Authors: Billie Green
Her smile was bitter as she stared at him. "Whether you take money or a safe bed, selling it is selling it." Her voice dropped to a harsh, barely audible whisper. "Do you know what that makes me?"
For a long time there was only silence. Just when she thought she would have to scream or go crazy, he said, "Yes, I know what that makes you." The words sounded gentle. So incredibly gentle. "It makes you human. It makes you a survivor. Don't put ugly labels on what happened to you. I was in Vietnam. I saw what the children there—some of them not more than babies—had to do simply to stay alive. Do you think I thought any less of them for it?"
He still didn't understand, she told herself, feeling suddenly frantic. He refused to understand.
"How old are you, Lila?"
She glanced up sharply in confusion. "Thirty-four," she said finally.
A strange look crossed his features, a look of wonder and awe. "Eighteen years," he whispered with a painful catch in his voice. "Dear Lord, Lila, eighteen years. And in all that time you've never wanted a man. But you wanted me. You want me."
"Stop it!" she screamed at him, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist. "You still don't get it, do you? You're too damn nice to understand. Too damn good. You're the kind of man they kill off in a disaster movie so the audience can have a good cry."
She drew air deeply into her lungs, searching for a calmness she couldn't quite find. "You're trying to make it sound romantic, and it just won't work. Let me tell you the truth about your precious Lila. After I got off the streets, after I fought my way back to the civilized world, I didn't just forget all I had learned. It doesn't happen that way in real life. You don't suddenly become a new person simply because your environment changes."
She grasped his arm, giving him a slight shake. "Bill, listen to me. I'm what men call a tease— that's one of the more polite terms they use. I've heard them all, and I deserved them all. I make men want me, then I don't come through. I use their desire for me to get my kicks. To make me feel powerful. To make me feel in control. Now do you understand?"
He stared at her for a moment, his head tilted slightly to one side. "I understand that you're telling me these things to try to put me off," he said quietly. "What I don't understand is why."
I'm telling you these things because I'm scared, she thought in desperation. More scared than she had been in those terrible years she was living on the streets. More scared than when her mother died. She was scared because she felt too much for this man. She had promised herself she would never feel this much again.
Bill reached out and touched her face. "It didn't work, Lila. You haven't put me off. For heaven's sake, do you know what it means to me, knowing that I'm the first man in your life? I'm not talking about virginity. I don't give a damn about that. I'm talking about the important things, your mind and your heart. I'm the first man you've trusted with the truth. I'm the first man you've willingly given yourself to."
He cupped her cheek, turning her face toward him. "Don't you see? You were waiting for me, Lila. Only for me."
It was crazy. She knew it was crazy, so how could he make it sound so reasonable? There were a thousand objections she should be making, but she couldn't think of even one at the moment. She couldn't think of anything as long as Bill was touching her.
Closing her eyes tightly, Delilah allowed a little of the darkness to slip away.
After a moment he slid his arm around her waist and walked with her to a wicker love seat. When they were seated, he began rubbing her hands, as though she were the swooning heroine of a Victorian novel. The laugh that caught in her throat was only slightly cynical.
"I missed you today," he said gently. "I missed you when I woke up and you weren't there beside me like you were supposed to be. Then I couldn't find you anywhere. I saw Addie, but she didn't know where you were either."
"I went out on a boat. I don't remember a thing about it. I guess I missed you too," she admitted reluctantly. "I would be going along, feeling all dark and miserable because I knew I was going to have to tell you about myself—my past. Then suddenly I would think of last night and avocados and Chopin, and I would find myself smiling." She was smiling at him in that same way now. "How can I work up a decent depression if you keep making me smile?"
He leaned down and kissed her, his mouth moving on hers hungrily. Then suddenly he pulled back a fraction of an inch and raised one thick brow. "The kind of guy they kill off in disaster movies?" he asked in disbelief.
Delilah laughed, and the tension in her began to ease away. It felt good to be sitting beside him, talking of unimportant things. It felt good to laugh again. She had had enough intensity for one day.
"Delilah. Yo, Delilah!"
At the shouted words they both glanced around and saw Addie feeling her way across the terrace. "Delilah, is that you?" she asked a potted fern. "I know I heard your voice. Dee, please, I need help!"
"Addie dear," Delilah called to her. "Listen carefully, and I'll tell you one more time. We water plants, we talk to people."
"Dee!"
Addie stumbled toward the sound of Delilah's voice, and Bill stood as she drew nearer.
"Thank God I found you," she said, sounding breathless, as though she had been running. "You didn't tell me what to do next. I've done the kiss thing a couple of thousand times. We're both getting chapped lips. I left Booger out there"—she waved a vague hand in the direction of the beach —"in a gazebo. I just said wait a minute and left him. Dee, what in hell am I supposed to do now?"
Bill put both hands on Addie's shoulders to steady her. "Calm down, Addie."
"Bill?" she said, squinting up at him. "I thought you were a tree."
"I'm not," he assured her.
"Dee," Addie said, her voice frantic, "we forgot to work out something for after the kiss part. What's next? What's my strategy?"
Bill chuckled, shaking his head. "Forget strategy. You don't need anyone's help." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Trust your instincts, Addie. Don't ask questions, just do what comes next."
"You're sure? Dee?"
"Go for it, Addie," Delilah said, smiling at Bill.
Addie inhaled, straightened her blouse, and, looking eager, said, "Right. Go for it," then walked away.
"Nice lady," Bill said.
"Weird lady," Delilah corrected him as Addie ran into a chaise longue and crawled across it without slowing down. "She's in love with Booger."
"I'm glad. I want everyone to be happy tonight." He smiled at her. "As happy as I am."
She studied his loving features, then frowned slightly. "Bill— "
"Shhh," he said, shaking his head at her. "Don't worry about the future. Don't think about what's going to happen tomorrow or the tomorrow after that. For now let's just get to know each other. Let's just be together." He grinned. "What could it hurt?"
Bill knew the truth about her now. At least, he knew a good deal of it, she amended silently. He knew the worst of it. He knew, and he still wanted her. If Delilah believed in miracles, this would have felt like one.
The smile she gave him was only slightly shaky. "What could it hurt?" she repeated softly.
Delilah lay motionless, her eyes barely open. It was early. In the special hours when the world still had a fuzzy edge to it, before the sun brought everything into focus. The dream had come to her again at the moment of awakening. But now, feeling Bill's warmth beside her, it didn't matter so much. The pain seemed distant.
Pushing the cover aside, she ran her hands slowly over her stomach and thighs, then over her arms and shoulders.
Bill shifted slightly. "What are you doing?"
His voice, husky with sleep, made her feel warm and melty, like a Hershey bar that had been left out in the sun. She would have never believed how incredibly intimate a man's sleepy voice could sound.
Bill's voice
, she corrected herself silently with a tiny secret smile.
He raised himself up on one elbow to look down at her. "You obviously haven't looked closely enough at your job description," he said after a moment. "It goes like this—I touch your body, you touch mine."
She laughed softly. "I'm feeling the differences in my body," she explained. "It's changed."
She brought her hands to her breasts. They felt fuller and more a part of her than they had before. Glancing down, she saw a small bruise high on her left breast. The memory of how it came to be there brought a sweet rush of pleasure.
He moved her hand away with his own and cupped her breast, leaning down to kiss the bruise. "I monogrammed you," he murmured. "This says William Walter Shelley."
"Monogrammed?" she repeated, finding it difficult to look down her nose at him from a reclining position. Difficult but not impossible. "Monogrammed, as in handkerchiefs or a bathrobe? As in your underwear when you go away to camp?"
He gave her a slow grin. "Yeah, like that. Like a silk shirt. Something personal that I keep real close to my body."
"I see," she said slowly, sitting up and rolling him onto his stomach.
"What are you doing?" He raised his head to peer at her over his shoulder.
"I'm simply sticking to my job description," she said, rising to her knees beside him. "Remember? You touch my body, I touch yours."
"I don't trust you," he said, his eyes narrowed slightly. "You're planning retribution of some kind."
When she kissed the back of his neck, then blew gently on the soft fuzz, he said, "Mmmmm, I still don't trust you." Then when she moved her lips to his shoulders, "Ohhhh, yes, you're planning something devious, all right."
As Delilah kissed her way down to his lower back, he moved sensually under her lips, groaning softly.
"Trust me now?" she asked as she teased his warm flesh with her lips and tongue.
His breathing was heavier, almost distressed. "Hmm?" His voice sounded somewhat distracted.
"I asked if you trust me now?"
"Lord, yes."
"You shouldn't." She quickly moved down to one firm buttock and sank her teeth in.
He yelped loudly, then began to laugh. "Okay, you've had your revenge." He tried to reach her with his left hand, but she stayed just out of range. Still laughing, he said, "You've proved your point. Lila . . . Lila."
She opened her mouth and kissed the spot before sitting back on her heels. "Monogrammed," she said in satisfaction. "It says Delilah Susan Jones"—she touched the teeth marks on his derriere—"right here."
In one move Bill turned and grabbed her, pulling her down beside him. His patchwork eyes were shining brightly with amusement. "You're wicked," he said, chuckling. "Absolutely wicked and absolutely wonderful."
Delilah wrapped her arms around him and laughed with him. She had never known, never imagined, that the sexual part of life could be fun. Exciting, beautiful, and intense, but also fun.
How could she
, she asked herself silently. Fun had died along with Buddy. Fun never hung out on the streets. How could she have envisioned herself finding joy in simply being alive? Because of Bill.
She reached up to touch his face, running one finger over the dimple in his left cheek. All because of Bill.
They made love again because they couldn't be in each other's arms and not make love, and afterward they made detailed, devious plans on how Delilah could sneak away from her friends to spend the day alone with Bill.
When she tiptoed into the suite it was still early. She stealthily checked Jack and Booger's room and found both beds empty, which meant the two mad doctors were somewhere on the loose, and she would have to take care avoiding them.
In the other bedroom she glanced quickly at Addie's bed. There was a gnarly lump in the middle, completely covered by a blanket.
Addie must have had a rough night, Delilah thought with a grin as she stripped down to her bra and panties. She hoped her friend had found something really special.
Like you did?
a taunting voice in her head asked.
"Stop that!" she whispered. "It's not the same thing at all."
The lump in Addie's bed suddenly groaned. "Son of a gun, Dee, will you cut out the yelling?"
That was definitely not Addie's voice.
"God bless America, my head feels like it's been Osterized," the lump said, then moaned pathetically.
She walked to the bed and yanked back the cover.
Jack winced at the light, then made a pathetic gurgling sound. "Deeee, have a little pity."
She dropped the cover back over his head. "When did you turn into a whiner? And why are you in my bedroom?"
"Mine got a little crowded," he mumbled through the blanket. "I can handle kinky, but watching Booger and Addie make love would be like watching Bambi and . . . what was the girl deer's name—Flower?"
"I think that was the skunk. So Addie and Booger finally discovered—"
"Sex."
"—each other," she finished, smiling.
Love wasn't for her, but if this was what Addie wanted, Delilah was pleased for her. She began to move away from the bed, then suddenly turned back and yanked the cover down again. "Jack, how old are you?"