CHAPTER ELEVEN
The late afternoon March sun glistened like diamonds upon the ocean's surface as a despondent Shannon stood gazing out at the rising tide. It had taken weeks for her to fully comprehend the extent of her affliction, but now she knew her heart had indeed betrayed her. She was head over heels in love with the Marquis. Making love with him had awakened in her a new sense of herself. It was as if she had been reborn into a wonderful world of exhilarating pleasures and sensations that previously had been unknown to her and, thereafter, could not live without. He was an addiction. A beckoning flame of seduction that drew her back to his bed time and time again. Yet, even as she reveled in the splendor of their relationship, she couldn't ignore the persistent warnings that gnawed away at her subconscious and riddled her happiness with thorns of doubt. She knew nothing about him other than what he portrayed at the Chateau and, while she had to admit his anonymity contributed greatly to the enchantment, deep down she agonized over not knowing his true identity.
Moreover, the knowledge that she was not the only woman reaping the benefits of his extraordinary sexual prowess hung over her like a ten-ton weight. She tried telling herself that the others didn't matter to him. That she was the only one in his heart, but a little voice in the back of her mind told her that was merely wishful thinking. Never once, in all the nights she spent wrapped in his strong arms, had he ever told her he loved her. Finally, the probability that he considered her nothing more than just another sex-starved female was more pain than her heart could bear, and she sadly decided it was in her best interest to stay away from him altogether.
Thanks to Mrs. Phillips, she had little trouble upholding that decision. The elder Boutique owner finally received word from the magazine editors in San Francisco and, while they were delighted with her designing talent, they wanted to see more. Cutwork, blackwork, afghans--anything she could do. They wanted samples as quickly as she could produce them. It was a daunting task, to say the least, and under present circumstances, one she was ill prepared to deal with. Still, she did her best to chart and stitch the required pieces, but when the last one had been completed and securely packaged for shipping, she couldn't shake the dreadful feeling that she had not put forth her best effort.
Bitter tears of anguish sprang into her eyes and she fell sobbing to her knees in the sand, not caring that she was soiling the skirt of her white cotton dress. How could she have made such a mess of her life? Not only had she probably blown her only chance at a designing career, she had given herself to a male prostitute. A disarming rake who stole her heart and virginity without any regard for her emotional welfare. And she was so ashamed. Ashamed for what her family would think if they knew about the disgraceful things she'd done, and ashamed for allowing herself to be swept away by a masked fantasy.
Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder as someone knelt down beside her.
"My God, Shannon! What are you doing here at Venice Beach?"
Shannon glanced around at two blue eyes that, strangely, reflected a devastating pain of their own. Dashing her tears away with the back of her hand, she slowly rose to her feet. "Ben!" She forced a bright smile. "I-I never expected to see you..."
"You didn't answer my question," he insisted.
Emitting a ragged sigh, she turned her gaze back to the water to avoid his stern perusal. "I'm ... I'm having some personal problems. I just stopped here for a few moments to think."
"They must be some problems," he agreed. "I've been calling and leaving messages on your machine for weeks and you never bothered to return even one of them."
"I-I know ... and I'm sorry," she gulped, fighting back the tears. "It's ... it's just that I got involved with ... with ... in something I shouldn't have, and I'm afraid it's made me a complete wreck."
A look of tenderness softened his strong features as he slipped his arm around her slender shoulders. "Why don't you have dinner with me tonight," he suggested sympathetically. "Perhaps if you told me about these problems of yours, I could help in some way."
Shannon shook her head forlornly. "I-I can't ... have dinner with you, I mean. I'm supposed to meet my co-worker, Donna, and her boyfriend at the Legends Restaurant in an hour. She's ... she's bringing a friend for me..."
"You're going on a blind date?" Ben groaned.
"Yeah," she nodded sheepishly. "I thought getting out and meeting new people would take my mind off things. Besides, she's always ridiculing me for not having a social life, so I hoped agreeing to this date would get her off my back for awhile."
"I see." His brows knitted in condemnation. "Apparently dating me doesn't qualify as a social life anymore."
Tears welled in her eyes as she studied the dismay etched on his face. "That's not true. This has nothing to do with you!"
"Then prove it," he challenged. "Forget this ... this date of yours and spend the evening with me."
"I told you I can't," she snapped defensively. "I promised her and it's too late for me to back out now. I really have to go."
She turned abruptly and started across the beach toward the pier, but before she had taken two steps, his hand caught her by the elbow and pulled her around to face him. Distress darkened the hollows of his eyes as he gazed down at her with steadfast candor. "What happened to us, Shannon? Granted, that storm put a damper on our first date, but I thought we enjoyed each others' company and fully expected to see each other again."
"I explained that already!" she exploded tearfully.
"Ah, yes. Your devastating, time-consuming problems," he mocked. "Come on, Shannon. I'm not buying any of this. There's something radically wrong here, and I believe I deserve to know what it is."
"All right! All right!" she spat angrily. "I was seeing someone! Okay? Someone I thought loved me. But when I finally realized he considered me nothing more that just another conquest and would never make a commitment, I-I just fell apart. There! Are you satisfied now?" she glared at him icily.
"He's a damn fool," Ben muttered, kicking at a half-submerged soda can in the sand.
"What did you say?" She frowned at his agitated demeanor.
"I-I said, what did you do ... about him, I mean?"
"I ... um, decided not to see him any more," she said, choking back unshed tears.
"And that's why you've embarked on this new social life," he frowned ruefully.
"I-I thought it would help, but..."
"But it only makes the pain worse."
Shannon lifted perplexed eyes to his solemn face. "How did you know?"
"Because I've been there, Shannon. I've been half out of my mind wondering if I'd done something to offend or upset you, and you chose not to return my calls for that reason."
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," she whimpered remorsefully, "and I wouldn't blame you if you hated me."
"Hey, I could never hate you," he said, touching the side of her face. "You're a very special lady and I care about you. That's why I'm asking you to be careful tonight." His eyes burned into hers with imploring tenderness. "Blind dates are risky business. I'd hate for something unpleasant to happen to you."
Timidly, she rose up on her toes and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Thanks for worrying about me, but I'll be fine." For a moment his arm encircled her waist drawing her close to him. "I-I really do have to go," she peered at him beseechingly.
"Ohhh, okay," he grimaced, reluctantly releasing her. "Just please be safe, all right?"
"I will," she assured him with a brief nod and quickly stepped away.
Ben watched Shannon traverse the sandy slopes to her car with quiet resolution. She may have succeeded in slipping away from him at the moment, but come hell or high water, he did not intend to give up on her so easily.
* * * *
It was nearly 7:15 when Shannon rushed through the doors of the Legends Restaurant. The combination of her unexpected encounter with Ben and her lack of knowledge of the exact location of the place had caused her inadvertent delay.
As she waited for
the hostess to seat the party ahead of her, she tried to calm her jangled nerves, but knowing that she was about to come face to face with a complete stranger only fueled her anxiety. When the hostess finally returned and she had explained that she was meeting friends for dinner, she was immediately led through the dimly lit eatery to a secluded corner at the back of the room.
At first it wasn't apparent which of the two men at the table with Donna was her date, but when the stout, greasy-complexioned man on the right rose to help her with her chair, it became abundantly clear. Flustered with both disappointment and alarm, Shannon could only stare wide-eyed at the man's lustfully grinning face as Donna jumped into introductions.
"Shannon, I'd like you to meet Miguel, your very eager date for this evening. Miguel, this is Shannon, my lonely ... ah ... lovely co-worker I told you about."
Forcing a smile, she nodded tensely and eased into the chair he held for her--then inwardly screamed. The hot-blooded Mexican promptly seated himself beside her and boldly placed a clammy hand on her right thigh just above the hem of her skirt. Twisting frantically in her seat, she tried in vain to free herself from his probing fingers, but every time she moved away, he painfully gripped her leg in defiant protest. Fighting back the hot tears that stung her eyes, she was determined not to be the victim of this lecherous creep, and was just about to bolt out of her chair and make a dash for the restaurant's door, when a familiar masculine voice spoke behind her.
"Good evening, ladies ... and gentlemen."
Glancing over her shoulder, Shannon's brimming eyes settled on Ben's handsome face as he stood smiling down at her. Almost at once he seemed to sense what was going on under the table and, taking a step forward, he casually placed his hand on Miguel's shoulder. Although the power of his grip wasn't readily visible to the others at the table, the chubby man on the receiving end was acutely aware. First, his face merely grew redder and redder as Ben continued to squeeze the sensitive nerve that ran into the curve of his neck. Then, when he could stand no more, he spat out an undistinguishable gush of Spanish obscenities and grudgingly removed his hand from Shannon's leg.
"Ben Tate!" Donna's voice cracked in astonishment. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I know you weren't expecting me," he grinned at Shannon's flabbergasted expression. "But things, how shall I say, kind of fell into place this evening, and I'm happy to say I found myself quite able to accept your gracious invitation."
Donna opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was an exasperated squeak as she watched him grab a chair from an unoccupied table and strategically wedge it between Shannon and fast-hands Miguel, forcing them apart permanently.
Quickly seating himself, he turned his attention to Shannon. "So, this lovely lady must be my date. I was told you were pretty, but I must say, mere words do not do you justice. I'm Ben Tate, and I'm very honored to make your acquaintance."
Gallantly, he lifted Shannon's small hand to his lips and touched a kiss to her fingertips. Astounded by his inimitable arrogance, she could only stare wordlessly at the roguish gleam in his eyes that silently urged her to keep up the charade.
Finally finding her voice, she managed a coy response. "I'm ... I'm Shannon McAllister," she breathed, blushing slightly, "...and it is I who am honored."
Rolling her eyes in disgust, Donna pushed her chair away from the table and flounced off toward the bar. The two men followed suit and soon the three were engaged in an intense, sometimes heated discussion undoubtedly pertaining to the unexpected appearance of Mr. Tate and the demise of their dinner plans.
Unmindful of Donna and her cohorts, Shannon turned on Ben with a vengeance. "What do you think you're doing?" she flared.
"Saving you from the clutches of a sexual predator," he replied flatly.
Shannon's face grew scarlet at the thought of him witnessing Miguel's sweaty hand creeping up her leg. "You ... you saw that?" she stammered.
"Of course, I saw it!" he growled. "Why do you think I crashed your little dinner party? Look, Shannon," he took her hands in his. "I admit I followed you here tonight. But I did it because I had a bad feeling about this so-called date of yours. Unfortunately, I was right," he eyed her compassionately.
"Thanks for rescuing me," she smiled wanly. "However I'm sure Donna believes your rather flamboyant appearance was pre-arranged and I'll never be able to convince her otherwise."
A devilish glint deepened the hue of his eyes as he fixed her with a nonchalant gaze. "If saving face with Donna is more important than your virtue, I'll gladly concede to Pedro Pete over there."
Shannon glanced toward the homely, obese man slouched over the bar guzzling beer and shuddered.
"That's what I thought," he chuckled and promptly motioned for the waitress to bring them menus.
Despite the way the evening began, Shannon soon lost herself in Ben's presence. His genuine warmth and easy-going manner quickly overcame her anxiety, allowing her to relax and enjoy herself. Halfway through dinner, however, things started to take on a strange dimension and she began to sense something peculiar taking place. At first she tried telling herself it was just her imagination playing tricks on her but, as the evening wore on, it became painfully evident that the Marquis had somehow bewitched her.
Suddenly everything Ben did or said brought his image to mind. If he casually laid his arm along the back of her chair or touched her in the slightest way, vivid memories of all the nights she spent with him came rushing back to her. Even the velvety inflection in his voice conjured up visions of the times she'd gazed into his masked visage, listening intently to the gentleness of his words while her soul got lost in the violet-blueness of his twinkling eyes.
Blue eyes! The thought stabbed her like a rude elbow in the ribs. Ben's eyes were blue. And ... oh, God! Her eyes traveled over his roughhewn features to his mouth. He has the same, full sensuous lips as the Marquis. Stop it! she angrily reprimanded herself. This is Ben Tate, not the Marquis! Now get a grip on yourself before you ruin the entire evening!
"Shannon? Are you all right?" Ben cocked a quizzical brow at her troubled face.
"Huh?" she snapped to attention.
"You seem to be a little preoccupied. I'm not boring you, am I?" he smiled crookedly at her.
"No, of course not. I guess I'm just a bit overwhelmed..."
"Certainly not by me, I hope!" He looked at her with mock horror.
"No, it's not you," she laughed at his silly expression. "It's just that this evening's turn of events kind of threw me, that's all."
"Well, I may have just the thing to help you forget all the bad parts. Would you like to dance?" He gestured toward the restaurant's small dance floor.
Shannon jumped at the offer hoping in desperation that being in his arms would drive the Marquis' image away for good. But dancing with him only made matters worse. Ben guided her around the dance floor with an expertise that rivaled the Marquis'. The way he held her, molded against him with her right hand tucked securely in his as he pressed it against his chest while his lips nuzzled the top of her ear, brought vivid recall of the times the Marquis danced with her in exactly the same manner. Shannon tried to force the invading form of the Marquis from her mind, but found it virtually impossible. Every muscle, every pore of Ben's being seem to ooze with the Marquis' persona and it was beginning to take its toll on her. Could it be that she was so in love with him that she saw him and felt his touch even in another man?
Horrified, by the thought, she felt a trembling begin in her limbs and slowly spread throughout her body. She knew Ben felt it, too, because he glanced down at her in puzzled concern.
"What's wrong, Shannon? You're shaking like a leaf," he whispered, drawing her closer to his stalwart form.
"C-could we go back to our seats? I'm not feeling very well," she whimpered, struggling to fight back the tears that threatened to expose the turmoil raging inside her.
"Of course," Ben obliged, eyeing her curiously as he escorted her back to the corner
table. "You sit down and relax. I'll ask the waitress to bring you a glass of water."
"No." She refused the chair he held for her. "I think I'd just better go. I had a really nice time, but I can't stay any longer. I'm sorry." She grabbed up her purse and fled.
"Wait!" Ben grabbed her gently by the hand. "I'd be more than happy to drive you home since you're not feeling well."
Shannon shook her head. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll be all right."
Ben watched her scurry out of the restaurant and then, quickly tossing some money on the table to pay for their meals, he hurried out after her. Shannon's sudden, odd behavior worried him and, while he didn't quite know what to make of it, he wasn't about to leave her without making sure she was indeed all right.
Outside in the parking lot, Shannon unlocked the door to her brown sedan and slid onto the tattered seat. The tears she'd been holding in were now no longer restrainable and she let them spill forth releasing her grief.
Not far away in his own car, Ben observed Shannon's shaking shoulders and knew she was crying, and it was killing him inside. God! How he wanted to take her in his arms and lay bare all the secret corners of his soul, but his better judgment warned against it. Give her time, his heart implored him. You might scare her away for good if you go to her now.
After what seemed like an eternity to Ben, Shannon finally dried her eyes and started her car. Switching on the ignition of his own vehicle, he waited until she pulled out of the parking lot, and then followed her at a safe distance. At first she drove around in circles not seeming to go anywhere. Ben stayed as close behind as possible without being seen and followed her every turn, but her ring-around-rosy driving was beginning to grate on his nerves and prompted him to believe she was going to keep it up all night. Finally, she turned onto the freeway and headed toward the Valley. He continued to follow her for a short distance to make certain she didn't veer off in another direction again. Then, firmly convinced she was indeed on her way home, he took the next exit, leaving the freeway for a little-known shortcut that would swiftly carry him to another residence.
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