Lady Be Bad (6 page)

"She sounds nice."

Sylvia shrugged. "So who wants nice?"

"Apparently Noah."

"And you want Noah." A peremptory palm was
held up. "I'm getting dizzy!" Sylvia recreased the knife-edged
pleats on her red and white patterned silk dress. "You, do realize,
Marlayna, that you can't force a man to love you."

She stood up and surveyed the clothes that
littered the bed. "I realize that."

"Do you also realize Noah could actually be
in love with Gwen Kingman?" At Marlayna's nod she continued. "You
know there are other men out there. Look at me," Sylvia joked. "I
found Mr. Right three times."

"I found him too." Marlayna lifted a white
negligee that was draped across the pillows and a black lace teddie
that hung from the French provincial headboard. "Should I be nice
or try for naughty?" She inquired. "This was the same dilemma I had
when I packed for my honeymoon."

"Honeymoon!" Sylvia echoed sharply. "You're
not going on any damn honeymoon!" Lunging to her feet, she snatched
the silken lingerie out of Marlayna's hand and threw it back on the
bed. "What makes you think Noah and Gwen haven't already taken a
pre-honeymoon honeymoon of their own?"

Ignoring her friend's stricken face, Sylvia
went on ruthlessly. "I was convinced that you had yourself all
together, that you had matured and grown strong. But I find that I
was wrong. You are one very vulnerable lady when it comes to Noah
Drake." She inhaled sharply and continued.

"Do you think two people become engaged
because they hate each other? So she's thirteen years younger than
he is — maybe he's trying to recapture his youth. Who knows what
the hell a man thinks! And …" Sylvia's small breasts heaved "… and
did you even stop to consider that after six years, Noah Drake may
look like a goddamn toad!"

After a minute's silence, Marlayna's dry,
slightly whimsical voice returned. "Don't be ridiculous. King
Arthur would have slathered wart cream all over Noah's body."
Blue-gray eyes held gilded brown ones, traded a wink, and then
companionable laughter conquered the anger that had built up.

"Maybe hysteria is contagious," Sylvia said,
shaking her head to clear it. She settled next to Marlayna on the
bed. "I apologize." Her fingers squeezed her friend's shoulder. "I
shouldn't have trespassed into your dreams."

"I’m glad you did," Marlayna returned at
length. Her head lowered, eyes making a study of the pink cotton
weave on her shirt. "I've spent the past week living in a fantasy
world, talking with and laughing with and loving a man who wasn't
even here." Marlayna cast a sardonic glance at Sylvia. "I'm afraid
that doesn't say too much for the maturity of my mind."

The blonde issued a noncommittal hum as the
brunette continued to speak. "It's funny how the mind does work. I
find myself playing a very vivid part in different scenarios with
Noah. Words, actions, promises — everything is so perfect."

Sylvia looked at her quizzically. "It sounds
like you have more in mind than just getting questions
answered."

"I do."

"What?"

"A baby."

"Baby? A baby! So that's what you're really
after." She stood up and faced her. "You are crazy." Each word was
enunciated with force. Pacing back and forth, hands flailing,
Sylvia tried to assemble a coherent argument. "I know how tragic
that miscarriage was for you. But Marlayna, you can't replace the
loss of one baby with the birth of another."

"I know."

"I'm not sure you
know a
damn thing!"
Sylvia ran an agitated hand around the back of her neck, and her
palm came away damp and sticky. "So you're going on this weekend
with every intention of coming back pregnant. What happens if Noah
isn't interested? Are you going to rape him?" She didn't allow time
for an answer. "Hell, why would you even want to have sex with a
man who didn't love you, let alone carry his child?"

"Because I love him," she spoke with
conviction.

"You're in love with a memory, not a man.
He's got to have changed, you have." Sylvia's fingers wrapped
around Marlayna's wrists, pulling her to stand in front of the
cheval glass. "Take a good look." Her palm pushed up a lowered
chin. "Keep looking," she instructed, pressing Marlayna closer to
the mirror. "Is this the same twenty-one-year-old girl who dithered
over what to pack on her honeymoon?" She stepped carefully out of
the reflection. "I'm going to make us a pot of strong tea and some
sandwiches. Maybe if you look into yourself for a while, you'll
come up with a few answers of your own." Sylvie stalked out of the
bedroom.

Marlayna's immediate answer was one of
defiance. She reclaimed the fragile white nightgown. She held it
tight against her body, one hand positioned the fragile lace bodice
in proper place over her cotton T-shirt and the other hand fanned
the floor-length skirt for inspection.

The dreamy expression and sublime smile on
her face was duplicated on her mirrored image. "This is almost like
the one I wore on my wedding night." She lovingly fingered the
luxurious material. "I bought seven gowns, one for each night of
the honeymoon. There was bridal white, pink, lilac, blue, green,
fiery red and --" she took a step backward and picked up the teddy,
"the last was sultry black."

Humming gently, Marlayna whirled and twirled
and swirled in front of the looking glass until she lost her
balance, stumbled backward and collapsed across the clothes-strewn
bed. "Ohh . . . ooh." Her eyelids fluttered shut, exchanging the
revolving room for soothing blackness. In doing so, she closed a
window on the present and opened one on the past.

She found herself in surroundings quite
different from the duplex's arctic white master bedroom, and she
was not alone. "Heavens, those brochures certainly didn't
exaggerate about the honeymoon villas in the Poconos," her audibly
nervous voice exclaimed. "Everything is red and white. Gosh, Noah,
look at the round bed and ... the ... the bathtub is
heart-shaped!"

"You're going a little red, yourself, Mimi."
His deep masculine voice turned her nickname into an endearment

Marlayna stammered and babbled her way out
of the bathroom. "Why don't I just unpack us and --"

"Why don't we just shake the dust off that
bed." Noah's hands settled on either side of the green suitcase she
was in the process of lifting and settled it back on the red
carpet. "Hey, what's the matter, love?" Wrapping his arms around
her waist, he nuzzled the side of her neck with his cheek. "I do
believe you're scared of your new husband."

“You’re right I am. Sort of. . ." She took a
deep steadying breath and searched inside herself, hoping to find a
vein of cool, clever sophistication. Instead, she discovered a
steadily increasing passion for the man who was holding her. "Mmmm
. . . what are you doing?"

"This is the Noah Drake method for
effectively combatting the new wife jitters."

With a more relaxed sigh, she leaned closer
against him, luxuriating under the lengthy strokes his hands were
making along her spine. "How many new wives have you stopped
jittering?"

His lips languidly sculpted the rounded
curve of her jaw and settled by her ear. "You're my first wife,"
Noah admitted in a husky whisper. "First, last and always. Have I
told you lately how much I love you?"

"Not for at least five minutes." She
suddenly became very involved with his body. She pushed beneath the
silken knit of his gray shirt, fingers pressing into the lean
muscled strength of his shoulders. His flesh was hard and tough.
When her hands slid around to his chest, the dark crisp hairs
trapped her eagerly exploring fingertips. The spicy smell of him
aroused her, as did Noah's own investigating hands.

She felt the zipper lowering on the back of
her pale yellow sundress and then the wide ribbon straps were
discreetly untied. Noah pressed butterfly kisses along her right
cheekbone and on the tip of her nose, his lips coming to a gentle
rest against hers.

"Do you know I only started breathing,
really feeling alive the day I was lucky enough to meet you."

The sincerity of his words and the timbre of
his voice made her eyes pool with tears. "Oh, Noah, I feel the
same." Marlayna's arms moved to encircle his neck. "I love you very
much and I'm not afraid anymore."

"Suddenly I am." His brown gaze darkened
seriously. "I want everything to be perfect for you. Today,
tomorrow and always. And I want to be perfect for you. You deserve
nothing less."

"So . . ." she pressed closer, her rounded
feminine form filling in the rough angles of his male physique,
"…perfect me . . ." Her mouth settled warmly, firmly, enticingly
onto his.

Noah masterfully accepted her invitation.
His tongue was a playful intruder that teased apart her lips and
probed the lush interior beyond. Dual sighs and moans echoed softly
and were alternately provoked and ravenously consumed by nibbling
teeth, rubbing lips and cavorting tongues.

Assorted masculine and feminine clothes
began to clutter the ruby carpet until each stood viewing the other
wrapped in a shared cloak of love. "You are incredibly beautiful,
Mrs. Drake." Noah's arms moved around the indentation of her waist,
his large hands settling low to cup the rounded globes of her
buttocks.

"And you, Mr. Drake, certainly surpass any
naked man I’ve ever seen," Marlayna whispered, her teeth pulling at
his earlobe.

"How many naked men have you seen,
lady?"

She shivered in delightful anticipation as
his right hand moved upward, across her torso to gently cup her
full breast. "Ooo . . .only one in a rather risqué R-rated movie
and a copy of Michelangelo's
David."

"So, I'm better than an Italian master's
statue?" His thumb and forefinger deftly manipulated the hardened
nipple.

Her palm moved slowly down his sinewy chest,
fingers splaying amid the silken mat of dark curls. "You're much,
much better," Marlayna told him truthfully. "You're flesh and blood
and very, very real." Her hand slid lower. "Although it seems one
very intrinsic part of you is growing marble hard."

"And very anxious." He lowered his head,
letting his lips and tongue take the place of his fingers. She felt
electrified and whimpered with pleasure, wondering how it was
possible to constrict with delicious tension one minute and
suddenly feel that all her bones had been turned to gelatin the
next.

"Noah . . . please . . ." Marlayna was
surprised to hear herself begging. "Please ... I don't think I can
stand up any longer."

"That makes two of us." He led her to the
massive round bed that readily provided support. Noah spangled her
velvety breasts with a hundred kisses. His coarse tongue reverently
bathed a painfully taut nipple before his aggressive mouth gently
suckled.

Sweet sensations moved along her nerves to
her heart—a heart that was pounding against her husband's, her
lover's. His caressing hand ventured lower, drifting like a gentle
breeze across her belly, the tip of his finger making a tender
intrusion into the moist core of her femininity.

"Relax, darling, relax. I won't hurt
you."

Her hands cradled either side of his face.
Love-filled eyes worshiped his every feature. "I trust you, Noah,
my husband. Trust you and love you and—"

A mind-jarring crash jerked Marlayna to a
sitting position as Sylvia's voice caroled, "Don't worry, it was
just an odd glass. I'm making two cheese omelets instead of
sandwiches. They'll be done in ten minutes."

Marlayna swallowed convulsively and tried to
reorient herself to this room, this place, this year. The six-foot
mirror reflected her flushed features and the limp form that she
resolutely dragged off the bed. A shaky hand further tangled damp
curls. "How can he keep doing this to me? How can one person hold
on so tight, so long, and so thoroughly to another? Am I mentally
ill? Or am I a woman still in love with her husband?"

There didn't seem to be an answer to any of
the questions that she was asking. "Questions!" Her nose wrinkled
in disgust. "Why is my damn life filling up with more questions?" A
tremulous laugh bubbled over yet another question.

"Mind over matter. Mind over matter." She
kept up the chant, neatening her twisted shirt and straightening
her jeans. Marlayna moved to the white tufted boudoir chair and
snapped on the lights that rimmed the makeup mirror. A natural
bristle brush restored order to her hair, and the contents of
various pots and bottles concealed the dark circles under her eyes
and toned down the blush that seemed to have indelibly stained her
cheeks.

In a matter of minutes, she was her old,
composed self. At least on the outside. "This face lies so easily."
A worried sigh escaped her. Maybe the Fates had chosen the perfect
occupation for her. How easily she was able to compose and
calculate and pretend both in front of the camera and off. No
matter how shattered she was on the inside, everyone always raved
about how wonderful she looked.

Just maybe … she gazed at herself for a long
moment. Maybe that bit of talent would enable her to get through
the weekend and the week ahead. She'd have to be a woman of many
faces: one for Arthur Kingman, one for his daughter Gwen and
another for Noah Drake.

Noah.
How could the sound of a name
make her feel so many things? Her clenched fist hit the top of the
marble table, making assorted cosmetics jump and topple. "Damn you,
Noah! Why can't you let me live in peace? What is it you have that
spoiled me for any other man?"

Marlayna looked herself straight in the eye.
"This has got to stop. No more fantasy lover. No more dreams of
yesterday. No more scripting the perfect scene." She reached out
and patted the cheek of her image. "Let's not start playing the
game until all the cards have been dealt. Win, lose or draw, you
certainly can't become any worse than you already are." She stood
up and headed for the door, pausing to add over her shoulder, "And
just maybe you might come out ahead."