Certified Male (16 page)

“Good arts scene,” Del nodded, making conversation even as he was making her insensible with pleasure. He was relentless, driving her up with warm, wet strokes, each brush, each touch taking her closer to that zone where she just didn't care.

“I'm forgetting stuff already, though. I was trying to tell someone the other day about that café at the foot of Russian Hill—I can't remember the name of it.”

The orgasm broke through her as Versailles came into view. Gwen made a strangled sound and tensed against the seat, trying not to shudder.

“What'd you say, ma'am?”

“I believe she said it's called Aah's,” Del said helpfully as they pulled into the massive portico with its crenellated marble overhang.

“Aah's? Nope, that's not the one I'm thinking of.”

Gwen took a minute to gather herself enough to get out of the cab, sliding carefully across the seat.

“That was evil,” she told him as they walked into the hotel. The hour was late, and even in Vegas, there were few people around.

Del stopped and pulled her to him to press a hot, hard kiss on her. “That was hot is what it was. You have no idea what it does to me to feel you come like that, to get you that wet.”

She slid her arms down his body. “You have no idea what it does to me.” She moved her hips lightly against him.

“Upstairs,” he said raggedly. “Now.” They began to walk again. “So, tell me some more about these fantasies.”

“I've been having these ideas about elevators,” she whispered to him. “I keep finding myself in the car, waiting all that time to get to the top. I don't know, there's something about it that gets me thinking about the possibilities.”

They stopped in front of the banks of elevators and Del unbuttoned his jacket. “Fast ride,” he commented.

“But a hot one.” She leaned in to take his earlobe between her teeth. “For a couple who's prepared.”

“Did I ever tell you I used to be a Boy Scout when I was a kid?” he asked, pulling her close so that she could feel him hard against her. “You know their motto.”

“Always prepared.” His cock felt like granite to her.

“Always. Where's the damned elevator?”

Gwen rummaged in her purse to find a condom and tear open the package. “My question exactly. You're a rise-to-the-occasion kind of guy, aren't you?” she asked, kissing him with lips and teeth and tongue and pressing the condom into his palm.

“You kiss like that, you're going to get more than you bargained for sooner than you expect.”

A chime rang and an elevator door opened up behind them. She stepped on and pressed the door-close button. “Oh, I hope so.” She propped herself against the brass rail that ran around the car. “Top floor, cowboy.”

The doors closed, the lights dimmed and control disappeared. In what seemed like a fraction of a second, Del had
himself out and sheathed. When he slid into her, she cried out. It was crazy, insane to take the chance, and yet she laughed exultantly as she felt him slide gloriously home inside her.

Her legs were wrapped around him, her arms clawing his shoulders as she savored each savage stroke of his body into hers. He poured in the long temptation of the evening, making no attempt to slow his pace, no attempt to hold back. He was all surging, stroking and rock-hard deep inside her, where she craved him. Around them lights glittered on the Strip, but nothing like the show of seeing Del lose control, lose himself in her as she lost herself. And when he burst into groaning orgasm, she cried out at the sheer glory of being alive.

D
AY OR NIGHT, THE CASINO
looked the same, save only the number of people hunched at the slot machines. Now, for example, the fact that it was just shy of noon was revealed only in the ranks of empty gambling tables. Gwen shook her head to dispel the thought just as someone swooped down on her from behind.

She yelped even as she recognized the persuasive mouth and hands. “You scared me to death,” she accused.

“Oh, I don't know, you feel pretty lively to me,” Del countered, giving her a final squeeze before releasing her. “So, where do you want to go?”

She shrugged. “I don't care. Anywhere they've got lunch.”

“I was thinking we could get outside the casino for a change. Celebrate both of us making it into the second round.”

She gave him a bawdy wink. “I thought we did that last night.”

“And memorably. But it's a big enough deal it deserves some extra treatment. Let's go. I'm stir crazy.”

“Me, too,” she confessed. “Getting out would be fabulous.”

He kissed her. “Good.” They walked out the front door, but instead of leading her onto the Strip he walked to the valet parking attendant and picked up a key.

“You've got a car?”

“I thought we both could use a break from the Strip. Unless you'd like to go back inside?”

She gave a giddy laugh and got into the spiffy red coupe that pulled up. “God, no.”

It was easy to forget that there was life outside of the casinos. Las Vegas seemed to float in its own dislocated pocket of existence. It seemed that she'd always lived in the shadow world of recycled air and cigarette smoke, surrounded by people with the worn look of too many hours of gambling, too little sleep. The long hours spent in the casinos, the marching rows of the resorts banished all thought of the desert, except for the stupefying heat that slammed the senses the moment a person stepped outside.

Now it was all behind her, in another world, and her only reality was the open road.

As they drove along the freeway that paralleled the Strip, the line of casinos only looked more incongruous without the benefit of their elaborate facades. On the Strip it seemed as if the casinos dominated the known world. Now, from the outside, they seemed as absurd as moss flourishing in the desert.

Gwen stretched and let her right arm dangle out the window, surfing the slipstream of air as the last of the casinos gave way to the suburbs. “This is great. I forgot what this was like, the out-of-doors.”

“It's a nice reminder, isn't it.”

“Of course, you know we should be at Versailles watching Jerry.”

“Knowing Jerry, he's probably still in bed with a hangover. We'll be back by afternoon, when he gets up. You can't watch him every minute, you know.”

“I just keep thinking I'm going to miss something and so much for my chance to get the stamps back.”

“Let it go. He told you he was expecting his big score
next week. We've got time. Give yourself a break.” Del headed toward the hills that formed an arc on the horizon.

It was an artificial world out here, vivid green lawns shockingly incongruous against the sere desert landscape. The housing tracts seemed to stretch for miles.

“So, where are we going?”

“Hoover Dam.”

Gwen blinked. “You big on public-works projects?”

“Seemed worth seeing. Besides, one of the guys I met at the tournament told me about a barbecue joint in Boulder City. I thought it would be a nice break from resort food.”

“I'll buy that.”

The subdivisions finally gave way to the open desert and Gwen caught a breath of pleasure. “Now this is more like it.”

Away from the artificial constructs of suburbia, the desert emerged in all its subtle beauty. Pink terrain, gray-green sage, golden-brown mesquite and pale blue sky all blended together in a pastel fantasy. The serried ranks of ruddy hills rose sharply in the distance, stark and clear in the dry desert air.

Gwen took an exultant breath, savoring the spicy scent of the air. “This is wonderful,” she said, buoyed by the sense of light and openness and space.

Del gave her a sidelong glance. “I thought you might like it, Gwendolyn.”

“It's not Gwendolyn.” She flushed.

“Really?” he asked with interest. “What is it short for? Gwendy? Gwenda?”

“Stop it.”

“Come on, fess up. It can't be that weird.”

She sighed. “Guinevere.”

“So, what's wrong with that?”

“Oh, don't be nice. It's ridiculous, I know it. It was my mother's idea.”

“A romantic.”

Gwen watched the landscape roll by a few moments before answering. “My mother's something of a free spirit, you might say. She and my dad are doctors working in Africa.”

“Takes more than a free spirit to be an M.D.”

“Oh, I know that. She's brilliant. She works unimaginably hard and she's very passionate about making a difference. I guess what I was trying to say is that she marches to her own drummer.” Gwen could admire it, be often puzzled by it, but never really understand. “I was five when she convinced my dad to join Physicians Without Frontiers. My sister Joss was six. They scooped us off to Zimbabwe.”

“You went to Zimbabwe?”

“And Botswana and Tanzania. I got out when I was fourteen. Joss stayed until she was grown. My mom thought it was a good cultural experience for us.”

“She was probably right.”

“I suppose.” Gwen turned to study him. “Where did you grow up?”

“Huntington Beach.”

“Surf's up?” she asked dryly.

“Some of the time. We didn't live in luxury or anything. I was just a normal kid.”

“That was all I ever wanted to be. Just a normal kid.”

Del reached over and took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “And you weren't?”

“It's hard to be normal when you're a blond white kid in Zaire,” she said simply. “We'd come back to the U.S. for a month every year, stay with my grandparents. I just wanted to eat hamburgers and watch TV like everybody else. My mom had other ideas.”

“Which were?”

Gwen stared out at the deep red rocks surrounding them. “Making us the poster children for a global society.”

“Heavy load for a kid,” Del commented, slowing down a bit to take a curve. The freeways had given way to a narrow highway that dived between ranges of hills.

“We'd go give talks at schools and stuff. The way they'd look at us…” She sighed. “Joss loved it, but she always liked being the center of attention. I've always been more comfortable on the sidelines.”

“Must be harder now.”

She could feel herself tense, she thought in annoyance, wishing she'd never started this line of discussion. He didn't want to hear about Gwen. He was a guy. Nina would be his thing.
I have a soft spot for Nina.
Ordinary Gwen wouldn't even register on him.

“Does it feel awkward, being dressed up?”

“Not as much as you'd think. It's Nina they're looking at, not me. It's not so bad.” Now that she thought about it, she'd stopped feeling awkward and conspicuous as the days had passed. It had become kind of fun. Maybe there was more Nina in her than she'd realized.

“So, you said you stayed in Zimbabwe or wherever until you were fourteen. Why did you leave?”

“We'd come back to visit my grandparents like we did every year. It was so great I just hated going back. I was evil for a good two months after that, the way only an adolescent can be. My parents finally broke and let me move in with my grandparents. I said it was so I could get into a good college, but I think they knew.”

“And loved you enough to let you go.”

“Yes. And my grandparents loved me enough to give me a home.”

“The grandfather who taught you to play poker.”

She laughed. “You remembered.”

“He must be loving the fact that you're here playing.”

“Well, he doesn't know,” she said, suddenly uneasy.
“He and my grandmother are off on a long trip to the South Pacific.”

“My grandparents did that when they retired.”

“Well, he's not quite there yet. They call this their practice retirement. I was supposed to be minding the store until they came back.”

“The stamps?”

“Yes, I—oh,” she broke off as they rounded a curve and the deep blue of Lake Mead swung into view. Framed by the serrated lines of the pastel hills, it stretched away from them, cool and sapphire-dark. There were houses here, but they blended pueblo-style into the desert, colored in warm ochers and rose tones, topped with ruddy terra-cotta roofs.

The road curved around through the hills now, first rising steadily, then dropping in great loops toward the dam. When the tangle of high-voltage towers materialized, it was a shock after the open landscape. Then the dam itself appeared, its smooth, warm curve blending seamlessly with the hills around it.

“Do you want to drive across?” Del asked. “We can.”

Gwen shook her head. “Can't we ditch the car and walk?”

“Whatever you'd like.”

The heat was there, ever present, but she was too preoccupied with the sight ahead of her to really notice. They passed a monument to the workers, a pair of almost unearthly winged figures seated with arms pointing to the heavens. Beyond them the dam stretched around.

“Do you ever get the urge to step up on a railing like this and just jump out into space?” Gwen asked idly as they stopped to lean over the waist-high concrete wall and stare down at the dam. It was like looking into a giant funnel, the broad curve tapering down to the narrow bottom, where the Colorado River flowed away in a gleaming ribbon.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “This isn't the part where you start talking about your suicidal thoughts, is it?”

“Good god, no. It just always seems like you could just jump out and soar away like a bird, you know? Part of my mind whispers ‘Go ahead and do it, you could fly.'” She wrinkled her nose at him. “See if I ever share my innermost thoughts with you again.” They stepped back from the rail and began ambling slowly along the dam. “So, tell me more about life as a surfer boy.”

“Life as a surfer boy? Not exactly. We lived inland, not on the water.” When he slipped his arm around her, it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Did you surf?”

“Some. Skied, went rock climbing in the desert.”

“You've got that look.” She stopped in front of the bronze dedication plaque.

“You think so? Mostly I played sports.”

“Yikes. A jock? You weren't one of those football guys who dated the cheerleaders, were you?”

“Not football, baseball.”

“And the cheerleaders?”

He grimaced and the fun faded briefly from his eyes. “Married one.”

“Married?”

“Divorced,” he elaborated, holding up his ringless left hand. “You can't always trust everything you see with the golden girls.”

Something about the way he said it discouraged her from asking more. She turned to a safer topic instead. “So, you played in high school?”

“College, too. It covered my tuition.”

“You didn't go pro, did you?”

He shook his head. “I was good in high school and okay
in college, but I was nowhere near good enough for the pros. I found that out pretty quickly.”

She stopped and leaned against the concrete wall to look at him. “That must have been tough to give up your dream.”

Del shrugged. “It wasn't my dream so much as what was easy. Just like marrying Krista. Just like sportswriting. I was good in English and it seemed like a good way to take what I knew and parlay it into something.”

“You don't seem thrilled.”

“I don't know.” Seeming suddenly uncomfortable, he began walking. “I've just always taken the easy way out. I'd like to do something because I made it happen for a change, not because I was good at it and it fell into my lap.”

“So, what do you want to do?”

“I don't know, something meatier than sports, I guess. Tell stories that really matter. I think I'm ready to make a change.”

They'd reached the other side of the dam, Gwen realized in surprise. Del leaned on the railings to look out at Lake Mead, cradled between the walls of the canyon bridged by the dam. He looked back at her. “You getting the urge to climb up on the rail and jump off here?”

She shook her head. “Here it'd just be like jumping into a pool.”

“That's the difference between us, I guess. I want to dive in and you want to fly.”

 

T
HE SUN WAS SETTING BY THE
time they got back to the hotel. Del turned the car back over to the valet and they trailed into the hotel, sunburned and spent.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“I thought I'd take a nice cool bath to wash off all the dust.” Gwen gave him a thoroughly naughty look as she got off the elevator. “Care to join me?”

“I'm your man.” He followed her to her door, where she fumbled her key out of her purse. She opened the door, took two steps and stopped abruptly.

“Oh, my god.”