Finding Mr. Right (12 page)

“Damn straight, I do.” Now, if only she could manage to fool around in the water without wetting her hair. She said as much to Byron.

“There’s a hairdresser upstairs. Charge it to your room.”

“Why should I spend a couple of hours in a hair salon when I could spend it with you?”

He swam with her on his back, and she didn’t think she’d ever had so much fun. “Did your hair get wet?” he asked her as they climbed out of the pool.

“I don’t think so. Thanks for the ride.” He rushed to get her top and held it for her as she put it on.

“It doesn’t hide a thing,” he said, “but at least it’s a stab at modesty.”

“You should talk. You’re not even pretending to be modest.”

“I almost swallowed my tongue when you walked out of your room,” he said, not a little exasperated. “You should see how you look in that thing.”

“You mean it didn’t look nice? I wanted to look nice.”

“Nice? We’d better drop this subject.”

“I think I’ll doll up tonight,” she said, though she wasn’t warning him, because she knew he’d dress for dinner.

“The big night’s tomorrow night,” he told her, “so save the thunder for then.”

“Thanks. I’ve got it covered.”

Inside her room, she took the gift-wrapped bottle of YSL cologne out of the little shopping bag, and knocked on the door between their rooms. Still dressed for swimming, he opened the door and stared down at her with a strangely expectant expression on his face.

“I know it isn’t your birthday, but I’ve missed too many of them already, so I decided I’d better start catching up.” He looked at the package she held in her hand. “Aren’t you…I mean, don’t you want it?”

“You bought that for me?” She nodded. He picked her up, locked her to him and flicked his tongue over her lips. She opened to him, greedy for it and sucked his tongue into her mouth. For the first time, she felt his skin against her skin. His large hands rubbed her naked hips, and her taut nipples pressed against his hard pectorals. Heat flashed through her from her toes to her core, and her blood began to race. Excited beyond reason, moaning his name, she straddled him and rocked. As if she triggered something wild in him, he pulled her breast from the skimpy bra and sucked her nipple into his mouth, and when she felt him hard, heavy and within an inch of penetrating her, she let out a keening cry of surrender.

But that must have brought him back to his senses, because he eased her down to the floor and, still holding her, whispered, “I want more for us.”

“Me, too, but being with you this way was more than I was prepared for.”

“I know. Thanks for my present.”

“I uh…I think I’ll take a nap so I won’t be sleepy tonight. What time are we going to dinner?”

“Seven-thirty.”

She reached up and teased herself with a quick kiss on his lips. “I’ll be ready.’

“Should I phone you at six-thirty?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.” She blew him a kiss, closed the door, and skipped across the room. She didn’t see how she could wait until they got back to their rooms.

Byron showered, shaved and set his clock to alarm at a quarter of six, although he didn’t expect to need the alarm. He sat up in bed with his cell phone and dialed his home. He called Andy daily, but didn’t allow the boy to call him because, given the circumstances, Andy would call him five or six times a day. He wasn’t poor, but he wasn’t about to throw away money at the rate Andy could make it vanish.

“Hello?”

“This is your father. How are you and Aunt Jonie?”

“Daddy! Did you catch any fish yet” He couldn’t help laughing. If that question had been put to him as intentionally ambiguous, it wouldn’t have been more appropriate.

“No, son,” he said, answering with a truth that would have applied no matter the meaning of the question. “I’m not fishing. I’m having a short vacation with Miss Tyra.”

“Can I talk to Miss Tyra?”

“She’s in her room, but I’ll tell her that you wanted to talk with her.” He hadn’t planned to tell Andy that Tyra was with him, but it wouldn’t hurt for the child to know that Tyra was special to him, and the sooner he knew it, the better.

“When you coming home, Daddy?”

“Day after tomorrow.” They talked for a while, after which he spoke with Jonie and confirmed that his family was fine. Now, he could concentrate on Tyra and what was to come that evening. She had casually informed him that she wouldn’t be sleepy—as she’d been the previous night—and after what had passed between them minutes before she said it, he understood that she had, in effect, made him a promise.

And it was past time for them. If he hadn’t summoned the strength to terminate the hottest session they’d had to date,
their first mating would have been far less than it should and could have been. Time enough for extemporaneous lovemaking after they knew each other’s needs, but today was certainly not the time.

He unwrapped the package she gave him and shook his head in wonder. How had she known that YSL was the scent he wore? He had intended to buy a bottle of it when they were in the gift shop but except for forty dollars, he’d left both his money and his credit cards in the safe in his room. It was her first gift to him, and he’d have that bottle long after he emptied it. What a sweet, tender and loving woman, he thought. And how can she be like that and, at the same time, have such strength, fortitude, honor, and compassion for other human beings. If he told her how much he admired her, she wouldn’t believe him. He wanted his son—and his other children, if he were fortunate in having more—to know the love and nurturing of such a woman as Tyra.

Byron looked at the goose bumps on his arms and slipped beneath the cover to ward off the chill from the air conditioner. But, in his heart, he knew the true source. He told himself that he had no reason to be anxious, because she loved him, pulled the cover up higher, and was soon fast asleep.

He awoke minutes before his watch alarm rang. If he’d had privacy, he would certainly have let the salty Atlantic air cool his loins. Something in him seemed hell-bent on bursting free. He thought about that for a minute and released an uproarious laugh. He was forty, and he should damned well know what was wrong with him.

When Tyra stepped out of her room at seven-twenty that evening, looked up at him and smiled, he knew that if she hadn’t already sunk into him, he could be sure of it then. She glowed in a pinkish kind of color, a soft-delicate fabric that clung to her curves the way bark clings to a tree, and advertised the prettiest legs he’d ever seen.

She blew a kiss to him and took his hand. “Hi,” she said. “You look good enough for dinner.”

“Thanks. I knew that if I didn’t shape up, I’d look as if I were your gardener. Tyra, you’re so lovely. I’m a proud man.”

“That’s my line, Byron. You make any woman proud. How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby. I phoned home, and Andy wanted to talk with you. I hadn’t planned to tell him that you were with me, but I did, and I’m glad. He needs to know that you’re special to me.”

“But, Byron, he may become jealous. Then, he won’t like me.”

“He will be jealous, because he hasn’t had to share me with anyone. But you will ease him out of that when he realizes that he’s special to you.”

Tyra didn’t know what to make of their conversation. Speaking of Andy and her relationship with him in that way presupposed something that they had not discussed, or so it seemed to her. She pushed it to the back of her mind and reminded herself that she shouldn’t allow anything to hamper her plans for their evening. They reached their table minutes before service began.

“My, but you look nice,” the woman who sat across from them said to Tyra. “You make a mighty good-looking couple too, very nice together. Enjoy it while you have each other. My husband’s gone now, and every year, I go to the places we went together and do the things we did, but it’ll never be the same. I had no idea how happy I was.”

“How long were you married?” Byron asked her.

“Fifty years. I was eighteen, and everybody said it wouldn’t last a week. He’s the only man I ever knew, and it was the same for him. We had a wonderful life together. Y’all take care of what you got. Love’s the most precious gift you can have.”

He leaned back in his chair and appraised the woman
gently. “What in your view is the basis for a happy marriage…other than love?”

“Well,” she said, warming up to the topic, “you know love is important, because that determines how you treat your mate. But even more important is commitment. My husband and I were totally committed to each other and to that marriage. Breaking up was never an option for us, and each of us did little unexpected things to please the other.” She took a deep breath and looked away from them. “He was like sunrise and sunset. I could count on him like I could count on the passing of time. In fifty years, not once did he let me down, and he was always there for me.” She covered her face with her hand. “I loved the ground he walked on.”

Tyra watched in astonishment as Byron got up, walked around to the woman and put his arms around her. “I’m sorry that I awakened those memories, but I’ll cherish every word you said.” He took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her eyes.

“I forgot your name,” he said.

“Lydia Coston. I’m glad we met. You two be good to each other.”

“We will,” Tyra heard herself say. Byron had been married, so she wondered in his interest in what made a good marital union. But she had no intention of prying into what must surely be sacred to him.

“You have a wonderful man,” Lydia said to her. “It’s written all over him.”

“I know,” Tyra told her. “He’s precious.” She didn’t look at Byron then. She couldn’t for she knew he’d locked his gaze on her, and that his eyes reflected the questions he must have about her statement. He called the waiter.

“Would you bring a bottle of Dom Pérignon and three glasses, please.”

When the champagne arrived, the waiter poured some in
their glasses, bowed and left. Byron raised his glass. “To one of the loveliest women I’ve ever met. I’m glad we made your acquaintance, Mrs. Coston.” They drank to the toast, and Tyra gave silent thanks that Byron poured only a small amount in her glass. She’d learned that champagne played tricks with her head. After a sumptuous meal, they followed the sound and strolled into one of the smaller ballrooms where a jazz band played “Round Midnight.” She wanted to dance, but Byron seemed more inclined merely to listen.

“I’ve never liked ‘Round Midnight’ for dancing,” he said when the band struck up “Sleepy Time Down South.” “This is my style.”

She found that she got carried away when she danced with him. He moved with abandon, yet with such grace that he mesmerized her. He stared into her eyes and swung his hips suggestively, teasing and tantalizing her. The music ended, and the band moved into “When You’re Smiling” with an old Louis Armstrong arrangement that Byron clearly loved. He danced close to her in a fox trot, then swung her out for a few fast steps, all the while sending her unspoken threats and promises proclaiming his intentions later that evening.

“You’ve exhausted me,” she accused when the music ended. “How can you dance like that, never missing a beat, for half an hour? If you did this every night, I could understand it.”

His grin would have put any woman off balance. “The last thing I want to do is exhaust you here,” he said in a tone that projected a significant meaning. “How tired are you?”

Suddenly alert and aware that he was about to commence an agenda of his own, she smiled her sweetest smile. “Let’s get a glass of something or other and take it to our balcony. I love dancing with you, but I’d also like to sit with you and look at the stars.”

“Works for me,” he said. “But we can order something to
drink from our staterooms, and you won’t have to carry it. You’re too elegant for that.” She had a feeling that she’d played right into his hand, but she didn’t suppose she cared. No matter what, when she went to sleep, she’d be in his arms.

They strolled arm in arm to their staterooms, and when he put her key into her door, she gave silent thanks that they had not encountered the ubiquitous stranger. Byron stood statue-like beside her and handed her the key to her door.

As if she didn’t know why he behaved that way, she said, as casually as she could, “It’s early. Come on in.”

“Sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. Have a seat, unless you really want to look at the stars.”

“You’re the one who mentioned stars,” he said, settling himself into the boudoir chair that left half of his thighs off the seat.

“You’re my star,” she shot at him over her shoulder. “Excuse me a minute.” She went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and freshen up. What a woman wouldn’t do for love! All evening, she’d thought her feet and legs would freeze, since she hadn’t worn stockings. Clark always said that panty hose were about as sexy as a wet rat, and since she didn’t own a garter belt she went without them. In any case, the less she wore, the better, at least for tonight.

“Right. Room 739,” she heard him say, as she walked back into the room. He hung up the phone.

“Come over here and sit down?” he said. She didn’t see any place over there to sit, except on him, and she wasn’t sure that was what he meant. So she hesitated. He stood and opened his arms, and she dashed into them. Then he sat down with her on his lap. His hand held her bare thigh, and she wished he would do more with it. She slid her arms around his neck and kissed his ear.

“Go slow, honey. The waiter should be here in a few
minutes, and I wouldn’t like him to return with the order because he didn’t get an answer.”

“Why wouldn’t we answer?” she asked, playing the innocent.

“Since I know you’re pulling my leg, I don’t feel compelled to respond.”

The waiter arrived with a bottle of Moët & Chandon champagne, two champagne glasses, fruit, cheese, crackers and petit fours, opened the champagne and recorked it. “Have a pleasant evening, sir, madam.”

“Let’s take this over to my place. I’ve been anxious to get you in my lair, and you seem to have lost that door key.”

She gazed at him with her hands on her hips and her feet bare. “Men have no imagination. It’s such a pity.”