"Sure, it's tacky, but it works."
The music grew slower, and their movements slowed until they were embracing more than they were dancing.
"Honeymoons are all about sex, Maggie," he said softly. "That's the reason for it all."
Her heart labored inside her chest, and she doubted she could draw a deep breath.
"Honeymoons are a vacation," she said. "Like a trip to Bermuda."
"This isn't Bermuda. We don't have beaches made of pink sand or bobbies in white shorts and tall hats or fancy boutiques. We're offering a different kind of fantasy."
She said nothing. She didn't trust her voice.
"You were married," he persisted. "You had a honeymoon."
"Hawaii," she said. "Seven days."
"Was it wonderful?"
She shrugged in his arms. "Awkward at best," she said honestly. "Rick got sunstroke. I was stung by a bee. We spent a lot of time in our room watching television." She'd gone to her marriage bed, sophisticated in the ways of the world but painfully innocent when it came to the realities of love.
Those seven days in that tiny hotel room had been an agony of embarrassment.
"Honeymoons are overrated," she said. "We put too much emphasis on performance."
"But newlyweds are still going to take them," John said. "It's a rite of passage. That's why places like this are so important."
"And I suppose you're East Point's answer to Mother Theresa."
"I give them what they need. Luxury they'll never have again in their lifetime. A huge water bed to play in, a massive Jacuzzi to relax in, fireplaces and champagne and mirrored ceilings –"
"You're describing a bordello."
"Exactly. A bordello for monogamous newlyweds. What's wrong with that?"
"I'm starting to think you're crazy."
"And I'm starting to think you're not as smart as you look. Think back, Maggie. You're young, you're just married, all the pressures of adulthood are swooping down on you quicker than you can say mister and missus. In nine months you might even have your first child. Where better to make the transition than in a place like this that's so absurd and so blatantly sexy you can't help laughing about it?" He tilted her head back so she was forced to meet his eyes.
"You're the strangest man I've ever met, John Adams Tyler." And with her background in PAX, that was saying something. "And this is definitely the strangest place."
"I think you like it."
She ducked her head so he wouldn't see her smile. "I think you're crazy."
"Admit it. Red plush wallpaper turns you on."
She stole a glance at the mirrors surrounding the water bed. "I don't care what you say, I just can't imagine my Uncle Alistair cavorting under a smoked glass mirror."
"You'd be surprised. We had a couple here last month to celebrate their golden anniversary."
"Not in a room like this!"
"Why not in a room like this?" He was smooth, John Tyler was. He probably thought she didn't realize he was dancing her closer to the bed.
"It's – how can I put it? Unseemly."
"Well, their room wasn't exactly like this one."
Her smile was wide with relief. "I'm glad to hear that."
"Their room had a hammock suspended near the Jacuzzi and a giant swing that –"
"You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."
"I'm serious. I can show you the guest register if you like."
"Whatever happened to growing old gracefully?"
"Whatever happned to enjoying life?"
How would she know?
Most of her marriage had been spent watching her husband die. A lusty celebration of life between man and woman was something she'd never experienced.
"It's late," she said at last. "I should be getting back."
"It's not even midnight."
"I'm understaffed, remember? Breakfast comes early in the Poconos."
"Your guests come down for breakfast?"
She nodded. "Naturally."
"You definitely have a lot to learn, Maggie. Add a water bed and a few mirrors to those cottages of yours, and you won't see a newlywed before lunchtime."
She started to say that that was the first good reason she'd heard for tacky décor, when a quick series of five beeps sounded.
"Is that a fire alarm?" She looked quickly around the suite for signs of smoke.
"Nothing that exciting. It's the front desk." He pulled a beeper from his back pocket. "I'll be right back."
Apparently phones next to the bed weren't appreciated in fantasyland, and Tyler disappeared into another part of the suite where such mundane activities as telephoning were carried out.
The second he disappeared around the corner, Maggie did a quick but thorough check for bugs and hidden cameras.
Nothing.
Of course, that didn't really mean anything. If Tyler was an operative, he wouldn't be careless enough to leave her in a room with an easy-to-uncover bug.
Besides, it was almost impossible to keep her mind on nonsense like spies and super Summit Meetings when she was standing in a room designed for nothing more than sensual pleasures of the ultimate kind.
She ran her hand over the flocked red wallpaper, laughing softly as it tickled her palm. Mae West would have been in her glory in a place like this. Chandeliers dripped crystal beads the way Liz Taylor dripped diamonds. Fur throw rugs framed the fireplace. The champagne-glass Jacuzzi bubbled invitingly on the upper level balcony overlooking the sitting area.
"Sitting area," she mumbled, watching herself reflected in mirror after mirror. There was a euphemism for you.
She doubted if many of the Love Cottage couples did much sitting. Not with that huge water bed undulating under its purple satin spread.
How on earth did couples make love while the bed sloshed around them like the Delaware in a storm?
A ridiculous vision of a new bride approaching her new husband dressed in a filmy negligee and life preserver made her laugh out loud.
When newlyweds at Hideaway Haven talked about The Pill, they probably meant Dramamine.
She glanced toward the other end of the suite. Tyler's voice, low and authoritative, bounced off the indoor pool and back at her.
". . . plumber . . . insurance agent can . . . damn it, put her on the phone . . . "
He sounded as if he'd be busy a while longer.
This was her chance.
Maggie kicked off her heels and approached the bed. She rested her hand on the mattress then shrugged. Not so different. Maybe this was another case of all hype and no substance.
She took her investigation further.
The mattress rested inside what appeared to be a huge wooden box that nipped at the back of her legs as she gingerly sat down.
At least she'd meant to sit down, but the bed had other ideas.
The moment her butt hit the spread, the bed leaped to life, as if high tide and low tide had met right there in the middle.
Physicists were right. For every action there was a reaction. As her bottom sank like the Titanic, her legs shot toward the mirrored ceiling, and her yellow skirt sailed up her thighs. She struggled to pull herself back to a sitting position, but she bobbed helplessly like a shipwrecked sailor looking for land.
It was bad enough she had to watch this pathetic scene reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that surrounded this monstrosity Tyler called a bed; the view in the mirrored ceiling was pathetic.
". . . you tell them I said so," John's voice boomed from the other room. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
Maggie's eyes closed in despair.
Please, God, just a small earthquake – a two or three on the Richter scale. That's all I'm asking for.
Just enough to swallow her up, bed and all, before Tyler discovered her lying there like a huge yellow canary with a very red face.
Chapter Ten
"Sorry I kept you waiting so long, Maggie. They wanted me to –"
He stopped dead in the door
way and stared at her, at the mirrors, then back at her again.
The image had already burned itself into her brain. Hair a mess, her wayward skirt inching up her thighs, her face flaming redder than the wallpaper.
"Stop staring at me!" she snapped. "This damn thing is alive!"
"Right," he said, approaching the edge of the bed. "It reached out and grabbed you."
"I sat down to adjust my shoe."
He looked over at the pale yellow pumps peeking out from under the chair across the room. "You can do better than that, Maggie."
"The least you could do is stop laughing. You're making it very hard for me to retain my dignity."
"Forget your dignity," he said as she scrambled to her knees and tried to edge her way over to him. "You lost it when you fell asleep on the sofa." His smile widened maddeningly. "You snore."
"I do not!"
"Afraid so."
"I was probably clearing my throat."
"For fifteen minutes straight?"
"I refuse to believe it."
"I'll tape it next time."
She lost her balance and fell back against the pillows in a flash of hip and thigh. "Read my lips, Tyler. There isn't going to be a next time."
"Sorry," he said, moving closer still. "It's beyond your control, Maggie."
"Nothing is beyond my control. If you don't help me up, I'll scream this place down."
He sat on the edge and extended his hand to her. "Use me for support and just slide over. It's not difficult once you get the hang of it."
She grabbed his hand and maneuvered her way toward him. "I feel like a jerk," she muttered, leaning against him and swinging her legs over the side. "First I snore on your couch, and now I can't get out of bed without assistance. Next you'll be feeding me strained bananas."
"I don't mind."
"I do. This will probably be an anecdote in tomorrow Pocono Bugle."
"Only if you call it in."
Her right eyebrow arched. "Have no fear. This is one secret that will die with me."
"Terrific. A courtship should be private."
She moved away. "Courtship?"
"You know, dinner and movies. Lots of kissing. Watching the sun set over the Delaware Water Gap. Considering your business, it shouldn't be an alien concept."
"You are crazy."
"Never saner."
"Maybe I didn't do such a great job of saving your life. I think lack of oxygen did something to your brain."
"Trust me on this one, Maggie. I know exactly what I'm saying."
She felt as if someone had strapped her into the front seat of a roller coaster and forgotten to let her off.
"You've carried gratitude far enough, John." If her feel could only reach the ground, she'd stand up. "Help me off this thing. I want to go home."
"Not until you hear me out."
"This is kidnapping."
"The hell it is." He drew her closer to him, and there was nothing she could do to hold him off. Sitting upright was the most she could cope with at the moment. "You came here of your own free will."
"You're detaining me against my own free will. I'll bring you up on charges."
"Why bother? A wife can't testify against her husband."
"I'll call my lawyer and –" Maybe she was the one who was crazy. "What did you say?"
"This isn't the way I had it planned, Maggie."
"I'll give you ten seconds to explain yourself, Tyler."
"I'm going to marry you."
Her breath slid from her body in one sibilant whoosh. "You're serious."
"From the first second I saw you."
"Maybe you should see a shrink."
He tangled his hand in her hair, and her entire body responded to his touch. "Why?" he asked in a voice of scuffed velvet. "Because I've fallen in love with you."
"People don't fall in love at first sight."
He traced the curve of her ear with his thumb. She hadn't breathed normally since he sat down next to her.
"They do in my family. Two hundred and fifty years' worth of love at first sight."
"I'm impressed."
"I'm glad. I don't believe in long engagements."
"I said I'm impressed, John. I didn't say I do."
He pressed a kiss against her ear at the spot where his finger had rested. Her body trembled as desire, hot and wild, flooded through her.
"No sense fighting it." He kissed her ear, her cheekbone, the left corner of her mouth. "It's destiny."
"Your destiny." She struggled against the surge of emotion building inside her. "Not mine."
His lips were warm against her jaw. "I come from a family of romantics."
"And I come from a family of realists," she managed, the ability to think deserting her as he kissed his way down her throat. "Things like this just don't happen in real life."
"Sure they do." He nipped gently at her collarbone. "They just never happened to you before."
He kissed his way back up toward her mouth, and she was overcome with desire to know the taste and feel of his lips and tongue.
"I should be afraid of you," she whispered as her hands splayed across the corded muscles of his shoulders. "If I had any sense at all, I'd run for my life."
He drew back, his golden eyes dark and commanding. "You can," he said. "If that's what you really want."
But of course she had no earthly idea what she wanted. How could she?
What was happening between them in that room had nothing to do with the world as she knew it, the world where she worked hard by day and slept alone at night.
It could have been Shangri-la or Xanadu or any other mythical, magical fantasy world where men and women were extremely happy.
"There's no future for us," she said, pushing a lock of hair off his forehead. "You're not even my type."
"You said that before. What exactly is your type?"
"No three-piece suits. No Italian shoes. No gold watch." She let her fingers slide through his thick silky hair. "No fancy haircuts or blow-dryers or afternoon squash games at the club."
"Think you've got me pegged, don't you, Maggie?"
"You're everything I don't want in a man."
"Then you wouldn't mind if I kissed you to find out what I'm losing?"
"Be my guest."
Famous last words.
He brought his face closer to hers, then closer still, until only the sweet scent of champagne and raspberries separated them. Her lips parted in anticipation. Her mouth grew lusciously moist as she waited while he took his sweet, sweet time taking what she offered.
That kiss he'd given her back on the porch of The White Elephant was a sip of sparkling wine.
But the kiss he gave her now was brandy: deep, rich, powerful. A strange and dangerous melding of the physical and the emotional that made it impossible for her to tell where the reality of the moment left off and the fantasy began.
Thank God, John Adams Tyler wasn't her type.
#
John was in trouble.
Big trouble.
The hot wet feel of her mouth, the sounds she made deep in her throat, the yielding softness of her shoulders and arms – they were taking him someplace he wasn't ready to go.
Not just yet.
Mindless seduction wasn't the name of this game.
He didn't want their first time to be quick or thoughtless or something to be remembered later with anything but joy.
But if he didn't pull away from her within the next half second, all his good intentions would go up in flames.
He broke the kiss, and it took a full minute before he could control his respiration well enough to speak. He got to his feet and held out his hand. "Let's go."
She blinked as if awakening from a dream. "Go?"
"Leave," he said, wishing she didn't look so ripe, so accessible. "You have an early morning, remember?"
She brought his wrist closer and peered dazedly at his watch. "I still have time."
He took her hand and
helped her to her feet. "You're going home, Maggie." He retrieved her shoes from under the chair. "Put these on."
She stared at him as if he spoke a foreign tongue. "You're throwing me out?"
He bent down to slip her shoes onto her narrow-boned feet and resisted the urge to run his tongue across her instep.
"I'm throwing you out."
"I don't understand."
"You will when you think about it tomorrow." And maybe then she could explain it to him.
Her lips were rosy and swollen from his kisses, her hair tumbled crazily over her shoulders and down her back. The top of her dress had shifted slightly off center, exposing the delicate lines of her right collarbone and the lacy strap of her bra.
All in all, he'd never seen a more beautiful, more desirable woman in his entire life.
"I hate riddles," she said, following him back down the hallway toward the staircase. "You tell me I'm the woman you want to marry, then you throw me out of your bedroom. You are crazy."
He thought about the way she'd felt in his arms. "You're right," he said, taking her hand as she stumbled at the top step. "I probably am."
She came to an abrupt stop. "Will you slow down? Being thrown out is bad enough but I don't need a broken ankle in the bargain."
He looked down at her strappy high heels. The longer it took to put some distance between himself and temptation, the greater the chances he would succumb.
He swept her up into his arms and continued down the stairs.
"You've got it all wrong," she said, starting to laugh. "Rhett carried Scarlett up the staircase, not down."
"We make our own traditions."
She curled her left arm around his neck, and her right hand rested lightly against his chest. "My hero!" She was laughing so hard her words were difficult to understand. "Saving me from my own baser instincts."
He said nothing, just continued down the stairs.
"I wasn't going to ravish you, John," she said, obviously finding the situation hilarious. "You're not my type."
He didn't believe that, not for a minute, but this wasn't the time to debate that particular issue. She'd admit the truth sooner or later.
"You can trust me," she continued. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
Honeymoon Hotel Page 9
