Chapter Three
Coming back to her suite after an early-morning swim, which had been disappointing because Mike wasn’t there, Lauren opened the door to the sitting room and found Dani dressed and waiting for her.
“I thought I’d have breakfast with you, Ms. Rose,” the model explained. “We need to talk.”
“Give me ten minutes to get dressed, Dani,” Lauren agreed.
She was ready in fifteen minutes, having decided to take time to wash and blow-dry her hair. She wore a short, pale-green top with matching slacks and tied a white silk scarf around her neck. Dani eyed her curiously.
“You always manage to look smart without cluttering up,” she said, vaguely discontented with her own rather busy outfit. She had added bangles, six rings, and a gold chain belt to what had been planned as a basically simple gold cotton dress. Seeing Lauren eye her jewelry, Dani grimaced and stripped off the bangles and all but one of the rings.
“Better,” Lauren approved.
“Let’s go,” Dani urged.
The model began to speak in a low tone as soon as they were seated at their usual table. The other places were empty, as the dance troupe seldom attended first sitting. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry I haven’t been more help to you so far, Ms. Rose,” Dani began. “I guess, knowing that the show wouldn’t be very good—”
“Hold it,” Lauren smiled. “Who says our show isn’t going to be any good?”
Dani frowned. “Well, it can’t be, can it? Nella’s out, and I can’t wear all the clothes. Mr. Masen says—”
“Oh.” Lauren nodded. “Herbert Masen told you we’d make a mess of things. You shouldn’t listen to him.”
Dani couldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t like the guy, you know that. But he bought me a drink yesterday and explained very carefully that you’d more or less given up on the show and would marry him when you got back to Los Angeles.” She looked embarrassed. “Are you really going to marry him, Ms. Rose?”
“That is one thing you can be sure of, Dani,” Lauren said briskly.” I am not going to marry Herbert Masen.”
“Well, I’m glad. He’s a nerd.” Dani perused the menu crossly. She always seemed enraged that she had to stick with the diet that ensured her model’s thinness.
Lauren herself wasn’t very hungry.
While they sipped grapefruit juice, Dani said with an attempt at brightness, “You’ll want a rehearsal before Thursday, Ms. Rose. “We’ll have to—uh—synchronize our movements if there’s just the two of us to handle the show.”
Lauren debated whether to tell Dani about the radical change of plan. The girl was honest and fairly loyal, but she had an unguarded tongue, which might easily wag in the wrong quarters. While Lauren was considering how much to tell, the model glanced around the table.
“What happened to those actors or dancers or whatever they were? Did they get a different table?”
“I think they prefer to eat a little later,” Lauren said vaguely.
“Where does Mr. Masen eat? I’m surprised he doesn’t sit with you, if he thinks you’re going to get married.”
“Herbert prefers to eat in one of the more elegant dining rooms. I’ve never seen him in here.”
“I saw him last night, in the casino. He had his arm around a girl young enough to be his daughter. I’m glad you’re not going to marry that old creep. At his age, you’d think he’d have more sense.”
“Don’t be too harsh on Herbert. It’s not easy to picture yourself worn out, of no more value.”
Dani’s shudder was sincere. Her large eyes glazed with fear that was very personal.
“Don’t worry, Dani,” her employer advised her.” You’re at the top of your profession. A good show on board the QE II will send your ratings up.”
“Then we’ve got to make sure this one’s good,” Dani vowed. “When do we rehearse?”
Lauren made up her mind. “Tomorrow morning, Dani. We’ll go right after breakfast.” She would check with Derek today, make sure he had things in hand, explain about the model’s sensitivity and how she must be made to feel important in order to do her best work. She was sure the Stranges and their group could handle one temperamental model. In fact, she’d like to seek them out right now and see how the choreography was coming along. She set out happily from the Tables of the World Restaurant, leaving Dani to finish her Sanka and the last sweet roll.
Herbert was waiting for her outside the restaurant, glaring.
Lauren beat him to the punch. “So, you’re living it up, Herbert. That was a very pretty child you had on your arm last night.”
Herbert looked at her sourly. “Why didn’t you stop when I called you?”
Lauren laughed.
Herbert’s face got redder. “I looked for you at dinner, and at the Maartens show. Where were you?”
“Minding,” Lauren said clearly, “my own business. You should try it sometime, Masen.”
“Then you’d better watch that honcho you were running with,” he snapped. “That’s what I was trying to tell you last night. The guy’s taking you for a ride.”
“Why should he? What have I got that he wants?” Lauren prodded. If Herbert knew something, she’d better find out what it was.
Herbert was giving her his nasty smile. “Well, I don’t suppose he’d mind a roll in the hay. But you don’t even know who the guy is, or what he does for a living—if anything.”
“His name is Michael, and he’s a talent scout.” It did seem rather bare, Lauren thought gloomily.
“Never heard of him,” said Herbert. “If he’s not a crook, he’s some cheap gigolo living off foolish women—”
“Then he must have been doing good business lately,” Lauren retorted. “I had the best dinner I’ve ever tasted in his suite last night. And you could have put my sitting room into one of his bathrooms.”
“You had dinner in his suite?” Herbert’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s between you two? Making out on deck for anyone who walked past to see—”
Lauren wasn’t going to make any excuses to Al’s old friend. “It really isn’t your business, is it? Why don’t you buzz off?”
Now the mask of hearty, close friendship slipped completely from Herbert’s pudgy features and his eyes and voice were colder than Al’s had ever been as he said, “It sure as hell is my business, baby. I’ve got shares in the boutique and I’m not standing still while some cheap crook robs us blind.”
“Shares,” Lauren sneered. “See my lawyer when you get back to Los Angeles. I’ll buy you out.” Relishing the pure shock on his face, she added, “The next time you’re in partnership with anybody, watch your drinking. You spilled everything you knew about me and the business to that same Michael you’re bad-mouthing now.”
She walked away, leaving the man staring after her with an empty look.
Her session with the troupe restored her faith. They were wonderful. Fresh and lively and more graceful than any men had a right to be, Derek and Tony mimed their admiration for the cleaning women in the gorgeous gowns. Even better, the display dances Tony had choreographed would show Lauren’s designs in luscious, flowing detail.
“I love it!” she breathed.
The troupe laughed. “You’re a real hard sell, Mrs. Rose.” Tony grinned. “I thought you’d have some criticism?”
“I have. You ought to be doing this on a real stage, before a real audience, not just for a fashion show.”
“But what a fashion show.” Violet laughed. “I can hardly wait to see the rest of your competition, so I’ll be sure how much better you are. And those audiences aren’t your run-of-the-mill folks. They’re pace-setters. Oh, we’ll get recognition.”
Lauren went to lunch with a lighter heart. They wouldn’t let her down: she mustn’t fail them. At the table, she met a frantic Dani.
“What’s wrong? Is Nella sick?”
Dani grimaced. “She’s in love, which is worse. I can’t stand her constant cooing. She’s having lunch with her doctor, so I thought I’d better clue you in—”
“I’m not worried about her crush on the handsome Britisher.” Lauren smiled. “I prefer cooing to whining any day.”
“I don’t mean about Nella. I’m talking about Herbert and that beef-cake you’ve been palsy with. You know, Mike.”
“What about Mike?” Lauren’s mouth felt dry and she sipped some water and stared at the menu.
“Just that I saw him with old Herbert not fifteen minutes ago in the corner of the Crown and Anchor. I was just looking for a friend, and I saw them. They had their heads close like they didn’t want anybody to hear what they were saying.” She glanced at Lauren shrewdly. “I thought you’d better know.”
Lauren drew in a steadying breath. “Well, unless Herbert’s won an Academy Award for acting recently, they really aren’t buddies. He’s just been giving me the third-degree for daring to have dinner with Mike last night. Claims he’s either a gigolo or a crook.”
“Since when would either of those professions put Masen off?” Dani asked. “It looked like he was trying to make a deal with the guy. Watch it, Ms. Rose.”
Rather gloomily Lauren thanked the model for her concern and then told her, with grim threats if she even breathed a word to anybody on the ship, about the dance production.
As she had feared, Dani was at first a little prickly about her own importance and position in the show. After Lauren had explained it in painstaking detail, however, Dani brightened.
“It might be fun at that,” she said, obviously thinking of the several times she would be lifted and carried around by two handsome men. “You’re sure the dancing part of it won’t make me look silly?”
“Dani, you’ll be showcased like never before,” Lauren promised. “Come on and meet them and we’ll prove it.”
The women went quickly to the reserved room and Lauren gave the agreed-upon knock. Tony let them in and gave Dani his best smile. The troupe clustered around her and told her how much they would enjoy working with a professional model. Then Violet played and the rest demonstrated their routines.
Dani loved it. “We’re going to be the hit of the trip,” she bubbled. “It’s like a musical comedy.”
“Remember you promised not to breathe a word,” Lauren cautioned. “Herbert Masen will find a way to wreck us if he finds out.”
She left Dani working with the group and went to discuss her music with Maida Hass. There was a small orchestra who regularly played for all the showings. Violet had given her the exact score the dancers required. It wasn’t difficult music, but the timing was all-important.
The leader of the musicians, a lanky young man with dreams of glory with one of the great symphony orchestras, was at first a little condescending about Tony’s choices. Lauren fixed him with a stern, business-like eye.
“Poor or badly timed playing can ruin a show,” she said quietly. “If you don’t think you’ll feel comfortable with this, let me know now and I’ll find someone who can handle it.”
“We can handle it,” the youth hurried to say. “Will there be a rehearsal? The other designers rehearse in the mornings.”
Lauren had forgotten that part of it. She couldn’t expose her idea out here in the lounge, where any passerby could watch. “Have you got free time tomorrow morning?”
“Yes,” he said, consulting a clipboard. “Ten to eleven.”
“Please be in the smaller gym—the old one—at ten, will you?” She smiled at the musicians. “Thank you all.”
And Heaven help us if they talk, she thought. It was becoming harder every minute to keep a secret on the great ship. She could only hope that her failure to rehearse her one model in the lounge would convince her ill-wishers that she didn’t have a show.
She didn’t see Mike at the afternoon showing. Ben Nowak did his usual very popular presentation with a bevy of young men and women models. He had the runway enlarged by the addition of a wide crosspiece near the far end, where his youthful mannequins did their college and high-school antics. Very few of the first-class passengers attended; Nowak, already a multi-millionaire, couldn’t care less. Lauren left the show feeling reassured; although the background music was bright and modern, there was no real dancing, no threat to her show.
She wasn’t worried about Adah Shere that night, either. Shere was a lovely Hindu woman, whose signature was the gold-and-silver decorated saris she wore. Her creations were always Oriental in some particular way, either by the line of the costume or by the materials or embroidery. It was a lovely look, but not all women could carry it off. Some of her most enthusiastic and devoted clients were film and theater stars and a few wealthy patronesses of the arts, especially ballet. The audience tonight would be almost entirely made up of first-class passengers, but it would be a buyers’ group, well worth the effort.
Lauren carefully chose her costume for this showing. Some of Adah Shere’s clients might well find her own designs appealing. After all, they couldn’t dress like Chinese empresses and Indian temple dancers all the time. She chose a figure-caressing, low-cut top of pastel sequins, set on a slim, pale-green full-length skirt with a slit up the back as far as her knees. Over this was a caftan of sheerest chiffon, with long, loose sleeves. This was in the same pale green. The only ornament was a flat sequin collar three inches wide, which curved around the neck and hooked discreetly at the front. As she moved, the shimmering sequins moved sensuously with her torso under the delicate chiffon.
Lauren loved it. She wished that Mike were escorting her to the showing. In hopes of seeing him, she made up with particular care in her softest colors and let her shining hair fall naturally to her shoulders.
The first person she saw as she slipped into the lounge was Mike. He was with a beautiful brunette in black lace and diamonds. They were sitting with the audience. Mike looked splendid in white tie and tails. Several other successful and prominent-looking men and women sat next to them and chatted back and forth while they waited for the showing.
Lauren made her way quietly to a chair near the end of the runway. She couldn’t lurk on the couch tonight, not in this gown. Holding her head high, she walked to her seat. She kept her eyes away from the seats occupied by Mike and his party, but her thoughts were busy. Entrepreneur—talent scout, he had said. Obviously operating on a high level. What kind of talent? Was the gorgeous brunette a movie star or an actress? Did Mike have a special relationship with her? Lauren was telling herself to forget it and concentrate on the show as the lights dimmed for the first announcements and commentary.
Someone slid into the empty chair next to Lauren.
Startled, she turned, half-expecting to see Mike.
It was Tony, looking very British and elegantly lean in formal evening gear. “You look beautiful,” he murmured in her ear. “Like the sultan’s dream.” He mimed a devilish leer.
Lauren found herself chuckling.
The showing was a great success. Most of the costumes were special, one-wearing-and-then-lay-away-for-your-childish items. This year Adah Shere had gone into metallic and jewel-encrusted braids on heavy brocades that were themselves woven with gold and silver. It was a stunning presentation . . . for the very wealthy. The audience loved it.
During the interval, Lauren quizzed Tony as to his reason for appearing. “Is there a problem? I’ve got a music rehearsal for you in the gym tomorrow morning from ten till eleven. Okay?”
“Excellent,” Tony agreed. “We need Vi for the show; can’t let her keep tinkling away on the piano.”
His good spirits restored Lauren’s pleasant mood. She was here on board the greatest luxury ship afloat to show her designs, wasn’t she? Not to worry about quarrels with Herbert Masen or the real motives of mysterious strangers. However attractive they were.
She smiled at Tony. “Can I treat you to a sherry at the pub?”
He grinned with her at her attempt at an English accent. “That speech calls for an ‘old boy?’ at the end of it. Thanks, but we’re all going up to one of the nightclubs as a treat for working so hard. I really came down to ask if you cared to join us.”
“No, thanks, I think I’ll just check on Nella. I’ve left her alone so far.”
Tony expressed his regrets and escorted her out of the lounge before he left to pick up his crowd. Lauren hadn’t much desire to go single to any of the other lounges or bars, but she felt too restless to return to her room so early. Recalling her success at the slot machines, she wandered to the casino. The sight of Herbert with his young girl sent her in the other direction. She was approaching her own suite when a dark figure approached her suddenly from around a corner.
“Taxi, lady?” Mike murmured, grinning.
“Did you drop your other fare or did she drop you?” Lauren taunted.
“Jealous?” asked the insufferable man.
“Yes,” Lauren admitted.
His eyebrows, those heavy, masterful dark weapons, rose. In a very different voice—his deep, softly abrasive tone that thrilled along Lauren’s nerves—he said, “Can I believe that, Mrs. Rose?”
Lauren faced his challenging eyes.
“Do you want to?”
He moved forward and took her arm in one of his large hands. “Come up to my suite and we’ll discuss it.”
“Let’s walk on deck,” Lauren counterproposed. She was just a little nervous now of her own daring.
Mike grinned. “It’s raining hard. Come on.”
Lauren went.
The sitting room was softly lighted. Music played from an unseen tape or radio. There were flowers in bowls, diffusing their delicate sweetness, and against the closed French doors to the balcony rain pounded heavily. Mike waved his hand at it.
“Special order. I spoke to Neptune.”
You really wanted me to come here tonight?” Lauren asked. Her voice wasn’t as confidently flip as she’d intended.
“I really did,” he avowed. “I had an appointment I couldn’t get out of, for dinner and the Shere showing. When I ditched that crowd, I went right to your suite.” He moved over and took Lauren into his arms. For a long moment he held her away from him, hands hard on her upper arms, as he scrutinized the costume and the woman in it.
“I think I’d have known that was September Song even if you weren’t wearing it,” he said at last. “It’s feminine, gentle, lovely. It suits you.”
Lauren couldn’t take her eyes off his face as it bent down over hers. When the beautifully cut, sensuous lips were so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath, she slowly lowered her eyelids.
The dark voice said softly, “Look at me, Lauren. I want to see your violet eyes when I kiss you.”
Almost drowsily, she lifted her lids and he kissed her. It was a slow, easy, gentle kiss. A friendly kiss, Lauren thought, alarmed at her own disappointment. Still, it had magic, a slow, sensuous stroking of his firm lips against hers. Lauren gave herself up to it. Even if it lacked the passionate demand she had been hoping for, it was richly caressing and comforting. When she felt herself fully relaxed, melted into his arms, Mike removed his lips with a slow regret that communicated itself to her.
“First we’ll have a drink and a snack. I couldn’t eat any dinner, worrying about what you were doing.”
Lauren walked over and sat down on a comfortable lounge chair. “I forgot to eat tonight,” she confessed. “I was trying to look my best for Shere’s presentation.”
“You succeeded.” He was bringing a chilled bottle and a large, covered silver dish from the refrigerator in the guest bathroom. “Sandwiches,” he boasted happily. “The British do them so well, ever since good old Lord Sandwich invented the bally things.”
Chuckling, Lauren agreed. She took off the cover while Mike poured the wine into glasses. The sandwiches looked so good that she couldn’t wait. She was biting into a chicken with mayonnaise as Mike turned around.
“Caught you! Trying to steal a march, are you? You’ll pay for that, my girl.”
Lauren found herself choking with laughter. Mike offered her a glass of chilled wine. Sipping it, she regarded him with laughter-filled eyes.
He returned the compliment. “Fun, eh?”
Lauren nodded at him. “I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time,” she admitted honestly. “You know the script in business: life is real, life is earnest, and the cash flow is our only goal.”
“But you’re on the creative end,” Mike admonished. “That ought to ease some pressures, surely?”
“My husband’s been dead for several years,” said Lauren quietly. “I’m trying—with the help of a fabulous accountant, who is both loyal and competent—to run the whole thing myself.”
Mike ripped his dark head to one side, scanning her face. “Wouldn’t it make sense to sign up with one of the big corporations, let them handle the commercial end of it?”
“I’d have to make sure none of my own staff were fired,” mused Lauren, her expression telling the man that she was indeed considering the idea of a contract.
“Why don’t you let me handle it for you?” he said. “It’s my field, after all. And your own lawyer could check the proposition carefully.”
“Have you direct affiliations with any special company, Mike, or do you act as a middleman only?”
“I’ve got a lead to Landrill’s,” he told her. “But that’s not my only field. I work with an international hotel chain, scouting interesting sites for new buildings and talented young executives—both male and female—to run them with class and good business sense.”
Lauren chuckled. “So you’re not a male chauvinist. And from the sound of it, you’ve got an exciting job. I guess you’ve been told, if you work with Landrill’s, that they’ve already made September Song an offer?”
“One? Lady, they tried four times to set up a deal with your husband. They believe in you, Mrs. Rose.”
“At least they believe I can make them a bundle,” she retorted.
“Why not? Aren’t you in designing to make money? You don’t give away the dresses,” he challenged a little harshly.
Lauren nodded. She understood the reason for his annoyance. Of course, she was in the business of designing to make money. Sometimes the sheer pleasure of seeing one of her ideas come alive was more than enough payment for hours of work and frequent frustration, but if it were not for the fact that women were willing to pay a good price for her dresses she wouldn’t be able to enjoy her creative satisfactions. She faced Mike with an open smile.
“You’re right, of course. We creative types should never forget that we don’t design in a vacuum. Somebody has to want what we make.”
“And Landrill’s will make sure that lots of women know how attractive and flattering your line of clothing is. Can I put together a deal?”
Lauren nodded. This Fashion Cruise had opened her eyes; it would be increasingly difficult for her to do battle alone in the marketplace and keep up her creative work at the same time. She needed a manager; Al had kept all the business side of the operation away from her, so she really didn’t know enough to cope, hadn’t the skills or the toughness or the knowledge it took. She began to realize that she really didn’t want to fight that battle. She wanted to design clothing. Was that too much to ask? She noticed that Mike was watching her, probably evaluating her changing expressions.
“Yes, let’s see what your lawyer and mine can work out,” she said.
His face showed only the normal pleasure at the successful conclusion of negotiations. “Now we’ve got that settled,” he said, “let’s eat, drink, and forget that tomorrow we diet.”
The sandwiches were delicious: chicken breast, roast beef, cheese with bacon, pâté, even sliced tomatoes with pepper and mayonnaise. They fought over the last of that kind.
Lauren drank more wine that she usually allowed herself. As a result, her mood became more and more unguarded. After one particularly provocative remark from her, Mike phoned for coffee.
“I won’t have you accusing me, tomorrow, of getting you—ah—mellow and then clinching a deal,” he teased, eyes warmly satisfied.
Lauren felt the laughter fading from her lips as it struck her that she had thrown away her independence as lightly as she had eaten the sandwiches. “I wasn’t too hard to persuade, was I?” she mocked herself.
Mike frowned. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”
Lauren shrugged. “Dani tells me you and Herbert were having a heart-to-heart in the pub. Was he telling you where I am vulnerable? Or were you hiring him as a hotel manager?”
“I wouldn’t hire Masen to pass out free samples,” Mike snapped. “For your information, Mrs. Rose, he was telling me that you two had been lovers ever since your husband died.” Ignoring Lauren’s gasp of outrage, Mike went on. “When I reminded him that his behavior on this trip hadn’t been exactly devoted, he said he was trying to make you jealous.”
Lauren’s outrage dissolved in surprised laughter. “Jealous? She hooted. “Of Herbert?”
Mike grinned. “My reaction exactly. Too bad Dani didn’t get close enough to hear what I replied to that statement.”
Lauren got up and went to him. She met his quizzical glance squarely. “I’m sorry I said that about persuasion. Since I came on this trip, I’ve been forced to face the fact that I really don’t know all the answers, either about my own profession or about other human beings. I don’t know what’s behind anyone’s mask. I’ve let Herbert hang around and harass me; even Tony told me I was an easy sell when I agreed without criticism to his choreography. I guess the truth is I suddenly felt very . . . insecure.” She put on a bright smile. “Would you say I’m out of my league?”
Mike put his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’d say you were a very honest, modest, intelligent human being who’s fighting hard to produce an innovative presentation of her talent. With no help from people she could have expected it from. It’s lucky you ran into those dancers and persuaded them to help you, but I think you would have found some way to handle it even if you hadn’t. You’re a fighter, Lauren.”
She felt a light pressure on her hair. Was he kissing her? She turned her face up to meet his intent gaze. He was smiling down at her, a warm light in his silver eyes.
“You’re pretty, too,” he added.
He released her as the steward knocked and entered with their coffee. As she poured it, Lauren wanted to ask him what he thought of her. She had meant it when she told him she couldn’t appraise people, couldn’t read their motives or their intentions. She especially couldn’t pigeonhole Mike. He wasn’t like any man she’d ever met.
“I haven’t really known many men,” she said, not realizing how vulnerable she looked, small and exquisite and feminine in the corner of the huge sofa. “I never understood my father. I think I was afraid of him, although he never hurt me. He had very rigid views about the place of women, especially girl children, in his world. I know it’s archaic, but I wouldn’t have dared to disagree with any of his judgments, no matter how chauvinistic and unreasonable they were. I can’t understand the way I felt.” She sighed and shook her head. Mike didn’t comment. He sat drinking his coffee and listening as she spoke.
Lauren went on. “Al asked my father before he asked me. My father was very wealthy and Al was just beginning to make his own way. Then Dad told me I’d made a good choice. Al knew how to present himself to older, conservative men. He was a man’s man: loved hunting and fishing and drinking with other men. He wasn’t ever really comfortable with a woman, except in bed. And then only briefly.”
She heard herself making these embarrassingly blunt admissions but couldn’t seem to stop. Mike was listening as though he really cared, as though it mattered to him what had happened to her and what she thought. It struck her that very few people had ever truly listened to what she had to say. Her father certainly never had. Her mother had listened but not understood. Al had never made a pretense of discussing anything with her beyond her next collection and the problems it might present to his sales campaign. Lauren sighed and relaxed against the back of the comfortable sofa. She smiled trustingly.
“Now you,” she invited.
“Me?” Mike rose and placed his cup and saucer on the coffee table.
“Aren’t you going to share with me?” All at once she felt like some sort of groupie in a therapy rap session.
Mike loomed over her, bent to seize her hands, and pulled her to her feet. She was so close to him that she felt the heat from his body.
“Yes, I’m going to share with you, Lauren Rose. I’m going to share the loneliness we both feel under our bright impersonal masks. And the hunger we have for the act of love with someone to whom it means more than lust—oh, what the use of words? Let me show you.”
He lifted her easily and carried her into the bedroom. Putting her down gently beside the bed, he began to remove her clothing. His big hands were gentle at her throat as he unhooked the sequin collar, then took off the delicate, filmy caftan. At first Lauren couldn’t face him, but her glance was finally drawn to his face as to a magnet. His expression was solemn, absorbed, and told Lauren he considered her important to him, valuable, even. As though what he was doing was a kind of worship. So when he gently took the dress from her body, Lauren felt no shame, only a faint sense of embarrassment that Mike might not find her worthy of his passionate regard.
When he had removed the last of her clothing, Mike lifted her gently onto the bed. Then he turned and walked to the door. Lauren voiced a small inarticulate cry. He turned at once.
“Just for our privacy,” he said softly, closing and locking the door. Then he came back to the bed and began to strip. Lauren couldn’t take her eyes from his body. She had seen it when they swam in the pool, big and brown and well-muscled, but this disrobing was a thousand times more erotic. He had draped her costume carefully over a chair; his own clothes he merely dropped to the floor. Then he came to stand beside her.
“May I leave the lights on, Lauren?” he asked. And when she would have objected, fearing that her body would disappoint him, he said, “Please, you are so lovely,” and she could not deny him.
She held out her arms to him. With a sigh as deep as a groan, Mike came down beside her on the bed and took her into his arms.
She had never known such pleasure. He shared with her his delight in every part of her body. His lips and hands moved over her, sweetly tormenting and rousing her. Within a few minutes he had excited her in ways she had not known were possible. Her muscles tensed with the need to respond to him. Warmth flooded her, and she trembled involuntarily. When his hand moved over her body and down to her hips, Lauren sobbed, “Yes, Mike. Yes,” and clung to him, holding him close to her.
Moving together, murmuring tenderness against each other’s lips and shoulders and throats, they drove on to ecstasy together, reaching the exploding moment at the same quivering instant. Gasping, they relaxed against the soft bed, still close in each other’s arms. Mike settled her more comfortably against him, pulling her head over onto his chest and holding it there.
Lauren began to laugh soundlessly. Mike felt her body’s small tremors and lifted her chin so he could see her face. “What is it sweetheart? Why are you laughing?” His smile was tender.
Lauren smiled into his eyes. “Your hair tickles my nose.” She patted the curly black thatch on his chest with possessive fingers.
Mike pretended exasperation. “I give you world-class treatment and you say my hair tickles! I thought you were a romantic.”
It was comfortable to share small jokes, Lauren decided; a sort of defense against the earth-shaking force of what they had shared. It gave that mindless, overwhelming physical ecstasy a warm, human individuality—made it truly theirs. She grinned. “That was world-class?” she teased.
It was Mike’s turn to laugh, full-throatedly, his chest shaking her. “I see I have myself an insatiable female here.” He chuckled, pulling her on top of him and pinning her to him. He began a tantalizing stroking, a sensual massage that brought her quickly to an ardent response.
Later, Lauren was roused from light slumber to find Mike stroking her hair gently. She looked up at him with drowsy eyes, recalling with wonder the strange, compelling wave of feeling that had caught them both up into an alluring rapture of physical delight that led to a piercing almost agonized ecstasy. It had been a time removed from everyday reality, a moment when they were no longer Lauren and Mike, no longer even male and female, but instead a mindless centering of awareness, of sensation, which focused in their joined bodies. Lauren inhaled sharply at the memory.
“Mike,” she said softly, smiling at the strong, beautiful face, relishing their shared delight. She yawned involuntarily, then stretched herself as gracefully as a cat, in the process moving her breast against him.
He bent his dark head to her, kissing her gently, reassuring her. Then he groaned as she pressed his head against the rounded flesh of her breast, stroking his neck and shoulders.
“It was unbelievable, wasn’t it?” he whispered against her flesh. “I have never known a woman who was so ardent, so able to love me and accept my lovemaking.” He stroked her breast, then tantalized that tender flesh with sweet butterfly kisses.
Al had always turned away and gone to sleep as soon as he had satisfied himself, Lauren remembered. Never once had he shared his feelings, told her that he valued their lovemaking.
Seeing the lost look on her face, Mike gathered her closer to his body. His voice was uneven. “I didn’t know it could be so . . .” He broke off with a groan. “I adore you.”
Suddenly shy of this great sleek tiger, warm and virile against her body, Lauren drew away a little. “What time is it? I’d better go back to my stateroom now.”
As she moved to get up, he caught her to him. “I won’t let you go creeping back to your cabin in the middle of the night.”
“Better than having half the crew see me returning in the daylight wearing an evening gown,” Lauren said ruefully. “I’m not very skilled at intrigue.”
Mike sat up quickly. “Intrigue? Is that what you call it? Madam, I shall not permit you to beat a clandestine retreat from my bedroom.”
Lauren stared at the magnificent virility of him and felt her treacherous heart melt. If he really wished her to stay . . . It did seem a flat ending, a commonplace dawn, after a night of such joy.
“I can’t stay here indefinitely,” she protested, too weakly.
“Why not?” demanded Mike, the indulgent conqueror. “We can send for your toothbrush and you don’t need a nightgown.”
“Be serious,” she begged with a laugh.
“Be yourself,” he advised her coolly. “Lauren Rose, the designer of September Song, design something! Make yourself a bathing suit out of a sheet or something, and come for a swim with me. After that, you can return to your cabin with perfect propriety.”
It was easy to see he was accustomed to getting his own way with women. That idea introduced a host of disturbing pictures of Mike with a succession of beauties, taking them to swim in his spacious pool in his own home. Still, she refused to let jealousy spoil the wonderful experience they had shared. Go swimming? Make herself a suit? Why not? She began to smile. Her eyes sparkled.
“Have you got a pair of scissors?” she asked.
“I believe there’s a sewing kit in the guest bathroom. Cunard thinks of everything.”
Lauren was already in the bathroom. Her voice rang out, pleased and interested. “There are several extra towels and bath sheets. September Song is about to launch a terry-cloth trend.”
Half an hour later, Lauren paraded into the sitting room and struck a pose. Mike, lounging in his trunks and robe, rose to applaud.
“You’d never get away with any place but the Riviera or Black’s Beach, but I think you look terrific. In fact, it gives me an idea—” He began a mock-predatory advance.
Lauren dodged past him, laughing. Her costume was fetching, but too fragile for a struggle. Two facecloths and two hand towels in rust, stitched together, paid token service to modesty. Lauren had also cut a T-slit in a rust-colored bath sheet, which she now donned as a poncho.
“On to the pool,” she commanded. “Before half the ship is awake to review my latest design.”
“You know that gorgeous creation you were wearing last night?”
“You mean the gown you removed so cavalierly?”
“I was careful,” Mike protested. “I’ll wrap it in a clothes bag and return it to your stateroom before dinner tonight, which, by the way, you will have with me.”
“It’s Carlos de Sevile’s showing,” Lauren said, at once sober as she contemplated the challenge. “I must attend.”
“We’ll eat here afterward,” Mike said firmly. “I’m going to take you to the show. I can’t let you go unguarded among the wolves.”