“They shouldn’t show things like that,” she faltered, still red-faced and unsteady.
“I couldn’t agree more. I didn’t realize it would be this explicit.” He stood and tugged her along with him, ignoring the curious glances of much younger couples.
“They think we’re crazy to leave, don’t they?” she asked as they walked through the lobby to gain the street.
“No doubt. But they’re a different generation. Come to think of it,” he added as they reached the dark sidewalk, “so are you.”
“I’m only nine years younger than you are,” she protested.
He smiled down at her, the coolness of the night air calming his heated blood. “Almost a generation, these days,” he observed. He slid his hand into hers and clasped it gently, his head lifting as he heard the first strains of Mozart in the distance. “If you don’t care for explicit sex, how about soft music and ice cream?”
“Soft music?”
“There’s an ice-cream social, complete with orchestra concert, in the park on summer nights,” he explained. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
He helped her into the car and drove down to the enormous city park she’d seen earlier, with its ancient towering cottonwood trees and lush grass. Tables and chairs were set up for visitors, although plenty of the guests were sprawled on blankets or quilts on the dry grass. It was like something out of a fantasy, and Allison was enchanted.
“How delightful!” she exclaimed.
Gene lifted an eyebrow and smiled as he led her from the car into the throng, past where the symphony orchestra played magnificently. This was very much his kind of affair, and it touched him that Allison should find it so enjoyable, which she very obviously did.
“I have to admit that this is much more my scene than risqué movies,” he mused. “Doing it is one thing, but watching other people do it—or pretend to—doesn’t really appeal to me.”
She averted her eyes, clinging to his strong lean hand as he led her to one of the tables where homemade ice cream was being dished up.
“I guess you know enough about it already, if what people say about your reputation is true,” she said quietly when they were standing in line.
He turned to look down at her, worldly knowledge in his pale eyes. “Are you fishing for a denial?” he asked in a voice that sent goose bumps down her spine. “What they say about me is true. I’ve never made any secret of it. I’ve just been a little less discreet in the past few months.”
She felt nervous. He’d never looked more like a predator, and she was feeling more threatened by the minute.
He moved closer to her as the line caught up and surged forward. His reputation had never bothered him before. It bothered him when Allison looked at him in that threatened way. “What about you?” he asked just above her ear. “You don’t talk about your private life very much.”
“There’s not a lot to tell,” she confessed.
His lean hand traced her shoulder lazily, an action calculated to disturb her. It didn’t fail. Her breath caught audibly, and he felt a surge of desire for her that made his knees go weak.
“I don’t believe that.” He caught her waist with both hands and held her lightly in front of him while the queue moved ever closer to the ice cream. “What flavor do you like?”
“Vanilla,” she said at once, because whenever that rare treat had been available, vanilla was invariably all that was offered.
“I like chocolate myself.”
“Most men do, I think,” she recalled with a smile, remembering how her charges, even the oldest of them, grumbled about the lack of that flavor.
His fingers tightened. “Something you know from experience?”
She put her hands over his to support them. “I suppose, in a way,” she agreed.
“How experienced are you?” he asked.
“That’s a question a gentleman doesn’t ask,” she chided, trying to make a joke out of it. And fortunately, before he could pursue the matter, they reached the ice cream.
The orchestra played many familiar pieces, and Allison found herself sitting beside Gene on the grass on a quilt they’d borrowed from a younger couple nearby.
Gene had mentioned that they’d come up from Wyoming, and the young man—much thinner and fairer than Gene—had grinned and asked, “Came up especially for the music, did you?”
“To tell you the truth, we came up for a movie,” Gene replied ruefully. “But we left.”
The young woman, a vivid redhead, put her hands over her mouth and giggled with a shy glance at her companion. “The one about cattle ranching?” she asked.
“That’s right,” Gene agreed.
“We left, too,” she said in a very country-sounding drawl. “My daddy would skin me alive if he knew I’d been to such a film, so I made Johnny leave. He liked it,” she added with another meaningful look.
“It’s life,” the boy replied. “We’re getting married in two months, after all, Gertie.”
“Johnny!” She went scarlet and jumped up. “I’ll get us some more ice cream!”
“Virgins,” Johnny sighed and then smiled with pure joy.
That smile bothered Gene. He’d never known a virgin, not in all his life. He’d certainly never dated one. But part of him envied that young boy, to be going into a marriage with a woman who’d saved such a precious part of her life for him. He’d never have to wonder about his wife’s ex-lovers or how he compared, because there hadn’t been any. He’d be the only one, at first anyway, and all her first times would be with him.
He looked down at Allison with speculation. How would it be, he wondered, if she were that fresh and untouched? His eyes ran slowly down her body and he tried to picture himself with her in bed, slowly teaching her things he’d learned. Would she be shocked? Or would it all be old hat to her? He’d found that experienced women tended to be inventive in bed, and uninhibited. That was a
