Best Laid Plans (34 page)

A bottle of precisely chilled
champagne waited expectantly in a silver ice bucket, a sartorially perfect
waiter kept her crystal goblet filled to the brim, and the nuisance of ordering
seemed to have been eliminated.  Nothing as vulgar as a menu invaded their
intimate window booth, but a seafood appetizer, replete with oysters, shrimp
and scallops had been delivered and consumed.

Perhaps the one thing that
unnerved her the most was the fact that for the last hour Griffen hadn’t smoked
one cigar!  He was smiling and relaxed and inordinately carefree.  It
made her feel the need for a smoke!

She was relieved when the
waiter reappeared.  She wouldn’t be expected to both talk and eat. 
She gazed in surprise at the contents of the silver serving dish – she had been
expecting a salad, not this rather unusual assortment of vegetables. 
Brandy gave a mental shrug and selected wine-soaked chestnuts, cherry tomatoes,
olives and a caviar-anointed hard-boiled egg.

Griffen smiled and slid an
artichoke onto his salad plate.  “I have been very inconsiderate toward
you and I’d like to apologize.”

Brandy swallowed the olive,
blotted her lips and eyed his enigmatic expression cautiously.  “I’m
afraid I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of
soul-searching since our conversation this noon.”  He pulled off one petal
of the artichoke and dipped it into the lemon butter.  “I think it was
rather presumptuous of me to expect you to turn your life around so quickly.”

She watched his even white
teeth scrape away at the tender flesh.  “I’m sure you were just doing what
you thought was right,”  Brandy returned quickly, her voice sounding oddly
high.

“But what’s right for one
person is not necessarily right for another,”  Griffen countered
smoothly.  His large hand imprisoned hers against the pristine white
tablecloth.  His thumb made tiny circles against the underside of her
wrist.  He could feel her pulse jump beneath his finger.

Brandy vainly tried to ignore
the little impulses that shook her arm.  “I’m sure I’ll straighten out
eventually.”  She laughed with reckless abandon.  “All this work
keeps me very busy.”

“It really is a shame that your
choice of a career fans the fires, so to speak.”  He answered the silent
question emanating from her eyes.  “As you told me this afternoon,
architecture is highly erotic.  I know how frustration can become an
obsession.”

She moistened her
apricot-tinted lips with her tongue as her body wriggled uncomfortably against
the black velvet chair cushion.  “Griffen.”  Brandy cleared her throat
but found her words obstructed by a cherry tomato that he placed between her
teeth.

“Have a love apple,
darling.”  His husky, low-pitched voice stroked her high-strung
demeanor.  “In fact I’ve ordered a banquet of love just for us.”

The small tomato was swallowed
whole.  “You…you did?’

Griffen nodded.  “We
started with Casanova’s favorite dish – oysters.  Then this rather
sensuous array of vitamin-packed vegetables.”  His smooth forehead
puckered thoughtfully.  “Of course the caviar should be eaten in bed.” 
He sighed and shrugged his broad shoulders.  “the piece de resistance is
the Tornedo Rossini, the choicest cut of beef with erotic glamour of foie gras
and truffles.”

He pointedly ignored Brandy’s
stunned features, his virile fingers entwined with hers.  “I don’t want
you to rely on the likes of a man like Pierre to satisfy your needs and
desires.”  His eyes burned with the promise of an evening of
passion.  “You’re right, darling, I have been stingy but tonight …” 
Griffen lifted Brandy’s hand and pressed his lips into her palm.  His
tongue and teeth teased the fleshy mound of her thumb.  “Tonight is ours.”

The meal was relaxed and
unrushed, but only Griffen savored each morsel.  Brandy managed to choke
down the gourmet cuisine only under his persistent encouragement and a
substantial quantity of champagne.  The expensive, potent wine was the
only thing that made the evening palatable.

The slow, sensual strains of
music from the restaurant’s combo drifted into their intimate world of
two.  Griffen pulled Brandy to her feet and swung her onto the dance
floor, their bodies melting together in perfect synchronization.

This was the first time she’d
ever regretted her choice of shoes.  The high-heeled black evening sandals
that usually intimidated added the extra few inches needed to put her eyes and
mouth almost on level with Griffen’s.

He eagerly made the most of the
situation.  His lips roamed along the rounded contours of her flushed
cheeks; his tongue teasingly circled the diamond stud in her ear lobe.  “Your
perfume haunts me like a passion.”  The low growl that escaped his throat
caused her to jump.

“Griffen.”  She gasped and
tried to shrink free of his captive embrace.  “If you hold me any closer,
I’ll be in back of you.”

His deep chuckle vibrated in
her ear.  “Darling, you have such an adorable sense of humor.”  He
moved his head, his dark gaze instantly hypnotized by her lambent silvery
eyes.  “You also have the most inviting mouth and the most glorious hair.”

Fun and games suddenly turned
into desire, desire that was no longer hidden but fastened to his prey. 
Griffen rained kisses on her full lips, her pert nose, and her delicate
eyelids.  His capable hands sculpted her lush curves tight against his
rugged length.

Marlayna O'Brian
had called her ex-husband, Noah Drake, Casanova. But she was prepared to be the
naughty one. The other woman.

Lady Be
Bad by Elaine Raco Chase

"Have a seat, Perkins; I need your
opinion."

"Really,
sir, I'm a bit busy at the moment with the
other
guests.  When I
saw you ambling to this spot to rest, I thought perhaps you could use this
scotch."  He
extended a silver
tray.  "Perhaps these canapés
would substitute."

Noah pulled him
down despite his continued blustery refusal.  "Nonsense, you deserve a
break.  No one
can see us.  I'll
take this."  He confiscated the glass. 
"You munch on the shrimp puffs." 
A healthy mouthful of liquor fueled him on to attack his subject. 
"What do
you think of Miss
O'Brian's hair?"

Perkins' gray brows lifted.  "Her hair, sir?"

"Yes.  You know, this is the first time I've seen her
with it short and those streaky
things.  She always wore her hair long."  His
voice was dreamy.  "Brushed back from her
forehead
and whispering against her
shoulders.  It felt like silk,
Perkins. 
Midnight silk."

Clearing his throat, Noah continued. 
"Now. . . well. . . hmmm . .
."  He pushed a branch
to one side, his gaze narrowing on Marlayna. 
"I do like
the
way those little wisps curl around her ears.  She's
got great ears, Perkins.  And
her nape is exposed.  A
lovely sweep.  And, you know the way it tumbles onto
her forehead,  well. . . that
is kind of…"  a deep
chuckle rumbled in his chest, "sexy in a tumbled,
rumpled, wild sort of way."

Perkins merely grunted and bit into a slice of
cucumber topped with red caviar,
crumbled egg and a
black
olive.

"I suppose she has to wear all that makeup because
she's Arthur's 'Face of the
Century.'"  He looked at
his companion.  "Rather a ballsy statement,
don't you
think?"

"She
doesn't seem to be snobbish about it, sir." 
Perkins returned carefully.  "As a matter of fact, I'd say
Miss O'Brian was wearing much less in the way of
face
paint than the other ladies in attendance."

Noah looked around and made a guttural sound of
agreement.  "You're
right.  I guess I'm not used to
seeing her looking like this.  You know, when we
were
married our
schedules were so damn different.  Sometimes we went for days without
seeing each other.  She'd work nights and go to school days; I'd
work days and go to school at
night.

"I remember her face all soft and pink from sleep,
and when she went to work, she
used only a little
lipstick
and a dab of powder.  And perfume."  He took
a deep breath, becoming drugged
by an imaginary
scent
that rivaled the fragrant flowers that flanked the patio.  "I've
never forgotten her perfume, Perkins.  She
still wears the same one."

"My mother always drenched herself in lilac water." 
The house manager sighed. 
His finger squeezed the
nostrils on his large nose.  "To this day I still feel
surrounded by that odious
smell."

"But I bet your mother never wore a dress like
that!"  Noah reached
for a cream-cheese-stuffed cher
ry tomato.  "That thing is positively indecent.  Look at
it.  No, don't." 
His back molars pulverized the fragile
canapé. 
"I don't know how much longer those skinny
little straps can hold up that. . . that. . . thin slice of
silk."

His eyes darkened, taking in the dropped
waistline and scalloped hem that danced against
Mar
layna's
knees.  "She never owned anything like that. 
All her dresses were
high-necked, long-sleeved, mid-
calf. 
Nothing with that type of neckline."

Plunging. 
If he could see the creamy swells of her
breasts, so could every man in the room.  And
even
worse, if he
stared hard enough, he saw that her
nipples pushed brazenly against the slinky, slippery
bodice.  With each move she made, the sinuous
fabric
shimmered and delineated every lush
curve on her
body.

Noah shifted in discomfort and quickly downed the
last of the scotch.  "I
don't remember her having a body quite like that either, Perkins.  She was
never
that
...
that. . ."

"Sexy,
sir?"

"Yeah. 
Sexy.  She was more wifely, homey, old fashioned."

"Well,
sir, it seems that saying:  'Women don't get
older, they get better,' is quite true in Miss O'Brian's
case."

He grunted. 
"Well, I always thought she was better. 
The best.  Why else would I
have married her?"

Perkins ran a
hand through the thin sweep of gray
hair
that covered his head.  "I've been in service to a
number of
married couples, sir.  And I've discovered
there are lots of reasons for people marrying."

"Like what?"  He looked at him with interest.

"Money, power, loneliness, revenge, spite."

Noah
shook his head. 
"Sounds more like the
ingredients of a
TV soap opera."

"Life does have a way of imitating and often
surpassing art, sir."

"Well, I married that --"  His index finger jabbed into
the bush, "…woman for
love.  That's the same reason I divorced her.  And the same reason I
intend to marry
her
all over again."

Perkins looked at Noah, his face devoid of any
expression.  "Even with
all the changes in her?"

"I don't
really
mind all her changes."  His expression
turned bleak.  "But I wonder how she
likes all of
mine."  Noah
stared morosely at the ice cubes that
were
melting in his glass.

"The cane, sir?"

"Yes, my
little
partner here."  He patted the black
wood.  "I do like this better than that
wheelchair."

"What
has
been Miss O'Brian's reaction to it?" 
Perkins inquired in an even tone.

"Interest, of course.  I've yet to tell her about
everything."  Noah sighed
and ran a hand over his
face. 
"But at least she doesn't seem to pity me.  I
couldn't handle that, Perkins.  Gwen does, and it
annoys the hell out of me."

Perkins
cleared
his throat.  "About Miss Gwen, sir?"

"Oh, God,
I've
got to handle her and Arthur just
right.  You know how he can be."

"Indeed I do, sir."

Noah spread apart another branch to inspect the
gathering.  "Look at
her, Perkins.  Mimi fits right into
this crowd.  She's undaunted by the politicians,
plays
kissy-kissy
with the Hollywood group, shares intimate
little mutterings with the jet setters.  Makes me
wonder
…"