Heaven's Price Part 10

"Not quite all," she whispered and leaned forward. One crystal of a donut's sugary glaze was clinging to his mustache. It dissolved against the tip of her tongue. Emboldened by her own daring, she raked her tongue along the underside of his mustache, teasing his upper lip with darting flicks.

The fingers around her wrists flexed and his chest pressed against hers as he moved forward. His voice was serrated as he growled, "Miss Simpson, unless you have a penchant for making love on public picnic tables, I suggest you cease and desist immediately."

Her head snapped up sharply. He winked at her, kissed her surprised mouth soundly and smackingly, and then said, "Besides, we have a lot of work to do."

Sean divided his time between the house he was currently working on, the addition to the Delgados' house, and the dance studio. He had contracted specialists in each field to do the work required, but in the afternoons he checked on them to make sure they did everything according to his high standards. When Blair wasn't able to accompany him, he reported the progress to her.

These progress reports were usually given over dinner either at his house or in her apartment or in one of the fine restaurants lining the beach. If Blair felt uneasy about the vast amount of time they were spending in each other's company, she justified it by telling herself it was for the sake of business.

One evening Pam and Joe showed up on her doorstep toting the promised record player. "We thought you might need a few days to get used to operating it," Joe said, carrying it in and setting it on the kitchen table.

"Where are the children?" Blair asked.

"At home with Andrew in charge. He rules like a despot when we're not around, so we need to get back before he's a.s.sa.s.sinated. Mandy has signed up for your Monday-Wednesday cla.s.s."

"I think every little girl in town has," Blair said. She went on to tell them how her phone had not stopped ringing since an ad had been placed in the local newspaper. Word of mouth was as responsible as anything for the publicity the dance cla.s.ses were receiving. "The ladies exercise cla.s.s is also filling up. I'm going to have to limit the number of registrants or there won't be room to move.

"I knew this idea was inspired," Pam said. "Only three more days and you start. Will the building be finished? " "Sean swears it will.

It's shaping up far better than I dared hope."

"No one but Sean could have pulled it off on such short notice.

He's a slave driver, but the men who work for him would march into a wall of fire if he asked them to," Joe said.

"You look fit enough," Pam said, surveying Blair. "How are your knees holding up?"

"Stronger each day." She had been exercising cautiously in the mornings and resting her legs each afternoon by treating them to warm baths and keeping them elevated for several hours. "Do you still want to help me work out those calisthenic routines? If I show you the steps, can you lead the cla.s.s?"

"I can't wait to get on my dancing shoes again!"

Just then Sean threw open the door and stuck his head inside. "I only have two cheeseburgers, two orders of fries, two malts, one chocolate and one vanilla, but we're willing to share.

Aren't we?" he asked Blair mischievously.

She rushed to relieve him of the take-out food and he shook hands with Joe. "We're just leaving and Pam left a pot roast in the oven."

"Pot roast," Sean said, licking his lips.

"I'll trade you one pot roast meal with five children for one cheeseburger eaten in peace," Pam offered. Sean and Blair declined graciously. "Can't say that I blame you."

The Delgados took their leave shortly, but not before Pam winked at Blair conspiratorially. There was no doubt in Blair's mind the message that wink conveyed. She knew she and Sean were raising eyebrows all over town and romantic hearts were pattering with glee.

They would be disappointed if they knew the true state of affairs.

Since their picnic breakfast, Sean hadn't touched her except when necessary out of politeness. He made no s.e.xual innuendos, instigated no personal conversations, initiated no romantic scenes. He treated her like a well-admired friend or a close business partner.

Each night as they parted company, he might or might not kiss her lightly on the cheek with the detachment of a fond relative, but there were no repet.i.tions of the heart-stopping embraces they had shared before. Blair told herself she was glad he had finally heeded her wishes, but she wondered why she found it hard to concentrate on the simplest tasks, why she poured body and soul into her mild workouts as though trying to rid herself of a persistent parasite, why there was inside her a restlessness that couldn't quite be defined.

As promised, Sean had the studio ready in time for cla.s.ses to open.

The night before the big day, he took Blair for one last inspection tour. The mirrored wall reflected her astonished expression that he had brought about such a transformation. The floor had been sanded and treated as necessary for a dance studio, the barre, ordered from the city, had been positioned along the wall according to her specifications. The tile showers in the dressing room gleamed, the office was equipped with a small desk, a new filing cabinet, an easy chair, and a telephone.

"One hundred percent mouse free," Sean said as he opened the door to it.

She overcame her bafflement to say, "Sean, this is . . . is too much.

I wanted something livable, but this is deluxe. I've never worked in a studio this nice in Manhattan."

"As I told you before it's an investment," he shrugged. "I'm only selfishly planning for the future."

She didn't believe him, but didn't argue with him either. If his goal had been to instill her with enthusiasm for her new project, he had succeeded. She couldn't wait until the next morning for her first cla.s.s.

By the time the cla.s.s was over, her enthusiastic outlook had drastically altered and she was almost ready to throw in the towel.

She had had to cope with twenty-five excited little girls and twenty-five obnoxious mothers. "You gotta be kiddin'," she said to Pam as she collapsed into the comfortable chair in the office. Silently she thanked Sean for his foresight in installing a chair other than the one behind the desk.

Pam laughed as she stationed Mandy in front of her to rebraid her hair.

"Wait until you get thirty-five overweight, out-of-shape housewives who want a body like yours within two or three weeks. They'll dance their pounding hearts out then go home to their secret cache of M&Ms."

Pam struggled with the rubber band at the end of the plait. "What are you doing?"

"Making a sign," Blair said, sweeping one last flourish with the Magic Marker on a piece of white cardboard. Then she held her handiwork against her chest for Pam to read.

"Mothers are welcome the first cla.s.s of each month. Otherwise please leave your child at the door. Thank you, Blair," " Pam said. "You learn quick, kid."

Indeed she learned a lot within the next couple of weeks. She learned that grown women had to be reminded that they couldn't gossip and do strenuous exercises at the same time. She learned that children should never dance with bubble gum in their mouths lest they go home with it enmeshed in their hair. She learned how to mop up accidental puddles when little girls didn't give themselves enough time to run to the bathroom and grapple with leotards and tights. She learned that women can get hostile when told not to bring cups of coffee onto the dance floor please.

Yet each night over their dinner, which they had a silent agreement to share together, she recounted these events to Sean with her eyes shining brightly and her gestures animated. She didn't realize how happy she looked, how seldom she talked about her knees that gave her very little trouble if she were careful in demonstrating steps. When she fell into her sofa bed at night, she slept the sleep of the just, exhausted, but always eager to get up and face the challenges of the next day.

As she was locking the door after her last cla.s.s late one Friday afternoon, Sean was waiting for her in his Mercedes parked at the curb.

She waved to him as she walked conscientiously on the sidewalk and not the gra.s.s that, due to Sean's daily watering, was struggling for survival.

"Why are you so late?" he called out the car window. "Everyone left a long time ago."

Blair was sure everyone leaving had taken note that he was waiting for her, too. "I worked out a while and then showered."

"Do you like champagne?"

"Only when chilled to perfection," she yelled back.

"Then you're in luck. It's been on ice all day." He climbed out of his car, detoured her from the borrowed car she was still driving, and propelled her to the pa.s.senger side of his Mercedes. "Pam said she'd have Joe bring her by and drive the car back to your apartment.

Tonight, we're celebrating with a picnic dinner on the beach."

"To what do I owe this dubious honor?"

"To the fact that you're reasonably sane after two weeks of dance cla.s.ses with the ladies and girls of Tidelands," he teased, starting the motor and steering out of the parking lot. He had on shorts and a T-shirt. The setting sunlight caught on his legs and burnished the hair that dusted his skin.

"That does call for a celebration, but do you mind your date being dressed like this?" She had slipped on a clean leotard and wrapped a denim skirt around her waist when she'd finished her shower. Her hair was still damp, parted down the middle and left to dry naturally, which meant perfectly straight.

He scanned her out of the corner of his eye. "I guess you'll do."

When she looked at him with murder in her eyes, he laughed. "You know I always think you look beautiful." Reaching across the interior of the car, he slipped his hand under her skirt and lay it on her knee.

The shock that missiled through both of them went straight to their hearts. It was the first time in weeks that he'd touched her with anything but friendly companionship and it ignited all the pent-up tension and pa.s.sion that both had been trying desperately to bank.

"How are your legs?" he asked softly.

"Fine," she said in a gravelly voice, then cleared her throat. "I talked to the doctor yesterday. He said to continue doing what I'm doing. He wants to see me in a month."

The fingers around her knee tensed briefly before regretfully sliding away. He pulled into the driveway of a house with a beach front. It was victorian in design, with a surrounding veranda, cupolas in each corner of the front on the upper story, and filigreed woodwork outlining the porch covering.

"This is one of the houses I restored for a client. They own a stretch of the beach, but I've been given permission to use it when they're not here. I happen to know they're in Europe, so our privacy is guaranteed."

The intensity underlying his words made her heart skip several beats before starting again with a rapid, erratic tempo. The sunset was painting the entire atmosphere indigo. An ocean breeze cooled her cheeks as she opened the car door and stepped out.

"Not so fast," Sean said to her as she pushed open the gate leading onto the property. "I can't carry all this by myself."

"What in the world do you have?"

He took a blanket, a regulation picnic basket, and a Styrofoam cooler out of the backseat. "Can you carry the blanket and basket? This thing's heavy," he said in reference to the cooler.

"Styrofoam? " "No," he said dryly. "The contents. Two bottles of champagne .

"Two?"

"Yes. I intend to ply you with drink and then take lascivious advantage of you."

She laughed lightly as she sashayed through the gate. They made their way around the house and took the path through tall gra.s.s to the beach.

Sean spread the blanket and Blair collapsed on it, stretching her legs out in front of her. Situating their cargo within reach, they breathed deeply of the salty air.

"Ah, Mother Nature, there's nothing like her," Sean sighed. His appreciation for nature went even further. He whipped his T-shirt over his head and hopped on alternate feet until he rid himself of his running shoes. Then to Blair's utter dismay, he unsnapped his shorts and they dropped to his ankles rendering him totally naked! She hadn't even the breath to gasp, to scold. Her breath had been suctioned out of her lungs at the sight of his beautiful manhood so nonchalantly displayed.

Paralyzed where she sat, she watched his hand extend down to her.

"Join me?"

She shook her head, still dumbfounded. He didn't insist. Instead he turned and headed toward the surf. To his retreating back, she said asthmatically, "Not just now."

He walked into the sparkling water with the arrogant swagger of a nautical G.o.d. The lace-edged waves lapped at his ankles and calves as though bestowing on them kisses of worship. He executed a horizontal dive into a wave that embraced him like a lover. When next she saw him, his strong arms were arcing over the surface as he swam away from sh.o.r.e.

Coming back, he relaxed and let the tide carry him in.

He stood up and cupped his hands over his mouth to call to her.

"Come on in. It feels great."

She shook her head and found enough voice to yell back, "Too cold."

Later, she would recall that she hadn't even looked at his face.

Her eyes had riveted on the beguiling arrow of hair that pointed down his stomach to what lay just beneath the surface of the water. In the diminishing light that part of him was only revealed at the caprice of waves that sloshed against him with a rhythm deliberately timed to tease her.

When he came running out of the surf, she averted her head and murmured inconsequentially about the spectacular sunset. His breathing was rough from exertion, hers none the less so. But hers became easier as she saw out of her peripheral vision that he was stepping into his shorts.

She exhaled gratefully when she heard the top fastener snapping closed.

"Whew," he said, rubbing his hands through his wet hair. "That was great. Now I'm hungry. How about you!

Hungry? Her insides were churning, but not with the kind of hunger he was speaking of. Never, if she lived to be a thousand years old, would she forget how he looked with the last rays of the evening's sun tinting his body to a deep bronze, highlighting and shadowing in a way that would make artistic spirits soar. Clothed he was breathtaking.

Naked he epitomized manhood in its most excellent form.

To cover her uneasiness, she asked c.o.c.kily, "What's for supper?"

She looked just past his shoulder, not quite ready to meet his perceptive blue eyes.

"Lobster salad, deviled eggs, French bread, a.s.sorted relishes, and strawberry tarts."

"This is a celebration ! Don't tell me you prepared all of it."

"I wish I could take the credit, but no, I had the chef at The Lighthouse pack the basket for me." Taking the first bottle of champagne out of the cooler and sc.r.a.ping off the ice chips that clung to it, he said, "First things first."

Adroitly, he peeled away the foil, unloosed the wire, and popped the cork out of the bottle. The aromatic vapor from the fermenting champagne drifted out of the bottleneck, whetting their thirsts for a taste of the biting, crisp wine. Taking two stemmed gla.s.ses out of the basket, he poured each of them a generous amount before returning the bottle to the cooler.

He held his gla.s.s aloft and clinked it against hers. "To the most graceful, most beautiful, most . . . s.e.xiest dancing teacher I've ever known."

Blair laughed, but acknowledged the compliments with a regal nod of her head. They both sipped and sighed in delight at the cold pleasure of the wine. Then leaning toward her, he settled his lips against hers.

"Congratulations on a job well done."

"Thank you."

The kiss was devoid of pa.s.sion, but rife with a tenderness that made Blair's b.r.e.a.s.t.s ache. Too soon for her, he ended it.

She helped him unload the basket and they attacked the delicious dishes like a pair of ravenous wolves. The first bottle of champagne was polished off within a matter of minutes. They were well into the second when Blair licked the last crumbs of strawberry tart from her fingers and fell back onto the blanket, her appet.i.te fully satisfied.

"I'm going to burst," she said, rubbing her stomach.

"Good," Sean replied quietly. Storing the leftovers in the basket and setting it aside, he stretched out next to her.

She rolled her head to the side to look at him. "That was delicious.

Thank you. It's wonderful here."