by Berg, Patti
Suddenly, he wanted to be above her, driving her to the brink of passion and beyond. When he rolled her beneath him, her legs found their way easily around his waist, and he slipped his hands under her hips and held her up to meet each one of his thrusts.
“Oh, Max!” His name escaped from her lips on a deep, heart-pounding moan.
Her fingers wound tightly in his hair, pulling him toward her, kissing away the perspiration on his brow, kissing his lips, loving him, as they moved together, slowly, rhythmically, touching each other’s hearts, each other’s souls.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Those three words had never sounded so real or so right, and he knew he felt the same. “I love you, too,” he breathed against her mouth, and together they exploded into heaven, then came back softly, slowly to earth.
oOo
Lauren woke in the middle of the night, wrapped in a tangle of sheets. The pillow beside her was empty, and worry sliced through her that Max had gone. She jerked up in bed, and then she saw him, standing near the oasis, water pulsing over the waterfall behind him.
She sat there for the longest time just watching him as he watched her, waiting for the frantic beat of her heart to calm. Finally she was able to ask, “Having trouble sleeping?”
“Having trouble keeping my hands off you.”
“You have my permission to touch me all you want.”
He smiled. “Come here then.”
Obeying a man had never been so easy. Gazing at a man had never been so pleasant. He took hold of her hand and led her into the grotto, reaching behind a fern to turn a hidden knob that made the water flow lightly over them. It was warm, gentle, and Max stood in front of her, his hands softly exploring her breasts, the curves of her waist and hips.
The muscles flexed in his arms, and she watched his mermaid tattoo almost swim with each ripple of his biceps. “What’s your fascination with mermaids?” she asked, swirling her fingers through the soft hair on his chest.
He turned her around and pointedly stared at the tattoo on her bottom. “You tell me what your interest is, first.”
“Mine’s the result of too much liquor and probably slurring the words mermaid and man together.”
“What kind of tattoo did you really want?” he asked, drawing his finger over the design that covered far too much of one of her cheeks.
“A tiny orchid would have sufficed. How I ended up with this is anybody’s guess.”
He knelt down for closer inspection, and she was sure her face turned purple. “What’s this?” he asked, and she knew he’d spotted the most humiliating aspect of the tattoo.
“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he said, sliding his hard, slick body over hers, only to grin when they stood face to face. “Pretty nice of you to have Max tattooed on your butt.”
“You think I did that on purpose?”
“What am I supposed to think?”
“That I must have cursed you in my sleep and Tattoo Annie found it funny. And if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone—”
He stilled her words with a kiss. “You could always have it removed.”
She frowned as she shook her head. “I’ve grown attached to it. Now,” she said, running her palm over his biceps, “tell me about yours.”
“This?” he asked, grinning as he bent his arm and made the powerful muscle dance.
“The one on your motorcycle, too. I thought you might have been in love with a mermaid once.”
“I’ve only been in love with you,” he said, turning her around and pulling her back against his chest. Reaching for a bar of soap, he lathered his hands and caressed her breasts, her belly, and lower still.
“That feels very nice,” she said on a moan, “but really, Max, I do want to know about your mermaid.”
“I got it the night you married Chip.”
His words were a whisper against her ear, and his soapy fingers reached between her legs, swirling around, drawing one moan after another from her, but still she managed to ask, “Why?”
“It’s a long story.” His fingers slipped inside her and her legs went weak. “Are you sure you want all the details?” His voice was raspy as he spoke. His lips moved over her shoulders, up the curve of her neck, while his fingers did absolutely delicious things to a part of her anatomy that was desperately in need of his attention.
“I want to know everything.” She wondered how much more of the story he could possibly reveal when she felt the hard length of him pressed against her, felt her own throbbing desire to have him inside her again. Still, she pleaded, “Tell me, Max.”
“I was angry.” The pressure of his swirling fingers increased and she leaned her head against his chest, unsuccessfully trying to keep her breathing calm. “I talked Bear into riding down to Miami with me.”
His thumb toyed with her favorite little pulse point and her body jerked. “Oh, God, Max. Please don’t stop.”
“The story?” he teased, “or this?” His mouth tormented the sensitive spot beneath her ear while his hands worked their magic on most every visible and invisible place on her body.
“Don’t stop any of it?” she begged, “Please.”
“There was a tattoo shop in a seedy party of town, and Bear dared me to get a tattoo.”
She felt his hands on her arms, turning her around, pressing her back against the smooth rock wall. “Bear had a dozen already. I didn’t want even one.” His lips trailed along her neck, over her chest, capturing her breast, licking, sucking, nipping lightly, and driving her almost to frenzy.
“There was a smart-aleck kid sitting in the waiting room watching The Little Mermaid. He was taunting me, telling me his mom had a million tattoos and I was a chicken for being afraid.” Lauren heard the rip of another foil pouch as Max continued to speak, and her gaze darted toward the blessedly swollen length of him. She gasped for breath as he slid the condom slowly over his skin.
“Bear was goading me, the kid was egging me on,” Max said, moving close, closer. “And I walked behind the curtain and told the man to put a mermaid on my arm, one with bright green eyes, golden brown hair, and luscious breasts.”
Lauren felt the heat of Max’s rock hard body between her legs, and cried out when he thrust into her.
Grasping the backs of her legs and wrapping them around his waist, he moved in and out, pressing her against the wall. “That tattoo’s a reminder of what I could never have,” he said, “a reminder that two different worlds could never come together. I believed that until tonight. Nothing can keep us apart, Lauren. Nothing.”
She swept her arms around his neck, pulling him tight, tighter, loving the feel of him moving in and out, loving the way his body pressed her against the wall, loving the urgency, the desire, the overwhelming need in him as he carried her to places she’d never been, introduced her to a world of pleasure she never dreamed she’d find. And for the first time in her life, she felt, she was really and truly loved.
Nineteen
Lightning tore across the morning sky, drowning out the roar of the kick-started engine. A moment later the clouds opened and released a torrential downpour. It was a delightful way to start the morning, Lauren thought, as she slid her arms around Max’s waist and held on tight when he tore out of the Fantasy Inn parking lot.
They cruised along the rain-slick streets for nearly half an hour, time for Lauren to reflect on all the delicious things Max had done to her during the night and the way he’d whispered sweet-nothings into her ear—sinful, sensual, and erotic sweet-nothings that had made her blush. And they planned to do it all over again tomorrow morning, right after Ryan and Jamie left for school.
For once Lauren was excited about getting up at seven A.M., because she planned to tumble right back into bed with a very willing partner.
The closer she and Max got to Palm Beach, the farther away the clouds moved, until the sunlight struck the pavement and shards of bright light blinded their vision. Max slo
wed as they maneuvered around corners, hit a few too many impossible-to-miss puddles that splashed dirty water onto her legs and rain-soaked dress, and finally turned into her circular drive.
That’s when the good times ended.
Celeste stood next to the open driver’s door of the Bentley, her eyes narrowed in undisguised anger. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mother.” Lauren climbed off the motorcycle, handing Max the helmet and the leather jacket she’d been wearing. Ruffling her fingers through her hair, she tried to make herself presentable in just a few seconds, an impossible task, for sure, considering that her dress was sticking to her body and water dripped from its hem.
“I’d give you a hug,” Lauren said to her mother, attempting to lighten Celeste’s mood, “but I’m a mess.”
Celeste didn’t look amused. “Did you have a good evening?”
Lauren squeezed Max’s hand. “The best time of my life.”
“Are you the least concerned with my evening? Do you care at all that you humiliated me in front of Gerald?” Celeste gripped the car door. “I will agree that the conversation about jewelry thefts might have been out of line, but there was no reason for you to run out on your guests simply because Mr. Wilde was offended.”
“I was offended, too, Mother.”
“By what?”
“By the way you treated my guest.”
Max put a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to stick up for me.”
“The only one I’m sticking up for is myself,” Lauren said, facing her mother again. “You’ve spent twenty-nine years telling me that I’ve humiliated you in one way or another, and I’ve spent twenty-nine years trying to make up for all my mistakes, but so far I haven’t been able to make you happy.”
She felt Max squeezing her arm, knew he wanted her to stop before she regretted what she said, but the words had been bottled up far too long. “I love you, Mother, but I can’t live by your dictates any longer. Being with Max makes me happy, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
“You feel that way now, but how will you feel when your friends talk behind your back or when they stop inviting you to parties?”
Celeste drew a deep breath, and Lauren realized she’d never seen her mother filled with so much anguish. The last thing Lauren wanted was to hurt her mother, but she was tired of standing still while her mother aimed her bitterness at the daughter who loved her.
“My so-called friends are already talking behind my back,” Lauren said. “I got a hint of that yesterday when I was turned down left and right as a wedding planner.”
“That won’t be the end of it, either,” Celeste tossed back. “After a while you’ll begin to hate the man who caused all your trouble. I know, because that’s what happened between me and your father. Please, Lauren, listen to me. You may think you love Mr. Wilde, but stay with him much longer, and you’ll lose everything you’ve ever known, everything that’s ever been a part of you.”
“My life’s been fairly empty, Mother, so I don’t understand what I’d be losing.”
Celeste shook her head. “There’s no reasoning with you, is there?”
“For the first time in my life, I have no doubts about what I want.”
Obviously Celeste wasn’t happy with that answer, and she turned to Max. “If you care for my daughter, Mr. Wilde, you should leave her alone.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Lauren’s father said the same thing once. He wouldn’t leave me alone in spite of my mother’s protests, and just like Lauren, I fell in love. I did everything for him. I gave up my home, my lifestyle, because I thought loving him was all I needed, and I ended up miserable.” An uncharacteristic tear slipped from Celeste’s eye. “Please,” Celeste implored, and even Lauren could hear the torment in her mother’s voice, “if you care for my daughter, leave her alone.”
Without another word, Celeste climbed into the car, slammed the door behind her, and drove away.
Lauren took a deep breath as she watched the car turn out of the drive. She’d felt so sure of herself when she made all her statements about not caring what her friends and family thought of her, but she knew in her heart that that wasn’t totally true. She also knew in her heart that she loved Max, that he was more important than anything else in her life.
Looking up at Max, she saw worry in his eyes and, far more frightening, she saw traces of doubt. She attempted to smile, but her fear that he was going to leave her made her lips tremble instead.
“Your mother’s right,” Max said, shoving his fingers through his hair. “Stick with me and you’ll lose everything you’ve ever known. Then you’ll end up resenting me, and I don’t want that.”
Oh, God, she didn’t want to hear those words—not from Max.
“She’s wrong.”
He shook his head. “No, she’s not. Your business is falling apart because of me.”
“People were laughing at my foray into the business world long before I met you.”
“Yeah, but having me cater Betsy’s wedding just added fuel to their fire.”
“Do you think I care?”
“I know you care,” he said, gripping her arms. “That’s what you do, Lauren. You care about everything and you’re constantly worried about what people think. There’s nothing wrong with that. Hell, more people should be like you, but if you and I stick together, you’ll wonder every moment what people are saying, what they’re thinking, and you’ll be miserable.”
“So what are you going to do, Max? Walk away from me?”
“I don’t see much choice. I love you, but—”
She laughed cynically. “You don’t love me, Max. If you did, you’d stick by me and we’d ride this thing out together.”
His fingers tightened and she could see the anguish in his eyes. “I do love you, that’s why I’m going to walk out on you.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Not to me. Do you think I care if people laugh behind my back? Do you think I care that your mother despises me? As for accusations about my friends being thieves, I’ve lived with that kind of crap all my life, and most of the time it bounces off of me. But, damn it, Lauren, I love you so much that I’d get hurt every time someone laughed at you, every time you argued with your mother, or lost a friend or your self-respect, because I know how important those things are to you.”
Tears spilled from her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I don’t want to lose you, either. But we both knew at the start that this would never work, that your world and mine were far too different.”
Lauren pulled away from him, wiping endless tears from her cheeks. “I never would have pegged you as a quitter. God, Max, I was married to men who didn’t care enough about our relationship to make it work. I fell in love with you because you weren’t at all like those men. I thought you’d fight for me, that you’d love me no matter what. But I was wrong.”
“I do love you, Lauren, but the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
She laughed and let the tears go right ahead and fall down her face. “Well, guess what, Max,” she said, defeatedly walking up the steps to her big, lonely home. “You’ve hurt me far worse than anyone else ever has.”
Twenty
Sleep, a box of Godivas, and a bottle of Dom Perignon helped Lauren make it through the first day. The second day she lay in bed trying to get over the blinding headache induced by too much champagne and chocolate.
Going shopping would have been a much easier way to run away from her troubles, but she couldn’t possibly have gone out in public with swollen eyes and a constantly tearstained face. Besides, she hadn’t wanted to leave home for fear of missing Max’s call—the one that hadn’t yet come.
How could he love her, not want to hurt her, and still walk away? Did he know how miserable she was? Did he care?
Of course not! No one seemed to care, and she was beginning to feel terribly sorry for herself.<
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Reaching across a bed piled high with pillows and magazines, all of which had brought her no comfort at all, she grabbed for a tissue, knocking over the half-full bottle of aspirin that, so far, hadn’t helped her headache.
She blew her nose, then tossed the tissue at the trash can beside her bed, missing, just as she’d done at least fifty times before.
When the knock sounded at her door, she tightened the ties on her black silk robe and sniffed. “Come in.”
Charles appeared, bearing a silver tray filled with some of Mrs. Fisk’s delectable food. He walked across the room, shaking his head when he gave her a quick glance, then crossed to her dresser. “I’ve brought a fresh supply of food,” he said, setting that tray down and picking up the one left over from lunchtime—the food still untouched.
“Pardon me for saying this, Miss Remington, but are you going to stay in this room forever?”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“Have you thought about the fact that crying for two days is not going to make Mr. Wilde come back?”
“It doesn’t appear that anything’s going to make Mr. Wilde come back, but I’d hoped crying might gain me a little sympathy, at least an ounce of understanding and concern from the people I love.”
“Are you finding that to be the case?”
“No, quite the contrary. You’re the only visitor I’ve had in two days, and you’ve been anything but congenial.”
He grinned. “I thought my attitude might get you out of bed sooner. Obviously I was wrong.”
“Do you have any other thoughts that might get me out of this room? I’m particularly interested in hearing what you have to say about how I can get Max Wilde back.”
“I believe there are dozens of possibilities.”
“Care to share them with me?”
“No.”
“And why not?”
“Because you’ve spent your entire life doing what everyone wanted you to do or expected you to do. I seem to recall you telling me that you were tired of that, and you planned to do things on your own from now on. Well, I believe it’s high time you follow through on that.”