Razzmatazz-DDL (7 page)

Only when she stepped back into their suite did she let her body droop and the weariness invade her limbs once more.

“I don’t want you to budge from this room,” Alex ordered her. “Go take a soak in the hot tub or something. You’ll find a couple of robes in the bathroom.” He paused. “What’s that smell?”

“Pina colada bubble bath. Somebody’s gotten into my cosmetics case.”

A resonant baritone voice filled the air with a wobbly “We’re poor little lambs who have lost their way....”

Kennie and Alex spoke in unison.

“Chris.”

“Baah...baah...baah....”

“Sit down and relax,” Alex said. “I’ll handle it.” He paused at the bathroom door. “I wonder if he’s alone.”

Kennie felt the color creeping up her neck to her cheeks. “You mean, you mean he might have a—a woman in there with him?”

A muscle worked at the corner of his jaw, and she couldn’t tell whether he was suppressing a smile or a grimace. “At the very least.”

“I heard that!” Chris hollered over the sound of water sloshing. “And I resent that remark! I’ll have you know, I wouldn’t dream of bringing....” The sound of wet footsteps slapping across the marble floor grew closer, and Chris appeared in the doorway, tying a white robe loosely around his body, a bottle of champagne clutched in one hand. “Of bringing a fourth party to intrude upon my best friend’s honeymoon.”

“Your sense of decorum is gratifying,” Alex remarked wryly, taking Kennie by the elbow and steering her toward the sofa. “Why don’t you get yourself dressed and get out of here?”

“But I’m the best man,” Chris protested.

“Friend, it’s time you found us another room.”

“But I like this one,” Chris insisted. “I’ve never stayed in a honeymoon suite before.”

Despite herself, Kennie fought back a smile. Her gaze rested ever so briefly on his wet legs, the blond hair slicked over his calves, then shot to Alex. For a guilty moment she found herself wondering what he would look like, wet and boyishly charming, casually robed, champagne bottle in hand....

She swallowed hard and pushed away those disturbing thoughts as Alex herded Chris back to the bathroom.

Minutes later Chris emerged, damp hair combed immaculately into place, rumpled shirt tucked neatly into his trousers, a blazer slung over his shoulder. “I’ll get us a room, if you insist,” he sighed, then brightened. “And now that we’re not a honeymooning couple anymore, I might just find a companion of my own....” His voice drifted as he headed toward the door, Alex close behind.

“Of the one-armed variety, if I’m not mistaken,” Alex added.

“Baah...baah....”

His warbling voice faded as Alex closed the door with a sharp “Humbug!”

“What’s that?” Kennie asked, a strange foreboding wrapping tendrils around her stomach. There on the table-top was a package wrapped in silver-foil paper, a white bow with glittering bells decorating its rectangular shape.

She reached for the package. It was cool and slick against her warm palms. She flipped it over and saw the card:
 

To: Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Carruthers

Courtesy of: Flamingo Wedding Chapel

She dropped it into her lap.

“What is it?” Alex asked, easing to her side.

“I don’t know. And I don’t think I want to.”

Alex lifted it from her lap and glanced at it. She watched as color stained his cheeks. He tore into it with deliberately casual aplomb, letting the shreds of paper fall to the plush carpet with the attitude of one not accustomed to picking up his own messes.

“Aha. A videocassette.” The comers of his lips twitched. “Perhaps it’s a little mood-viewing for the honeymoon. Something suitably lascivious, I hope.”

“Good grief, I hope not!” Kennie blurted.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

He crossed to the television. After a moment’s perusal, he popped the cassette into the recorder and punched a button. Kennie found it difficult to breathe properly as she waited. And then the screen was filled with two smiling faces, hers and Alex’s; tinny, sentimental music filled the room. Superimposed across their necks were white block letters: A Memory of Our Wedding.

Her breath escaped in a low groan.

Alex’s came out in a chuckle. “Do you want to watch?”

“No.”

He turned the recorder off.

“Yes,” she said.

He reached for the button.

“No!” She raised a hand to her head and massaged her temples. “I don’t know!”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Do you want to see it?” she asked warily.

“I won’t force you to watch it if you don’t want to, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Something tells me that this might be the most entertaining film I’ve seen in a long time.”

“Yeah. A real hoot.” She reached for her calf and rubbed, digging her thumb into the sore muscles.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“Send down for something to eat. I always eat when I watch a movie.”

“Your wish—”

“Yeah. My wish is your command because somehow you always convince me your wish is my wish,” she muttered, stretching. “The way I’m getting sleep, I’m going to need a vacation to get over my vacation.”

“My dear Kennie, you are as refreshing as a gust of sweet Texas air.”

“The only time the air is sweet where I live is when a tornado has just blown through.”

“How appropriate.” He reached for the telephone. “More ambrosia punch?”

He ducked before the sofa pillow hit him, but his low chuckle followed her until she locked the bathroom door.

The room was a shambles. One white terry robe hung on a brass hook mounted on the wall; the other was a damp mound on the floor. One gray argyle sock dangled from the tub faucet; the other formed an overgrown dust ball in the comer. Tepid bathwater still filled the immense marble tub. Her makeup case had been opened and rifled; peach-and-silver bottles of Lady Ambrosia products lined the marble countertop, a plethora of plastic in a crystal palace.

“Of all the nerve,” she muttered, then re-capped the bubble bath and gathered the other bottles back into their respective pockets. She glanced up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, a startling flash of color in a beige room. “Worse than something the cat dragged in,” she grumbled, brushing at her wrinkled skirt and tugging at the bodice, which barely covered her now that two buttons were missing.

But it was the expression on her face that stopped her cold. She didn’t look like someone who’d spent two days of chasing around town. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes dancing, and if she were forced to, she’d have to admit that her blood was racing. Dared she admit it? She could spend another night partying and not even mind it...with Alex Carruthers at her side.

Just the thought of it sent a tremor of apprehension through her. She glanced uneasily down at her dress, not a designer original or even a copy of a designer original. Get hold of yourself, Kennie. You’re out of your league.

A sharp rap sounded. “What do you want for dessert? Would you rather have strawberry cheesecake or chocolate mousse?”

Even his voice made her jumpy. She met her own dismayed stare in the mirror, and decided that there was only one way to cope.

“Both.”

~o0o~

After room service arrived, Kennie lounged on the sofa, her bare feet tucked under her. Alex sat in an armchair, their full-course dinner spread before them on the cocktail table.

Alex had choked on a bite of steak, and it took a moment for him to recover. “Barrel racing?” His incredulous gaze left a burning trail as it raked over her slender build. “On a horse?”

“Of course,” she remarked impatiently. “Where else?” She took another sip of her iced tea. A drop slid down the side of the goblet and fell onto her kelly-green slacks. She blotted it with her napkin.

“I can’t picture you in a rodeo,” Alex insisted, obviously fascinated.

“I never was very good at it.” She raised her shoulders in a shrug, biting back a giggle. “In fact, when I was fifteen I fell off the horse and broke my leg. Rusk drove like a maniac to get me to Doc Sutler’s and back to the stockyards in time for the pageant.” She laughed at the memory. “Do you know, I won that pageant even with my leg in a cast? Rodeo queen when I was only a sophomore. There were some mamas ready to lynch the judges that night. Of course, all the girls said the judges just felt sorry for me—”

Catching Alex’s amused expression, she broke off, self-conscious. “Well, Tahoka Springs is a small place,” she said, toying with her napkin, “and little things like that mean a lot.”

“You must have been a stunning rodeo queen,” Alex asserted smoothly. “Even in a cast.”

Try as she might, she couldn’t tell whether he was teasing or serious, but she decided she didn’t much care. “I know I was a sight—my jeans leg was split clear up to my hip to make room for the cast.” Kennie slathered butter on her third roll. “This dinner is absolutely wonderful, even though I don’t think I’ll ever be able to finish it all.”

“The way you’ve been packing it in, you could easily eat all of yours and half of mine, too.” He pushed his plate across the beveled-glass tabletop toward her. “Anything here you like?”

She tightened her lips into a smile. “You are obnoxious, you know.”

“And I was trying so hard to be gallant.”

“Hmph.” Kennie snuggled deeper into the sofa cushions.

“Would you like an ice-cream chaser?”

She grimaced weakly. “Don’t rub it in.”

He arched a brow.

“I eat when I’m nervous,” she explained.

“And why, pray tell, are you nervous?”

How could he look at her with those hooded wolf’s eyes and ask that question? “Give me strength,” she muttered.

He stood, circled the table and dropped down beside her. He stretched his long arms and let one fall casually behind her. “Who’s Rusk?”

“Rusk?” Her spine stiffened. “He’s my oldest and dearest friend.” She grabbed her glass and sipped nervously. “That’s an unusual name.”

“It’s an old Texas name. Like Travis, Bowie, Crockett.”

“And Wayne.”

She gaped at him. “Wayne?”

“John Wayne.”

She ignored his smirk.

“So Rusk is a good ol’ Texas boy with a good ol’ Texas name.”

She lifted her face to meet his gaze. “Not just good. The best.”

Alex didn’t respond at first, but suddenly he asked, “Feel like dancing?”

She glanced around the suite, then shook her head. “I’m too tired.”

“Me, too.” His smile seemed to lose a measure of its brilliance and, in doing so, gained a walloping portion of sincerity. He slid forward and braced his hands on his knees as if preparing to rise. “I suppose it’s time to say good-night and find out where Chris and I are staying tonight.”

She felt a momentary shock. Of course she wasn’t expecting him to share the suite with her again. That would be ridiculous, scandalous. So what did she expect? She realized with dismay that she really didn’t want to say goodnight. Morning was fast approaching—morning and an annulment.

Oh, yes, she was tired. She felt as if she’d been squeezed through a wringer and hung out to dry. She simply didn’t want to say good-night to Alex Carruthers. Somehow goodnight was all too similar to goodbye.

“I wish things weren’t so awkward,” she sighed.

“I know,” he answered, not moving.

“But they are.”

“I know that, too.” The silence stretched between them, heavy with regret. “The hell of it is, you didn’t even get a decent vacation.”

“But that’s not true!”

“It isn’t?” He arched one sable brow in disbelief.

“I want you to know....”

“It’s okay.”

“...That I’m sorry I’ve said so many awful things….

He touched her cheek with his forefinger. “I know.”

“And I honestly don’t think I could have gotten accidentally married to a nicer guy.”

He slowly dragged his finger to the corner of her mouth, where he kept it. “I know.”

She strained to force the words from her throat. “How...how could you know?”

“Because I’m sorry I’ve made you say so many awful things.” He moved his hand along her jaw and rested it under her chin, applying the gentlest of pressures to raise it slightly. “And I know that I couldn’t have gotten accidentally married to a lovelier, more enchanting woman.” His hand fell away then, and she could breathe again.

She covered the unsettling effect he was having on her with a careless toss of her head. “Anyway, I just want you to know I’ve had more fun in the past twenty-four hours than I dreamed I’d have in a whole week in Reno.” She frowned. “At least, what I remember of the past twenty-four hours.”

“We did manage to pack in more than an average summer vacation’s share of mishaps, didn’t we?” he said wryly.

“Definitely.”

“We’re fast workers, a good pair.”

She slid a cautious glance sideways toward him. “Not too fast.”

He grinned. “Not too fast.” And then he added under his breath, “More’s the pity.”

“Alex?” she asked softly, grasping at straws, prolonging their parting a little longer. “The tape. We haven’t watched it.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see it.”

“It might be grounds for a lawsuit,” she countered hopefully. “I mean, isn’t there some kind of law against taking advantage of poor, drun—” She stumbled over the word, unable even to make her lips form its awful sound. Finally she settled for, “ Tipsy tourists?”

“I believe that’s the name of the game around here.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “So the lady has a devious mind.”

“No. Not devious.” She dipped a spoon into her mousse, avoiding his probing gaze. Did he realize that her only motive for viewing the tape was a chance to prolong their time together?

“If you’re ready, I’ll start the performance.”

“Ail I need is popcorn,” she grated. She placed the dessert on the lamp table beside her as he rose and flipped off the light switch. That blackness robbed her of her senses for a split second, then she was conscious of his weight settling onto the sofa beside her, his tangy fragrance and the flickering light of the television coming on, all hitting her at the same time.

Before she could catch her breath, she was assaulted by the music, by the image of someone masquerading as her walking slowly down the aisle on Chris Abbott’s courtly arm.