Snowbound Weekend & Gambler's Love

by Amii Lorin

  "While I ate Shelly's delicious dinner, I thought about you." He nipped at her lobe, sending a shiver down her back.

  "While I watched the football game with Chad and Mike, I thought about you."

  His voice was muffled against the side of her neck.

  "And when I lay in bed, trying to sleep, I thought about you." His lips had found the wildly beating pulse in her throat, and his tongue was busy increasing its fluttering rate.

  "You"—Vichy, her breath ragged, could barely articulate—"you were in bed for the night?"

  "Oh, yes," Ben laughed softly. "Wanting to get an early start in the morning, I went to bed soon after I'd settled Chad for the night." His mouth climbed back up her neck to her ear. "It was a waste of time. I hadn't a hope in hell of sleeping. All I could think about was you and how much I wanted you there, beside me."

  Fear, and all caution, gave way to the warmth invading Vichy's body. The scent of him muddled her thoughts, confusing her. The feel of his long body excited her past all reasoning. His murmuring voice touched a responding chord in her.

  "I thought about you too."

  His fingers twined in her hair and he turned her face to his.

  "Hold me," he whispered. "Kiss me. Show me you missed me as much as I missed you."

  Without pausing to think, Vichy curled her arms around his tautly held neck and touched her mouth to his.

  "Vichy."

  Her name was groaned into her mouth and her lips were crushed beneath his.

  The feel of his fingers tugging at the loop in her belt sent a momentary flash of sanity through her mind, and she tore her mouth away from the seduction of his.

  "Ben, no!"

  "I'm a man, Vichy, not a boy." He whispered harshly. "I don't turn on and off on command." Pulling back to break his gripping hold, he gave a final tug on the belt, then, with trembling fingers, separated the edges of her robe.

  His sherry eyes, glittering with dark red shards of fire, burned their way over her quivering body, entirely visible through her filmy nightie.

  "You want me every bit as badly as I want you," he said raggedly, his eyes fastened on the thrusting tips of her breasts. Lowering his head slowly, he touched his lips to one hardened tip.

  The flash of sanity was doused by a surge of sensual pleasure. His tongue, moving the sheer material over her aroused nipple, was exquisitely erotic, and, whimpering his name, Vichy arched her back to him.

  She had surrendered, and he knew it. Sliding one muscle-tightened leg over hers, he moved his body slowly, while his hand made a caressing path from her waist to her thigh. As if savoring the feel of her, he very carefully slipped his hand under the hem of her nightie and ran his palm up over her hip and across her quivering abdomen.

  The warmth of his hand on her naked skin set off an alarm in Vichy's head. Cringing away from him, she moved her head restlessly back and forth on the hard floor.

  "Ben, stop, I—I'm frightened," she cried softly.

  "Frightened?" Ben's head jerked upright. "Vichy, you're a mature woman. You've been married, and there had to be another man over—"

  "No!" Her frantic denial cut across his confused tone. "There have been no others. I couldn't let anyone touch me." A shudder shook her body.

  "Good God," Ben muttered. Then, dipping his head to nuzzle her neck, he whispered, "How long has it been?"

  "Almost six years," she admitted reluctantly.

  "There is nothing to be frightened of," he crooned into her ear. "I won't rush you. I won't hurt you." Lifting his head, he ordered gently, "Look at me, Vichy."

  "Ben, I—"

  "Look at me."

  His hand was moving again under her gown, stroking, soothing, coaxing softness back into her stiffened body. With a soft sigh Vichy turned her head and looked into his shadowed eyes.

  "You want me," he whispered. "I know you do. And God knows I want you. Don't think of the past. Let it go. Wrap your arms around me and cling. I'll take you to a place where there is no fear or pain, only pleasure, for both of us."

  The warmth of his voice melted the chill permeating her mind. His gentling hand reawakened the sleeping tiger of need inside.

  "Kiss me, Ben," Vichy sobbed, giving in to that growing need. "Love me. Take me to that place."

  Vichy's first thought on waking was that it had to be midmorning, as the sunlight pouring through the room's single window was strong and brilliant. Her second thought was, Good grief, I'm naked as a jay bird!

  Fully awake now, she became aware of the weight of an arm laying at an angle across the upper part of her body, and, more important, a warm hand cupping her breast.

  Ben.

  Memories of the hours she'd spent in his arms rushed into her mind and, sighing contentedly, Vichy closed her eyes, reliving them.

  He'd promised her a place without fear or pain, and gently, tenderly, murmuring softly words without clarity but with infinite meaning, with his hands and lips and his lean, hard body, he'd kept his promise.

  Vichy had visited that place many times before, of course, during the six months of her marriage to Brad, yet with Ben it had all seemed so very different, exquisitely new, unexplored.

  Perhaps, Vichy mused dreamily, that place, that realm of the purely sensuous, was like a kingdom with many provinces, each a part of the whole, yet different. A whimsical smile curved her lips, and perhaps—she drew her thread of thought out fancifully—each province had its own designated label—from ecstasy, through pretty good, all the way down to, why bother? A bubble of laughter was tickling her throat when a stirring of movement beside her put an end to the fantasizing.

  "Good morning."

  Softly, his warm breath caressed the sensitive skin below her ear. Reacting instantly, Vichy moved closer to the lips that had released that breath.

  "Good morning."

  Turning her head a fraction, she touched those lips with her own.

  "Did you rest well?" he asked, punctuating every word with a kiss on her mouth.

  "Beautifully," Vichy gasped as his hand moved, palming renewed life into her breast. "Did you?"

  "Beautifully," Ben mimicked, gasp and all, as her hand began a timid exploration through the hair on his chest.

  His hand moved, seeking, creating new, exciting sensations. Turning to him, Vichy deliberately brushed the tips of her sensitized breasts over his chest, to be immediately crushed against the hard flat plain.

  "Did I make you happy?" he growled into the hollow at the base of her throat.

  "Very," Vichy confessed softly, sliding her fingers into his crisp, auburn hair.

  "Shall I make you happy again?" he invited, sotto voce.

  "Yes, please."

  The warm jet spray of water from the showerhead cascaded over her body, clearing her sleep-fuzzy mind. She had wakened, again, only moments before, gasping in disbelief as her glance came to rest on her small travel alarm. The day was more than half gone, and if she didn't hurry, she wouldn't even have time for a cup of coffee before going to work.

  Stepping out of the tub, she dried her body carefully before pulling the showercap off her head. With a single sharp shake of her head, she tossed the thick, dark mass of hair back off her face and, sitting on the closed toilet-seat cover, smoothed and contorted her way into sheer panty hose. Slipping into her robe, she pulled the belt tight, opened the door, and walked into the bedroom just as Ben was coming to life.

  "Hi," he grinned, his sleep-cloudy eyes roaming over her slowly.

  "Hi, yourself," she grinned back, returning his encompassing glance with one of her own. Ensconced in the disgracefully rumpled bed, his body naked from the waist up, he looked infinitely inviting. Reminding herself of the time, Vichy tore her eyes from the lure of him and went to the dressing table to begin applying her makeup. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stretch contentedly.

  "All that physical activity builds an appetite," he teased around a huge yawn. "I'm famished. What about you?"

  "Mmmm," Vich
y murmured, carefully blending blusher into the foundation over her cheeks. "I'm dying for a cup of coffee."

  Leaning back, Vichy picked up her hairbrush, a frown creasing the smooth skin between her brows as she contemplated her tangled mop of hair.

  "Bring that brush over here and let me do that," Ben ordered, pushing himself into a sitting position.

  "Ben, the time!" Vichy protested unconvincingly.

  "It's not going to take any more time if I do it or if you do it," he decided firmly. "Now get over here."

  Sighing her defeat, Vichy crossed to the bed, avoiding his devilishly bright eyes. Handing him the brush, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her back to him.

  With slow, gentle strokes, Ben smoothed the strands he'd tangled with his thrusting fingers into a gleaming curtain that framed her face and lay docilely over her shoulders.

  "I love your hair," Ben said softly. "It reminds me of sweet dark chocolate." Leaning forward, he buried his face in her hair, drawing the clean scent of it in deeply. Then, parting it, he planted a shiver-causing kiss on the nape of her neck.

  "I love dark chocolate."

  A sharp pain jabbed searingly through Vichy's chest and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying aloud. How many times had he murmured the word love over the preceding hours?

  "I love the feel of your skin under my hands," he had murmured at one point.

  "I love the shape of your mouth," he'd whispered, outlining her lips with the tip of his finger.

  "I love making love to you," he'd groaned as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

  But never once had he committed himself with the words, "I love you."

  Of course, it was much too soon. They had known each other less than a week. Vichy shivered as Ben bestowed another lingering kiss on her neck. The attraction between them was strong, very strong, but Vichy was long past the age of believing physical attraction indicated the presence of love.

  Unsettled by her thoughts, Vichy moved away from the reason-clouding touch of his lips.

  "What's the matter?"

  Vichy didn't have to see his face to know he was frowning.

  "Nothing."

  She avoided her own eyes in the mirror. Nothing, except that I'm very much afraid that I am in love, and I don't know quite how to handle it.

  "Why did you move away from me like that?" he demanded.

  Vichy was not about to reveal her thoughts to him. She might be in love, but she was definitely not addle-pated.

  "I want a cup of coffee, Ben," she answered with forced easiness, "and I'm running out of time." Pulling the slipknot on her robe, she added, "Didn't you say something about being famished?"

  It was not until the belt ends fell apart and the robe gaped open that Vichy remembered she had nothing on except sheer panty hose. Oh, Lord, she moaned silently, why doesn't he go into the bathroom? Hesitating with embarrassment, she slid him a quick, nudging glance.

  "I thought you wanted a cup of coffee?" he nudged back, letting her know he was well aware of why she hesitated.

  "Ben, please."

  "Of course, if you've changed your mind." He ignored her plea, settling himself more comfortably. "Why don't you come back to bed for another half hour?" He held a corner of the covers away from the bed invitingly.

  Impatience, frustration, and a flash of anger stiffened her spine. Not bothering to answer, she walked to the clothesrack on the wall. Keeping her back squarely to him, she slid the robe off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor.

  "Turn around, Vichy."

  It was a soft command, but it was definitely a command.

  "Ben!"

  "Turn around."

  If anything, his voice was even softer, but the tone of command was harder.

  Lifting her head proudly, Vichy slowly turned to face him, unable to control the flush of color that heated her cheeks.

  Ben was silent as his eyes did a survey of her body from head to toe and back again. It was not till his eyes came back to her face that he saw her own eyes were closed.

  "Look at me, Vichy," he ordered impatiently.

  Vichy felt her face grow even hotter as she lifted her lids.

  "You are a beautiful woman," he said emphatically. "There is no reason for you to feel embarrassed. Especially with me." A teasing smile twitched his lips. "Okay, you may get dressed now, but I fully intend watching you. I find watching a woman dress is one of the biggest turn-ons there is."

  "Ben, really!" Vichy exclaimed, made even more embarrassed by his taunting revelation. His delighted laughter sent her spinning around to grasp blindly at the clothes hanging on the rack.

  Luckily she grabbed the right garment, and nervously conscious of Ben's eyes watching her every move, fumbled and tugged her way into the dark apricot, form-hugging sliplike sheath. To complete the outfit, she carefully slid a sheer silk caftanlike delicate apricot-shaded float over her head, then stepped into bronze-toned sling-back, slim-heeled sandals. Smoothing her hair nervously, she turned to again face Ben.

  "Sensational." He approved her choice warmly. Then, to her horror, he threw back the covers and leaped from the bed, his amusement-filled eyes leaving her in little doubt he fully expected her to avert her gaze. Rebellion rose and, clenching her hands, she forced herself to run her eyes over him in an outwardly cool appraisal.

  God, he was gorgeous! Not an ounce of excess weight marred his tall, muscular frame. Did he still participate in sports? she wondered fleetingly.

  "Well?" he prompted, working hard at keeping a straight face.

  "Sensational," she managed to drawl shyly.

  Once again the delightful sound of his laughter filled the small room.

  "You're precious, you know that?" he asked when he could again speak. Knowing she wouldn't reply, he warned, "Get out of here while you still can, songbird. I'll meet you in the coffee shop in fifteen minutes flat."

  Amazingly, he was not only on time, he was two minutes ahead of his promised fifteen. Having finished her juice, Vichy was munching on a toasted English muffin and sipping at her second cup of coffee when he joined her at the table.

  "Is that all you're having to eat?" He frowned at her meager breakfast.

  "I never eat a big breakfast," Vichy replied imperturbedly, drinking in his freshly showered and shaved appearance. He was dressed casually in dark brown slacks and a velour pullover in gold with a brown stripe running across the shoulders and down the sleeves. The stripe accented the width of his shoulders, and Vichy had to repress a shiver at the memory of how the muscles had rippled under his smooth skin. The palm of her hand tingled at the remembered feel of him.

  Vichy felt her cheeks warming up again and was grateful that Ben was busy studying the menu and had missed her loving perusal of him.

  Lifting her cup, Vichy, suddenly parched, took several deep swallows, for loving was the only way to describe the way she felt when she looked at him. Oh, boy, you have really walked straight into it this time, she told herself bleakly. At twenty-two one can be forgiven for acting the fool. But, to engage in the same foolish impetuosity at twenty-nine one was to be pitied.

  No, Vichy mentally shook her head, I can't be in love— can I? It's nothing more than a case of blatant physical attraction—isn't it? In an effort to escape answering her own questions, she glanced casually around the interior of the coffee shop and had to bite her lip to keep from gasping aloud at the flash of unfamiliar emotion that ripped through her entire being.

  Through a haze she heard Ben ordering his breakfast and she lifted her gaze to the waitress's face. The girl's expression mirrored what Vichy had seen on the faces of several young women seated in the room; the expressions revealed overt interest in an attractive male, and that interest was directed at Ben.

  Although the burning emotion she was feeling was unfamiliar, it was by no means unrecognizable. With a sigh smothered inside her cup, Vichy admitted that what she was experiencing was common, garden-variety jealousy. She also admitted that, yes
, she was undoubtedly in love.

  Suddenly needing to be away from Ben for a while, Vichy, finishing her now-unwanted coffee, placed the cup in its saucer and pushed back her chair.

  "Hey," Ben protested quietly. "Where are you going?"

  "To work," Vichy answered, avoiding his eyes.

  "But there's time yet." He shot a glance at his watch, frowning. "Why the sudden rush?"

  "No rush," Vichy lied. "I'm having some difficulty with one of my numbers and I want to go over it with the guys."

  Although his frown darkened, Ben accepted her hastily conjured explanation and rose to his feet. As she moved away from the table he caught her wrist.

  "I'll see you later, okay?" he asked quietly, his gaze holding hers.

  "Yes, of course," she began, then gasped, "oh, Ben!" as he deliberately bent his head to kiss her on the mouth in full view of everyone. With his soft laughter burning her ears, Vichy fled the coffee shop and the curiously amused glances of its patrons.

  The remaining hours of that day and night and the following one seemed to run through Vichy's fingers like precious grains of gold. She had told Ben of her intention of leaving for her parents' home early Sunday morning and, although he didn't seem too happy with the idea, he did not try to dissuade her.

  Ben, sitting at the same table, was at every one of her performances, complimenting her quietly each time she finished and joined him.

  On both nights he insisted she go with him early in the evening for a light snack between sets. And on both nights he took her to one of the restaurants in the hotel for a late supper. And on both nights he ignored his larger, expensive room in favor of hers.

  They didn't talk much, but they held hands and touched a lot. Late Saturday night, hours after they'd returned to her small room, Ben broached the subject they had been studiously avoiding.

  "Stay with me for the entire day tomorrow," he urged in a deep, growling tone. "There's no reason you have to be home earlier, is there?" He didn't wait for a response, however, pressing on. "And I don't have to be back on the job until Monday morning."