Some Like Them Rich Page 18

  “Sometimes, but not often. Most of my clients want something more modern.”

  “Maybe I’ll get to see some of it one day.”

  Clay walked toward me. Suddenly I was irrationally afraid. More excited than afraid. My heart was in trouble, and I was gun-shy about being hurt again. But Clay touched me. His hand came up and the back of his fingers caressed my cheek. It was a simple gesture, yet it forced away any doubts I had.

  Still wearing his evening jacket, I reached up and put my arms around his neck. On tiptoe I kissed him. The world changed in that moment. It was both simple and monumental. A rush of strong emotion invaded me. I knew what I’d felt for Orlando was a drop in the ocean to how Clay made me feel. And after such a short time.

  “I’ll show you one now.” His mouth spoke, but his eyes searched mine. After a moment he turned me and we walked to the steps that led up to his bedroom.

  I stopped on the bottom stair. “Is this a line to get me upstairs?”

  “It could be. But it’s not.”

  Clay’s arm went around my waist and my head rested against him. The fear that had accosted me earlier was a distant memory now.

  In the upstairs hall, he led me to his bedroom. In the darkness, he took my face in his hands. I felt the roughness of his fingers as he rubbed them across my cheeks. He pushed the jacket from my arms. Silently it crumpled to the floor.

  “It’s the bed,” he said.

  My attention had been elsewhere. I hadn’t noticed the bed, though I saw there was one in the room. Clay reached for a lamp and turned it on. I gasped. The headboard was massive, reaching almost to the ceiling. It had detailed scroll work and labyrinthine carvings. In the center were several waves, each one greater than the one before. I could almost see them moving, hear them crashing into each other.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, moving to touch it, to run my hands over the strong wood. “You carved this?” I turned to face Clay. He was standing near the lamp watching me. “I’ve never seen a bed like this before.”

  While the headboard was massive, there was no footboard. I didn’t think Clay’s six-foot-plus frame could fit into a bed with a footboard. He must have known that when he was building it.

  “I’ve never made love in it,” Clay said.

  “Never?” I teased, unsure why the admission sent a jackknife of sensation through me. “Out of respect for your aunt?”

  He shook his head. “Never found the right woman.”

  My stomach threatened to fall. What was he not saying? Did he really feel the same way about me that I felt about him? I watched him slowly approach me. My heart pumped so hard I was sure he could see it physically thumping through my dress.

  “Until you,” he whispered.

  “This is too much.” I was hot, melting hot. My body yearned for his. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to feel his rough hands. I wanted them all over me, turning my body into one huge erogenous zone.

  “No, it’s not,” he said, taking me in his arms. “It couldn’t possibly be.” He kissed me, slowly, tenderly, as if I were fragile. I’d never felt so precious in my life. Orlando used to tell me I was precious, but with Clay I felt it.

  Clay’s hands dug into my hair and pulled it loose. Then holding the crown of my head, he deepened the kiss. His tongue slipped between my lips and swept about my mouth. I loved the taste of him, the sweet wetness of him. A nectar mixed with wine and beach and moonlight.

  My arms circled his waist. I felt the strength of his erection against me. Arousal sailed into my being like a battleship bearing down on a dinghy. The slam splintered my control and in seconds I was pulling his mouth to mine, devouring him, freeing him of clothes and touching his skin. He was warm and damp in places. My mouth kissed his cheek and neck before running over his chest and finding his nipples. Under the onslaught of my tongue, they pebbled to life.

  I felt more than heard him groan. The sound was an aphrodisiac, egging me on. I found his belt and undid it. As I unzipped his pants and pushed them over his hips, my hand sought and found the essence of him. I ran my palms over taut skin, feeling the hard ridge of his penis. My throat went dry with anticipation. I wanted him inside me, wanted to feel the hardness of his body joined with mine.

  Clay took my hands. “I can barely stand now,” he said. “You keep doing that and I’ll be on my knees.”

  “Maybe I want you on your knees,” I teased.

  “I work much better in a different position,” he said. And proceeded to show me. With slow motions he removed the remainder of our clothes. By the time he finished I was sure I would melt from the sheer heat of anticipation.

  His mouth worked the same magic as his hands, rendering me defenseless and in need of resuscitation. As I slumped in his arms, Clay lay me on the bed. He pulled a condom on and his body covered mine. Large hands took my naked bottom, lifting me to the perfect angle for him to drive into me. His first stroke was hard and deep. A pleasure bubble as strong as steel shattered inside me. I accepted the full invasion of his body.

  His pacing was fast, as if he couldn’t stop himself. Yet the pleasure I felt outweighed everything else. I wanted him, needed him. He seemed to complete me. Fill the void I hadn’t known was there. My eyes closed as I arched my back, absorbing the rapture of the moment. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. They alternated between being wide with consuming passion and closing in sexual delirium.

  I’d never known anything could feel this good. That anyone could cause me to believe that I could fly without the aid of a metal fuselage and a pilot with years of training. Clay was my pilot and it was obvious he’d had years of training. Yet he needed no metal structure to soar into the heavens and take me with him.

  I was light, weightless, floating on clouds, unbound by gravity, my body transformed into pure energy. Sensation took on a physical presence, combining with my cells and carrying me to heights even the boundless sky hadn’t discovered. Clay’s mouth found mine, remaking me into a body, one that writhed with his. His kiss was like a drug, his tongue plunged into my mouth as his body surged into me.

  I cried his name as a tempo I thought beyond human endurance increased. Fire threatened our joining. Sparks of electricity snapped between us. Hot passion grew to screaming level.

  Suddenly, Clay was holding me, clasping me tight to him. Together we reached a height neither had seen before. For an eternity he held me there, keeping me suspended in this new world until neither of us could keep the tenuous membrane in place. Together we descended back to earth. Our climax sucked all the air out of my body. I breathed heavily, hearing and feeling my heart beating in my head. My body sang with a choir of wonderment.

  Unable to talk, I held on to Clay, communicating in silent surrender. Emotion welled up inside me like a huge roiling storm. My arms and legs went weak. Like a boneless body they slid over him. After several moments, Clay raised himself up on his elbow and looked at me. I smiled, unable to move. It took a while, but strength returned to my limbs and I ran my hand over his shoulder. He was damp and had a heady smell of sweat and sex. Leaning forward, I kissed his skin.

  “I have something to say,” Clay said.

  I leaned back, resting my head on the pillow.

  “I know many men have told you you’re beautiful just to get to the place where I am now.”

  I tensed, not knowing where this was going. We’d just made love, perfect love. Was he about to spoil it?

  “You are beautiful.” He paused and I waited. “Not just here.” He touched my face, then ran his hand over my body. I stifled a sigh of pleasure when his fingers touched my breasts. “You’re beautiful inside, too.”

  I smiled, feeling my eyes mist. No one had said that to me since the fifth grade, when I was a gangly ten-year-old with not a hint of the breasts or curves that awaited me.

  “I’m in love with you and I want you to marry me.”

  I choked, coughing and moving up into a sitting position at the same time.

  “You’re not se
rious?” I said. “You’re only saying that because of what we just did.”

  He put his fingers to my lips to stop my speech.

  “Yes,” he said.

  My heart sank.

  “And no,” he finished.

  “What does that mean?”

  Moving his hand, he said, “Yes, it is because of what we just did. And I want to do it again, every day of my life. And I want to do it with you. And no, that isn’t the only reason.”

  I wasn’t sure I could breathe. I hungered for his words.

  “So, will you marry me?”

  It was on my lips to say yes. To jump at the chance for happiness. I was sure I loved Clay. I was sure I could spend my life with him and be happy.

  But I couldn’t. It wasn’t in the cards for us.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Clay,” I started, unsure how to explain my life to him. Pushing the covers back, I found his shirt and pushed my arms through it. Not bothering to button it, I walked to the end of the bed and turned to look at him.

  The bed looked as if we’d wrestled with the sheets. It knew the secrets of what we’d had. What we’d done. Clay was right, we’d made perfect love. I put it out of my mind. I had to tell him the truth. If he wanted to marry me, he deserved to know that I wasn’t the person he thought I was.

  A stunned expression marred his features. I felt as if I’d somehow wounded him. I wanted to remove the hurt from his face, but I didn’t know how. What I was about to tell him would only increase that hurt.

  “I haven’t been exactly honest with you.”

  “How?” He hadn’t moved from his position.

  “You think I’ve some rich society woman. I’m not.”

  “You’re not?”

  He sat up in bed, pulling a pillow behind his head and leaning on it.

  I shook my head. “I’m a pharmaceutical rep from New York.”

  He starred at me for a long moment. Then he burst into laughter. It was a deep belly laugh and it went on long enough to make me angry.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I thought you were going to tell me you were already married.”

  “What?” I stammered.

  He kept laughing. “So you’re a pharmaceutical rep?”

  I nodded.

  “Why should I care? I don’t mean that,” he quickly corrected himself. “I mean, why should that make a difference?”

  “Because …” I bit my lower lip.

  “Go on,” he prompted.

  “Because we came here to find rich husbands.” He leaned forward. “All of you?”

  I nodded. “But it’s not working out that way. The moment I met you, I knew I wanted to spend time with you. I’m not really that interested in money. I’d love to have it, but I’ll be happy with someone I love.”

  “Are you saying you love me?”

  I nodded quickly. “I love you. But I understand if you want to with draw your proposal. I tricked you.”

  “Can I take it that you won’t be marrying me for my money?” he asked. I heard the teasing quality underlying his comment. It was my turn to laugh.

  Clay got out of bed then. He came toward me. The atmosphere changed. The lightness of the moment fled like smoke under a strong wind. I followed his movement as he approached me. Holding my breath, I wondered what he was thinking. I couldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to see me again.

  “Will you marry me, Lila Easton, pharmaceutical rep from New York?”

  Opening my eyes, I groaned. My head pounded with a fury that felt like little people with hammers on the inside of my skull.

  “Shit,” I said.

  The surroundings were all too familiar. And they were Don’s. What was I doing here—and in his bed? I ran a hand through my hair. My head felt as big as the moon that had hung out over the ocean last night. And my mouth was as dry and thick as sand. I was thirsty. I felt like I could drink the entire Atlantic.

  Moving my legs from the warmth of the coverlet to the floor and sitting up had me stifling a scream. Pain zigzagged inside my head. The hammering had been replaced with a detonating bomb. I held it, trying to squeeze the pain back in place. Again I moaned. Or I made a sound. It was foreign to me, like that of a wounded animal, something on its way to death.

  I raised my head thinking I might be able to stand when the glass sitting up on the nightstand materialized, a note propped up against it.

  Drink this, it read. Who the hell did he think I was? Alice in Wonderland. I was no Alice, but I reached for the glass and picked it up. I could tell there was tomato juice in it, but I didn’t know what else. I smelled it. It smelled like tomato juice. I believe somewhere I heard or maybe I saw it in some late-night black-and-white television movie that Bloody Marys were used for hangovers. Bloody Marys weren’t my choice of drink. And now I could argue that champagne wasn’t either, at least not in the quantities I’d consumed it.

  I looked at the glass again. “Well, you can’t make me feel any worse that I do now,” I told the glass. I drank it, upended the glass, emptying it. It had a familiar flavor, but the aftertaste had me frowning. It didn’t taste like it had alcohol in it. But there was something more than plain tomato juice swirling around in my body now. I lay back down and waited for the magic elixir to do its work.

  Or to reduce me to the size of an inch.

  Where was Don? What time was it? It hurt too much for me to turn my head and look at the clock, but the sun was high in the sky so it must be well after nine. I had no reference. It could be close to noon by now, but I hoped it wasn’t lunchtime yet. My stomach growled at the thought of food. I was hungry, but my head was controlling everything and it wasn’t moving from this pillow.

  I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the sun had moved. My head felt better and I turned to look at the time. It was 2:07. “Oh God,” I moaned, pushing myself up in the bed until the returning pain stopped me. My gown lay on a chair near the bed. It didn’t call for a bra, so I was wearing only my panties and stockings.

  The bedroom door opened and I scrambled back in the bed, pulling the sheet up to my chin. Don came in pushing a cart.

  “I figured you’d be up and hungry by now,” he said.

  “How did I get here?” I asked without showing any appreciation for the trouble he’d gone through.

  “Don’t you remember?”

  Was that a sly smile on his face?

  “Would I ask if I remembered?”

  “Are you always this grumpy in the morning, pardon me, the afternoon?”

  I ignored him. “Did I undress myself?”

  “Would that matter?” He moved to open the cover on a plate of eggs and bacon. “I’ve seen you in all your brown and red glory.”

  My body went hot.

  He came to the bed with the plate in his hand. I fit the sheet securely and accepted it. Food might make me feel better. “Thanks,” I said.

  He sat down on the bed, forcing me to move or his butt would be against my leg. It was warm and hard and I shifted away from it. It was that or drop the plate.

  “I brought you some clothes, too,” he said. He glanced across the room. I followed his gaze and saw my overnight bag sitting on the floor.

  Gasping, I tried to speak.

  “Jacynthia thought you might need these.”

  “Why?” I asked. I started eating the eggs and bacon. They were delicious and made my stomach and my head begin to feel better.

  “You can’t go home in that.” He gestured toward my discarded gown.

  I’d done it before, but thought this wasn’t the time to bring that up.

  Don leaned forward and took a piece of bacon. Biting into the crisp piece of meat, he never took his eyes off me. My nipples hardened and pushed against the sheet covering them. I hoped he didn’t notice, but I’d come to understand that Don noticed everything. After a moment, he bent forward and kissed the skin just above the sheet.

  “Don’t do that,” I said.

  “W
hy?” he asked, bending forward to repeat the procedure. This time he pulled the sheet and pressed his mouth against the top mound of my breast. “Don’t you like it?”

  I did. I loved it. Heat washed over me and I wanted to relax and slide down into the mattress. But I said no. My voice wasn’t very convincing. Don ignored me. He pushed the covers down an inch and repeated the kiss on the top of the other breast. His mouth felt so good. My eyelids swept down, but I opened them wide and slid up the bed. The sheet slid down and Don moved in, taking my breast into his mouth.

  The pleasure that flashed through me was like an exploding light.

  “I have a proposal for you,” Don said.

  “What kind of proposal?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s not marriage.”

  “You were sure to get a no on that front.”

  “I’m aware of that.” He continued kissing my breasts, driving me crazy and making it hard for me to concentrate on anything except how much I wanted him inside me.

  “What’s your proposal?” I asked, curious as to what he wanted.

  “A date.”

  “Date? Haven’t we already had this conversation?”

  “We’ve agreed to a plan, but this date will be before that.”

  I grabbed his head before he could plant another kiss farther down my body, where he was gradually exposing more and more skin. “So you want two dates?”

  “I want to do you a favor.”

  I laughed. “How is my going on a date with you doing me a favor?”

  “It’s a stress-reduction dinner.”

  “Stress reduction,” I repeated. “I don’t feel any stress.” I knew he was teasing, and I had to steel my face to keep from smiling.

  “Yes, you do. Otherwise you’d be sleeping in your own bed right now.”

  I refused to reply.

  “So, why don’t we call a truce for tonight. We can act as if we’d just met and I asked you to dinner.”

  The idea of spending time with Don without the animosity that accompanied our previous encounters was exciting.

  “With me you won’t have to pretend. We can have a leisurely evening together with no fighting, and no stress.”