Satin Doll

by Davis, Maggie;

  Afterward Alain had gone to take his urgent telephone call, and Sam watched the moon come up and spangle the waters of the moat below.

  A moat, she marveled, looking down into the deep water-filled ditch that surrounded the house. There was even a drawbridge over which the Lamborghini had purred. After the unbelievable day, it was even more unbelievable to be dropped down in such a setting. But she was there, Sam reminded herself, closing her eyes for a brief moment. There with Alain, and that was all that mattered.

  She had just walked out of the Maison Louvel. It was not the right thing to do, perhaps. Not when it was still filled with the fashion press, when Brooksie, Nannette and Sylvie were still in the changing room trying to restore some order, and when Jack Storm was upstairs with his comptroller and development head waiting for Sam to join them. But she told herself she was glad to leave them to analyze what had been accomplished and do the cleaning up without her. Brooksie had the rest of her money, the models’ bill was paid and she had left bonuses for Nannette and Sylvie in envelopes on the work-order spike in the atelier. There was nothing left for her to do. When she came back...

  If she came back, Sam thought, staring down at the beautiful summer moon reflected in the water below.

  It had been easy enough to go upstairs unnoticed and take off the extravagant ball gown at last, leaving it a pool of white silk and glitter on the floor, change into her jeans and a shirt and come back downstairs through the crowds to find Alain waiting. In the tunnel, he drew her to him quickly and kissed her passionately. “You are sure?” he murmured. “You want to go away with me now, leaving them”—he nodded his head upward—”like this?”

  Yes, she was sure. No matter what the events that had taken place in the Maison Louvel that morning, this was all that mattered now. She was with the man she loved, alone with him for a few days in this beautiful place.

  Sam looked at her wristwatch again. She supposed Alain was still talking on the telephone, but she wished he’d hurry; if she stood there much longer her deliriously happy feeling was in danger of melting away, to be replaced by the creeping tiredness that came on when she had time to think.

  She was, she told herself, setting her jaw a little stubbornly, going to have her own chance at happiness, entering a love affair this time with her eyes wide open, knowing Alain was a titled French aristocrat already engaged to a young girl his family found suitable. Well, she could deal with that; she’d been thinking it over the past few days after the trip to the de Bergerac house in Versailles, and she knew that she loved Alain. With a little luck this time it would work out. Besides, she had to admit she didn’t exactly come to Alain without a past of her own. She’d made some terrible mistakes, there was no getting around that. Some day she would have to tell Alain about Jack Storm.

  And Chip.

  Good lord, why did she have to think of him, she wondered. She didn’t want to remember Chip. She wanted to be happy, not fighting a knot of worry clenched in her stomach every time she thought about it. Chip had been an accident. If anything, all it had proved was that you could get dangerously involved with trash if you weren’t careful.

  “Samantha?”

  She jumped violently.

  “Good God, what is the matter?” Alain turned her to face him and peered down at her, frowning. “My darling, is something wrong?”

  Those gold-flecked eyes drove everything but Alain out of her mind. He stood with the soft yellow glow of the light from the library behind him gilding his sun-streaked hair and outlining the breadth of his shoulders. She caught the clean scent of the cologne he’d used after his shower. In this setting, the beautiful fairy-tale house, Alain des Baux was the golden prince out of every little girl’s fantasy. Now he was hers.

  “Nothing.” She pushed her hair back from her face a little nervously. “You just startled me, that’s all.”

  He smiled. “Come.” He picked up the great silver candelabrum from the dinner table in one hand and solemnly gave her his arm.

  She followed him across the terrace to the beautiful boiserie-paneled salon behind the French doors. The room was dark, only the flickering candles he carried lighting the way. He’s doing this for me, Sam thought. It’s wildly romantic, lighting our way to the bedroom with only the candles in their great silver stand. She couldn’t help feeling a little self-conscious in jeans and a Western shirt and boots that sounded loudly on the polished parquet floors.

  “Alain,” she whispered.

  “Shhh,” he told her.

  The Great Hall was the center of the lower floor. The old couple that tended the place had left the lights on there, and in their dim glow they passed below Gobelin tapestries that covered the stone walls and the great hooded fireplace with its bas-relief coat of arms. They ascended broad stairs lined with dim oil paintings of des Baux ancestors in gleaming white ruffs and satin doublets.

  Well, it was very romantic, Sam told herself. She just wished Alain would say something, make one of his teasing remarks, show a touch of his slightly freaky sense of humor to break the silence. His face in the candlelight was very serious, even a little strained. He’s doing this for me, she told herself again. We’re going to make love for the first time and Alain is making it something special. After all, not every man comes at a woman like some horny, muscle-bound tornado.

  “It’s a lovely house,” Sam said loudly. “Has—has it been in your family long?”

  Alain turned to her with a somewhat abstracted expression. “Yes, long. From the beginning.”

  They went down a long passageway and Alain opened the door to their bedroom and pulled her inside. It was dark there, the resplendent canopied bed a huge shadow that dominated the room, its elaborate silk draperies, swagged with gold fringes and tassels, supported by four gilded columns. The rococo gilt-wood framing swirled around embedded medallions of painted scenes of Eros and Aphrodite.

  Sam took a deep breath, her eyes straining to see the huge, ornate bed. Now they were going to make love. In that bed. Maybe she could persuade him to turn on some lights.

  Alain put the great silver candlestand down on an elaborate Louis Quinze commode. He lifted his head for a moment to smile softly at her as he pulled off his tie, emptied his pockets of his wallet and keys and laid them on the little dresser. Then he turned and went into the bathroom, pulling the door shut.

  It was certainly romantic. Samantha sat down on the edge of the bed uncertainly. The smoke from the candles wafted past her face rather unpleasantly, heavy with the odor of burning wax. Maybe she should take off her clothes. She looked down at her denim-clad legs against the antique silk bedspread decorated with tiny flowers embroidered in scratchy gold thread. On the other hand, she thought, thinking about the pleasure of undressing each other, maybe she should wait.

  After several minutes the door to the bathroom opened and Alain stepped into the room. In the dim light she could see he was nude.

  Maybe, Sam thought quickly, she should have taken off her clothes after all. She stared at him, licking her lips with sudden uncertainty. Obviously they did these things differently in France.

  He came toward the bed, knelt for a moment on the far side and then lowered himself into it, spreading his beautiful body out full length. “Samantha,” he said in a low voice, “come to me.”

  For a long moment Sam sat where she was, wondering if she should do as he asked, or have a last-minute try at slipping out of her jeans and shirt. This wasn’t going exactly the way she had expected. On the other hand, it didn’t seem like the right time to worry about taking your clothes off gracefully. She half turned, putting her knee up on the bed, and looked at the length of Alain’s tanned, lithe body.

  It was magnificent, with those lean graceful muscles, the golden skin of his chest smooth except for a few rough hairs, the planes of his taut belly and long sinewy legs. She made her eyes go back to the part she had skipped. The fleshy shaft against the dark golden hair in his groin was limp, unaroused.

  He
had followed her gaze. He abruptly lifted himself on one elbow, the muscles of his chest rippling with the movement as he studied her face. “Samantha, come to me, darling. I need you so much,” he said urgently.

  Was he telling her that he wanted her to be the aggressor in their lovemaking? she worried. She couldn’t help thinking it would be easier if he started off by putting his arms around her and kissing her, tasting her willingness with his warm, tender mouth. Easier for him, too, she thought, trying not to look down.

  Sam slid off the edge of the bed. “I’ll take my clothes off,” she decided.

  Her hands shook a little as she unbuttoned her shirt and slid it down from her shoulders. She was wearing a bra and her unexpectedly nervous fingers had trouble with the catch. In the stillness, she could hear her breathing, erratic, a little too loud. She sat down again on the bed to pull off her boots. As she unzipped her jeans and kicked them down to her ankles, she had the thought, too late, that perhaps he wanted to watch her undress; to see her do a provocative sort of striptease for him. Somehow this whole thing was getting harder and harder.

  “Alain?” She climbed up the carpeted step to the bed and then onto the prickly gold threads of the bedspread. “Could we just lie down together for a while and put our arms around each other?” Sam half crouched over him, looking down into that magnificent face with its gleaming, half-lidded eyes. She was here with him. They were going to make love, and she was going to spoil it if she acted too helpful. They were both dog-tired; he probably hadn’t even counted on going to bed with her on such short notice.

  “Put your hand on me, my darling,” he whispered. “Take me in your beautiful hand and hold me.”

  There wasn’t any reason why she couldn’t want to do that—it was just that somehow she hadn’t expected someone who looked as magnificently virile as Alain did to be a slow starter. Sam concentrated on feeling tender and sympathetic as she slid her hand down the silky skin of his belly to the softly curling hair of his groin. She closed her fingers around his warm flesh.

  “My darling girl,” he said watching her face. “My lovely Samantha, so fresh and young, so vital.” He released a soft breath, almost a sigh. “You are going to be good for me.”

  The words sank into Sam’s consciousness slowly. The heavy flesh in her hand wasn’t responding to the slow stroking of her fingers. She lifted her eyes to his. “Alain? Just what do you want me to do? Am I doing this right?”

  He lifted his arm and doubled it behind his head, staring up at the fanciful dark swags of silk hanging above them. “A little harder, darling. I need you to help me.”

  Sam was getting uncomfortable crouched over him in a kneeling position. It had been a long day—in some respects a terrible day from the moment Brooksie had awakened her from a deep sleep that morning—and she really hadn’t expected to find this at the end of it. She sat back on her heels. Here was the man she loved, she reminded herself. “Alain, this is not—I don’t mind turning you on, but couldn’t we start from the beginning?” Oh damn, that sounded terrible. “Look, why don’t I just lie down beside you and you could hold me in your arms and maybe we could take it from there.”

  Alain only stared above him at the canopy as though he didn’t hear her.

  “Alain, what are we doing?” she blurted after a long moment. “I mean, here we are, and we’re making love, that is—we’re supposed to be making love to each other—”Put your mouth on me,” he said harshly. “Please, Samantha, help me. Do as I say.”

  She got to her knees in the middle of the bed, uncertain, definitely not as happy as she’d been before. “But that’s not going to work, is it?” She knew, suddenly, there was more.

  “You have to trust me.” He raised his naked body to his elbows again, his golden eyes appealing to her. “Don’t you know how I feel about you, Samantha? Don’t you know why I have to have you with me, here—now?”

  She raked her hands through her tumbled hair, pulling it back from her face, and stared at him, knowing that she was sitting in the middle of the great bed without any clothes on and Alain was stretched out nude before her, asking her to help him. “I don’t understand any of this, what you said. That I’m so young and so vital and I’m going to be good for you. I mean, I have this feeling we’re not making love—we’re—we’re solving some sort of problem.” She stopped, wide-eyed. “Oh God, there is a problem,” she whispered.

  His face was drawn, his eyelids tightened painfully. “No, there isn’t a problem, believe me. It will come back to me, my potency. I have been assured that it will. It’s just—I have a little enervation because of”—he hesitated—”of living a little too wild, too young. Too many years doing foolish things.”

  She stared at his beautiful face. “What foolish things? You mean—drugs?” She couldn’t think of anything else.

  He reached out to touch her arm with his long, graceful fingers. “Ah, darling, is it important what it was? All that is important is that you are here, with me now. I have wanted this so much, I have dreamed that you will be the one to help me.” The gentle fingers stroked down to her wrist persuasively. “Do you mind—do you know how to use—stimulators? In the table by the bed,” he murmured. “In the drawer.”

  Sam didn’t move. She knelt by Alain’s side, with pictures flitting across her mind of a photograph in a gold frame of Alain with his arms around a young girl still in school, whom he would marry someday. But not in the shape he’s in now, she knew suddenly. Not until he found someone fresh and vital, as he called it, to help him to make love again.

  Guess who’s just been elected, she thought.

  He was stretched out before her, the most beautiful man she had ever seen, with his silky muscular body, his golden eyes, the aristocratic nose over the thin, sensitive mouth—he was a totally perfect man. And dammit, he was lovable, there was no other word for it. Who could resist this charming tease, the humorist with a wild sense of humor, the enchantingly perfect manners? He was easygoing, privileged, ardent, and tender, everything she had ever dreamed of; he had made Paris wonderful these past few weeks. Only he hadn’t exactly been honest with her.

  He was watching her face closely. Strong fingers closed around her wrist. “You’re thinking that I don’t care for you,” he said in a low voice. “Samantha, darling, how can I convince you that I have never felt for another woman what I feel for you? My love, will you please believe me?”

  Samantha twisted her hand out of his grip and slid down off the high bed. All that penetrated her mind at that moment was an almost terminal tiredness, a wild, self-preserving urge to grab her clothes and get out of there. “I’m sorry, Alain, I really am.” She couldn’t meet his eyes, and she felt like a rat. But she wasn’t going to be dishonest, either. “This is all coming at me too fast. I think I need to go home.”

  “Samantha,” he began, “I—”

  “No, wait, I’ve got to say this.” She was no coward, she told herself. She turned to face him squarely. “I came here because I thought I was in love with you. Even though your cousin Marilou—I mean, even though I found out you’re engaged to be married to somebody else. I thought we could make it work, even though we come from such different backgrounds, from totally different worlds. I guess I was just dreaming.” She found her bra where she’d dropped it and shook it to untangle the straps. “But Alain, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to hurt you, but I’m not enough in love with you to help you with—this.”

  The moment she uttered the last few words she stopped, realizing what she had said. She wasn’t in love with him. She was standing there naked on a cold floor, and the truth had finally come to her. “I really don’t, Alain,” she said slowly. “Oh lord, I thought I was in love with you, but I’m not! But then you’ve never said you were in love with me, either,” she blurted.

  He quickly slid his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. “No, I’ve been stupid. Oh God, how I’ve been stupid, to treat you like this! If I had only known—of course I had thought you are s
o glamorous,” he mumbled, “so beautiful—ah, Samantha, don’t go!” He followed her as she gathered up her jeans and shirt from the floor, reaching around her to pull them out of her hands. “This means so much to me.” He held on to her bra, refusing to let it go. “This will work out. Please get back in the bed. Samantha, please, anything you want, darling, you have only to say it!”

  Good lord, were they back to that again, Alain offering her anything she wanted? What was the matter with her, anyway? Sam gave him a shove with one hand and dragged her bra away. The whole beautiful dream had become a mess. She didn’t want to hear him pleading with her; it was more than she could take. “Alain, please!” She couldn’t fasten the bra and left it open. She yanked on her shirt. “Will you leave me alone?”

  “Will you stop this?” he demanded desperately. “I won’t touch you; I will only hold you in my arms, sleep quietly with you, I promise. Will you let me put my arms around you just for a moment?”

  All she wanted to do was get out of there. Sam picked up her jeans, stepped into them and yanked them up to her waist. For the first time in her whole life she wanted to go home. Not back to the Maison Louvel or to New York, but all the way home to Shoshone Falls, Wyoming. She wanted it so much she was amazed.

  Alain followed her as she tried to find her boots. “Oh God, you hate me,” he groaned.

  “No, dammit, I don’t hate you.” She found her boots, holding them in one hand as she looked around the bedroom to see if she’d missed anything else. “Alain, I don’t want to leave here with you thinking that, because you’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. I just don’t love you, that’s all. If I did, maybe I’d help you—” She closed her mouth on the words abruptly. She wouldn’t help get him ready for another woman. Even she knew better than that.

  He looked down at her somberly. “You hate me because I am not a man.” He stood with his arms by his sides, hands clenched tightly against his beautiful body. “I am not wonderful, because I am not a man. You can say it.”