Forever, For Love

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  “I was a fool to send you away. I wanted you that night,” he said, still staring into her eyes, still letting his hands play over her body. “I think I’ve always wanted you, Pandora. I know I always will.”

  She shook her head. Why did his words sound so familiar? Right now she couldn’t think, she could only feel. At the moment, his hand was touching the tight red curls between her thighs. Her eyes flickered closed for a moment, avoiding his gaze, and the tip of her tongue smoothed wetly over her lips. He saw the movement and quickly pressed his mouth to hers for an instant, touching tongue to tongue.

  “Tonight,” he began. He drew away slightly, only his lips still teasing her mouth as he spoke. “Tonight, right now, I’m about to make love to you. The way I’ve wanted to for so long. There will be no holding back, no turning away. I’m going to kiss you…” He did. “And touch you… and make you want me like you’ve never wanted any other man in your life.”

  “Oh, Ward, I do want you!”

  He smiled and drew an invisible line with one finger between her breasts. “And after we’re done,” he continued, “I’m going to sleep inside you so that when we awake we can begin all over again.”

  Something between a soft moan and a gasp escaped Pandora’s lips. Ward’s eyes blazed at her, daring her to refuse him as he had refused her on that night so long ago.

  “And, Pandora,” he added, matter-of-factly, “I am going to marry you!”

  Before his words even had time to sink in, he stripped her gown from her, then shed his own clothes. His bold gaze never left her face as one by one his garments were cast in a heap on the floor—shirt, boots, stockings, britches. She felt heat flush her face. The lamp overhead blazed brightly, casting a golden glow on his naked body. Muscles corded his shoulders, arms, and thighs. His waist was narrow, his stomach flat, his legs long and furred with dark hair as was his chest, his belly. And that secret part of him, the part she had dared not visualize even in her dreams, rose toward her stiff with desire. She had seen many a naked man in her studio. But never had the sight made her ache with the exquisite need she felt as she gazed at Ward.

  Hands on hips, he turned, showing her his taut buttocks and the thick muscles of his back. “Take a good look,” he said. “Along with a silver mine and a thriving jewelry business and a pink marble palace on Broadway, Pandora, this is what you get in the bargain.”

  She tried to speak, but her vocal cords seemed paralyzed. All she could do was stare at the naked, godlike body before her and feel the heat and desperation of her need. She lay back on the bed, limp and waiting. She had never been so afraid in her life. Nor had she ever felt such excitement.

  When he came to her, she wrapped her arms around him, devouring his lips, urging him on with whimpers and sighs.

  Ward had to hold himself in check. Pandora was like a tigress. She clawed his shoulders and back, bit his neck, kissed him with long wet strokes of her tongue. But he knew better than to act too soon. He let his hands trail lightly down her sides as she lay pinned beneath him. He felt a shudder run through the length of her body. A low moan escaped her. She whispered his name over and over again. His name this time! He slid down over her, holding her tightly about the waist. With the tip of his tongue, he made tight wet circles around her nipples, her navel, then trailed farther down to leave a damp design on her quivering white belly.

  “Ward darling!” she gasped. “Oh, please… please!”

  But he was determined not to be rushed, not to let her convince him that the time had come.

  “Please what?” he whispered into the thatch of flame between her thighs. “Tell me, Pandora.”

  Her fingers, tangled in his hair, gripped convulsively. She moaned again. Another shudder racked her body.

  “What, Pandora? What do you want?” he demanded again.

  Her hips arched suddenly upward.

  “You,” she cried. “I want you, Ward! All of you!”

  Her whole body was aflame by the time his first thrust found its slick, hot mark. Pandora barely felt the pain, the release was so great… and the wonderful feeling of being filled. She relaxed for an instant and sighed with pleasure, but then her hips began to move rhythmically.

  Ward, too, paused a moment after he entered her and met the unexpected barrier. “My God!” he cried aloud. Could it be? But there was little time to think of anything but his own aching need and the insistent motion of Pandora’s hips.

  They loved each other frantically, savagely, as if they had been waiting lifetimes for this one moment. They could not get enough of each other—mouths, tongues, hands, bodies. Everything kissed and touched and stroked and coupled.

  Pandora gripped Ward’s waist with her legs, drawing him deeper, deeper, deeper. All that she had felt before—the need, the burning, the aching, the pleasure—combined into one explosive moment of such intense sensation that she thought she might die in that instant. The purest kind of ecstasy washed over her time and again like great crashing waves in a storm.

  Scenes unfolded in her mind—Laffite and Nicolette in the hammock, on the beach, at the grove, in their gilded bed—always together, always making love. All the while, she was totally aware that the man filling her, surrounding her, stroking her on toward this whirlpool of bliss was Ward Gabriel.

  Afterward, Ward stayed as he had said he would—inside her. They lay face to face, exhausted, overwhelmed, but unable to draw apart, still as one in each other’s arms, still joined intimately.

  “Pandora,” Ward whispered against her hair, “you should have told me.”

  “Told you what?” she asked dreamily.

  “I thought you’d had lovers. Many lovers. After all this time, I never dreamed…”

  “Sh-h-h!” she whispered. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Like hell!” he cursed. “It matters to me! I was too rough with you. You should have told me.”

  She laughed softly. “Well, next time we won’t have to worry about that, will we?”

  Next time, she knew, would come very soon. Already, as she lay with him, kissing him deeply and stroking his thighs, she could feel Ward growing again inside her—filling her once more. The sensation aroused new need within her. Soon his hips began a slow undulating motion. She followed his lead. All the suspense and wonder and pleasure began building again.

  By the time they finally slept, gold and coral streaks of the new spring dawn were slipping in through the open window, creeping across the cream-colored marble floor where their clothes lay intimately tangled, even as their bodies were on the bed.

  They sat across from each other at a round table on the terrace. Pandora traced the blue and yellow pattern in the Spanish tile of the tabletop with one finger. Ward carefully peeled a blood orange with a silver knife.

  Pandora sipped her strong Italian coffee, wondering what to say, wishing Ward would begin the conversation. He seemed totally absorbed in his sticky task. What was he thinking? It was all well and good in the dead of night to defy morality in order to satisfy desires. But the hot light of day was another matter, bringing a burning feeling of guilt blazing down on her head.

  Finally, with a sigh of resignation, Pandora began, “Ward, what you said last night… did you really mean it?”

  He grinned at her—a mischievous, boyish grin. “I said a lot of things, Pan. Which thing?”

  “About marrying me?” she said hesitantly.

  Still concentrating on his orange, he nodded. “Yep!”

  “Then last night made you realize the truth.” She sighed with relief, hardly able to believe this wonderful turn of events.

  “What truth?” he asked. “That we love each other? I’ve known that for a long time, darling.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean, Ward. You know now that you were truly Jean Laffite. That’s such a relief…”

  “Damn the man!” He stared at her, his knife still poised. “Are you trying to tell me that he loved you last night, that I h
ad no part in what went on? Pandora, I’m the one who loves you! I’m the one who’s going to marry you! Now, forget your silly dreams.”

  Pandora felt a sudden pain shoot through her heart. “Ward, I can’t marry you,” she said quietly. “Not if you won’t admit the truth about our love.” She expected another outburst from him and braced herself for the explosion.

  Instead, he grinned again and handed her a slice of orange. “I figured you’d say that. But it’s no use arguing with me. You’re as good as Mrs. Ward Gabriel already. If Jean Laffite wants you, tell him to come get you himself. But you’d better warn that damned pirate that I just might challenge him to a duel.” Ward brandished his small, silver blade and laughed. “Fruit knives at ten paces! I’m the one who’s going to marry you, Pandora, like it or not.”

  His flippant attitude enraged her. She shot him a mutinous look with her green eyes. “I’d say that’s my decision to make.”

  He nodded. “You’re right.”

  “And I say no!”

  Suddenly, she felt his hand on her bare knee. She was dressed in another of his robes, better she’d thought than her skimpy costume for this time of day. Flipping the soft fabric aside, Ward slid his hand up between her thighs. She felt herself begin to tremble and protested softly. Her leg muscles responded to his touch, hugging his hand, urging it upward until he easily reached his goal.

  “See?” he said, withdrawing his exploring fingers. “There’s nothing more to discuss. We’ll do whatever you like—marry here, on the ship home, or we can wait and have a huge affair back in Galveston.”

  Pandora put the heel of her palm to her forehead. Her head ached as if she had been pounding it against a brick wall. There was no reasoning with him. How could she marry him when he considered their past lives together one enormous joke? “Ward, you aren’t listening to me?”

  “Words don’t matter. Actions do!” He stood up and stretched, then came to stand over her, staring down into her eyes. They had a slight tilt to them when she was being stubborn. It was there now. He leaned down and kissed her—deeply, expertly.

  “I’m telling you, Pandora,” he whispered, smiling down into her eyes, “last night was the ruination of us both. You don’t have any basis for comparison, but I do. There is no doubt in my mind that you and I were made for each other. As a businessman I know a good deal when I find one and the two of us, my love, are the best deal I’ve ever come across. You’d be a fool not to marry me. Besides, I’ve already written to your uncle and we have his permission. I took care of that matter months ago, as soon as I realized that I was hot on your trail. Everyone in Galveston knows that we’re engaged. There’ll be a real scandal if you refuse me.

  Pandora jerked away from him, but realized immediately that this was just the sort of thing Laffite would have done. “Of all the pompous…”

  Ward nodded. “You have me pegged exactly! That’s another thing—we understand each other. Now, to the details. How many children would you like? I’d thought two a nice number, but if you really want a large family…”

  Pandora jumped up and stamped her bare foot on the terrace, looking perfectly adorable in her rage, Ward thought. “Children?” she shrieked at him.

  He shrugged.

  “Ward Gabriel, you are the most horrible, insufferable, stupid, unfeeling, despicable…”

  “Don’t forget devious,” he added with a husky laugh.

  “Oh!” Pandora whirled away from him to storm into the villa, meaning to get her clothes and leave. But she never escaped the terrace. Ward caught her hand and twirled her around into his arms.

  “I love you, too,” he whispered. Then he captured her angrily pouting lips, silencing her, while his hands inside the robe took away her fight and turned it into a different kind of fire.

  Two weeks later, the Corsica sailed out of Naples on a fine, clear day. Puffs of pure white clouds floated like angels’ wings high above in the cerulean-blue sky. As the escort boat towed the great ship out of Naples Bay, Captain Marco, in full dress uniform, stood in the ballroom against a bank of white lilies. Many of the passengers gathered to see the ceremony. They all agreed a wedding was a lovely way to begin a voyage.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife!” the captain boomed in his best shipboard voice.

  Pandora stared up at Ward, so tall and handsome beside her, and wondered vaguely how this had happened. After the morning at his villa, he had dogged her every step. He showered her with lavish gifts, flowers, candy, banquets delivered to her rooms. He had insisted they take a carriage to Pompeii’s ancient ruins. He had told the guide there that they were on their honeymoon and she had blushed all day at the stares they received. They had climbed Vesuvious and tossed pumice stones into the glowing crater. They went to the opera, to the ballet, and to another party at Magnolia’s Capri villa.

  The countess, glowing with pleasure, announced their engagement in front of a huge crowd that night and Ward had slipped an enormous diamond on Pandora’s finger. She had been told only that it would be an “intimate supper” with the Bellinis. She had been furious, amazed, and finally delighted in spite of herself.

  That evening, after the party, they had gone back to his villa—“to talk,” she’d insisted. Pandora determined to make Ward see the light or take back his ring. But whenever she brought up Nicolette and Laffite, Ward only scoffed. There had been little time for conversation in Ward’s bed. They made love all night—beautiful, wonderful, heart-stopping love. The next morning, she still wore his diamond.

  And now, here she stood, gowned in bridal lace and satin, staring up into the warmest, most dazzling gray eyes she had ever seen—eyes that were making glorious love to her at this very moment. Making her weak in the knees. Making her ache in that special place. Making her want nothing in the world but to be with this man, to hold him, to love him, to bear his children.

  Ward smiled down at her, pleasure and triumph clear in his expression. “Happy, Mrs. Gabriel?” he whispered.

  “How should I know?” she answered curtly. “You haven’t given me a moment to breathe, much less to think.”

  He leaned down and gave her a light kiss. “Well, when you have time to think, my darling, think about this: I love you! I always have and I always will!”

  It was hopeless. She could no more fight her feelings for him than she could swim back to Galveston. What did it matter if Ward believed or not? She remembered and she knew. “I love you, too, Ward. I really do!”

  They leaned into each other, their lips meeting in a deep and lingering kiss that sent tongues of fire racing through Pandora’s blood. The captain and the passengers applauded, but Pandora heard nothing but the sound of her own heart beating against Ward’s.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The last patient of the day had left the office over an hour ago. But still Jacob sat at his desk—creating paperwork, cleaning out a drawer, finally sitting and simply gazing out the window at the glorious Galveston sunset. The red-gold riot in the sky reminded him of the fiery shade of Pandora’s hair.

  “Pandora,” he sighed aloud. “Ah, Pandora, what a mess I made of things.”

  Never a day went by that he didn’t think of her, wondering how she was, where she was. It would seem reasonable to expect that after three long years his memory of her would have faded. But now—especially now, the day she was due to return to Galveston—her image was sharper in his mind than it had ever been.

  Tonight he would see her again. The ship bringing her back was scheduled to dock within the hour. Ward Gabriel had sent word from Italy that he was bringing Pandora home with him, that they were to be married. Of course, Tabitha Sherwood had wasted no time in arranging an elaborate engagement party for the night of their arrival. In a few hours, Jacob would be forced to go with Angelica to the Sherwood mansion on Broadway to celebrate the betrothal of the woman he should have married.

  “How different my life would have been, if only…” He stared do
wn at his hands and sighed.

  Everyone in town would be there tonight. All talk would center around the coming “joyous event,” as Angelica insisted upon calling it. She mentioned the wedding a dozen times a day, purposely rubbing salt into his wounds. He knew well enough the mistakes he’d made. No one needed to remind him, least of all his wife.

  Jacob shook his head sadly. “Yes, what a mess!” he muttered.

  Three years since he’d seen her. These last three years had been hard, the most difficult of his life. Not only had he been faced with the demanding work and long hours of setting up his practice in Galveston and making his reputation, but there had been his wife to deal with as well. And the gossip, always the gossip. Wherever Angelica went, whatever Angelica did there was gossip. The worst had come a few months after their marriage, when her still-slender waist made it obvious to everyone in Galveston that Angelica Saenger was not with child. They all whispered that she had tricked Jacob into marrying her.

  He laughed humorlessly at the thought. “Wouldn’t their tongues wag if they knew the whole truth?”

  He didn’t care. He could close his mind and his ears to their idle chatter. Angelica was different. Even while she seemed determined to stir up talk—as if she was trying to top her cousin’s former notoriety—each new rumor, each whispered remark set Angelica off in a rage. Her anger was the easy part; Jacob had learned to deal with that. It was the depression that came afterward that confounded him. Lately it had seemed that she might be losing touch with reality altogether.

  Each month Angelica imagined herself pregnant; each month she visited his father for an examination. And each month she came home screaming and sobbing and threatening him with divorce when his father gave her a negative report.

  “You don’t want me to have a child!” she would shriek. “I know you, you’re doing something to prevent it. I won’t have it, Jacob. Do you hear me? Damn you to hell, I married you, you owe me a child!”