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She pulled her untouched dessert signalling the end of her meal. “It’s late.” She said in a groan that didn’t seem to be hers.
He signed the bill, stood helping her with her chair and took her elbow. It was an electric silence in the lift and he had eyes only for her. But she couldn’t seem to be able to meet his intensely desirous glare.
They reached her room; he took the card from her hand and opened the door. They glared at each other for a long moment and Amy was almost being engulfed in the heavily charged sexuality between them.
“We have a busy day tomorrow. We’d better call it an evening. Thank you for the dinner.” It was either now or never. “Good night.” She forced a polite smile, grabbed her card and shut the door. She leaned on the closed door, eyes shut and a long sigh.
It wasn’t so easy for Mark, though. His body was all ready for her and he reckoned it’d be difficult to cope with this perfidious sexual frustration. A cold shower would help him down there, but the flames that were burning him to ashes from the inside wouldn’t be so easily appeased.
Next was a tiresome day after a badly slept night. They were around the hotel deciding about meeting-rooms and equipment; negotiating meals, services, accommodation and dates. It was already dark when they finished, but all had been settled.
“We can go out for dinner and enjoy the night-life. What do you think?” Mark was up for a strong hold of her, she could sense.
“Maybe. Let me just refresh a little and we can talk later, shall we?” She evaded carefully.
“Sure.” Exiting the lift, each one went to their own room.
Amy rushed for the shower, put on a flowery loose dress, a little make up and left her room in ten minutes. Like hell she’d spend an evening as the one before, feeling trapped and cornered by unwanted reactions to him! She descended by the stairs, left a written message to Mark saying she preferred to go out alone and took a taxi. She avoided thinking about what Mark would think or feel or do. If she did, she’d stay to keep him company and repeat last evening’s disgrace.
The cab-driver recommended a stylish restaurant where she ate delicious paella with a tiny chalice of Lacrima wine. Then she went to a night-club where they played typical Spanish modern music. She met a Danish girl her age, who was also alone, and they had a wonderful time together. Amy never drank alcohol when alone, for safety issues. It was early morning when she bid Trine good-bye and took the taxi back.
As he left Amy at the lift, after the meetings, Mark went to his room, took a shower and dressed smart. He called her room, but no answer. Maybe she was still in the shower or something. He couldn’t wait to be with her again. Even after that busy day. She was infecting his blood to no end. He called again, to no avail. So he walked to her room and knocked nothing. He went down expecting her to be sitting in the lobby. She wasn’t, so he asked at the reception. It was when they gave him her note. A Vulcan of fury erupted in the depths of him. How dared she leave him? Ignore him? Thwart him? The brat! To think that he had envisioned a totally different weekend. No woman had ever done that to him. And he was fuming, with a sense of frustration too big to swallow.
So he went out to dinner at a luxury restaurant, where unaccompanied women fancied him non-stop. He didn’t have stomach for any. He wanted her! Only her. Coming back he sat at the lobby bar with a whisky in his hand and an eye at the front door. The world felt colourless without her. That was
the truth. He remembered how life was suspended in a limbo during her college years. How gloomy the last two Christmas were as she hadn’t come home! By now his anger had faded and he could see the reason behind it. But he didn’t dare name it.
For good measure, Amy entered the hotel by the car park. She knew Mark would be waiting for her. It had happened so many times before. She passed behind the lobby bar and saw him sitting there, back to her, watching the front door, as she had predicted. His head was bent and he watched his full glass intently. The tall muscled figure of him emanated an impression of deepness. The view of him clicked a subtle thing inside her. It was just a trifle of compunction. There was something else, though, and she couldn’t define what exactly. She slipped to her room; she had taken the room card with her. She reposed her head on her pillow and slept with a lumpy sensation inside her.
Amy awoke mid-morning and went down for breakfast. Mark was probably still asleep, she reckoned. She decided she didn’t want to spend such a warm sunny day in her room. Another note at the reception and she took a taxi to a beach on the other side of the island. The taxi arrived at a small turquoise-water and sugar-sand beach, deserted, as far as she could see. She settled a time for the driver come to pick her up and walked to a large ancient tree with a beach chair and her bag. Unfastening her sarong, she sat under the shade in her tiny bikini and spread her sun lotion over her creamy skin. Amy contemplated the beautiful untouched scenario and felt a deep serenity.
She had been sitting for ten minutes when she saw someone coming in her direction. A muscled tall god in shorts and tee shirt. Her heart stopped! Mark. He had surely followed her taxi, the goddamn man! This weekend was definitely a cat and mouse game, was it? He was carrying a big thermos box and beach gear.
“Good morning, Amy.” As polite as the king.
“Good morning, Mark.” She answered casually, even though the turmoil of his presence was unavoidable.
“I had hired a van and a driver to take us around, but seemed you had other plans.” He sounded polite, yes, but his voice was kind of edgy, betraying how vexed he might be.
“Well, I didn’t see you at breakfast, so I decided to enjoy the sun my way.” She made the dumb mistake of looking at him. He was undressing. “Where were you?” she asked without taking her eyes from him.
He took off his shorts and his swimming trunk clung to him as a second skin, revealing all her voluminous torments. Then it was the turn of the tee shirt. And her eyes feasted. His perfectly muscled, now tanned, body showed in all its glory: the thick neck, the big biceps, the hard chest, his six-packed belly, the lean muscles of his legs. A thin silky layer of dark hair designed his chest and led down in a tempting trail, worth caressing slowly, to his appetizing manhood. Her mouth fell opened, not to mention those prickling invisible, but very notable, sensations. She immediately concluded that her relaxing calm day was ruined inexorably. How would she have peace with this disquieting god by her side?
“Stalking you, of course!” He answered the question she had forgotten all about. “Lest you had another attack of independent woman, as it actually happened.” He grinned cynically.
“You are despicable!” she said indignant.
“Did you enjoy your evening yesterday?” He’d never be stupid to the point of telling her he could barely sleep, because of needlish suspicious that she might have met someone, the slippery woman.
“Very much! I dined paella, went to a night-club and met a Danish girl whom I made friends with.”
“Good for you!”
“You then?”
“Nothing much, really. Dinner and a drink at the lounge bar.” His voice exceedingly nonchalant.
“Fine.” And she lay back, sunbathing, as before he came. Only now she had to block her mind from the self-consciousness of his presence. His too close, too magnetic presence.
