Waiting for Lila (8 page)

❧

With her hands clenched at her sides, Delilah stood just inside the door of the dimly lit bar. She didn't know why she was there. She had developed a killer headache and had told her friends she was going to the suite.

Then suddenly she had found herself in the bar. And her headache was gone.

I should leave right now
, she told herself. She should get out of there and back to sanity as quickly as possible.

But it was too late. Already Bill had slid off the barstool and was walking toward her. Too late. Maybe it had been too late from the moment she met him.

When he reached her, he stood for a moment looking down at her. "I knew you'd come," he murmured.

"Did you?"

He shook his head. "No, I was lying. I didn't think you'd be here."

"Neither did I."

"Did that scare you as much as it did me?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I guess it did."

For a long time he simply stood there. Delilah could hear him breathing but he didn't say anything. Then without another word he took her hand, and together they walked out of the bar.

Behind them Delilah thought she heard someone say "Way to go, Bill . . . nice to meet you, Lila," but decided she must have imagined it.

❧

Bill was staying in a small one-bedroom suite on the ground floor of the hotel. Country music was playing on the radio as they stepped inside the room. He left her side and walked to the radio, turning the dial quickly. He passed several Spanish stations, then suddenly the sounds of Chopin's Heroic Polonaise filled the room.

"That's better," he said, turning toward her. "It's triumphant music." He frowned. "Unless you'd rather have something else?"

Delilah glanced around the room, staring at a huge basket of fruit on the coffee table as she tried to find something to do with her hands. Why didn't she smoke?

"Is the music important?"

" 'My baby left me for a trucker' didn't seem right somehow," he said. "And I want everything to be right." He gestured toward the coffee table. "Want some fruit? The avocados are great."

She turned her head and stared at him for a moment. Delilah had expected silky words and iced champagne. Those were the instruments of seduction, not Chopin and avocados.

"Bill, are you nervous?" Her voice sounded incredulous to her own ears.

"Petrified," he said without any sign of embarrassment. "How about you?"

She laughed, feeling a glow settle over her body. "I didn't know men got nervous about . . . you know."

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "This is the first time I've ever been nervous about 'you know.' 'You know' doesn't usually throw me for a loop. It's you. I've met the perfect woman and I don't want to scare her off." He raised one thick brow. "You want to play checkers instead?"

She couldn't stop laughing. He was so damned cute.

His smile was crooked, his eyes sparkling as he watched her laughing face. After a moment he stepped closer, still staring, as though he couldn't bear to look away from her.

He picked up her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles as he spoke. "I guess you know how I feel about you." He laughed softly. "I mean, I haven't exactly tried to hide it. I'm in love with you, Lila." Something must have shown on her face then, because he suddenly tightened his hold on her hand. "Don't panic. I know you don't feel the same way. That's all right. I just wanted you to understand. I knew the minute I saw you that you were the woman I've been waiting for." He put his arms around her, inhaling deeply as he buried his face in her neck. "I've been lonely for you, Lila," he whispered hoarsely.

Delilah felt reality dissolve around her. He loved her. This wonderful man loved her. And as she stood in the circle of his arms and felt his warm breath on her throat, it almost felt as though she belonged there. For the first time since she was fourteen, she felt as though she belonged.

It was so right, so overwhelmingly right.

Then suddenly a dark hole opened up, and Delilah fell through it. It wasn't right. It was very, very wrong. Bill wasn't in love with her. He was in love with nice, normal Lila Jones, the woman who didn't exist.

"Bill, wait," she whispered urgently. "Bill"—she turned her head away from his kiss—"listen to me. There are things you don't know, things you should know. About me." She pulled away from him and pushed her hair from her face with a rough hand. "You see . . . well, the thing is, I haven't told you everything." She gave a short laugh. "What am I talking about? I haven't told you anything."

He reached out and ran one finger gently down her cheek. "You can tell me anything, Lila. And I'll listen. But it won't make any difference. I already know all I need to know about you."

She stared at him, studying his face. Then she shook her head in bewilderment. "You really aren't interested, are you?"

"Wrong. I'm interested in everything about you. I'm simply saying that some things are inconsequential."

"But how do you know what I was going to tell you is inconsequential?"

He smiled. "Were you going to tell me you don't want to make love with me?"

"No," she said weakly, "not that."

"Then anything else is inconsequential. We can talk now or we can talk later." He ran one hand slowly over her hip. "I'd prefer later, but if you want to tel! me now. I'll listen." He paused, giving her a look that was slightly wistful. "Can I kiss you first?"

She frowned at him. "Would you stop looking so damned adorable?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll try." He moved his hands up her arms to her shoulders. "Was that what you wanted to tell me? Can I kiss you now?"

She sagged weakly under his touch. "You're making this extremely difficult. I can't keep my mind on what I was going to say."

He bent his head to press several kisses to her neck. "That makes two of us." He slid the zipper of the dress slowly downward. "I think you were saying something about not having told me everything."

"Yes, that's it."

He slid the dress off her shoulder and lowered his lips to the exposed flesh. His breathing was audibly more erratic. "So tell me, Lila. Tell me everything."

She tried to say something, anything. But she could only watch as he drew back and let her dress slide to the floor. Without taking his gaze from her, he began to unbutton the white shirt he wore beneath a tan jacket.

"Do you want to help me with this . . . while you tell me everything?" he asked softly.

She shook her head vehemently, her gaze glued to his chest. He shrugged out of his shirt and jacket with a single movement, then after a moment he reached out slowly and unhooked the front clasp of her bra.

When the clasp gave beneath his fingers, he exhaled and smiled. "I was afraid it wouldn't unhook. Then I would have looked like a fool. That's another one of those macho things I was—"

He broke off as Delilah reached up and spread the lace of her bra, sliding the straps off her shoulders.

"Sweet heaven," he breathed hoarsely. Grasping her arms, he pulled her close, moaning as her flesh met his. "Lila?" he whispered roughly.

"Yes?"

"Are we through talking?"

"Yes . . . yes, I believe we are."

"Good." He paused, trying to consume her throat and bare shoulders, then, "Lila?"

"Yes?"

"I find myself caught on the horns of a dilemma," he whispered. The words were muffled as he moved his attention to the back of her neck.

A tingling shiver spread through her, leaving goose bumps in its wake. "A horny dilemma?" she said weakly.

"Exactly. My mind is saying 'This lady is fragile. She needs lots of care, so go slowly and let her get used to the feel of you.' "

Delilah had never thought of herself as fragile. She was tough. She had had to be in order to survive. "That's what your mind is saying?"

"Yes." He groaned as she moved lightly against him. "But my body is saying If you don't get this lady into bed in the next three seconds, there's going to be big trouble.' "

"Big trouble?"

"Yeah, like California dropping into the ocean or the Rocky Mountains being flattened. That kind of trouble. My body is saying something catastrophic will happen if I don't make love to you now. Immediately."

As her head rested on his shoulder she could see her bright pink nails against the smooth skin of his back. She was fascinated by the erotic picture it made.

"Bill," she whispered finally, "as a doctor I can say only—listen to your body; it would never lie to you."

His arms tightened convulsively, squeezing the breath out of her. Then he laughed in triumph and picked her up in his arms. In the bedroom he fell across the bed, still holding her tightly.

"I want to eat you up," he said, his eyes blazing as he stared at her face. "I want to touch every part of you. I want to explore every inch of your body. I want to cram thirty-nine years of missing you into one night. But right now, more than anything, I want to be inside you. I want to feel you all around me. I really, really want that, Lila."

A breathless laugh caught in her throat. "I really, really want that too, Bill."

In the next few seconds Delilah braced herself for their coming together, wondering how she could want him so badly and still be so very afraid. This territory where he was about to take her was unknown. Because although Delilah knew all there was to know about sex, she knew absolutely nothing about making love.

Then before she could continue the thought, before the panic could build in her, he was there, and his arms were around her, and there was no room for fear, no room for pain. With unerring movements Bill became a part of her, and it was right. It was as though their bodies had been made specifically to be joined. As though no other possibility existed for either of them.

She was instantly bombarded with sensations, wilder and more beautiful than she had ever dreamed possible. Each movement, each caress, was like a silver thread that bound her to him, tighter and ever tighter, until she felt every emotion he felt, thought his thoughts, dreamed his dreams.

Gradually something began to build inside her, pulling her back into her own body. Although it was fiery, intense, and painfully sweet, she tried desperately to reject it. She didn't want to leave him to go off on her own. She didn't want to feel her own sensations, she wanted to feel his, she wanted to feel theirs.

Then suddenly she heard his voice close against her ear, whispering, "I'm with you, Lila. It's okay. Let it happen."

So she gave in to the sensation. And as it shook through her body, he was there just as he had promised, holding her, joining her in even this.

Long, long moments later, Delilah lay beside Bill, her exhausted body drenched in perspiration, her eyes wide open, her mind stunned.

She couldn't take it all in. The thoroughly nice, sweet man had suddenly become a tiger. He hadn't been brutal, but he most certainly hadn't been hesitant. He had been so passionate, so sensual, so giving, she had wanted to scream with the intensity of the pleasure.

It had been a truly remarkable night. It had been a night Delilah knew she would remember for as long as she lived. Because when Bill had held her and made love to her she had felt complete. For one night she had felt whole again.