Chapter Seven
Lauren and her models dressed for dinner in an atmosphere of mingled triumph and fear. Lauren was fighting the depression that had enveloped her as the afternoon waned and Mike didn’t put in an appearance. Dani was high on the excitement of the favorable vote for their show. When Lauren told her they had made it only by one vote, she grinned and said, “One’s as good as a hundred, if it’s in our favor.” Nella was nervous again, audibly wondering what else Carlos or Herbert had up their sleeves.
“Maybe we shouldn’t eat or drink anything tonight, Lauren,” she suggested.
“Do you see Carlos or Herbert as Borgias?” Lauren teased. At Nella’s frightened stare, she added quickly, “Just a joke, Nella. Neither of them has access to the kitchens and I’d stake my life on the integrity of the Queen’s stewards.”
“You might have to,” Nella muttered.
However, when they were all three dressed and ready, a more cheerful atmosphere prevailed. There is nothing, thought Lauren, so reassuring to a woman as a beautiful dress that flatters her.
They did look impressive, she decided, casting a critical eye over Dani in the jewel. Nella in her bronze silk, and her own image in the mirror. She was wearing the dress Mike had taken off her that night—was it only Tuesday, two nights ago? Its alluring caftan of sheer chiffon, with the sensuously tight bodice of shimmering sequins beneath, had attracted his admiration then. Would he see her, want her, tonight?
It was a quarter to eight, and the Captain’s Dinner was set for eight, to be followed by the awards ceremony.
“Will we do, Lauren?” Nella asked.
Lauren said proudly, “You are beautiful.”
Both models smiled. Then they held up their heads and strolled along the passage and into the elevator as though they were on the runway. Lauren’s heart lifted. Whatever anyone said, whether they won or lost, they’d put up a good show.
The plan was that all the designers and their models were to meet in the captain’s dayroom for cocktails before dinner. The judges would be there also, and Maida and several officers. A few special guests had also been invited. Lauren hoped one would be Mike. Then, after cocktails, the party would proceed to the Queen’s Grill for dinner. Following that, they would adjourn to the theater, where an audience of interested fashion-lovers would be waiting for the awards ceremonies.
These were to include a showing of each designer’s choice of two best costumes while the designer commented, if he or she wished, from one side of the stage. The judges’ decision would then be announced, and prizes awarded. It seemed there were to be more prizes than one. As a special feature, the awards ceremony would be broadcast to all lounges and even into those cabins that had television as part of the regular furnishing. The hopeful gesture was to avoid crowding in the theater.
“Some hope,” was Dani’s show-wise comment.
It didn’t take Lauren long to find the big man with the wide shoulders. He stood out for many reasons. She and her models were greeted by junior officers and led at once to where the captain was chatting with Lady Winston-Bell and Maida Hass. The captain welcomed the three women with pleasantly correct compliments on their appearance and a glinting aside that of course he mustn’t show favoritism. Her Ladyship was gracious and friendly as ever. The three were passed deftly to Maida, who took them to the buffet and asked their preferences in drinks.
Her eyebrow lifted a fraction as all three chose Perrier. “Keeping a clear head? Perhaps that’s wise,” she murmured, gesturing toward the center of the dayroom, where Carlos was holding forth with a whiskey in one fist.
“Don’t look so frightened, Nella,” Dani teased. “He can’t eat you in front of all these people. You’re not on the menu.”
“I guess we aren’t on the prize list, either,” Nella mourned. They all glanced around. The room was jammed with gorgeously dressed women. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and lesser gems shimmered on every surface, Lauren thought wryly. They’d hang them from their noses if it didn’t hurt. The men were equally festive, with some pretty wild jackets on display for this fashion-conscious group. It’s as though they wanted to rival the models, Lauren confided to Dani.
“Most of them’d have to lose about thirty pounds before they’d be competition,” snipped the model.
And then he was beside her. She sensed more than felt his broad shoulders and his silver-gray eyes. Lauren didn’t care how revealing her expression was. She was so happy to see him.
His rather anxious expression softened into a wicked grin. He bent close to her and said in her ear, “Not here, darling. You’re going to have to wait until we get to my cabin.”
Lauren felt the warm blood rising in her cheeks. Ye gods, she mocked herself, I’m an adult and this guy can make me blush. But she didn’t care, because the show was safely over, and Mike was here beside her. What could go wrong?
Mike was saying, “I heard over the grapevine that your show was allowed, in spite of the theatrical format.”
Lauren nodded, smiling. “I didn’t let anyone down.”
Mike frowned. “I also hear that for some reason, probably her loyalty to Maartens, Claire Cornelius is claiming that you mustn’t be considered a serious contender because you didn’t show enough costumes.”
“I’m sorry she feels that way. But, then, she’s right, isn’t she?” Lauren knew she would feel deeply hurt later, but right now just being with concerned and attentive Mike was pleasure enough.
“Are you being a good sport or are you just punch-drunk after the session in Maida’s office?” Mike asked in a louder voice.
Dani spoke up unexpectedly. “I think she’s in love,” the model teased. “Better watch out she doesn’t miss her footing and fall overboard.”
They all laughed except Nella, who hadn’t got the point and looked at Lauren with a worried frown.
Several couples and some unescorted women moved in on Mike, who was evidently well-known and liked. He introduced Lauren and the models, even draping one arm lightly over Lauren’s shoulders. The socialites tended to ignore her. Some of them quizzed the models. Dani made them laugh with her spirited plain-speaking. The men tended to stare at Nella, who always looked serenely lovely and rather mysterious when she was on display, as she was now.
Ben Nowak strolled over and Preppy Telford joined him. The male designers were definitely patronizing to Lauren; both mentioned that they hadn’t seen her show but had heard it was unusual.
Damned with this faint praise, Lauren was holding her tongue with a feeling of mounting annoyance when Mike said it for her.
“I saw the whole show. So did Buffy and her crowd. Ask them. It was really terrific. The least boring fashion show I’ve ever attended.”
He got some hard looks for that one, but Lauren knew that the designers, no matter how powerful with their own cliques, would hardly wish to cross swords with a man of Landrill’s importance and wealth. They drifted away.
“Nice cutthroat business you’re in,” Mike muttered. “Let’s eat.”
Fortunately for protocol, the captain had apparently had the same idea and he led his guests down to the Queen’s Grill. Lauren had been placed at a table of only medium visibility; there weren’t any bad tables in the Queen’s Grill, but she wasn’t near the head table by any means.
Mike followed while the steward led her to it. He frowned. It was a table for four. The other three seats were occupied by Jan, his partner, Sidney, and a bright-eyed youth in a magnificent ruby velvet dinner jacket with a matching cummerbund.
“I’ll toss you for that seat,” Mike drawled.
“But I specially requested to be seated with Janus,” protested the youth.
Mike turned to the steward. “Where’s my table? Landrill’s the name.”
“If you’ll come with me, sir?”
Mike gripped Lauren’s elbow, grinned insouciantly at the smiling Jan, and followed the steward.
Lauren said, “Really, Mike, I don’t mind. Jan was very supportive today in Maida’s office. And he voted to accept my presentation.”
“Bully for him,” Mike said shortly. “Now we’re going to find a table. I’m hungry, what with all this temperament and jostling for position. I’ve a good mind to eat in my own suite.”
“I need to be here, Mike,” Lauren said.
He glared at her. “Of course you do. Being part of this ridiculous rat race or Fashion Cruise or whatever you call it. I can tell you what I call it.” He pronounced a rather crude epithet.
Lauren chuckled. “Don’t let Carlos hear you,” she advised.
“You think he’d challenge me to a duel?” Mike grinned hopefully. “Needles at forty paces?”
“You’re talking about Landrill’s prize designer,” Lauren teased.
Mike groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
By this time the steward had brought them to the kindly guidance of the maître d’. That suave and charming gentleman discovered that Mike has been assigned to a table for eight, and that Buffy Landrill was his partner.
“Is she here yet? She’s usually late—likes to make a grand entrance.”
The maître d’ consulted his list. “Mrs. Landrill has not yet been shown to her table,” he admitted.
Mike gave him a conspiratorial grin. “Mrs. Landrill is my sister-in-law. I’d like to arrange a little treat for her. She’s very eager to be seated with one of the seven stars of the show. Mrs. Rose has graciously agreed to relinquish her place at Janus’s table so Mrs. Landrill may sit there.”
The maître d’ gave him an avuncular glance. “Is that so, sir? He asked.
“Indeed it is. Oh, here she comes now. I’ll explain it to her.” Mike strode over to the doorway where Buffy, looking petulant, was hovering. He talked rapidly. Her expression went from surprise to suspicion to delight. Mike led her toward the waiting maître d’.
“You mean Janus actually requested that I sit at his table?” she was saying.
The maître d’ smiled. “Let me escort you there, Mrs. Landrill,” he said with charm and authority.
Buffy giggled and followed him without a glance at Mike or Lauren.
“Very neat, sir,” the steward murmured, leading Lauren and Mike to a table near the captain’s.
“How could you?” whispered Lauren.
“Silence,” Mike warned. “Never admit anything.” He had cupped a warm hand around her elbow again. Lauren would have followed him anywhere.
When they reached the table, they found it already occupied except for the two seats originally intended for Buffy and Mike. Everyone wanted to know where Buffy was, although they smiled pleasantly enough at Lauren when Mike introduced her.
“Buffy,” Mike said portentously, “has been requisitioned to keep Janus happy.”
There was a blank silence and then laughter.
“No, really?” asked Tippy, a husky blonde from Buffy’s Hunt Club. “Hadn’t realized Buff was into leather.”
This brought another laugh, and Mike seated Lauren. The man next to her smiled and said, “Are you from California, Laurie?”
Lauren resisted the temptation to correct him, and smiled sweetly. “I’m with September Song.”
Her neighbor moved a little closer. “A model.” He looked her over avidly. “Isn’t Mike the lucky one.”
Lauren laughed. She couldn’t help it; the whole setup seemed childish, somehow. “I’m Lauren Rose, the designer. My show was this afternoon. I’m sure you didn’t see it; I would have remembered your face.” I can play these games, too, she decided. She grinned at the surprise and pleasure on his face.
“Designer?” he said. Clearly, he’d never heard of her.
The woman next to him had been listening. She gave Lauren a condescending smile. “September Song, did you say? Do you design sportswear?”
Suddenly Mike’s dark, velvet voice sounded so close to Lauren’s ear that her nerves quivered. “September Song is the newest thing in the fashion world,” he told the woman. “Landrill’s has been trying to get Lauren under contract for several years. Wish me luck, Baba.”
Baba, Tippy, and Midge turned as one person to stare at Lauren. If Landrill’s was after her, their glances seemed to say, there must be more to her than they had thought. Lauren’s smile was wry. Was that all it took? She glanced at Mike, caught the glint in his eye, and realized that he knew exactly what he was doing. Suddenly she felt lighthearted, happy, mischievous.
“I haven’t signed yet,” she said, trying hard for the prep-school accent. “My designs aren’t for just everybody.”
A rapacious light entered the women’s eyes. Lauren could tell they were kicking themselves for not taking in her show. “September Song?” Midge pondered. “I haven’t heard—”
“Of course you haven’t,” Lauren said cordially. “I really don’t have to advertise.”
This statement had them all watching her with heightened interest. Tippy said rather too loudly, “Oh, you’re a cult designer, like Janus!”
Lauren laughed lightly. “Quite unlike Janus, actually.”
Mike took control. “I can’t let you tease these people, Lauren. September Song, which will be featured in its own elegant boutiques throughout the Landrill chain, is for the woman who, like the finest wines, has matured enough to please the connoisseur in man—, the man of discerning taste. Of course, it’s caviar to the general public. They can’t afford it and they don’t see its special appeal. Now can’t we talk about something else? How many laps of the pool did you swim today, Midge? Or did you spend all your time in the Golden Door, being massaged?”
This started a spate of small talk about the skeet-shooting, yoga, and dance exercise, with the men boasting about their wins at the Players Club. But Lauren noticed that the three women were casting speculative glances her way. She was glad she was wearing the Sultan’s Dream.
By the time the sweets tray was being offered, Lauren was beginning to feel nervous again. She wondered if Dani and Nella, dining with all the other models, were enjoying the meal or worrying about the awards presentation. Dani could hold her own, and some of the models were very pleasant people, but Nella tended to get fearful in a challenging situation.
Mike was reading her expression again. He leaned close to her and whispered. “Would you like to go to the theater now? I think the other designers may wish to head that way very soon, so it won’t make you look unsure of yourself.”
He thought of everything. Lauren was so besotted with the man that she was ready to accept anything he said. She nodded gratefully. “I’d really like to be there, Mike.”
He nodded, glanced around the table, and got up. “Lauren’s got to check on her models. We’ll see you all later.”
“Mike, you aren’t leaving us now,” protested Baba, who had hardly taken her eyes off him since he sat down at the table.
“ ‘Fraid so, honey,” Mike drawled. “I can’t let this genius get out of my sight. The other stores have scouts everywhere.” He laughed as he led a smiling Lauren away.
As he left her at the entrance to the theater, Mike looked at Lauren intently. “Have you got it together?”
She nodded. “I think so. And thank you for your support.”
“Think nothing of it.” He grinned suddenly. “I’m already planning exactly what my fee will be.” And he gave her a rakish leer.
Lauren couldn’t help laughing. His look of satisfaction told her that was exactly what he had hoped for.
The mood in the waiting room off the theater was tense and edgy. Carlos, with two of his assistants beside him, glowered at Lauren fiercely once and then ignored her. He was chain-smoking, with imminent danger to his models’ costumes. He’d chosen to feature two of the most strident in color and style, and Lauren felt a secret pleasure in his poor judgment. Still, she chided herself, perhaps the audience would enjoy purple and crimson and black with a trim of white bobbles.
Maartens had a pleasant smile for her. He was obviously a gentleman, gray-haired, with a good tan and a trim body. Lauren thought he was about sixty, but it really was hard to tell. Jan Haliday nodded and grinned, shaking his head over the trick Mike had played at dinner, but he didn’t approach her to talk. In fact, very few conversations were heard. Most of the designers talked only to their own models, with brief, last-minute instructions. Lauren didn’t have anything to say to her two. They knew the routine better than she did, and they knew what Derek had planned.
Lauren had a sudden horrible thought. What if the judges disqualified her collection when they found out what Derek and she had planned with Tony? Oh, well, she tried to comfort herself, I’ll never win with Mrs. Cornelius against me anyway. And Mike has agreed to hire me as a Landrill’s designer, so I guess I’m safe financially. Somehow it wasn’t completely satisfying, but it would have to do.
She went to the peephole. The theater was packed. The TV crews were fussing around, getting in everyone’s way. There was a hubbub of voices, laughter, calls from one group to another— a carnival atmosphere that surprised Lauren. Then the audience fell silent as the captain led Lady Winston-Bell to the stage, while Mike escorted Mrs. Cornelius and Maida led Reb Crowell to the judges’ table in front of the stage.
The captain introduced Lady Winston-Bell, and then added, “We are very grateful to Sir George for permitting us to monopolize so much of his wife’s time during this voyage. I only hope he will forgive us when he hears how grateful we all are for his forbearance.”
The applause, of course, was appropriately loud. Then the captain introduced the other two judges to equal applause. The house lights lowered, spotlights and floodlights played on the stage, and Lady Winston-Bell began to introduce the designers. She called them in the order in which they had made their original presentations. As each designer came forward, he introduced his own best designs worn by two of his models.
The audience had evidently dined well and wined better, as the applause was generous for everyone. By the time Lauren’s name was called, she was wondering if anyone would have the energy to clap even once more. She was surprised at the enthusiastic reception she got. She called her models by name; they deserved that bit of recognition. The two women paraded across the stage and then took up positions at the rear.
Suddenly there was a titter of laughter from the audience. Those who had seen the show waited, smiling, for the reaction of their friends who hadn’t. The cause of their mirth was a cleaning woman who had wandered in from the side of the stage and now paused to examine the bronze silk costume. Polly and Dolly rushed in, dressed as stewardesses who had been sent to remove the intruder. Someone in the audience hooted. The twins held a sheet in front of Violet and Nella. When they took it away, Violet was wearing the bronze silk and Nella, wearing Violet’s clothes, was carried off the stage by Polly and Dolly.
Derek, distinguished in formal evening wear, came on stage and bowed to Violet. A soft Viennese waltz sounded from back stage, then went smoothly into “The Anniversary Waltz” as the graceful couple began to dance. They went around the stage once. Then Derek, holding Violet closer, gave her a brief, tender kiss. The audience, caught up in the unexpected romantic interlude, began to clap as Derek waltzed Violet offstage.
Lady Winston-Bell rose and called everyone to order. “Now that you have seen a sampling of the beautiful, charming, or striking designs that the seven finest American designers have offered for our enjoyment this week, your judges are ready to announce the winners, two designers whose true elegance of line, forward-looking styles, and suitability for their clients’ life-style have most impressed us. Each of the two is to receive a golden plaque, engraved with the words: Queen Elizabeth II Fashion Cruise Award for Elegance in Design. I call on Madame Adah Shere and Mr. Ian Maartens.”
There was thunderous applause as Maartens escorted Madame Shere to the stage, where Lady Winston-Bell presented the awards. Maartens spoke a few words of acknowledgment for them both. When they had left the stage, to continuing applause, Lady Winston-Bell held up one hand for silence.
“The judges have decided that one more award can and should be made. The Cunard Line, represented by their cruise director, Miss Maida Hass, has graciously agreed to grant a special award, for suitability for its clients, creativity, panache in presentation, and courage under stress; the Queen’s Golden Award, to Mrs. Lauren Rose, September Song.”
The applause was sincere and hearty.
Mike came on stage to lead Lauren toward Lady Winston-Bell to receive her award. It was a golden heart on a slim gold chain. He offered her his arm and she was surprised and touched to see that he had tied a violet silk scarf, one of her signature items, around his sleeve. He intended to escort her offstage to accept the congratulations of the audience, as Maartens had done for Madame Shere, but he was caught by the incredulous joy on Lauren’s face. He stood looking down at her for a moment. She looked back at him, the love she felt for him plainly visible in her glowing eyes and soft mouth. Suddenly ignoring the delighted audience, Mike swept her into his arms and kissed her.
Laughter and applause.
Then Lady Winston-Bell announced, “If that is what happens when one wears a September Song dress, I intend to buy nothing else.”
Sir George rose to salute her from the audience. “Hear! Hear!” he called to her, smiling. This brought down the house.
When he finally got Lauren away from well-wishers—among whom Carlos and Herbert were significantly missing—Mike led her firmly to his suite. Lauren sat down on the chair, still stunned. The man grinned as he poured her sherry. “Drink this. The show is over and it won’t matter if you get a little mellow.”
Lauren accepted it without comment, and drank it down.
“You can have one more, and then I have another relaxing therapy in mind for you.”
Lauren smiled up at him. “You were right, you know. What we have—what I feel for you,” she corrected herself, “is too special to be spoiled by bargaining. Being commercial, you called it.”
Mike’s eyebrows rose. “You mean you aren’t holding out for marriage?” He was sorry as soon as the words left his lips; surprise had caused him to say what sounded crudely offensive at this point. He stared at Lauren apprehensively. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
“But you were right. I think we both have a lot to learn about love. And I want to learn it with you.”
Mike came to her swiftly, a man of experience and passion, but with almost a youthful look of delight and anticipation on his face. He swung her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom. There, he set her on her feet beside his bed and went back to lock the door.
“Nothing is going to interrupt us now,” he whispered as he came back and drew her into his arms. “I love this dress on you, but, darling, I think I’ll love it better off.” And he began, with big hands that trembled just a little, to undo the glittering, small collar and remove the caftan.
Sensing his need, Lauren didn’t try to help in his task. Very soon he had her before him in the two scraps of satin and lace that were her only other garments. Hose and dress were flung aside casually, but Lauren didn’t object. The dress had indeed served its purpose, bringing her where she most wished to be, into Mike’s arms. His hands were gentle on her body. Then they stilled, and he lifted his eyes to hers. Soberly he placed her on the bed.
“I want to take off my clothes now. It isn’t fair that I’m still dressed.”
As he quickly disrobed, Lauren wondered at the sensitivity this man was learning to show. That he should stop to think of her feelings, when he so evidently wanted and needed her. She leaned up and helped him undo the well-fitting dress trousers. She heard his breath catch in a gasp.
She looked up quickly. It was all there in his face, the need, the passion, the pleasure. She went on with her task. In a few minutes he was beside her on the bed.
“Are you comfortable? Too cold?” he asked, warmly possessive.
She put her arms around his neck. “I’m comfortable.” It didn’t seem necessary to make any speeches. He was here; she was with him, where she passionately wished to be. She loved him better than anyone or anything she had ever known. Lauren kissed his lips with sweetness and desire.
Their coming together had a richness, a total involvement of bodies and, somehow, minds. Each was luxuriating in the other’s sensuous lovemaking, but in both their minds was a wish to provide an equally wonderful stimulation for the other. Soon Mike was roused and uttering small groans deep in his throat. Yet still he controlled his desire and worked with hands and mouth to give Lauren a rising joy. When she was clutching his shoulders with frantic fingers, he entered her and, thrusting eagerly, brought them both to ecstatic climax.
Lauren cried out, and Mike held her closer, gasping this pleasure.
Afterward, as they lay together, bodies touching, Lauren sighed deeply in perfect content. She stroked him lightly from his shoulder to his navel. “That was wonderful,” she said softly. “You were wonderful.”
“I know.” Mike grinned complacently down at her averted face, which was resting on his chest. He was obviously enjoying the soothing motion of her hand, for he caught it and directed it lower. Then, as she willingly took up his suggestion, he hugged her and patted her round bottom.
“You’re a comfortable little woman, you know that?” He missed Lauren’s unobtrusive stiffening against the rather patronizing gesture and comment because he was hugging her again, painfully hard. He got out of bed, stretching unselfconsciously. Lauren couldn’t keep her eyes off his hard, brown body, loving the long muscled legs and thighs the taut stomach, the broad shoulders.
He caught her scrutiny and laughed. “I like the way you look, too, honey—very sexy and well-loved. I’m going to take a shower and order us some food and coffee. Care to join me?”
Lauren was tempted, but she felt vaguely uneasy. The street phrase “coming down from a high,” occurred to her briefly. She shook her head and tried for a smile. “I’ll wait.”
He grinned down at her possessively. “Come on and try it.” He pulled her out of the bed and into his arms. “Relax. I know that you don’t like one-, or two-, or every three-night stands or shipboard romances, you told me so. But this is different. This is Mike and Lauren. We’ve got something good going here.”
Lauren couldn’t face his smile. “I thought I knew who I was and what I wanted. I’ve learned that anyone can change. I can change, grow. You’ve told me what you don’t want, Mike. I understand, believe me. We’re all of us what life had made us. But we do change and grow, and learn what makes us tick.”
She faced his suddenly intent, hard look honestly. “I . . . I enjoy whatever this is we have together, Mike. But what I’m learning is that when I love, I have to trust and give. It’s that simple. Perhaps I’m not exactly comfortable with it yet—it’s a new way for me—but I’m walking it. Have patience with my stumbling.” She caught her breath at the warm look she glimpsed in his eyes. He said nothing, so Lauren went on, “So all right! No promises from either of us, no binding commitments. I thank you for your gift of your . . . affection, may I call it? No, your term last night was ‘lovely lust.’ I’ll accept that.”
“Will you?” Mike asked somberly, putting her away from him. He got a robe from the closet and thrust his arms into it. As he was tying the cord, he watched her, her shapely body posed so forlornly against the bed, so vulnerable. “Somehow I don’t think you’ll be very comfortable with several years of lust, even if it is lovely. I’m sure you want a hell of a lot more than that. I think you want all a man could ever give you of passion and sharing and—to coin a phrase—true love.” He grinned wryly, mocking himself as much as her. “I also think you talk too much. It tends to dilute the mixture.”
Catching her startled, anxious look, he smiled more easily. “Oh, you’ve hooked me, Lauren Rose. I know I’m going to get trouble along with you, woman, but I’m going to hold on to you. Because you’re loving and sexy and sweet and insatiable and everything I really enjoy, all wrapped into one lovely little package.” He came to her again, shucking off his robe and taking her close against his warm, hard body.
“We both need a shower for more reasons than cleanliness. I’ll bet you’ve never taken a shower with a man before, hum?” She shook her head, no. He hugged her briefly, then let her go. “We’ll talk first; settle details. I hate silly distractions when I’m having a really creative shower.” His grin asked her to share the fun with him. Loving him, Lauren beamed back.
He took a deep breath. “Well, then. We’ll be docking tomorrow at Southampton. It’s not likely we’ll get much chance to talk privately. All those British Press lads will be clustering around you, the winner of the Golden Heart! So we’ve got to settle our business tonight.”
He knew at once that Lauren didn’t like the sound of that word. Her face was turned toward his, as open as a flower, as vulnerable. He said briskly, “What hotel are you booked into?”
“The Bristol.”
Mike frowned. “I’d sooner have you with me at the Ritz. I’ll speak to the purser in the morning and have you transferred there. I think I have a two-bedroom suite booked.”
“Dani and Nella and I are flying back to Los Angeles Sunday afternoon,” Lauren told him.
He frowned. “You’re not worried that two grown women might get lost in London, are you? I promise you they don’t need Mommy to shepherd them onto the plane.”
“You have met Nella?” Lauren gibed. “After all, they’re my responsibility.”
“All right, then” he gave in. “I’ll send a car to pick them up and get them out to Heathrow. I’ll even instruct the driver to make sure they get on the plane. You and I, lady, have more important matters to attend to. Beginning right now.”
Lauren looked up into his face, alight with laughter and male virility. Everything about him seemed to be glowing, sparkling, crackling with electricity. She could hardly draw her gaze from his eyes, silver in their frame of thick, black lashes, wooing her, dominating her.
To protect herself, she teased, “Better have that shower right now, buster. You need to cool off.” She side-stepped his mock-predatory advance. “I’ll just slip along to my stateroom and get some rest. You’ve reminded me of my responsibilities.”
“Not without your massage,” Mike said complacently.
“Massage,” Lauren almost squeaked. What was this wild man up to now? “I thought it was a shower.”
“Massage,” Mike reiterated firmly. “Kindly old Doc Michael is advising you that a massage with liquid soap is one of the truly satisfying experiences in life. Properly applied, that stuff turns ordinary skin into satin. What it will do to your silky epidermis boggles my mind. You’re going to let me show you, aren’t you? For therapeutic reasons, of course,” he coaxed, eyes and smile seductive.
Lauren felt the warm color glowing in her face. Surely a professional woman wasn’t blushing? His knowing grin proved that she was.
“Please let me show you how relaxing a massage can be, Lauren? I promise you, all your troubles will flow away with the soapsuds. Trust me.”
A few minutes later, Lauren told Mike, “This could easily get to be one of my favorite activities!”
Her body felt as though it were purring. Mike was rubbing her back with liquid soap, massaging so firmly with both hands that she was forced to steady herself against the shower wall. He was right, the devil! The soap was fragrantly seductive, making her skin silk-and-satin beneath his fingers. With the steamy warmth and his overwhelming presence, she felt swept away to a world of pleasure she had only glimpsed at before.
He turned her to face him with soapy, insistent fingers. At first he only pulled her closer while he washed and kneaded her from shoulders to thighs. And then his touch became lighter, more provocative. He lifted her chin, so that her swelling lips were just inches below his. As he kissed her, he lifted her body firmly against his and entered her in a smooth motion of pure joining. They surged together, melded into one by the water streaming down their faces and searching out the crevices left between their passionately entwined bodies. Lauren’s ecstasy was both a flight of freedom and pleasure and a discovery of a surer, happier self she knew only Mike could have taught her was there.
Afterward, instead of separating, Mike continued to hold her up closely against his chest.
“Wet and soapy,” Lauren mocked, not daring to let him see how vulnerable she was to his splendid masculinity. She lifted her head to laugh at him. It was her undoing.
Mike responded quickly, moving his shoulders and exposing her to the direct spurt of the water. As she gasped and held her face against his broad chest, he said, “That will teach you. We’re not just wet and soapy, you little nut. We’re together, linked, joined.” He held her close with both hands supporting her rounded buttocks.
Lauren rubbed her wet face against his equally wet chest. “Let’s get out. I think I’m drowning.”
“I haven’t finished my work,” Mike said airily. “You’ll have to hold on to me, I need both hands.”
He got some more of the soap and massaged it luxuriously over her shoulders, down her back, then over her rounded breasts. It was sleek and slippery, fragrant and utterly sensuous. Drugged with pleasure, Lauren mused, This can’t be lust. Lust means seeking your own gratification at the expense of your partner, doesn’t it? This man is working for my satisfaction, my pleasure. That is . . .
But she didn’t finish the thought, for Mike had again begun a slow, loving thrusting that brought her whole body to life.
Trust him? Lauren thought as she lazily brushed her hair half an hour later. He’s taught me more about love’s tenderness, love’s unselfishness, love’s melting sweetness, in three days than I learned in all the years of my marriage. Alone in the bathroom, drying herself after the shower, she moved in a languid dream state, mind and body relaxed and glowing.
Mike.
She hadn’t known that any man could be at the same time so strong, so ardent, so gentle—and so funny. As she remembered his jokes, her lips curved into a smile. He took a boyish delight in her pleasure, her amusement. Lauren realized with a little pang of guilt that his whole attention had been focused on her satisfaction rather than his own. She had responded passionately, true, but all the creativity in loving had been his.
Frowning, Lauren stared at the reflection of her face in the faintly steamy mirror. Then she pulled on a blue velour robe that was hanging on the hook behind the door. She’d get her clothes, dress, and go back to her own stateroom at once. Otherwise, she was likely to make a fool of herself, adoring him.