Heaven, Texas (22 page)

She was so relieved she hadn't done anything wrong that a bubble of laughter rose in her throat. “I guess we'd just have to do it again, then, wouldn't we?”

“Gracie Snow, you're turning into a trashy woman right before my eyes.” He slipped the chain holding the Super Bowl ring over her head. “This is definitely my lucky night.”

He started kissing her again, and his hands were all over her body, kneading her buttocks, rubbing her against him. She reveled in the feel of his bare skin pressing against her own. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled them in the waterfall of eyelet and ribbon cascading from the canopy. He drew her free, stripped back the spread, and laid her on Sleeping Beauty's bed. But he was no fairy-tale prince with only chaste kisses on his mind.

She locked her gaze with his and slowly separated her legs, offering herself with a sense of gladness. He smiled and settled next to her on the bed, laying the palm of his hand flat on her belly. “You are one of a kind, sweetheart.”

Dipping his head, he kissed her again, while his fingers trailed down through the silky curls, then detoured to stroke her inner thighs. He began to torture her with his caress, coming closer and closer, but not quite touching.

She went wild, arching against his hand, every muscle taut. “Please!” she gasped against his lips. “Don't stop there  .  .  .”

“I won't, sweetheart. Believe me, I won't.”

He parted her, and her breath caught on a sob as he traced her secrets with his fingertip. Her whole body began to quiver. He eased his finger inside her, and, just like that, she came apart with a great cry.

He held her through the aftershocks. As soon as she calmed and felt him, still rigid, pressed against the side of her hip, she had to fight back tears. She had wanted to give, but all she'd done was take.

“I— I ruined everything. I'm so—so sorry. I knew I'd mess this up.” She swallowed a sob. “I wanted to be—to be perfect, but I was never good at phy—physical things. Nobody ever wanted me on their team in gym, and now you know why. I'm all done, and you're—you're not, and I r—ruined it.” She was so stricken by her premature orgasm that she barely felt his lips moving at her temple.

“Nobody can be good at everything, sweetheart.” His voice had a queer, choked sound to it.

“But I wanted so much to be—to be good at
this!”

“I understand.” He settled on top of her and nudged her legs apart with his own. “Sometimes you just have to accept your faults. A little bit wider, honey.”

It was the least she could do for him.

Once again, she felt his hand brush her thighs, and then his finger invaded. He groaned. “You're so tight.”

“I'm sorry. It's because I've never—” She gasped as he began a slow, rhythmic stroking that uncoiled ribbons of sensation inside her. He touched her everywhere, his skillful, inquisitive fingers making intimate silken patterns.

“Bobby Tom?” She whispered his name as if it were a question.

“Don't apologize, sweetheart. You can't help being a failure.” Through her excitement, she realized he was smiling against her damp cheek. But before she could figure out why, she felt a hard probing at the small entrance to her body. Her hands convulsed around his shoulders as tingling shocks of pleasure raced through her body. “Oh  .  .  .”

He eased inside, stretching her bit by bit, giving her time to adjust to his size. She could feel his restraint in the tight coiling of his muscles beneath her hands. But she didn't want restraint. She had been waiting for this forever.

“Hurry,” she gasped. “Please hurry.”

“I don't want to hurt you, honey.” His voice sounded tight, the way it did when he lifted weights.

“Please. Don't hold back.”

“You don't know what you're asking.”

“I do. I want everything.”

He trembled and drove into her. Shafts of delight sped through her tissues and sang in her blood. She lifted her hips and wrapped her legs around his. He shoved his hands beneath her and tilted her higher, thrusting more deeply. She reveled in her ability to bear his weight, to accept his sex, and she gave a gasp of joy at the woman's magic that permitted her body to accommodate his.

His breathing was a rough rasp in her ear, and she moved with him as if she'd been doing it forever. The sensations that swept through her felt more powerful than anything she'd ever imagined, like wind and thunder. He carried her higher and higher into the clouds, toward a mysterious place where only ecstasy dwelt. The dampness from their bodies mingled with their cries until they were part of the clouds. For a moment they hung there, perfectly suspended. And then they tumbled together in a warm shower of silver rain.

It could have been minutes or hours before she hit the earth. The world returned in bits and pieces: the brush of cool air on her arm, the distant sound of a jet passing overhead. His body grew heavy on hers. She welcomed the weight and experienced a pang of loss when she felt a gentle suction as he pulled out of her.

He rolled to his stomach, keeping his face turned toward her and laying his upper arm across her chest, just beneath her breasts. He fell into a light doze, and, as she lay on her back, she studied him, memorizing every detail of his face: the sensuous lower lip, the way his spiky lashes rested on his cheekbone, the straight, strong nose, and the curl of damp blond hair at his temple. His skin looked golden in the soft lamplight. He was so beautiful he took her breath away.

Joy surged through her. She wanted to dance; she wanted to climb up on the roof of the house and cheer. She had never been so full of energy.

“Bobby Tom?”

“Uhmm  .  .  .”

“Could you open your eyes?”

“Urgmm  .  .  .”

She thought of a cartoon she'd seen long ago of dancing mice holding frilly umbrellas. That's how she felt lying naked here in bed with this man, as full of happiness as a dancing mouse with a frilly umbrella. “That was even better than I thought it would be. I knew you'd be an excellent lover—you really are, Bobby Tom—I'm sure you must be exceptional. But you shouldn't have teased me when I thought I'd ruined everything with my premature orgasm.”

He opened one eye and, with his cheek still pressed against the pillow, peered at her. “In case you haven't figured it out yet, there isn't any such thing as a premature orgasm for a woman.”

“How was I supposed to know that? I mean this in a constructive way, so please don't be offended, but you have an annoying habit of making jokes that only
you
understand.”

He smiled and lifted the arm draped across her chest to play in her hair with his fingers. “That was just about irresistible.” He gave a bark of laughter. “Premature orgasm.”

“Men can have them. I don't see why women can't.”

“Damn, you modern females want everything, don't you? Well, sweetheart, us men are keeping this one just for ourselves, even if you take us all the way to the Supreme Court.” He yawned and rolled to his back, taking most of the sheet with him.

She sat up against the headboard. “Are you hungry? I am. I couldn't eat too much earlier because I was so nervous, but, I swear, I could eat a horse now. I'll settle for a sandwich, though, or even a bowl of cereal, or soup. Or maybe—”

“Chatty little thing, aren't you?”

“Do you think we could do it again?”

He groaned. “I need a little recovery time. I'm not as young as I used to be a couple of hours ago.”

“I thought— Well, I know there are some different positions, and, to be completely honest, I'm rather fascinated by the, uh, male organ, and I didn't get much opportunity to really study it, and—”

She broke off as the bed began to shake with his laughter. “The male organ!”

She regarded him huffily. “I don't see what's so amusing. I'm too old to be this ignorant, and I have a lot of years to make up for.”

His forehead wrinkled in mock alarm. “Not in one night, I hope.”

“Somehow I don't think you'd have the slightest bit of trouble keeping up with me.” She hadn't failed to notice that, despite his words, he'd been regarding the exposed parts of her with unmistakable signs of interest.

The telephone intruded. Although the ringer on the phone at the side of the bed had been turned off, she'd been able to hear the one in his office ringing intermittently ever since they'd entered the house. She was accustomed to the way he let his answering machine take the majority of his calls and had paid no attention. This time he sighed and rolled over to pick it up.

“Maybe if I take this one, whoever it is will leave us alone for the rest of the night. Hello  .  .  . No, Luther, it's okay, I wasn't asleep.  .  . Uh-huh. Yeah, I should have that list firmed up in another day or so.  .  .  . You want George Strait, too?” He rolled his eyes. “I can't talk any longer, Luther. I've got a call coming in on the other line, and I'm pretty sure it's Troy Aikman. Yeah, I'll tell her.”

He slammed down the phone and thrust himself up against the pillows. “He told me to remind you about the birthplace committee meeting. You're not going. Damn fools.”

“I think I will go, as a matter of fact. One of us needs to know what they're up to.”

“Insanity, that's what they're up to, and you'd better stay away because it might be contagious.” His eyes wandered to her breasts. “Are you ready for round two, or do you want to sit here jabbering all night?”

She smiled at him. “I'm definitely ready for round two.”

“But  .  .  .” She gathered her courage, determined not to let him get his way in everything, even if he did have a few decades more experience than she, and even if she wasn't all that confident of her new abilities as a sex siren. “I'm ready for round two, but this time I would very much like to be the person calling the shots.”

He regarded her warily. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“There's no reason for you to feign ignorance, Bobby Tom. I believe our communication channels are completely open.”

He chuckled.

She reached out for the rumpled sheet covering his hips and pushed it away. “I was thinking that the best place to satisfy my curiosity might be in the shower.”

“The shower?”

“If you don't mind.”

“I don't mind one bit. But are you positive you're ready? Taking a shower with me means for sure you'll be going from beginner to intermediate in just one night.”

She gazed at him and her lips curved in a smile as old as Eve. “I can't wait.”

T
hey went up in his plane the next day, and she was thrilled with the sensations of flying in a small aircraft. Bobby Tom had announced that morning he was taking her to Austin so he could show her some of the city, including his old college haunts. The day was clear, and as he identified the rivers and canyons they flew over, she stole sideways glances at him.

Last night he'd been everything she'd dreamed he'd be: tender and demanding, praising her passion and refusing to let her hold anything back. She had given herself to him out of the fullness of her heart, and she didn't regret anything. Years from now when she was holding a paper-thin hand through its last hours of life, she would find her own comfort in the memories of the night she had been loved so well by Bobby Tom Denton.

“It sure is nice to get away from that telephone,” he said, as he banked the plane. “Luther must call me six times a day, not to mention everybody else who wants a piece of me.”

“You can't really blame Mayor Baines for being nervous about the golf tournament,” she pointed out. “Heavenfest is two months away and you haven't given him a list of names. Don't you think you should start calling your friends to invite them?”

“I suppose,” he said, without enthusiasm.

“I know why you're stalling. You'll do favors for everybody in the world, but you don't want to ask for any in return.”

“You don't understand, Gracie. Athletes have people hounding them all the time. If it isn't one thing, it's another.”

“Are you telling me that none of these men has ever asked you for a favor?”

“A few.”

“More than a few, I'll bet.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Why don't you give me a list of your friends? I'll make the phone calls first thing tomorrow on your behalf.”

“You just want to have Troy Aikman's home phone number. Sorry, honey, but I don't think he's your type.”

“Bobby Tom  .  .  .”

“Hmmm?”

“I hate to lower your opinion of me, but I don't have the slightest idea who Troy Aikman is.”

He rolled his eyes. “He's a pretty well-known quarterback, sweetheart. He's taken the Cowboys to a couple of Super Bowls.”

“I guess I'd have a hard time passing the football quiz.”

“I just hope to hell none of the ladies around here ever decides to challenge you.”

She was a bit tense during the landing at the small airstrip, but he brought the plane in so smoothly she barely felt it touch down. Was there anything he didn't do well?

Once on the ground, he procured a car from one of his acquaintances at the airstrip and took her on a tour of the city, including the state capital building and the University of Texas campus. As the sunlight faded, they walked along Town Lake, a popular spot in downtown Austin.

“Pretty soon you're going to see something you won't ever see in New Grundy.”

She gazed at the imposing buildings that surrounded the lake and the bridge that ran across it. People sat in boats on the water as if they were waiting for a fireworks show to begin, and she noticed a large number of dark birds swooping in the sky. She also smelled an odor that was faintly acrid, reminding her of a zoo. “I've seen a lot of things like that today. What else is there?”

His grin seemed to hold a trace of mischief. “One of Mother Nature's better shows. You like bats, honey?”

“Bats?” She stared up at the strange, dark birds. The vaguely feral scent pricked at her nostrils. She was aware of a squeaking sound. “I don't think—
Oh, my God!”

As if on cue, a great dark wave of bats flew out from their roost under the bridge, thousands of them. And then thousands more. As she watched, spellbound, more and more came out until hundreds of thousands of them filled the sky like thick, dense smoke. She let out a startled shriek as several swooped a bit too close for comfort.

Bobby Tom laughed and drew her against him.

Gracie wasn't a fainthearted person, and she wouldn't have missed this sight for the world, but bats were bats, and as another came nearer than she would have liked, she automatically ducked into his chest, which only encouraged him to laugh harder.

“I knew you'd like it.” He rubbed her back. “Austin has the biggest bat population of any city in the world. A whole bunch of them roost under that bridge. I don't know exactly how they figure it, but they say these bats eat something like twenty thousand pounds of bugs a night. Usually they don't come out until it's darker, which makes them harder to see, but it's been dry lately and they've been coming out a little earlier so they have enough time to feed, which reminds me that I'm getting hungry. How do you feel about some good Tex-Mex?”

“It sounds wonderful.”

As usual, eating out with Bobby Tom meant that she got to meet lots of new people. They ended up at Hole in the Wall, one of Austin's traditional night spots, listening to some of the city's famed local musicians. She wanted to pay for her own meal when it was time to leave, but since he had predictably picked up the tab for a roomful of people, she waited until they were walking to the car to press the bills she'd counted out from her wallet into his pocket.

He drew them back out. “What's this?”

She braced herself, knowing he wasn't going to like this. “I'm paying for my own dinner.”

His eyebrows shot up, and he looked as if he were going to explode. “You sure as hell are not!” He jammed the bills back into her purse.

She knew she'd lose a physical struggle with him, so she resolved to add the money to what she owed him. “I'm not going to forget about this, especially now that we've slept together. That makes it even more important that I pay my own way. I told you, Bobby Tom. I'm not taking anything from you.”

“We're on a date!”

“Dutch treat.”

“I don't do Dutch treat! I don't ever do Dutch treat, so just put it right out of your mind! And that reminds me  .  .  . I found a wad of cash in my desk drawer yesterday morning. I thought I must have left it there and forgot about it, but now I'm wondering. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“That's money for rent—”

“Rent! You don't owe me for any rent!”

“.  .  . and that black cocktail dress you bought me.”

“That dress was a present. Don't you even think about giving me money for it.”

“I'm not in a position to accept presents from you.”

“We're engaged!”

“We're not engaged. I pay my own way, Bobby Tom. I realize this may be a hard thing for you to accept, but it's very important to me and I want your promise that you'll respect my wishes, especially now that we've slept together.”

He gritted his teeth. “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of. If you believe I'm going to touch a cent of your money, you can think again.”

“What you do with it is up to you, but I pay my debts.”

“They aren't debts!”

“They are to me. I told you from the beginning. I'm not taking anything from you.”

He stalked away from her, cursing under his breath. As he reached the car, he drew off his hat and smacked it against his leg. She had the distinct impression that he would rather have smacked her.

Their flight back to Telarosa took place in silence. She didn't like the fact that the good mood of the day had been spoiled, but he needed to understand that she wouldn't be swayed about this. By the time they got home, he seemed to have settled down a bit. She thanked him for showing her such a wonderful time and headed up the stairs to her apartment, where she shed her clothes and stepped into the shower.

When she came out, she caught her breath to find him sitting on the only chair in her bedroom, naked except for his jeans.

“I locked the door,” she said.

“I'm your landlord, remember? I've got a key.”

Her fingers tightened on the white bath towel she'd wrapped herself in. He wasn't smiling, and she didn't know what to expect.

“Get on the bed, Gracie.”

“Maybe— Maybe we should talk about this.”

“Do it!”

She got on the bed.

He rose from the chair and lowered his zipper. She dug the fingers of her free hand into the mattress, feeling an uneasy combination of nervousness and excitement. He came toward her.

Her heart thudded so hard in her chest she could feel it resonate in her throat. He reached down and stripped her towel away. “Are you going to pay me back for this, too?”

Before she could answer, he'd grabbed the pillow next to her and shoved it under her hips.

“What—”

“Be quiet.” Bracing his knee on the edge of the bed, he caught her thighs in his hands and pushed them apart. For a moment he gazed at her, then he sat on the edge of the bed and opened her with his thumbs.

Her breath caught in her throat as he lowered his head. She felt the abrasion of his beard on her inner thigh. He took a nip of the soft skin there.

“Now I'm going to please
you,”
he said.

And then, because he hadn't been able to exert his mastery over her with the strength of his will, he conquered her another way.

In the end, there had been no other decision for Suzy to make. It had been nearly a month since Way Sawyer had issued his horrible proposition, and she'd been able to think of little else. He'd finally returned to town a week ago, but he hadn't called her until yesterday. Just the sound of his voice had panicked her, and when he'd announced that he was entertaining some business associates in San Antonio and he wanted her to serve as his hostess, she'd barely been able to respond.

As soon as she'd hung up the telephone, she'd tried to reach Bobby Tom, not to tell him what had happened—she couldn't do that—but merely to hear the familiar sound of his voice. He hadn't been at his house, however, and she'd learned when she talked to Gracie this morning that the two of them had been in Austin.

As the chauffeured Lincoln drew away from her house for the trip to San Antonio, a bubble of hysteria rose inside her. She felt like a menopausal Joan of Arc about to sacrifice herself for the good of the people. But she wasn't foolish enough to expect the people to be grateful. When her relationship with Way became public, she would be universally condemned for consorting with the enemy.

Way lived on the top two floors of a beautiful old white limestone residential building that overlooked San Antonio's famous Riverwalk. She was admitted by a maid, who took her overnight bag from the chauffeur and informed her that Mr. Sawyer would be arriving shortly.

The duplex had an airy, tropical feel. Vanilla walls with chalk white trim set off the comfortable furniture upholstered in bright yellow and geranium red. The bottom halves of the tall, narrow windows were covered with black iron grillwork, and lush greenery filled the corners, giving the room a soothing atmosphere that was at odds with her pitching stomach. The maid directed her to a small bedroom on the same floor, where she could change into her evening clothes. The room was obviously set aside for guests, but Suzy had no idea whether the maid had put her there of her own accord, or whether Way had ordered it. She clung to the hope that she would sleep here alone tonight.

She changed for dinner into a peacock blue silk dress with a row of domed mirrored buttons running across one shoulder. As she slipped into a pair of gray pumps, she heard voices from the living room and knew that Way had returned. She took as long as she could with her makeup, trying to compose herself with the familiar female rituals of mascara and lipstick, then stared blindly at a magazine that had been left on the nightstand. When she could avoid it no longer, she forced herself to make her way to the living room.

Way stood at the windows looking down on the Riverwalk. He wore formal evening dress and turned slowly as she walked in. “You look lovely, Suzy. But you've always been the most beautiful woman in Telarosa.”

She wouldn't pretend this was a normal social encounter by thanking him for his compliment, and she remained silent.

He took a step toward her. “There are three couples dining with us tonight. Are you good with names?”

“Not really.”

Ignoring the chilly tone of her response, he smiled. “I'll give you a head start, then.” She found herself listening out of habit as he proceeded to list the guests and tell her something about each one. Just as he finished, the elevator delivered the first couple to the door.

By the time the gathering had moved to the dining room, Suzy realized that she was actually enjoying herself. She had been afraid that Way would publicly humiliate her by making certain everyone understood she was his mistress, but he referred to her only as a longtime friend and did not insinuate anything more.

He was a considerate host, and she noticed how skillfully he managed to draw the wives into the conversation. She thought of the number of gatherings she had attended where the women sat like mutes while their husbands went on and on about business. This was also the first social occasion she could remember attending in years where she hadn't been introduced as Bobby Tom Denton's mother. Instead, Way mentioned only her work with the Board of Education, and she found herself addressing the challenges of running a small public school system instead of answering questions about her famous son.

When the guests began to leave, however, her anxiety returned. So far, she had refused to torture herself with mental images of the two of them alone in a bedroom, but as the time approached, she found it increasingly difficult to keep those thoughts at bay. She remembered Hoyt's hearty laughter, his lusty appetites, and open display of emotion. In contrast, Way was cool and remote. She couldn't imagine anything ruffling him, anything making him laugh hard or cry or give in to the normal range of human emotions.

Way shut the door after the last of the guests and turned just in time to see her shudder. “Are you cold?”

“No. No, I'm fine.” She used to dread the end of her own dinner parties when she was faced with a kitchen full of dirty dishes. Now she would have given anything for that cleanup job, but a pair of efficient servants had already taken care of it.

He clasped her arm lightly and drew her back into the living room. “How's your golf game?”

Golf was the farthest thing from her mind, and the question startled her. “The last time Bobby Tom and I played, I beat him by a stroke.”

“Congratulations. What did you shoot?” Releasing her, he sat down at one end of the couch and unfastened his bowtie.

“Eighty-five.”

“Not bad. I'm surprised you can beat your son. He's a fine athlete.”