Acapulco Moonlight

by Marjorie Lewty

  It wasn't going to be easy. Although he had gone, the taxi still seemed to be full of his dominating masculine presence. Karen felt an odd little shiver pass through her.

  No, it wasn't going to be easy at all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  'We'll go straight to the hotel and book you in.'

  Saul Marston dumped the last of the bags into the taxi and climbed in beside Karen. He leaned forward and tapped the driver, who had been slumped in his seat, his wide-brimmed hat pulled forward and an unlit cheroot sagging from his mouth. 'Lleveme a Hotel Fiesta Palace,' Saul rapped out.

  The driver sat up with a jerk and the cheroot dropped out of his mouth. 'Si, senor,' he mumbled, starting up the noisy engine.

  'They're inclined to go to sleep on you here if you don't watch 'em,' Saul remarked and Karen blinked stupidly. She herself had been floating in a half-sleep since Saul left her to find the luggage. As the taxi moved out into the swirl of traffic she tried to gather her wits together.

  It was quite dark now and the moving lights of cars and buses reflected back from the faint smog that hung over everything. The screeching of brakes and revving of engines seemed to go right through Karen's head. 'I'm sure that isn't the name of the hotel where we're staying,' she said, rubbing her forehead confusedly. 'We were booked in at another one—I can't remember the name.'

  'Ah yes, that was my secretary's doing. I cancelled your booking—it will be more convenient to have you at my hotel for tonight, especially as things have turned out. There are several matters I want to clear up before the conference. You'll be able to find all the papers in Ben Clark's luggage?'

  'Oh yes.' Karen tried to sound like an efficient personal assistant, but she wished this awful muzziness in her head would go away.

  'Good. I shan't be asking you for any technical information.' He shot her a quick sideways glance. 'Are you feeling O.K.?'

  Nice of you to ask, she thought in disgust, I've only flown thousands of miles and had a traumatic shock and I'm worried out of my mind about Ben and about the whole situation. 'Yes, thank you, I'm feeling fine,' she said.

  'H'm, well, you don't look it. You're probably hungry. I'll order an early dinner as soon as we get to our hotel—if we ever do,' he added as the taxi came to a squealing halt at red traffic lights.

  'But—but I must go back to the hospital,' Karen said rather desperately. 'I must be there if Ben's having an operation tonight. He'll be feeling awful when he comes round, and if I'm there .. .'

  'Look,' Saul said crisply. 'You're not going anywhere tonight, once we get to the hotel. We can keep in touch with the hospital by 'phone. They won't thank you for hanging about there, getting in the way.'

  Karen leaned her head wearily against the back of the seat. 'Do you always push people around like this?'

  'Not always.' There was a faint smile in his voice. 'Sometimes they push me around. Especially beautiful women,' he added, as the lights changed and the taxi started with an almighty jerk, throwing Karen sideways across the seat. Saul's arms were there to receive her and closed round her rather more tightly than was necessary.

  The taxi rattled on, tangling with other cars, jockeying for position. 'It's a madhouse,' Karen muttered, disturbingly aware of the strong arm that was still holding her close.

  'Agreed.' He drew her even closer. 'Allow me to offer protection. There, rest your head on my shoulder.' She heard a low chuckle from just above her ear. 'You see, sometimes the pushing around is mutual—due to the vagaries of the Mexican traffic system.'

  There was no point in resisting, and anyway, in her present dazed state it was pleasant to lean against a man's strong body and feel the warmth of him through the thin stuff of his jacket. Hazily Karen was aware of his cheek pressing against the top of her head, of the fresh smell of his cologne. She felt her heart-beat quicken slightly, but only very slightly. Actually, she was too exhausted to respond to any sensual situation; all she wanted to do was to curl up and go to sleep. She supposed it was partly jet-lag, something she hadn't encountered before.

  The hotel was of the super-deluxe variety, the entrance-hall the size of two tennis courts, the long reception counter lined with smiling clerks and buzzing with activity. Saul took charge of everything and Karen let him. It was a new experience for her to be looked after by a man as if she were a poor, weak female. She mustn't, she resolved, make a habit of it, but just now she was far too tired to bother about anything.

  A smart Mexican bellboy carried Karen's luggage up in the lift with them and, when Saul opened a door on the second floor with his key, deposited the bags inside the room, accepted a tip with a huge grin, and departed, closing the door after him.

  'Come in and sit down,' Saul said, waving towards a long, woven-cane sofa with brightly-patterned cushions. 'What'll you have to drink?' When Karen shook her head he poured her something into a glass and brought it over to her.

  'This will keep you going until you get some food inside you.' He put the glass into her hand and went across to the telephone. She took a tiny sip of the brandy while Saul ordered a meal. She noticed absently that he spoke fluent Spanish, much too quick for her to understand. She looked around the room, which was comfortably furnished as a sitting room. There was a door on the far wall standing partly open, beyond which she could see a dressing table and the bottom end of a bed. Saul evidently had a suite here. He would, wouldn't he? He was rich enough to travel in luxury.

  He came back from the telephone with his drink and sat down beside her. 'Shouldn't be long,' he said. 'I ordered steaks—that O.K. for you?'

  'Yes, thank you,' murmured Karen. She was saying yes to this man far too often; she mustn't let it become a habit. She said, 'Perhaps I could go to my room before we eat?' She took another sip of the brandy and put the glass down.

  'It's about four floors up—I'll take you up there later. Meanwhile, make free with my bathroom.' He spoke so casually that it would have seemed childish to argue and insist that she go to her own room. 'Thank you,' she said and picked up her travelling satchel from among her luggage and Ben's, which the boy had stacked beside the door.

  The bathroom was all pale green, large and luxurious. It would have been lovely to have a shower but that would have to wait. She contented herself with washing hands and face. The blue denim suit she had travelled in had stood up fairly well to the strain, as had the white frilly blouse. Huge hazel eyes, heavy with weariness, looked back at her from the mirror over the wash-basin. She ran a comb through her dark hair and twisted it back into its knot flicking the straying tendrils over her ears and sighed as she thought again about Ben and what rotten luck he had had. How soon could they telephone to ask for news? Not yet, she supposed, it was less than an hour since they had left the hospital. Saul Marston was a bit casual about it all—she would have to insist on keeping up to date with news of Ben. And at the same time make sure that she looked after Ben's interests without in any way antagonising the man Saul. It was like walking along a knife-edge.

  She returned to the sitting-room to find a waiter completing the setting of a table for dinner. Dishes with bulbous silver covers stood beside it on a trolley, and Saul was approving the wine. Karen hesitated for a moment in the doorway. She had taken it for granted that they would dine in the restaurant and this intimate little scene came as a faint shock. But she mustn't get silly and suspicious. Saul Marston didn't have any ulterior motive in bringing her to his private hotel suite, of course he didn't. It was purely business.

  He looked round as she came into the room and smiled, and again that smile of his did something very peculiar to her inside. There was no doubt about it, he had what was known as a winning smile—when he cared to use it, which wasn't very often. 'Ah, there you are, Karen. Just timed it right.'

  He nodded to the waiter, who put the bottle of red wine on the table with a flourish, pulled out a chair for Karen, served the food, and then retired with a bow.

  At the sight and smell of the plump, juicy steaks with cr
isp sauté potatoes and petit pois, Karen felt quite faint with hunger. 'We won't waste time trying to make polite conversation just now,' Saul said. 'There are more important things to attend to. Eat up.'

  She needed no further encouragement; she fell on the food with zest. Saul kept her wine-glass topped up; stacked the plates on the trolley as they became empty; discovered -a tempting array of pastries, together with cheese and biscuits. And altogether proved a courteous and thoughtful host.

  Karen sighed as she crunched her final biscuit. 'That was lovely, what a pity it had to end. I really have made a beast of myself, but my excuse is that I haven't eaten for a long, long time.'

  Saul carried the coffee-tray to a low table beside the sofa and Karen poured out. 'I like to see a girl enjoy her food,' he said, sitting down beside her. 'I find it maddening to order a good meal and see my partner picking at it like a scrawny sparrow.'

  Karen giggled. 'I'd like to be a bit scrawnier myself sometimes, but I enjoy my food too much.'

  Saul lay back in his corner of the sofa, regarding her lazily from under thick dark lashes. 'I'd say you're just about right,' he said, his eyes resting finally on her long, slender legs.

  'You're an expert, I take it?' Heavens, what was she thinking of, making a provocative remark like that? She should be putting him down—pleasantly, of course, but she didn't feel at her brightest and best at the moment. Better get on with the business matters, and then she could get to bed and sleep off this drowsiness that was pulling at her eyelids. She got up and went over to the pile of luggage, picking out Ben's brief-case. 'I think everything you might want is in here, Mr Marston,' she said. She carried it back to the low table and, pushing aside the coffee tray, began to spread out the contents of the case.

  After a moment, when he didn't reply, she glanced questioningly towards him and surprised an odd, enigmatic look in his eyes. 'You're a very efficient young lady, aren't you?' he said. 'And for God's sake don't call me Mr Marston, it's bad for my self-image when a lovely woman calls me Mister. The name's Saul.'

  He put down his coffee cup and moved along the sofa, nearer to her, picking up the top wad of notes. For perhaps a couple of minutes he studied them, turning the pages over, then he put them down again. 'I don't think I can concentrate tonight after all,' he said. 'I can think of better things to do.'

  She turned her head and looked into his dark eyes and there was no mistaking the message in them. His arm went along the back of the sofa, pulling her gently against him.

  She knew he was going to kiss her and that she should stop him. It might lead to all sorts of complications if she allowed him to think she was easy game. But she seemed to be enveloped in a kind of hazy cloud that made her limbs weak and her resolution even weaker. And when his mouth came down on hers the sensation was so delicious that she gave herself up to the almost hypnotic effect he was having on her. His mouth moved slowly against hers, teasing her lips apart gently. His hand stroked her cheek, her forehead, her neck, her arms, slowly, rhythmically. A warm languor claimed Karen, a feeling of utter content. She was yielding, passive, quite unable to resist anything that might happen.

  What did happen was very strange indeed. One moment she was revelling dreamily in the sensuous pleasure of having her neck stroked. Then, quite suddenly, her eyelids drooped, her head went back against the sofa, and a black velvet darkness slid down over the room. Karen was asleep.

  She wakened reluctantly, gradually forcing herself back to consciousness, her mind struggling to arrange itself into accustomed patterns, and failing. Everything was different.

  She pulled herself up on to one elbow and looked around. The room was lit only by a single shaded wall-light and she was lying curled up on the cushioned sofa, covered by a warm duvet, still wearing the blue suit she had travelled in. Travelled—ah, that touched a chord! Then memory came flooding back like a tidal wave and she knew everything. She sat up, peering at her watch. It had stopped, and in any case it would be hours wrong because she hadn't adjusted it to the different time zone.

  It must be early morning—faint streaks of light were showing round the edges of the velvet curtains. Ben! Karen thought with a cold pang of fear. What had happened—was the operation over—was he all right? She'd been going to telephone the hospital last night, and then—she'd fallen asleep. She'd let that man Saul kiss her and—what else? She couldn't remember. But all that faded into unimportance beyond the fact that even at this moment Ben might be—might be—

  She had to find out what had happened—she just had to. Now.

  She pushed back the duvet that covered her. Saul must have taken off her shoes before he tucked her up, because they were standing neatly beside the sofa. The thought of that man lifting her legs on to the sofa, taking off her shoes, covering her up, set up an odd kind of disturbance inside her. She pulled on her shoes jerkily and fastened the straps. It was all too— too intimate. Suddenly he had changed from the most casual business acquaintance, and one she disliked at that, to this almost domestic cosiness.

  It wouldn't do, Karen told herself. She would establish them on a more businesslike course immediately. It was a pity that she would have to go into his bedroom and wake him up in order to do it, but she had to find out about Ben.

  She found the light switch and the room was flooded with white light that made her blink. Going into the bathroom she swilled her face in cool water and felt more awake and ready to deal with the situation. Her thin white blouse had really lived up to its uncrushable label but the skirt of her suit was a wreck. She pulled it straight as well as she could and marched across the room into Saul's bedroom, the door of which was ajar.

  The light from the adjoining room showed her his long body outlined beneath the bedclothes, one arm and shoulder thrust out carelessly. All of a sudden Karen felt very odd. She realised that she had never seen a man in bed before—except her father, and he wore pyjamas. She was pretty sure this man lying before her wore nothing at all. She stood there holding her breath, curiously reluctant to wake him, to touch him.

  Then her heart gave a lurch as she saw, in the dim light, that his eyes were open, watching her. The brute—he hadn't been asleep at all, he had known that she was there.

  She stood frozen to the spot. Then Saul's hand came out and before she could resist she was pulled down on to the bed beside him, his arm across her body, his other hand at her waist, so that she was quite helpless to move. He eased himself up on one elbow and his eyes glittered in the dim light that filtered through from the next room.

  Karen stared up, like a small hypnotised creature before a great jungle cat moves in for the kill. 'W-what do you think you're doing?' she gasped idiotically.

  'Isn't it obvious?' She heard the smile deep in his voice. 'Finishing what I began last night before you went to sleep on me. When a beautiful lady walks into my bedroom what do you expect me to do?'

  'No—I can't—you mustn't ‑' her mouth opened to protest and he took full advantage of it, moulding his own mouth round hers in a way that sent tiny flames shooting down over her body. She was helpless to resist a kiss like that—not too brutal, not too sensuously arousing. Just pure ecstasy. When his hand went to her breast she shuddered and pressed her mouth deeper against his, and felt his arm move lower and lift her until she was pressed against his hard, strong form.

  For a moment he held her there and in that moment Karen was lost to everything but the pleasure he was giving her. It was crazy madness but she wanted it to go on and on, and she couldn't have denied him anything he wanted.

  Then, suddenly, he released her and rolled away with his back to her. He was breathing quickly and she knew that he had gone further than he intended and that now he was fighting for control. She swung her legs round and sat on the edge of the bed, and at fast he turned and pulled himself into a sitting position and gave her a little push. 'Go away,' he said. 'Somewhere where I can't touch you.'

  She slid off the bed and stumbled into a basket chair a few yards away.
Her legs felt like stretched elastic.

  They stared at each other in the half-light. 'Well,' he said at last. 'That got a bit out of hand didn't it?' She sighed with relief. Thank goodness! He was treating the whole thing lightly so she could too. 'Am I expected to apologise for going to sleep last night?' she said with a little laugh.

  'For having jet-lag descend on you so abruptly? Of course not, it often does. It was a pity it had to hit you just when we were making progress though.'

  Karen sat up straight. She had a feeling that the next few moments were critical, after what had just happened. She must strike exactly the right note now, establish a friendly but cool businesslike relationship between them, imply that a kiss was—just a kiss. Just an impulse born out of proximity, which was precisely what it was—for him. And for her? Dizzily she realised that never before had she been so aroused, so tinglingly aware of her own body.

  She pushed the thought away. 'Why I came in to you just now was to ask the time—my watch isn't registering. I must 'phone the hospital for news of Ben, I'm very worried about him.' Now that she was regaining her sanity her anxiety took over completely, intensified by a horrible feeling of guilt. How could she possibly have behaved as she had just done and forgotten all about Ben? She felt dreadful. 'I must find out how he is. I meant to 'phone the hospital last night.' Her voice wobbled. 'Please, please do something about it.'

  'Relax,' he said calmly. 'I 'phoned late last night myself. The op's over and he's O.K. We can visit any time after ten this morning. And the time now is ‑' he glanced at a travelling clock at the bedside ' ‑just after seven.'

  'Oh, splendid—marvellous. Oh, thank you.' That was a wonderful relief. Perhaps things were sorting themselves out at last.

  'But of course,' Saul went on, 'after an operation like that he'll be in hospital for some days. No hope of his attending the conference I'm afraid.'

  'No, I suppose not.' She felt suddenly quite hollow with disappointment. 'Does that mean that—that the possible deal is off?'