Lauren's Designs (11 page)

It was
comfortable
to share small jokes, Lauren decided; a sort of defense against the earth-shaking force of what they had shared. It gave that mindless, overwhelming physical ecstasy a warm, human individuality—made it truly
theirs
. She grinned. “That was world-class?” she teased.

It was Mike’s turn to laugh, full-throatedly, his chest shaking her. “I see I have myself an insatiable female here.” He chuckled, pulling her on top of him and pinning her to him. He began a tantalizing stroking, a sensual massage that brought her quickly to an ardent response.

Later, Lauren was roused from light slumber to find Mike stroking her hair gently. She looked up at him with drowsy eyes, recalling with wonder the strange, compelling wave of feeling that had caught them both up into an alluring rapture of physical delight that led to a piercing almost agonized ecstasy. It had been a time removed from everyday reality, a moment when they were no longer Lauren and Mike, no longer even male and female, but instead a mindless centering of awareness, of sensation, which focused in their joined bodies. Lauren inhaled sharply at the memory.

“Mike,” she said softly, smiling at the strong, beautiful face, relishing their shared delight. She yawned involuntarily, then stretched herself as gracefully as a cat, in the process moving her breast against him.

He bent his dark head to her, kissing her gently, reassuring her. Then he groaned as she pressed his head against the rounded flesh of her breast, stroking his neck and shoulders.

“It was unbelievable, wasn’t it?” he whispered against her flesh. “I have never known a woman who was so ardent, so able to love me and accept my lovemaking.” He stroked her breast, then tantalized that tender flesh with sweet butterfly kisses.

Al had always turned away and gone to sleep as soon as he had satisfied himself, Lauren remembered. Never once had he shared his feelings, told her that he valued their lovemaking.

Seeing the lost look on her face, Mike gathered her closer to his body. His voice was uneven. “I didn’t know it could be so . . .” He broke off with a groan. “I adore you.”

Suddenly shy of this great sleek tiger, warm and virile against her body, Lauren drew away a little. “What time is it? I’d better go back to my stateroom now.”

As she moved to get up, he caught her to him. “I won’t let you go creeping back to your cabin in the middle of the night.”

“Better than having half the crew see me returning in the daylight wearing an evening gown,” Lauren said ruefully. “I’m not very skilled at intrigue.”

Mike sat up quickly. “Intrigue? Is that what you call it? Madam, I shall not permit you to beat a clandestine retreat from my bedroom.”

Lauren stared at the magnificent virility of him and felt her treacherous heart melt. If he really wished her to stay . . . It did seem a flat ending, a commonplace dawn, after a night of such joy.

“I can’t stay here indefinitely,” she protested, too weakly.

“Why not?” demanded Mike, the indulgent conqueror. “We can send for your toothbrush and you don’t need a nightgown.”

“Be serious,” she begged with a laugh.

“Be yourself,” he advised her coolly. “Lauren Rose, the designer of September Song, design something! Make yourself a bathing suit out of a sheet or something, and come for a swim with me. After that, you can return to your cabin with perfect propriety.”

It was easy to see he was accustomed to getting his own way with women. That idea introduced a host of disturbing pictures of Mike with a succession of beauties, taking them to swim in his spacious pool in his own home. Still, she refused to let jealousy spoil the wonderful experience they had shared. Go swimming? Make herself a suit? Why not? She began to smile. Her eyes sparkled.

“Have you got a pair of scissors?” she asked.

“I believe there’s a sewing kit in the guest bathroom. Cunard thinks of everything.”

Lauren was already in the bathroom. Her voice rang out, pleased and interested. “There are several extra towels and bath sheets. September Song is about to launch a terry-cloth trend.”

Half an hour later, Lauren paraded into the sitting room and struck a pose. Mike, lounging in his trunks and robe, rose to applaud.

“You’d never get away with any place but the Riviera or Black’s Beach, but I think you look terrific. In fact, it gives me an idea—” He began a mock-predatory advance.

Lauren dodged past him, laughing. Her costume was fetching, but too fragile for a struggle. Two facecloths and two hand towels in rust, stitched together, paid token service to modesty. Lauren had also cut a T-slit in a rust-colored bath sheet, which she now donned as a poncho.

“On to the pool,” she commanded. “Before half the ship is awake to review my latest design.”

“You know that gorgeous creation you were wearing last night?”

“You mean the gown you removed so cavalierly?”

“I was careful,” Mike protested. “I’ll wrap it in a clothes bag and return it to your stateroom before dinner tonight, which, by the way, you will have with me.”

“It’s Carlos de Sevile’s showing,” Lauren said, at once sober as she contemplated the challenge. “I must attend.”

“We’ll eat here afterward,” Mike said firmly. “I’m going to take you to the show. I can’t let you go unguarded among the wolves.”

Chapter Four

When she returned to her cabin, much refreshed after her swim, she found both Dani and Nella still sleeping. So much for her worry about gossip, Lauren thought. But she did not escape completely. A sullen Herbert waited for her outside the restaurant as she emerged after breakfast. He took her arm roughly.

“We’re going to talk. In your sitting room.”

“I’m busy this morning with the presentation for September Song.”

“About time,” Herbert sneered. “Your show is tomorrow afternoon and you haven’t even rehearsed yet.”

“How do you know I haven’t rehearsed? Snooping?”

“Until and unless you buy my shares, I’ve got a legitimate right to know what’s going on. When do you rehearse?’

“You aren’t going to watch us,” Lauren said grimly. “You’ve put Nella out of action—”

“She never was in it,” he taunted. “What a crummy pair of old bats you chose for your models.” He jerked at her arm. “Let’s go down to your suite.”

To avoid a scene, Lauren led the way. Her own bedroom door was locked, as she had left it after her swim, and the models’ door was closed. Lauren indicated a chair. Herbert flounced into it.

“Well?” Lauren asked coolly.

“What’s going on?” Herbert growled.

“I’m putting on a show tomorrow afternoon. I’m rehearsing for it today, in secret. Dani and Nella are going to be there, as of course am I. That’s all you need to know.”

“I’m going to see that rehearsal.”

“Why?” Lauren’s voice was cold. “You know nothing about staging a fashion show. You know nothing about fashions. You have never, even when Al was managing the boutique, had anything to do with the presentations. And I don’t like the sabotaging you’ve been doing on this trip, or your lies. You’ve never been my lover and you never will be. Now leave me alone and leave the models alone, or I’ll complain to the judges about your harassment.”

Glaring at her, Herbert could see that she meant every word. He struggled to think of a reply, but clearly could not in the face of Lauren’s open hostility. He got up from the chair and strode over the door. Flinging it open, he said pompously, “You’ll regret your highhanded behavior, Lauren. I tried to save your bacon, but you don’t want any help. Al wouldn’t be very proud of the kind of woman you’ve turned into.” He stalked out, slamming the door after him.

Dani poked her head out of her bedroom. “Geez, he’s awfully noisy for this early in the morning. What brought that on?”

“Get ready for the rehearsal,” Lauren said harshly. “And if you breathe one word to that creep about the show. I’ll push you overboard.”

Dani grinned. “Attagirl, Ms. Rose! Give ’im hell.”

The two women smiled at one another.

*****

The ten-o’clock rehearsal went very well. The orchestra had taken time to familiarize themselves with Tony’s score, and after a few rough spots were ironed out, the presentation sparkled. An extra bonus was the presence of Nella, who, urged by obscure guilt feelings even more than by her fear of losing her salary, insisted upon going with Lauren and Dani to the rehearsal. Lauren told her that if she ever breathed one word about the revamped show to any living being, she, Lauren, would personally make sure that Nella never modeled again in the United States. Nella believed her.

She was enchanted with the dance and mime as Dani had been, and announced herself perfectly willing to model the suits and accessories, the sportswear and anything else that had been made for her. She agreed very happily to do her usual job in all the sections but the dance-mime, and to stay backstage to help the troupe with costume changes for that.

Lauren couldn’t believe her ears. Nella restored to health was one thing; Nella willing to help backstage and to model her own costumes without fussing was even better. Lauren looked at her with a suspicious eye. “What’s made the change?” she queried.

“Michael came by while you were at breakfast. He was returning the dress you’d sent to the cleaner-valet service. He says the tear is mended so neatly you’d never believe there had been one. Gee, he’s nice. I didn’t believe such a dishy guy would pick up our cleaning.”

“Was that all he said?” Lauren asked as calmly as possible.

“No. He promised Dani and me a bonus if we did a good job. He explained how Mr. Masen’s been trying to do us dirt. That’s rotten.”

Lauren and Dani exchanged glances. “A unanimous vote,” murmured Lauren.

The three women ate lunch together and then went on to the afternoon presentation. It was Telford of Boston, the preppy guru, and predictably conservative-nostalgic. The elite loved it, of course. Like Nowak’s show and Janus’s, it had its own cult of dedicated buyers. Lauren and her models, all elegantly dressed, drew a number of admiring glances as they took their seats, but no comments.

“You’d think they’d ask about the clothes,” Nella grumbled, who was very proud of the way, she looked in a rich amber silk cocktail dress that glorified her hair and her bosom.

“They think you’re part of the audience,” Dani quipped. “One of the Back Bay elite.”

“Haven’t you heard about Bostonians?” Lauren whispered. “They speak only to each other and God.”

“Oh,” Nella said, round-eyed and credulous. Dani grimaced.

“I’ve made arrangements for your both to have a session of massage, Jacuzzi, and facial at the Golden Door spa this afternoon,” Lauren told them. “Then, tonight, we’ll all go to Carlos de Sevile’s showing. You’ll wear your special evening gowns for that.” She smiled at their brightening look. “I’ll help you dress.”

“Can we eat before the showing?” Nella asked. “I’m always starved.”

“After,” Lauren decided. “That way, we don’t take a chance on spilling food on those clothes.”

Dani and Nella laughed heartily. Lauren crossed her fingers and kept her mouth closed.

“Then tomorrow, at about eight A.M., Derek and Tony have scheduled a dress rehearsal, with costumes, music, the works. I’ll get a steward to take the clothes racks to the old gym. We put on our September Song showing at two P.M. in the Royal Court Lounge. Think you can handle it?” she asked encouragingly.

Both models nodded.

“I suggest an early night tonight, in view of the eight-o’clock rehearsal.”

Again the models nodded. Lauren smiled at them, feeling a real sense of gratitude to both. In spite of Herbert’s efforts and Dani’s roving eyes, they were rallying around Lauren. Her smile warmed.

“Thank you both,” she said sincerely. “I really appreciate your help. I couldn’t do it without you.”

Nella beamed and Dani looked a little embarrassed.

Lauren said, “Enough schmaltz already. Off you go to the spa and live it up.”

When they had disappeared, Lauren went to her suite. From there she phoned the purser’s office and asked for a reliable steward to take the racks of costumes to the rehearsal by eight o’clock the following morning. This was promised, and with a feeling of relief Lauren hung up the phone. She sat on the couch, daydreaming, for a long moment. Mike was always there at the back of her mind, warm and concerned and subtly supportive. Lauren wondered why a man as attractive and serious as Mike hadn’t been snapped up long ago. He’d never revealed anything about his private life, and not too much about his business interests. And, yet, surely he didn’t hop into bed with a different woman every night. Last night had to be something special. Lauren knew it had been for her. Did Mike feel any sense of commitment? He had said he wouldn’t let her go unguarded among the wolves, that he would escort her to the de Sevile showing and then bring her to his suite for dinner afterward.

Lauren stared ahead without seeing the pleasant furnishings of the suite. What did she feel about Mike? Last night had been something rare and wonderful, an evening out of time. She didn’t regret one minute of it, although she was not a woman who took love or sex lightly. She had known only one man in her life until last night with Mike. Did she want to go on with him after the cruise? Did he want to commit himself to a serious relationship? And what would it be? An affair? Marriage? How could she tell, until Mike made his wishes known to her?