Authors: Annette Broadrick
Provocative Peril (15 page)
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While Carolyn waited in bed for Clay to finish his shower and join her, she happily reviewed the last few hours. The wedding and reception had been beautiful—Susie had outdone herself. Carolyn smiled at the memory of her mother being whisked around the dance floor by each one of Clay's brothers and his dad. She had never seen her mother so lovely and vivacious.
Carolyn heard the bathroom door open and looked up. Clay took one look at Carolyn waiting for him and burst into laughter. She was propped up in bed with a large volume in her hands, a recently published manual on sexual relations. He leaned over and removed the book from her hands. "You know, love, there are other ways to gain knowledge than from a book."
She leaned back and looked up as he slid under the covers and pulled her into his arms. "Well, maybe so, but they've always helped me in the past."
He nuzzled under her chin. "I'm sure they have, but anything you want to learn on the subject from now on, I'll teach you." When he raised his head to kiss her, she placed her palms against his cheeks.
"You've taken long enough to start the lessons."
He touched her lips lightly with his. "That's because I knew once I made love to you I wouldn't ever leave—not even for one night. So it was easier to wait."
"Easier for you, maybe."
"Ah-hah. Are you admitting that you've had some frustrated moments, my love?"
She slipped her arms around his shoulders and began to toy with the soft curls along the nape of his neck. "Remembering the way you kept leaving me after those long evenings in front of the fire, what do you think?"
"I haven't been exactly unaffected myself, you know."
She grinned with satisfaction. "As a matter of fact, I had noticed, but I wasn't sure it was something to be discussed in polite circles."
"Are you ready for the next step?"
Her breath caught in her throat. "Isn't this it?" She glanced around the luxurious hotel room, then back at him.
He nodded. His hands stroked lightly down her body. "However, you have too many clothes on for the lesson." Since her hand had already brushed against his bare hip, she knew that wasn't a problem he suffered from! She sat up while he slipped the lace and satin gown over her head. "You wore that at the coast, as I remember."
"I'm surprised you noticed."
"Don't you have any idea what your wardrobe did to me? Why do you think I spent so much time in the cold surf, woman?"
And then he began to kiss her. She had no control over the quiver she gave whenever he touched her, his hands and mouth creating such an explosion of feeling within her that she was certain she'd disintegrate.
Her hands began a journey of discovery all their own. "Oh, yes," he muttered, "Touch me, too, love. Yes . . . ahhhh . . . oh, honey, you have no idea what that does to me."
She was learning, and as she tried to duplicate his movements, she discovered the pleasure of giving pleasure to another. There was no self-consciousness in any of her actions.
By the time Clay shifted his weight so that he lay comfortably between her legs she was too involved in the give and take of their mutual loving to be frightened. His mouth took possession of her as his body made their union complete, and Carolyn discovered what Clay had tried to tell her. No words could possibly describe what it felt like to be loved by your own true love. It had been worth waiting for. She was so glad she hadn't been able to follow her friends' advice too far, so that she might have missed that special sharing with him.
Her responses assured him he had not rushed her, and he began to teach her the many variations of lovemaking, one step at a time.
Carolyn sat on the ornate vanity bench in the spacious bathroom of their suite at the Tropicana Royale and smiled at the reflection of a well-loved woman. She and Clay had come to the coast to celebrate their first anniversary.
She remembered their arrival at the resort when the manager himself had greeted them at the registration desk. "Welcome to the Tropicana Royale, Mr. and Mrs. Kenniwick." Then his smile faltered. "That is correct, isn't it?"
They both laughed. "As a matter of fact, yes," Clay responded with a smile. "You see how dangerous a mix-up in room reservations can be?" The look he gave Carolyn caused the hated color to flood her cheeks. She thought that during the past year she'd outgrown her tendency to blush. However, she was beginning to suspect that Clay would be making her blush when she was eighty.
By the time they reached their room, the same one they'd shared when they first met, Clay insisted on acting out some of the fantasies he'd had during the many sleepless nights he'd spent there.
Having lived with Clay for the past several months, Carolyn could better appreciate the restraint and rigid control Clay had maintained during their courtship. He was a very demonstrative person and couldn't walk past her without touching her. When she asked him how he'd managed not to touch her more often during their shared vacation he was quick to assure her—"With the greatest difficulty." His active interest in the physical side of their relationship was much more in keeping with his reputation than he'd ever admit.
They'd had a good year together. Clay had found a beautiful home in the west hills of Portland for them, explaining that it didn't matter where he was, so long as it was quiet. They had done extensive traveling during the past year, and Carolyn was grateful that she had friends to help her with her shop. Pam had as good a business sense as Carolyn, if not better, and Susie could charm customers into buying anything. Her business had continued to grow even without her presence.
She finished brushing her hair and walked into the bedroom. A glance out the window at the stormy sky reminded her that November was not a popular time to be at the coast, but it was beautiful to her. A storm was forecast for later that night, and Clay had suggested that they build a fire and watch the storm move in.
She tiptoed to the edge of the loft and looked down. Sure enough, Clay was patiently waiting for her to get ready for dinner, his nose buried in a book.
She had teased him about taking books along to read in case he got bored, but he soon convinced her that boredom wouldn't be one of their problems. He'd been right.
She reached into her garment bag and pulled out the dress she intended to wear. She had made sure that Clay didn't see it until she was ready to wear it. He had become used to the way she melted into his arms every time he touched her. Tonight she intended to remind him that she had a few powers of her own.
The dress was deceptive. It had a flesh-colored chiffon underskirt, and the overskirt, a swirl of colors from light blue to deep marine, floated around her in such a manner as to suggest that she wore absolutely nothing under the dress. When Clay took her in his arms to dance after dinner, he would find out just how little she was actually wearing.
She could hardly wait.
She checked her watch, then picked up the filmy scrap of material that was to cover her shoulders and started down the steps.
Clay caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced up. The book he was reading fell into his lap unheeded. "You provocative little wretch," he muttered under his breath. The light from upstairs silhouetted her delectable form as she came down the stairs. The impish smile she wore told him better than any words that she knew exactly how that dress would affect him.
It hadn't taken her long to discover her powers where he was concerned, Clay thought. She knew he didn't care for her wearing dresses with plunging necklines or with skirts so tight that she had trouble walking. This dress was neither. Instead, it was so sheer she might as well have been wearing a nightgown. He got up from his chair, terrified that she might be doing that very thing. On closer inspection he could see that it was, indeed, a perfectly respectable evening gown.
"Are you ready?" she asked with a smile.
"If I weren't, that dress would certainly have done the trick."
"I mean for dinner."
"Oh. Well, I suppose." She turned to go out the door in front of him. "Carolyn." She glanced over her shoulder. "What happened to the back of that dress?"
She smiled. "It doesn't have one."
"I noticed. Why not?"
"I guess the designer didn't feel it was necessary."
"What if I feel it's necessary."
"Why should you? I'm decently covered."
"Let's just say you're covered. There's nothing decent about a dress that prohibits wearing any undergarments from the waist up."
"How old did you say you were, Clay?"
"I seem to be aging rapidly." She gave him a level look. "All right, forget it."
They were ushered into the dining room and seated with quiet efficiency. Carolyn looked around the room with pleasure. It would always be a very special place to her.
She leaned over the table toward Clay, watching as his eyes reflected the flickering light of the candle on their table. "Clay, do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?"
"Certainly, why?"
"I just wondered. You know that many couples have a special place where they first admitted their love for each other?"
"That's why I thought you'd like to come back down here." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Her skin still felt like satin, only now he could touch her whenever he felt like it. He felt like it most of the time.
"This isn't where you told me you loved me."
"Of course it is. I'd only known you a couple of weeks, but I knew how I felt."
She leaned back in her chair. "You told me you loved me while I was soaking in the tub."
He thought for a moment, then smiled. "So I did. The day you fell in the water. When I walked into that steamy room and saw you, I knew it was all over for me."
"You still don't understand, do you? Some people have a spot on the beach, others have a favorite restaurant. But our romantic spot is a bathroom! Granted, it's one of the most luxurious ones I've ever been in, still ..."
He grinned, reliving the memory. "Yes, I remember very well. I particularly appreciated the wall of mirrors in there."
She frowned slightly. "What did they have to do with anything?"
"Remember when you got out of the tub and walked over to me, modestly holding your towel in front of you?" She nodded uncertainly. "The mirrors gave me a very clear view of your delicious little derriere."
"I don't believe that. There was so much steam in the room that all the mirrors were fogged."
"If you say so."
"Weren't they?"
"What can I say?"
The waiter arrived with their salads and they fell into companionable silence.
"What are you smiling about?" asked Clay, a quizzical expression on his face.
"Oh, I was just surprised you didn't recognize the dress I'm wearing."
"How could I possibly recognize it? You've never worn it before."
"That's true, but Golden Glory did."
Golden Glory was the femme fatale in Derringer Drake's latest novel.
Clay choked on his drink. When he was able to breathe again he asked, "Are you telling me that you're wearing a dress I described in one of my books?"
Her eyes had never looked more innocent. "That's what I'm telling you. I took the book to a dressmaker so she could copy it exactly as you described it."
Clay frantically searched his memory for the particular scene where Derringer Drake met Golden Glory. It was, of course, a seduction scene. He glanced at the dress in horror as details came back to him.
Golden had needed to get information from Derringer, and she had enticed him to her apartment, plied him with drinks, then slipped into something a little more comfortable. The dress she put on was see-through. Clay peered at the part of the dress showing over the table. It was certainly that.
Golden had made sure Derringer realized she was wearing nothing under the dress but warm, silken skin.
"Carolyn!"
"Hmmm?" she asked, taking a bite of her dinner.
"Just how accurately did you copy that dress?"
"As accurately as possible. The dressmaker said you made it quite easy to copy—your description was quite graphic."
"Oh . . . my . . . God." He slid down an inch or so into his chair. He took a long drink and watched her as she continued to eat. "Why?"
She looked up. "What do you mean?"
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"I figured that since this dress was a figment of your imagination, you might want to see what it looks like—sort of a dream come true type thing."
He straightened up in the chair and leaned over. "You know very well, Carolyn," he muttered in a low voice, "that my heroines are supposed to be sexy women with little or no virtue."
"I see. It's all right for them to dress that way, but it isn't all right for your wife to dress that way."
He sighed with relief at her quick grasp of the situation. "Exactly."
She thought about it for a moment, then took a sip of her wine. "Sorry, Clay, but I'm not going to accept that silly double standard. Besides, I rather enjoy dressing the way you fantasize that your women dress." A very roguish smile appeared as she continued. "As a matter of fact, the dressmaker is now reading all of your books so she can make me a complete wardrobe. Just think of the publicity that will give you, Clay. You might find yourself with a new career as a dress designer."