Out of Mind

Chapter 9

Caroline watched numbers light up inside the elevator.

There was time to do this.

She was too excited to sleep anyway, even if it was possible with all the noise in the street outside the hotel. She had intended to explore, but Joan’s invitation to a little party in the top-floor suite sounded like the kind of exotic thing Caroline had finally escaped from Idaho to find.

It wasn’t even midnight. The ship didn’t leave until early tomorrow evening—hours and hours from now. Why not meet some of the other singles cruising to the Caribbean with her? That way she would already have people she knew when she got on board.

After the ship returned to New Orleans, she could hang around and see the city, unless she had met someone who gave her a reason to move on quickly, and a place to move on to.

Take it as it comes. Remember what you told yourself: “This is the first day of the rest of your life.”

The hotel was old. Everything in the French Quarter was old, and as strangely foreign as the books said it would be. Foreign, thrilling and dangerous, or so it felt.

The elevator opened at one end of a short hall. Facing her, double doors stood slightly open and the kind of singsong, upbeat music she had heard coming from bars in the area escaped the suite where she was headed.

This wasn’t like her, going to parties late at night with people she had never met.

Caroline gave a nervous giggle. Going to any parties at all was unlike her, but she was ready to change all that. Her high-heeled sandals caught at the dark red carpet and she wobbled a bit as she walked. The shoes made her legs look good! Confidence was a big part of the new, adventurous Caroline.

“This is the first day of the rest of your life.”

Fiddle music, that’s what it sounded like. And she didn’t understand the singers’ language, but thought it could be French. Her tummy jumped around and she took a big breath.

Glass clinked inside the room. She tapped one of the doors and it swung a little wider open.

A big room with more of the red carpet. Heavy gold drapes were closed over windows on the far side, small couches stood in two groups separated by a long table holding lots of bottles and glasses—and some plates of food. Some of the glasses had been used and the food had been picked over.

The place was empty.

This was the real story of her life. She was too late; the party was over.

Caroline trailed past the table. A glass of wine would be nice, maybe two glasses, or more. She crossed one arm over her middle and lifted an open bottle to look at the label. Not that the label mattered—white wine, she liked that best.

“Hey, where did you come from?” a man said. “Let me pour some of that for you.”

Startled, Caroline saw him come into the room and shut the doors behind him. The thud in her chest felt like a punch. All the air rushed out.

He was fantastic. Flamboyant with smooth, foreign flare.

“I didn’t hear anyone arrive,” he said, smiling at her.

She panicked and put the bottle down. “I’m in the wrong place,” she said. “Excuse me.”

“No, no.” He stepped in her path when she started toward the exit. “If you’re on the cruise, you’re in the right place. People have been stopping by all evening. You just happened to catch a lull. A rather long lull. Welcome. Giving a party all on your own isn’t much fun. I think I’ve lost everyone. It’s hard to compete with everything out there.” He indicated the streets.

He could, Caroline decided, compete with anything in her book.

“Do you like wine?” He picked up the bottle she had been looking at. “Or champagne, perhaps? This is supposed to be a celebration. What’s a celebration without champagne?”

It wasn’t easy to keep looking at his face, his very blue eyes. When you’d spent your life in a nothing town in the Idaho mountains, confrontations with men like this didn’t happen.

“Champagne?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Thanks.”

He took a bottle from an ice bucket, unwound gold foil from its top and pried off the wire. One very strong thumb sent the cork toward the ceiling and they both laughed.

Perfect teeth. Perfect tan. And he looked Scandinavian, like one of those Nordic downhill skiers, only bigger. Big, muscular shoulders and chest. His brown silk shirt lay against those muscles, showing them off all the way over a hard six-pack.

Exotic. That was the second time tonight she had thought that word was the right one. His face was exotic, and his hair, long and blond, shining past his shoulders, sent shivers through Caroline. When he bent a little to pour the champagne into two glasses, his hair slipped forward, shadowing his features. Her knees weakened.

“I’m John,” he said. “What’s your name?”

She took the glass he pressed into her hand. “Caroline,” she said. His fingers remained, touching hers, for lovely seconds. He was so sexy.

“Joan told me to come up,” she said in a rush. “She’ll be along soon. I’m traveling as a single so I got paired up in a cabin with her. We’re sharing a room here, too. I was nervous about it at first—being with a complete stranger—but she’s really nice.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, “Joan. Very nice. Great dancer.”

“And she’s beautiful. You already know her, then?”

“From a cruise last year. Great opportunity to do a lot of dancing, if that’s what you like. No shortage of partners. Let’s sit down.”

Staring at him, Caroline sat on one of the couches, and he dropped down beside her. She couldn’t avoid his eyes, or his mouth or the dimple that dug in beside his mouth when he smiled.

He touched his glass to hers and drank deeply. Caroline followed suit. The cold champagne slid over her tongue and bubbled faintly in her throat. Almost immediately, the flood of warmth, the heady happiness, rushed in. “Good,” she said.

“The best,” he said, smiling again and ducking his head so that his hair slid to almost completely hide his face. “Why are you traveling alone?”

She hadn’t expected the question. “I’ve never been anywhere much before,” she told him. “I’ve wanted to do something like this for a long time, and I don’t have anyone to do it with so I decided to come anyway.” She wouldn’t tell him it was her plan to keep on going until she found someone to be with, someone who wanted to have fun and thought she was the best thing that ever happened to him.

“Do you like dancing?” John asked.

Caroline sighed. She felt warm all over. “I love dancing more than anything else.” She would not tell him most of her partners had been imaginary.

He held out his free hand. “Let me have it then.”

She frowned. “What?”

He laughed. “Your dance card. I want to fill it up for the whole cruise.”

Finishing her glass of champagne to hide the thrill of anticipation that made her flush, Caroline turned her face away.

“Did I say something wrong already?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “You’re nice is all.”

“So are you. Let’s have a little more champagne.”

He took her glass to the table and came back with refills. Every step he took was smooth, sure. Of course he was a dancer.

He would do other things well, too. Like kiss.

“Did you rent this room?” she asked him and giggled. “It’s perfect for parties. All it needs is a dance floor.”

“This is my suite,” he said. “There are two bedrooms, a small kitchen and several bathrooms. Needing space has always been a problem for me. I don’t like feeling hemmed in. That’s why I insist on the penthouse suite when I cruise.”

She drank some more, considering what he was saying. He had to have money. “Must be expensive,” she said, then felt silly. Sophisticated women didn’t say things like that, or she thought they didn’t without really knowing. “Are you a wanderer, too? I can imagine you liking to be in new places all the time.” That sounded better.

“Sometimes. More lately than… Well, yes, I guess I am like that.”

“Than what?” she said.

John touched her cheek and she stopped breathing. “I can’t imagine a woman who looks like you being alone. Doesn’t seem right.” He shook his head. “You’ve put me too much at ease. I’m running off at the mouth. I almost said I didn’t want to travel so much when I was married, but that’s in the past.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her head felt a bit muzzy, but in a good way.

“So am I. Or I was. You get over things. Are you married?”

“No!” The shock in her tone embarrassed her. “I mean, I wouldn’t be here if I was. I’ve never been married.” She had looked after her mother until she died a year ago. The death had not upset Caroline too much. Mother ruled with a heavy hand and that, together with never having enough money, had beaten Caroline into her shell.

She almost laughed aloud. Not enough money? Her mother had lived as if there wasn’t any and died nicely off, which meant that Caroline finally had a cushion to work with.

John studied her with his head on one side. “What about your family?”

“I don’t have one now my mother’s dead.” She shrugged. “I don’t want sympathy because I’m fine with that. I’m ready to move on.”

“Good,” he said. “Looking at you, I’d say you’re going to find it easy to move on and get what you want. You’re going to be fighting off the people who want to be with you.”

“Looking at me? What does that mean?”

“I think you know—you’re gorgeous.” He stood and offered her his hand. When she took it, he pulled her up. “Let me show you the rest of this place. It’s quite something in a Victorian kind of way.”

The solid beat of her heart seemed faster than usual. Her heel caught again and her foot clicked sideways. “It’s the rug,” she said, frowning. She wasn’t sure she sounded completely sober. Better lay off the champagne.

“Take off your shoes,” he said, looking concerned. “I don’t want you twisting your ankles before I even get you on a dance floor.”

She smiled and did as he suggested.

“You should wear a lot of green. It’s good with your hair and eyes.”

The years when she should have learned to take compliments had sped away, but it wasn’t too late to start. “Thank you.”

The kitchen was galley-style and functional. Caroline noted a floral arrangement on the counter. “Flowers in the kitchen,” she said. “Nice.”

There were flowers all over the suite, expensive arrangements with rich, subtle scents. Flowers stood on a short column just inside the bedroom door and there were more on a table in the window.

Caroline’s feet sank into white carpet here, and on the bed, a white-covered duvet had been folded down from white sheets and mounds of pillows.

Draped across the bed, a terry bathrobe gave her the feeling she was in a forbidden place, an intimate place. It wasn’t just a feeling that she was there with the most interesting man she had ever met.

He turned away from her and she started when he shut the door.

With his head cocked, he watched her and she couldn’t form a word. She finished the second glass of champagne and looked into the empty glass.

“There’s more over there,” he said, nodding to a cabinet with a loaded tray on top. “I’m still thirsty. How about you?”

Once more he took the glass, opened a fresh bottle and poured. He set the glass down a moment and stood with his back to her.

Her legs locked. He was unbuttoning his shirt. Unbuttoning and stripping it off. She was faced first with his broad, tanned shoulders, and when he turned to bring her a fresh drink, the low light in the room sent a delineating sheen across his chest.

He gave her an apologetic little smile. “Even with air-conditioning it’s too humid for me in this city. I get so hot.” His eyes flickered to hers again. “How about watching a movie? We could see what’s on.”

Leaving was the only thing that made sense. This was much more than she was ready for—not that she was a wilting virgin, but she was not experienced and she certainly shouldn’t be responding like this to a man who obviously expected her to spend the night with him.

“You okay?” he said, screwing up his eyes. “What is it?”

A steady hum set up in her head. “Nothing.”

“You’re pale.”

“I’m—” Her mouth was so dry she had to keep swallowing. “I’m fine. I should go… It’s time…”

“If that’s what you want,” he said, disappointment evident in the sudden droop of his mouth.

He wasn’t so clear anymore. She could see his blond hair against his shoulders, his face stark in the shadows. Movement took her attention to the hand he rubbed up and down on his chest.

“Now you look hot, too,” he said.

She shook her head.

“Yes, you do. Geez, I’m never going to forgive myself if I’ve made you ill with the champagne. Did you have dinner?”

Caroline couldn’t remember. She stared at him, at the way he shrank and expanded, then just expanded.

A god, she thought and wanted to laugh. She couldn’t.

She felt the glass leave her hand and John’s hands on her shoulders, shaking her slightly. His face was close.

“I—” Her eyes closed.

His mouth on hers sharpened her senses. She opened her eyes again. John kissed her, gripping her arms tightly, half lifting her from the floor. She heard his hard breathing, tasted champagne on his tongue when he kissed her.

She stood there, letting him move her, letting him take off her clothes until she stood before him, naked. He seemed to smile, but she wasn’t sure. His touch, firm, almost hard, passed over her body, didn’t miss an inch of skin.

Her chin tilted down to her chest because her head was too heavy, and too loud. Lying down was a relief. Stretched out with her eyes closed, things didn’t shift around her so much.

But there were noises. Panting. Moaning—grunting. Her body jerked. Vaguely she knew he was having sex with her. Pushing himself inside, filling her up so tightly it stung. If she could have lifted her arms, she would have tried to push him away. He hurt her. The pressure of his weight crushed her breasts and pinned her down.

He spoke, but she didn’t understand. But she knew when his mouth covered hers, covered not just her mouth but her nose.

Her chest compressed and compressed. Emptiness rushed in. The air was being sucked out of her—by John.

“John,” she tried to cry into his mouth.

The sucking went on.

Her skin prickled. Her mind dimmed.

Drowning?

No, suffocating.

With a huge effort she got her eyes open again and tried to scream. The man spread on top of her was huge. He was John but much bigger and the light in his eyes was fierce, mad.

The weight left. He stood beside the bed, bending over her, drawing on her mouth and nose while the world began to turn black for Caroline.

Helpless, paralyzed, she could do nothing to stop this man from inhaling her life. And while he pulled on her insides with the massive drag of his sucking, Caroline got smaller.

She did get smaller, and smaller. She shrank until his mouth drew in her whole head.

A plop and he spat out her head again. She flipped over and landed in something transparent. A loud, loud bang sounded before it got darker. Wherever she was, the way in or out had been closed.

Peering as best she could, her whole vision was filled with a large, almost black eye looking back at her.

Then she knew where she was. Naked, curled in a ball, Caroline lay in the bottom of her own empty champagne glass.