“Oh God, me too.” She slid her palm over his and he slowly closed his fingers until they were squeezing hers so tightly she thought her bones would break. He began moving his thumb, brushing it lightly across the backs of her knuckles as she sat stricken speechless, overwhelmed by the sensations that just his thumb could create within her body. She stared at their joined hands, wondering if he could feel the throbbing of her heart in her fingertips as she could.
“Do you dance?” he inquired quietly.
“Not very well.”
“Me either, but I will if you will.”
As they got to their feet the waiter brought Caesar salad. They turned toward the stamp-sized dance floor instead, where a man with an amiable smile played Misty on the piano.
Allison turned into Rick’s arms, the two of them the only ones on the floor, neither even aware of it as his arm circled her waist and she moved near, resting her temple lightly against his jaw, her palm on his shoulder. Their movements were more of a gentle, unconscious sway than a dance, for they had not come here to dance, but to touch.
His aftershave was faint, spicy, the shoulder of his suit coat firm and cool. The piano player began singing softly in a soulful voice, “Look at me, I’m as helpless as a kitten up a tree . . .” He smiled as he watched the handsome blond man wrap both arms around the tall, striking woman, and hers move up to circle his neck.
Rick rested his joined hands lightly on the hollow of Allison’s spine, while his head dropped down and hers lifted. The words of the haunting old Erroll Garner song drifted about Allison, and she did feel helpless, clinging to a cloud, misty. Her hips rested lightly against Rick’s, and the touch of his hands on the hollow of her spine sent shivers coursing upward. They moved in indolent swaying steps that took them nowhere but heaven as their thighs brushed and he leaned his forehead down to rest it on hers.
“I love you, Allison Scott, you know that, don’t you?” he whispered.
She pulled back only far enough to see his face, while the beginning words of the song reverberated through her body, ringing now with triumph—Look at me! Look at me! Look at me! Rick Lang just said he loves me!
Her voice trembled and her eyes sparkled as she admitted, “Yes . . . I know.” She lay her fingertips on the back of his neck, above his collar—she suddenly had to touch his bare skin. “I love you, too, Rick Lang, you know that, don’t you?”
“I’ve had my suspicions, but you put me through hell making me believe it.”
“But you do?”
“I want to.”
“Then do, because it’s true.”
He reached behind his neck to capture her right hand and reverted to the traditional waltz position. Her temple was again beside his ear. “Will you do something for me?” he asked.
“Anything.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to answer ‘anything.’ This may be tough.”
“Anything.”
Again he stepped back and looked into her eyes. “Tell me about Jason.”
Her steps faltered, a brief glint of uncertainty flickered in her eyes, but just then the music ended. He took her elbow and led her away from the floor. She watched the tips of her toes as they made their way back to the table. As Rick pulled her chair out, she felt a momentary sense of panic, then he was across from her, reaching for her hand again.
“Allison, you’ve just told me you love me. Will you trust me enough to tell me about Jason—everything, so his ghost will be exorcised? And this time without anger. If you can talk about him without anger, I’ll know you’re free of him at last, and ready for what you and I . . . well, just ready.”
Wide brown eyes flickered to Rick’s, then to the flame of the candle.
“Tell me . . . all of it.”
She began softly. “He was my favorite, wonderful, sensational model. But first and foremost, he was a hedonist, only I never realized it until he’d left me.” Tears glimmered in her eyes. She swallowed, pulling her hand from Rick’s to hide her face. “Oh God,” she said to the tabletop, “I don’t know how to tell it. I was such a fool.”
“Give me your hand,” he ordered gently, “and don’t look away from me.”
She drew a deep, shuddering sigh as she began again, her hand in Rick’s. She told him everything, how she’d begun by taking Jason’s photo, then accepted the idea of his moving in; how she’d paid all the bills; how he’d used his body to get her to close her eyes to his shortcomings and character faults; how they’d collected the portfolio of photos; how he’d stolen them; even about his signature on the easel picture. She laughed sadly, softly, looking up into Rick’s eyes. “And you know what?” Strangely, it hurt hardly at all to admit, “It was the only time he ever mentioned the word love.”
Allison glanced at the wine bottle. “Could I have a little more of that?”
Rick released her hand. “No. You don’t need it. Eat your salad while you finish. It’ll take away the hollow feeling until I can.”
Again she met his eyes, which did not smile or make light of his words. Neither did they denigrate her for the past she’d just revealed so blatantly. She sighed deeply and ate her salad.
THE night was damp and cool, but scented with golden mock orange and lilac in full bloom. They walked with measured steps, Allison matching hers to Rick’s as they crossed the parking lot to the door of the motel. She was tucked securely against his hip, wishing he’d walk faster. But he sauntered with torturous slowness, lugging the heavy glass door open without relinquishing his hold on her, laughing with Allison as they struggled inside, two abreast, bruising their hips.
They took the stairs in unison, eagerness growing with each step. Halfway up he stopped.
“I can’t wait any longer.” His arm swept around her and forced her back against the handrail as he gave her a taste of what lay in store. The sweet intoxication of his lips made her head spin.
“You keep that up and I’ll be lying bruised and broken at the bottom of these steps, Mr. Lang. Don’t you know better than to make a lady dizzy halfway up a flight of stairs?”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Scott. Common sense seems to have fled.”
She pulled his head down to hers and mumbled against his mouth, “Oh, goody.”
In the hallway between their two doors he asked simply, “My room or yours?”
“Tell me, Mr. Lang,” she asked piquantly, arms looped about his neck, head tilted to one side, “do you like the sun in the morning?”
“I love the sun in the morning.”
“Then mine.”
She produced her key, handed it to him, and when the door swung wide open they stood for a moment studying each other, the smiles gone from their faces.
“I feel it only fair to warn you,” he said, “that I’ve never before told a woman I love her before I made love to her.”
“And how about after?”
“No, Allison, not even after.”
“Supposing you don’t after . . . well, after this one.” Her eyes skittered down to her nervous fingers, then back up to his. “Just forget what I said one time about forsaking all others, okay? I’m . . . heck, I’m fifty years behind the times.”
“Allison, I—”
“Shh.” She covered his lips with her fingertips. “Just kiss me, Rick, hold me, and let’s start starting over.”
His palms molded her face, lifting it to receive his kiss, which spoke of an ardency that drove all memory of the past from her mind. With their lips still joined, they moved inside her room. He caught the door with his heel, and when it slammed they fell against it, lost in each other’s arms.
“Allison, I’ll never hurt you, never knowingly,” he promised in a gruff voice. “That other time when I thought I had . . .” He swallowed, pinning her tightly against the length of his body, clasping her head against his chest. “Please, darling, just be honest with me, always.”
“I promise,” she vowed as she kissed the side of his neck, then pressed her forehead against it,
feeling the thrum of his heart there momentarily before backing out of his embrace and looking into his eyes while she slowly, methodically began removing her clothes.
As her jacket came off, his hands were still. As she reached for the button at the back of her skirt, he slowly, slowly began tugging the knot from his tie. They watched each other remove article by article until she stood before him in half-slip, panties and bra. Then he ordered, “Stop . . . let me.”
Her hands fell still as he reached for the clasp of her bra. He was barefooted, only trousers and shirt still on, the latter pulled out of his waistband, hanging open to reveal the bare skin of his chest underneath.
Her suitcase lay open on the bed. In one motion he closed it and swept it to the floor, then flipped the covers down over the foot of the mattress.
He tugged her to the bed, urging her down until they lay facing each other, his hand on the bare band of skin above her slip. As his face moved over hers, blocking out the light from the bedside lamp, her eyes closed. Soft, seeking kisses urged her trembling lips to open. Warm, gentle palms encouraged her back to relax. Hard, golden arms prompted her hips to move closer. And when they had, the rapture began. He mastered her hesitation by again moving with a slow hand, at first only the heel of it slipping to the side of her breast, brushing against the silky fabric that covered it, pressing, caressing, yet at a lazy pace that lulled and suggested and made her want more. He explored her back with a widespread hand, sliding down over the shallows of her spine, making the silken fabric of the half-slip seduce her skin before easing his fingers inside its elastic to let his flesh take its place. And so he pressed her womanly core hard against his swollen body, moving rhythmically against her until her hands began moving up and down his shirt, then inside, against the warm skin of his back.
“Oh, how I missed you, missed you,” Allison whispered greedily.
“I missed you, too, every day, every minute.”
His tongue danced desirously upon hers, and she slipped her hands over his arms, until he shrugged out of the shirt, and it lay forgotten beneath him. He cupped her breast fully, pushing it upward to forcibly change its shape as he lowered his head and ran his tongue just above the transparent lily-shaped lace that edged her bra, revealing the dark, dusky nipple behind it. She dropped back, soft sounds coming from her throat, her eyes drifting closed as he leaned across her body and continued kissing only the tops of her breasts. There was a sweet yearning pain in her tightly gathered nipples that only his mouth could calm.
She arched off the mattress in invitation, and his hands slipped behind to release the clasp of the bra. She opened her eyes to watch his blond head dip once again to her naked skin and shuddered when his wet tongue touched, tempted.
Her hands blindly sought his body, skimming from chest to hard belly, then lower, caressing, cupping, inciting his breath to beat rapidly against her skin.
She pushed him up and away, the better to reach, and he fell back, tense, waiting, his eyes closed and nostrils flaring while she sat beside him, leaning back on one palm as she watched her hand play over him. His chest rose and fell with a driving beat while he lay, wrists up, drifting in pleasure. She released the hidden hook on the waistband of his trousers, then unzipped them, feeling his hand brushing softly against her back, though he lay as before, eyes closed, only that hand in motion.
There was nothing to equal the sense of celebration she knew as she undressed him fully, brushing his clothing away until he lay naked, golden brown, flat bellied, aroused, silent, waiting. She touched him, and he jerked once as if a jolt of electricity had sizzled through him, lifting his back momentarily off the bed. Then he lay as before, his fingertips lightly grazing her back while she stroked his bare leg, from inner thigh to sharp-boned knee that bent over the edge of the mattress.
“I love you so much,” she uttered. And without compunction she captured his heat in her hand, leaned over, and kissed it briefly. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Allison, darling, come here.” He tugged at her elbow, and she fell back beside him. “It’s inside that I want to be beautiful for you. It’s an accident if what you see is beautiful. But for you I want to have a beautiful soul . . . like yours is to me.” His eyes were eloquent as he spoke into hers.
“Rick, I love you . . . I love you . . . body, soul, inside, outside. How could I ever have thought you were like him?” She clung to his neck, kissing his jaw, cheek, the corner of his mouth, then opened her lips beneath his to let him delve into the wet silk of her mouth.
His body was quivering as he pulled away. “Hey, where did you learn what you did a minute ago?”
“I told you, Jason was a hedonist. He had no compunctions about making his wishes known. He reveled in it.”
“And that’s why the song triggered your panic that night we were making love?”
“Yes.”
He kissed the hollow just beneath her lower lip, speaking against her skin, his words rough-edged with passion. “I only take as good as I give, Allison, and with me it’s ladies first, okay?”
Her answer was one of silent language, spoken with lithe limb and straining muscle, with wet tongue and willing skin. He shimmered the remaining garments down her legs, leaving her clothed in nothing but a tiny gold heart in the hollow of her throat. From there his lips began their downward journey. They traveled her body at will, tasting desire in its every quiver and shiver. He kissed her stomach, the soft valleys beside hip, behind knees, her ankles, thighs, lost in the fragrance he’d once watched her apply to secret, hidden places.
“I love you, Allison . . . beautiful Allison,” he murmured and lifted himself above her, poised on the brink of a beauty surpassing the visual. And a moment later their bodies became one.
During the minutes that followed, stroking her to climax, he gave her the sense of self each being must have before giving that self to another, unfettered. It had been taken from her by another, in an eon far removed from now, but was returned in all its glory by this man Allison Scott had finally come to trust.
WHEN they lay exhausted, damp and disheveled in a faultless disarray, limbs languid and lifeless, apart from each other yet knowing they would never truly be apart, he ran a bare sole along her calf. “Now who turns you on more, me or my Hasselblad?”
Her voice came lazily from two feet away. “Right now, my darling Richard, ain’t no way you could turn me on. I done been turned till I can’t turn no more.”
A replete chuckle came from his side of the bed, then a lethargic hand flopped down wherever it happened to flop. It landed on her ribs, felt around, discovered its whereabouts and rectified the mistake.
“Oh yeah? Want me to prove differently?”
She swatted the hand away, but it returned promptly, along with another to gather her against his long, naked body before he yanked the blankets up to cover them.
“I was shivering, that’s why they were puckered up.”
“Oh, and here all this time I thought it was the mention of my Hasselblad that did it.”
“Oh, that too.”
“Anything else?”
They were snuggled so close a bedbug couldn’t have crawled between them.
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“Nothing?”
She reached beneath the covers while she teased, “Not one eentsy-weentsy little thing.”
He yanked her hand up and pinned both wrists over her head, laying across her chest. “That, you little snot, was a low blow. Just for that I may not suggest what I was just on the verge of suggesting when your sharp little tongue did you out of something you’d sell your soul for.”
She struggled to lift her head to rain kisses of apology and giggling persuasion on his chin, nose, and mouth, but he backed far enough away that she couldn’t reach.
“I take it back,” she promised. “Especially since I know it’s only temporary.”
“Hey, lady, you want my Hasselblad for life, or don’t you?”
“Do you c
ome along with it?”
The pressure on her wrists disappeared. His lips swept down toward hers, a suggestive glint in his eyes as he answered, “You’re damn right.”
“For life?” she inquired. “For honest-to-goodness life?”
“For life.”
“Forsaking all others?”
“Forsaking all others.”
And ten minutes later she sold her soul for the second time that night.
LaVyrle Spencer, Forsaking All Others
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