Part thirty-four...
Buffy barely made it through the day.
She drove back to her house after seeing Spike off,
showered, then tried to repair the damage crying had
caused in her appearance.
Breakfast held no appeal for her, but she drank three
cups of coffee, over sweetening them nearly to the point
of un-drinkability, for no other reason than it was how Spike
liked it.
Her class, bless their little hearts, seemed once again to
sense that she was unhappy and we're oddly well behaved
all day. She appreciated it, but it only made her feel more
than ever that something was out of place in her life.
Spike hadn't called.
She had watched the clock closely, estimating just about
what time he would reach San Francisco. Giving him an extra
hour to get settled at the hotel, she waited, keeping a sharp
ear out for the ring of the office phone.
********************************************
When school was out, she drove home faster than she
should have, almost blowing through a red light in her
distracted hurry.
There were no messages on her answering machine, its
little red light holding steady no matter how hard she stared
at it, or what sort of dire punishment she mentally threatened
it with.
At six thirty, she made herself a sandwich and flipped on the
television to watch the evening news.
Predictably, the minute her mouth was full, the phone
rang.
She dove for it, painfully swallowing food that she hadn't
finished chewing.
"Hello?"
"Sandra? It's Todd."
Disappointment stabbed her sharply in the heart.
"You have the wrong number," she snapped, aware of how
rude she sounded, and slamming the phone back into its
cradle.
Less than thirty seconds later, it rang again.
"Hello?"
"Sandra?"
This time, her disappointment was tempered by irritation.
"No. There's no one here named Sandra."
"Shit!" the caller muttered, hanging up without a word of
apology.
She didn't even have a chance to sit down before the next
call.
"Is Sandra there?"
Buffy sighed. The last thing she needed was this idiot
tying up her line. "You just missed her, Todd. I'll tell her
to call you."
Collapsing on the couch, she tried to concentrate on
some news blurb telling her that a common household
item might be slowly killing her, without revealing just
what the devil it was. She might have been concerned,
but she knew her mother would fill her in on the gruesome
details.
While she was mulling over the countless possibilities,
the phone rang. Frustration drove her anger level sky
high as she grabbed the phone.
"Are you brain damaged or something?" she almost
screamed, wishing she had a whistle handy to puncture
'Todd's' ear drums. "Sandra's not here!"
"Oh. Well, in that case, can I speak to Buffy?" an
amused voice replied.
Her heart began beating double time. "Spike?"
"Yeah. Who's Sandra?"
She gave him a brief run down of the 'Todd and Sandra'
situation."
"So...other than that, how was your day?"
"Don't ask. I take it you made it to San Francisco?"
"This afternoon, yeah. I'd have called earlier but I wanted
to wait until you got home so I could whisper dirty things
in your ear."
Remembering the last phone conversation they'd had,
she grinned. "Should I go upstairs and change into
something slutty?"
Devlin chuckled, a low sexy growl that curled her toes.
"Maybe next time," he teased.
"How's the hotel. Is it nice?"
"Oh, yeah. Got a suite on the top floor that's quite posh.
"Sounds great."
"There's a huge bathroom, and its got one of those
bathtubs that looks like a pool."
"Really?" Buffy murmured. "Wow."
"Separate shower stall, too. Its got...six faucets!"
She continued to make all the right responses as he
rhapsodized over the luxurious accommodations.
"I can see almost the whole city from the terrace. Hey!
There's a hot tub out there!"
Buffy was beginning to tire of hearing what a sensational
time he was having without her, and wondering why he
felt the need to go on and on about it. It was salt in a
wound that hadn't even begun to heal.
"Did you know that there's a whole section of this city
devoted to chocolate? It's bloody marvelous!"
It figured that he'd find out about THAT five minutes after
hitting town.
When he started describing the offerings on the room
service menu, she decided that enough was enough.
"Spike...can't we talk about something else?" she asked,
trying not to sound as irritated as she felt. "Why do you
keep going on about the hotel. I mean, I'm glad it's so
nice, but...."
"Because..." he interrupted, then hesitated.
"Because what?"
"Because I'm trying to tempt you into coming up here
for the weekend."
**************************************
She forgot her irritability in an adrenalin rush of
excitement. "You..."
Obviously assuming that she was about to auto-
matically turn him down, he rushed ahead of her.
"Buffy...please, honey. It wouldn't take you long
to get here. You could leave after work tomorrow."
"I...."
"I know I'd be busy in the evenings, but after the
concert, I'm all yours. And during the day we'd
have some time."
"If I...."
"It's really a beautiful city, luv. I want to show it to
you."
"Spike!" Exasperated at her inability to get a word in, she
raised her voice. "You don't have to talk me into it!"
There was another long silence on the line.
"Are you sure this is Buffy?" he finally asked in that
smart ass tone of voice she loved.
"Very funny."
"So...does that mean you'll come?"
Would she ever!
She smiled. "Mind you...I wouldn't do this for just
anybody."
"Just for me, right?"
"Yes. Just for you."
"Because you love me."
"That's right."
He released a deep breath. "God, I can't wait to see you,"
he whispered. "Kiss you, and touch you."
Pushing away the worry that being with him for the weekend
would only make it harder when he had to leave again, Buffy
took on her practical, school teacher persona.
"Okay...if I pack a bag and take it with me in the morning,
I can leave right after work. I just had my car tuned up, so
all I need to do is stop for gas. How long do you think..."
"Buffy..."
"What?"
"I wasn't suggesting that you drive, sweetheart."
She braced herself, knowing what was coming.
"It's only an hour flight."
Yep. She'd been right.
"On a plane?" she asked softly.
"Well, yeah. Of course on a plane. Unless you can
fly without one."
"Ha-ha."
"Is flying another first for you, Miss Buffy? Baby, there's
nothing to be afraid of."
"I'm not exactly...afraid."
Scared to death was a far more accurate description.
"And please," she added, "don't quote the statistics on how
much safer I am in an airplane than in a car."
"But that's true."
"Maybe, but I've never fallen six thousand feet out of
my car."
She already knew she wasn't going to win this one. Spike
had the perfect argument, and he used it.
"Baby...the sooner you get here, the more time we'll have
together. All those hours you'll spend driving are hours I
can be making love to you," he said, his voice deepening.
Checkmate!
"Oh, all right," she gave in. "But that's an unfair way to
get me to do what you want."
"As long as it works. Listen, baby...I want to make this as
easy as I can for you. Can you leave your car at the school
for the weekend?"
"I guess so."
"Right, then. I'll have a service pick you up from there and
take you to the airport."
"What about a ticket?" she asked faintly.
"I'll take care of all that for you, luv," he replied in soothing
tones. "I'll call you later this evening with the information."
"Okay." Her voice sounded weak in her own ears, so she
cleared her throat and tried again. "Okay!"
"Buffy?"
"I'm still here."
"I love you."
Her taut nerves relaxed under the influence of his seductive
voice.
"I love you, too."
"See you tomorrow night?"
Frightened or not, her fanny was going to be on that plane!
"Yes. Tomorrow night."
She hoped they served some sort of alcohol on the flight. She
had a feeling she was going to be needing it.
Part thirty-five...
Although she'd reached the age of twenty-five without ever
setting
foot on an aircraft of any kind, Buffy was bound
and determined not to let her fear stop her from boarding
the one that
would take her to San Francisco, and to Spike.
Even so, on Friday, she spent half the day worrying about
it and
the other half giving herself silent, inspirational pep
talks about how silly she was being.
Sensible, practical
Miss Buffy knew that the odds of her
plane going down were a million to one. But the other part of
her...the chicken-hearted
part...knew that once was all it
took. Airplane crashes rarely gave you a second chance.
However, being with Spike
was worth the risk.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After returning all of her students into their parent's
care
for the weekend, she brought her suitcase in from the trunk
of her car, then went looking for Willow.
She
found her in the main office, going through a stack of
resumes in a search for a new teacher to replace one who
was
leaving at the end of the month.
"You all set to go?" Willow, who had learned about Buffy's
flying phobia after
an unsuccessful attempt to talk her into
a trip to Acapulco three years earlier, wore an expression
halfway between
' I know how scared you must be' and
'let's have no more of THIS nonsense, shall we'?
Buffy set down her suitcase
and dropped into the leather
armchair. "More or less," she replied, smiling ruefully.
"More or less?"
"Well...technically
I'm packed and ready to go," Buffy ex-
plained. "Psychologically, it's a whole other story."
Her friend smiled.
"Ever considered seeing a psychiatrist
about that problem? I hear they've made big advances in
the field."
Buffy
just shrugged. "I'll think about it."
Willow regarded her for a moment, then leaned over and
unlocked the bottom
drawer of her desk to take out her
handbag. "In the meantime," she said, rooting through the
bag, "this might help."
She
was holding a small prescription bottle, with some sort
of pills rattling inside it.
"What is it?"
"They're
for motion sickness. You know how sometimes I
get carsick? These work great at mellowing you out. Take
one right before
you get on the plane."
"Drugs?" At this point, Buffy was willing to agree to just
about anything. "Hand 'em over."
Willow
looked past Buffy and out the window. "I think you're
ride is here."
Twisting around in the chair, Buffy's jaw sagged
when she
saw a long, black limousine pull into the driveway.
"That's MY ride?" she squeaked, jumping to her feet.
"It can't
be!"
"Well, it's not MINE," Willow replied. "I rarely hire limousines
to take me home."
"Yeah,
but I always thought airport limousines were those
buses you see on the freeway with ten or twelve people in
them."
Buffy
peeked through the blinds, watching the driver climb
out of the limo and head towards her classroom.
Apparently,
he WAS looking for her.
"Obviously he wants you to be comfortable," Willow said
briskly. "Now, scat, and I'll see
you on Monday, AT which
time I will expect all the yummy details. Hurry up, before
he thinks you're not here and leaves."
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The driver not only got Buffy to the airport on time, but
he also escorted her inside
to pick up her boarding pass
and check her suitcase, then ushered her to the right
gate.
Supremely grateful
for his help, she rummaged around in
her purse for some cash, only to be told that it was already
taken care of. Wishing
her a pleasant flight, he disappeared
into the crowd, leaving her to face the next step all by her-
self.
She
used the facilities, not wanting her nervousness to have
an adverse affect on her bladder, then shook two of Willow's
pills
into her clammy hand and swallowed them, washing
them down with water from the sink.
After patting her face dry
on a paper towel, she took a
deep breath and returned to the waiting area. Her heart took
a sudden plunge when she saw
that her flight had been
called and was now boarding. People with small children
were instructed to board first, then
people with disabilities.
Buffy was pretty sure that being a nervous coward didn't
qualify as a disability that
would earn her any special
privileges.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
She found her seat easily. There were
only about ten
other passengers in the first class section, so she had the
entire row to herself.
The first thing
she did before settling into the aisle
seat was to lean over and yank down the window covering,
figuring that if the
ground suddenly came rushing up to
meet her, she didn't want to see it coming.
The longer she sat and waited, the
more relaxed she
became...which surprised her since she'd figured it would
be the other way round.
Apparently,
the little yellow pills were beginning to do
their job.
Gradually, she began to get a handle on her fears,
mentally
commending herself for her splendid fortitude,
forgetting that it was drug-induced.
She would be just fine now.
A model of calm and a picture
of serenity who was forcing herself not to look around for the
emergency exits, or to
check the overhead compartment for
parachutes.
By the time the plane taxied down the runway for take-
off,
she was almost in a stupor.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Miss? We've landed, Miss. Excuse me?"
Buffy
pried her eyelids open. Was someone speaking to
her? "Hmm?"
"We've landed. You can get off the plane now."
Blinking
the sleep out of her eyes, Buffy regarded the
flight attendant, a tall, nice looking blonde with the name
"Tracy" neatly
printed on a gold name badge.
"Right," she mumbled, shaking off the excess cobwebs that
were obscuring her thought
patterns. Taking a deep breath,
she tried to stand up, then realized that her seat belt was still
holding her in.
She'd
never unbuckled it, even after being told she was free
to do so.
It took her three attempts to work the mechanism
and
loosen the belt. After fishing her handbag out of the overhead
compartment, she stumbled off down the aisle after
the attendant.
"You okay?" the woman asked, a concerned look in her eyes.
"Yeah. I'm...juss fine." Buffy nodded,
rubbing her forehead.
"Is there someone here meeting you?"
"Tracy" was persistent.
Was there someone
here to meet her? She honestly couldn't
remember what the arrangements had been. Had Spike
mentioned coming himself...or
sending someone else...or
was she supposed to take a cab to his hotel...and what was
the name of the hotel again?
This
wasn't good. She grabbed Tracy's sleeve and tugged on
it. "How...how many hotels you got here?"
"You mean...here
in San Francisco? Too many to count."
"Oh. Okay, thanks." She began to walk off, not paying
attention when Tracy
called after her, something about
was she sure she'd be all right....
"Yeah...be fine," she muttered, waving the
woman off. "Be
right as the rain...soon as...soon as...whass his name
gets here. Bye."
Wandering through the
terminal of San Francisco Inter-
national, she spotted a sign for the ladies room and went in
to splash some cold water
on her face. It helped, but only
marginally, and she still felt groggy when she was done.
She was standing beneath
a sign, peering owlishly up at it
as she attempted to decipher its code, wondering who the
hell BART was, when she heard
her name called.
"Buffy!" Someone spun her roughly around and swept her
into a close embrace. "Sweetheart...why
aren't you waiting at
the gate?"
"Oh, hi!" she said, her voice muffled by the familiar warmth
and hard muscle
of a man's chest. Finally...something she
recognized!
Pulling back to look at her, Spike frowned slightly. "Honey,
are
you okay?"
"Uh-huh."
He still looked doubtful, but at least he pulled her close again.
"I can't believe
how much I missed you," he said against the
side of her neck. "You know I'm not going to let you out of
my sight for
the whole weekend, don't you?"
That was a plan she could definitely get behind. "Thass
okay with me," she slurred.
Much
to her dismay, he moved back and stared down at
her face. "Have you been drinking? Was the flight that
bad for you?"
Buffy
yawned. "No drinking. Fight was fline...fine!"
He wasn't buying it. "Then why do you look so out of it?"
After
thinking the question over, she remembered. "Pills!"
"Sedatives?"
"Motion sickness."
"You get motion
sickness?"
"Ummm...no. Willow does."
"And she gave you some pills?"
"Yup. Just so I could stay calm."
Cupping
her face in his hands, he nailed her gaze with his
own. "How many did you take? I don't think your eyes are
focusing."
"Just
two," she informed him, striving to speak clearly. She
fished the bottle out of her purse and he took it to study
the
label.
"You're only supposed to take one," he said, shoving the
bottle into the front pocket of his jeans. "No wonder
you
sound like you've been on a three day drunk."
Although she protested strongly to that comment, she
followed
after him when he took her by the hand and headed
for the circular conveyor belt to pick up her suitcase.
When
he noticed that watching the luggage revolve in an
endless circle was making her dizzy, he forced her to sit
on a
bench and wait for him to retrieve her bag.
She was opening her mouth to tell him about a newspaper
article she'd
read, courtesy of her 'constantly on the lookout
for potential disasters' mother, about thieves who hung around
baggage
carousels in order to steal suitcases filled with
camera equipment and other expensive travel paraphernalia,
when the
thought simply disappeared from her brain without
a trace.
Clinging to his hand once again as she trailed behind
him
through the terminal, she could only hope it wasn't
an indication as to how the remainder of the weekend
was going
to go.
Part thirty-six...
San Francisco looked like a beautiful city.
As much as she could see of it through the black
tinted windows of yet another limousine, anyway.
After retrieving her luggage, Spike had led her through
the terminal to the waiting area outside. They hadn't been
standing at the curb for more than thirty seconds before
the shiny stretch limo pulled up. The driver practically
leapt from the car and ran around to deal with Buffy's
suitcase, while she herself was stowed inside the rear
door by her obviously amorous boyfriend, who couldn't
keep his hands to himself.
"What's with all the limousines?" she had asked
playfully, sliding all the way over to the far side of
the seat.
He'd made some smart ass comment about how highly
valued he was by the sponsors of the tour, then confessed
that his habitual lateness, combined with the fact that he
always got lost in a new city, had prompted them to keep
a car and driver at his disposal.
Following her to the other side of the car, he reached...only
to have her slip away and hop to the seats on the opposite
side.
Since being adorable always scored big points for him, he'd
folded his arms across his chest and pouted, stating how
long...the exact amount of days, hours and minutes...it had
been since he'd kissed her properly, and didn't she CARE that
he was slowly dying?
He'd stared sulkingly out the window, not saying a word until
he'd noticed her fiddling around with the complimentary bottle
of champagne provided by the limo service.
"Oh, no you don't!" had been his only comment before pouncing
on her and wrestling the bottle out of her hand. Through the
slight ringing in her ears, she'd heard him mutter something
about her being 'high enough' as it was, and that there was no
way in hell he was going to allow her to add anything alcoholic
to the mix until the pills she'd swallowed had worked their way
through her system.
She spent the rest of the ride amusing herself with all the
buttons and gadgets there were to play with. The television
flicked on and off, the windows slid up and back down, and the
stereo blared so loud that people on the street stopped to see
where the ruckus was originating from.
Once she discovered the controls for the sun roof,
nothing would do but that she open it up and stand up on the
seat to look around outside. The evening breeze was crisp
and went a long way towards clearing her muddled head,
but it wasn't until she felt Spike's hands sliding up her outer
thighs and beneath her skirt that the world suddenly dropped
into sharper focus.
"Hey!" she said indignantly, sitting back down on the
seat and peering suspiciously at him.
He just sat there like the most innocent of lambs. "Problem?"
"You were feeling me up!"
Spike shook his head. "You're imagining things," he
assured her. "Those pills have made your head a bit wonky."
She looked at him with her 'stern teacher' face. "Are
you telling the truth?"
"Would I lie to you, darling?"
Suppressing a smile, she popped back out of the sun-
roof just in time to see a cable car passing by.
On the count of three, she felt those warm and knowledgeable
hands again, this time on the inside of her slightly spread
thighs. Clearing her throat loudly, she glared down at him.
He was fast though, and his hands were already back on
his lap, clasped loosely. "What?"
"You did it again."
"Did what?"
"Felt me up."
"I didn't! Swear to God." He held his hands up, showing
them to her as if to say, 'See! They're right here, minding
their own business!, thank you very much!'
Returning her attention to the streets of San Francisco,
Buffy marveled over how much she'd changed in the last
week. Before meeting Spike Devlin, she would have jumped
out of the car, whether it was moving or not, rather than allow
a man to....
**Oh, my God! Is he...he's trying to pull down my under-
wear!!**
Her mother would drop dead if she knew what was
happening to her only child.
Although hardly a prude, Joyce Summers had been raised
in a household by parents who believed that there were certain
things a lady simply did not do, and she'd passed those lessons
on to her own daughter...who was fast forgetting most of them.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Stop that!" she said sharply, kicking at him with one
foot. "I know what you're up to down there, you sneak."
Her skirt settled back around her legs for about ten
seconds. Trying not to wriggle, she folded her arms in
front of her and watched the parade of humanity walking
along the sidewalks and darting in and out of traffic.
"You know," he said from beneath her, "I'm really not
doing anything ungentlemanly. I know you're a modest little
thing and the last thing I want to do is embarrass you in
public."
Her skirt ruffled lightly, as though he was moving it one
up one micro-centimeter at a time.
"I'd never," he went on, "do anything you wouldn't want
me to do and I'm certainly not the kind of a bloke who'd
try and look up your skirts to see what you're wearing
and oh, good God...Buffy...can I just say that's the sexiest
thing I've ever seen in my life!"
She smiled. He'd discovered the scrap of black lace
and satin she was wearing that called itself a pair of
underpants. There was a cutout at the waistband, with
a tiny gold charm dangling in the center of it.
"Sweetheart....I know you're having a good time up there
checking out the city and all, but, do you think you could
come back down here, please?" he begged. "Unless you
WANT me to pull these down and take a little taste of you
where everyone can hear you scream. Is that what you want,
baby? You getting a bit kinky on me?"
Without a word, she dropped back down on the seat, and
found herself tackled into a prone position.
"Where did you get those naughty little things? Oh...they're
a little bit damp right here, aren't they?"
"Well, there's...there's this store...at the mall...it's...."
"It's what?"
"What? Oh! Uh....it's called...Leather...and Lace. I...oh!...I
shop on the....the lace side..."
"Really? I approve....God, that feels good...little harder,
babe...mmmm. You....you ever consider....trying the leather
side? Give me your hand....right there....yes...."
"There....there WAS this....red leather....oh, Spike...uh,
corset....sort of a thing...I saw. It....ahhh....it laced up....the
front, and it had....it had no...."
"Had no what, baby? Ah, yeah....harder!"
"No.....CROTCH!!"
With that, the limousine pulled into the round circular driveway
in front of the Mark Hopkins Hotel.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With her cheeks tinted crimson, Buffy kept a tight hold
of Spike's hand as he led her through the elegantly
appointed lobby of the hotel.
Despite the privacy glass in the limo, she just couldn't
shake the feeling that the driver had been a silent witness
to the antics in the passenger compartment. Something
about the way he'd smiled when he'd opened the door
just as they'd managed to compose themselves and
straighten their clothing.
Although she'd been able to climb out of the car and
smile politely at the man, escaping with MOST of her
dignity intact, she couldn't help hoping that a different
driver would conduct her back to the airport when it was
time for her to go.
In the elevator, as she watched the floor numbers fly
by, Spike took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"I'm really sorry about that, luv,"he said quietly. "I feel like
it's been forever since I touched you, and I guess I...I couldn't
help myself. You mad at me?"
One look at his face completely banished any "mad"
thoughts she may have had. Never had the boyish
charm been laid on quite so thick.
"I was there, too," she said, returning the gentle pressure
of his hand. Glancing back at the red digital numbers,
she became alarmed when she saw them whoosh past
twelve. "Just out of curiosity...how far up are we going?"
"All the way, luv," Devlin grinned broadly. "All the way."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The elevator glided to a smooth stop on the 17th floor.
When the doors slid open, Buffy stepped out, the heels
of her shoes sinking in plush carpeting.
"Pretty fancy," she whispered automatically, using
a tone she normally reserved for libraries and churches.
Spike inserted a key card in a slot on a door bearing
a small gold plaque with the words, 'Presidential Suite'
engraved on it.
Before she could place one foot in the room
Devlin set her suitcase down just inside the door, then
scooped her up in his arms and carried her inside.
"I thought only brides got carried over thresh holds,"
she laughed.
Closing the door behind him with his foot, he just
smiled and shrugged. "Give me time," he replied
suggestively.
Whether he was teasing or not was anybody's
guess.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Presidential Suite was both amazing and
frightening at the same time. It was so luxurious,
so expensively decorated, that Buffy was almost
tempted to take off her shoes and leave them by the
door so as not to risk dirtying the carpet.
The door opened into a formal entry hall. There was
a closet on one side, and a small guest 'powder
room' on the other.
Beautifully furnished, there were glass topped gold
leaf coffee tables and lounge chairs with matching
ottomans. She saw floor to ceiling windows that had
to provide a spectacular view of the city, both at night
and during the day.
Satin white glass fixtures exuded the perfect lighting
to complete the atmosphere, soft and rather romantic.
On one wall, there was an entertainment center that
boasted a large screen television, a DVD/CD player,
and a Playstation video game system.
Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to a set of french doors
that had to lead into the bedroom.
"So, what do you think?" Devlin asked, placing her on
her feet. "Told you it was quite something, didn't I?"
"You weren't kidding," she said, turning in a slow
circle. "Is this all for YOU?"
He nodded, slipping his arms around her from behind
and nuzzling her neck in way that made her weak in the
knees. "All for me," he murmured. "But if you're nice,
I'll be glad to share it with you."
Buffy leaned back in his embrace. "How nice do I have
to be?"
Devlin chuckled and spun her around. Kissing her deeply,
he explored her mouth with a thoroughness that made her
dizzy, the pulse in her throat keeping time with the rhythmic
thrusts of his tongue.
Buffy's hands moved over him, feeling the warmth of
his skin and the hard contours of his body.
"This is so damn good," he whispered, running his
hands through her hair. "Missed you SO much,
baby."
She melted in his arms, depending on him to keep
her on her feet. **Finally** she thought. **I'm
finally back where I should be...should have been,
all along...**
Clutching him even closer, she silently willed him to
take her through those french doors to his bed.
**Oh, God...please. Make love to me, Spike. I
can't stand to wait...not another minute...**
"Buffy?" His face was buried against the side of her
neck. "Sweetheart?"
"Hmmm?"
"I have to go."
Part thirty-seven...
She couldn't have heard him properly. Either the
'happy pills' were still cluttering up her brain function,
or popping her pressure clogged ears on the plane
once too often had damaged her hearing.
"You...you have to go?" she asked. "You...I don't
get...what do you...huh? Where are you going?"
"It's almost eight o'clock, luv. Got to go and sing for
my supper or they'll start without me."
Something about that comment sounded awfully
familiar. It took her a moment to sort it out.
"Wait a second! You told me they CAN'T start
without you!"
At least he had the grace to look a little embarrassed.
"I did say that, didn't I?"
"Frequently."
He sighed. "Let's go round this mulberry bush later,
all right? And when I said that I have to go, I meant
that WE have to go."
Practical, honor-your-commitments-Buffy understood
and approved of his dedication. Sex-starved Buffy, on
the other hand, wasn't pleased at all, and sort of wished
he would call in sick.
"Don't you want to come and hear us?" he asked
cajolingly.
Well, of course she did. There was only ONE thing in
the world she wanted more. "I don't have a ticket."
That made him smile. "You don't need one," he said
taking both of her hands and kissing the backs of them.
"You can watch from backstage."
"Is that where ALL your groupies watch from?"
"Yes."
"WHAT??"
"You walked right into that one, Miss Buffy."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sitting backstage at a rock and roll show wasn't
everything it was cracked up to be, Buffy decided.
The view was spectacular, there was no arguing that.
She'd seen the distance from the very back of the arena
to the stage and didn't understand how anyone could
possibly know what was going on. Once the music
started, however, she learned that the audio more
than made up for the visual.
Blue Eyed Devil sounded the best she'd heard them
so far. They were perfectly in sync with each other
and never struck a wrong chord. And, as always, they
seemed to be having a very good time.
After performing several of their lesser known works,
they began to play one of their first major hits. Buffy sat
on a stool, out of view of the audience, clapping her
hands over her ears when necessary to muffle the
crash of the drums.
Devlin was in his element. He sang to her, but gave
the impression that he was singing to everyone in the
audience.
"Works in the street, distant moon
In the heat as night descends;
Two searching loves cut their way into mine
Inviting me in.
Dancing so close
We already know how good it will be
We slip up from the unseen crowd
We find what we need.."
He moved close, almost to the very edge of the
stage, smiling at the starry eyed girls in the front
row.
"In the heart of the night
We run like bandits
Two hungry hearts
Under the gun
In the heart of the night
When we find each other
We're soon in love on the run
In the heart of the night
Heart of the night.."
She remembered this song. He had sung it for her
at one point during their last full night together.
And then afterwards....
The memory soon had her squirming on the stool.
Forcing her eyes forward, she watched Spike move
around the stage, his hands seemingly making love
to that damned guitar.
"The pulsating moon lays it's touch on the room
Your eyes reached to me
Two shadows fall, saying nothing at all
We know what we need.."
He was working up quite a sweat. The dark blue t-shirt
he wore was sticking to his back.
Buffy felt a corresponding moisture of her own starting
at her hairline. Absently, she brushed her hair back from
her face.
She could see the muscles in his arms flex as he
played, and her breathing deepened.
"In tender release, two prisoners are freed
from the darkness
One more escape, surviving the heartache
and madness..."
When he turned suddenly to look right at her, she
couldn't stop herself from licking her lips.
His eyes widened briefly, and his lips curved in that
wonderfully sexy smile that she absolutely loved.
With his back turned away from the crowd, he mouthed
the words, "I want you."
She felt herself blush from head to toe, which he
obviously saw since he grinned hugely, winking at her
before he turned back to the adoration of his audience.
"In the heart of the night
We run like bandits
Two hungry hearts
Under the gun
In the heart of the night
When we find each other
We're soon in love, on the run
In the heart of the night
Heart of the night...."
The song finished with a drum flourish that
nearly deafened her. She was so entranced by
Spike's performance that she didn't even notice
or hear the intermission announced.
But her heart skipped more than one beat when
she saw him set down his guitar and turned towards
her.
His hair was tousled, and he was really sweating
now, his shirt clinging to all the damp patches on his
torso.
He didn't say anything, just grabbed her hand and led
her back further offstage, down a small slight of steps
and through a door marked with the words, 'NO ENTRY'.
The room she found herself in was nicely furnished. There
were two long sofas against the wall, and a number of
chairs and low tables. Next to one sofa, there was a
large cooler filled with bottles of water, cans of soda
and beer.
Spike closed the door behind him and turned to look
at her. He was going to say something, but she didn't
give him the chance.
His performance had done something to her that she
hadn't experienced before. She'd felt desire, love, and need
of him many times in the past week, but this was something
much stronger, much more basic....
This was lust.
And she was in no mood to question it. Obeying the
demands of her body, she shut down the overlying
caution that her brain was always mired in and flung
herself forward, plowing into him so hard that it pushed
him back up against the door.
"Mmmph...Buffy! Sweetheart....you don't....why..oh,
God...."
Attacking his mouth with hers, she began tugging at
the hem of his shirt.
"Baby," he choked out. "You...you don't want this now.
I'm all sweaty and...."
"I don't care," she said, digging her nails into his damp
skin. "I do want you now, Spike. Right now."
She barely registered his hand fumbling at the door knob
and locking it. Her own hands were too busy pushing his
shirt up to be of any help.
"Honey....I smell terrible. Why don't you let me...."
"No," she said forcefully, injecting every scrap of
authority she could into her tone. "I'm not kidding, Spike.
I don't care if you're sweaty and I like the way you smell
right now." She got his shirt up and off, and she leaned
in close, pressing her lips over the place his heart was
pounding.
His head thumped back against the door. "Oh, god...Buffy.
Are....are you sure you want it like this?"
"I'm sure," she whispered against his neck. "Spike, please.
It feels like it's been so long since we...."
"It's been forever," he rasped. Placing his hands under her
arms, he reversed their positions, shoving her roughly up
against the door. His mouth came down on hers with a
bruising force, parting her lips. He slipped his tongue in past
the barrier of her teeth, moaning when she sucked on it.
Buffy only had a moment to be thankful that she was still
wearing a skirt, before his hands were on either side of her,
gathering the material and pulling it up around her waist.
His fingers were shaking as he gripped the elastic of her
panties...the black lace confection he'd raved about in the
limousine...and yanked them down around her knees. Shifting
her legs sent them the rest of the way down to the floor, and
she stepped out of them and kicked them halfway across the
room.
By this time, he had wrestled his belt off and had his jeans
unzipped. He grabbed her hand and pushed it into the opening
of his pants, gasping loudly when her fingers tightened around
his erect cock.
Spike pushed the sides of his pants down until they were
on the floor around his feet. He placed his hands on either
side of her waist and lifted her, bracing her against the door.
She was quite pleased that she didn't need to be told what
to do next. Hopping up, she laughed when he caught her
under her bare bottom and gave it a lusty squeeze.
He chuckled. 'You've got the prettiest little ass, baby. It's so
soft and warm."
Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist. "Spike...?"
"What, honey?"
"Don't tease me."
"I'm sorry, luv." He lifted her, then reached down and
positioned himself for penetration. "You ready?"
"God, yes....ah! Oh, Spike....yes."
He slid all the way in, so deeply that she was sure
he'd come out on the other side. Leaning against her, he
ground his pelvis into hers.
Buffy tightened her arms around his neck, burying her
fingers in his damp hair.
"Buffy....baby, that's good. You're so wet and tight. I
love fucking you." He quickly established a steady
rhythm, pumping hard and fast, then switching to slow
and deep.
Her hands moved down over his shoulders, stroking the
warm skin that was so slick beneath her fingers.
He gave her what she needed, a hard, pounding surge
of his flesh into hers, over and over again, tireless and
eager to satisfy her. The muscles of his neck and
shoulders were taut and corded, his expression tense
as he worked over her.
The sound of their bodies coming together and then
pulling apart was wildly arousing to her, driving her lust
for him to insane heights. Instinctively, she began
thrusting forward to meet his strokes, her thighs
pressing in strongly on either side of him.
Sobbing grunts came out of her with each strong
plunge, and she clutched at him fiercely, waiting for
that build up, that steady climb that he always took
her on.
At that moment, there was nothing existing in the
world for them but each other. All they wanted was
what they had, what they felt.
Harder and faster, deep and wild and totally relentless,
he rammed into her, groaning soft words of love and
raw sex.
"Baby....I love you....go it, honey....come on....that's
it....that's my girl...oh, fuck me...yeah...yeah...so
sweet....so fucking hot...I love...the way...your pussy
just...holds onto me....squeezes me....makes me come
so damn hard...you feel good, babe...wet and juicy...you
want it harder? Do you? Tell me...."
She tried to think, to speak, but it wasn't working for
her. All she could do was hold on tight...and feel.
"Buffy....kiss me," he begged, lifting his face and
searching for her mouth. "I want to be kissing you when
we come."
With one arm locked around his neck, she placed her
hand under his chin and guided him, covering his lips
with hers and plunging her tongue inside his mouth.
It was the last little bit of stimulation he needed. His
pace picked up even more and he slammed into her over
and over again, until, with one last wild cry, he exploded
inside of her.
Her own orgasm flowed through her, making her whimper
in her throat as she ground her mouth down on his and
tangled her fingers in his hair, gripping it tightly.
Panting, he slowly let her legs go until her feet touched
the floor. "It's always so good....it almost scares me,"
he moaned.
She didn't have to ask him what he meant. She knew.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm perfect."
"That you are, darlin....that, you are."
******************************
Back on her stool, Buffy was a little surprised to find
that her bottom was sore. She wondered if there was a
bruise.
She didn't care. She just wondered.
Blue Eyed Devil once again took the stage, and the
crowd reacted predictably.
Spike clipped on his guitar and stepped up to the
microphone. "San Franciso," he yelled. "You
bloody ROCK!!"
San Francisco agreed, and they let him know it.
"Got something new for you," he said. "Hasn't been
played anywhere...until tonight. You want to hear it?"
The audience screamed "yes" at the top of their
lungs.
He waited for the clamor to subside, then turned and
gave Buffy a sidelong glance. "This is for you," he
mouthed.
"It's hard for me to say the things
I want to say sometimes
There's no one here but you and me
and that broken old street light
Lock the doors
We'll leave the world outside
All I've got to give to you are these
five words when I....
Thank you for loving me
For being my eyes
When I couldn't see
For parting my lips
When I couldn't breathe
Thank you for loving me..."
It was the loveliest song she'd heard yet, and
knowing he'd written it for her made her heart swell
and her eyes fill with tears.
"I never knew I had a dream
Until that dream was you
When I look into your eyes,
the sky's a different blue
Cross my heart
I wear no disguise
If I tried, you'd make believe
That you believe my lies
Thank you for loving me
For being my eyes
When I couldn't see
For parting my lips
When I couldn't breathe
Thank you for loving me..."
The audience couldn't see her, but when he turned
to face her, they knew something was up. Everyone
in the place seemed to be holding their breath.
"You pick me up when I fall down
You ring the bell before they count me out
If I was drowning, you would part the sea
And risk your own life to rescue me
Lock the doors
We'll leave the world outside
All I've got to give to you
Are these five words when I...."
Unconsciously, she leaned forward on the stool,
wanting so badly to go to him that it almost hurt.
"Thank you for loving me
For being my eyes
When I couldn't see
For parting my lips
When I couldn't breathe
Thank you for loving me
When I couldn't fly
Oh, you gave me wings
You parted my lips
When I couldn't breathe
Thank you for loving me
Thank you for loving me...."
The applause for the song was literally thundering. It
went on for at least two full minutes.
Taking brief advantage of the situation, Devlin set down
his guitar and walked offstage into Buffy's outstretched
arms.
Laying his head on her shoulder, he whispered, "Did you
like it, sweetheart?"
"You know I did," she said, stroking his damp curls.
"About earlier," he began. "I'm sorry it was so quick."
She shook her head. "Don't be. It was perfect for the
moment."
He lifted his head and gave her a devilish grin. "Well, later
when we get back to the hotel? I'll definitely take my
time and see to you properly."
Part thirty-eight...
Parking Buffy once again in the small, private room
where they'd had their earlier tryst, Devlin planted a
hard kiss on her mouth and left to take a quick shower
in the executive suite set aside for the band to use
during breaks in their performance.
The rest of 'Blue Eyed Devil' were making their
presence known at a backstage party, the noise of
which she could hear clear on the other side of the
building.
Spike had offered to take her there to wait, but Buffy
had no desire to get involved in any kind of social
situation that involved anyone but the two of them.
Still it was difficult to stay in that room, remembering
what they had done there, and not turn a thousand
different shades of red.
She was thumbing through a two year old copy of
Architectural Digest when he came back.
Smiling, she looked up and the magazine hit the floor
with a loud 'thwack'.
"Ready to go, love?"
Buffy felt herself staring like a star struck teenage girl.
Sexy was Spike Devlin's middle name, but he had some-
how managed to push that particular bar to an all new level.
His damp hair was slicked back neatly, his skin freshly
washed of the perspiration he had worked up performing.
As he always did directly after coming offstage, he still
retained a lot of the kinetic energy and driving force that
came to him so effortlessly in front of an audience. In
fact, he was practically humming with it.
He stood before her now in a clean pair of black denim
trousers, a black button down shirt...half unbuttoned...the
scuffed and well worn boots that he was so attached to,
and an ankle length coat fashioned of soft, black leather.
Although his entire appearance radiated a sexual aura
that could cut through the fog over San Francisco Bay,
it was the coat that was really doing things to Buffy's
central nervous system.
If there'd ever been an article of clothing more made for
a certain person to wear, more perfectly suited for just
him, she couldn't begin to imagine what it could be.
"What are you staring at?" he asked, amusement laced
through his voice.
Once upon a time, that question would have made her
blush and stammer. Being caught blatantly gaping at a
man wasn't something she was accustomed to.
However, that was the 'old' Buffy, the virginal, 'prim and
proper' Miss Summers. The one who HADN'T been
romanced right off her feet by a rock singing sex god
who touched every part of her in a different way; body,
heart, and soul.
The 'new' Buffy, no longer a virgin in any sense of the
word, was beginning to take over the wheel for a bit.
"Was I staring?" she asked, widening her eyes. "I
didn't mean to. It's just that...I was sitting waiting here
for my boyfriend to come back. You may have passed
him in the corridor...about your height, holes in the knees
of his jeans, sweaty t-shirt with a soccer team logo half
scratched off?"
Devlin's grin widened. "That git? Yeah, I saw him. What's
he doing leaving a juicy little thing like you all on her own
here, the stupid prat."
"That's a very good question," Buffy said, sighing deeply.
"He lured me to San Francisco, made me all sorts of
seductive promises to get me here, and it's been nothing
but ho-hum ever since. Well," she added, "except for
intermission. That was...very nice."
"Very nice?" Devlin arched his brow. "That the best that
tosser can do for you? Very nice?"
"He's usually....what? What's a tosser?"
Devlin walked toward her in measured paces. "A tosser is
what your boyfriend is going to be tonight. Because YOU
are coming with ME."
"And just why would I do something like that, handsome
stranger?"
"Because I can do much better for you than 'very nice'." He
reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. "I can show
you this town in style. Treat you like the princess you are."
Buffy's heart sped up as he pressed a heated kiss to
the palm of her hand, without once breaking eye contact.
"That...that sounds like fun," she managed to say.
Devlin took her other hand and gave it the same treat-
ment. "It will be."
**************************************************
Still hanging onto his hand, Buffy followed Spike through
the twist and turns of the hallways and out through a rear
exit door, cleverly avoiding the crowd clamoring for his
attention.
Parked at the curb was a low slung, hideously expen-
sive looking sports car, the kind manufactured in Italy.
Much to Buffy's surprise, Devlin produced a key and
unlocked it. After making sure her seat belt was fastened,
he came around the front and climbed into the passenger
seat.
Buffy was marveling over the plush interior and the
dashboard that looked like something you'd see launching
space shuttles at Cape Kennedy.
"This is a really nice car."
Devlin started the engine and grinned at her. "Well, it's
cold outside at night. I couldn't drag you all over San
Francisco on the back of my motorcycle," he said, pulling
out into traffic.
"And you bought a car just for me? That's sweet."
"No, I borrowed a car just for you."
"Who from?"
"I'm not sure. Our manager arranged it."
Settling back into plush leather, Buffy ran her fingers
over the walnut paneled dash. "I'm sure having my share
of 'first times' with you."
"Yeah?"
"First time on an airplane. First time in a....a..."
"Maserati," he supplied helpfully.
"Thank you. First trip to San Francisco. First time
backstage at a rock concert. First time riding on a
motorcycle.."
"Aren't you forgetting something?" He gave her a
sidelong look. "Your biggest 'first time' with me?"
Against her will, her cheeks turned pink. "So how
much do cars like this go for?" she asked, neatly
changing the subject.
"Close to a quarter of a million."
Buffy's jaw sagged. She'd been thinking maybe sixty or
seventy thousand, tops.
"A quarter of a million dollars?"
"That's right."
"And....and someone just let you take it?"
"I'm very responsible."
Yes, he WAS a good driver. She remembered that from
the time he drove her car. He was actually a better driver
than she was, since she tended to creep over the speed
limit and never missed an opportunity to hit a speed bump
or pothole while going too fast.
"Be careful," she mumbled under her breath when another
car got a little too close.
"Don't worry, love. This isn't a 'you break it-you buy it' sort
of deal. It's heavily insured."
"Still....be careful."
**************************************************
He took her to the Beach Chalet Restaurant in Golden
Gate Park for a late dinner. The crowd was light and they
were given a table with a spectacular view of the bay and
the ocean.
Sitting close together in a booth, he hand fed her Butter-
milk Fried Calamari, and chunks of warm sourdough bread
spread with a sweet butter. For the main course, he ordered
a grilled New York Steak with a red wine sauce and the
most enormous baked potato Buffy had ever seen.
She opted for the Dungeness Crab Stuffed Rainbow Trout,
served in white wine butter sauce on a bed of wild rice. They
shared bites of each others dinners as Spike kept her
amused by telling her stories about Andy and Xander's
constant bickering on the trip north.
Dessert consisted of a house specialty...The Beach Chalet
Chocolate Sandcastle...an intense chocolate torte, with
chocolate shortbread cookies, peanuts, and warm chocolate
and caramel sauces, cut into shapes and assembled into a
replica of a sandcastle.
After dinner, he gave her a quick tour of the city, promising
to take her out for a longer one the following afternoon before
the concert. He drove her back and forth across the Golden
Gate Bridge, showed her the view of the Coit Tower from
Washington Square, and pointed out Alcatraz Island. They
drove slowly through Chinatown and passed by Ghiradelli
Square, where the air was heavily scented with the aroma
of warm chocolate.
When he noticed that she was starting to look sleepy,
he turned the car around and headed for the hotel.
**************************************************
"Are you tired, love? Want to go to sleep?"
Buffy leaned against him, watching the floor numbers
flash. "I can sleep at home," she said. "How often do I
get a chance to be with you in a luxury hotel suite in
San Francisco?"
He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled
her closer. "We'll come back sometime, I promise. Spend
a lot of time and really do it up right. That sound good?"
It sounded like the promise of a future. It sounded very
good to her.
Dropping her handbag on the sofa, she toed her shoes
off. "Hey, how come you got this suite all to yourself?" she
asked. "Are you that big a star already?"
He chuckled, emptying his pockets out onto the bar. "Not
hardly. Two suites came with the deal. I got this one and
the guys are sharing the other."
"Why? No, don't tell me...because it's your band."
"Smart-arse," he said softly. "No, it's because I dropped
several cast iron hints about wanting to be alone in this
one with you."
"And they just went along with that idea?"
"Yeah, of course they did. It's..."
"...my band," they finished in unison.
"All right, saucy," Devlin laughed. "You want to go
bed, or should we enjoy the amenities first?"
"Is that a new name for it?" she asked.
"Oh, you are really in top form tonight, Miss Buffy."
**************************************************
"This feels nice."
"Glad you like it, love."
"It's so relaxing. They have them at my gym, but
I've never used them. I don't....what was that?"
"Doorbell."
"Hotel rooms have doorbells?"
Spike climbed out of the hot tub and wrapped a towel
around his lean hips. "This one does."
"So who's at the door at this time of night?" Buffy asked,
slipping down further into the roiling waters of the spa.
"Room service, I expect." He smiled and winked. "I
called down for a bottle of champagne while you were
in the bathroom."
Just when she thought it couldn't possibly get any more
romantic.
**************************************************
Not only did he pour champagne, but he brought out
a box of chocolate covered cherries he'd purchased
on his first swing through town that afternoon.
She was instantly rocketed back to their first date,
when she'd asked him what he wanted from her and
he'd made that breath stealing speech about waking
up with her hair spread across his pillow and holding
her on his lap to feed her chocolate covered cherries.
The heat from the spa softened the candies, making
their hands and lips sticky. He diligently licked every
trace of the dark chocolate smears from her fingers,
and kissed them from her mouth.
Sitting on the small built in seat, he arranged her so
that she was straddling his lap, facing him, then tilted
his champagne glass and let the sparkling wine trickle
over her parted lips. Drops of it ran down her chin and
splashed her throat, pooling in the shallow hollow at its
base.
She could feel him beneath her, his hardness nudging
insistently against her softness. Placing her own glass
on the side of the tub, she tangled her fingers in his hair,
panting as his mouth moved lower to lap the champagne
droplets from her breasts.
"Drink some," he whispered. Bringing his wine glass up
and touching the rim to her lower lip, he bent his head
and pressed his lips against her throat to feel the ripples
as she swallowed.
A gentle touch beneath her chin tilted her head back,
and his mouth captured hers. He drank the wine from
her lips, then dipped his finger in the glass and painted
them again, trailing a lazy path just along their inner
surface, following it with the tip of his tongue.
Her eyes drifted shut, her lips moist and parted, and
just a little swollen from hard kisses, her breathing
deliciously ragged.
She abandoned herself to him, letting him move her
to and fro, anywhere he chose, like a rag doll marionette.
When his hands moved down to lift and caress her
breasts, she heard a softly murmured plea escape her
throat, whispering his name.
His quiet laughter tickled her sensitive skin. "Shall I take
you to bed, darling?"
"Yes. Take me to bed, Spike. Take me....."
