A CLASS ACT

by Pamela Burford

  The look of wonder on his face no doubt mirrored her own. As one, they smiled, and no words were needed. Their bodies receded and came together in an unhurried rhythm as Gabe stepped out of the hot tub and carried Dena to a flat green chaise, which looked black in the moonlight. With their bodies still intimately joined, he lowered them both to the tufted canvas cushion.

  The steel body of the chaise creaked as the cadence of their loving escalated, inching across the flagstones in time to their movements. Dena clung to Gabe's back, digging her fingers into the ridges of muscle along the valley of his spine. He kissed her fiercely, gripping her hard as he lunged fast and deep.

  Breathless cries heralded her climax; at that moment she didn't care if she woke the whole house. Gabe watched her intently, as if relishing every nuance of her expression. She fell apart, shattered with the explosive force of her orgasm. He held her tight, stoking it, prolonging it, even as he yielded to his own hammering release.

  Yes, Dena thought, as they clung to each other, breathless, spent. Nothing had ever felt so right.

  * * *

  13

  « ^ »

  "Did you leave anything at home?" Gabe lifted a heavy leather suitcase into the back of Dena's sport utility vehicle, fitting it next to the two other suitcases, shoe-filled trunk and swollen cosmetics tote he'd placed there earlier. He wiped his brow. He didn't mind a little exercise, but he preferred the workout he'd gotten last night with Dena.

  "I like to have a choice," she said. Today's choice was a short, stretchy skirt in a bright floral pattern, topped with a scoop-necked, sleeveless lime-green tunic in some silky, clingy fabric. Around her throat was a choker comprised of an eclectic assortment of exotic-looking glass beads. More beads hung from the necklace on knotted leather cords of varying lengths that formed a V-shaped curtain, the very tip of which nestled in her cleavage. Gabe's eyes kept straying to that bottom bead.

  "Can you drive in those things?" He gestured toward her towering lime-green patent-leather mules.

  "I drive barefoot."

  "Is that legal?"

  "Beats me," she said as she leaned into the vehicle, arranging her luggage. The beaded cords of her necklace swung free, tinkling like wind chimes.

  Ham called to Dena as he descended the steps of the full-length front porch, carrying her bulging garment bag. "Think you brought enough clothes for a week?"

  "She likes to have a choice," Gabe said.

  "Ham, what are you doing?" Dena rushed over to their old friend and tried in vain to grab the bag away from him. "Are you crazy?" she shrieked. "Think about your heart!"

  Reba was right behind him. "What about his heart?"

  "Yeah, Ham." Gabe stifled a smile as he watched Ham glance nervously at Reba. "What about your heart? I hope you've been taking those pills."

  Reba's eyes narrowed as she watched Ham easily swing the ponderous garment bag into the back of the vehicle and shove it firmly between the other pieces of luggage. She turned to the others. "Okay, what has the old fool been up to now?"

  Dena gaped at Ham, hands on hips. "He told us he has a heart condition!"

  "I never said that! If you came to that erroneous conclusion, don't blame me."

  Reba obviously knew him well. "'Erroneous conclusion,' huh? Have you no shame?"

  "Don't yell at me," Ham said. "I'm an old man."

  Reba crossed her arms. "With the ticker of a thirty-year-old marathon runner, according to Dr. Bloom."

  "You're still a hell of an actor," Gabe said, grinning. "You had both of us fooled."

  Reba threw her hands in the air. "I'm not even going to try to guess the reason for this charade."

  "He wanted Gabe and me to stay here for the week," Dena said, her expression softening. "Both of us. Which we weren't inclined to do at the time—at least I wasn't. So he guilted us into it with this whole song and dance about declining health, mental confusion…"

  "Uh-huh," Reba said, nodding sagely. "Suspiciously similar to the part he played last season in a local theater production. He was so convincing he ended up on the mailing lists of three nursing homes and a cemetery."

  Ham spread his hands. "So I reprised a successful role. So sue me. The important thing is it worked."

  He knows, Gabe thought. The old man's eyes were twinkling, for crying out loud! Last night, after Gabe had taken a bracing dip in the pool to retrieve Dena's swimsuit, they'd crept back into the house and up the stairs to her room. There they'd made love until dawn—first in the antique canopied four-poster and later in the luxurious shower whose multiple nozzles sprayed their bodies from all directions.

  Gabe would have sworn no one had gotten wind of their clandestine activities, yet here was their old teacher and drama coach, fairly bursting with pride over the success of his little subterfuge.

  Andrea emerged from the house, towing her wheeled suitcase and carrying her overstuffed black leather briefcase. She consulted her Patek Philippe watch. "Gabe, I was hoping to be on the road an hour ago. At this rate we won't get to the office until noon."

  "I'm not going to the office," Gabe said. "I'm going home, after I drop you at your place." Andrea owned an elegant, ultramodern home in the town of Larchmont in Westchester County, north of New York City, where both her parents and Gabe's had moved after their children had finished high school.

  Her eyes bulged. "But we've lost so much time away from work!"

  "It's called a vacation," he said, trying not to lose patience with his workaholic colleague in front of the others. She'd stayed out there all week not for relaxation, but for the opportunity to sniff out former classmates who'd done well for themselves and hit them up as potential clients. With a tone of finality Gabe added, "If you want a ride, I'm leaving after lunch."

  She opened her mouth as if to challenge him, then snapped it shut, spun around and wrestled her suitcase back into the house.

  Ham muttered, "I always thought that girl was wound a little tight."

  "Did you tell them our news?" Reba asked him.

  "I wanted us to do it together." He slid his arm around her and announced, "This little schemer has finally persuaded me to marry her."

  Dena shrieked in delight.

  "Oh, you!" Reba mock-punched him on the arm. "You've been trying to get me to say yes for ages. I only gave in because I could no longer stand to see a grown man beg."

  "I'm so happy for you!" Dena cried, giving them both a huge hug.

  Gabe slapped Ham on the back and kissed Reba's plump cheek. "That's the best news I've heard in a long time. When's the wedding?"

  "As soon as possible," Ham declared. "Next weekend."

  "Think again," Reba said. "I want my daughters to be joint matrons of honor, and they need some advance notice. Miriam lives in Chicago, and Rachel is in San Francisco."

  "Well, get them out here!" Ham said. "The sooner we get married, the sooner we can have our wedding night." He wagged his brows salaciously, despite the fact that he and Reba had been living together for months. "Just promise you'll be gentle with me, darling."

  "Oh, I'll be real gentle with you," Reba said. "As in separate beds. Wouldn't want to aggravate that heart condition, would we?"

  Ham turned to Gabe and Dena. "You see the trouble you've caused? If you'd just worked it all out fifteen years ago, I wouldn't have to put up with this abuse right now."

  "At the risk of giving this old buttinsky here a swelled head," Reba said, "I'm really quite pleased he tricked you into staying all week. Especially you, Gabe—I know it was a last-minute decision for you."

  "Last minute?" Dena frowned. "I assumed Ham invited you weeks ago, like he did me."

  "He, uh, did," Gabe said. "I accepted only for Saturday night. Didn't want to take a whole week away from work."

  "So when did you change your mind?" she asked.

  He sighed. "Last Saturday at the kick-off dinner, if you must know, as soon as you told me how much you were looking forward to spending the whole damn week getting caught up
with Scott Cafferty."

  Dena crossed her arms, smiling. "You were jealous."

  "Which couldn't possibly have been your intention." Gabe raised his voice a few octaves and batted his eyelashes. "'He doesn't look like any pastor I've ever met.'"

  "Gee," Dena said dryly, "sounds just like me."

  Ham winked at Gabe. "That must've been when you slipped over to me and asked if the weeklong invitation was still open."

  "So that's the real reason you had to go back to the office for your paperwork," Dena said. "Because you hadn't planned to stay. You must've had to go by your apartment for clothes, too."

  "You're looking very pleased with yourself," Gabe grumbled.

  "She's allowed," Reba said, and gave Ham a firm shove. "Now, get in the kitchen and help me with the chicken salad, and I'll think about having that wedding sometime this year."

  "Tyrant!" Ham was grinning as he and Reba disappeared into the house.

  "I really am thrilled for Ham," Dena said as she closed up the car. "He's been alone too long."

  So have I, Gabe thought, though he knew his fifteen years couldn't compare to Ham's forty.

  He pulled her into his arms. "I meant what I said this morning, Dena. We're going to keep seeing each other. A lot. It isn't that far from Greenwich to your place in Jersey."

  "We're really limited to weekends, though," she said, "what with the hours you work…"

  "I'll cut back if it means I can spend more time with you."

  Her smile was melancholy. "That's how you feel now."

  "And that's how I'm going to keep feeling."

  After a long moment she said, "Let's just concentrate on the present, Gabe. With no expectations. Enjoy what we have for now."

  Gabe's frustration warred with his desire to be patient for Dena, to give her the time she needed to overcome her understandable wariness. Last night she'd told him that she'd never felt the same way about any other man, that the time was right for them to be together. But it was clear she didn't fully trust those gut feelings, and for that he took full responsibility. Fifteen years ago she'd given him the precious gift of her love and her trust, and the self-important brat he'd been then had failed to recognize the treasure he held. It was now up to Gabe to prove himself worthy of that which he'd squandered so long ago, and he intended to do just that.

  But nothing could change the fact that he and Dena were still light-years apart in ways that he knew she considered crucial. They were from different worlds, and that difference was reflected in everything from their families to their chosen careers to the friends they cultivated and the leisure activities they pursued. However, he was confident that in time, everything would work out.

  He ignored the little voice in his head that said, You thought that fifteen years ago, too.

  Everything would work out. It had to.

  He couldn't lose her twice.

  Gabe took her hand and started around the house to the workshop. "Come with me. You left something in my luxurious lodgings."

  "Oh no! I was sure I packed everything. What is it?"

  "You'll see." He led her up the steps of the breezeway. Once inside the workshop, he crossed to the windowsill where he'd left the little sack from the antiques store. He handed it to her.

  Dena emitted a soft gasp. "Oh. My pug." Her eyes were misty as she drew the figurine out of the bag, with the reverence usually reserved for a holy relic. She set the little black dog on her palm and stared into its tiny, sad-looking face.

  God, he loved that lopsided smile of hers. He wanted to see it every day. He wanted to wake up to it. He wanted to bring that smile to her face fifty years from now when she was as wrinkled as one of her beloved pugs.

  "I know you said you wouldn't accept it," Gabe said, "but I was hoping you might reconsider."

  Dena clutched the figurine to her bosom. "Gabe, I shouldn't have turned it down—"

  "No." He raised a palm. "You didn't feel right about it then. I understood that. But that was before … everything." He chuckled. "It's been a hell of a week, love."

  "You're telling me?" Dena put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth. "Thank you for Horace."

  He grinned. "You named it after your first pug? How do you know it's not a Mildred?"

  She turned the figurine over and examined it. "You know, I think you're right."

  Gabe took the little statue from her and set it on the worktable. He started to put his arms around Dena, but paused to face the pug away from them.

  "Mildred's too young to witness this," he said.

  "I thought she was an antique."

  "She's led a very sheltered life. Now, I believe you were in the process of thanking me." He nuzzled her neck; the scent of her went to his head like a drug. "Just how appreciative are you?"

  She curled her arms around his waist, pressed her voluptuous body against him. "Pretty darn appreciative."

  His physical reaction was instantaneous, despite their long hours of loving. Gabe knew he'd never get enough of this woman. "Is that so?" His hand strayed to her breast.

  Dena looked at her watch. "When is lunch?"

  "Whenever we get there." He abandoned her for the scant seconds it took to draw the shades on the windows and lock the door. Once their privacy was assured, he wasted no time in divesting Dena of her tunic.

  Oh, yes. This bra was even more outrageous and enticing than the one she'd worn Thursday. It was lavender, made of some sheer, iridescent material. The front dipped all the way down to a pearl-studded clasp. The tops of the cups were abbreviated, exposing a good portion of her ample breasts.

  He flicked the beads of her necklace, which sparkled in the sunlight streaming from the overhead skylight. "Keep this on. It makes you look wild. Primitive. I can pretend you're some kind of pagan princess."

  She grinned. "We've been lovers less than twelve hours and already you're getting kinky."

  Gabe pulled her to him, sliding his hands to her bottom. She moaned deep in her throat as he caressed her through the tight, stretchy skirt. And again when he took her mouth in a deep, voracious kiss. She moved against him, and he groaned, too, digging his fingers into her fanny, instinctively forcing her hard against his erection as if to penetrate her through their clothing.

  He relinquished her mouth and pressed tender kisses down her throat to the hollow under her collarbone, which he'd long ago discovered was one of her many erogenous zones. She shivered and arched into him.

  Gabe moved his hands lower, to the short hem of her skirt. He pulled it up a little and stroked the backs of her thighs, bunching the skirt ever higher as his exploration continued. Dena's breathing quickened. She kissed his jaw, nibbled on his ear. There was a surprise in store for him when his hands closed over her bare bottom.

  "You're not wearing panties!"

  She chuckled. "I'm wearing panties."

  Further investigation revealed a silky band of fabric disappearing between her cheeks. Thong panties!

  "I have to see this," he said, shoving her skirt all the way up to her waist. "Oh yes." He walked around her for the full effect—funky necklace, high-heeled mules and all—as she laughed and reached back to unzip her skirt. "Yes, I like this," he said. "I like this a lot."

  Soft and rounded where most women wanted to be hard and flat, Dena was full-figured but fit, and she looked absolutely sensational in the eensy-teensy thong, which matched her bra. The triangle of tawny hair was clearly visible through the sheer wedge of material in front.

  "I wear thongs to avoid a panty line," she explained as she wriggled out of the skirt—a riveting spectacle in itself. "But mostly because they're fun and sexy." She tossed the skirt aside and struck a come-and-get-me pose with upraised arms and a devilish grin.

  More than ready to come and get her, Gabe whipped off his T-shirt and kicked off his deck shoes. His fingers went to the fly of his khaki slacks, but Dena stopped him with a throaty "Let me."

  She unfastened his pants and let them fall. Her han
d closed over him through his white briefs, sliding down the length of him, cupping him lower. She dragged her long, frosted purple fingernails lightly all the way to the tip, making his lungs seize up and his brain melt.

  Dena hooked her thumbs into the elastic waistband and worked the briefs over the straining column of his erection. He kicked his clothes away and reached for the front of her bra. It took him a few seconds to figure out the overengineered clasp, and then the bra went flying in the general direction of the rest of their clothes.

  The beaded-curtain necklace, earthy in a hip kind of way when she was clothed, looked downright erotic spread out above the creamy abundance of her pink-tipped breasts, which drew his hands like magnets.

  "If I'd known back then how incredible making love to you would be," Gabe said, as he stroked the satiny mounds and teased the nipples to points, "I'd never have agreed to wait even one day."

  "It was pretty amazing," Dena agreed. She pushed her fingers through his chest hair and teased his flat nipples with her nails.

  "It'll keep getting better," he promised.

  She didn't respond, and he knew better than to pursue the subject of their future. She wasn't ready.

  "Starting now," he added as he hauled her to him and kissed her with a fierce, hot urgency more eloquent than words. He couldn't have kept his hands still if his life had depended on it. This was Dena, his Dena, the woman he'd fantasized about for fifteen years, the woman he'd never stopped loving, and here she was, soft and pliant in his arms, naked but for the bizarre necklace and a microscopic scrap of lavender silk and the kind of shoes that scream, Take me now!

  His hands glided down her back to the enticing dip of her waist and then on to that luscious bottom. She moved restlessly under his heated touch, making little panting sounds that threatened his sanity.

  Her nostrils were flared, her lips slightly parted. He slid his hand down her belly and tickled her sensitive navel. Dena bit her lower lip, clutching him, as if she'd crumple without his support. His fingers slipped under the edge of her panties and lower to graze the soft curls. Her hips rocked in response.