"We're business partners."
"That's all?"
"Yes, aunt, that's all."
"She watches you."
I stared at her. "What?"
"I noticed how she kept glancing your way tonight. Are you sure the woman isn't keen on you?"
I felt a thrill tingle in my stomach, but I said calmly, "I'm sure, Aunt Millie."
Twenty
As I walked back to the car, my heart was fluttering. Ariana had moved to the front passenger seat and was staring blankly out the windscreen.
We drove for a while in silence, then she gave a rueful little laugh. "I don't usually have this much to drink. It was stupid of me."
"French champers is hard to resist."
She glanced across at me. "I noticed you didn't drink much."
"It's from working in a pub. It's like being in a chocolate factory. It's everywhere, and you lose interest."
The winding, narrow streets of the Hollywood Hills no longer confused me. Her house was perched on a cliff, overlooking the city. I drove into the area at the back, parked the car, and turned off the engine.
"Thank you," she said, opening her door.
"I'm coming in."
She paused. "There's no need."
"I want to."
Everything hung on one moment of decision. Ariana said, "Gussie will bark, until she recognizes you." Gussie was her gorgeous German shepherd.
Oh, God, I thought, looking at the back of Ariana's neck as she opened the door, I want to hold you.
Gussie, once she'd checked me out, was delighted to greet Ariana. She was a beautiful dog, bright and intelligent and handsome, as only a German shepherd can be.
"Shall I take Gussie outside for a few moments? She's been locked in all evening."
She nodded. "Thank you."
When Gussie and I returned, Ariana was just coming out of the bathroom. Her hair was down and she'd washed the makeup off her face. She looked younger, and less formidable, although that might have been a trick of the light.
"Do you want coffee?" I asked.
"I simply want to go to bed."
"So do I."
Ariana looked at me for what seemed a long time. "Kylie, I don't think…" She made a helpless gesture, the first I'd ever seen her make.
I seemed to move through water. It was such a long way to her. And she watched me with her blue, blue eyes. When she shut them, it was as if a light had gone out.
I reached her, halted, thought my heart would burst, thought she'd reject me at this last moment.
But she didn't. I slid into her arms. We kissed, slowly, quite tenderly. I could taste her toothpaste.
I thought then she might draw back, say this was a bad idea, but Ariana was committed, it seemed. She took my trembling fingers and led me into her bedroom.
I'd never seen her bedroom before-I barely saw it now. I was just conscious of wide windows looking out to the lights of Los Angeles spread far below.
We undressed, me with fingers made clumsy with haste, Ariana with assurance, slipping off her clothes with economical grace. Was that how she'd make love? Coolly, competently, never quite involved? I'd take her any way she came. Whatever she wanted to do, I'd do.
Her body was slim and strong and took the breath from me. I watched in a dream as she removed her signet ring and her sapphire earrings and put them in the drawer of the bedside table. Then she flicked off the light. Moonlight flooded the room.
I intended to be gentle, to coax her body into willingness, but it was as though she flipped a switch and in one moment removed all restraint. She was desperate, ravenous, so unlike the Ariana I thought I knew that I was startled, almost shocked.
She was on fire, her skin hot against mine, her need so ferocious that I despaired I could ever meet it. And then I caught her passion like a sweet contagion, and surged to match it. "Ariana!"
"Don't say a word."
We were fused together, our passion molten as the sun. With wild joy I felt her body respond beneath my hands, my mouth. She arched, quivering, on the brink, then plunged into a release that wrenched a long cry from her.
I held her tightly, willing her to say my name, but she turned in my arms and drove every thought from my head except for the raw, insatiable need to have her touch me anywhere, everywhere.
In the early morning light, I lay beside Ariana gazing into her unguarded face, gentled by sleep. I'd never made love before like this, been so totally consumed by another person. I'd believed I knew what love was. I'd been wrong.
It sounded so trite when put it in words, but I did love Ariana completely-body, mind, and spirit. And I feared I could never risk telling her that I did.
Twenty-One
When she opened her eyes, it was the unruffled, detached Ariana back in control. She said, "Good morning," as though we'd just met in the hallway of the offices, then swung herself out of bed in one graceful movement. She put on a silk dressing gown-not black, for a change, but a pale green-and went into the bathroom. She put her head out to tell me there was a guest bathroom, and where I would find a towel.
I got up, collected my clothes, and went to have a quick shower. I realized with a shock that I didn't want to face her this morning. She'd see in my eyes what I felt about her. And she'd be detached but kind. How I'd hate that.
Examining myself in the bathroom mirror, I found I looked reassuringly normal. I tried a smile. Not a success. This was going to be hard.
When I opened the bathroom door, Gussie came in, wagging her tail, and I gave her a hug. Then I straightened my shoulders and went into the kitchen, where I could hear Ariana moving about.
"Scrambled eggs?" she said over her shoulder.
"That would be great."
"Help yourself to coffee."
"Thank you."
Ah, we were so formal today. A finger of fire touched me as an image from last night flickered in my mind.
How should I play this? Not needy. That would drive Ariana away completely. Brittle sophistication wasn't me. Safest to imagine it was the same as a night with Chantelle, a lovely romp in the sheets, with no significant emotional entanglements. A subject for banter, not serious feelings.
She served the eggs, buttered the toast, and sat opposite me in the breakfast booth. We ate in silence for a few moments, then she put down her fork and for the first time this morning looked directly at me.
"Kylie, last night… It was a mistake."
"You're sorry it happened?"
The faintest of smiles touched her lips. "I'd be lying if I said I was sorry. Last night I needed someone."
"That's such a cliché."
Ariana blinked at me. "What?"
"Next you'll be saying it was the alcohol."
She sat back and regarded me with a quizzical expression.
I said, "Then I'll say to you, 'Are you playing hard to get?' and you'll say to me…" I gestured for her to fill in the words.
"I'm impossible to get."
"Excellent," I said. "You understand the cliché game very well."
I took a sour pleasure in the fact I'd disconcerted her. A feather of anger brushed me. Was Ariana expecting I'd behave like some young teenager caught up in the exciting rush of a first sexual infatuation? But then I realized I wasn't being fair. I'd asked myself in, and she'd accepted. There'd been no stipulation that she fall in love.
I looked up to find her watching me. "What are you thinking?" she asked.
Sliding out of the booth, I said, "I'm thinking I must be going. I've got a busy day ahead."
Ariana followed me to the door, a slight, puzzled frown on her face. "It was a lovely night, thank you," I said. "See you tomorrow."
She stood at the door and watched me drive away. As soon as I found a safe spot I pulled over to find a handkerchief to mop my eyes and blow my nose. My eyes kept filling with tears all the way home.
Once there, I hugged Julia Roberts, dashed cold water in my face, and called my aunt. "Aunt Millie, we're going for a drive to Santa Barbara. I'll pick you up in half an hour. And if you're not too sick of shopping, we can stop at the outlet stores."