The Rent-A-Groom

by Jennifer Blake

  She made a soft sound of pleasure as he reached to touch her breast, cupping it in his warm grasp. It was only a prelude, however, to his gentle, yet thorough exploration of the curves and hollows of her body. He stroked her, holding, pressing with shuttered eyes and widespread fingers, as if he meant to memorize every inch of silken skin and each muscle and finely tuned bone beneath it.

  He unbuttoned her shirtwaist, following the opening line with heated kisses as the edges parted. Exposing the lace of her bra, he brushed the firm swells under them with his mouth, letting her feel the heat of his breath, the wet lap of his tongue around the nipples. Taking the straining peaks between his lips, first one then the other, he teased them gently to berrylike tautness.

  Barely breathing, she slipped the buttons of his shirt free and trailed her fingertips through the silk thicket of hair on his chest. Finding his flat male nipple, she rubbed it with the ball of her thumb. So enthralled was she by its abrupt contraction into knobbed hardness that she hardly noticed as he slid a bra strap from her shoulder.

  The hot wetness of his mouth covered her bare nipple. She inhaled with a soft gasp that grew deeper as he applied delicate, deliberate suction.

  His hands, oh, his hands were sure. She tried not to think why, tried not to think of other women he might have known. And succeeded, at least in part. By degrees the suite, the bed, the night faded, to be replaced by the touch and taste and scent of the man who held her, banished by the thunder of the blood in her veins.

  She was on fire inside, lost in a world of hot, consuming sensation. Flushed with need, she reached out for him, giving him in full measure the pleasure he was extending with such care and generosity. Clothing was loosened and pulled away, then dropped from sight. The smoothness of silken percale sheets soothed their skin as they turned and stretched, sought and held, while supporting themselves on an elbow or a knee.

  Licking, tasting, they learned about each other, imprinting the exact pattern of the molecules of their bodies on the circuits of minds and souls. He held the apex of her being in his hand, and she gave him unrestrained access. As he pressed deep, she contracted around his fingers in fervent internal embrace.

  The intrusion stung, burned, in spite of its inciting glory. She closed her eyes tight as she pressed her face into his shoulder.

  A winded sound left him. His every muscle stiffened, and he tried to draw back as he recognized the barrier he had reached. She would not release him.

  “No,” he whispered against her hair in strained tones. “I can’t. You—”

  “It doesn’t matter. Please,” she answered in low entreaty while she pressed closer.

  A shudder ran over him as he reigned in his ardor. He took her mouth in a kiss of plundering, near-desperate need. Then slowly, carefully, he began to ease the way for her with deliberate stretching movements. At the same time, he centered the ball of his thumb on the tiny peak of her femininity so that his every effort compounded the waves of pleasure rippling through her.

  Her muscles tensed. Her chest rose and fell in increasing tempo that kept pace with the hot rush of her blood. Their damp skins clung. She smoothed her hands over his arms and shoulders, clasping, holding. Reaching lower, she closed her fingers around the vibrant, fevered hardness of his silken length. It pulsed against her palm, straining in bold power toward the inevitable union.

  Desire burgeoned, hovered, erupted into sudden, bright ecstasy. She gave a soft cry as she arched against him. He shifted at once to cover her, fitting himself between her thighs. At the towering crest of her pleasure, he pressed into her wet, hot softness. He held the joining while he tasted her mouth once more, sounding it, drinking its sweetness. Then he drew back a little. Watching her face, holding her gaze in the dimness, he eased deeper, penetrating her internal constriction so carefully there was only an instant of aching strain before she was swept into beatitude.

  At that extreme he stopped, and with a slow twist of his hips he tested the tight, resilient walls of her most secret self. She met the glistening darkness of his eyes while her heart swelled with fullness. She held nothing back then, but let him into her utmost depth, opening it to him like swinging wide the gate of a fenced enclosure.

  The breath he took had a soft hissing sound. His supporting arms quivered with the effort of his control, the restriction of his need.

  Then he began to move.

  The loving was a dance, fast and slow, lurching now and then, but gaining a steady, throbbing cadence that increased in strength, swelled in tempo and vital intensity. It was a melody both old and new, strange and familiar, wild and gentle in its piercingly sweet refrain.

  And unending. It beat in their blood, gaining force, rising, ever rising. It spread, building in volume, gathering speed, spawning variations. Advancing, retreating, ascending, plummeting, they followed its lead with panting breaths and moisture-slick bodies, with raging hearts and fierce minds. It surged around them, a song of wonder that rushed into a sudden, incomparable crescendo ringing to a single note held long and strong. It burst in their minds with unimagined splendor, flooding their bodies with life and grace and delicate, merging wholeness.

  It did not fade, but was sustained, held pure and true and clear as they held each other afterward. Gina could hear it still even as she fell asleep as if hit with a stun gun, lying with her head nestled into the curve of Race’s neck, his arms wrapped around her.

  Much later in the night she felt him ease away from her. Murmuring in distress, she reached out. He returned to her at once, kissing the tucked corner of her mouth so she smiled even in semi consciousness. He brushed her hair aside to stroke her cheek with his own, letting her feel the slight abrasion of his beard stubble, the smoothness of his eyelids with moisture at their tight line, the sweep of his lashes. Satisfied, she settled deeper into her pillow.

  Yet she was alone in the great black-lacquered romantic fantasy of a bed when morning came. Alone in the suite.

  Race was gone.

  :: Chapter Nine ::

  The doorbell pealing out its syrupy theme was the last thing Gina wanted to hear. Exclaiming under her breath, she reached for the hotel robe. She knew she should have gotten up and put on her clothes when she first heard the commotion next door. She would have, if it hadn’t seemed like more effort than it was worth.

  Coffee was the most that she had been able to manage so far. She knew that moping around the suite with a tissue clutched in her hand was going to get her nowhere. But what did it really matter? There was nowhere she wanted to be, nothing she wanted to do, even if she had the heart for it.

  As she moved to answer the door, she glanced at herself in the mirrored wall of the foyer. Her hair was a mess, her face pale, and there were lavender shadows under her eyes. Her lips, red and swollen from Race’s kisses, were a perfect match for her eyes, red and swollen from crying. She didn’t care. Anyone who objected to her appearance didn’t have to look.

  The two men at the door were policemen, though they were in plainclothes. One was grizzled and had bags under his eyes, the other was crew-cut, polished, and polite, but both had the indefinable edge of their kind. They presented their credentials and she took them automatically, but did not invite them across the suite’s threshold.

  “What is this? Why are you here?”

  “We understand you were the accountant for Bradley Dillman until recently, Miss Madison. Is that correct?”

  The chill of shock ran down her spine, and her fingers tightened on the doorknob she held onto with one hand. “The accounting firm where I work was retained by him, yes.”

  “But you were in charge of his books, you received his records, made the physical entries, communicated with him about them.”

  “That’s right.”

  The older policeman took out his notepad. “We would like you to tell us what you can about the flow of money through the various enterprises belonging to Mr. Dillman.”

  The brisk, businesslike air of the two men was calmin
g to a degree. She could not be too surprised that they wanted to talk to her; she’d been afraid of a visit like this for some time. It even seemed appropriate for it to come now. Moistening her lips, she asked, “You are—investigating Bradley’s business activities?”

  “Mr. Dillman was taken into custody this morning on a charge of money laundering.”

  Arrested. Bradley. She had half expected it, yet it still seemed oddly providential, like wishing someone bad luck and having them fall down a well.

  The older man gave her a keen stare. “We should make it clear this is an informal inquiry only, Miss Madison. You have been cleared of involvement in the illegal activity. However, any information you can give us will be invaluable in obtaining a conviction. We would appreciate your cooperation.”

  She drew a deep breath, let it out. “I expect you had better come inside. This may take a while.”

  Gina led the way to the sitting room where she dropped down on the wicker sofa just as her knees threatened to give way. Her mind was made of sterner stuff, however. “Was Bradley—Mr. Dillman—the only person taken into custody?” she asked as she indicated that the men should be seated.

  “For the time being. I understand the woman who had been staying in his suite left the hotel at an early hour.”

  She wanted to ask about Race, but the words wouldn’t come. It was just as well. If the police didn’t know he might be implicated, then she would not drag him into it.

  “And you really don’t suspect me? I’m not under arrest?”

  The younger man smiled at her. “No, ma’am. We have it on good authority that you didn’t know what the guy was up to at the time you took over his bookkeeping. When you found out, you apparently broke off the business relationship and a personal one as well. That’s enough for us.”

  “Good authority,” she repeated, her voice not quite steady. “What does that mean?”

  The two men looked at each other. It was the older one who answered. “We’d rather not go into that just now. If you would just start at the beginning and tell us everything you can about Dillman?”

  The questioning that followed was exhaustive and detailed. Gina gave the two men the facts as she knew them, plus as much background on Bradley’s activities as she’d uncovered while auditing his past records. The confidentiality of client transactions was one thing when it was a matter of simple business principle, but a man who deliberately broke the law placed himself beyond ethics, so could not expect to be protected by them. She might feel some compunction about exposing him, but her responsibility was clear.

  Still, she was not used to dealing with the police. By the time she finally saw the two men out of the suite, she was shaking with nerves. She closed the door and leaned against it with her eyes shut.

  Her throat ached with unshed tears and her mind felt as if it had been put through a meat grinder. The pain of loss moved through her with the slow force of a glacier that destroys everything in front of it. She wanted to either scream or else run away and hide in mute misery.

  Race. Where was he? What was he doing? Had he guessed Bradley was going to be arrested? Was that why he had left her?

  She should have told the police about him, should call them back and do it now. Keeping silent made a mockery of her fine, upstanding principles. But she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t.

  Still, why not? He had tricked her, used her, taken everything she had to give, then vanished like the proverbial thief in the night. Which was exactly what he was, more than likely, or else a con man. She ought to be enraged. She would like to feel that kind of self-righteous, soul-freeing violence of emotion.

  She couldn’t; she hurt too much. Besides, she had gone into the one-night stand with her eyes wide open. There was no one to blame except herself.

  She could take some minor comfort from knowing she’d been cleared of suspicion in Bradley’s operation. It had been nice of him to see to that in the midst of his problems. She would not have expected it of him. Perhaps he had cared a little about her, after all. Maybe he had proposed for some reason other than needing an accountant who could not be forced to testify against him.

  Looking back, she knew she’d accepted his proposal because she had given up on love. She’d stopped expecting to find a man she could care about with all her heart, one who would love her in return on the level they wrote about in the kind of books that the maid Etta read.

  She had actually accepted that love like that was a myth. It wasn’t. She knew that now, for what good it did her.

  Tears rose to blur her vision. She wiped them away with a quick, almost furtive gesture. She would not cry anymore. No, she wouldn’t. She would shower and get dressed, then pack up and go home. If the police wanted anything more from her, they knew where to find her. There was nothing left for her here except memories—memories that were only another reason to go.

  Gina was slipping her cosmetics into her suitcase when the doorbell chimed again. It was Etta, pushing a wheeled serving table before her.

  “Just as I thought,” the maid said as she caught sight of the bag on the bed. “I told Tyrone you would be packin’ to get out of here. I feel so bad, you havin’ such a terrible time of it, like I should have taken better care of you, done something to make things turn out right.”

  “You know Race is gone.” There was no surprise in the observation.

  “Saw him leavin’ myself, early this morning. He didn’t look proud to be goin’, I can tell you that. Truth is, seemed he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.” Etta rolled the table in front of the sitting room windows and whisked aside the cloth that draped it. “Anyway, I know you didn’t have any breakfast, so I brought you a little lunch, just a nice salad along with a little piece of roasted chicken and a tad of cheesecake.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I’m honestly not hungry.”

  “I know, I know, but you’ll feel better after you’ve had a bite to eat. I promise you will.”

  “No, really—”

  “Please. Just try it. Let us do this little thing to make up for everything, especially the commotion next door this morning. I think you knew Mr. Dillman, didn’t you?”

  Gina gave a resigned nod as she moved to seat herself at the table. That response, minor as it might have been, was enough for Etta.

  “I thought so. You must be upset about him being arrested and all. ‘Course the hotel is tryin’ to keep it quiet. But as Tyrone said, the police had to catch him while he was in Texas since he was doing most of his criminal stuff here. Reckon as how we should be honored.”

  It was an aspect Gina had not considered. She said slowly, “I see what you mean.”

  Etta directed a shrewd glance her way, one that lingered sympathetically on her red-rimmed eyes. “Must have been excitin’, being in the middle of everything. Still and all, I imagine it wasn’t exactly what you expected.”

  “Not exactly.” The admission was wry.

  “No, well, anyway, we don’t want you to go away with bad memories of the Glass Garden Hotel. We sure hope you come back again sometime, maybe use the suite the way it was meant.”

  On a ragged laugh, Gina said, “I don’t think that’s very likely.”

  “No?” The glance Etta gave her was wise. “I’d say there’s nothing more likely in the world, honey. Women like you don’t get left behind. That man of yours will be back, you just wait and see.”

  “I’m not so sure I want him back.”

  “Now, don’t say that. He’ll have good reason for what he did. And when he tells it to you, you’ll want to cut him some slack if you care at all about him. The golden rule of loving, I’m telling you, is to always believe the one you care about means the best by you.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” Gina asked in subdued tones.

  “Well, it’s like this.” Etta propped one hand on her hip. “If you lose a man because you thought the best but were all wrong, then that’s his fault. If you lose him because you thought the
very worst and were wrong, then that’s yours. And there’s nothing so sad as missing out on love for lack of a little faith.”

  “I just don’t know.”

  Etta gave her a bright smile. “I do. You’ll do right when the time comes, you just mark my words.”

  Etta was right about one thing at least—eating did make Gina feel some small bit better. Afterward, the four-hour drive back to Shreveport that lay ahead of her no longer seemed quite such an ordeal.

  Gina was ready to go at last; all she needed was to call for a bellman. She was reaching for the suite’s phone when it rang under her hand. She jumped and snatched her hand back, reluctant to answer. Only the thought that it might be the police with some further question made her pick up the receiver.

  The voice on the other end came through loud and clear and familiar. Diane, only Diane. Gina let out a breath she had not realized she was holding.