I fled back into the house.
But here is where I shall shock you, Angelique. I did not return to bed. Instead, I hesitated inside the foyer, then found myself moving to the first window to the left of the door. From behind the glass of the morning room, hidden by the drapery, I watched them, together under the gaslight of the porch lamp.
My interruption was clearly of no import to them. In the time it had taken me to tiptoe softly to the window, they had resumed their former activities, more aggressively than before. My husband had the front of that shocking red dress pulled down and I saw quite clearly the roundness of her br**sts, the darker circle of her ni**les, before his mouth covered them.
What amazed me, what seemed so extraordinary, was that they were standing up locked together, that they both looked so violent in their pleasure. There was jerking and tugging and heads tilted back, eyes rolling in ecstasy. She had her hand clasped around Damien's manhood, moving up and down with slow, languorous strokes, and I found myself resentful that doing such a thing had never occurred to me.
What Damien and I did—it was quick and efficient, conducted in the dark with little conversation.
What they were doing was totally different, and it was oh so utterly wicked, wrong in every sense of the word, but for the first time I saw the appeal, for the first time I felt an awakening in my own body, a heavy, tingling sort of anticipation as I watched. When Damien sucked hard on her ni**les, my own ached beneath my nightrail. When she moved over him, faster and faster until he pushed her away, my own heart rate increased until I could hear the quick rushes of my panting breath.
Even when the rain began to fall, soaking her dress, his shirt, forcing linen to cling to taut br**sts and rippling muscle, they did not hesitate, did not stop. Damien shook the rain from his face, and she tilted her head back, as if she exalted in the mist that flowed cool over her hot, aroused body.
I felt that I should stop watching, that I should leave them alone in their debauchery, but I couldn't look away. I couldn't tear my eyes from their explosive passion, from the connection that flowed between them, the whispered murmurs that I couldn't hear, but could see, in the form of their lips moving urgently.
Then her dress was around her waist, legs wrapped around his, Damien's back against the porch post. They surged together. It was not him solely pushing into her, nor her sliding onto him, but a total collision of the two, and even from my hiding space behind the glass and wood, I could hear their mutual moans of pleasure.
Clinging to the curtain, a novel heat pooling between my thighs, I breathed hard, watching my husband thrust himself into that woman, over and over, while I wished most shamefully that it were me.
Chapter Nine
Marley jerked on the bed when her cell phone rang. She dropped the letter she'd been reading and moved quickly to the desk, hoping it was Lizzie or at least Rachel calling with news.
It was from a local area code. "Hello?" she said, her mouth thick, eyes dry from poring over Marie's letters.
"Are you hungry?"
Damien's voice was low, charming, seductive. Marley rubbed her damp palm on her jeans. He hadn't waited long. She'd only left him late that morning, after she had promised to show up on Saturday for another party. And yet he was already pursuing her, just as he had threatened.
"Why? What are suggesting?" Marley was stiff, her neck and back sore, her thoughts jumbled and muddled, her heart filled with worry and sorrow for her sister and for the long-dead Marie.
Damien laughed. "Dinner. To start with. Unless you have a better idea."
While Marley had basically decided to have sex with Damien, and soon, she had also decided it would be on her terms, for her reasons, for personal empowerment and liberation. Having him come up to her small hotel room wasn't appealing or arousing in the least.
Neither did she think she wanted to be alone. Marie's pain, the tragedy of losing her baby, reached through the centuries and ate at Marley. She understood that burn, that ache to be a mother, to feel a child growing within her, to anticipate holding a baby in her arms. She had mourned with Marie, felt her anguish. It made her own longing rise again in great tumultuous waves, a craving so fierce and earnest that she felt stunned, melancholy, a bit desperate.
Heaped onto her concern for Lizzie, Marley felt knots of tension forming in her temples, her forehead. She needed to get out of the hotel room, away from her own thoughts and feelings. "I guess that's fine. Do I have to get dressed up?"
"Your enthusiasm is flattering," he said, though he sounded more amused than irritated. "No, you don't have to dress up. We'll go somewhere casual."
"What time?"
"Five minutes. I'm. right outside your hotel."
Marley flushed. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said he was going to chase. "Oh, okay. I'll meet you in the lobby."
"Perfect."
They hung up and Marley chanced a glance in the mirror. Yikes. She'd returned from Rosa de Montana and had showered, but she hadn't spent much time with the blow dryer. Now her hair was frizzy, her skin pale, and she still had black circles under her eyes from the martini incident. In an effort to distract attention from her facial flaws, she threw on the one skirt she'd packed, a floral cotton, and paired it with a sleeveless white knit top that clung tighter than most of her T-shirts. For Marley, allowing anything to delineate her br**sts was a major concession, and she hoped Damien would appreciate exactly what the effort cost her.
The closest thing she had to lipstick was a dessert-scented lipgloss, so she slid that on, stepped into sandals, grabbed her purse, and went downstairs, leaving Marie's letters tucked safely in her suitcase.
Damien was already waiting in the lobby. She saw him the minute the elevator doors opened and she exited. She wasn't sure what she'd expected—maybe him pacing anxiously, or at least standing there looking impatient, or even lounging in a chair drinking coffee and reading the paper. Instead, he was talking to the desk clerk, a pale blonde whose laughter could be heard all the way across the lobby.
Unfamiliar, unpleasant feelings reared up and threw Marley. God, she was jealous, and she hated it. Yet that didn't stop her from strolling up to him and announcing, "Sorry I took so long. I'm ready to leave. Now."
The desk clerk looked startled, but Damien only pulled his elbows off the desk, turned, and smiled. "I didn't mind the wait, you were hardly a minute." He turned back to the blonde. "Thank you so much for your help, Renee. Have a great day."
She took the business card he was pushing over the desk to her. Her cheeks were pink, eyes sparkling. "My pleasure."