“There’s a refrigerator!” she exclaimed. “And olives!”
He pulled onto the highway, keeping one eye on Pam. She reclined in the back seat, propping her long legs on the bench seat running up the side. Then she unscrewed the lid from a slender jar and popped green olives into her mouth like a squirrel eating nuts. For some reason, he found the whole scene provocative.
“Hey, Alan, have you ever gotten naked in a limo?”
He weaved across the centerline so far he might have hit the oncoming car if the guy hadn’t blared his horn and punctuated it with a hand gesture.
Breathing deeply to stern the charge of adrenaline through his body, he said, “I, uh, no, I can’t say I have.”
“Me neither.”
Although her admission surprised him, he didn’t say so. For a fraction of an instant, he entertained the idea of sharing Pamela’s first sexual something. The way he figured it, the only new variable he could possibly add to her experience equation was location. Shaking the thought from his mind, he kept his dry mouth shut and his eyes peeled for signs indicating a mall.
Once he found a shopping center, it took several minutes to find a place to park. At last they were inside the mall and Alan felt some sort of normalcy returning at the sight of regular people in smart, upscale surroundings. He made a beeline for a well-known department store. “We can split up,” Pam suggested.
Alan shook his head. “I’ll go with you, I’m paying.”
“Wait a minute—”
“Don’t argue. I talked you into coming, and it’s my responsibility—”
“I can take care of myself!”
He drew back at the change in her mood, the vehemence in her voice. He’d obviously hit a nerve, so he gentled his tone. “I know you can take care of yourself, Pam, but I’d feel bad if you spent money on top of taking time from your job. Let me do this—make me feel good.” Immediately, he felt his skin warm at the implication of his own words.
She chewed on her lower lip, considering his words, then smiled slyly. “I think this may be the first time a guy has offered to do something for me to make himself feel good.”
Glad her mood had lightened, he crossed his arms and mirrored her smile. “Maybe you’ve been hanging around with the wrong guys.”
Her smile dissolved and her gaze locked with his. “Maybe you’re right,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alan studied her face and inhaled slowly, sure his chest was going to explode. This woman was driving him crazy. One minute she made him feel like an inept teenager, the next minute she made him feel as if he wanted to take care of her. Which was nuts because she’d made it perfectly clear she intended to take care of herself.
His fingers curled tighter around his biceps, itching to smooth the stray lock of hair back from her soft cheek. To hold her pointed chin and tilt her porcelainlike face up to the sun. To kiss that lopsided, upside-down, top-heavy pink mouth.
“Okay, go ahead,” she said, shrugging.
He actually took a half step toward her before he realized she was talking about the clothing tab. “Where to first?”
“Men’s shoes.”
“What?”
She pointed to his red, thong-pinched feet and grinned. “You’re going to need comfortable shoes to keep up with me.”
Good idea, he decided three hours later as he shared a bench with an older gentleman outside the women’s dressing room.
“Birthday?” the guy asked, obviously bored.
“No.”
“Anniversary?” The man tapped out a cigarette and put it in his mouth, unlit.
“Uh-uh.”
“Ah—you’re in the doghouse.”
“Well, not really.”
“Oh, God,” the man said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you love her.”
“Pam,” he said loud enough to carry into the dressing room, “I need to eat something nourishing for a change. Can you hurry up? I’m getting light-headed.”
“I think I found a swimsuit,” she sang, then burst through the swinging doors. “What do you think?”
“Good Lord,” the man muttered, his unlit cigarette bobbing.
Alan swayed, then gripped the side of the bench to steady himself. Pam’s curves were stunning. Metallic gold, the top of the string bikini barely covered the tips of her generous breasts, the veed bottoms arrowed low to her bikini line and high on the sides, emphasizing the opposing curves of her waist and hips. His throat closed and perspiration popped out on his upper lip despite the chilling air conditioner.
Her pale eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t like it.”
“He loves it!” the man next to him shouted, his cigarette bouncing off the carpet. Then he punched Alan’s arm so hard, Alan fell off the side of the bench.
Flat on his back, Alan wet his lips carefully, then croaked, “It will do.”
6
“AREN’T YOU COLD?” Alan asked for the eleventh time.
Pamela jerked her head toward him, then lowered her ninety-nine-cent white sunglasses. “No.”
“You look cold.”
“Then stop looking.” She leaned her head back against the plastic chaise lounge that suspended her several inches above the wet, white sand of the beach. “And stop talking.”
After spending the day shopping with him yesterday and sharing an awkward dinner last night, she was ready to scream. They’d been at each other’s throats all evening, culminating in an argument over finding someplace else to stay because he refused to sleep on the broken foldout bed. In the end, she had won separate sleeping arrangements, but he had complained about his back all morning.
Although quiet at the moment, he was driving her bananas, hiding behind those mirrored designer-prescription shades, reminding her every few seconds that she lay nearly naked within touching distance, yet he had no intention of doing so. Which was a good thing, she fumed, because she’d cuff his chiseled jaw if he laid a hand on her.
She harrumphed to herself. As if she would stoop to fooling around with her best friend’s ex. Pam winced and concentrated, desperately trying to dissolve the sexual pull radiating from him.
After all, once they returned to Savannah, Alan might run into Jo at an odd party or two, but Pam saw her at least a couple of times a week. Jo had been a true-blue friend, and Pam wasn’t about to risk their relationship for a beach fling—no matter how pulse-poundingly gorgeous Alan looked lying glistening in the sun.
It was a glorious day, the sun as high as it could climb in a February Florida sky. As promised, the air temperature hovered in the mid-nineties, although she suspected the water temperature would be a bit more sobering. Still, it hadn’t stopped several families from romping in the foamy waves, some with floats, some with masks to protect their eyes from the brine.
The beach was much more crowded than she’d expected. Portable stereos blared and the nutty smell of suntan lotion mingled with the salty air, barely masking the underlying scent of fish. Striped umbrellas populated the sloping stretch of pale sand and waitresses threaded their way through bodies to deliver drinks and hot dogs from the oceanside grill. The whole spring-break atmosphere was just another in a long series of surprises this trip had brought, she thought wryly, sneaking a sideways glance at Alan.
Bent over a book he’d bought at the mall, he looked relaxed and untroubled. Pam frowned sourly. She was wrestling with lewd and inappropriate thoughts, and he was reading a book.
“What is it now?” he asked, raising his head. “Is my breathing bothering you?”
Her gaze flicked across his oiled chest, watching defined bone and muscle expand and contract every few seconds, the sun dancing over every ripple. She could see her twin reflection in his gray lenses and wondered if he had any idea what he was doing to her. Unable to withstand the strain and confusion any longer, she swung her feet down, then stood, wrapping a short black sarong around her hips. “I’m going to stretch my legs.”
Alan closed his book, keeping hi
s place with one finger. “Want me to go along?”
Noting his uninterested tone, she shook her head. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
The strip of beach where fingers of water rolled in offered the clearest path for walking. She picked her way down to the front, ignoring a couple of low catcalls, then dug her toes in the cool, silky sand. Water hissed over her feet and frothed around her ankles, sending chills up her legs.
The beach snaked ahead of her, the people growing increasingly tiny in the distance, the shoreline curving left, then right again and disappearing about a mile away. Pam inhaled deeply, then set off at a brisk pace. Nothing cleared a person’s head like the wind, water and sky.
As she made her way down to the water’s edge, more than one good-looking man passed her, jogging or walking the other way, and more than one looked interested. A small smile curved her lips. One way to fight her ridiculous distraction with Alan was to find another man to distract her. A Robert Redford look-alike ran by her and grinned. Pam turned to watch him run away from her. A little on the short side, but he was definitely a looker. He had turned around and was running backward, scanning her figure up and down. After plowing into a group of teenagers, he saluted and went on his way.
“Don’t tell me you’re alone,” a deep, accented voice said behind her.
Startled, Pam turned and looked up into the glinting eyes of a dark-eyed, dark-haired stranger. He looked to be of Latin American descent, his deep brown skin set off by gleaming gold jewelry at his throat, wrist and left earlobe. He grinned, exposing amazingly white teeth. Pam shivered. Dark, dangerous, good-looking...just her type.
“Uh, yes,” she said, then added, “at the moment.” A girl had to be careful in strange surroundings.
The man extended his long-fingered hand. He wore a diamond-studded horseshoe ring on his middle finger. “Enrico.” The “r” rolled off his tongue seductively.
Pam smiled and put her hand in his. “Pamela.”
“Ah, Pamela. Do you live here or are you on vacation?”
“Vacation.”
“Then surely you have just arrived—I could not have overlooked such a beauty.”
Enrico massaged her fingers between his. “I flew in from Savannah yesterday.”
“A southern belle. I thought I detected a slight, how do you say—drawl?”
“Yes,” she said, then gently extracted her hand. “Where are you from?”
“Puerto Rico, originally, but I have lived in the United States for several years.”
Pam nodded congenially. “In Fort Myers?”
“No, I am vacationing, same as you.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “And I was becoming very bored.”
Odd, she felt nothing but indifference as he looked into her eyes. Not a sizzle or a zing. Not even a stir. “Well, I’d like to finish my walk,” she said pleasantly, stepping around him. “It was nice to meet you, Enrico.”
His eyes devoured her. “Until next time, Pamela.”
She gave him a shaky smile, then trotted away. Pumping her arms to elevate her heart rate, she kept her eyes averted from passersby and walked two miles, past rows of resorts that ranged in appearance from posh to worse-than-the-Pleasure-Palisades. Finally, the crowds thinned and the sand became coarse and strewn with sea debris.
Pam waded into the waves up to her knees to cool off, watching a group of wet-suited windsurfers in the distance. It looked like fun—maybe she’d try it before they left. Sighing, she wondered if she’d be able to find enough entertainment to fill the hours between now and Saturday. Anything to keep her mind off Alan.
Anything but Enrico, that is—the guy gave her the willies. Turning to retrace her steps, she felt a surge of anticipation at seeing Alan again, then instant remorse. So much for clearing her head. She spotted him while she was still several hundred yards away—he was hard to miss since he stood at attention smiling down at a willowy brunette.
Absurd barbs of jealousy struck her low, but she squashed them. The woman was striking, thin and elegant in a simple black one-piece, wearing a large hat that shaded her face. The thought struck Pam that the woman might have been Jo’s sister, she resembled her friend so closely. Regal, demure, classy...definitely Alan’s type. Pam bit her lower lip, wondering if he wanted privacy, but knowing she needed sunscreen. Oh, well, she’d just swing by to pick up the lotion, then perhaps she could find the Robert Red-ford runner again.
Alan smiled and nodded to the lady, his book abandoned, Pam noted wryly. Above the music and the general din of the crowd, his voice floated to her in snatches as she approached the couple. “Show companies...become more productive...automation...accessibility.”
The woman looked very impressed, nodding thoughtfully and lifting her expressive eyebrows. Her voice was lilting and definitely interested. “Client-servers...centralization... remote stored procedures.”
Aha—a she-nerd. Out of all the people on this beach, how had they found one another? Pam sighed. Just like Enrico, the tongue-rolling Romeo, had found her—birds of a feather, yada, yada, yada. Oh, well, if Alan was occupied, the temptation to jump his bones would definitely be removed... or at least reduced. “Hi,” Pam said cheerfully as she approached the computer couple.
“Oh, hi,” Alan said, smiling awkwardly.
“Don’t mind me,” Pam said, waving a hand. “I just came back to get sunscreen.”
“Um, this is Robin,” he said, gesturing to the woman, who pursed her lips at the sight of Pam.
“Hiya, Robin,” Pam said, nodding to the woman. “Nice hat.”
“Thanks,” Robin replied slowly, then turned to Alan. “I guess I’ll be going.”
“Don’t leave on my account,” Pam assured her, holding up her lotion triumphantly.
“No, that’s all right,” the woman continued. “My friends will be wondering where I’ve gone.” She smiled at Alan and swept his figure, head to toe. “I certainly hope we run into each other again.”
Alan’s tongue appeared to be tied, so Pam stepped in. “I’m sure you will—he’ll be here until Saturday.” She leaned toward the woman and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He’s available, you know.”
The woman smiled awkwardly, then glanced from Pam to Alan.
“Pam—” Alan protested, but she waved her hand frantically to shut him up.
“And you are...?” die woman asked with a small laugh.
“Alan’s sister,” Pam said without missing a beat. “I’m Pamela.” Alan made a small choking noise, but she ignored him.
“Oh.” The woman nodded agreeably. “Well, it’s nice to meet you...Pamela.” She winked. “And I’ll see you later, Alan.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” Pam sang as the woman walked away.
“What was that all about?” Alan demanded when she turned around. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his pale eyebrows high over his shades.
Pam shrugged, her movements mirrored twice in his dark lenses. “It’s plausible—we have the same coloring. Besides, who’s going to believe the real story?”
Alan threw his hands up in the air. “I give up trying to follow your logic.”
Falling into the chaise, Pam smeared sunscreen all over, down to the crevices between her peach-lacquered toes. Alan reclaimed his chair and his place in the book he was reading. She glanced at the cover and smiled. “Hey, Dr. Moonshadow. I thought it was the best book in the entire series.”
He glanced over. “You’ve read the Light Years series?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Have you gotten to the part where the Light Knights return with the king’s head in a box?”
He dropped his head back on the chair, looking mortified. “That would be, I take it, the ending?”
Pam bit her lip. “Oh...yeah, I guess it would be.”
Tossing the book in the sand a few feet away, Alan cursed and pushed himself to his feet. “Now I’m going for a walk.”
Pam watched him stride off, admir
ing his defined hamstrings and calves. And she didn’t miss the head-turning that spread through the women on the beach like “the wave” as he walked by. Oh, well, she decided as she fished in her purse for her cellular phone and a pad of paper, maybe he’d run into Robin the RAM/ROM woman.
Pam pulled out the phone’s antenna, then stabbed in a number with the end of a pencil. Then maybe she could stop thinking about how much she enjoyed teasing Alan, how many interests they shared, how sexy—“Hello?” she responded to the voice on the end of the line, then realized her client, Marsha Wingate, had updated the message on her service.
“Hello, this is Madame Marsha, psychic in training, Monday, February twelfth. If this is Ronald, son, wear your guardian pendant today. I communed with the weatherman this morning through the television and the winds today in Syracuse are definitely unfriendly. If this is Sara, dear, don’t talk to any Aries men today, and don’t drink the tap water. If this is Lew, give me a trifecta twenty-dollar bet on the number three, four and seven greyhounds in the fifth race. And if this is Pamela, I drove by the Sheridan house last night precisely at midnight, and the bad vibes coming from that place—jeez, Louise! I want an expert’s opinion, though, so I arranged to have a crystal reader from Atlanta drive down tomorrow. If this is anyone else, I have nothing to say, so don’t bother to leave a message.”
After the tone, which sounded vaguely like the theme from “The Twilight Zone,” Pam left an upbeat message telling Mrs. Wingate she was out of town for a few days, but could be reached through her cellular phone if she decided to scoop up the Sheridan house before someone else got wise to what a steal it was. Smiling wryly at her own transparent sales tactic, Pam then checked into the office to let them know she didn’t have her pager.
When she had exhausted every nit-picking phone call she could think of, she winced at the still-strong recharged battery light on her phone, then sighed and dug out the scrap of paper on which she’d written her friend Jo’s new phone number. With her heart pounding guiltily, Pam punched in the numbers and prayed no one would answer.
Wife Is A 4-Letter Word Page 7
