The word
fangs
sent a picture of Wolf flashing into Micki’s mind, and shaking her head impatiently, she pleaded, “Georgine, will you tell me where the store is?”
Georgine mentioned a large hotel chain, adding casually, The one in Honolulu.”
“Honolulu?” Micki repeated in an awed tone, then, much louder, “Honolulu?”
Jennell’s soft laughter drifted to her from across the width of the shop, where both she and Lucy had stood watching Micki’s reaction to the news. With a grin she drawled huskily, “Isn’t it a shame? I mean, some poor girls have no luck at all. First Georgine can’t find a man, now she gets shipped almost to the end of the earth—poor thing.”
Georgine’s excitement infected them all and Micki’s first week at the store flew by without a hitch. Even her plans for attending Tony and Shirley’s wedding went smoothly. Plans were also made by Micki, Jennell, and Lucy to take Georgine for dinner on Friday night, as she was leaving for Honolulu on Monday.
When she learned Micki was flying to Albany Saturday morning, Jennell suggested she pack a valise, bring it with her to the shop Friday, and spend the weekend at her apartment.
“I’ll drive you to the airport Saturday morning and pick you up again Saturday night,” Jennell said. “That way you won’t have to leave your car at the airport.”
All Micki’s arguments about not wanting to put Jennell out ended up against a stone wall. Jennell was determined and Micki finally, laughingly, gave in.
Friday night was pure fun. After a wildly expensive dinner they went bar hopping, having decided there was safety in numbers, flirting madly and dancing until Micki thought she’d drop.
Saturday morning, still half asleep, Micki waved goodbye to an equally sleepy Jennell, boarded the plane, and promptly fell asleep, dead to the world until the plane touched down in Albany. A grinning Tony woke her completely with a bear hug and resounding kiss on the mouth.
“What are you up to?” Micki grinned back at him when he released her.
“I wanted to bring Shirl with me to meet you, but I’m not allowed to see the bride before the ceremony.” His grin flashed again. “So come on, friend. You and I are going to have some lunch and you can hold my hand between now and then. Maybe you can even prevent the nervous fit I feel coming on.”
Micki’s first glimpse of Shirley was just before the ceremony and with that quick look she knew why Tony had put the young woman on a pedestal and had hesitated about making love to her. Small, fragile Shirley had the face of a cover model. Her own breath catching in her throat, Micki could well imagine the impact Shirley had on a supper-club crowd.
Although the ceremony was brief, it was beautiful and moving, and as Micki left the small church, she had to dab quickly at her eyes to blot the tears.
At the champagne supper given by the bride’s parents, Micki discovered the girl behind the breathtaking face was not only very nice, but intelligent and quick-witted as well. When they saw her off at the airport, Micki kissed Shirl on the cheek and whispered, “I know you’ll be very happy.” Then loud enough for Tony to hear, “Keep this clown in line, won’t you?”
“This clown wants a kiss too,” Tony retorted, repeating his bear hug performance of that morning.
Tears in her eyes, Micki kissed him, warned him he’d better take damned good care of her new friend, then walked away from them with the advice they get on with the honeymoon and let her sniffle in peace.
* * * *
Jennell was waiting as promised and had to hear all the wedding details on the way back to her apartment. Micki had all day Sunday to rest in the apartment by herself, as Jennell decided to do her boyfriend a favor and spend the day—and night—with him.
The nighttime part Micki found out about when Jennell telephoned the apartment around nine.
“Would you be all right on your own tonight, honey?” Jennell drawled the question hesitantly.
“Of course,” Micki said at once. “Why?”
“Well, this deliciously bad man wants me to stay with him tonight, but I told him I’d have to confer with you first.”
“Would you like to stay?” Micki asked devilishly.
“Is the ocean salty?” Jennell laid the drawl on thickly.
“Then stay,” Micki laughed. “And Jennell—”
“Yes?”
“Be good.”
“Are you crazy?” Jennell purred. “I’ll be terrific.”
Laughing softly, Micki replaced the receiver, then went still as a strange thought struck her. Why was it, she wondered, that she was so liberal-minded about her friends’ sleeping arrangements and so rigid about her own? She knew, because Jennell had been open and frank, that this “deliciously bad” man was not the first Jennell had slept with, yet she in no way thought of Jennell as promiscuous.
In fact, now that she gave it some thought, Micki could not come up with one name out of all her female friends who had not unashamedly admitted to sleeping with their current man. Why did she have to be odd woman out? Were her moral guidelines too narrow? Micki had never thought so, but, damn, she was the one alone tonight, every night.
The questions, all with the same theme, chased each other around in her mind as she prepared for bed. As she slid between the sheets the answer, which had been demanding exposure, finally broke through her self-imposed mental barrier. Very simply, she had felt no desire or even the slightest urge to be with any man other than one Wolf Renninger. And that one man scared the hell out of her. What had Darrel called him? A user of women? From her own experience Micki was very much afraid Darrel’s judgment was correct. And what scared her was the almost certain feeling that should he get his hands on her again she would revel in his using, lose herself completely, and when his use of her was over, be lost forever.
Micki’s second week in the shop sped by as quickly as the first. Georgine’s absence was felt in more ways than one. Not only did they miss her droll sense of humor but her help in the shop as well. A sudden spurt of business kept them all on the run, and by the end of the week had nearly wiped out their stock of marked-down merchandise.
Saturday morning, half asleep and yawning, Micki walked into the kitchen to find her father and Regina talking over their after-breakfast coffee.
“Good morning, princess,” Bruce smiled gently, studying her sleepy-eyed face. “You look tired, rough week?”
Returning the greeting, Micki nodded in answer. She had seen little of them all week, as staying late after the store closed to help Jennell straighten and restock the shop she had shared a quick meal with her before driving home. She had found the house empty every night but Monday and had been asleep before they had returned.
Now Micki smiled her thanks as Regina placed a glass of juice and a cup of coffee on the table in front of her and murmured, “How was your week?”
“Oh, not bad,” Bruce replied casually, too casually. That and the bright sheen of excitement in his eyes alerted her. “As a matter of fact we concluded that deal I was telling you about a couple of weeks ago. Do you remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” Micki emphasized with a nod. “It’s a very big deal?”
“Involving millions eventually,” Bruce grinned. “And it’s all signed and sealed and tonight we celebrate.”
“I remember that also,” Micki laughed before jumping up. Then she went over to her father and hugged him. “Congratulations. You’ve been working on this some time, haven’t you?”
“A good long time,” Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “With all the maneuvering and negotiating and people involved—several gears.” He exhaled harshly. “For a while there, when I was hospitalized, I was afraid I was out of it. But this one,” he nodded at Regina, “was fantastic. She became my legs, did all the running around for me, eased the pressure. And she shares equally in the rewards. So you may extend your congratulations in her direction as well.”
Stunned, Micki stared at Regina for a moment. Regina’s expression, a mixture of hesitancy and hope, loosened her tongue.
“Congratulations, fantastic lady.” Micki’s tone, though light, held real sincerity.
“Thank you.”
The two simply spoken words conveyed an equally simple message to Micki. The hostilities between them were over. Micki nodded her head sharply once, sniffed, cleared her throat, then asked over-brightly, “What time does the celebration begin and where?”
“It began right here a moment ago,” Bruce answered huskily. “It will continue at another realtor’s place with a cold buffet lunch between one and two thirty and a clambake supper at seven. We’d like to leave here around twelve thirty, as the place is some miles inland. Can you be ready by then?”
“Yes, of course.” Micki smiled, swallowing around the tightness in her throat caused by the suspicious brightness in his eyes. “How many people will be there?”
‘Thirty or forty I expect.” He grinned at the look of dismay that crossed her face. “Don’t worry, honey, you’ll know quite a few of them.”
On arrival at the large country house Micki judged her father’s estimate to be short by at least ten. But he had been right about one thing, she did know quite a few of the people.
Micki stayed with her father and Regina until after they had finished lunch, then she wandered off on her own to explore the extensive and beautiful grounds.
The place looked like a picture out of a magazine, and content with her own company, Micki strolled across the putting green, around the tennis courts, and onto the fringes of the pool area. Shading her eyes against the fierce glare of the sun’s rays striking off the water, Micki watched a group of teenagers playing Follow the Leader off the diving board.
Continuing on, she completed her wide circling of the grounds, ending up on the other side of the house. It was another hot, humid day in a long summer that had grown monotonous with hot, humid days. As she threaded her way through the cars parked in front of the three-car garage, Micki brushed her hand over her perspiration-slick face, shivering as sweat trickled between her breasts and down her back.
Walking around the front of the house, she headed for the patio from where she’d begun her exploration. There were few people there, as most of the younger ones were either in the pool or engaged in other outdoor games and the older ones had retreated into the air-conditioned house where several bridge games were in session. After unwisely gulping down two gin and tonics at the small bar that had been set up at the end of the patio, she found a lounge chair in the shade, sank onto it, and was asleep within ten minutes.
As the sun trekked its way west, it inched up Micki’s body, waking her when it touched her face. Bathed in sweat, her clothes plastered to her, feeling headachy and half sick, she went to the ground floor powder room. The cool interior of the house was a shock to her overheated body, and after rinsing her face and neck, she stood long minutes resting her forehead on the cool tiles. The rattle of the doorknob jerked her upright, and leaving the room she smiled wanly at the woman waiting to enter.
“They’re about ready to serve the clambake,” the woman informed her as she stepped into the powder room.
The thought of food made Micki’s stomach lurch. She made her way slowly back to the patio and was about to step outside when she stopped cold, her breath suddenly constricted in her chest.
Wolf, looking cool and relaxed in chinos and a pale blue shirt, stood at the bar talking to two men. About to retreat and find another way to the area where the tables had been set up for supper, Micki heard the one man say, “Since you’re alone today, Wolf, what do you say we do a disappearing act after supper and hunt up some action?”
“No, thanks.” Wolf’s soft laughter sent a shiver through Micki. “When this Wolf goes on the prowl, he prowls alone.”
The sickness increasing inside, Micki turned away sharply. His own words seemed to confirm Darrel’s opinion of him. How could she be in love with a man like that? And what was he doing here anyway?
She was halfway across the room when her steps faltered, then stopped, her hand reaching out for something to hang on to. The room seemed to be moving around her and she felt funny, almost floaty. Reaching for something to steady herself her fingers were caught by a hard male hand and a sharp voice demanded, “Micki, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“I—I feel funny.” Was that watery voice hers?
“Sit down.” As he spoke, Wolf guided her into a chair, lowered her head gently to her knees, muttering, “Damn, no one’s around, they’re all at supper.”
The light-headedness passed and Micki urged, “I’m all right now. Please go back to your friends.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wolf snapped. “I’m taking you home.”
“But—”
That’s as far as she got, for scooping her into his arms, Wolf ordered, “Be quiet,” and carried her out of the house. He deposited her in his car and had turned to walk around to the driver’s side when she exclaimed, “Dad and Regina! They’ll wonder what happened to me.”
“Relax,” Wolf soothed. “I’ll tell them.”
Within minutes he was back sliding behind the wheel. Her head resting against the seat, eyes closed, Micki heard the engine roar to life, felt the car move slowly as he drove onto the road, then with a sudden surge, the Ferrari seemed to literally fly along the highway. Afraid to open her eyes, Micki listened for the siren’s wail from a patrol car all the way home.
When Wolf brought the car to a stop in front of her home, Micki stirred lethargically and murmured, Thank you.”
He didn’t bother answering. He picked up her handbag and dug through it until he found her keys. Holding them up, he asked, “Which one?”
Ignoring her protests that it wasn’t necessary, he helped her from the car and into the house. Once again the air-conditioned coolness went through her like a shock, and dropping into the first chair she came to, Micki closed her eyes against the renewed dizziness. She heard Wolf moving away and had to bite back a plea for him to stay.
Tears were slipping out from under her tightly closed lids when she felt something cool and wet touch her face. Wiping gently, Wolf bathed her face and neck.
“That’s good,” Micki sighed. Nearly unconscious, unaware that she spoke aloud, she murmured, “I haven’t felt this bad since the abortion.”