The Lake

THIRTY-FOUR

“Let the orgy commence!”

Leigh winced as Mace grabbed the champagne. Catching her expression, he gave a wry smile, tore off the foil top, and twisted up the wire.

The cork flew out with a loud pop.

They giggled, searching around for it on their hands and knees, their earlier tension all but gone.

“Over here,” he called. “Under the TV table.”

He paused, looking at the photographs placed either side of the TV. Family shots; memorable Kodak moments showing Leigh and Deana laughing into the camera, arms around each other. Two older people—Leigh’s parents, he guessed.

And Deana standing alone. In a white bikini. On a seashore…

“I want to keep it,” Leigh was saying. “Call me old-fashioned, but I think it’s kinda romantic to save corks from champagne bottles. Write dates on them, names, that kinda thing. Folks do it all the time in the restaurant…”

“Women!”

He laughed, tossing the cork to her.

“That’s what I love about you, Leigh West. You’re all woman. Beneath that cool exterior, I swear there’s a soft, sensual seductress just crying to be let out.”

He poured the fizz into two flutes, already set by the ice bucket. Waited till the bubbles settled before filling up the glasses.

“Here’s to… to what?” His eyes twinkled. He paused, brows lifted inquiringly.

“To the future, Mace. A future without Nelson.”

“To us, Leigh.” He looked into her eyes. She flinched slightly at their intensity.

Relax, Leigh, she told herself. It’s party time. Go with the flow. Let it all happen.

She smiled at him. “To us,” she said, chinking her glass against his.

Then:

“Mace…”

“Uh-huh?”

“Mace, about what happened back there. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? My fault, Leigh. Shouldn’t have pressured you like that. A guy gets a little carried away sometimes. So let’s say no more about it. I’m sorry. Didn’t spoil our night, I hope?”

“No, of course not.” Leigh gave a hesitant smile, wishing that were true.

It’s been too long between men, she reasoned. I’ve almost forgotten how it was with them.

Her mind slipped back.

To Charlie. Her introduction to oral sex. Comparing Mace’s macho display with Charlie’s tender, boyish passion.

So long ago now.

Christ. Eighteen years, and she still remembered…

Her face had been sore for days afterward.

Before that, Larry Bills—her first-ever lover.

Ugghh.

She cringed inwardly, embarrassed at the memory.

After Larry, there’d been Tad Bronski, then Jake Hartmann from high school. Nice guys, both of them. Each respected her—and Jake had been deadly serious about their relationship. That is, until his folks hauled him off to Canada when his dad changed jobs.

Her mind lingered on Charlie again. He’d been a pretty hot lover—on those two occasions…

When he’d stopped being so goddamn shy, and scared of his mother.

He’d been kinda innocent. A victim, somehow.

You could say that again.

A lamb to the slaughter…

Yet, from the first, she’d detected something different about Charlie.

A kind of quantity X. Something of the unknown about him.

Something ever so slightly sinister.

And, of course, his witch bitch of a mother.

Edith Payne.

Leigh shuddered, not wanting to start that over again.

Yeah. All her boyfriends had had their moments.

Except Larry Bills. He was a one-off and didn’t count. Boy, was that the mother of all mistakes…

And, of course, Ben.

Ben was a pussycat. So kind and thoughtful; he’d never do anything to hurt her.

Now there was Mace.

She smiled to herself. Mace was all man.

And, she had to admit, that’s what did it for her.

His taut, powerful body. His attitude.

And his control.

Always, his tight control.

Me Tarzan. You Jane.

That’s Mace, all right.

He’d been an absolute rock for her over Nelson.

Kind. At first, neither suggestive nor sexy. She’d felt safe just having him around the place—and God knows, she’d been grateful for that.

She hadn’t exactly rebuffed him, either. She’d encouraged him, if anything.

She’d called him the other night. Practically begging him to keep her company in the long dark hours.

No prizes for guessing they’d ended up in bed.

She, tearful; he offering his special brand of comfort…

So what happened tonight?

Where had it all gone wrong?

Mace took her hand in his.

“Hey.” He laughed. “Don’t go quiet on me, Leigh. I came armed with champagne, hoping to bring a little joy into your life.”

He toyed with his glass, swilling around the remains of his drink. Knowing something still bugged her.

“Leigh. I care about you. You do know that, don’t you?”

“It had crossed my mind, Mace. You spending more time here than in your own apartment, an’ all!”

“Any objection to that?”

“Mace. You know I don’t. You’re beginning to mean a lot to me, too. I, we, would have been lost without your help, your advice and… concern. It’s real good to know you’re there for us.”

“Is that all? I’d hoped there was something more…”

Her robe slipped off her shoulder. Her mouth opened slightly as she gave him a puzzled smile.

“Of course there’s more, Mace. Much more. And you know it. It’s just that tonight…”

Suddenly, he was before her, hunkering down, looking anxiously into her face. “I’d hoped there was, Leigh.”

He dropped to his knees, resting his head on her lap. Feeling his warmth against her, she stroked his hair, still damp and tousled from the hot tub.

They stayed this way for a while—quiet, content, just being together.

Then he was sitting on the sofa beside her, she leaning against him, feeling relaxed and a little sleepy.

“Time to go,” he whispered, his breath warm against her neck.

“Go? So soon?”

“Time to go to bed. For me to make love to you till… sunup, at least. I love you, Leigh West. And tonight, I’m gonna show you just how much…”

Mace left before six next morning, leaving her in bed, drowsy, clinging, not wanting him to go.

“Gotta ride, Leigh. Things to do, places to go.”

He kissed her warm, open mouth. It tasted sweet as honey, making him want more.

He lingered over her, kissing her neck, caressing her shoulders. His hands slid down to her breasts, feeling her nipples tense and stiffen. Tracing swirls around them with his forefingers, he tweaked them slightly. She squirmed a little, sighed, and curled into his arms.

Finally, he whispered, “Call ya later, Leigh. ’Bye.”

Quietly, he let himself out of the house.

Not wanting to wake Deana.

Dipping into his jacket pocket, he hooked out a palmful of seeds. Flipping them into his mouth, he chewed around them for a while.

His lips curved in a slow smile.

Thinking about Deana sneaking in at two-thirty a.m.

As he munched, his face broke out in a grin.

Suddenly, he didn’t give a monkey’s shit about waking Deana. He hoped he had. He quite liked the idea of her lying there, listening…

Hearing him leave her mother’s bed.