Authors: Patricia Burroughs
He could try the obvious. Tell her that she was beautiful and that what was happening between them was magic. And he didn’t know what bothered him more: that she wouldn’t believe him because she’d heard those lines before or that she would recognize in his words the ring of truth.
Heaven only knew, the truth was to be avoided at any cost.
He moved his leg to lodge it more comfortably between hers and felt anew the sensation of her firm, silken thighs tightening against him. Her eyes fluttered open, and he saw a confusion that must mirror his own in their mossy-green depths. And now that she was staring at him, he felt compelled to say something—anything—before the moment grew awkward and strained. He opened his mouth not knowing what words would spill out, and more than a little worried about the consequences. He did the first thing that sprang to mind.
He kissed her, and she kissed him back and the confusion and hesitancy melted away. He’d think of something to say later.
Much later.
~o0o~
Later came amid a rustling of sheets and a stirring of their tangled legs and bodies. She stretched and yawned against him, and he had to fight his way out of a deep, dreamless sleep. Who needed dreams, when he had her for reality?
He rolled onto his back and stared at the mirrored ceiling. She held her wrist close to her face and squinted at her waterproof, shockproof, fuchsia watch. “Good gravy!” she groaned. “I feel like a baby whose days and nights are mixed up.”
He chuckled. He should have known Kennie Sue Ledbetter would have no problem knowing what to say. “What time is it?”
“Seven o’clock. And I don’t think it’s morning.”
“I don’t imagine it is,” he agreed.
A low gurgling sounded from her stomach, which was pressed against his side. This time a full-fledged laugh sprang from deep inside him, and he pressed his hand against her belly. “Do that again.”
She slapped his hand away. “For someone who’s suave and rich and all those things, you have no couth,” she muttered, rolling away from him.
“But I have something more important.”
“Which is?”
“The means to fill that gurgling stomach with food.”
“In that case you’re forgiven. I’m starving.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever known—” he tweaked her on the nose “—a woman with such healthy appetites.”
He could tell by the rosy flush on her cheeks that his using the plural form of the word wasn’t lost on her. Before she could take it the wrong way, he pulled her close again and stopped her retort with a kiss. She didn’t even fight it; in fact gave her lips fully to him and seemed to enjoy it, if he was any judge. But as soon as he came up for air, she hit him with the expected. “Seafood, did you say?”
He couldn’t stop the sigh from escaping his lips. “I did mention Tahoe, didn’t I?”
“I didn’t say a word about Tahoe,” she said.
He heard her sparkling laughter and knew instant relief. “I said seafood.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
She slid away from him and out of the bed, taking the top sheet with her.
“Hey, I’m cold!” he protested.
“That’s all right, Mr. Carruthers. I’m warm enough for both of us.”
“You’re a sassy little thing, aren’t you?” he drawled after her.
Her only response was to shut the bathroom door. Moments later the sound of bathwater running and the imagined scent of pina colada bath salts assaulted him.
“Kennie Sue, whatever am I going to do about you?” he asked softly. The possibilities were mind-boggling, absolutely breathtaking.
He didn’t even feel guilty about turning down the court date in two days time. Given four weeks, anything could happen. Anything at all. Four weeks was little enough stake when the jackpot held his future so tantalizingly in its fickle hands.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THERE WAS ONLY one way to handle what was happening to her, Kennie decided as she waited in the hotel lobby for Alex to leave a message for Chris. She would simply let it happen—one dazzling minute at a time.
She slid her hands into the deep pockets of her white trousers and leaned against a low rock planter filled with lush greenery. The pleats in her pants and shoulder creases in her white camp shirt were impeccable, for a change. Even the crisp pink cotton scarf jutted from her pocket perfectly. But anyone could look fresh and perfect when mundane chores were accomplished simply by ringing for a valet. Especially when someone didn’t mind paying three dollars to have a scarf cleaned and heaven only knew how much to press the rest. Pure indulgence, she thought, but she wasn’t complaining.
She might as well put the expense out of her mind. She couldn’t do a thing about it, and Alex certainly didn’t think twice about it. Besides, he looked absolutely incredible in his charcoal chinos and burgundy plaid shirt. Far be it from her to look rumpled beside him.
The pink enameled bangles on her arms clicked and clanked, and the slightest angling of her head produced a similar effect from the earrings that swung from her earlobes.
Shops lined either side of the wide hallway, boutiques all out of her price range, even when she’d been working for Granger Oil. She’d never been much of a shopper anyway.
But an array of brilliant color across the crowded malllike lobby caught her attention. She eased her way through the throng of tourists to a display at a souvenir shop. Hanging on the tree-shaped rack was row after row of oversized sweatshirts: turquoise, yellow, green, pink. She flipped idly through them. Most read “RENO, Biggest Little City in the World” and pictured colorful casino marquees in the background. A few featured Lake Tahoe and Las Vegas, and fewer still, Nevada’s outdoor attractions. She was about to leave when one shirt, a fuchsia extra-large wedged in among lemon smalls, caught her attention. Curious, she tugged it out and read the inscription.
razzmatazz
(
raz
-m
uh
-
taz
)
n. slang. 1: razzle-dazzle 2: ebullient energy; vigor
Only one definition was missing: Alex Carruthers.
She pictured the fleece shirt stretched across his wide shoulders, his usually stylish form clad in hot pink, and felt laughter tickling the back of her throat. A perfect gift, if only she had the money to buy it. She glanced at the price tag and cringed. He wouldn’t have worn it anyway, she decided, and shoved it onto its proper rack at the bottom of the display.
A hand closed over hers before she could release it.
“Let me get it for you,” Alex said.
She tossed him a disgusted look over her shoulder. “For me? You’ve got it all wrong.”
“It’s your color.”
“But it’s your description.”
“Is it really?”
She watched as he pulled it out and read it and positively preened, the arrogant so-and-so.
“I like that.”
“Then buy it,” she urged him. “It’s perfect for you.”
“You know, I believe you might be right.”
Kennie watched in amused silence as he whipped out a plastic card and purchased the memento. Who’d have thought he’d condescend to buying such a trifle? There was no predicting what would appeal to his sense of fancy.
Folded in tissue and tucked into a plastic tote bag, it rustled pleasantly between them as Alex took her hand in his and ambled down the promenade. He pointed to the multi-paned glass skylight overhead.
“There’s a sun out there shining, but do you think anyone in here knows it?”
“I’m not sure that anyone really cares.” She wriggled her little finger experimentally and felt a tremor of pleasure when he tightened his hand proprietarily over hers.
“Of course they don’t care. That’s what the management has in mind. You could easily spend weeks here and never emerge. Food, entertainment and, of course, gambling enough to keep the most jaded tourist happy indefinitely.”
“Indefinitely. Funny you should mention that word,” she said.
“Why?”
“Are you on an indefinite vacation, or what? Isn’t there any place you’re supposed to be?”
“I have to be in Dallas in a few weeks. After that I’ll be in Hialeah.”
“And between times....” she prompted him.
“I live near Palm Springs.”
No wonder he had a permanent, pampered playboy tan. She pressed on. “What do you do?” At the quizzical expression on his features, she said in exasperation, “Work. Surely you work.”
“Oh, my line of work is flexible.”
“And it is....” The man liked playing games; that was for sure.
He seemed thoughtful for a moment, then finally said, “I give investment advice on occasion.”
“Investments?”
“I’ve been known to dabble in the futures market.”
“Aren’t they terribly risky?” she asked with a sinking feeling.
He squeezed her hand. “Not for me.”
“Oh.” Futures. Somehow that didn’t surprise her at all. The most dangerous and exciting of investments—he must be wealthy indeed to treat them so casually. “So you must spend a lot of time in Chicago,” she probed.
“Because of the market? No, not really. But I’m there frequently. Chris lives there, you know.”
“No, I didn’t. I would have thought—”
“He was born and raised with a silver spoon in New York City. He lives in Chicago to put as much distance as possible between himself and the family business.”
“And you?”
His voice grew distant. “Born in Germany, raised primarily in Europe, back to the States when I was thirteen. MIT at fourteen. I could go on and bore you with details, but it’s definitely not fascinating stuff.”
“Not fascinating?” she gasped. “MIT at fourteen?”
“Only because I was part of a special program in the statistics center.”
“You never stay anywhere long, do you?” she asked softly.
“There has only been one constant in my life.”
She raised her eyes to his and he flashed a quirky grin, but what was in his eyes was steady and confident as he explained, “Luck.”
“Of course.” No wonder he believed in luck, she thought. He’d never had to work or fight or wonder where his next paycheck was coming from. What was pure fantasy for her was a fact of life for him.
“Don’t look so down, sweet lady. I’ve got enough luck for both of us. It’ll rub off—just wait and see.”
With a smile he could warm her, she marveled. With a laugh he could set her senses awry. With a touch.... She felt a current of sweet anticipation just thinking about it. What difference did it make what he did or didn’t do? After all, it wasn’t wise to look beyond the surface of a fantasy. Not unless one was ready to deal with reality. And she wasn’t. There would be time enough for reality—the rest of her life.
Today the fantasy was enough.
“How would you like to drive out into the desert?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You’re not hungry again, are you?” he demanded in mock dismay.
“No,” she said, and then slowly, with a sidelong glance from beneath her lashes, “Yes.”
A slow smile tugged the corner of his roguish mouth, his magnificent brows arched ever so slightly, and he glanced over his shoulder toward the elevators. “Room service, again?”
“Maybe...later.” She studied the splashing fountain in the center of the mezzanine, wondering how adept he was at reading between the lines.
She was not surprised to find he was very adept indeed.
~o0o~
Kennie Sue curled into the corner of the sofa, tucking her bare feet under her as Alex closed the draperies, casting the room in pale gray shadow.
“What’s that delicious scent you’re wearing today?” he asked, crossing toward her.
“That’s my mango body lotion,” she replied with a slight smile. “It’s pH-balanced and biodegradable.”
“And it smells luscious.” He dropped down beside her and lowered his head toward her face. “Is it flavored?”
“I’m sure it’s not,” she began, but broke into giggles as he tasted the ticklish hollow at the base of her neck.
“You’re right. It’s not flavored,” he said, but then his tongue delved a little lower and she shivered. “All I taste is you....”
“How disappointing,” she murmured.
“Very,” he agreed, releasing the top button of her blouse and then the next and the next. His tongue went lower still.
“I suppose I could turn in a sug—” She gasped as he released the front clasp of her sheer lace bra and the chilled air hit her skin. “Suggestion,” she finished feebly.
With his tongue he painted a slow line down the curve, neared the rosy crest, and dragged it maddeningly back up to her shoulder, leaving that ignored part of her throbbing at the insult. “You know, I’m disappointed in you, Kennie,” he muttered against the soft swell of one breast.
“What—what did I do?” she rasped.
“Not what you did.” He slid her blouse and bra straps from her shoulders, baring her upper body to his eyes and to more of his torment. “What you didn’t do. I had this fantasy....”
“Yes?” she whispered as he neared that tender crest again, and again ignored it, circling close instead, then letting his tongue explore the sensitive skin beneath it.
“I expected raspberry silk,” he said, dropping her white lace undergarment to the floor. “Or strawberry.” His attention seemed riveted to that eager morsel awaiting his pleasure. “Or rose.”
His mouth came nearer, and she could feel each short puff of air as he continued. “Or even violet....” He brushed his lips against her with the merest butterfly touch, and she couldn’t stop the soft intake of air as her body reacted. “I never—” his tongue flicked over the hard peak “—never—” this time the other peak received that brief, tantalizing attention “—expected white.”
“I guess deep down I’m not very daring,” she moaned, though she thought her actions certainly seemed to belie her words as she strained closer to him. Her eyes closed and her breath escaped in a groan when his mouth closed around one throbbing tip and his hand caressed the other with feather-light strokes. Firm, moist suction...tugging...agonizingly tentative teasing...she felt torn in two by contrasting sensations and could do nothing but gasp for air and lean back into the cushions, her hips undulating in sympathy, in jealousy.
Each stroke of his fingertips, each rasp of his teeth, sent her closer to the brink of sanity. She wanted to writhe away from him. She wanted more.