Death’s Excellent Vacation (Sookie Stackhouse #9.5)(50)
Author: Charlaine Harris

Together, the first time only months after they had started dating–it had been that weekend, Tim believed, that they had fallen in love–and the second as a special getaway for their fifth wedding anniversary. Not in the same room each time, of course. Jenny might have remembered the room numbers–he had never asked her–but guys just didn’t pay attention to that sort of thing. And, anyway, it was the view that she had loved, not the room. With another deep breath, he sipped at his coffee and then set it down, settling into a chair beside the small table. He removed the metal cover over his breakfast plate to reveal a western omelet accompanied by a small portion of breakfast potatoes and half a dozen slices of fresh melon. Sliding the table over in front of him, he tucked into his breakfast. The omelet was delicious, but halfway through, his appetite failed him and he wondered why he hadn’t just ordered juice and toast. He ate the melon because it was sweet and good for him, and drank the small glass of OJ that had come alongside the coffeepot, and then he settled back to digest. Already the day had grown warmer. The weatherman had said it would reach the mideighties by noon, and Tim had no trouble believing that. He planned to go to Universal Studios in the afternoon, just for a few hours–it was what he and Jenny had done the last time they were here together–but this morning he intended to take it easy. He got up and went into his room, fetching the James Lee Burke novel he’d bought to read on the plane. Then he shifted the chair to keep the sun out of his eyes, poured himself another cup of java, and sat reading and enjoying his coffee with the sound of the ocean enveloping him. Twenty or so pages later, he was pulled from the book by the sound of a slider rattling open. He looked up to see a woman stepping out onto the balcony of the room next door. Instantly his mind went back to the night before and the sounds that had come from that room, and he felt both embarrassed and aroused at the same time. This had to be the same woman whose voice he had heard so clearly. It was too early for her to have checked out and a new guest to have arrived. "Good morning, " she said, raising a coffee mug in a toast to him. Her smile was brilliant. His throat went dry just looking at her–five feet nine or ten, lean and limber like those Olympic volleyball girls, long blond hair back in a ponytail, bright blue eyes–and the pictures he had painted in his mind of last night’s acrobatics became that much more vivid. She wore a black and gold bikini that nearly gave him a heart attack. "Morning, " he said, wondering if she would notice the flush in his cheeks–was he actually blushing? God, he felt awkward. He forced himself back to his book, desperate to look at anything but her. The words blurred on the page. The balconies were open- post style, and he had gotten a fantastic look at her stunning legs. Just read, he thought, trying to focus. Should he get up and go into his room, or would that be even more awkward?

"I’m sorry, " she said. "Am I disturbing you?" God, he thought, you have no idea. "Not at all. Just enjoying the morning. " "I know what you mean, " she replied, sinking into a chair and stretching her legs out, propping her feet up on the railing of her balcony. "I don’t have to be anywhere until after lunch and wanted to get a little sun while I have some downtime. It’s quiet out here this morning. " She stretched out to maximize her body’s exposure to the sun and, consequently, to Tim as well. He held his place in the book with one finger and turned to smile politely at her. "It’s a weekday. People are off at business meetings, I guess. " She shielded her eyes from the sun to look at him. Her lips were full and red and perfect. "No meetings for you?" "Fortunately not. " He shifted uneasily, not sure he wanted to have this conversation but also not wanting to be rude. And God, she was beautiful. The sounds from the previous night returned as he stared at her, and he could not help imagining those lips saying those things, pleading, moaning, and then . . . You can put it anywhere you want. Shit, he’d almost forgotten about that, and now that he’d remembered he could barely even pay attention to what she was saying. "I’m sorry, " he said. "What was that?" She smiled, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, as if she knew exactly what had distracted him. "I asked what brought you to Santa Monica, if not business. " Tim ran though possible answers in his mind, but they all came down to a choice between lying and telling the truth, and he had given up lying years before. He and Jenny had been going through a rough patch, distance growing between them because he had been traveling for work so often, and he had been unfaithful.

It had nearly ruined his life, nearly destroyed their life together when he confessed to her, but they had gotten through it. He had vowed that he would never stray again, but it had taken years before she actually seemed to believe him. Forgiving him, though, was something else. She had said she did, but he had always wondered, and wondered even still. "Honestly, it’s sort of a sad story for such a beautiful morning, " he said. "What about you?" She cocked her head curiously, maybe intrigued by the tragic air about him. Tim had seen it before. Maybe someday he would take advantage of the way some women reacted to sad stories, but he had not yet reached a place where he could do that. "Just sightseeing. A little California dreaming, you know? Started in Napa and made my way down with . . . Well, Kirk’s no longer with me. " So his name had been Kirk. "Kirk?" She arched her eyebrow suggestively. "I guess I was a little too much for him. " Tim could have taken that any number of ways, but the eyebrow made it clear what she meant. In his mind he could practically hear Kirk’s voice even now, calling her every filthy thing he could think of. When he had imagined the woman on the receiving end of those words, she had been nothing like this lovely creature on the balcony. As beautiful as she was, she seemed sweet, even charming. "I’m sorry to hear that, " Tim said. "It’s a morning for sad stories, I guess, " she said. "My name is Diana, by the way. " "Tim, " he said. "Sorry if we kept you up last night, Tim. " He grinned, feeling himself flush even more deeply, and glanced away. If he had seen the comment coming, he could have prepared, pretended to have slept through it all, but her directness had sneaked up on him. "Nah, it’s fine. I mean, not for long–" Diana pouted. "I think I might be insulted. "

"–no, no, that came out wrong, " he stammered. Then he laughed at his own embarrassment. "I’m a pretty sound sleeper. And who hasn’t been on the other side of thin walls at least once, right?" Her eyes seemed to dance with merriment. "Exactly. That’s so true. " She sat up to take a sip of her coffee, her br**sts straining against the thin fabric of her bikini top, a single strand of her blond hair–loose from the ponytail–hanging across her face. "So, are you going to tell me why you’re in Santa Monica?" Her boldness impressed and entranced him. As he thought about it, he could see this woman being the honest, passionate, carnal lover whose voice he had heard through the wall the night before. Yet Diana had many facets, and he saw one of them now, as a kind of sorrow filled her eyes. "I don’t mind sad stories. I’ve got a whole catalog of them myself. Go ahead. I’m a big girl. I can take it. " Something in that last line made him wonder if she had said it to tease him, but he might have imagined it, added a pouty, sexy insouciance to it that was really only an echo of the night before. "You might think it’s a little strange, " he ventured. Diana turned her chair slightly, basking in the sun even as she transformed their two balconies into a strangely intimate confessional. "I like strange. " Tim thought about Kirk, the idiot who had apparently left this woman after a night like they’d shared last night.