by Billie Green
She couldn't stop laughing. He was so damned cute.
His smile was crooked, his eyes sparkling as he watched her laughing face. After a moment he stepped closer, still staring, as though he couldn't bear to look away from her.
He picked up her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles as he spoke. "I guess you know how I feel about you." He laughed softly. "I mean, I haven't exactly tried to hide it. I'm in love with you, Lila." Something must have shown on her face then, because he suddenly tightened his hold on her hand. "Don't panic. I know you don't feel the same way. That's all right. I just wanted you to understand. I knew the minute I saw you that you were the woman I've been waiting for." He put his arms around her, inhaling deeply as he buried his face in her neck. "I've been lonely for you, Lila," he whispered hoarsely.
Delilah felt reality dissolve around her. He loved her. This wonderful man loved her. And as she stood in the circle of his arms and felt his warm breath on her throat, it almost felt as though she belonged there. For the first time since she was fourteen, she felt as though she belonged.
It was so right, so overwhelmingly right.
Then suddenly a dark hole opened up, and Delilah fell through it. It wasn't right. It was very, very wrong. Bill wasn't in love with her. He was in love with nice, normal Lila Jones, the woman who didn't exist.
"Bill, wait," she whispered urgently. "Bill"—she turned her head away from his kiss—"listen to me. There are things you don't know, things you should know. About me." She pulled away from him and pushed her hair from her face with a rough hand. "You see . . . well, the thing is, I haven't told you everything." She gave a short laugh. "What am I talking about? I haven't told you anything."
He reached out and ran one finger gently down her cheek. "You can tell me anything, Lila. And I'll listen. But it won't make any difference. I already know all I need to know about you."
She stared at him, studying his face. Then she shook her head in bewilderment. "You really aren't interested, are you?"
"Wrong. I'm interested in everything about you. I'm simply saying that some things are inconsequential."
"But how do you know what I was going to tell you is inconsequential?"
He smiled. "Were you going to tell me you don't want to make love with me?"
"No," she said weakly, "not that."
"Then anything else is inconsequential. We can talk now or we can talk later." He ran one hand slowly over her hip. "I'd prefer later, but if you want to tel! me now. I'll listen." He paused, giving her a look that was slightly wistful. "Can I kiss you first?"
She frowned at him. "Would you stop looking so damned adorable?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'll try." He moved his hands up her arms to her shoulders. "Was that what you wanted to tell me? Can I kiss you now?"
She sagged weakly under his touch. "You're making this extremely difficult. I can't keep my mind on what I was going to say."
He bent his head to press several kisses to her neck. "That makes two of us." He slid the zipper of the dress slowly downward. "I think you were saying something about not having told me everything."
"Yes, that's it."
He slid the dress off her shoulder and lowered his lips to the exposed flesh. His breathing was audibly more erratic. "So tell me, Lila. Tell me everything."
She tried to say something, anything. But she could only watch as he drew back and let her dress slide to the floor. Without taking his gaze from her, he began to unbutton the white shirt he wore beneath a tan jacket.
"Do you want to help me with this . . . while you tell me everything?" he asked softly.
She shook her head vehemently, her gaze glued to his chest. He shrugged out of his shirt and jacket with a single movement, then after a moment he reached out slowly and unhooked the front clasp of her bra.
When the clasp gave beneath his fingers, he exhaled and smiled. "I was afraid it wouldn't unhook. Then I would have looked like a fool. That's another one of those macho things I was—"
He broke off as Delilah reached up and spread the lace of her bra, sliding the straps off her shoulders.
"Sweet heaven," he breathed hoarsely. Grasping her arms, he pulled her close, moaning as her flesh met his. "Lila?" he whispered roughly.
"Yes?"
"Are we through talking?"
"Yes . . . yes, I believe we are."
"Good." He paused, trying to consume her throat and bare shoulders, then, "Lila?"
"Yes?"
"I find myself caught on the horns of a dilemma," he whispered. The words were muffled as he moved his attention to the back of her neck.
A tingling shiver spread through her, leaving goose bumps in its wake. "A horny dilemma?" she said weakly.
"Exactly. My mind is saying 'This lady is fragile. She needs lots of care, so go slowly and let her get used to the feel of you.' "
Delilah had never thought of herself as fragile. She was tough. She had had to be in order to survive. "That's what your mind is saying?"
"Yes." He groaned as she moved lightly against him. "But my body is saying If you don't get this lady into bed in the next three seconds, there's going to be big trouble.' "
"Big trouble?"
"Yeah, like California dropping into the ocean or the Rocky Mountains being flattened. That kind of trouble. My body is saying something catastrophic will happen if I don't make love to you now. Immediately."
As her head rested on his shoulder she could see her bright pink nails against the smooth skin of his back. She was fascinated by the erotic picture it made.
"Bill," she whispered finally, "as a doctor I can say only—listen to your body; it would never lie to you."
His arms tightened convulsively, squeezing the breath out of her. Then he laughed in triumph and picked her up in his arms. In the bedroom he fell across the bed, still holding her tightly.
"I want to eat you up," he said, his eyes blazing as he stared at her face. "I want to touch every part of you. I want to explore every inch of your body. I want to cram thirty-nine years of missing you into one night. But right now, more than anything, I want to be inside you. I want to feel you all around me. I really, really want that, Lila."
A breathless laugh caught in her throat. "I really, really want that too, Bill."
In the next few seconds Delilah braced herself for their coming together, wondering how she could want him so badly and still be so very afraid. This territory where he was about to take her was unknown. Because although Delilah knew all there was to know about sex, she knew absolutely nothing about making love.
Then before she could continue the thought, before the panic could build in her, he was there, and his arms were around her, and there was no room for fear, no room for pain. With unerring movements Bill became a part of her, and it was right. It was as though their bodies had been made specifically to be joined. As though no other possibility existed for either of them.
She was instantly bombarded with sensations, wilder and more beautiful than she had ever dreamed possible. Each movement, each caress, was like a silver thread that bound her to him, tighter and ever tighter, until she felt every emotion he felt, thought his thoughts, dreamed his dreams.
Gradually something began to build inside her, pulling her back into her own body. Although it was fiery, intense, and painfully sweet, she tried desperately to reject it. She didn't want to leave him to go off on her own. She didn't want to feel her own sensations, she wanted to feel his, she wanted to feel theirs.
Then suddenly she heard his voice close against her ear, whispering, "I'm with you, Lila. It's okay. Let it happen."
So she gave in to the sensation. And as it shook through her body, he was there just as he had promised, holding her, joining her in even this.
Long, long moments later, Delilah lay beside Bill, her exhausted body drenched in perspiration, her eyes wide open, her mind stunned.
She couldn't take it all in. The thoroughly nice, sweet man had suddenly become a tiger. He hadn't been bru
tal, but he most certainly hadn't been hesitant. He had been so passionate, so sensual, so giving, she had wanted to scream with the intensity of the pleasure.
It had been a truly remarkable night. It had been a night Delilah knew she would remember for as long as she lived. Because when Bill had held her and made love to her she had felt complete. For one night she had felt whole again.
Chapter 7
"I love you, Lila," the young ghost said. "Do you love me back?"
"Yes, Buddy, I love you back."
"But not just 'cause I'm your brother?"
"No, I love you because you're a silly squirrel.
And because you're ticklish . . . right here."
The childish laughter rang loud. Then, though Delilah tried to hold on to it, it faded away and was replaced by a different voice.
"I love you, Dee-Dee," the phantom said raspily. "Be still and quiet and let me show you how much I love you."
"Don't. You can't. Please don't. Please!"
Silent terror filled the world and lingered even as the last spirit appeared.
"How could you do this to me?" the wraith shrieked. "My own daughter. I loved you. My God, I loved you, and you're nothing but filth!"
"No, Mama. Don't say those things. Mama, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry ..."
Delilah's eyes opened abruptly, her heart pounding painfully, her body drenched in perspiration. After a disoriented moment she pulled herself up to lean against the headboard.
She hadn't had the dream in years. It was the same as always, coming to her in the nether world that lay between sleep and consciousness, seeming more real than any dream produced by normal sleep.
It had been so long since the last time, she had hoped she was rid of it. Why had it returned now?
Glancing around the room, she realized she was back in the suite she shared with the group. As she came more fully awake, Delilah remembered leaving Bill's room in the early hours of the morning, moving carefully and silently so that she wouldn't wake him.
Bill. Without warning, memories of the night before washed over her, leaving her weak and breathless. She relived the feel of his hands on her, her hands on him. His scent and the warmth of his flesh. The memory alone brought stronger emotion than Delilah had ever allowed herself to feel.
And that was why the nightmare had returned, she told herself. Bill, with his loving heart and passionate hands, had brought her back to life. For years all her emotions had been carefully buried, but in Bill's arms she had begun to feel again. And she was once more open to the pain—past, future, and present.
Scrambling out of bed, she dressed quickly and quietly. She didn't want to wake Addie. She wanted to be out of the hotel before any of her friends awakened. Before Bill awakened.
An hour later Delilah stepped aboard a crowded pleasure boat. As she mingled with the other tourists, finding the anonymity she needed in the crowd, she allowed her thoughts to return to what had happened the night before. She allowed herself to think about Bill.
He had said he loved her. Bill had said he loved her. She still couldn't believe it. Things like that didn't happen to Delilah Jones. Not that she hadn't heard the words before. She had. Dozens of times. But she had always known that the words were nothing more than a man's way of telling her that he wanted her body in his bed or her beauty at his side. No one had ever tried to look inside her and love the real Delilah Jones.
Closing her eyes, Delilah didn't even try to fight the wave of self-contempt that swept over her. She was mooning around, thinking of how last night had felt from her side. What she had avoided looking at was what Bill had felt. And what he would feel when she told him the truth,
She had let it go on too long, she acknowledged silently. She had willfully allowed a sweet, harmless flirtation to become complicated. Although she knew Bill wasn't really in love with her, he believed he was. And that meant he was going to get hurt.
Sweet heaven, she hadn't wanted that. She had intended to put an end to everything before that could happen.
Although she tried, she couldn't find it in her to regret their lovemaking. It had been too wonderful. But she should have told him the truth first. She should have insisted on telling him who and what she was. Dammit, she should have found a way.
But she hadn't. It had been pitifully easy for him to convince her that explanations could wait until later. Like the selfish witch she was, she had grabbed what he was offering with both hands. She had wanted his love. She had been greedy for it. She had wanted to pretend that she had a right to it. Lord help her, she had wanted to pretend that last night was a beginning for them.
What a joke, she thought, leaning her head wearily against the side of the boat. It would take a mind more ingenious than hers to imagine hardhearted Delilah Jones with a sweet man like Bill.
Even if he really loved her—her, not the woman she had created—Delilah knew it would never have worked. Bill should have a woman who was clean and whole, a woman who wasn't all twisted inside, a woman who could love him as he deserved to be loved.
Gradually, bit by bit throughout the day, memories of the beauty she had found with Bill began to fade, and the darkness and doubts returned. It wasn't a pleasant experience, but it was familiar. It was something she had had years of practice at handling. It was reality.
Hours later Delilah walked along the beach toward the hotel. The sun had already set and it was that peaceful time between day and night.
She hadn't wanted to come back, but she knew she couldn't spend the rest of her time in Aca-pulco avoiding Bill. Sooner or later she would have to see him and tell him the truth, about her character and about her past. She had to make him understand what she was. And then it would be over.
Simple, painful reality.
With a shake of her head she stubbornly picked up her pace. There was no sense in putting off the inevitable.
On her left, a few yards away, she saw a woman sitting alone on the beach near the edge of the water. Delilah almost passed her before she realized it was Glory.
Delilah walked over and sat down on the sand beside her friend. After a moment Glory turned her head, belatedly acknowledging Delilah's presence. "Where did you disappear to?" Her voice was strangely flat. "Addie's been looking everywhere for you."
"I needed some time alone."
When Glory made no effort to continue the conversation, Delilah studied the younger woman's face carefully. Catching her breath at the undisguised sorrow there. This must be what Addie had seen.
"The whole world is changing," Delilah said in confusion. "This was supposed to be such a wonderful vacation. All of us together again after so long. What's happened to us?"
Glory bit her lip, turning her face toward the ocean. She was silent for a long time, then she began to speak quietly. "You know, Dee, when I found Alan I didn't want to believe in what we had. I think I was afraid to believe. See, if it was real, then I could lose it. For the first six months of our marriage this . . . this fear nagged at me constantly. It was always there, just below the surface. My life with Alan was so beautiful. So damned beautiful."
Glory drew in a shaky breath. "You have to pay for that kind of happiness. Dee. Sooner or later you have to pay."
Delilah was suddenly scared for her friend. Something had gone terribly terribly wrong for her. "Tell me," she whispered hoarsely.
Glory didn't answer for a moment. She tried to smile, but her lips trembled, ruining it. "I can't have children, Dee. I can't ever have children." She closed her eyes tightly. "I wanted Alan's baby." She drew the back of her hand roughly across her cheeks to wipe away the dampness. "I wanted it so much."
"Are you sure?" Delilah said, feeling a painful tightness in her chest. "This is the age of medical miracles. Have you gotten a second opinion?"
"Second and third and fourth." Her voice was bitter, final.
"I'm sorry," Delilah said quietly. "How is Alan taking it?"
Glory sighed. "Alan has been wonderful. I didn't think it was
possible, but he's been even more loving than before."
"Then you have a lot more than most people ever get, Glory," Delilah said, more roughly than she had intended. "Can't you be satisfied with that?"
Glory kept her head turned away as she whispered, "Dee, he wants a baby. I know he does. Don't you see? This is something that he wants so badly, and I can't give it to him. I'll never be able to give it to him. When we're together we pretend. We pretend that we don't mind so much. We pretend that everything is fine. And the pretense is growing into a solid wall between us."
"Maybe the wall's only in your mind. Maybe Alan's not pretending. Isn't it just possible that you really are all he needs?"
"He said—" The words were a rough whisper. She swallowed and began again. "He said we could adopt."
Delilah swore long and hard, pulling up every vulgarity she had ever heard to vocalize her anger. Damn him, she thought. Damn him to hell.
Apparently Alan wasn't as smart as Delilah had thought he was. Didn't the idiot know that now was not the time to talk about adoption, she asked herself silently. Maybe sometime in the future, but not now. Not when Glory was grieving for her child, the child she would never have.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Delilah said, "Why don't you talk to him? You need to let him know what you're feeling."
Glory nodded apathetically. "I will . . . sometime." She smiled. "I'll be okay. Dee. You know me. I always bounce back."
Glory returned her gaze to the water, resting her chin on her knees. After a while Delilah stood up and, without another word, walked away. There was nothing more she could say.
That was what love got you, Delilah told herself, kicking at the sand in anger. Pain and more pain. She had hoped Glory was immune. She should have known better. No one was immune. Love, the universal destroyer.
Delilah had just reached the terrace when Alan walked out of the hotel. Spotting her, he waved and hurried toward her, but Delilah simply nodded as she walked past him.
Alan grabbed her arm and smiled. "What's up?" When she didn't answer, his smile faded. Furrows appeared on his brow as he gave Delilah a puzzled look. "Have you seen my darling? She's done a disappearing act."
