Undo Part 25

"I'll treasure them," Laurence said with a pleasant smile. "Thank you."

They strolled back to the hotel, where they were immediately seated in a booth in the rear of the Campton Place. There were few other diners; it was late in the afternoon, and most of the see-and-be-seen crowd was already gone.

"How about Champagne?" Laurence asked. "A toast your success."

The wine steward uncorked a bottle of Veuve Cliquot and they toasted, and while they enjoyed an excellent lunch, she spoke again about horses and polo.

"I would love to go to France. I've never been there. I would give anything to see the champions.h.i.+p tournament that's held every summer in Deauville."

Hearing her talk about it, he thought that it might be exciting to go there. With her? Was that why it would be exciting? What had happened in the last couple of hours? What was it she had said or done to break down the restraint he had exercised for the past couple of months, which he now fully acknowledged?

With this thought, and all their talk about horses, he thought again of his wife, and the realization that this pleasant afternoon with Laurence would soon be over.

Back outside, the attendant brought him his car.

"Where exactly do you live?" Asking this question, it occurred to him that he had learned more about her this afternoon than in all their of previous times together.

"In Pacific Heights. Well, lower Pacific Heights. I can't afford real Pac Heights yet."

"Is that where you would like to live eventually?"

"Not really. I don't think I'm really a city person at heart."

She directed him up Pine Street to Fillmore, then to a narrow street called Wilmot. Hidden in the middle of the busy Fillmore shopping district, it looked more like an alley than a proper street. He found its concealment unusually exciting.

"There, the second house."

He braked before one of three houses tucked into he middle of the block, sandwiched between business establishments.

"Well," he said. "I had a wonderful time."

"Me too," she said, folding over the top of the bag in her lap.

He paused, unsure what to do next. The air in the car felt charged with possibility, promise. He acknowledged his attraction to her. She stirred in him feelings he had not felt in years, which now suddenly gushed free inside him after today's victory.

When she had entered the boardroom, he had felt a potent sense of longing. How long had it been since he had been satisfied, really satisfied? Again his thoughts turned to Greta. He gave his senses a shake. He resolved that after all he had accomplished, which Lauri had helped him attain, he wanted to experience with her their own, intimate celebration. He wanted to take her hand, hold it, and kiss her, to feel her fingers respond in his own hand as their lips met.

From behind he heard the sound of cars pa.s.sing on Fillmore Street, and ahead of them, a group of young boys were playing basketball in a fenced school-yard. With a sidelong glance he studied her delicate, childlike hands, the impossible softness of her skin. She was so much younger than he. She had been silent all this time, and finally she spoke.

"Do you have any children?"

This startled him a little. Was she too unsure of what to do next? Stalling, as it were? "No," he said, "no children." He and Greta had planned to start a family after the successful launch of Orange Fresh. But after the accident, which happened on the very day that they planned to begin their journey into parenthood, the act by which a child is conceived never again occurred between them.

So that was how long it had been since they had made love, he thought. How long it had been since he had been with anyone that way.

Again Laurence broke the silence. "Why don't you come inside for a moment and see my place?"

He accepted without hesitation, and a moment later they were inside. "I've made do with my limited decorating skills," she said with a wave of her hand. "I'd love your opinion." She excused herself to the kitchen for a moment while Matthew wandered from room to room.

Her apartment was a recently restored Victorian with black and white tile at the entrance and hardwood floors throughout.

Dhurrie rugs in light colors covered the floors in the living and dining rooms, and her furniture was a tasteful mixture of contemporary and antique. The bedroom was tantalizing. Her bed was an unusual steel frame design with a dreamy, sheer canopy draped lightly over the top. Its message was at once powerful and delicate. So were his feelings for her. He finished his tour and circled back to the living room, where he found her standing and holding two gla.s.ses filled with dessert wine. "Just a little sip, before you drive back," she said, handing him a gla.s.s.

He inhaled the bright sweet aroma, his eyes lingering on her hand encircling her own gla.s.s. She raised it to his, and he met her sharp, gray eyes.

"Here's to you." Her voice was quiet.

He touched his gla.s.s to hers. They each took a sip and, with his head still lowered, he let his eyes stray once more to her hand.

"You like my hands, don't you?" she asked simply, revealing her mindfulness of his regard all along, confirming it.

"Yes," he said, his voice barely a whisper. He swallowed.

"Go on, then," she said.

He knew what she meant. He slowly reached out and traced lightly along her index finger to her wrist, her thumb, to her gla.s.s, which he took. He had to have her hands.

He settled their gla.s.ses on the table in front of the sofa and folded both of his hands around hers. Never before had he held hands so supple. But these hands belonged to a whole visage of uniform loveliness. There was the difference, he understood at once. He had loved Greta's hands, yes, the power they had had over him, his pleasure, yet that was all. Just her hands. That was why, he now understood, that they had had such an unusual s.e.x life. But Laurence was different. When he looked up from her hands, his heart quickened at his appreciation for all of her.

That was it, and he let himself go.

He pulled her hard against him, as if it were the first time he had felt a woman's body against his own. In fact, it was. It was the first time he was really feeling a woman with all of his mind. The sensation was overwhelming, this feeling of taking in her whole image. His mouth came down firmly on hers. He felt a moan come from her throat as their tongues mingled with the wine's sweet aftertaste. He tasted her, felt the material of her dress, smelled her hair, understood that in her shoes were feet that were no doubt as lovely to look as her hands, as rousing to touch and kiss. From head to toe, he wanted to feel all of her at once. Their hips pressed together and she pulled him closer, kissed him hungrily.

"Matthew, you've done wonderful things for Wallaby and for me. I want it to keep going this way for you. Is this wrong, what we're doing?" she said, fingertips touching along the edge of his belt.

"No," he said, and closed his eyes with antic.i.p.ation. Her fingertips slipped down an inch into his slacks. "I mean yes. Oh, yes."

"It's yours for the taking, Matthew. All of it. There's no stopping you now."

Her words drove him into a frenzy. He gripped the back of her head and pulled her in close, his tongue darting in her mouth, over her eyes and around her ears. He coursed his fingers through her hair, everything coming to him in rus.h.i.+ng waves of pa.s.sion.

Yes, she was correct. There was no stopping him, them. He thought now only of the bed. He pulled back from her. His trousers were undone and her blouse was open. He gripped her wrist and led her, walking backward as he did so, to the bedroom. She grabbed the bottle of sauterne and raised it to her lips, following with no resistance. At bedside, she pa.s.sed the bottle to him. He took a large swallow of wine, then set the bottle on the night table. He held the liquid in his mouth and kissed her, then reached for more, but she beat him to it.

"Wait," she said. She lifted the bottle, and with her free hand, pulled down her bra and brought the bottle close. Staring into his eyes, she poured some of the sweet wine over her erect nipples.

Never before had he felt so avid. In his urgency, he pushed her back on the bed and crossed his leg over her smooth firm belly.

He hungrily licked her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, sucking wine from one, then the other, struggling to work off her bra and blouse.

He raised her farther up on the bed, her head settling into the soft, feather pillows. This was the part he had envisioned from the moment he had laid eyes on the striking bed.

He led her hands to the steel head bar, and she understood at once how he wanted her. She gripped tightly, her knuckles turning pale. She lunged for his lips with her own. He met them and forced her down with his head, urgently reaching between her legs.

He worked his erect p.e.n.i.s out of his pants. Gripping his hands beside hers on the bar, he entered her. He tuned into her every response, licking her eyelids, feeling the movement of her eyes beneath. He felt her teeth with his tongue, at the same moment aware of her ankles against his calves, and he wasn't sure he would be able to hold back very long. The feeling of the cold steel in his hands welded in his mind the image of their position, both gripping tightly to this linen-draped frame. He drove into her forcefully, with unfamiliar awkwardness. It was better than he remembered, he thought, gnawing at her neck ravenously as he quickened.

He climaxed almost immediately, shouting hoa.r.s.ely with each burst. Once his tremors stopped he felt drained of all energy. He was so, so tired. Barely pressing off the bed with his arms as her hips thrust upward, he tried to help her finish. She managed to lift much of his weight, but not without effort. Her moans were coming in quick, strained gasps. For one trembling instant, before succ.u.mbing to his weight, she moaned. He collapsed on her, forcing her breath away.

He rolled away, onto his back, his legs twisted around hers, too tired to move them. Almost instantly, his breathing slackened and he lay there depleted. He became oblivious to her, to them, to where they were, and to what they had done. He felt pleasantly used up, yet at the same time, in another part of his being, he felt very full, larger than life.

Far away now, a dreamy smile alighting his face, he heard Laurence's words once more in his mind as he dozed off.

No stopping you now...