Stars (The Butterfly Trilogy) (75 page)

I
T WAS HERE, IN THIS VERY SPOT," THE GOOD LOOKING YOUNG
man in the blue blazer said, "that the body of Dexter Bryant Ramsey was found. To this day, no one knows who murdered him."

     While the rest of the tour group murmured interested comments to one another and things like, "Well, I heard..." Danny Mackay was staring at the transparent crystal bathtub.

     What a hot vision it created: Beverly's naked body sprawled here, just like the hapless Ramsey sixty years ago.

     He had arrived at Star's on the morning tram, sitting in a seat not far from Beverly. It was the closest he had been to her since their last face-to-face, three and a half years ago, when she had made him beg for his life. She had changed; clearly some plastic surgeon had been paid a wad to alter her looks. She might fool other people, he thought, but she didn't fool him. It was Beverly all right, despite the fact that her two companions kept calling her Philippa.

     It had briefly entered his head to take care of her right then and there, six thousand feet in the air, maybe dangle her over the side of the tram car
and let her scream with terror for a few minutes before dropping her. But that would have meant getting himself arrested, and Danny didn't have jail on his appointment calendar. After his work at Star's was done, he was going to head east, to Washington, D.C., where he was going to pay a little visit on his old friend, the bastard who had won the presidency that was rightfully Danny's.

     After being taken to his cottage, Danny had walked around the resort, feeling himself fill up with power again; he had discharged some of it the night before on the little waitress. The whole place was buzzing about the Christmas ball tonight. That would be the perfect time for him to have his private meeting with Philippa, while everyone else was distracted. He would do what he had to do, then slip away.

     And now he not only had the time slotted in, but the place as well. Here, in the Obscene Bathroom. It couldn't be more perfect. He nearly laughed out loud and had to stop himself. But he smirked; it was just too delicious. Because tonight Cinderella was going to meet her Prince Charming, but instead of a glass slipper, she was going to get a glass coffin.

T
HEY MET AGAIN, AT THE SAME LOOKOUT POINT WHERE THEY
had met that morning. It was night now, and cold, and the gun in his pocket still felt like a block of ice.

     
"Where is Philippa now?"

     
"In the third bungalow."

     
"Has she contacted Beverly Burgess yet?"

     
"She tried, but Burgess has been busy with preparations for tonight's ball."

     
"You know what to do then?"

     
"Yes. One question: what if Philippa doesn't go to the ball? What if she changes her mind and stays in?"

     
"Then we change our plans, too."

     
"She's got two people with her."

     
"I know. They're no problem. It's almost time. Get going."

     
The man with the gun walked away, leaving his companion to remain at the lookout, a silhouette against the stars.

     "Jackie," Philippa said into the phone, "if you know where Esther is, please tell me. I've been calling her apartment all day and there's no answer."

     Philippa was in one of the bedrooms of her bungalow at Star's, and she had interrupted getting ready for the ball to try to reach her daughter one more time. "I must have called ten times today," she said to Jackie Scadudo, who was Esther's best friend; they were both attending school at the University of California in Santa Barbara. "That's why I decided to try you. I thought she might be at your place."

     "Gosh, Aunt Philippa, I really shouldn't tell you, it's supposed to be a surprise."

     "Surprise? What is it? Where is she?"

     "Esther's on her way to see you. When you told her last night that you were going to be at Star's for a few days, she decided to drive down and surprise you. She left around noon. She should be there by now."

     Philippa sighed with relief but almost immediately was concerned again. "Is she driving alone? It's almost two hundred miles."

     "No, her boyfriend is with her. Don't worry. Esther is a big girl now. Hey, you're seeing Mom tomorrow, aren't you? Give her my love. Bye, gotta go."

     "Esther's on her way here, to surprise me," Philippa said to Charmie after she hung up. "Except that she doesn't know you can't get up this mountain without a reservation or an invitation."

     Charmie paused in the final application of her makeup—copper eye shadow to complement the apricot caftan she was going to wear to the ball—and pointed at a large leather book on the bed, the directory of resort services. "It explains it in there," she said. "If you want to have visitors, you can leave their name with the desk in the boarding lounge at the bottom of the mountain."

     "You know something, Charmie?" Philippa said as she picked up the phone and dialed. "I'm glad she's coming. Who knows how long the board meeting will take—possibly days. And then meeting Beverly Burgess—it could be a while before I can get up to Santa Barbara. It's been nearly a year since I've seen her and I do miss her."

     Charmie regarded her friend in the vanity mirror. Philippa was wearing only a lace bra and bikini panties; her dress for the ball, a dove gray hand-beaded
Isaac Mizrahi design, was laid out on the bed. Charmie suspected Philippa was going to ask Ricky to zip her into it.

     In fact, when they had arrived at the bungalow and inspected the two bedrooms, each with two king-sized beds, a floor plan similar to the one they had had at the Marriott, Charmie had once again offered to take one bedroom by herself, leaving the other for Philippa and Ricky. But again, Philippa's old-fashioned sense of propriety and decorum had surfaced, and she had insisted that she and Charmie share one room, Ricky take the other. Very decorous, Charmie decided. But for how long?

     Which led her to think about Ivan Hendricks. He would be in Brazil by now, sleuthing after Miranda International and Caspar Enriques. Charmie wished he could have come to Star's with them, wished he could be attending the ball. She would have plied Ivan with the twelve-year-old scotch he was so fond of and then taught him a few dance steps he might not know.

     When Philippa picked up her toiletries and went into the bathroom closing the door behind her, Charmie returned to her own reflection in the mirror.

     Ivan had been on her mind so much these past few days that she had given thought to little else—not even to tomorrow's board meeting or the threatened takeover by Miranda. He so completely monopolized her thoughts that she dreamed about him, intensely erotic dreams that had brought her nearly to the brink of orgasm. Despite the sexual skill of men she had been with, and Sam, who she was currently seeing and who was dynamite in bed, Charmie realized now that no man would ever satisfy her as she was certain Ivan could. Their one time together, in her kitchen, had been cut short, but she just knew that, given the opportunity, he would make love to her in a way no man ever had.

     The sheer size of him! And that delicious military fitness, which made her feel small, more feminine. He was so generously endowed; Charmie craved to feel every inch of him inside her.

     When she heard the sound of running water in the bathroom, she closed her eyes and slipped her hand inside her bra, trying to recreate Ivan's touch, recalling how he had licked butterscotch off her nipples.

     What if she never had another chance with him? What if he reported from Brazil by telephone and then vanished to wherever it was he always
vanished to, this time never to reappear? If Beverly Burgess was Philippa's sister, then that search was over. And once Miranda was stopped and the embezzler within Starlite found, Ivan's services would no longer be needed.

     She sighed restlessly, thinking about how he had pulled her caftan open and lifted her breasts out of their lace cups. And then what she had discovered when she had reached down for him...

     Charmie opened her eyes and gave herself a long, serious look in the mirror. No, she decided. She wasn't going to let him get away. Whatever it was that kept them apart, she didn't care. They had to be together; they
belonged
together, she just knew it. Somehow, she wasn't sure how, she was going to have her chance with Ivan.

     Philippa came out of the bathroom then and tossed her toiletries bag onto the bed.

     Charmie said, "Are you going to try to approach Beverly Burgess before the ball?"

     "No. I'll just watch her tonight, try to see if I can
tell.
"

     "And if she
is
your sister?"

     "Then Esther is going to have a surprise of her own when she gets here!" Philippa had not gone into detail with her daughter about the unscheduled return to L.A., simply that it had to do with business. She didn't want to get Esther's hopes up and then disappoint her. The issue of family was a deeply sensitive one with them both; it was their special bond beyond the normal mother-daughter love—the fact that they were both adopted orphans.

     "Speaking of surprises," Charmie said, "what do you suppose Hannah's cryptic phone call was all about?" They had received a message from Hannah saying that tomorrow's board meeting was going to prove unnecessary. "Do you suppose she's found something out?"

     I pray so, Philippa thought. I pray that Hannah isn't planning on making a confession.

     "Well, we can worry about business tomorrow," Charmie said as she rose from the vanity table, which, in the short time she had been there, she had managed to cover completely with bottles and brushes and compacts and shadows. It was a lot of junk and a lot of work, but Charmie's face was
gorgeous; her shimmering apricot caftan, a vision. "Right now it's—" She shivered suddenly.

     "What's wrong?"

     "I just got the oddest feeling! What's that old saying? As though someone just walked across my grave?" She shrugged. "Must be jet lag. Anyway, as I was saying, it's time to go to the ball, Cinderella!"

     "Almost ready," Philippa said, reaching for her pearl drop earrings. "I just have to slip into my dress."

     Charmie said, "Uh-huh," and swept out of the bedroom, leaving a swirl of Passion fragrance in the air.

     A moment later Ricky knocked on the door and looked in. "Miss Charmer said you needed me."

     Philippa was momentarily speechless—she had never before seen Ricky in a tuxedo, and it made him look sophisticated, so worldly. Older, too. With his hair combed loosely over his shoulders, he looked as if he had just stepped out of a Christian Dior ad. "Would you mind zipping me up, please?" she asked.

     He came up behind her and, placing his hands on her shoulders, kissed her neck.

     "I've missed our being together," he said quietly. "It's been driving me crazy to be close to you all the time and not be able to touch you. I want you so badly, Philippa." He slipped his hands under her dress and pulled her against him.

     She leaned into him, closing her eyes and succumbing to hands that caressed her stomach, her breasts. She felt his erection; she suddenly wanted to make love with him.

     She turned around and they began to kiss, gently and exploringly at first, as if having to get to know each other all over again, and then with increasing passion. When Philippa started to reach down for him, he took her hand and said, "No. Let me do everything. I want to take care of you, Philippa. I'm not rich, and I don't have important connections. All I have is my love for you. This is the one thing I can give you that no other man can."

     He slowly drew her dress down, and then her panties. Easing her back onto the bed, he lifted her knees and spread them apart. She felt his smooth
cheeks, his silky hair touch the insides of her thighs, his kisses warm and lingering. With his fingers he gently explored and opened her; he kissed her there, and she felt his tongue, firm and probing.

     When she reached down and touched his hair, he grasped her hands and pinned them down to the bedspread, immobilizing her. Philippa squirmed as his mouth continued to drive her crazy. She tried to free her hands; she wanted him on top of her; she wanted to guide him inside her.

     When he lifted her knees and pressed them toward her chest, opening her even wider, she cried out.

     And then suddenly she gave up the struggle—she surrendered to the sheer pleasure of Ricky's loving skill. She felt her body melt and all tension run sweetly out of her until the entire universe, it seemed, was just one sublime sensation. His tongue probed deeply and then came out to flick her clitoris. He did this over and over until she began to feel the beginning swell of such exquisite pleasure that she delivered herself up onto it and let it carry her in wave after wave of shattering orgasm.

     Afterward, she lay still, too exhausted to move. Ricky lowered her legs and came to sit on the edge of the bed, smiling down at her, stroking her hair. She smiled back at him and reached up to touch his cheek.