Bikini Season (15 page)

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Authors: Sheila Roberts

BOOK: Bikini Season
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He obliged and she inserted the top half of the strawberry. He bit down and juices flowed over the corners of his mouth. “Whoa.”
He started to open his eyes. “Keep your eyes closed,” she instructed. Then she leaned over and licked the juice from the corners of his lips, making him moan. “More?”
“More,” he repeated.
She giggled and put in the rest of the strawberry, then repeated the licking process. “Stick out your tongue.” He did and she sprayed a dollop of whipped cream on it. Then, when his tongue was barely in his mouth, she kissed him, giving the whipped cream a stir. “That's for starters,” she whispered when she was done. “I have a whole can.”
“Am I in heaven?” he asked.
Oh, this was fun! “Keep those eyes closed.” She chugged some more champagne, then slid off the bed, tilting to the side as she went.
Oops, stay upright here
. Her head was buzzing now. Maybe she shouldn't have had that last glass. Oh, well. It was Valentine's Day.
La bella vita
and all that.
She went to the CD player and started the music, then turned around to face her audience of one. “Okay, open your eyes.”
Ravel's
Bolero
(which Kizzy had loaned her, assuring her that it would be perfect for this) began to serenade them—just the flute and a soft, pulsing rhythm. Angela untied the sash and opened her bathrobe, giving Brad his first glimpse of her Victoria's Secret purchase. Why hadn't she stuck to her diet better? She could have looked so much hotter.
Never mind that new. Stay in the second.
Brad was obviously in the second. He was all eyes.
She let the robe slip halfway down her arms. Then she began the
slow little dance step toward the bed that she'd practiced earlier. And all the while the drums thrummed. Bum! Bum, bum, bum, bum bum. Bum! Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum.
Whoops. Watch those rose petals. They're slippery.
Brad moved to come catch her. She held up an arm. “I'm okay.”
My head feels like a balloon, but I'm okay.
She let the bathrobe fall all the way off and snaked her way to the edge of the bed, her movements slow. The music was getting louder now. Two instruments danced together, repeating the melody. She picked up the champagne and poured herself some more. Then she planted one leg on the edge of the bed in her best porn star pose (did porn stars pose?) and quaffed the champagne.
I see London, I see France
.
Where are Angela's underpants? Hahahahaha.
Brad was really grinning now. Oh, this was good.
More instruments had joined the party and the drums were getting louder. Or was that the blood pumping in her head? She moved to climb onto the bed and fell forward on her nose. Ouch! That hadn't happened when she practiced this. Brad helped her up, bringing their bodies close, and she pushed him away with a wicked grin, and backed up.
Wait a minute. Let's stop and look where we're going. We could back right off the bed.
Okay, there was the bedpost.
Time to unleash your inner temptress. You have the power. No woman is going to be able to take your man from you.
The music was loud now and she was definitely in the second. The horns had joined the wind instruments and the drums were beating, beating, beating, pumping, pumping, pumping.
“Oh, baby.” Brad was practically panting.
Yes, yes, yes.
She had him in her power. The music got wild. The cymbals crashed. She leaned away from the pole for her grand finale and … whoa, who was tipping the bed!
With a yelp she went over the edge.
“Ang!” Brad was beside her before she could say “bed spin.” “Baby, are you okay?”
“The room is spinning. Oh, Brad.”
“Here.” He hauled her onto the bed and laid her out. “There. Better?”
She closed her eyes. “I think so.” Well, actually no, but she didn't want to ruin the mood.
“Good,” he murmured, and kissed her, sliding a hand up her thigh.
“I didn't get to do my big finale,” she protested. “We haven't gotten to the whipped cream.”
“Later,” he whispered. “Right now all I want is you.”
All I want is you
. Music to her ears. She wrapped her arms around him. “Here I am,” she murmured. And belched.
Oops. Not very sexy.
Brad never noticed.
A
dam had planned a perfect night. First dinner, then they were going to the big Valentine's bash at the Last Resort, where there would be dancing. Tonight's cover charge included a Mardi Gras-style mask. Erin always wanted to go to Mardi Gras. This seemed like a good warm-up.
Adam had already gotten her a single red rose—very romantic—and the DVD of
While You Were Sleeping,
her and her mom's favorite classic chick flick, and now they were dining in style at Two Turtledoves, the swankiest restaurant in Heart Lake.
And she was looking at the menu, trying not to have a guilt attack. Had Adam known how expensive this place was? She peered at him over the menu. “I don't think we can even afford the appetizers.”
“Yes we can,” he assured her. “I budgeted for it. Order what you want.”
Here was a shocker. He almost had a heart attack over every wedding expense but he could take her to the fanciest restaurant in town for Valentine's Day and not blink an eye.
Maybe that's because it was his idea. Maybe it's not just about the money. Maybe he likes being in control.
Erin frowned. Dan Rockwell was becoming way too frequent a visitor in her head.
Now, now,
said her inner mother,
Adam is trying to do something nice for you, so quit questioning his motives and appreciate it.
Dan Rockwell was the one who'd put that thought in her mind. Her inner mother should get after him. Erin looked again at the menu. She had never been faced with such expensive choices in her life. The guys she'd dated in the past took her to places where she only had to choose between burgers and nachos supreme.
Well, okay, Adam had said to order what she wanted. And she wanted lobster. She'd only had it once when her mom made it for her eighteenth birthday, but she'd never forgotten how wonderful it tasted.
“I think I'll have the Australian lobster,” she said.
“Good choice,” said Adam. Had his face just lost color? It was hard to tell in the candlelight. “How about a first course?”
Oh, she couldn't.
“Let's split one,” he suggested. “Want the calamari?”
“Okay.”
Their waiter slipped silently to the table and Brad ordered: the calamari, her Australian lobster, and chicken risotto, the cheapest thing on the menu. Probably not what he wanted at all.
She knew it. He was in sticker shock. She braced for his answer when the waiter asked what they would like to drink. Water, of course.
But no, he actually ordered wine. Okay, maybe he had wanted the chicken risotto.
The waiter took the menus and slipped away and she let her gaze drift out the restaurant window. This side of the lake wasn't as developed as the rest of it and firs, pines, and alders still hugged much of the shoreline. Farther down she could see house lights twinkling, reflected on the water's surface. The lake was
calm tonight, and looking out at it made her think of old movies and romance novels. This would be a great place to raise kids.
She turned and smiled at Adam. “It's beautiful, isn't it? I'd love to live out here. Maybe Aunt Mellie would sell us the house. The commute's not that bad. Working and partying in the city, chilling out at the lake—what a perfect life.”
“Live here? Babe, once I'm done with med school we can go anywhere.”
Erin blinked in surprise. “I thought you applied to intern at Virginia Mason.”
He shrugged. “That's not the only place.”
“I know.” He'd also applied at Providence and Harborview.
“My dad is pulling some strings. Fingers crossed, babe. I could end up at New York Presbyterian.”
“New York?” she said faintly. “But that's on the other side of the country. What about family and friends? You never told me you applied to intern in New York. I thought we'd be living in Seattle.”
“But think about the swanky parties you can plan in NYC,” he said. “Are you telling me you'd pick this place over New York? Except for the Last Resort and Brewsters' they roll up the streets at nine.”
“We could live in Seattle, in your apartment.”
“Seattle can't compare to New York. And here? You've got plans for your life. You don't want to be a small-town girl.”
He was right of course. A big city was the perfect host for an event planner. “Good point,” she conceded.
She thought of her conversation with her aunt. There was something about living in a place where you had a history, of being near those you loved. But there was also much to be said for striking out and making your mark in the world.
She could strike out as far as New York, especially if she was doing it with Adam. He looked absolutely delicious tonight in that black turtleneck. His blue eyes appeared translucent in the candlelight. “I can live anywhere. Who cares where you live as long as you're with the person you love?”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “That's my girl. You'll love it there. Trust me.”
The waiter returned with their wine and Adam sampled it and gave the nod to pour. This would be their future, dining in lovely, expensive restaurants at tables covered with white linen tablecloths and fine crystal and silver. Once Adam was a doctor, once she had launched her business, they'd both be successful, happy, and financially secure. She'd never have to worry about being sick because her doctor husband would take care of her. They'd both live to a ripe, old age. And their life would be perfect.
He raised his glass and smiled at her. “To us.”
She mirrored the action. “To us.”
“And speaking of us.” She pulled the little gift bag she'd carried into the restaurant from under her seat. “Happy Valentine's Day.”
“What have we got here?” he asked, smiling.
“Open it and see.”
He did and pulled out a can of Almond Roca. “My favorite. Thanks, babe.”
“There's more.”
He fished inside the tissue paper and brought out a five-by-seven-inch pewter frame holding a picture of them taken on New Year's Eve, the night they got engaged. They were at his friend Dave's, snuggled together on the couch, holding champagne glasses and grinning like it was Christmas morning.
He was looking at it like he wasn't sure what it was.
“I thought you could put it on your desk,” she said.
“Absolutely. Thank you.”
The waiter arrived with their calamari and Adam shoved the presents back in the bag. “This looks good,” he said, eyeing the food.
For a moment Erin found herself disappointed. She'd expected just a little more enthusiasm.
That's not very realistic,
her inner mother whispered. True. A woman couldn't expect a man to gush over things the way her girlfriends
did. Maybe she should have bought him something at Car Toys. He'd have probably gushed over that.
He did thank you,
pointed out her inner mother.
True.
The dinner was perfect. Lobster was just as wonderful as she'd remembered, and the wine gave her a happy buzz. And now for the finishing touch: dessert. Erin had been salivating over the chocolate lava cake she'd seen a woman enjoying one table over.
She smiled up at the waiter, who stood poised to take her order. “Dessert? Absolutely.”
“What about your diet?” Adam asked.
Her taste buds suddenly went dry. “My diet?” It was Valentine's Day. Who dieted on Valentine's Day?
“You want to split something?” Adam offered. He turned to the waiter. “She's dieting.”
Erin's cheeks sizzled. Adam might as well have pinned a big, scarlet
D
on her chest.
Like she was going to order anything now? “I'll pass,” she said. She could have sworn the waiter nodded approvingly.
“I guess we'll take the check then,” said Adam.
The waiter left and she scowled at her fiancé. “That was totally tasteless.”
“What?”
“You didn't have to say right in front of the waiter that I'm on a diet.”
“But you are. Aren't you?”
“That is beside the point. And it's totally uncool to mention it when it's Valentine's Day.”
“I didn't mean to be uncool. I was just trying to be supportive.”
“Please don't be supportive like that ever again. That was completely humiliating.”
“Sorry,” he said.
She sighed. “Oh, well. You saved my diet from death by chocolate, so I guess I'll have to forgive you.”
It was just as well she hadn't had dessert, she decided when she got a peek at the check. Adam had already paid enough.
She offered to take care of the tip and he let her. “The dinner was great,” she told him as they slipped out of their seats. “Thanks.” She hugged his arm and they started to leave, but she suddenly realized something was missing. “Your present!”
“Oh, yeah. Don't want to forget that,” he said.
But he had. It wasn't as glam as dinner and dancing, but she'd put a lot of thought into his present. “You did like it, didn't you?” she asked as they walked out the door.
“Of course I did,” he said, and hugged her to him. “I love Almond Roca.”
“And?” she prompted, giving him a playful nudge.
He grinned. “And you.”
Okay, good enough.
Their next stop was the Last Resort. The little club had opened in Heart Lake only a few months ago, but it was already the place to be on a weekend. It was decorated to look like a lounge from the late fifties, and every time Erin entered it she expected to run into Ingrid Bergman or Audrey Hepburn. Small tables with candle lamps dotted the floor with soft spots of light. Each of those tables held an old, chunky ashtray, usually filled with cocktail munchies. Black-and-white signed pictures of visiting B celebrities like former Sonics basketball coaches and the professor from
Gilligan's Island
marched along the far wall. One corner of the room held a small stage for a dance band or a DJ, although it was usually set up for karaoke singing or a comic or an MC on nights when trivia was the thing. The dance floor wasn't huge, but it could pack in a lot of people on a Saturday night. A big tropical fish tank divided the waiting area from the lounge, which was already a herd of people—most under the age of thirty. Tonight a DJ was set up and already spinning tunes, and some of the herd were shimmying around the floor. Many wore Valentine finery, others were costumed like French maids, pirates, or superheroes. Everyone wore their Mardi Gras
masks. Erin suddenly thought of the masked-ball scene in
The Phantom of the Opera
and felt a tingle go down her back.
The bar was packed, too, she noticed as she and Adam donned their masks and made their way past it to the last unoccupied table in a far corner. It was mostly singles hoping to hook up with someone before the night was over. On Valentine's Day? Fat chance. Being by yourself on Valentine's Day was so not fun, so why would any sane person come out in public and announce it?
“This place is a mob scene,” Adam said in disgust as they settled at their table. He ran a hand up Erin's arm. “Let's go back to the house and forget this.”
“This is going to be fun,” Erin insisted.
He cocked his head. He was wearing a tragedy mask, and the gesture looked oddly gothic. “Yeah?”
“You look scary,” she informed him.
“Well, you look beautiful,” he said.
She felt beautiful in her hot red dress, with her red sequined mask, beautiful and mysterious. It was a great way to feel on such a romantic day.
Their cocktail waitress came up.
“What do you want, babe?” Adam asked.
“Girl Gone Wild,” Erin decided.
“Scotch, rocks,” Adam told the waitress and she hurried off. “Going wild sounds good,” he told Erin.
“Then let's get on the dance floor,” she suggested, standing up.
Of course, it was too noisy to hear, but she was sure he'd just sighed. She knew he wanted to go home and collect his Valentine reward, but he could just wait a while. She took his hand and started boogying her way to the dance floor, Adam lumbering along behind like a captive bear on parade.
They barely had room to move, but she managed. The DJ was playing Sierra, who was singing about acting like a boy, and the music thrummed through Erin's veins. And, now that he was out on the floor, Adam was getting into the dancing, too. He was such
a great dancer, graceful, gorgeous, and strong, and she loved it when he got physical, which he was doing right now, whipping her up against him and then spinning her till she couldn't stand up straight. Oh, yeah. This was fun. They stayed on the dance floor for four more songs. By the time they were done, Erin was hot and dying of thirst. And back at their table, her drink was waiting.

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