Romantic Days, Romantic Nights

by Lynn Jae Marsh

  "That's enough," Drake said. "Leave!"

  "But I haven't finished talking to Cash. We're bonding. No one bonds like a man's wife and his new girlfriend."

  "Ex-wife."

  "Let her talk," Alexis said with an outwardly complacent smile.

  "Leave now, Beth! Take Peterson with you."

  "Yeah, Beth, let's leave," Ted said, noticing that Drake had taken his hands out of his pockets and that his fists were balled tight, so tight that the blood had rushed from them. "We've done enough damage for one night."

  Drake took Alexis' hand and pulled her to her feet. He wrapped his arm around her slender waist and steered her to the dance floor. "Don't let them get to you," he whispered, close to her ear.

  "Of course, not," Alexis said, but a closed, shuttered look had captured her face.

  "Isn't Drake simply a charming seeing-eye guide dog?" Beth said. She could not resist planting one last barb, and her tongue practically dripped with black malice.

  "I'd certainly screw her if she were my bitch," Ted muttered. When Drake's head whipped around, he pulled Beth away. The two of them disappeared into the crowd around the roulette wheel.

  Drake chose to let Ted's taunt go. He pulled Alexis deeper into his embrace, tucking her head into the nook between his neck and shoulder. The tempo of the music was slow, the strands haunting. Although Alexis' blindness prevented them from doing any fancy footwork, they rocked and rolled nevertheless, moving their bodies so seductively, so much a public fucking of hard body to soft flesh, that all eyes in the Silver Room followed them around the dance floor. The band picked up on the heat that they were generating and changed the rhythm so that they swayed to the music in perfect time.

  Their thoughts were not in perfect accord.

  Drake gritted his teeth at his jealousy. He knew that his jealousy was irrational, that Alexis was not interested in Ted Peterson. Still, he couldn't help himself. He was jealous of any man who cast his eyes in the direction of his woman. She was naïve in some ways, not realizing the shockwaves that her mere presence generated in men. When she walked into a room with her natural sashay, men got real hard, real fast. And, somehow, the fact that she could not see notched up the heat-like a blindfolded lover in foreplay.

  For her part, Alexis was too wrapped in her rage to consider Drake's feelings. Only Beth's presence had stopped her from ripping Drake apart. He had dared treat her as if she were a hot-house flower who needed his protection. She could handle Beth and a thousand like her. She didn't need Drake to...

  Her thoughts ruined her concentration on the dance steps. She stumbled and fell. In front of all those people, Beth and Ted included, she stumbled and fell, landing on her derriere with a loud thud.

  "My fault. I should have..." Drake said, reaching down.

  "Hey, Smith!" Ted shouted from across the room. "You better buy your woman a stick and a tin cup. Or maybe your bitch needs a better guide dog."

  Drake turned, intending to silence Ted Peterson. Permanently.

  "Get me out of here," Alexis pleaded.

  Only the plea, the soft plea, in her voice stopped Drake. He had never heard her sound like that, so frail, so broken, and so in need of his help.

  He gathered her shawl and her purse and shepherded her from the restaurant. They drove to her Lincoln townhouse in deafening silence. Knowing that the storm was about to break, Drake threw off his jacket and loosened his tie.

  "Alexis," he said. "Let's get this over with. What did I do wrong this time?"

  Her sightless eyes skewered him and she needed no further provocation.

  "How could you treat me like that?" she said.

  "Wait a minute."

  "No, you wait a minute."

  "If I was out of line..."

  "If!"

  "Okay, okay. I screwed up."

  "You humiliated me," she accused.

  "Humiliated? Let's take this down a few pegs, okay?"

  "Don't ever, ever, create a situation in which I can't choose."

  "What are you taking about?" Drake racked his brain. "The dance?"

  "Exactly."

  "We've danced before."

  "But you didn't ask me. You made it impossible for me to refuse."

  "Well, you could have said no."

  "Yanking my hand, dragging me along, steering me around..."

  "I thought... Look, Beth can be vicious. I don't want you in her line of fire."

  "Beth! Fuck her! Fuck Beth Bledsoe and the white horse she rode in on. This is not about her. This is about you and me. When will you learn that I don't need your help?"

  Alexis spat out the last words, her sightless violet eyes flashing. When she spun around, giving him her back, he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at his ash-golden locks until one curl fell forward to grace his broad brow. He didn't want to argue with her. He only wanted to love her. He spread out his hands, the muscle at the line of his mouth beating with a dull rhythm. He sought the right words.

  "It won't happen again," he vowed.

  At the solemnity in his voice, she reached for him. Within the space of a heartbeat, she was in his arms. Their kiss was a sweet affirmation of their love.

  Drake's lips slanted across her mouth, begging for entry. She took him in, welcoming him, and their tongues dueled, exploring the recesses, the slick, hot, hungry recesses of each other, until they merged into one. She whimpered then, a throaty sound emanating from deep within her, that hailed the flow of her juices, that her tender, slippery, wanting vulva was ready to take him in.

  "I'm spending the night?" he asked. His hand was at the base of her spine. He cupped her ass, lifting her high, grinding her against his erection.

  She nodded, her mind too misted by passion to speak, as she led him into her bedroom and pushed him onto her bed.

  They kissed and caressed, hands tearing at clothing until they were both nude. She climbed on top of his powerful body, snaking over him, roaming her hands over the sleek hills and hard valleys of his body as she went, low, lower, lowest, until she wrapped her hand around the thick, broad head of his prick. She stroked it, petted it, until the crystal clear glisten of his essence shot into her hand. At his gasp, at his buck, as he spun her under him, she reached over to the sideboard, feeling for a square foil.

  His reach was surer.

  "There's some things a man prefers to do himself," Drake said. His voice was deep, husky as if whiskey-coated.

  "A man's got do, what a man's got to do," she quipped, her lips busy kissing that warm, honeyed indention near his navel.

  He opened the drawer and found a condom. His hand was near the phone when it rang with a loud, piercing squeal that threatened to destroy the moment.

  "Let it ring!" he said. He ripped open the foil with his teeth.

  The ringing persisted as Alexis' hand returned to his cock, stroking him from his root, where his balls nestled in the white-gold glory of hair, to his bulging tip.

  Drake pushed her hand away and rolled the condom in place.

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  He wedged his knee between her thighs, making room for himself.

  Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!

  "I can't," she moaned. She scooted under his arm, past his broad chest and shoulder, to hit the speaker button on the phone.

  "Who the hell changed the contracts?" The voice of her boss, Randolph McCord of McCord Diversified, barked through the line. Then, the line went dead with the abrupt slam of the receiver.

  "Changed the contracts? Changed the contracts," Alexis said.

  She turned to Drake.

  She heard him curse, violently, darkly, profanely.

  She knew-she knew-that he had changed the contracts.

  "I can explain," Drake said, circling the bed to walk towards her. He took her by her shoulders, holding her to his chest, until her head tilted back, and her long, rosewood tresses brushed his arm.

  "Get out!" Alexis said.

  "Let me explain. Trust me."

  Crack!<
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  Drake's head jerked from the force of her blow. He glared at her with reproachful eyes.

  "Get the hell out."

  "Okay. I'll leave. But I'll say this before I go. For months, I've been walking on tiptoes, tipping around you, trying to prove myself. I've bitten my tongue, damn it, to hold back my anger, to let you flaunt your arrogant independence, doing anything to make you happy. For you not to trust me..." He stopped, shaking his head. His face was a compelling blend of anger and of sadness. "Why did I ever think that you could come to love me when all you love is your false pride?"

  He slapped on his pants, found his jacket, and walked away. When he padded, barefoot, to the door, a vase sailed pass his head, crashing against the wall, landing as shattered glass at his feet. He did not pause. He did not look back. He opened the door and closed the door, quietly. There was silence in the townhouse, and then, the sound of raw, aching tears.

  Chapter 6

  In the two weeks since Alexis had slapped his face and kicked him out, Drake's mind had replayed every moment that he had spent with her, from their first kiss, to their passion, to the phone call from Randolph McCord. He had remembered every detail of her face, of her walk, of her soft moans when he brought her to climax. He had remembered, yearned and wanted.

  How could she think that I would betray her?

  I'd be damned before I pulled a Martha Stewart on my woman.

  He had not anticipated the speed of events. McCord's telephone call had caught him off-guard. Before he could marshal his thoughts, she had ordered him to leave.

  She didn't even give me a chance to explain.

  But, damn it, did I try? Did I really try? No, I accepted defeat, left to lick my wounds like a whipped puppy. He focused on that last thought. Well, that's gonna change. Most definitely, change. It's clear that my woman needs a few lessons in trust.

  Drake grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

  Chapter 7

  Within moments, Drake was standing at the entrance to Alexis' Lincoln townhouse. Before he could activate the intercom, the door was thrown open.

  Alexis froze, sensing someone's presence. When the scent of Armani reached her, she thought that the misery of the past weeks had pushed her over the edge, to the shady side of crazy, until her hand encountered solid, warm flesh.

  "Alexis, I..."

  "Drake, I..."

  "I'm coming in," he declared in a voice that brooked no contradiction. "We will talk. No, I'll talk, you'll listen, and we'll get past this."

  "I was on my way to your office," Alexis said, softly. She stepped back from the doorway, gesturing with her hand for him to enter.

  She led the way through the spacious foyer to the living room. Drake strode close behind her, and his eyes strayed to the switch-sway of her round buttocks in the tight skirt. He barely restrained himself, controlled himself from caressing her lush ripeness, from reaching out his hand to bunch her skirt around her waist, from shoving her against the wall, face-first. He would rip down her panties, open her pink slit, enter her from behind, ignoring her slight gasp of pain, to assert his rights as primitive man.

  His eyes swept the space, taking in the patio windows, the sunlit study, the gauzy curtains separating the bedroom, to linger on the canopied bed. He'd always loved her place. Goddamnit! He had missed it. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to her body lying upon the bed, naked, hot, sweaty, writhing as the sunlight bathed her private parts. The imagery brought forcibly to his mind an Arabian night and a captive maiden, a desert sheik and a bacchanal feast, complete with a dancing slave-girl.

  "Please sit down," she said with stilted formality, gesturing to the sofa.

  He hesitated, waiting to see where she would sit. When she chose the chair, he ignored the sofa and grabbed the footrest, pulling it close to her chair.

  "Okay, the first thing you're going to get straight..."

  "I'm sorry, so, so sorry," she stammered, taking his hand in hers. When their fingers intertwined, palm-to-palm, his anger melted.

  He placed his hands on either side of her face and pulled her towards him. Their mouths were close, but not touching. The moment was a million moments in time as salty tears trailed down her cheeks to land as teardrops on her blouse. Their kiss was a tender mending that turned passionate, until she gently freed herself. He released her, but not before his tongue darted out to lick away her few, remaining tears.

  "Look only!" she scolded, smiling.

  "Impossible!" he said, and took her back in his arms.

  The chair became their haven of love. Finding the footrest too restrictive, he swept her up, cradling her in his lap. Their mouths plundered. Their hands caressed. They were lost in a world of sensation, losing track of time, only her moans of passion and his grunts of pleasure breaking the silence of the room. Until the telephone rang.

  "Whatever you do, don't get that," Drake ordered, as he pressed kisses along the soft satin of her neck. His hand crept up her leg, finding its way under her skirt to her inner thigh, to that secret place where her leg and hip joined. He teased her with light, little spirals, his fingertips barely brushing her skin.

  "I ... learn ... from ... my ... mistakes," Alexis said disjointedly, her thinking bewitched by the motion of his hand, the circular pattern becoming wider and wider. She followed each rotation with her mind, waiting for its conclusion, anticipating the next.

  The telephone continued to ring until the answering machine clicked on.

  Randolph McCord's voice came through the speaker.

  "Girlie, there's no fool like an old fool," McCord barked. "I can't believe I doubted you. I'm sitting here at the breakfast table-Jessie just gave me a sugar tit-and I opened the Financial New and World Reports. I can't believe it. Huh-huh-huh. You did a mighty fine job with those contracts after all-you must've had an inside source. No, don't answer that. Well-well-well ... huh-huh-huh."

  The line went dead with the sound of McCord's yahoo and with the slam of his newspaper against the table.

  Alexis sat up, shaking herself free from Drake's arms. McCord's telephone call, that one word, contracts, had renewed her pain and anger, her uncertainty and fear, and had ripped open a wound that had only began to heal.

  Drake let fly a crude curse, wishing that he had a dark hole to stuff McCord in. He didn't want to waste time with explanations. He wanted to make love to his woman, to plant himself so deeply in her that his body would be imprinted upon hers.

  Drake let Alexis slip from his arms, before saying, "About the contracts, I changed them because, well, you know why now."

  "Yeah."

  "I did it because I love you."

  "I know that. I know. But when I brought you in, when we agreed..."

  "We defined our roles..."

  "I was to handle the negotiations," Alexis said, pointing to her chest. "You were in charge of the legal-stuff, the whereases, the aforesaids, the heretofores."

  "That was the deal," Drake concurred, nodding his head, very lawyer-like.

  "So what happened?"

  "Did you expect me to just stand by..."

  "I can take my own licks when I negotiate a bad deal..."

  "...let you take a hit?" he finished.

  "So you what? Used your sources, not all of them legit? That's your rep, right?"

  "Uh-huh," Drake grunted, noncommittal. "I regret that you got hurt."

  "You could have told me."

  "No way I'm gonna involve my woman in insider trading."

  "Maybe you wanted to take me down a peg."

  "Do you think I'm that petty, that I would betray you like that?"

  He tried to take her back into his arms. She pushed his hands away and stood. His eyes followed her as she walked across the room.

  "You did betray me, Drake. Oh, I'm grateful. How could I not be? But you took the decision out of my hands. Beth was right. You do want to fix everything."

  He strode over to stand behind her as she rested her head on the glass of the patio wind
ows.

  "You claim that I'm overprotective," Drake said, "but I'm not. I..."

  "No, sometimes you're simply Neanderthal. You sprout sensitivity to women's issues, but you worked against the feminists in Saudi Arabia."

  "That was business. You don't know that whole story, so don't talk about it."

  He turned her to face him. They were face-to-face, breast-to-breast.

  "Don't you understand?" he said, giving her a little shake. "I love you! I would do anything for you. Risk everything. I'd set the world on fire, destroy every living thing, to spare you one moment of unhappiness, one moment of pain."

  The poignancy of his words moved her. Not what he said, but how he said it. She could dislike it, rail against it, but his desire to protect her had made him intervene with the McCord contracts, an act that could cost him plenty.

  Her reflections brought her closer to understanding the breadth of his love, love that she had to accept in its entirety. She could not pick and choose for that would be false pride-as he had claimed.

  "I want your love," she said, sighing. "You risked everything. Jail..."

  "Sh-shhhhh. I shake the law, not break it."

  "It's so much to accept when I've spent my life not accepting anything."

  His arms tightened around her, like iron bands of love.

  "Don't you think I'm scared too? If we're committed, really committed, we can make this work. I know we can, Alexis."

  "I want it to. I don't want to be without you ever again. I've been miserable these past weeks. Not to hear your voice, not to feel your touch, not to kiss you."

  With every word, she leaned closer, her lips seducing him. She expected him to seal their mending, the new beginning, with a kiss and was surprised when he did not. Then she realized, with woman-wise wisdom, that he needed to know-had to know-that she wanted him.

  She brushed her lips against his, then her tongue. She nibbled and gnawed, urging a response. She got none and his detachment baited her. She ran her tongue along his angled jaw, pausing at the corner of his mouth, to press kisses there. She returned to lick his lips, to taste him as she ran her fingers through the glorious strands of his hair.