Romantic Days, Romantic Nights

by Lynn Jae Marsh

  Drake and Alexis arrived at the scene at this opportune moment. Before Drake's natural air of command, Gothel bowed off, his nose almost touching his knees. His staff footmen, having a Regency servant's knack for merging into ornate bric-a-brac, quickly followed him.

  Drake put a hand on Johnny's shoulder and searched his face. The therapists warned Drake about the pressures that Johnny could experience as he re-entered society. Perhaps this second furlough, in a social setting, was too soon...

  "Thanks for asking me to escort Alexis down the aisle," Johnny said.

  "You'll do fine," Drake assured him.

  "I hope I don't screw up." Two dimples flashed in his cheeks then disappeared.

  "Of course, he will," Alexis said, folding her cane. She gave a warm smile in the direction of the young man who had been broken in the service of his country.

  Once again, Alexis mystified Johnny. She was so nice to him, closing her mind to the horrors that he had committed, giving him unconditional love. With the innocent blood of women and children on his hands, Johnny felt unworthy of love from Alexis, almost a stranger to him, from his wife, Sara, from his tiny tot of a daughter, Nikki.

  "Isn't it late?" Alexis asked. She hit the talk button her watch. "We should find Jessie so she can turn me into the most beautiful bride that Nevada has ever seen."

  "Ah, I guess so." Drake pulled back the French cuff of his shirt and frowned.

  His watch had stopped; the crystal was broken.

  "You guys better go," Sara said. "You can't be late for your own wedding. John, we need to pick up a few things." She took her daughter by the hand. Johnny grinned goodbye, rather bashfully, before following Sara to the concierge's rooms.

  Drake escorted Alexis in the opposite direction, to their private elevator in the Villard Tower. Their tower suites, part of a romanticized turret, were only reachable from the hotel lobby through a garden-lined pathway. The tower itself, some twenty storeys high, was wide and circular, its floor-to-ceiling glass windows and spacious balconies affording an unobstructed view of the cobalt blue water of Lake Tahoe. All parking was underground, the designers deciding that rows of cars and buses and mobile homes spoiled the atmosphere.

  When the elevator doors closed behind Drake and Alexis, it gave them the privacy that they wanted and needed. In the past week, the last-minute wedding preparations and the hectic pace of their respective schedules had left them scant time for intimacy. They were hungry for each other, for the touch and for the taste.

  Drake backed Alexis into the marble-walled corner of the elevator. He slanted into her, shifting his weight, letting her accept his heaviness. From the days without attention, his cock grew heavy, big and heavy, and uncomfortable, telegraphing a message about the pain of abstinence.

  Alexis felt as if she were sinking in the desire to have him in her. Throwing all caution to the wind, she lifted her skirt. The chill from the air conditioning teased her. The cold from the marble excited her. She felt a sharp contraction in the pit of her belly. The ecstasy was so strong and so intense that she could only rest her head on his shoulder like a broken doll.

  Lost in passion, Drake let his hands stray between her legs while his lips feasted on her neck. Her panties, a thin barrier in his quest to give her satisfaction, easily gave way. The ripping sound and the moans of passion were the only noise that disturbed the cavern of their pleasure until the elevator doors opened on the wrong floor.

  "You can't do that in there," a fellow guest said, sneering her disapproval.

  "This is a private elevator," Drake retorted, jabbing at the elevator button. When the door closed in the face of the disgruntled woman, he picked up Alexis' panties and stuffed them in his pocket. He looked at her, standing in the corner, her eyes brimming with laughter.

  "Not funny," he muttered. "Wait until people read about this in the Enquirer. I can see the headline now: Corporate raider caught in elevator sex act with McCord CFO."

  "Live dangerously."

  "In my opinion, we're already living far too dangerously. I reserved ground floor rooms. I don't like the idea of you being way up here..." He escorted her down the long, carpeted corridor. "This is insane. If you needed to get out in a hurry..."

  "Stand the touch!" she said. That had become Alexis' quirk, her watchword. She was asking him, gently asking him, to back off, to let it go. Months before, his concern would have earned an angry rebuke from her and tense silence from him. It was a measure of how far these two had traveled.

  When they reached the gleaming oak door to their suite, a footman snapped to attention. He pulled out an outsized brass key, but discreetly withdrew when Drake pulled his lady into his arms and locked her in a strong embrace.

  Drake's lips had just touched hers when, to his left, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a something move. The footman hovering or...

  "What the...?" he said.

  "What?" Alexis asked. She turned her face up for a kiss, her thick eyelashes brushing the porcelain rose of her skin.

  "I could have sworn I saw something, a shadow, someone move. Funny, but it looked like Peterson."

  "Ted Peterson? Get out. What'd he be doing here?"

  "Nothing, funny, I guess. I could have sworn..."

  "No Ted Peterson, just me. Kiss me, lover."

  "Hmm, yes. Where were we?"

  "Where the hell have you two been?" Jessie Dane had thrown open the door to the suite and blocked-barricaded-the doorway. She wagged her finger under Drake's nose. "No more of that! You'll have plenty time for kissing after this wedding."

  When Drake was slow to end the embrace, Jessie whacked his hand.

  "What a fishwife!" he said. "We're ditching you as soon as we're married."

  "That's as it may be. Till then, I've got work." She stepped back, allowing Alexis to slip inside. She made sure that the door was shut before grabbing Drake's sleeve.

  "Wait! I didn't want to say nothing in front of Cash, but I'm scared, Drake. That balcony's broken, the tiles loose. What kind of hotel is this we're staying at anyway?"

  Drake blinked and stared hard, ruching his lips. He brushed past Jessie.

  Alexis sat at the dressing table, a dreamy smile on her face.

  "Alexis! Stay away from the balcony."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Hear me?"

  "Yep. Every word. My lord and master told me to stay away from the balcony."

  She tossed a handful of rose petals in the air. "Like I'd fall when I'm floating."

  "That's it," Drake said. He closed the door and was off at a brisk walk down the hall. Rounding a corner too fast, he bumped-literally ran into-his son.

  "I need help," Johnny said. He fingered his mangled tie.

  "Straighten your cummerbund."

  "My what?"

  "Your cummerbund. That thing around your waist."

  "Oh yeah." Johnny peered over Drake's hands. "I can't get this right. Why..."

  "Lift your chin. Remember what your doctors said, that sometimes the simple stuff would be the most difficult. Great, you look great, Johnny." He smoothed the satin of Johnny's lapel, brushing the shoulder of his tuxedo jacket.

  Johnny stopped him, grabbing his hand. "I can't ... I ... why do you help me?"

  "Saudi Arabia was a long time ago," Drake said.

  "It seems like yesterday."

  "People forget, John. And forgive."

  "I wish I could."

  Drake put his hand over his heart. "I have."

  "I put a MK23 to your head. I would have pulled the trigger, too."

  "I don't think so. Not in the end."

  "All those women and children ... a mission ops gone crazy."

  What could Drake say? There was nothing to say. It was a long time ago.

  "Come talk to me while I'm dressing."

  Drake tugged his tie free and undid the top button of his shirt. With a hand at the small of Johnny's back, he stewarded him down the hall and into the dressing room.

  Chapter 12


  Despite Jessie Dane's best effort, the midnight ceremony started forty-five minutes late. The wedding took place in the Villard rotunda, a charming, old-world chapel that Gothel's staff had decorated with cascading garlands of white lilies intertwined with peach love knots and dozens of flickering candles.

  At the altar, Drake stood straight and tall, looking like a fairy tale prince for a modern day Cinderella. With one hand on his hip, he had thrown the jacket of his shawl tuxedo open, revealing a snow-white shirt and a cummerbund slashed with peach and silver threads. The silver in his matching bow tie and the white-gold of his hair caught the sparkling light of the crystal chandeliers. His eyes sparkled too from a daydream of the erotic kind.

  In a few hours, he would be on a plane with Alexis, flying to the Isla de Cisne. He had rented a converted lighthouse there, on a secluded corner of the island. He looked forward to twenty-one days of sand, surf, and wild, hot sex with the woman that he loved. No phones, no faxes, and no clients. Just sex. Sex in all ways imaginable. He would be in her, on her, rarely off her.

  After he was sated-fleetingly sated-he would let her frolic in the warm Caribbean water before dragging her back to the sandy beach. She would be under him when he removed her skimpy bikini, the one that she had teased him with before they left Reno, the one that made his blood pressure rise, as well as a more intimate part of his anatomy. He would get hard, rock hard, like flesh cement and he would...

  He ended the daydream, giving silent thanks for the fullness of his trousers.

  The small orchestra played the first chords of Mendelssohn, and the guests turned to face the rear of the chapel. Two footmen in the rich dress of Villard livery opened the sliding doors, and Jessie Dane stepped onto the white runner.

  Jessie had elected to grace the occasion by wearing a two-piece suit in her favorite shade of hot, hot pink. The beaded jacket of the suit, with its schoolgirl's collar, was demure and was primly buttoned to her neck, but the full skirt was ultra-short. To the skirt, she had added a touch of her own personality, gathering the silk together in front and pinning it at her hip with a large, ruby brooch so that the material fell, draping like a theater curtain, across her ample thighs. She completed her ensemble with a tall shako, minus the plume for this was a church-going occasion, and its bird's beak brim was perched at a dangerous angle over her left eye.

  If another woman in silver showgirl shoes had two-stepped down the aisle, the entire congregation would have risen as one person, pointed, and shouted, Girlfriend, what were you thinking? But this was Jessie Dane and no one would have dared to or wanted to. When she winked broadly at the very rich Randolph McCord, standing as proud as any father of the bride, everyone merely grinned and thought, You go, girl!

  A few heartbeats later, the orchestra began the strains of the wedding march, and Alexis appeared, her gloved hand resting lightly on the sleeve of Johnny's tuxedo.

  Throughout history, there have been beautiful brides, but none of them rivaled her. She was a vision in a Gwynvere gown of peach satin. The gown bodice was tight with capped sleeves, showing off her bare neck and shoulders. At her waist, the gown was pleated with an over-skirt of crinoline net seeded with pearls. Her hair was caught under a satin cap, also seeded with pearls, under which her visual sensor was concealed and from which a nearly transparent veil sprang. She did not carry a bouquet, preferring to keep her hands free to aid her movements under the heavy weight of the gown. Instead, she wore a diamond bracelet on her arm, the one that rested on Johnny's sleeve, and it danced with the candlelight at every movement of her wrist.

  In the doorway, Johnny took a breath so deep that his slender form shook. "Here we go," he whispered. When he stepped into the chapel, the flickers of so many candles startled him. He scraped a lick of his shaggy hair behind his ear as his eyes searched and found his wife and daughter standing in one of the pews.

  "You'll do fine," Alexis whispered back. "Just get me down the aisle."

  "You're depending on me?"

  "Oh, big-time."

  That was all the confidence he needed. With military precision, he paraded her to the altar and into Drake's waiting arms.

  Chapter 13

  The wedding reception ended with fireworks over the Nevada skyline, but Drake and Alexis were not there to enjoy the festivities. They left the reception early, sneaking back to the Villard Tower right after the cake was cut. Old Randolph McCord saw them slip out a side exit and his face split into a knowing grin at their impatience to hit the horizontal sheets.

  Outside the door to their suite, with no footman in sight, Drake was forced to struggle with the magnetized lock. He had an armful of Alexis, and his mind was distracted by her tongue tracing his ear and by her fingers creeping under his shirt. He bounced her, juggling her enough so that he could slip his hand under her slim hips to swipe the card. When the door opened a crack, he maneuvered them inside.

  Once there, he let her body slide down his, stopping before her feet touched the floor. Her toes were inches from the carpet, supported solely by his strong arms, when he kissed her and grew hard. He wanted entry. Now!

  He bunched yards of peach satin to reach under her gown. He found her panties under several petticoats, a frilly garter, and skin-tight, silk stockings. He put his finger under her panty waistband. Alexis giggled and then wiggled in his arms.

  "Not yet," she said. "I want to change first. Stop! You'll get cum on my gown."

  "I'll be careful, promise." Then, in a guttural voice, "I've one in my jacket."

  She nodded as if intending to search, but pushed him away.

  "I'll change. I'll be quick, I promise."

  "Hurry," Drake said. He let her go, but his eyes followed the sexy sway of her hips. With effort, he resisted to urge to follow her. Instead, he took off his tuxedo jacket and loosened his bow tie. Restless, wanting sex, he wandered about the room, pausing before the closed balcony doors. He stepped back, craning his neck as if he could see into the bedroom, hungry to cut the edge to his lust. He wondered how many husbands had waited for their brides to ready themselves on their wedding night. He tapped his foot on the carpet, commanding time to pass.

  "C'mere lover," Alexis called to him.

  In the bathroom doorway, his eyes feasted on the sight of his new wife reclining in a sunken bath, her rosy breasts teasing the bubbly froth. She had piled her hair high, but had allowed a few curls to slip free to rest on her shoulder.

  "Slip into a condom and join me."

  Within seconds, he was nude, sheathed, on top of her.

  "What? No foreplay? Clark Kent couldn't have undressed faster."

  "You've kept me waiting too long." He fingered her slit; her juices flowed.

  She felt his fingertips separating her slick, puffy folds, and a spear of desire shot through her. She grabbed his hand, rubbing his fingertips across her swollen bud. The friction at the spot raised her in the water. She threw back her head, savoring the rising heat, the tingling in her toes, the tightening of her nipples. She braced herself for the onslaught, her mind rushing to the flaming, white light.

  He mounted her, inserting himself with one perfect thrust. He rocked back and forth, each motion causing her a wave of desire. She contracted around him, tighter and tighter, biting her bottom lip against the sensations, each one more powerful than the next. She was being ripped in two by the opposite sensations. She wanted it to end. She wanted it to go on. She wanted to go higher. She wanted to fall. Coiling her legs around his slim waist, she had no choice but to move with him, to let herself be torn apart.

  He sensed her resolve and increased his thrusts, pounding into her, driving into her, pushing her to the ultimate bliss. He impaled her again and again, each long, sure thrust like the stab of a savage stiletto. She quivered. He felt it. She screamed. He heard it. She arched. He matched it ... and drove her further to the sweet death.

  The fury was upon them both. Their bodies shook. He was suspended in air when the final spasms depleted him. She w
as shattered from the stabs of the savage stiletto, screaming his name. They bucked and bucked against each another, the perfumed bathwater sloshing and wetting the tiles from the potent force. His sperm flowed. The condom was full, wet, dripping. They were drained. A final few twitches wracked their bodies and merged their souls before it was over.

  Alexis relaxed against the padded headrest, her eyes half-closed. The violence of her orgasm had dissipated, leaving her sleepy and limp. She brushed back a stray lock of her damp hair with a lazy hand. The diamonds of her bracelet captured the light.

  The sound of splashing water broke through her languor.

  In her mind's eye, she saw her husband step from the bath.

  Water ran in ripplets down his body, playing on the contours of his buttocks as he strode to the sitting room. There, he would remember the now-useless condom, torn and ripped from the might of his thrusts, and strip it from him.

  The image excited her and her imagination went further.

  His flaccid manhood swung like a pendulum with each step he took as he returned to her. His balls peeped from between his legs, hanging low. When he returned, she would take them in her mouth, roll her tongue around them, feel the coarse hair, and inhale his musky scent. She would bring him to stiff and swollen hardness and rejoice when his cum splashed all over her face. Later, she would...

  She let her fantasy slip away when she heard the firm footfalls of her husband padding back into the bathroom. She felt a small, plush-covered box being pushed into her hand.

  "No gift on earth can show how much I love you," he said.

  "Drake, I love you so much..."

  "No more than I love you. Without you, sweetheart, I'm incomplete. Open it."

  She fumbled with the latch. He helped her, guiding her hand to the cool, heart-shaped metal.

  "It's a charm for your bracelet. It says..."