Tidal Wave (18 page)

He picked up some papers in a folder marked “Special Recipes From Friends” and looked through. Absentmindedly he held them in one hand, reading with fascination while with the other hand he peeled off his socks, leaving them on the floor. He pulled one knee up to his chin and rested his bare foot on the sofa and continued reading.

There were hand-written recipes from some of the greatest French chefs — Paul Bocuse, Jean and Pierre Troisgros, Madame Point (with a personal letter attached), Alain Chapel, with a photograph of him and Arabella together in his kitchen. There was a color photograph of the most perfect-looking soufflé. On a large yellow pad, he saw her writing for the first time. He knew at once that it had to be hers. He read: “How to: bake bread; the perfect soufflé; the perfect omelette; duck in sauce of oranges and peaches;
creme brulée
.” The list went on and on.

She had done it again, and she was not even there. She had made him smile. He tried to put the the pieces together, assemble a story that would fit the magnificent, beautiful woman he had fallen in love with.

He glanced at his jacket slung over a chair and saw the white envelope peeping out of the inside pocket. He could have easily found out something. All he had to do was open the envelope Marv had given him earlier that evening — answers to some inquiries Marv had made as to how Arabella
Crawford could have such inside information on the stocks he had been interested in. The answers had come through on the telex machine and Marv had said, “Okay, Nick. Do you want to hear it from me or from her?”

He had answered, “From her,” and Marv had sealed the envelope and handed it to him, saying, “I won’t spoil it for you, then. All I will say is that she is an original,” and he slapped Nicholas on the back.

No, he thought. I’ll wait, but I’ll know more about Arabella before this day is out.

He went back to his investigations and thought, So she’s a cook, plays with ten-thousand-dollar chips, and only gambles ten percent of her winnings? A cook? A gambler? How many chefs fly helicopters, are rich enough to be blasé about a $200,000 win, and are as beautiful and well built as a goddess? She did it again, only now he began to laugh out loud about Arabella Crawford.

He chose another pile of books on the table. Shakespeare and Yeats. Ah, he thought, things are looking up. T.S. Eliot, Marcel Proust, and Cavafy were mixed up with
The Gardener’s World, The Great Gardens of England
, Shelley, Graham Greene, Camus, and
How to Breed Carp
. How to breed carp?

On the far side of the room piled up on the seat of a large club chair was yet another stack of books. He picked them up and sat down in the easy chair. Bending forward, he placed them on the carpet and went through them.
Are You a Poker Player?
She sure is, he said to himself. Then there were several books on bridge for beginners, a paperback entitled
How to Be Significantly Social
—
Play Card Games. The Basics of Gin Rummy
. Well, he thought, she’s no card sharp and obviously doesn’t know how to play games — card games anyway ….

On a table next to the chair was a large lamp with a white silk shade. He switched it on and admired a handsome blue-and-white bowl of the Han Dynasty. Next to it there was a small pedestal dish of the white chocolates he had given her the day before. He put one of the Belgian delicacies
into his mouth. It was wonderful. More books in a small pile faced him. He read down the list of the spines: Iris Murdoch, Bruce Chatwin’s
In Patagonia
, Patrick White’s
Fringe of Leaves
, a book of Jorge Luis Borges. What a bizarre combination it all was!

The key he had left in the lock of Arabella’s door turned. He glanced at his watch. He had been waiting for her just over forty minutes and thought she had not exactly rushed. The door swung open and he heard her say as she backed into the room, “Thank you very much, Weston. Good night.”

The door was nearly closed when it was pushed open again. He heard her say, “No, Weston, certainly not. Good night.”

She quickly closed the door and double-locked it. She swung around, and they both said hello at the same time as she went toward him. She dropped her silver handbag down on chair.

“No,” she said. “Please don’t get up. You look comfortable in my library.”

Nicholas said, “That’s a very strange library you’re traveling with.”

“Oh, do you think so? Well, you might as well know that that library there is only a fraction of the things I don’t know about and want to learn. You have no idea how ignorant I am. I did tell you this afternoon that I’ve missed a great deal in life.”

“Oh,” he said, “then you don’t want to go into the real estate business or open a restaurant or plant a garden? Those were the things I was guessing while I waited for you.”

She began to laugh and said, “Why don’t you just ask me anything you want to know? Go on, ask me.”

She slipped off a black maribou jacket, which had puffed sleeves and fitted tightly into the waist. Her Mary McFadden dress of silver-pleated lamé was made from a material similar to one of her antique Fortuny dresses. It had a high collar of ruffles around the neck, the long, full sleeves were gathered at the wrist by an inch of elasticized smocking, finishing the sleeve in a four-inch ruffle. The bodice clung
to her and the pleats partially opened from the fullness of her breasts. From the waist the long skirt fell in three tiers to her ankles.

He watched the tips of her silver kid shoes flash as she hurried to him, making the sound of a million tiny silver bells tinkling. He loved her in silver; there was something about it that set off her eyes and her silver and blond hair. She had swept a piece of her long, silky hair off her face and pinned it in a flat, smooth spiral on top of her head with a fan-shaped diamond comb.

He said, “Well, there is something I want to tell
you
! I saw the way you made short shrift of Weston. I want you to know you will have much more difficulty in getting rid of me.”

“Oh, you think so?” she said.

“I know so.”

He held both his hands out to her from the chair where he sat.

She walked up to him and put her hands in his. The light from the Han lamp made her sparkle. He slowly pulled her into his lap.

“You’re like a shimmering star,” he said, as he put his arms around her and held her close to him. He tilted her chin up and lowered her face to his. They kissed, a soft warm kiss, and Nicholas put his hand on the softness of her breast. He ran his hand over her bodice to her waist, then he kissed her again. It was a long, deep kiss that put an eagerness in his loins. She put her tongue between his lips, licked and nibbled, hungry for him. Lying back on his arm, she said, “Nicholas Frayne, you taste like the finest chocolate in the world.”

“So can you,” he said. Reaching out and picking one up, he fed it to her. He watched her nibble the delicacy until it was gone.

She said, “Oh, it’s divine.”

He kissed her deeply, tasting the fresh sweetness of her warm, chocolate-coated mouth. He reached behind her while they were kissing and unhooked her dress. She bent forward,
eager to help him, and he slid the zipper down as far as her waist. She raised herself up off his lap just high enough for him to continue down her back.

She rolled over on her side facing him, and he caressed her naked back, hips, her succulent buttocks, while he kissed her. Slowly and gently he pulled her dress forward off her shoulders, down off her breasts and, while kissing her, he raised her just enough to remove the gown completely.

She lay across his lap. Her large firm yet soft breasts and erect nipple were like luscious ripe fruit in his hands. He fondled them, first one, then the other. His mouth sucked and licked her flesh, more wonderful than any tropical fruit, real or imaginary.

“My Lord, you’re glorious! Have you any idea how much I want you? Can’t you tell how much I want to devour you, love you?”

She reached up and slid her arms around his neck, smiled, and said, “Yes — enough to come after me.”

She slowly slid her fingers through his red-blond hair and held it tight, pulling his head down to her lips. She said, “I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t found me.”

“How disappointed would you really have been?”

“Can’t you tell by the way I’m lying here in your arms, open, vulnerable, melting with every lick, every kiss?”

Bone-color stockings with elastic tops held high up on her thighs and a pair of silver kid shoes were all she had on now. She kicked off her shoes and drew her knees up, raising herself to a seated position. The light from the table lamp cast a shadow over her belly. She looked magnificently wanton, reckless, and beautiful — a man’s delight. Nicholas gently pushed her knees apart so the light fell across the inside of her thighs. He explored her under the warm light, first with his eyes, then with his hands. Then he buried his face in the soft, flat belly and moved it from side to side, giving her sexy wet kisses. He reached up and hugged her in his arms, cuddling and petting her, stroking and fondling her everywhere. He slipped his hand under the top of her
stocking and caressed all round her thigh, then moved his hand away and smoothed the stocking higher. He ran his hand all over her lovely long legs, feasting his eyes on every inch of her in the lamplight.

“You are a strong aphrodisiac. The more I taste you, the more passionate I become.”

He put his hands on her waist and pulled her up onto his lap. Taking one of her legs, he placed it high up on his shoulder, exposing her to the lamplight. With his hand he gently opened the lips and ran his fingers deftly up and down. The deep pink flesh parted, revealing a paler, moist pink opening. He stroked her gently, reveling in her sensitivity to his touch, in how much pleasure she derived from the stroke of his fingers.

“Oh, yes,” she said in a sexy voice. “Oh, yes.”

He felt her rise to his caresses and so he pressed two fingers into her. As he stroked her and fondled her, his desire to push deeper became urgent. He saw her face flush a soft pink color and felt her pelvis move round and round, slowly, the contractions of her muscles sucking his fingers higher inside her.

“I love you for this,” he said, kissing her lips, the tip of her nose, her nipples. “I love you for not holding back from me. Promise me you’ll never hold back from me.”

“You know I won’t,” she said, stroking his cheek, “but you must promise the same.”

“I will, Arabella, I will!”

He kissed her belly, put his mouth to her breasts. He cherished every second of playing with her body like a favorite toy.

“I want us to do everything together,” he whispered muskily. He bent his head and while tenderly but powerfully sucking on her nipples he brought his teeth together and bit her. She called out softly, and he kissed and licked the pain away. She kissed him, a kiss filled with passion.

He said, “I like the idea of sweet loving sex mixed with a touch of the animal, completely free, of inhibition. Knowing
that you do too makes our lovemaking all the more exciting.”

He felt her body tense as she moved more quickly, his fingers still inside her, his thumb fondling her gently. Her eyes opened wide and she let out a small gasp as she came. He spread her knees apart, kissing the inside of her thighs and moving toward her belly.

“Oh, you’re so wonderful!” he said. He put his lips to her and kissed, his tongue lapping as deep as he could reach.

Arabella had never known such tender loving, such sensitive caressing. She wanted to split herself open for him. She wished he could see into the depth of her; she wished he could see everything he caressed with his tongue and kissed with his fingers. That was how much she enjoyed giving herself to him.

They moved to the floor and lay together on the soft carpet. He planted kisses, passionate kisses, all over her, from her neck down her back and over her bottom. He bit her on one cheek of her behind but before she could call out, he rolled her over in his arms and kissed her deep on the mouth. She reached down and held him in her hand, stroking with a firm grip. His hardness throbbed.

She was soft and warm, and he nuzzled her wherever he found a curve to tuck himself into. She shivered under his touch and his kisses. Wherever he planted those kisses, she seemed to bloom. Her face, neck, and chest flushed pale pink as in orgasm. She welcomed everything he did to her.

Nicholas was nearly overcome with desire for the sensuous Arabella. They were silent and he cradled her naked in his arms, both reveling in her contentment, not wanting him to spend himself yet.

After a few minutes he fed her a chocolate, saying “When girls make love so much they need a little treat to maintain their energy.”

“And when boys use their mouths so much, they need a little champagne to refresh themselves,” she said, as she got up and went toward the kitchen.

“Lovely. Why don’t I go run us a nice hot bath? I bought
you a bottle of this wonderful perfume. The minute I took a whiff I wanted to give you a bath in it.”

“How scrumptious! What an exotic thing to do! I’d love it. You’re always surprising me, Nicholas,” she called from the other room.

“Why are you surprised by my wish to bathe you in exotic scent? Just the idea makes me want you with wild, passionate lust.”

“Because when I look at you I think of the screen Nicholas Frayne I knew two days ago, the one with the Midwest blond good looks. The original sunshine boy who might take a lady out into a field of corn, turn her over on the plowed earth, and give her a peck on the cheek. It’s what’s beneath that all-American boy look of yours that’s the surprise. You are a surprise, Nicholas Frayne, but one I find thrilling.”

“And you, Arabella, are a revelation.” He had come up behind her in the kitchen as she was placing the champagne and glasses on a silver tray. He reached around and held her breasts. His view of her round, firm buttocks and the back of her long, elegant legs in their sexy stockings high up on her thighs inflamed him. His erection throbbed. He enjoyed the rigid desire he had for her and wanted to plunge into her hard and for a long time until she begged him to stop.