Lady Be Bad (16 page)

"Perkins, I am impressed. You must have been
reading some of my books." Noah grinned in approval. "Was Gwen
convinced?"

"Thank you, sir, and yes, I believe she
was." Perkins stroked the long bulbous line that was his nose. "Mr.
Kingman is looking for you, also. Another camera crew has arrived
to photograph and film the castle." He consulted his pocket watch.
"They should be enjoying coffee and scones by the pool grotto at
this very moment."

Noah rubbed his hands together. "Okay,
Perkins, I'm all set. Let's go."

The house manager paused in opening the
wooden door. "May I say, sir, you look extremely fit and healthy
this morning."

"Why, thank you, Perkins." Noah lifted his
cane, weight-lifter's style, over his head. "Amazing what a good
night's sleep can do for a man." His eye closed in a broad
wink.

***

Marlayna decided that the pool was perfect
for Aladdin or Ali Baba or anyone else interested in Arabian
Nights. A palatial Moorish grotto had been erected complete with
handsome brown and white tiles that edged an Olympic-size pool and
a shaded cavern filled with waterproof cushioned sofas and
chaises.

Ensconced on a bright yellow lounger was
Gwen Kingman. A languid "good morning" rolled off Marlayna's tongue
as she stretched out on the adjoining chair. "Though I suppose it's
actually good afternoon." She smiled and pushed a pair of aviator
sunglasses into position on the bridge of her nose.

"Half our guests are still asleep," Gwen
returned almost shyly. "Daddy is showing a television crew through
the castle and around the grounds. They should be arriving here
shortly. The staff is setting up for a coffee break." She nodded
toward the group of servants clustered by the far colonnade. "Would
you like something?"

"Maybe to share your suntan lotion. I seem
to have left mine in my room." Marlayna inspected the blue green
plastic bottle. "This is new. I didn't realize Arthur was putting
out sun products."

"A trial size just for me," Gwen told her.
"I'm very sensitive, and they decided to use me as a guinea pig."
She held out her arms for inspection. "I'm acquiring a nice golden
glow and not a rash in sight plus it's SPF one hundred."

Opening the cork top, Marlayna sniffed the
contents. "Smells like . . . ummm . . . apricots and coconut." She
smiled at the younger woman. "Probably would taste wonderful mixed
with gin and poured over ice."

Gwen giggled. "You know, you're very nice
and easy to talk to." Her words came out in a sudden rush that
turned her face wine red.

"Wasn't I supposed to be?"

"Well. . ." Gwen cleared her throat. "Most
of the women here will only give the time of day to a man. Actually
one in particular – my father." She checked the thin diamond and
gold watch that spanned her wrist. "My fiancé seems to be missing.
I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"Your fiancé?" Marlayna decided to play
dumb. "I don't recall an introduction." When she saw that Gwen was
opening her mouth to explain, she hastily interrupted. "Ah, here
comes an all-masculine group. Let me guess which one is your
intended: the tall blond with the thick mustache and equally thick
biceps?"

Gwen giggled again but shook her head, her
dark braid swishing back and forth from one bare shoulder to the
other.

"Hmmm. No?" Marlayna's brows arched above
the sunglasses' frames. "I don't know, Gwen. He's my first choice
for you. Are you sure?" Her tone was teasing. "Look at those eye
signals he's sending you and that open body language. Why, girl,
that man is interested and interesting."

"Do you, do you really think so?" Came her
excited whisper. "That's Randall Porter. He's the youngest man ever
to win the Masters Golf Tournament. He did give me a few pointers
yesterday on Daddy's course. Randy does have a wonderful grip and
swing."

Marlayna smiled when Gwen exhaled a lengthy
sigh. "Oh, oh...I bet it's him. The hunk in the tight tennis
shorts. That black beard and macho swagger make him look like a
pirate." Marlayna lowered her glasses and winked. "I bet you have
some wild fantasies!"

"I do. I do. I mean...I mean . . . that's
not him either." Gwen coughed and played with the tie on her white
bandeau bikini top. "That's Gervaise Saint Pierre, our French
perfumer." Her fingers gripped Marlayna's wrist. "He is a hunk and
always surrounded by the most gorgeous women. You should see his
chateau in the Loire Valley. That's why Daddy bought this castle;
he had to have one that was bigger."

"Not him?" Marlayna pretended to ponder her
next selection. "Well, of course, how stupid of me. That's him, the
one wearing the snug T-shirt and brief swim trunks. Just look at
how bright his big blue eyes got when he looked at you. His face
looks very familiar." Her index finger tapped her temple. "I know
I've seen him before. Movies?"

"TV," Gwen supplied. "That's Dirk Slade.
He's the star of that new spy show that's number one in the
ratings. Made the cover of
TV
Guide
last week, too.
He's signed to do the ads for Daddy's new men's cologne."

"Ahh . . . well, you certainly know how to
land a fiancé, my dear. I …"

"Oh, but he's not mine," Gwen returned
quickly. "In fact, I bet he doesn't even remember being introduced
to little old me. The fan magazines have reported him playing fast
and loose with every major female star."

Again, Marlayna's ears detected her
companion's wistful sigh. "I can't help but notice that your finger
lacks an engagement ring. Does that mean it's still unofficial?"
Noting Gwen's nod, she continued. "Well, then you are free to take
dead aim on any one of those darling bachelors. I'd try the golfer.
See. . . he's looking at you again."

"More than likely he's eyeing you," she said
softly.

"Me? Hardly. I'm all covered up. You're the
one whose gorgeous body is encased in the white bikini." She hid a
smile behind her hand when Gwen sucked in her stomach. "That man
only has eyes for you."

"Well, it's rather academic. I feel totally
tied to the stake of passion by another man," Gwen intoned
dreamily.

Blue-gray eyes blinked rapidly behind the
gray sun lenses.
I was right, came Marlayna's silent
rejoinder.
Beating her will be the only way to solve this
problem!
"And who is this charmer that has you so firmly
staked?"

"There he is. Just coming off the elevator
with Daddy and the film crew." She turned and displayed a dazzling
grin. "Noah Drake, the architect who's redesigned the castle."

"Hmmm...I don't know, dear. Your architect
looks a bit old and worn out to give you much pleasure. I'd stick
with that young, virile golfer. You know, women don't peak until
their mid-thirties, while men hit their prime in their twenties.
You'll just be shifting into high gear while he's stuck in
neutral."

Gwen's cheeks became blotched by ruby color.
"I...I never thought about that! Noah is fifteen years older than
me."

"Fifteen!" Marlayna echoed, her hand
clutching her throat. "He could practically be your father. Gwen,
you're not looking for another father, are you? A husband shouldn't
be his wife's parent. He should be a partner, a confidant, a friend
and a lover."

"Yes. I...I do want him to be all those
things and maybe a little bit more." Gwen gnawed on her lower lip,
her smooth brow furrowed in reflection. That was exactly what she
wanted, but unfortunately Noah Drake wasn't any of those things —
at least not with her.

Marlayna's plans for planting any more seeds
of doubt were abruptly terminated when a maid interrupted, talking
in urgent hushed tones in Gwen's ear. "Thank you, Patricia, I'll be
right there." Her smile was apologetic. "Crisis in the kitchen.
Will you excuse me?"

"Of course. We'll get together again later."
Marlayna watched her disappear into the elevator. "Tied to the
stake of passion!" Her tongue clicked against the roof of her
mouth. "I think I may have to drop a bomb on that girl!"

Her gaze wandered over the ever-increasing
pool crowd until she located Noah. He, Arthur and two other men had
settled inside the covered grotto and were involved in quite an
animated discussion. Noting that everyone but Noah had their backs
to the pool, she decided to try another feminine exercise.

Marlayna wasn't quite sure why she was
acting like this. Perhaps it was being released from six years of
pent-up frustrations. Perhaps it was finally being satisfied with
herself as a woman. Perhaps it was not wanting to be taken for
granted so quickly. Wanting to keep Noah slightly off-balance and
piqued by her every move.

She was also reveling in a number of private
triumphs, especially the way she looked and felt. That in itself
provided an all-time high. This was the first time she was enjoying
using some of the techniques that she had learned modeling, not
only in her grooming but in her handling of crowds of people and
refocusing unwanted attention from men like Arthur Kingman.

Once again, her eyes narrowed on Noah.
Marlayna felt the need to reestablish herself as a desirable and
multi-dimensional woman. She wanted to tantalize not terrorize, to
stimulate him and herself by never becoming complacent and boring.
Mom,
apple pie and
clean sheets.
She frowned
when his so-called complimentary phrase echoed in her mind

That may have been her at twenty-one but not
at thirty. Times had changed and so had she. While having children
was very important, there was no reason she couldn't join the
millions of other women who combined motherhood with a satisfactory
career. "Bought apple pie tastes just as good as homemade, and
there's no law that says only a woman can clean a house," came her
mumbled comment.

Funny, she was just now realizing that a
major metamorphosis had indeed transformed Marlayna O'Brian. Her
world had once been only black and white, yes and no, right and
wrong. Now, she acknowledged that life came in shades of gray with
an occasional burst of color. That yes or no was more often
maybe.
That the difference between right and wrong was not
so simple.

Her youthful rigidity had softened and
relaxed over the years, making her feel freer and deliciously
uninhibited — at least with the man she loved. And speaking of that
man, one Noah Drake, they still did have some heavy communicating
to do. But right now Marlayna decided to use a little body language
and send him a message.

Noah hadn't notice her when he first arrived
and apparently neither did Arthur Kingman, or the man wouldn't have
sat with his back toward the pool. Noah saw her when he relaxed
back into the cushioned outdoor banquette. He nodded and made
guttural sounds of agreement while his companions conversed, but he
kept his eyes on Marlayna.

He held his breath for a long moment,
watching her walk along the mosaic tile that rimmed the huge pool.
She moved with feline grace, her stride relaxed and her manner
self-assured. Noah had expected to see her in a bathing suit but
found her wearing a slim white skirt and matching shirt with tails
knotted above her belly button.

Little things about her began to fascinate
him: the taut, sleek skin bared from her ribs to her hips, the sexy
expanse of curvy arms shown to best advantage by rolled sleeves,
and the firm thigh glimpsed through the side-buttoned skirt. His
gaze was irresistibly drawn to those feminine spots — until she
paused by a chaise that was in his direct line of sight and began
to unknot and remove her shirt and unbutton her skirt

Then all hell broke loose! His mouth went
dry, his eyes bulged, and his muscles tensed, making his body
fidget nervously despite his comfortable surroundings. It took a
tap on his knee by the television news reporter to bring Noah back
to reality. "I...I'm sorry. What was that again?"

"I was wondering if I got these
architectural terms correct, Mr. Drake," the sandy-haired reporter
repeated. "The castle seems to be an eclectic mix of styles, part
Renaissance and part Gothic Revival. Just what are some
characteristics of each?" His poised pencil waited expectantly.

Noah cleared his throat and shifted position
slightly. By tilting his head, he gave the illusion that he was
focusing all his attention on the reporter, when in truth he was
concentrating on Marlayna. "Some characteristics of each. . . .
hmmm . . .well. . . you can see the Renaissance traits in the upper
stories. Patterns of circles, squares and rectangles are used quite
harmoniously."

Pausing while the journalist took copious
notes, Noah became mesmerized by the sensual feminine architecture
that she was displaying. Her bathing suit consisted of four tiny
triangles strung together. Her right breast was sheathed in purple,
her left in scarlet, while the bikini bottom was yellow in front
and bright blue in the rear. It was a major feat of engineering
that rivaled any Noah had ever seen.

"And some Gothic traits?" The reporter
politely prodded.

"Gothic? Ahh...yes...hmmm . . ." His eyes
noted the steady rising and falling of her breasts and watched the
velvety swells became slick and glossy under a coat of suntan oil.
"Four prime examples of Gothic are pointed arches." Noah swallowed
and tried to steady his voice. He continued to follow the progress
her hands were making in spreading the lotion.

"Ribs. I mean ribbed vaults." His laugh was
as strained as his nerves. Marlayna had greased her stomach and had
begun working on the back of her thighs. "And. . . And buttresses,"
Noah stuttered. "Flying buttresses." He began massaging his
forehead with stiff fingers.

"The fourth?" Inquired the eager
reporter.

"Fourth? Err. . ." Noah plucked the answer
from a quick glance at her multicolored bikini, "Ahh . . . stained
glass."