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Of course, having been asked about her favorite subject, she went into the whole story about her very first camera, her work at the St. Louis newspaper, and on and on.
She snapped pictures all the while—of the wharf, of the riverbank and the river—but hard as she tried, she wasn’t able to capture David’s face in a single frame. The man had an uncanny knack of turning, bending or lifting his hand at the exact moment she took the shot. She was almost beginning to believe he had some sort of camera phobia, and she so desperately wanted a picture of him, especially since he might be going to Japan at any time and she’d never see him again.
The mere thought of his leaving nearly made her queasy. She excused herself to return to Main Street for a bathroom visit. And then, smart little cookie that she was, she slipped a telephoto lens onto her camera while walking toward town, slowly turned and managed to get some really incredible shots of the man she’d left behind on the riverbank.
The gorgeous autumn day had turned cold late that afternoon, and by the time they climbed out of the helicopter on the roof of the Marquis, Libby was shivering.
“I know just how to warm you up,” David said, punching a number on his phone and telling whoever responded to have the hot tub in the penthouse ready in half an hour.
Then he led her to an elevator whose door swooshed open moments later just a few steps outside the cozy and dark little bar on the mezzanine.
“Two brandies, Tom. The good stuff,” he said, holding up two fingers in the direction of the bartender who appeared to be presiding over an empty room.
“Right away, Mr.…”
“Thanks,” David said, cutting him off as he led Libby to a banquette in the corner where a candle glowed in the center of table.
She scooted into the lush leather seat. David slid in next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “You’ll be warm in just one minute, darlin’. I promise.”
She’d already warmed up considerably just from the heat of his body so close to hers. The subsequent brandy, in a huge crystal snifter, was hardly a match for her companion’s warmth, she thought. And then Libby cautioned herself not to become too accustomed to the man or his warmth since it probably wouldn’t be long before he was warming some other woman on the other side of the planet.
“I had more fun today than I’ve had in a long, long time,” she said, lifting the brandy glass toward him. “Here’s to my gracious and most gallant host.”
The clink of the crystal when their glasses touched was a bit of music all on its own.
“Here’s to Tom and Becky and Huck,” he said. “And here’s to you, Libby. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a good time. Not even when I was a kid.” He put the snifter down, and then his brow furrowed as he gathered in a long, deep breath.
It was one of those moments when a tiny little uhoh sounded inside her head. Furrows and long, deep breaths were rarely, if ever, followed by good news. Furrows and long, deep breaths usually, almost always, meant trouble.
“Libby,” he said softly, his eyes locking on to hers. “There’s something that I…”
His cell phone let out a sharp little bleep just then. David cursed as he wrenched it from his pocket and very nearly broke it open in order to respond. “What?” he growled. After listening for a minute or so, he pressed a button to put the caller on hold. “I have to take this infernal call, Libby. I’m sorry, darlin’.”
“Go ahead.” Libby swirled the remaining brandy in her glass. The candlelight turned its color to a dark and lovely honey. “Take your time, David. I truly don’t mind.”
He kissed her forehead before he slid out of the booth, then walked—well, the man stalked, if truth be told—to the far end of the bar to continue the conversation. From her vantage point, and judging from his body language, it looked as if he were bestowing some very bad news on the person at the other end of the connection.
For the moment, Libby was just thankful it wasn’t her.
David felt his mood darkening. Damn. He’d just had one of the best days of his entire life, but then business interrupted in the form of a threatened lawsuit by an irate guest in his London hotel, and his nervous Nellie of a British attorney felt obliged to alert him, personally, posthaste. David told the hysterical attorney if he ever called him again, he’d have him chained in the Tower of London, then drawn and quartered in front of Buckingham Palace with CNN given the exclusive rights to broadcast it live.
And now, to make matters worse, he’d be damned if he could locate something for Libby to wear in the hot tub. The little complimentary garments should have been stowed in a drawer in the penthouse spa, but it appeared as if someone—some soon-to-be former employee—had decided to stash hotel brochures, postcards and stationery there instead.
“It’s all right, David,” Libby said from her perch on the edge of the hot tub. “I can wear my bra and panties. It’s not a problem. I’ve done it before.”
The vision of her clad only in scanty silks, see-through no doubt, beside some big gorilla in a hot tub didn’t do a lot to lighten his current mood. He’d summon his assistant, Jeff, in a moment, no doubt ruining another of the man’s dinners. But meanwhile he continued to search like a madman, cursing, slamming drawers and cabinet doors, and all the while berating himself for losing the opportunity to confess to Libby and tell her just who he really was. That, he well knew, was at the heart of his current furor.
Earlier, downstairs in the darkness of the bar, the words had been right there on his tongue, and he’d been ready to get down on his knees if he had to in order for her to forgive him. He wanted her that much. He was going to tell her now, even before their time in the hot tub. What sense was there in prolonging it? Hell. It wasn’t as if he were going to confess to her that he was an axe murderer.
She would forgive him, wouldn’t she? She had to, otherwise…
Just behind him then, Libby cleared her throat and uttered a whispery little ta-da.
He turned to see a vision of absolute delight, Libby clad only in feminine briefs and a snow-white lacey bra. Considering how great she looked when fully clothed, David couldn’t even find words to describe her now. She grinned, and then pointed to the bubbling hot tub as she gave a pert little salute.
“Permission to come aboard, sir?”
David sighed inwardly. Whatever he’d intended to confess to her had suddenly flown right out of his head. And he had to admit that, even if he’d remembered, this was not the time to risk a confrontation. He might have been considered a liar under the circumstances, but he wasn’t a downright fool.
“Permission granted,” he said, quickly shrugging out of his own shirt and jeans, to join her in the warm caress of the water.
Settled chin deep in the wonderfully warm tub, feeling David’s lean body right beside hers, Libby’s eyes began to drift closed and she nearly fell asleep. How very strange, she thought, to feel so completely at ease with a man she’d only known for a mere two days. It wasn’t like her to feel so relaxed with anyone, even after knowing them for months.
“I could stay right here for an entire week,” she said, letting go of a soft and wistful sigh. “Maybe even a month.”
He chuckled. “I don’t know if I’d care to see you turn into a wrinkled, waterlogged prune, darlin’. I have to admit I like you just the way you are.”
She turned her head toward him, gazing up at his face where the sexy smile lines had reappeared.
“Do you?”
Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, and even she could hear the longing in her tone. She couldn’t help it. She adored this man, and she wanted him with every fiber of her being. If their coming together was fated to be only a brief affair before he went back to Japan, well, then, so be it. Sayonara to her dreams of the future. Libby decided to simply live in the present for now. Let the future take care of itself.
Perhaps it was the buoyancy of the water, but David drew her into his arms so effortlessly that Libby felt lighter than a feather. His lips were warm on hers, tender and wonderfully slow and sensuous. The touch of his tongue on hers was tender and exquisite. It seemed, just then, as if they had all the time in the world to explore and discover and make love to each other.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “But I already knew that from the first moment I saw you.”
His hand moved to her breast, cupping it, a perfect fit for his smooth wet palm, a perfect distance to her nipple for his thumb to circle and explore. Libby gave a little shudder, and leaned her head back onto the rim of the tub as he covered her neck with languid kisses.
He murmured against her skin. “I’ve wanted this…I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you clinging to that silly lamppost like a fallen angel.”
“Emphasis on fallen,” she said with a little sigh, then blew a puff of air upward to dislodge a damp stray curl from her forehead.
“No.” His hand eased from her breast and then smoothed slowly, thrillingly down, over her hip to her inner thigh. “Emphasis on want. I want you, Libby. All of you. Now.”
There was a great whoosh of water, and then she was high in his arms, clinging to his hard, wet neck as he carried her down a dimly lit hallway and into the bedroom where only the night before she’d watched the traffic flow like a river of jewels out the western window. He put her gently on the bed and left her for a brief moment to open a drawer, tear open a little square package, then returned to gather her into his arms.
“Tell me how to please you,” he said, his fingertips drifting up and down her arm, setting off little shock waves of desire all over her. Then his hand strayed to her leg and the shock waves increased. “Anything you want. Anywhere.”
Libby pressed closer to the hard length of his body, placing the palm of her hand to his cheek and tracing the now barely visible smile lines with her thumb. “Everything about you pleases me,” she said. “I just want you. All of you.”
They made slow, sensuous love while the diamond and ruby traffic lights flickered far below. In Libby’s experience—which admittedly wasn’t vast or all that recent—men tended to go for the gusto, returning to the lady’s pleasure only after crossing the finish line alone. David, however, was in no rush at all. His every touch was leisurely, languid and absolutely divine. He seemed to have infinite pleasure in giving her pleasure.
Then it was Libby, when David at last entered her, who revved up the pace considerably, lifting her hips to meet each thrust of his, wanting almost desperately to capture all of him inside her and to keep him there forever. Their soft murmurs only moments earlier quickened to mutual groans of pleasure.
Everything in Libby’s body curled tighter and tighter, wound up in itself, as she moved toward climax and then…
And then it felt as if her every cell suddenly let go in wave after wave of pleasure so intense she thought she might either laugh or cry or both. Within seconds, David followed her with a final powerful thrust, his whole hard body shuddering in his release.
They simply lay there then, locked in each other’s arms, sated and waiting for their breathing to return to something that resembled normal, if indeed it ever would.
It was nearly nine-thirty before they could rouse themselves from the big bed on the west side of the penthouse. But when David heard a distinct and hungry rumbling coming from the direction of Libby’s stomach, he reached for his phone and called downstairs. The chef, of course, had long ago retired from the kitchen, but an eager sous chef—now in line for a rather hefty raise, David decided—was more than happy to prepare his “special” omelette and a vegetable stir-fry.
When he turned to consult Libby on the meal, her eyes glittered like a wolf just spying a lamb.
“Send it up as quickly as you can,” David told the sous chef.
They ate, quite ravenously, in bed. Libby wore a Marquis bathrobe, and with her tangled hair and her lips still flushed with his kisses, she reminded him of Venus, come to life right here in the Midwest.
“I should probably be getting back to the Haven View,” she said after finishing one of the hotel’s signature amaretto and chocolate-chip cookies.
David frowned. “I thought you said you put a sign on the door saying it’s closed for the duration.”
“I did, but…”
“Well?”
It seemed to dawn on her then that she had no other obligations, at least not at the motel, and there was no one to please for a change but herself. The notion apparently surprised her because she blinked and, for once, since the first time he’d met her, she appeared to be at a loss for words.
But David wasn’t.
“Stay with me, Libby.”
He brushed aside the silver trays, the empty dishes and the glassware, then drew her once more into his arms. “Stay.”
And she did.
Five
When Libby got back to the Haven View at a little after nine the following morning, David’s kisses continued to linger on her lips, on her throat, on…Well, everywhere. She felt such a warm and nearly tangible glow inside. It was like a fire that seemed to burn and caress at the same time.
By ten o’clock, however, the fire had fizzled out, most likely because of her tears. The roofing inspector had arrived, looked at all the cabin roofs and then handed her an estimate for forty thousand dollars plus tax.
“Keep in mind,” he’d said while shaking his head, “that’s just for the roofing, Miss Jost. It doesn’t include the new gutters and downspouts this old place badly needs. Otherwise, you’re going to see more damage in the future. You can count on it.”
After he left, Libby walked inside the apartment behind the office and crumpled on the floor of the shower, letting the hot spray from above blend with her tears. It had been a long, long time since she’d wallowed in self-pity. The last, and probably the only other time she’d given herself permission to break apart, had been when she was ten years old and her cat, Joey, went missing. This morning she felt the way she had when she was ten, as if something so very close to her heart had just been run over or blown to smithereens.
She cried for a long, long time, until she had no more tears to shed, then she dried off, got dressed and went out to the main room of the office where she found Doug wearing his favorite and ancient St. Louis Cardinals sweatshirt while he flipped through a stack of mail. Funny, she thought. If her memory was correct, he’d been wearing a Cardinals T-shirt all those years ago when he’d consoled her about the loss of Joey.
“Morning, honey,” he said cheerfully. “Did you have a good time in Hannibal?”
“I had a great time in Hannibal.” Libby walked around to the other side of the desk, wrapped her arms around the elderly man’s neck and planted a loud kiss on his balding head. “I love you so much, Doug,” she said.
“Well, I love you, too, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “But what’d I do to deserve such an enthusiastic greeting?”
She flopped onto the ratty floral couch across from the desk. “You were so sweet to me when my little Joey ran away.”
Doug scratched his head with the sword-shaped letter opener he’d been using. “Joey. Just a minute. Now let me think back. Was Joey the gerbil or the cat?”
Oh, jeez. She’d completely forgotten about George the gerbil who’d scampered beneath her bed one day, never to be seen again. Well, now she really was depressed.
“Joey was the cat,” she said. “He was black with little white slippers on his feet.”
“That’s right.” Doug’s whole face seemed to sadden, every line and wrinkle turning downward. “I’m sorry about that, Lib. I remember. You were so unhappy, honey. I’m just glad I managed to soothe your heart a little bit.”
Libby let out a long and weary sigh, thinking her heart could surely use a bit of soothing right now. When she was a little girl, she’d always gone to Doug for his comfort as well as his advice. He was patient and kind and incredibly smart. So why not seek his advice now, she wondered. She wasn’t exactly doing a stellar job all on her own. She probably should have consulted him from the very beginning of this fifty-thousand dollar debacle.
“Doug…” she said, then hesitated. No, maybe it wasn’t such a great idea. He’d tell Aunt Elizabeth every last detail and then all hell would break loose. Libby chewed on her bottom lip, still tender from last night’s kisses.
“What, honey? What’s bothering you?” Doug asked. “I know something is.”
“Am I that transparent?” she asked.
“You are to me, kiddo. You always have been. Want to tell me what’s up?”
Libby crossed her arms over her chest, feeling about ten years old again and horribly vulnerable. “What’s up, huh?” She forced a little half-embarrassed laugh. “Well, let’s see. It’s such a mess that I hardly know where to begin.”
But somehow she began, first with the arrival of the mysterious check for the enormous sum.
Doug stopped her right there. “Wait. Hold it right there, Libby. You’re telling me that somebody, some complete stranger, gave you fifty thousand bucks just because he liked your book about dying and dead motels? It was a wonderful book and all, but that’s a hell of a lot of money just to say thanks for a good read.”
“That’s what I thought, too. I thought it was a joke at first. But the money’s completely legitimate. The bank had no problem with it at all. There’s fifty thousand dollars sitting in my checking account right now just waiting to be spent.”
She followed that amazing bit of news by telling Doug of her hopes and dreams of using the money to revitalize the Haven View. She explained her carefully thought-out plans for both interior and exterior repairs, trying to be true to Aunt Elizabeth’s original plans and color schemes.
When she got to the part about the painters, however, it was a bit tricky to maneuver around the facts because she wasn’t really ready to disclose anything about David or her feelings for him. There was no sense complicating this with the mention of a lover who might not even be here in a week or two.
Finally, Libby concluded her tale with the staggering price of the roof repairs, and then lifted her hands helplessly and said, “I’m still not willing to give up this dream of mine, Doug, but I just don’t know how to make fifty thousand dollars go the distance that’s required. I just don’t know if it’s possible. I’d really, really welcome any ideas or suggestions, if you have them. But, please, please don’t just tell me I’m crazy for wanting to do this.”
Behind the desk, he closed his pale blue eyes a moment and pressed his lips together as if he didn’t know what to say or didn’t even want to respond at all, which Libby could easily understand. It was her money, after all, and therefore her problem. And she’d certainly made a mess of it so far.
Then Doug cursed gruffly, something he rarely did, before he curled one hand into a fist and pounded the desktop with it.
“Dammit, Libby. I wish you’d come to me, to both of us right off the bat. I know you meant well making it a surprise, but your aunt Elizabeth and I are way too old for surprises, honey. We like to know what’s what. We need to know. It’s pretty important at our age,” he muttered. “We really need to be kept inside the loop instead of outside in the dark.”
Libby sighed. Doug was absolutely right. She should have informed them. She wished that she had.
“Well, now you know. What’s what is fifty thousand dollars is burning a big hole in my pocket. And now that you know about it, you can help me do this right, Doug, if it’s at all possible.” She narrowed her gaze on his face. “Is it possible? Or is it just a silly and impossible dream? Tell me the truth.”
He leaned back in his chair, then rubbed his hand slowly across his white-whiskered chin before he spoke. “That’s a generous thing you want to do for her, Libby. I think your aunt Elizabeth will be thrilled as all to get-out to see this old dump looking the way it did in the old days. It’s been hard on her, watching the place go to seed the way it has over the years.”
“Oh, I know,” Libby said. “And I so desperately want to change all that. I want to make her really happy.”
“I know you do, sweetie.” Doug sighed. “But fifty thousand dollars, as grand a sum as it is, just isn’t going to cut it. Not with prices like they are today, and not with all the repairs we’re in need of around here. Your fifty thousand dollars, honey, is hardly a drop in the bucket.” He shook his head so very sadly. “I’m afraid it can’t be done, Libby. Not unless you’re a magician or that secret admirer of yours plans to add a million or two to his original gift.”
Libby dragged in her lower lip and bit down on it, trying with all her might not to give way to another flood of tears. What good would they do?
“Unless…” Doug leaned forward in his chair.
