any of it is true? Are you going to ask me if I murdered my husband, Mr. Moroni?” Never allowing her eyes to waver from his, she knew she easily outdid the man in the bold approach department and waited for his next move.
“No, no. Of course not,” he said, his face reddening.
“Of course not. Then what exactly is it you want to know, Kevin?” She leaned the slightest bit closer. He seemed to stand a little taller.
“I understand you’re running the show here?”
“That depends.” She waited for his response. His mouth was open but it took him a few seconds to actually speak.
“Depends on what?” he finally asked. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped.
“On what you mean by ‘the show,’ of course.” She sharpened her smile. She assumed he’d be asking questions about her late husband and her alleged fortune hunting like all the media lately. Red-faced, he gave a nervous, weak laugh and opened his mouth, but he was saved from having to continue when Barry’s deep voice interrupted them. Roxanne turned around.
“Trying to make time with the lady, Kevin? Let me give you some advice: Give it up.”
She was about to speak until she looked up and met his intense blazing eyes.
She felt vulnerable, standing there before Barry. She wondered what he thought of her; if he thought she was some kind of Jezebel, or if he knew the truth—that she was a widow. Roxanne shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had to stop this drifting. She must grab hold of life; grab hold of the present.
She grabbed hold of Barry Dennis instead.
Putting her arm through his, she transferred her attentions completely from the baffled reporter to Barry.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you…” She trailed the sentence off with the suggestion that what would follow was for his ears only. Kevin Moroni got the hint. He excused himself and left in a rush. Roxanne laughed with a shake of her head. There went another man with a terrible first impression of her. If she kept it up, she would certainly never have to worry about getting involved with any man—at least not any decent or sane man.
“Did I scare him or did you?” Barry looked down into her eyes and asked her. Her arm was still hooked through his and he didn’t seem to mind so she led him toward the door.
“It doesn’t matter. I think he was up to no good.”
“Where are we going?” He stopped her when they got to the coatroom.
She responded with a lift of her brow. Barry Dennis didn’t need to be hit over the head to get the point. The quick intake of his breath and the slight quirk of his mouth told her that he understood exactly what she had in mind.
“First I’d like an answer.” He withdrew himself from her grasp and leaned back against the wall with his arms folded, looking for all the world like he’d wait till doomsday for an answer, and like he half expected he may well have to wait.
“To what?” Roxanne stood squarely in front of him, close but not touching, with her own arms folded and her feet spread apart.
“You know. But I’ll spell it out for you, seeing that you like to play games so much. Why did you let me think you were married?”
They stood leveling smoldering stares at each other. Roxanne’s pulse picked up and her blood felt like flames running through her veins. She couldn’t remember the last time a man made her feel this way.
“No reason. Except maybe I thought I should try and stay out of trouble ever since that night the police found my husband dead and everyone but them has accused me of murdering him. Does that answer your question?” She offered him a satisfied smile while he mulled over her answer.
“Not exactly, but it’ll do. Your place or mine?” He lifted himself from against the wall and reached one arm out around to the small of her back, his fingertips skimming over her bottom.
It was her turn to be surprised, but only for a moment and then she laughed and let him guide her toward the front door. “Your place. But first I have to take care of a few last minute details with Laura,” Roxanne said, excusing herself from Barry. When she found Laura they went to speak to the manager and sign off on some invoices.
“Don’t worry about a thing, Laura. Everything has gone very smoothly. People will be leaving in a short while. You can handle the rest of the evening. Harry is here.” Roxanne turned to leave. Laura and her boss Harry could handle the rest of the night.
“What about your resolve to stay away from men? I see you’re not even wearing your wedding band anymore.” Laura noticed. “Where are you going with Barry Dennis anyway?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt him.” Roxanne shrugged a shoulder at her friend and turned to leave with a wave. She didn’t want to explain why Barry was exempt from her man-moratorium. Mostly because she hadn’t figured out why.
“I’m not worried about him, but Roxy, he is the star attraction of the party…and tomorrow’s golf tournament.”
“Don’t worry.” Roxanne left her friend with a reassuring wink then headed out to meet with Barry in the entry hall. Some fans had found him and he was signing autographs when she caught up with him. He smiled at the young man when he gave him back his pen and paper and then whisked Roxanne out the door without a pause. The valet stepped up to serve them, but Barry waved him off as he stepped off the curb and crossed to the VIP parking lot.
Neither of them spoke as he led her to his car. He opened the door to the driver’s side and she got in and slid over. He followed her. Barely in the car, he took her into his arms with both hands. She let him hold her tight. His mouth came down on hers in a hard kiss. The raw need of his strong hold, his moist lips, and thrusting tongue was stunning. But even in her absence of recent experience, the thrill of exciting a man to this height of passion brought Roxanne to respond openly, inviting him for more.
He moved his hands down over her body, pushing the silk of her dress away from the silk of her skin. His mouth moved from her lips to suck at the hot, sensitive skin of her neck. It had been too long since she felt this powerful throbbing excitement. Maybe it had never been this exciting.
Then he pulled away from her, slowly raising himself upright as if any quicker movement would overtax his laboring body. She watched him, motionless. Without saying a word, he drew his eyes from hers and put his key in the ignition. Another man, she thought, would have felt the need to explain such quick and bold passion. But for some reason, the fact that he didn’t brought a smile to her lips.
He seemed to study her face. “That sexy smile of yours is going to drive me crazy. It’s not quite an invitation—more like a dare.”
She laughed. With his eyes blazing, he leaned toward her, threatening to kiss her again.
Then they heard the loud voice of David McCall. Barry groaned and laid his head on the steeri
ng wheel in mock defeat.
“Hey Barry—you coming or going?”
“Going.”
“No kidding? Why don’t you stay for a few minutes? I’m just getting here.” Dave’s voice was getting closer to the car and so Barry opened the door and got out to talk to his teammate.
“Not tonight Dave. I have a special date to keep.”
Dave peered in the car and nodded at her. He seemed a little surprised, Roxanne thought, and she wondered why. Barry clipped the conversation short and got back into the car.
“See you on the golf course Monday, Dave. Have fun tonight.” Barry dismissed him.
“Not as much fun as you!” Dave shouted as they drove off.
While he drove the huge Caddy as if it were a Volkswagen, headed for the highway to his home in Weston, Barry was quiet. He put a disc in his CD player and they listened to the mellow whining of a saxophone. Roxanne sat back in her seat, taking the opportunity to study his face. He looked older than his years. The creases around his mouth were deep with use.
He had the classic features of a dark, brooding Irishman, from the vivid blue eyes, the dark wavy hair, down to the strong dimpled chin. If he hadn’t been a basketball star, she supposed he could have easily been a movie star. Roxanne laughed at herself out loud. Barry looked at her and only shook his head. If he thought her behavior strange, she couldn’t tell. He asked no questions as they pulled into his driveway.
Once inside his home, Roxanne took in the slick décor of his living room and was impressed. Plush rugs were scattered about the massive room, the vaulted ceiling was sparkling white, punctuated by skylights. A gray stone fireplace took up one entire wall.
The plump leather sectional looked inviting and Roxanne decided to make herself comfortable.
“I like your colors, green and beige. Very tasteful.”
“I call it the grass and dirt look. Not much of it back home in Queens. If I had a shrink he’d probably tell me I was overcompensating for some deep-seated deficiency from my past.”
“Look at this! Parquet floors! Just like the old Boston Garden. It must make you feel right at home here,” Roxanne said without sarcasm. She knew that in truth, Barry Dennis was probably more at home on the basketball court than off.
He grinned at her comment. “You picked up on that. You’re quick. Usually takes people quite a while to notice.”
“It takes people quite a while—or women?” Roxanne asked. She noted his chuckle and added, “I think you’ve been associating with some slow women.”
He stood in front of the fireplace looking at her with what she hoped was great interest. She was lounging on the couch with her feet tucked up and leaning into the pillows, anticipating something. She smoothed her black silk dress against her thighs.
“You have me all wrong. I don’t parade women through here. As a matter of fact I…” He looked away before continuing, seeming to change his mind about saying something. “I’d rather talk about you and your love life.” He went to the bar, poured brandy into two glasses and brought them over, putting them down on the cocktail table. Then he sat down next to her on the couch, sinking in deep. They looked at each other. She realized he expected her to say something.
“I don’t have a love life. There, that covers that topic.” She looked away from his blue eyes and picked up her drink, staring into the liquid.
“Why were you still wearing your wedding band?”
“It’s a widow’s prerogative.” She said. She met his stare without a smile.
“Okay. Have it your way. But I don’t give up that easy. You’ll tell me the whole story before you leave here.”
She had to laugh at that, although he was perfectly serious. He got up from the couch and for a moment, she thought he was going to start pacing with impatience. But he walked back to the bar instead.
“That may be, but I don’t have any idea why you would even want to know. After all, here I am.” She spread her hands and leaned back into the pillows, causing her mink hemline to rise almost to the top of her thighs. He smiled back at her invitation, but not without mischief, she thought. He had picked up a cigarette from behind the bar and proceeded to light it, taking a deep drag. Barely suppressing her surprise, she watched him walk back toward the couch with the cigarette hanging from between his lips.
“Well, well, well. The big star athlete has a nicotine habit. I bet your coach doesn’t approve of this at all.”
“He doesn’t know about it.” Barry sat at the opposite end of the couch from her, on the edge. He took one more long drag from the cigarette before he leaned forward and stubbed it out in the plain metal ashtray on the cocktail table.
“Big secret is it?” Roxanne teased.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, it is. And it better stay that way.” Barry gave her a menacing look before his face cracked into the lopsided grin. “It’s just one of those leftover habits from my childhood in the city. Everyone smoked. We all thought we were the Marlboro Man and I never managed to give it up completely.”
“Give up what? Smoking or the longing to be the Marlboro Man?” she asked.
“Neither. Didn’t you notice what a macho tough guy I am?”
She laughed. “I promise I won’t let your secret out.”
“Which one? That I smoke cigarettes or that I’m really the Marlboro Man?”
“Hmm. I take that back. I bet that reporter friend of yours—Kevin—would just love a story like this: ‘Barry Dennis Has A Secret Identity.’ And I don’t know what I might say if left at his mercy in an interrogation.” Her smile was wide and then she broke out into giggles when Barry grabbed her shoeless foot and began to tickle the bottom.
“Mercy? You can forget about mercy now, babe. I’ve got your extremely sensitive foot as hostage.” His grin was wide and though she struggled to free her foot amidst her laughter, all she succeeded in doing was to bunch her dress up to her hips so that her black lace panties were completely exposed.
“My, my. That’s a damned unladylike way of sitting, don’t you think?” Barry’s hands slipped from her foot to travel up the length of her bare tanned legs to reach the top of her thighs as he leaned toward her. Roxanne stopped laughing, but her mouth held the shadow of a smile.
The butterfly in her stomach suddenly fluttered its wings. Barry’s fingers kneaded the flesh of her thighs, his thumbs circling inward to the softer, more sensitive skin, right to the edge of her panties where he stopped.
She took a sharp breath and stared into his eyes, telling him wordlessly to go on. His eyes were hooded and glistened with passion. His smirk was frozen on his face and waiting. Unable to contain the warm wet flood of her desire, Roxanne shifted herself so that he touched her where she needed to be touched. She reached her arms up around his neck, dragging him down on top of her on the couch. She kissed him deeply and without modesty or reserve.
The groan of pleasure that came from Barry caused yet another wave of longing and desire to tremor through her body. He explored her moistness with the skillful massage of his fingertips, returning her kiss with deep plunges of his tongue. She felt drugged with pleasure.
One of his hands slipped around Roxanne as he moved closer over her body for intimate contact that sizzled her senses to awareness of his desire for her. She pulled her mouth from his, caressing the dark stubble of his jaw with the palms of her hands. Her eyes were half opened. Staring at his mouth, she painted the line of his full lips with the tip of her tongue.
He watched her as his wry smile slowly curved to one side and he slipped both hands under her bottom and pressed her to him with a longing thrust. His heavy breath fanned her face with the faint scent of tobacco and brandy. She could feel every ounce of his long lean body next to hers; could feel every labored intake of air into his lungs.
She stared into his eyes, their vivid blue passion barely kept under control. Beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip and at his temples. She darted her tongue to lick the sweat from his lip, the salty taste s
hocking her senses with pulsating pleasure. He shut his eyes tight. The corner of his mouth that usually curled to form his famous half-grin now twitched with tension.
“I want you Roxy. Here and now.” He opened his eyes only enough to send her the message that he was serious. Then as if to emphasize his point he lifted her bottom to press her hips to his, tighter than before.
Her eyes widened before she could catch herself. Feeling the full force of him, of his desire, startled her with excitement and she felt her fingers clutch his shoulders. Did he expect her to say no? She couldn’t remember wanting a man quite so fiercely at any moment in her life. The height of her arousal threatened to choke her at the slightest provocation. But she waited for him to make the next move. She enjoyed too much the way he ran the show.
He must have read her mind. He took her panties and tore them from her bottom. At the same time pressed his face whisper-close to hers. He spoke in a gruff, gravelly voice.
“I take it this means you want me too?” His grin was back in place, if momentarily, and he lifted himself from her, but only long enough to remove his pants and shorts. Then he was back. And this time there was no pause, no stopping, no talk.
Roxanne opened herself to him and took him in her arms. This time when their faces came together their mouths met in a kiss, an open, prowling kiss. With his body fully upon her, she felt him enter her velvety wetness with a tightening twinge of excitement that warmed her entire body to an inferno. He thrust deep inside, with a long gliding movement. She held her breath with her arms wrapped around his back and he buried his face in her hair. She heard his hard breathing as much as she felt his breath as she moved her body under him to counter his rapidly escalating thrusts. Her thrill ran deep and she sank into the mindless sensation of her body.
He pushed himself into her again and again. He pulled her bottom up, no longer controlling the tide that carried him into this frenzy. Roxanne let herself be carried away by him until spasms of pleasure overcame her and she clenched her legs around him tightly. He did not stop. He pushed and pushed and pushed until his breath turned to moaning. He yelled and held her to him, and in one last spasmodic rush of energy, his passion was spent.