HOLIDAY ROYALE

by Christine Rimmer

  And then he should check into a hotel, go to those damned meetings Monday and Tuesday and then fly back to Montedoro where he belonged.

  As he chopped and stirred, he kept expecting her to start asking him questions.

  But again she surprised him. She held her peace until he put the steaming cup in front of her. Then she sipped and said, “So good. Thank you.” She set the cup down. “Tell me about Susie.”

  “That’s a bad idea.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  He poured himself a cup and took the chair beside her. “You won’t like it.”

  “Maybe not. But I want to know.”

  “What, exactly, do you want to know?”

  She studied his face for several seconds. He endured that scrutiny. And then she asked, “How do you know her?”

  “You’re serious? You actually want to hear about Susie?”

  “Didn’t I just say so?”

  “Luce. I’ve had conversations like this one with women before. They never go well.”

  She tipped her head to the side, considering. Then she simply tried again. “I am not blaming you. I am not looking for some way to make you the bad guy. I’m only trying to understand who Susie is to you.”

  “Why do you need to understand that?”

  “Because you were going to leave me at my door and walk away in order not to have to talk about it.” Damn. Was he that obvious? Apparently, he was. To her. She said, “So I think we need to clear that crap up right now. Tell me about Susie.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I hardly know her.”

  “Then this won’t take long at all, will it?”

  He opened his mouth to give her more evasions—and somehow the simple truth fell out. “I met her at a party very much like the one tonight. It was about three years ago. Here in New York. I think it was in SoHo. She had a girlfriend with her....”

  Lucy had her chin on her hand again. “So it was the three of you?”

  “That’s right. The girlfriend had a loft a few blocks from the party. I spent the night there with them. And the next time I came to New York, I called Susie. There was another girlfriend that time.”

  “Is that...something you enjoy, Dami? Being with two women at once?”

  He felt pinned, grilled. He struck back. “Why? Would you like to try it?”

  She picked up her cup again. “I don’t think so.” Very carefully, she sipped and with equal care set the cup down. And then her sweet mouth trembled. She pressed her lips together to make the trembling stop and asked him hesitantly, “Do I...have this all wrong?”

  “What are you talking about?” He growled the words.

  Her gaze roamed his face as though seeking a point of entry. A small pained sound escaped her. Finally, she asked, “I mean, should I have let you go, stayed downstairs when you tried to get rid of me?”

  All he had to do was say yes—and she would leave him, stop pushing him for answers to uncomfortable questions. But the lie stuck in his throat. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I told you. It seemed like we really needed to talk this through, so I kept after you. But now... Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to follow you up here. You seem so angry, so defensive. Maybe I’m just butting in where I’m not wanted. Do you want me to go?” She waited for him to speak. When he didn’t, she said, “All right, then. I can take a hint.” Shifting away, she started to slide down from the chair.

  He couldn’t bear it. He caught her shoulder. “No.” It came out ragged sounding. Raw. “I don’t want you to go.”

  She turned to him again, so many questions in her eyes. “Dami...” She said his name so softly. With tenderness.

  He let go of her, knowing he didn’t deserve her tenderness. “What?” he asked, low and gruff.

  “I’m not judging you.” She touched the back of his hand—and too quickly withdrew. He wanted to grab her wrist, to hold on. But he did no such thing. She said, “I promise you, I am, truly, your friend first of all. I don’t want you to be anyone but exactly who you are.”

  He didn’t believe her. “You say that now.”

  “Because it’s the truth. I’m not judging you, but I do want to...understand. I want to understand you, Dami.”

  He felt outclassed. Overmatched. By a homeschooled twenty-three-year-old who’d been a virgin until two weeks ago. He gritted his teeth and confessed, “I’ve tried a lot of things you might not approve of.”

  She didn’t look the least surprised. “I only wanted to know about Susie because of what happened tonight. For the rest of it, well, Dami, it’s your life. I’m happy for whatever you want to share with me, but I really don’t need to hear about every single sexual encounter.”

  “Good.”

  But she wasn’t done yet. “As long as they were with other consenting adults.”

  He nodded. “They were.”

  “And no one was injured.”

  He almost smiled. “No one.”

  “And, well, now we’re on this subject, there’s something I should have asked you before, in Montedoro at Thanksgiving, but I was too nervous and afraid I might scare you off and not really planning ahead...”

  “Luce.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Go ahead. Ask.”

  “Do you— Have you always practiced safe sex?”

  “Always.”

  She looked into her cup and then back up at him. “Well. Okay, then.” She started to speak—and then didn’t.

  He commanded, “Tell me. Just say it.”

  “I... Well, I do care that while you’re with me, you’re only with me. I’m just kind of old-fashioned that way.”

  The unreality of it—of Lucy as his lover—struck him anew. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined himself having this conversation with her. At the same time, after last night and the nights in Montedoro, he couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone but her. Which was pure insanity. It might feel stronger with her, better somehow. But it was simple sexual attraction and that never lasted. It ran its course and faded, like cut flowers in a crystal vase, like a stubborn head cold.

  She spoke again. “If you can’t do that, can’t agree to be exclusively with me, well, that is a deal breaker for me.”

  He had zero need to think it over. “Of course I can do that.” For as long as it lasted, she’d said—which as of now was only until Wednesday or Thursday. And that was yet another absurdity. He couldn’t imagine leaving her so soon.

  And who did he think he was fooling, anyway? He shouldn’t even be here. It would have been better for both of them if he hadn’t shown up on her doorstep yesterday, better if he’d never let this thing with them get started....

  “Dami, are you sure?”

  He didn’t flinch, but he wanted to. The question itself was bad enough. Did she have to ask twice? He wanted to be insulted, to lay on the irony: Well, I might have to grab a quickie with a stranger between meetings on Monday. A man has needs after all.

  But he looked in her eyes and all he saw was sincerity. She was an inexperienced, truehearted woman involved with a man who had no idea how many women he’d had in his bed. Of course she worried that he couldn’t be faithful.

  So he answered her honestly. “I am sure, yes. Absolutely.” He wanted to touch her, to reach for her and draw her close. But that seemed wrong somehow and unfair. He reassured her further. “Until you, I hadn’t been with anyone in a while.” Not since the last time with V, in August, which had ended in another of her big scenes. “And while we’re together, that’ll be it. There won’t be anyone but you. I promise you that.”

  She put her hand on his sleeve then. That simple touch hit him deep. It was better by far than any threesome. “I’m so glad.”

  “It’s no hardship. None at al
l.”

  She squeezed his arm. “I know you think I’m innocent.”

  He caught her hand, brought it to his lips. “Because you are.”

  “No.”

  He kissed the tips of her fingers one by one. “Yes.”

  She shook her head. “No. Okay, it’s true that I haven’t had much experience with men. And I like to keep a positive attitude. But still, I’m not innocent, not really. I know what life is. I’ve been up close and way too personal with death. My dad was dead before I was even born. And my mom...she wasn’t right. You know what you said about the powerful love your parents have? Well, my mom loved my dad that way. She never got over that he died. And we lived in this tiny, run-down place and I was always sick and there wasn’t any money and Noah wasn’t anything like he is today. He was out of control back then, drinking and fighting all the time. And then when I was nine, Mom got sick and she died....”

  He reminded her gently, “Luce, I know all this.”

  “I know you do. But what I’m getting at is, when Mom died, I made up my mind that I would be happy no matter what, that whatever suffering or heartache I had to endure, I would focus on the good things. I wouldn’t let the losses and the hurts drag me down. I promised myself that I would keep a good attitude. It was not a decision made in innocence. I might have been only nine at the time, but believe me, when my mom died, I hadn’t been innocent for years.”

  He dared to touch her sweet face at last, to trace the graceful arch of each brow, to trail his fingers down her cheek. She made a small questioning sound. And he said, “All right. Not innocent. Good. You are good, good to the deepest part of you. I’m not.”

  She held his eyes. “Yes, you are.” And she laughed a little. “You are very good, I promise you. You are also curious and adventurous and I know you’ve been wild. So what? I find you generous and helpful, brilliant and fun. Not to mention a truly epic lover.”

  That did make him smile. “Epic, am I?”

  “Legendary. No doubt.”

  He went ahead and wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and drew her close enough that he could breathe in the scent of her. “You’re just saying that to get me to have sex with you.”

  She rubbed her soft cheek to his rough one. “Is it working?”

  “Truth?”

  “Please.”

  “You had me in the entry when you took off your coat.”

  A smile bloomed full at last. “Apparently, I’m good in more ways than one.”

  “And a quick learner, too.” He claimed her mouth in a kiss that started out sweet but swiftly turned steamy.

  When he let her go, she picked up her cup again and drank the rest. And then she said, “Also, don’t forget, I lived in my brother’s house for eleven years. And Noah was never a saint. I may not have done things until I did them with you, but I know what goes on.”

  “Noah would hate that you saw more than you should have. His whole life has been about protecting you.”

  “Dami, get real. Noah likes women. I’m sure you can relate to that.”

  “Too well, I’m afraid.”

  “Okay, then. I’m not blind. I saw what was happening. Until Alice, Noah would not give his heart. He didn’t want anything permanent and neither did most of the women he hooked up with. And none of that has anything to do with whether or not he protected me. He did protect me. He took excellent care of me and he kept me alive against all odds. That’s what matters—and why are you scowling at me?”

  “Your brother doesn’t want you with me.”

  She fiddled with her cup and sighed. “That’s still bothering you?”

  “Think about it. There were paparazzi there tonight. Someone will have gotten pictures of that little scene with Susie. Noah is going to be pissed off when he sees them.”

  “Too bad. He’ll have to look at it as more practice at minding his own business.” She got down from the chair and held out her hand to him.

  He stood and snared her outstretched fingers, reeling her in and wrapping her in his arms. She tipped up her mouth to him in an offer he couldn’t resist. They shared another kiss.

  When he lifted his head, she gave him one of those smiles that could light up the darkest night. “So what if Susie made an embarrassing little scene? Too bad if there are pictures online or in the Enquirer. And if Noah doesn’t like that you’re here with me, that’s his problem. I only want to know whether or not you’re going to let all that ruin the three days we have left.”

  “You’re sure you still want to be with me?” His breath lodged in his throat as he waited for her answer.

  She gave it without any hesitation. “Yes, Dami. I’m sure.”

  Relief poured through him, cool and sweet. And then he frowned. “Wait a minute. Three days?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How do you get three?”

  “Well, it’s after midnight, so it’s Sunday.” She ticked the days off on her fingers. “We have Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. You’re leaving Wednesday, so we really can’t count Wednesday. That leaves the three days, from Sunday on.”

  He framed her face between his hands. “I think I should stay until Thursday, at least.”

  Her eyes were shining. “Four more days.” She twined her arms around his neck. “I do like the sound of that.”

  He bent and scooped her high against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck. And he carried her out of the kitchen and straight to bed.

  * * *

  Lucy woke at dawn, snuggled up close in Dami’s embrace and thought how right it felt to be there. She burrowed in closer, loving the warmth of him, the smoothness of his skin over all those lovely hard muscles, the absolute manliness of him—and then she remembered Boris.

  She kissed Dami’s stubbled chin and whispered, “Good morning.”

  He made a grumbling sound and cupped a hand around the back of her head in a possessive, tender gesture that stole her breath away. “Early. Ugh. Go back to sleep....”

  She kissed his chin again. “Can’t. I have to go down and feed the cat.”

  More grumbly noises. His big arms tightened around her. “Stay here. I’ll send Quentin to do it.”

  That made her smile. “There will be scooping involved.”

  “Quentin can scoop.”

  “Oh, now. That’s just wrong, to send a highly trained bodyguard to clean up after Boris.”

  “Quentin’s a soldier. He’s dealt with worse.”

  “No. I have to do it. Boris needs cuddles. He’s been alone all night. Don’t you even try to tell me that Quentin does cuddles.”

  Dami ran a hand down her back, tucking her into him even tighter than before. She wanted to stay right there for a lifetime or so. “Promise to make it quick?” he growled in her ear. “Remember, we only have four days left of our Christmas affair.”

  She laughed at that. “Cuddles take time—but I won’t be that long.”

  Grudgingly, he released her, and then he sat back on the gray satin pillows, laced his fingers behind his head and watched her scurry around naked finding her underwear, her dress—and finally her shoes, one of which had managed to end up halfway down the hall.

  “I like that dress,” he said, as she wriggled back into it. “I like all of your dresses. But I like it even better when you’re wearing nothing. I’m thinking I should keep you naked all the time.”

  “There are so many ways that is totally impractical.”

  “Allow a man to dream.”

  She went over and sat on the bed, showing him her back. “Zip me up.”

  He did, pausing to brush a light kiss below her shoulder blades in the V where the zipper stopped. “I’ll walk you out.” He breathed the words against her flesh and she wanted to take her dress off again and get back under t
he covers with him.

  But Boris was waiting.

  Dami put on his robe and followed her out to the door, where he helped her into her coat. She grabbed her evening bag as he disarmed the alarm.

  He kissed her one last time, there on the threshold. “Half an hour, no more,” he commanded. “I want you back here with me so we can spend the day in bed together the way we planned.”

  Downstairs, Boris was waiting for her just inside the door looking very grumpy. She cuddled him, changed his water, cleaned up after him and filled his food bowl with fresh kibble. With ten minutes to spare of the thirty Dami had granted her, she had a quick shower and changed into jeans and a comfy sweater. She was just switching purses when her phone rang.

  It was Dami. “You’re late.”

  “I’m on my way. Keep your pants on.”

  “I’m not wearing any pants.”

  She laughed, dropped the phone back into her sturdy cross-body bag, pulled open her door—and saw Viviana.

  Viv hovered in the open door to her apartment, still in her robe and slippers. She had her hand pressed to her chest. Her face, scarily gray and shiny with sweat, was screwed up tight in a grimace of pain. “Lucy. Hurts...” she barely managed to whisper. Lucy went to her, fumbling in her purse for her phone again as she ran.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lucy got the 911 dispatcher on the first ring. “Heart attack,” she said, almost positive she had it right—and even if she didn’t, the two scary words always got the ball rolling.

  The dispatcher took it from there, ready with the usual long list of questions. Lucy gave the address and the cross street as she guided Viv down the wall beside the door to her apartment. Viv clutched at her, panting, but Lucy managed to get her seated and supported by the wall with her knees drawn up. The dispatcher asked the questions and Lucy answered, calmly and clearly.

  Once the ambulance was on the way—six minutes, tops, the dispatcher promised—the dispatcher had her ask Viv if she was on nitroglycerin.

  Viv shook her head and whispered, “No...first time anything like this has happened....”

  “She’s not on nitroglycerin,” Lucy said into the phone. “She says this is the first time this has happened to her.”