After hanging up Lauren crossed the study and partially opened the door, pausing at the sound of a cheery female voice raised in greeting at the end of the hall. "Bebe, darling, you look marvelous; it's been ages since I've seen you. Did you know Nick Sinclair is supposed to be here this weekend?"
"He's here," Bebe answered. "I've already spoken to him."
"Thank heavens he came!" The other woman laughed. "Carlton dragged me here from a divine beach in Bermuda because he wants to talk to Nick about some business deal."
"Carlton will have to wait his turn," Bebe replied indifferently. "Nick is the reason Alex and I are here too. Alex wants to talk to him about building a chain of international hotels. He's been trying to call Nick from Rome for two weeks, but Nick hadn't returned the calls, so we flew here yesterday."
"I didn't see Ericka out there," the other woman said.
"You didn't see her because Nick didn't bring her—but just wait until you see what he brought instead." The derisive laughter in Bebe's cultured voice made Lauren stiffen, even before she added, "You won't believe it! She's about eighteen years old and straight off a farm in Missouri. Before Nick could leave her alone for an hour, he had to ask her if she would be all right by herself…" The voices faded as the two women moved away.
Bebe's verbal attack stunned and irritated Lauren, but she calmly pulled open the door and stepped out into the hall.
Seated at Tracy's dressing table an hour later, Lauren brushed her heavy hair until the burnished honey and gold strands framed her face and tumbled in glorious waves over her shoulders. Then she hastily applied a rosy blusher to her high cheekbones, smoothed the matching gloss over her lips and tossed the cosmetics into her purse.
By now Nick was surely down at the pool waiting for her. The thought brought a glow of sheer happiness to her turquoise eyes as she leaned closer to the mirror and carefully put on the treasured 14-karat gold earrings that had belonged to her mother.
When she finished, she stepped back to study the effect of the long, sophisticated cream jersey dress that had arrived from Nick while she was taking a bath. The soft fabric emphasized her high full breasts, and the long tight sleeves hugged her arms all the way to the wrists, where they ended in points at the backs of her hands. The gold link belt nipped in the slightly blousy waistline, so that every feminine curve Lauren possessed was beguilingly displayed, from the top of the straight neckline to the hem of the slightly full skirt where the dainty gold sandals Tracy had lent her peeped out.
"Perfect!" Tracy grinned. "Turn around so I can see the back."
Lauren obediently complied.
"How can anything that looks so demure from the front be so smashing from the back?" her hostess asked, looking at the way Lauren's trim back with its golden summer tan was exposed almost to the waistline. "Well, shall we go down?"
As the two of them walked along the balcony, Lauren could hear the sounds of the poolside revelry below floating in through the open windows. Dozens of laughing female voices blended with the deeper murmurings of males, then mingled chaotically with upbeat orchestra music.
Five seconds after they walked outdoors onto the patio, Tracy was surrounded and whisked away by a group of her friends, leaving Lauren standing alone. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Nick. She took two steps forward and immediately saw him standing amid a large group of people at the far end of the pool.
Keeping her eyes on his tall form, Lauren carefully wended her way around the obstacles of guests, waiters, torches, umbrella tables and pool. When she was closer, she could see that Nick was standing with people who were speaking animatedly to him. With his head tipped toward them, he appeared to be listening with rapt attention, yet periodically his gaze would flicker up and slide over the crowd, as if he was looking for someone.
He was looking for her, Lauren realized with an inner glow. As if he sensed her nearness, he lifted his head sharply, and his eyes met hers across the knots of humanity. With an abruptness that bordered on discourtesy, he nodded to the people who were talking to him and without a word simply strolled out of their midst.
When the last group on the patio parted to let him through, Lauren had her first full-length view of him, and her breath caught. His raven black tuxedo fit his tall, splendid frame as if it had been made specifically for him by the finest tailor. The dazzling whiteness of his frilled shirt contrasted beautifully with his bronzed face and formal black bow tie, and he wore the elegant attire with the easy assurance of a man who was thoroughly accustomed to it. Lauren felt absurdly proud of him, and she made no attempt to hide it when he finally stood in front of her. "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" she asked softly.
A slow boyish smile spread across his features. "What would you think if I told you no?"
Lauren laughed. "I'd think you were trying to appear modest."
"Then what am I supposed to do now?" he teased.
"I suppose you should try to look a little flustered and embarrassed by the flattery."
"I don't fluster or embarrass very easily."
"In that case, you could try to fluster me by telling me how I look," she hinted broadly. Turning slowly so that she wouldn't draw the attention of the other guests, she deliberately gave him the full shock effect of her dress. Flaring torchlight danced off the burnished honey of her hair as she completed her turn and waited while Nick's gaze moved over her glowing face, luminous blue eyes and softly full lips, then swept downward over the lush outlines of her figure.
"Well?" she teased in turn. "What do you think?"
The gray eyes that finally lifted to hers were flaming, but instead of answering, he flicked his burning gaze down her length again. He hesitated, and then said abruptly, "I think that the dress fits you perfectly."
Lauren burst out laughing. "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you have a way with flattery, because you don't."
"Is that right?" he mocked, his eyes challenging. "In that case, I'll tell you exactly what I think: I think that you're exquisitely lovely, and that you have the fascinating ability to look like an extremely sexy, sophisticated young woman and an utterly angelic girl at one and the same time. And I wish to hell that we weren't trapped here with a hundred other people for the next few hours, because whenever I look at you I become… uncomfortably eager… to find out how you're going to feel in my arms tonight."
Lauren's fair complexion bloomed with color. She wasn't that angelic, and she understood what he meant by the phrase "uncomfortably eager." Her gaze slid away from his mocking gray eyes, and she looked at the guests, at the yachts lit up like brilliant white Christmas trees—at anything except Nick's tall, hard body. Why had he been so blunt? Maybe he suspected that she'd never slept with anyone before, and he was deliberately trying to panic her into admitting it. Would it even matter to him that she was a virgin?
Judging by his frank attitude toward sex; there probably wasn't anything he hadn't done or didn't know. Where women were concerned, she doubted if there was a single fiber of innocence left in Nick's entire aggressively virile body. Even so, Lauren had the feeling that he wouldn't want to seduce and bed a virgin. Of course, this particular virgin wanted very much to be "seduced" by him, but not quite so soon, and not with so little effort on his part, either. She should make him wait until he genuinely cared for her. She should, but she wasn't certain she was going to do it.
Firmly, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, Nick turned her face up to his, forcing her to look into his teasing gray eyes. "If I'm so beautiful, why won't you look at me?"
"That was a silly thing for me to tell you," Lauren apologized with quiet dignity, "and…"
"It was definitely a gross exaggeration—" he smiled, taking his hand away from her chin "—but I liked it. And, in case you're interested," he added, his voice turning husky, "no one has ever told me that before." He glanced up as someone called his name, then pretended he hadn't heard. Putting his hand beneath her elbow he steer
ed her toward the striped tent on the lawn, where waiters were serving hot and cold hors d'oeuvres. "Let's get something for you to eat and drink."
In the ensuing five minutes, six other people called his name. The next time it happened he said irritably, "As much as I'd like to spend the evening alone with you, we're going to have to socialize. I can't keep pretending I'm blind and deaf much longer."
"I understand," Lauren said sympathetically. "They're very rich and very spoiled, and because you work for them they think they own you."
His dark brows drew together in surprise. "What makes you think I work for them?"
"I accidentally overheard Bebe Leonardos tell someone that her husband came here from Rome because he wants to talk to you about building international hotels. And the other woman said that her husband, whose name is Carlton, is here to talk to you about some kind of business too."
Nick threw an annoyed look over the entire crowd, as if each person there constituted a personal threat to his peace. "I came up here because I've been working myself into the ground for two months, and I wanted to relax for a weekend," he said angrily.
"If you really don't want to talk to anyone about business, there's no reason why you have to do it."
"When people have come thousands of miles to talk to you, they can be damned persistent," he responded, glancing at the other guests again. "And unless I miss my guess, there are at least four other men who have come here to do exactly that."
"Just leave them to me," Lauren said with a bewitching smile. "I'll hold them off."
"You will?" He grinned. "And just how will you do that?"
Beneath their luxuriant russet lashes, Lauren's blue eyes were twinkling. "The moment anyone starts talking to you about business, I'll interrupt and pretend to distract you."
Nick's gaze dropped to her lips. "That shouldn't be difficult—you always distract me."
And for the next three hours, Lauren did precisely as she'd promised. With a tactical brilliance that would have done credit to Napoleon Bonaparte, she smoothly extricated Nick from at least a dozen business conversations. The moment the discussion began to get too deeply involved, she interrupted to sweetly remind him that he had promised to get her a drink, take her for a walk, show her the grounds or whatever ploy occurred to her at the moment.
And Nick let her do it, observing her highly effective tactics with a mixture of frank admiration and veiled amusement. With his drink in his left hand and his right arm around her waist, he kept her by his side, shamelessly using her as a voluntary shield. But as the evening progressed and the liquor flowed, conversations became louder, the laughter more hilarious, the jokes more bawdy. And the men who wanted to detain Nick became more persistent.
"Do you really need to walk out a cramp in your leg?" Nick asked in a teasing whisper as they strolled away from a florid-faced yachtsman who wanted Nick to tell him everything he knew about some oil company in Oklahoma.
Lauren was sipping her third glass of a delicious after-dinner drink that had the taste and consistency of a chocolate malt, but that she was beginning to realize was far more potent than she had imagined. "Of course not—my legs are perfect," she announced gaily, turning to watch six exuberant people playing doubles tennis on a single court. One of the women, a French movie star, had removed her skirt and was clad in a sequined top, lacy black underpants that peeked from under the edge of it and high heels.
Nick took Lauren's empty glass from her hand and put it down on an umbrella table beside his. "Shall we walk down to the beach?"
A party was in progress on one of the brightly lit yachts. They stood together on the beach, listening to the music and laughter, watching the shaft of moonlight streaming across the lake. "Dance with me," Nick said, and Lauren walked obediently into his arms, loving the feel of them sliding around her.
Laying her cheek against the smooth fabric of his black jacket, she moved with him in time to the orchestra's love song, vibrantly aware of his legs shifting intimately between hers.
Since she'd gotten up that morning she'd been through a session with Mr. Weatherby, an interview with Jim Williams, lunch with Nick, a long drive and now this party where she had drunk more than she ever had before in her life. In one day she'd experienced tension, excitement, hope and passion, and now she was spending the weekend with the man of her dreams. The emotional merry-go-round she'd been on had taken its full toll; she felt deliciously exhausted and more than a little giddy.
Her thoughts floated to the French movie star, and she laughed softly. "If I was that woman playing tennis, I'd have left my skirt on, and taken my shoes off. And do you know why?"
"So that you could play better?" Nick murmured distractedly, nuzzling aside the wavy silken hair that fell over her temple.
"Nope, I don't even know how to play tennis." Abruptly lifting her face to his, Lauren breezily confided, "The reason I'd keep my skirt on is because I'm modest. Or am I inhibited? Well, anyway, I'm one of the two." She laid her cheek against the solid muscles of his chest again. Nick chuckled against her hair, and his hand splayed low against her bared spine, pressing her closer to his hard body.
"Actually," she continued dreamily, "I'm not modest or inhibited. What I am is the confused product of a semi puritanical upbringing and a liberal education. Which means that I think it's wrong for me to do anything, but I think it's perfectly all right for other people to do whatever they want. Does that make sense?"
Nick ignored her question and asked one of his own instead. "Lauren, by any wild chance are you getting drunk?"
"I'm not certain."
"Don't," he commanded.
Although quietly spoken, it was an order, and he meant it to be obeyed. Intending to protest his authoritative attitude, Lauren snapped her head up, but her lips instantly captured his attention. "Don't even consider it," he muttered harshly. Then his mouth opened over hers in a shattering kiss that sent her spiraling off into darkness where nothing existed except the sensual male lips locked fiercely, demandingly, to hers. His hand sank into the thick mass of hair at her nape, and his tongue plunged into her mouth, stroking and caressing hers, retreating to plunge again, until Lauren instinctively gave him what he wanted. Her lips softened and began to move with his, stimulating the desire already flaming between them. Against her, Lauren felt the bold evidence of his rising passion, and shudders of pleasure raced through her. Her body joined forces with his, demolishing her control. Mindlessly she arched herself upward in a fevered need to please him more, and his arm tightened across her hips, pulling her even closer to his rigid thighs.
He dragged his mouth roughly across her cheek, and even his whisper was hoarse with desire. "Lady, you don't kiss like any puritan," he said, and pressed his lips to hers again.
Slowly the pressure of his mouth gentled and then was gone. Shivering with excitement and fear, Lauren weakly leaned her forehead against his shoulder. She was sinking into this abyss of desire too fast, and too deeply, to get free. His next words confirmed it. "Let's go to the Cove."
"Nick, I…"
His hands slid up her arms to her shoulders, then tightened, moving her an inch away. "Look at me," he said gently.
Lauren raised her dazed blue eyes to his silvery gaze.
"I want you, Lauren."
The quiet, straightforward statement sent fire racing through her entire body. "I know," she whispered unsteadily. "And I'm glad you do."
His eyes smiled his warm approval of her candor, and he laid his hand against her cheek, moving it caressingly over her temple to the to the back of her head. "And… ?" he prompted.
Lauren swallowed, unable to tear her gaze from his or to lie to him. "And I want you," she admitted shakily.
His fingers slid into her heavy hair, pulling her head nearer to his descending mouth. "In that case," he murmured thickly, "why are we standing out here?"
"Hey, Nick!" A friendly voice boomed out from a few feet away. "Is that you?"
Lauren jerked away as if sh
e'd been caught in some unspeakable act, then almost burst out laughing when Nick pulled her back and said smoothly, "Sinclair left hours ago."
"No, did he? Wonder why?" the man asked, stepping closer and peering suspiciously through the darkness at them.
"He obviously had something better to do," Nick drawled.
"So I see," the man agreed good-naturedly. Having now identified his prey, he showed absolutely no inclination to take the rude hint and go away. Wearing a sociable smile on his jowly face, he sauntered out of the shadows, a stout, swarthy man who instantly reminded Lauren of a teddy bear. His tuxedo jacket was hanging open, his frilled evening shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and his formal bow tie was dangling loosely around his neck. He looked… lovable, Lauren decided, as Nick introduced the man as Dave Numbers.
"How do you do, Mr. Numbers," she said politely.
"I'm doing pretty well, young lady," he replied with an affable grin. Turning to Nick he said, "There's a hell of a blackjack game going on aboard Middleton's yacht. Bebe Leonardos just dropped $25,000. Tracy Middleton is shooting craps at $3,000 a throw, and George was dealt four of a kind in two different hands. The odds against that happening once are 4,000 to one. The odds against that happening twice must be roughly…"
Keeping a courteous smile on her face, Lauren rested her head against Nick's chest, moving closer to him for warmth, while she pretended to listen to Dave Numbers summing up the results of the gambling in progress. She was not only cold, she was getting sleepy, and Nick's hand moving up and down her back in a lazy caress was having an almost hypnotic effect on her. She stifled a yawn, and then another one, and a few minutes later her eyelids drooped closed.
"I'm putting your young lady to sleep, Nick," Numbers apologized in the middle of quoting the odds on a forth-coming football game.
Double Standards Page 7
