The 6th Target - James Patterson [61]
Couples paired up. When Rich stretched out his arms, I stepped in close. My God, my God, it felt so good to have Richie Conklin’s arms around me.
The room was spinning a little, so I closed my eyes and held on to him, the space between us closing because there was just no room to move on that little dance floor. I even stretched up onto my toes to rest my head on his shoulder — and he gripped me more tightly.
When the music stopped, Rich said, “Man, I really don’t want to go to the airport, do you?”
I remember saying that a case could be made that at that late hour, after the long workday and, by the way, having drunk a whole lot of wine, we had several bona fide, expense-reportable reasons to spend the night in LA.
Still, I was torn as I handed my credit card to the desk clerk at the Marriott LAX, telling myself this didn’t mean a thing. I wasn’t going to do anything but go to my room and sleep. That was all.
Rich and I stood at opposite sides of the elevator, a weary couple between us, as the mirrored car climbed ten silent flights. I hated to admit it, but I missed being in his arms.
When we stepped out of the elevator, I said, “Good night, Rich.” Then I turned my back on him as I slipped the key card into the slot, aware that he was now doing the same in a door across the hall.
“See you in the morning, Lindsay.”
“Sure thing. Sleep tight, Richie.”
The tiny green light went on, and the door handle opened under my hand.
Chapter 84
I CLOSED AND BOLTED THE DOOR to my room, my mind reeling with longing and desire, relief and regret. I stripped off my clothes, and a minute later, the blood was pounding in my temples as I stood under the hot spray of the shower.
Clean and glowing pink, I buffed my body with warm terry-cloth towels and blew my hair dry. I toweled the steam off the mirror over the sink and assessed my naked self. I still looked young and good and desirable. My breasts were firm, my tummy flat, and my sandy blond hair cascaded in waves to below my shoulders.
Why hadn’t Joe called me?
I wrapped myself in a white hotel robe, went to the bedroom, checked the empty voice mail on my cell phone, much like my stubborn answering machine at home.
It had been six days since I’d seen Joe.
Was it really, truly over between us?
Would I never see him again? Why hadn’t he come after me?
I pulled the drapes shut, folded the gold-quilted spread, and fluffed the pillows. Dizzy from the wine and the heat of the shower, I lay down.
Eyes closed, I found that the fading images of Joe were replaced by more urgent fantasies.
I was drawn back to only a half hour earlier, when Rich had held me. I relived the moment when dancing with him had gone from good to too good, when I’d felt him hard against me, when I’d put my arms around his neck and pressed my body against his.
It was okay to have these feelings, I told myself. I was only human, and so was he, and both of us were having a completely natural response to being alone together — .
A tapping at the door startled me.
My heart jumped as the knock came again.
Chapter 85
I CINCHED THE SASH OF MY ROBE and padded barefoot to the door. I saw Rich Conklin through the peephole. He was wearing a flimsy clear-plastic shower cap on his head!
I was laughing as I undid the bolt, my hand shaking as I pulled open the door. Conklin was wearing his trousers, his blue cotton shirt unbuttoned to about his third rib. And he was gripping a Marriott toothbrush with the stem in his fist, like it was a small white flag.
“I was wondering if you have any mouthwash, Lindsay. I got a lot of moisturizer in the complimentary toiletry basket, but no mouthwash.”
His serious expression, combined with the wacky request and the shower cap, cracked me up. I swung the door open wide, said, “I didn’t get mouthwash either, but I think I have something in my handbag.”
The door closed behind me, and as I stooped for the handbag I’d dropped on the floor, I stumbled over one of my shoes.
Rich grabbed my elbow to steady