Punchline

by Jacqueline Diamond

  SANDRA’S MANSION LAY in the exclusive community of Bel-Air Estates, just west of Beverly Hills. lucked among trees and curving roads lay some of the region’s most expensive real estate.

  Thousands of lights sparkled along the driveway, where uniformed valets were assisting the guests. White bulbs winked from treetops and hedges, turning the scene into a fairyland.

  A cluster of paparazzi waited near the street, dodging cars as they snapped the new arrivals. Channel 17 was there too, its minicam sweeping the driveway. Belle gave a little wave and hoped the black gown would disguise the fullness of her waistline.

  There was no dragon master with a guest list, but a pleasant-faced attendant who apparently recognized the invitees on sight. He greeted Belle and Darryl warmly, by name.

  The grand entryway opened into a living room large enough to serve as a hotel lobby. Beneath an enormous Christmas tree, a tuxedoed musician at a grand piano played something lyrical.

  As they made their way between jewel-encrusted guests in designer gowns, Belle noted that the ceiling had been turned into a planetarium of celestial vistas. The party’s theme must be outer space.

  Everywhere she glanced, she saw some creative touch: a spray of white flowers interspersed with silver planets, a three-tiered tray filled with green cheese, even a life-size tableau of manikin astronauts planting the flag on the moon.

  As they reached the French doors leading outside, the piano music was superseded by the infectious Latin rhythms of a dance band. When they stepped over the threshold, the balmy night twinkled with real stars.

  In the center of the swimming pool loomed an ice sculpture of the planet Saturn, complete with rings. Sandra had outdone herself.

  Belle thought about the megamall presentation scheduled next week and wondered how Darryl imagined he could upstage Sandra Duval. But judging from his admiring smile, that problem hadn’t crossed his mind.

  Across the water, a pool house with its doors thrown open displayed a series of cloth-covered tables. They held more food than Belle had ever seen outside a supermarket, tiers of canapés and seafood and desserts.

  But neither the decor nor the catering could overshadow the guests. She recognized many of her favorite movie and television stars, rock singers and even a few politicians.

  It had been foolish to worry about the contrast between her figure and Mindy’s. When they spotted the model, she simply blended into the general feminine swirl of aerobicized and liposuctioned perfection.

  At the pool house, Sandra waved cheerily from where she stood in a knot of male admirers. Or gold diggers. Sandra had confessed once that she never expected to marry again, because there was no one she could trust to love her for herself.

  Belle decided that inheriting fifty million dollars would make it worth having that kind of problem.

  She picked among the shrimp and crab but didn’t have much appetite. Mostly, she kept noticing Darryl.

  Everything about him bristled with aristocratic self-possession, even the way he scooped up caviar on a cracker. He moved along the main buffet table as if it, and the rest of the world, belonged to him.

  Yet tonight she couldn’t resent him. He was too essential, too primitive. At this party, the man was in his element, and Belle was glad she’d agreed to come.

  Their gazes met over a stuffed mushroom. One eyebrow quirked, and Darryl tossed down the canapé and left his plate on the table.

  Moving to Belle’s side, he murmured, “Would you care to dance?”

  The music had changed to a vibrant rock tune. “Sure,” she said.

  Globes of light, like those that had swept ballrooms of the Big Band era, dappled the dance floor set up on a stretch of lawn beyond the swimming pool. Only a handful of couples were gyrating on the smooth wooden planking.

  Belle’s shoulders and hips began to quiver in time to the music. Before she knew it, the rhythm had propelled her into the middle of the dance floor.

  Darryl was right there beside her, in front of her, behind her. Laughing. Spinning her around. Raking her with appreciative glances.

  There was nothing intimate about their contact, yet she felt aware of him in a new way. She always sensed where he was, and he possessed an almost magical ability to support her without missing a step.

  On its platform, the band segued into a cha-cha. Darryl caught Belle and they executed the steps together, so caught up in their enjoyment that they were scarcely aware of the admiration of the onlookers.

  She had never felt so comfortable in anyone’s arms. They were completely in sync. This was something that only happened between a couple who knew each other intimately. Her body, it seemed, remembered things her brain could not.

  The tempo slowed. A female singer with a low, smoky voice began to croon of hopeless love and endless desire.

  Darryl’s grasp shifted until he cradled Belle against him. Her cheek pressing into his shoulder, she inhaled the deep male essence of him.

  From an unseen garden drifted the fragrance of exotic flowers, enveloping them in a sensuous cocoon. She lost all consciousness of the other guests. The two of them might as well have been dancing alone in the Garden of Eden.

  Gliding across the floor, she could feel every twitch of Darryl’s muscular legs, every shift of his hips. The cool air could no longer dispel the heat radiating from her body.

  This couldn’t be her. Belle Martens did not live in a fantasy world, nor did she exude hunger and sexual excitement on a dance floor. Most of all, Belle Martens could not be falling in love with Darryl Horak.

  The thought nearly stopped her, but it was too late. Her heart defied her brain, refusing to yield the magic of this moment.

  Just for a little longer, she would let herself drift through an alternate reality. Just for the space of a song, Belle could fall in love.

  DARRYL’S REASON FOR attending this party had been to network. The entire Hollywood A-list was here.

  He’d spotted an action-hero whom About Town had been seeking to interview for months. By the pool, a trendy new menswear designer from Italy was holding court. His latest collection ought to be a four-page spread for the April issue.

  Darryl didn’t care.

  Between the tall, anorexic beauties, Belle flourished like a lily among reeds. He’d felt vitality and exuberance thrumming through her from the moment they’d arrived.

  Maybe it was because she carried new life. Maybe it was simply her personality. Whatever the source, it made Darryl feel as if he had stepped into a different and more wondrous universe.

  From this fresh perspective, he could see that the glamour of the other ladies lay skin-deep. While they posed and preened, Belle plunged herself heart and soul into this moment, this dance.

  He didn’t merely want to make love to her. He wanted to watch her response as he roused her to uncontrollable desire. His own satisfaction was no longer the goal. They had to find ecstasy together.

  When the music changed to a faster but still sultry beat, he refused to relinquish her. Belle made no move to pull away, merely quickened her pace to match his.

  But inevitably the dance floor began to fill up. Darryl had to focus on avoiding collisions, and then the band switched to a raucous rock number and the spell was broken.

  He and Belle wandered back to the pool house. Along the way, they chatted with people they knew, and people they wanted to know, and people who wanted to know them. Afterward, he could barely recall any of their names.

  ‘ It was only a quarter past eleven when Belle began yawning. Mothers-to-be needed a lot of sleep, Darryl supposed. Besides, after thirty-three years, he no longer found it unthinkable to leave a New Year’s Eve party before midnight.

  As they drove away from the lights and music, the night lay quiet before them. Other neighborhoods might resound with noisemakers, but not elegant Bel-Air.

  In the passenger seat, Belle leaned back, her eyelids drifting shut. Darryl wondered at her ability to stimulate him the way she had earlier. He
would never understand this power a woman had, to turn a man twice her size into a lump of longing.

  But he needed to get her home and let her rest. Becoming a father sometimes meant putting your woman’s and child’s needs ahead of your own. It wasn’t an easy lesson for him to master, but he was doing his best.

  BELLE COULD SENSE Darryl withdrawing. She told herself it was for the best, but she missed their closeness on the dance floor.

  She hadn’t really fallen in love with him, of course. It had been a dream, a fantasy. But that didn’t mean she had to release the enchantment right away. She closed her eyes and imagined they were sailing through the stars.

  When they arrived at the condo, her legs felt wobbly. It must be from dancing while carrying the baby’s extra weight. Four and a half months of pregnancy might not sound advanced, but on Belle’s short frame, it felt like a lot.

  In the living room, she got as far as the couch and then sank down. Unwilling to stir, she didn’t object when Darryl sat beside her and switched on the TV.

  The crowd in Times Square was getting warmed up. “Isn’t there anything local?” she asked.

  He flipped through the channels. On a news program, they saw shots of people arriving at Sandra Duval’s party, and Belle glimpsed the two of them, nearly lost among all those lights. Darryl looked heartbreakingly elegant in his tuxedo, she thought, and was grateful that her dark dress made her figure impossible to see.

  She didn’t want the night to be over. Not that she regretted leaving. It wasn’t the glitz she missed, but that sense of entering into a special, private realm that existed just for the two of them.

  Then a commercial came on, and Darryl started clicking again. They passed talk shows, reruns of “Star Trek” and an old TV-movie about a woman suffering from amnesia.

  “I always thought they made up that stuff,” Belle said. “You know, about people forgetting things. But I swear I can’t remember anything that happened that night we got drugged. Can you?”

  “I’m still drawing a blank.” Darryl stretched his tuxedo-clad legs across the carpet. “But I just thought of a way we might be able to recover our memories.”

  “What’s that?”

  He scooted closer and tipped one finger beneath her chin. “By reenacting the events,” he said. “Like this.”

  His mouth closed over Belle’s, and before she could stop to think, her arms wound around his neck and she was kissing him back.

  She knew this was not a good idea. She also knew that wild and previously unsuspected impulses were racing through her as Darryl probed her lips.

  “Are you remembering anything?” he whispered, lifting his head.

  “Not yet.” She didn’t mean to encourage him, but she had to tell the truth, didn’t she?

  “I think we should pursue this in a logical manner,” he said.

  There was nothing logical about the sensations tingling across her skin. “How?”

  He clicked off the TV just as the fireworks exploded. They were nothing compared to what was happening in this room, she thought.

  “Normally, I would begin by kissing you,” he said.

  “We’ve done that,” she reminded him.

  His tongue tapped the edges of his teeth as he considered. They were nice teeth, white and even, Belle thought. “Maybe we should just let our instincts take over.”

  He was teasing her, of course. He didn’t care about recovering his memory any more than she did. He was just taking their intimacy on the dance floor to the next, irresistible level.

  And she wanted him to. For one night, Belle ached to yield to the crazy, hopeless, overwhelming impulse to fall in love. Darryl was the wrong man for her, and this enchantment wouldn’t last any longer than star shine and dance music, but she wanted to experience every delirious moment.

  This time, she knew, she would hold the memory inside her forever.

  “So tell me,” she whispered. “What do your instincts tell you to do?”

  He slipped one arm behind her back and kissed her again for a very long time. His other hand stroked her cheek, then traveled down her throat to the valley between her breasts.

  Belle’s entire nervous system might have been wired to those twin points of her anatomy. Her nipples grew taut and hot lava spread through her marrow.

  Darryl eased the dress off one shoulder, lowering the bra strap with it. He leaned down and his tongue traced the edge of one nipple.

  A moan twisted from her throat and her back arched in instinctive feminine invitation. She could feel herself losing control. It had never happened to her before—and yet it had.

  Vaguely, she recalled experiencing this wild urge to join with a creature of the night. It must have been in a dream, or, rather, in a drug-enhanced state. There had been a wolf stalking her, a wolf that transformed itself into a man of mist and magic.

  He was here now. He was Darryl.

  As he lowered her across the couch, Belle thought she remembered the sure strokes of his hands smoothing away her dress, but she couldn’t be sure. And it no longer mattered.

  10

  SHE ENCIRCLED DARRYL with her arms, probing the expanse of his back. His muscles rippled as her hands explored down his narrow waist and along his hips.

  The man quivered, and she felt the pressure of his knee parting her legs. His tuxedo brushed over her bare skin, silky and rough at the same time.

  Taking a long breath, Darryl elevated himself and tore away his garments like a feral creature casting off civilization. In the ferocity of his gaze, Belle saw wonder and joy and a deep, driving hunger.

  Their mouths came together again, hers yielding, his demanding. His chest crushed her breasts, and she urged him on with long caresses.

  He shifted her on the couch, positioning her to receive him. Belle knew what was coming, but she knew it from a dream, an impossible experience in which she had merged with a beast from her darkest fantasies.

  Darryl entered her slowly, every inch of him a longedfor intrusion. They fused moment by moment, in an almost unbearable suspension of nature’s promptings.

  Then he was deep inside her, and she could hold out no longer. Her pelvis began to rotate, teasing him until he burst into a series of hard thrusts.

  Cries rasped from his throat. Belle wanted to delay, but the fierceness of his assault left no room for escape. Waves of pleasure burst through her core, and nothing existed in the world but Darryl’s conquest and her triumph.

  The fire died slowly to embers. He lay half over her and half beside her, breathing heavily. “I’m still not sure,” he said.

  “What?” She couldn’t grasp his meaning.

  “I’m not sure whether I remember.” A smile dawned on his face. “I guess we’ll have to do it again.”

  So they did.

  BELLE WOKE UP the next morning with a sense of unreality. She couldn’t have made love with Darryl last night, could she? It must be another of those disappointing dreams in which she started to recall their drugged night together and then awoke to find herself alone.

  She rolled over and examined the figure beside her. He looked much as he had that first morning, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the light, his broad chest exposed.

  It amazed her that where once she had seen only flaws and annoyances, now she found herself craving the sound of his voice and the glint of his smile. For one aching moment, Belle admitted she felt a deep bond to this man.

  Never before had she cared this much about anyone. In the past, she had kept men at bay, reluctant to risk getting hurt. She wouldn’t have allowed it now, but Darryl “and circumstances had conspired against her.

  He had penetrated her defenses so thoroughly, she wasn’t sure how she would recover, or if she could. His masculine scent tantalized her, and the sight of his rumpled dark hair brought back memories of exquisite pleasure.

  She ran her hand lightly across his skin. This time, she wasn’t wondering how it would feel to get intimate with some male model. She
was remembering every tantalizing detail of the night before.

  And, just as he had that first morning, Darryl reacted with a spurt of energy. Before Belle could respond, she found the man on top of her, his mouth on her breasts and his leg teasing hers apart.

  Then he stopped.

  “Go on,” Belle said.

  Dazed brown eyes blinked down at her. “Pain,” he said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Isn’t this the point where you bit me?”

  She chuckled. “That was then. This is now.”

  Darryl gave a long sigh. “Give me a few minutes. My libido just fled in terror.”

  Before it could return, however, they both decided they were hungry. After showering and breakfasting on toast with marmalade, they faced their first day as lovers.

  “Is it okay if I watch the Rose Parade?” Darryl asked.

  “You don’t need permission,” she said. “You live here.”

  “I just wondered what you wanted to do.”

  “The Rose Parade sounds like fun.” And it was.

  Still, by the time they had seen most of the floats, Belle was getting edgy. “I think I’ll call around and see if any furniture stores are open. I’ve been meaning to get some bookshelves.”

  Darryl eyed her makeshift arrangement of cinder blocks. “Any particular style?”

  “Whatever catches my eye.” She pried herself from the couch. “Any suggestions?”

  “I’ve been thinking of taking up carpentry,” he said. “It’s kind of a daddy thing. I could borrow a saw from my friend Jim. I mean, I took shop in school, and it can’t be that hard to build bookshelves, right?”

  Encouraging the man would be a recipe for disaster. With his refusal to consult directions, he was likely to make something even worse than what she had now. “I’ll start with one of the malls, “Belle said. “The furniture stores are overpriced but they’ll probably be open on a holiday. Want to come?”

  His fingers twitched as if missing the feel of a saw and some lumber. Then he grinned. “Let’s go.”