Open Invitation? (17 page)

Lil sat astride him as Ella segued into “Be Kind.”

This is my first affair…
she sang.

Lil stroked Dan's rough jaw, his cheeks, his ears. His hands skimmed over her back, along her spine, leaving what felt like streaks of heat in their wake. And then they moved down to her bottom, which he cupped and squeezed and stroked.

He also moved her inexorably forward, until she was sitting almost on his shoulders. Nervous now, she felt a brief flash of shame as his big hands on her cheeks lifted her and brought her forward. Could she really do this?

She hovered, poised on her knees directly above him. She could feel his hot breath spiraling up, and the sight of his grin below took her breath away.

“Come 'ere, darlin',” he said, and dragged her hips down toward him. She felt unbelievably dirty, doing this, though she told herself rationally that there were far, far filthier things that two—or three or four—human beings could do.

Slowly she let herself sink down and Dan's mouth met her eagerly, his tongue lapping and sliding over her. She couldn't help the small, inhibited scream that came from her throat.

It seemed to excite him, because he found the most sensitive part of her with renewed vigor. Lil reached blindly in front of her and grabbed the edge of the headboard as he plunged his tongue into her and then swirled it around at a spot that made her come sexually unglued. Shame went out the window and there was only sensation, only his mouth and the feel of his hands on her bottom.

Her thighs began to shake uncontrollably and she tried to buck away from him as orgasm hit and shattered any control she had left. But he held her to his mouth with erotic determination and a tender sort of dominion that she'd never known.

Lil spasmed, cried out, spasmed, cried out, trembling and overcome with pleasure. She was wet with it, wild with it and wide-open. She had never, ever experienced anything like this.

He finally released her, judging that she could stand no more, and she collapsed against him, wanting to communicate gratitude but knowing that “thank you” didn't quite cut it.

“You're so beautiful,” Dan murmured, “when you allow yourself pleasure. I've never seen anything so gorgeous.” He stroked her hair, her shoulders, her back. She ran her hands down his body to find that he was still rock-hard, and she tugged at his shoulder to try to roll him on top of her.

He laughed gently at her efforts, and finally obliged her. “We need a condom, honey,” he said, rolling off her seconds later. She waited for him to come back from the bathroom, missing his warmth.

He came back sheathed and lost no time in picking up where they had left off, seeming to delight—as she did—in driving into her with one, sure stroke. Her muscles and nerves tautened with the fast penetration and gloried in it. She began to lose reality again to rhythm and sensation and the smell and texture of his skin. The scents of their bodies had mingled into a joined,
male/female essence that combined feral with floral, strength with subtlety.

She rode and he rode, each a cradle for the other's pleasure. The thought crossed her mind that this wasn't civilized English riding at all…she had somehow come to appreciate the Wild West very much indeed.

L
IL AWOKE
to the shrieking of the telephone next to her ear. It was almost as loud as the sledgehammer in her head and the thunderous mortification that hit her next as a sleepy, naked Dan Granger grabbed the phone and muttered into it. He dropped it back into the cradle, scrubbed a hand over his bristly face and sat up, swinging his muscular legs over the edge of the bed.

“Mornin', sleepyhead,” he said to her, as if everything were normal and she weren't the Whore of Babylon in a Judith Martin suit.

Lil couldn't even imagine the response to this. She pulled the covers up over her head.

Dan was so rude as to snatch them down. “Gotta get up, darlin' Lil. We don't want to miss our flight—though
now that I see you naked again, I can think of all sorts of creative ways to be late.”

She snatched the covers back and pulled them over her face again.

“Are we feeling cranky this morning?”

Nope, we're feeling
skanky
this morning
.

She said nothing.

“Does your little head hurt, baby?”

Yes, humiliation and remorse have a harsh sting to them—somewhat like tequila the morning after.

She nodded, still mummified in the bed covers.

“Come on, my little tigress. Let's show our morning stripes!”

Really, could the man be more annoying? He was a professional irritant.

She, on the other hand, was not professional at all.
Professionals don't straddle their client's faces and ride hell for leather, clutching the headboard and howling at the popcorn ceiling like an
American Idol
contestant
.

If Lil had had the remainder of the bottle of tequila, she would gladly have doused herself with it and stuck a lighted match up her left nostril.

Then she wouldn't have to look at the man who was stripping her of the covers yet
again
—much less listen to him.

She discovered that shame actually had a taste: a mixture of lime, stale alcohol and maraschino cherry.

“Okay, princess. Get up.” The Beast grabbed one of her wrists and one of her ankles and hauled her off the
bed, carrying her into the bathroom, where he settled her unceremoniously onto the toilet!

“I'm sure you have to use that,” he said, turning on the shower.

Lil's last remaining shred of dignity fluttered feebly and she shot off the toilet and out of his bathroom, through the connecting door and into her own bathroom.

He had expected her to pee in front of him? Was the man crazy?

She thought about the fact that he dealt with farm animals all the time, and supposed she shouldn't be surprised. But she was not a farm animal! Not today, anyway. She still wasn't sure what sort of creature she'd been last night.

She shuddered.

Then she thought about how hard Shannon would laugh if she could see how angst-ridden Lil was today. She tried to shrug off the angst. So she'd sat on a man's face. Women did it every day, and probably sometimes twice. What was the big deal? Why was she such a Goody-Two-Shoes?

She didn't know. All she knew was that her two shoes did not belong on either side of a man's face while her goodies were in his mouth.

Lil was so upset that she couldn't pee, even though she needed to. She closed her eyes. She was way beyond anal retentive: she was bladder retentive! What would Freud say about that? What would Jane say?

Suddenly she wanted Jane's advice in the worst way. Jane would be calm and rational and get her back to the
point where she could indulge in normal bodily functions. She would tell Lil how she should handle this situation.

But how could she possibly call Jane up on her cell phone and discuss something this…private?

She couldn't. And that was all there was to it.

Lil turned on her own shower and tried to scrub away all her confusion and mortification and concerns. She practically shoved the little bar of soap up into her uterus as she agonized over whether she—ugh, ugh, ugh!—might smell down there. Horrible thought.

Something she'd been entirely unconcerned about last night with all the tequila in her. Something she hadn't allowed herself to even wonder before, when she and Dan had done it in the dining room.

Since she couldn't call Jane, she got out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel and pretended that she was talking to her. Jane would say, “He works with barnyard animals. There is no worse smell. And it's not like he's treating you any differently today, right? You are a woman, these things are natural, and you're being silly.”

Right. Thanks, Jane.

Lil got dressed in the spare outfit she'd packed in her carry-on and fastened Nana Lisbeth's pearls around her neck and in her ears. There. Now she at least didn't
look
like the Whore of Babylon. She looked like the conservative businesswoman she had been a week ago, before Dan Granger had strolled into her life and said, “Haaaaaaaaa.”

Before he'd turned her life upside down.

A knock sounded on the connecting door. Dan asked, “You okay in there, Lil?”

“I'm just fine, thank you.”

“We need to get a move on, darlin'.”

“One moment, and I'll be ready.” She quickly gathered her things and threw them back into the carry-on which had been carefully organized earlier, everything in its place.

Now she mashed her toiletries, her dirty clothes and the teddy in any which way they would fit. They resembled her thoughts and emotions. She put those out of her mind and zipped the bag closed.

She opened the door.

“Ready?” asked Dan. He leaned forward to kiss her.

She bent quickly to pick up her bag, avoiding the intimacy. “Yes, I'm all set.”

He frowned and scanned her face. “How's your head?”

Quite a mess, thank you.
She smiled. “A little painful.”

“You need aspirin?”

“I'm afraid it will upset my stomach.”

He nodded. “Well, we'll get you settled on the plane and give you some hair of the dog.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Hair of the dog that bit you. Tequila. You drink some more, you'll feel better right away.”

Oh, I don't think so! I'm never touching the stuff again as long as I live.
She gave him a wan smile and he took her bag from her. “You don't have to carry that—”

“Don't forget your pocketbook, Lil.”

“Thank you.” Unbelievable. She'd been about to walk out of the room without it. What was wrong with her?

 

S
HAME TURNED OUT
not only to have a taste but a sedative effect. Lil slept for several hours on the flight to Heathrow, and even when she wasn't sleeping, she pretended to. Dan left her alone except for tucking a blanket around her, which made her feel cherished but confused her even more.

Eventually, though, she had to get up and prepare for their landing in London. She headed for the first-class lavatory, splashed water on her face and repaired her minimal makeup. She wondered what Dan's mother, stepfather and sister would be like. And she looked forward to seeing more of the city whose name she bore.

She made her way back to her seat, where Dan whispered to her how disappointed he was not to have been able to induct her into the Mile High Club. Lil sent him a quelling look.

They made their way off the plane and through customs. They were met in baggage claim by a very thin and otherwise nondescript man in a navy uniform, holding a sign that said Granger.

Mr. Nondescript's name was Ormsby, and he loaded their baggage into the trunk of a black four-door sedan and then navigated them out of Heathrow and into London while they looked around with interest. Ormsby took them on a scenic tour and pointed out some of the sights in his clipped accent, very much like Lil's grandfather Henry's.

They drove past Buckingham Palace with its rows of rigid guards in the famous tall, furry black hats. They saw monumental Big Ben and the lovely Houses of Parliament and the grim, looming Tower of London. They passed Harrod's and many other landmarks, finally pulling up in front of a grand neoclassical house in a chic neighborhood.

Ormsby opened the door for them, Dan discreetly slipped him a folded bill and they mounted the front steps to tap the door-knocker. A middle-aged woman in uniform admitted them, but her polite greeting was cut short when a whoop sounded from the top of the elegant, curved staircase and a high, girlish voice shouted, “Danimal!”

Lil took in a flash of blue and a mop of blond curls as a petite twenty-something girl raced down the stairs, her shoes making a clatter. She bounced as she hit the floor at the bottom and flew into Dan's arms. Lil guessed this must be Claire.

He picked his sister up easily and swung her around, laughing, before he set her down, held her back by the shoulders and scrutinized her. “You haven't changed at all, Clary.”

“No, silly, why would I?”

This was the sister who'd asked Dan to go to charm school for her sake? It didn't add up. Especially when she bellowed up the stairs, “Roddy! Get your arse down here to meet my brother!”

The woman in uniform winced.

Another head appeared at the top of the stairs, this
one expensively coiffed, colored and highlighted. Angelic blue eyes wore a permanently disappointed look and gazed down a flawlessly made up nose which shaded once-perfect lips that now sported vertical lines above and below them. The lines radiated outward in a genteel sunburst.

Dan's mother, Lil presumed. Clad in top quality cashmere from neck to ankles, she glided down the staircase while Dan stiffened almost imperceptibly. She offered him her cheek and extended a world-weary hand to Lil.

Dan brushed the woman's face slightly with his lips as heat bloomed in Lil's cheeks.
You shouldn't be kissing your mother with that mouth, cowboy.

Lil took the woman's cold, dry hand and shook it briefly, saying what a pleasure it was to meet her.

“Likewise, Miss London. I'm Louella Leighton. We're charmed to have you here for the wedding, aren't we, Claire?”

“Yes, absolutely!” Claire put an arm around Lil's shoulders and squeezed. Then she winked at Dan. “Now, how did you two meet?”

Dan and his mother began to speak at the same time. Then he stopped, his expression grimly aware.

“Claire, I told you, love. Dan was in Connecticut on business and met Miss London through mutual acquaintances.”

“Yes, that's exactly how it happened,” Dan said, fixing his mother with a steely glare that promised they would be chatting later.

Oh, dear. Lilia glanced from one to the other.

Claire ignored the tension and shouted up the stairs again. “Roderick!”

“Darling, how many times must I tell you, use the intercom or that awful cell phone of yours. Do
not
shriek at your fiancé like a banshee.” Louella frowned at her daughter. “And don't curse, either. I heard you shout that vulgar word earlier.”

“What vulgar word?” Claire asked, looking irritated. “You mean arse?”

Louella cringed. “Please excuse her, Miss London.”

“Call me Lil.”

“Oh, how pretty.” Before Dan's mother could continue, yet another head popped over the banister and looked down curiously, this one a wildly unruly dark one. “What the devil are you making such a racket for, Claire? Oh, is this the famous Lone Ranger brother, then? Halloooo. How d'you do? I'm Roddy, the bloke making off with your sister. Are you here to kick the stuffing out of me, then?”

Mrs. Leighton looked despairing.

Claire laughed.

Dan looked up at him with an inscrutable expression while Roddy stared boldly back. Finally Dan's mouth twitched and he said, “Damn straight I am.”

“Language, Daniel!”

“Arse, arse, arse,” said Claire.

Lil struggled to keep a straight face while Louella looked daggers at her daughter, who smirked right back at her and then looked mildly repentant. “Sorry, Mum.”

A door opened just down the main hall, and a tall
gentleman with regal bearing and the body of a pear emerged. He peered at them as if they were all peasants who hadn't bathed in a few days.

“Nigel!” Mrs. Leighton surged toward him, her hand to her brow. “Daniel and Miss London have arrived, the Stebbenses have just canceled—can you imagine! How boorish—and Mrs. Clapham has pressed the wrong lot of table linens. I feel a migraine coming on.”

He blinked at her and then looked instead at his daughter, for whom he had an indulgent smile.

Dan stepped forward and held out his hand. “Hello, Nigel. How are you?”

Nigel took in the elegant cut and expensive fabric of his stepson's jacket, not to mention the quality of his shoes and the genius of his haircut, and blinked again. “Daniel? Is that you?”

“Yes, sir. You're looking well.”

Nigel took the proffered hand and pumped it in a slightly wary fashion.

“May I present my date for the wedding, Miz Lilia London? Lilia, my stepfather, Nigel Leighton.”

Lovely Nigel—as Lil had come to think of him—took her hand and seemed to decide that she, out of all of them, had bathed. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, my girl. Welcome to Leighton House.”

Roddy had finally made it down the stairs and strolled up behind Nigel. A muscle jumped in his cheek at the words
Leighton House
and Lil guessed that it had recently been christened that.

Roddy stuck out his hand toward Dan. “Claire's told me a lot about you.”

“Has she? I do hope some of it was good.”

“Not a bit,” said Roddy with a grin. “She said you were a big brute who'd swing me from the end of a rope if I didn't treat her like a princess, didn't you, Clary?” He looked Dan over while a distressed Louella clutched at the curved banister and Lovely Nigel looked vaguely constipated.