Trust Me (8 page)

Sandra
sighed rolling over to her back and looked up at the clock; nine o’clock showed in dark-red numbers causing her to sigh. She had barely slept four hours and was tired beyond words, but more than eager to see him again. When he kissed her good night, he told her he had a big surprise for them this afternoon and to dress for comfort.

With
a soft giggle, she rolled back over hugging the spare pillow to her chest. After that magical kiss, she would willingly go anywhere and do anything he asked; just the memory of being in his arms gave her a sudden warm sensation that traveled along her spine, down her stomach and into her lower regions. How could anyone kiss like that, with so much passion and so many promises? How did he learn to do something that incredible and how could she get him to do it again?

Excitement
ran through her veins like hot chocolate drizzling down frozen ice-cream, bringing her out of the bed with an eagerness that threatened her usually calm exterior. Sandra glanced at the clock again; she found herself counting the hours until they were once again together, wondering if he was feeling the same sensations, the eager butterflies that played havoc in her stomach, or was he calmly going through his morning? Was he even away? The thought of him in bed, perhaps naked, made her blush scarlet. What was it about this man that made her think of him nonstop, creating erotic dreams even her favorite novels or movies never had? She had dated other boys over the years, been kissed and groped by them, but never had she felt so alive, so cherished or filled with so much want.

She
needed something to pass the time, something to distract her thoughts and knew exactly what would help. Sandra quickly slipped on a pair of tight jogging shorts, a white sport bra and a yellow tank top before she tugged on her running shoes and pulled her hair into a ponytail. She rolled on some deodorant, grabbed her iPod and room key card then headed out the door and down the hallway. She hurried to the main lobby, around a corner and down the long hallway toward the gym.

Once
inside the large mirrored room filled with weights, treadmills and a variety of exercise machines, she set the timer on her iPod for sixty minutes, then turned on her usual workout playlist and jumped on a treadmill near the back of the room. She was thankful that she was the only one there to take advantage of the equipment; she needed time to think and didn’t want to be interrupted by conversation or people staring at her. She knew she would feel the muscles tomorrow and frankly; she just didn’t care; she felt the need to work off the calories from last night’s supper and she wanted to give herself a moment to focus. All she could think of was Creighton Ashford; his warm smile, his sparkling sapphire eyes, his tall muscular frame and that chuckle; it was a sound she was quickly becoming addicted to. Cathy’s warning echoed in her ears again, ‘
don’t fall for the first guy you meet. Remember this isn’t a trip to find a summer romance
.’

She
pushed a button on the treadmill’s control panel and began to walk, slowly increasing to a jog as the intensity of the machine picked up. Was Creighton just a summer romance and if he was, would she ever be able to get over him when she went back to Kansas, or would she mourn him the same as Cathy did her Italian lover? She had not considered saying good-bye, or how she would feel when she left France. With another press of the button, the treadmill once again sped up and she began running at an easy pace. She couldn’t handle the thought of leaving Creighton, not yet, not when she felt like the future had finally opened up for her. The thought of never seeing him again was too difficult to think about, but long distance relationships never worked out. Besides, how did she even know he would want to see her after today? After that kiss, that wonderful, extraordinary kiss, she could easily have awoken this morning in his bed instead of her own, but was she prepared for something like that? Was she willing to lose herself, her morals and virtues, her very soul in a man she had only just met?

The
alarm on her iPod went off and she pressed the button on the machine, slowing her pace down on the treadmill to a steady decline until she was once again walking, returning her heart rate to a normal tempo. She had spent the past hour thinking about Creighton Ashford, but had not been able to clear her mind or calm her nerves. A few minutes later and she shut off the machine completely; she was surprised nobody else had joined her, but it was still early and most of the hotel’s guests had spent the night enjoying the festivities and excitement Cote d’Azur had to offer.

Sandra
retrieved a towel from the rack on the side wall and was drying the sweat from her face and neck when two women entered the gym, laughing like silly schoolgirls. Her solitude was over, though she was finished and didn’t much care. She glanced to the two women and sighed; they were the typical model type Creighton had thought her to be; extremely slim, deeply tanned and very blonde, ‘
bottle
blonde’
as her grandmother would say. From the tone of their voices, Sandra could surmise easily they were French, either locals taking advantage of the hotel’s facilities or possibly employees. They definitely didn’t look like the tourist type.

She
tried to ignore them as she played with her iPod, shutting it off and tossing the soiled towel into the nearby hamper. Something from the way one of the women stared at her made Sandra look up at the blonde, watching her perhaps a little longer than she should have. The woman was really quite beautiful and Sandra couldn’t help but feel as though they had met somewhere before, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly where or when. With a quick smile, the woman walked toward her and Sandra froze; a slight frown pulling her delicate brows together.

“
Bonjour Mademoiselle Dennis
,” she said in a lilting tone. “How have you been?”

“Fine - thank
you,” Sandra said as she looked into her pale blue eyes. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” The blonde smiled sweetly.

“I
am Michelle Dubois; we met in Kansas when my company was looking for some land to build a new factory, remember?” Knowledge enlightened her and Sandra briefly remembered a European company wanting to purchase three hundred acres of her grandfather’s land just outside Hoisington for a telecommunications firm. She didn’t remember meeting everyone, but she did remember meeting this woman…briefly. It was Cathy who had more intimate contact with the group, than she had. Mayor Nelson wanted the firm to build in Kansas; it meant a considerable amount of new jobs to the area and an increase in local revenue.

“I
do remember you,” she lied, forcing a smile to her lips. “How are you?”

“
Très bien, merci
,” Michelle said, unaware she had answered in French and quickly corrected the mistake with a blush. “Why are you here?”

“I’m
on vacation, er, holiday. It’s a lovely place. Are you staying here at the hotel?”

“
Qui
, my boss owns this hotel. He is here as well; I'm sure he would like to see you again. I can arrange a time to meet with you, if you would like?”

“Yes,
thank you. That would be nice.” Lying was becoming a habit; she scolded herself, but quickly thought that meeting this ‘
boss’
may help Cathy and the mayor somehow. “Maybe tomorrow, I have plans until then.”

“Good,
yes, I will call him and let you know. It was nice seeing you again. You look great, by the way. You’ve lost weight, I think.” Sandra smiled at the woman’s observation.

“I
have, thank you. Well, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, just leave a message where and when your boss can meet with me with the front desk.”

“I
will and have a good day.” Sandra walked away quickly; the smile remaining on her lips as she hurried back up the hallway toward the stairs. Out of all that, the only thing she could concentrate on was the very beautiful Michelle Dubois noticed she had lost weight!

Sandra
felt much lighter on her feet after her visit to the gym as she hurried to her room. Once inside, she turned and walked into the bathroom, pulling the long strands of hair loose from the pony wrap. She didn’t want to be late meeting Creighton and she really needed to be fresh when he arrived, not sweaty and smelling like an old gym sock.

She
turned on the shower faucets and stepped beneath the sting of water; it was cool and invigorating, soothing the muscles she had just worked out. She lathered the loofah with her lilac body wash, rubbing it gently across her tanned skin before pouring a generous amount of shampoo into her hand and scrubbing her long reddish-brown hair. Her mind was too consumed with what she should wear to pay much attention to what she was doing, as the water rinsed her clean. She wanted to look good for Creighton, but she wasn’t certain if she had anything to impress him with; most of her clothes was simple and consisted of jeans and old tee-shirts, but then again, he did say to dress for comfort.

Sandra
shut off the shower and reached for the very soft towel, rubbing it across her slender frame before wrapping her long hair inside it and going back into the bedroom. She gathered together her blow dryer and brush and quickly pulled her hair straight, before pulling it back into a ponytail at the back of her head. She applied only a touch of lip-gloss to her slightly kiss-swollen lips and a little mascara to her long lashes. She was never much for cosmetics and rarely wore more than a little blush for work, maybe a bit of color on her lips, but not much else. Cathy always said she looked better without makeup, so she never attempted anything elaborate.

Walking
back into the bedroom and rummaging through the assortment of clothing she had brought with her, Sandra quickly realized she only had one pair of jeans and those she had worn on the trip out here. They were wrinkled and in need of laundering, completely unsuitable for an outing with a handsome admirer. She checked the clock next to the bed. Ten fifty eight. She should have enough time to run to the lobby shops; she was sure to find a suitable pair of jeans appropriate for whatever Creighton had planned. Slipping on a blue-flowered sundress and a pair of low heeled sandals, Sandra grabbed her wallet and key card, hurrying out of the room and down the stairs again.

The
hotel had four shops for their guests’ convenience; a jewelry store, a clothing store, a gift shop and a shoe store along with a hair salon where you could have your hair cut while getting a manicure and pedicure. There was a massage parlor where a person could get any type of massage one could dream of, a facial and site-specific waxing and a shop for souvenirs with trinkets, kick-knacks, toiletries, magazines, books and shirts that read ‘
My parents went to France and all I got was this lousy tee-shirt
’. She found the clothing store near the front of the lobby and walked in, glancing around at the many racks of dresses, skirts and bikinis.

A
very attractive brunette woman smiled as she entered. She was tall, at least five feet ten inches; very slender and dressed in a tight lime green skirt and simple white, sleeveless blouse. She was wearing a pair of flat black shoes; her hair was short with curls draping her heart-shaped face. Her bright-red lips and heavily painted brown eyes shone in her tanned face.

“
Bonjour
,” she said politely. Sandra blushed; why hadn’t she taken some French classes before coming here?

“Hello…um,
bonjour,” she answered. “Do you speak English?” The smile widened on the young woman’s face.

“
Qui
, I speak some,” she answered and Sandra sighed in relief.

“I
am looking for a pair of jeans, you know, pants?” Sandra said, running her hands down her legs.

“Oh,
qui
,” the woman said nodding, turning and leading the way toward the center of the store. Sandra reached a wooden rack of hanging pants and sighed. That was easier than she thought it would be. “What is your
dimension
?” Sandra frowned, trying to comprehend. The clerk held her hands up to indicate large too small. Oh, size, thought Sandra. Duh!

“I’m
not sure in French. American four…
quatre
?” she answered shyly, remembering at least one word in the woman’s language.

“
Qui
,” she said and started to look through the rack of pants. ”
Couleur
?” the clerk asked, holding up a pair of silky black pants and another pair of soft white cotton.

“Blue,”
Sandra told her and the woman turned back to the rack. She moved one hanger aside at a time and shook her head.

“
Un moment
,” she said and walked toward the back of the store, leaving Sandra to look through the items on her own. Communication was a lot harder than it should have been, but then she quickly remembered she was the one who was out of place here, not the saleswoman.

Sandra
looked through the rack finding every type of material and style she could think of, but didn’t see anything even similar to jeans. She turned around eying several other racks of clothing, before walking over to a rack with blouses.

There
was one in particular that caught her eye; a bright robin’s egg blue with tiny little white pearl buttons down the front, short puffy sleeves and a very delicate lace around the low neckline. It was stunning and after she held it up to her torso, she was sure it would fit. She was looking around the store for a fitting room when the young brunette returned carrying four pairs of blue pants. She handed them to Sandra and smiled.