The Widows of Sea Trail-Vivienne of Sugar Sands

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  He shifted and settled her on his lap, holding her to his chest as he closed his eyes and leaned back to put his head on the seatback cushion. His breathing slowed. His chest heaved at regular intervals and his lips grew slack. The rocking of the carriage and the euphoria his body was experiencing were lulling him to sleep when she asked, “How many woman have you seen?” His head lifted and his eyes met hers as her hand moved in a circle indicating her frothy gown piled high in her lap, “In that particular area?”

  His head fell back and he thought for a moment, mentally adding and multiplying, trying to give her as accurate a number as possible. “A hundred twenty-five, maybe a hundred and thirty, I would guess. I am not exactly sure.”

  “Why don’t all men become doctors so they can look at women there, if it is so desirable to do so?”

  He laughed out loud and the boom of it echoing off the velvet-clad walls of the carriage was filled with mirth. “Well we doctors don’t just get to look at a woman’s genitalia, you know,” he drawled in a sleepy voice. “If you’re a doctor, you have to do other things too: lance boils, set broken bones, do surgery to repair wounds, treat infection, deliver babies, and let me tell you, that particular area looks a mite bit different swollen and stretched when it’s as big as a melon.

  “Besides we’d only want to look at women with vulvas as lovely as yours, and sadly most are not. I have never seen one with such a pretty pink color, nor one as luscious. Yours I could eat.”

  “Eat?”

  “Oh yes. I’ve a treat for you in mind as soon as I can move again. Now be a good wife and lie still so I can rest. I am bound and determined to do you justice tonight.”

  To be continued . . .

  You may have noticed we still haven’t had the wedding night. Sorry. But I do need another payment to go on with the story.

  Peter I couldn’t believe he was going to keep blackmailing me, or was this considered ransoming? No it was extorting, that was it! He was extorting me. However, it was a great story and as a writer he deserved payment, but I really would have preferred to just send him a check or something. He was evil. And I loved it. I could hardly wait until the morning when I could start my journey toward him.

  But, for now, it was two a.m. and I needed to get some sleep if I had any hope of looking decent in the morning. I reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp, letting the pages of Philip’s last scene drift to the floor. And yes, it had been a great diversion, but now, as I closed my eyes, all I could see was Michael’s face, and those of his wife and kids from the pictures he’d shown me. Then I remembered Philip’s anguished voice as he’d told me how his wife had died without his knowledge, in a hospital bed after having given a kidney to her brother.

  I wasn’t as afraid of dying as I was of putting Philip through this twice. He hadn’t said he loved me, but I was beginning to think that he was getting close to giving his heart away again. And while I knew that if I did decide to do this, I’d tell him and not do it in secret as Cassandra had, I knew I wouldn’t even hint at it this weekend. These three days with Philip were going to either cement our relationship or end it. If we were comfortable living together, compatible physically, and in tune emotionally, I was probably going to agree to marry him. There was so much to look forward to and I really did need to get to sleep if I was to have any chance of being awake for any of it.

  Of course, knowing I had to get some sleep completely prevented me from getting any. Close to three, I got up and went into the bathroom and pulled open my medicine drawer. Not a fan of sleeping pills, I had found an alternative way of nodding off, especially on long plane flights. I grabbed the box of Nyquil tablets and took one. Then I double-checked the clock to make sure it was set for seven and within a few moments of lying down was fast asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Charlotte At eight o’clock I called and left a message with my doctor asking her to please call me at her earliest convenience. I gave her my cell phone and told her when I’d be available to answer it.

  By prearrangement Mother drove me to the Ocean Isle Airport. I hadn’t spent much time with her since she’d been away with my Uncle, and of course after Michael’s sudden appearance, I was worried about what she might be up to, but one look at the huge picnic hamper she had packed for Philip told me what I needed to know. She was still in the throes of a baking frenzy. It usually happened twice a year, and Cat and Tessa loved it when she was on this kind of a tear, especially when she was here at the beach. She literally stocked our freezers with pies, cakes, cookies, brownies, and fudge.

  “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” she said, and I swear it sounded like a cackle. If there were any polished apples in there, he wasn’t going to get one, I told myself while I listened to the long list of baked goods she had packed. I didn’t have the heart to contradict her and tell her that the way to Philip’s heart was through the thing attached between his legs. And truly, wasn’t that the express highway to any man’s heart, through his desire and passion—a.k.a. his cock? The trick was narrowing it down to one person who could flame those passions, stoke the libido and keep it primed as no other. For the first time in my life, I mentally resolved to be the woman the man I loved needed me to be. Be it skanky or sweet and innocent—if he wanted kink, I’d give him kink. Or failing that, fudge brownies.

  I thanked Mom for her thoughtfulness and handed off the huge hamper to the pilot after he’d introduced himself and offered to help with my luggage. Of course Mom had a small tin of fudge especially for him and another for the driver at the other end. “Can’t hurt to make sure everyone is always glad to see you,” she whispered into my ear as Craig took both the hamper and my rolling suitcase and walked back toward the plane.

  “Mom! You don’t think that’s the reason I’m glad to see you?” I mocked.

  “Actually, I don’t think you are glad to see me most times. Same with Cat and Tessa. I’ve been a lot of trouble, I know. But I am trying to be better. I only cast two spells this time, and one I’m not really all that sure of—it’s a new one.”

  “Mom!”

  “Don’t worry. And besides you don’t even believe in witchcraft.”

  She was right I didn’t. But still . . . “Mom, what did you do?”

  “I’m not sure, but go along with anything that comes in a purple bag.”

  “What?”

  “If it worked, you’ve got a present waiting for you and it’s in a purple bag.”

  “What? Just tell me what you’ve done!” The pilot turned around on the steps and looked at me as my voice became hysterical.

  “I . . . uh . . . I might have suggested through some mental channels that you’d like things from a certain shop.”

  “What shop?”

  “I am not saying any more than that. I don’t even know if I did it right.”

  “Mother! How do I know how he feels about me if you manipulate him? Not that I believe you actually can,” I added.

  “Oh, honey, I can suggest things, and maybe put ideas in people’s heads . . . but don’t give me credit for things only a high priestess can do. I might be able to make a man dance with you, but I can’t make him fall in love with you or with anyone else.”

  “Really?” I was so relieved to hear that. “You can’t?”

  She fluffed my shock of white hair, poofing it as she had done all my life. “What ever gave you the idea I could control someone’s emotions? I’m lucky if I can put a thought in most people’s heads.”

  “We have to talk when I get back. I thought you’d done something . . . you know, made Philip fall for me.”

  “No honey. It’s all you. He fell for you.”

  “So what’s with the purple bag, then?”

  She smiled. “Just have fun!” she spun on her wicked vamps and made tiny clicking sounds as she made her way back to her car. “I’ll be back Sunday night, at eight o’clock to, as they say in the South, ‘fetch’ you back!” she called over her shoulder.<
br />
  I stared at her diminutive form as she slid into the seat of her car. I was sure that I had not told her I’d be back Sunday at eight. How did she know these things?

  I looked back and stared at the plane. The pilot was standing at the top of the short flight of stairs taking eager bites out of a huge chunk of fudge. When I got to the steps he walked down a few and then reached out his hand to help me up. “Your mom is an excellent cook, this is awesome.”

  I smiled at him, “She’s a witch and now you’re under her spell,” I teased.

  “I don’t care as long as she brings me more fudge,” he said with a huge smile. Chocolate coated his lips and fingers. He licked them clean and ushered me into the small craft.

  Afew minutes later the door was shut and locked and we were taxiing to the runway. It was too noisy to talk so I just sat back and let the hum of the engine lull me back to sleep. I hadn’t woken refreshed this morning and was counting on a quick nap to catch me up. Until I nodded off I relived all the things Philip had said that I thought Mom had somehow orchestrated and I had to smile when I remembered how adamant he had been that first night at The Isles when he had stated his intentions. We’d already done a lot of pre-dating over the phone and now through email we were establishing a give-and-take, commander-and-peon kind of thing, but I had often felt our relationship was moving too fast, as if we had a script to keep up with. Now I knew, it was Philip, his agenda and his desire to be settled that had orchestrated our method of “speed dating.” I couldn’t wait to see him. I couldn’t wait to touch him and to kiss him. I was falling in love with him and maybe he was with me. I was thrilled that my mother hadn’t had anything to do with it.

  We landed at Charlotte Douglas International Airport without any fanfare. I stepped from the tarmac to the limo that was waiting and was whisked away within minutes. I’d had a nice nap on the plane and finally felt refreshed from my emotionally chaotic evening. I was content to stare out the window and watch as the city of Charlotte came into view until the towers of Downtown Charlotte blocked out the intense sunlight. The limo pulled up in front of a huge office building and we waited only a moment or two before someone rushed out to greet us and I was taken into the cavernous foyer and led to an elevator. I rode with my escort to Philip’s office and we made small talk about the weather and the sports rivalries between the North Carolina colleges.

  I was handed off to a secretary and led through a maze of hallways before we found our way to the end and I saw Philip sitting on the edge of what I assumed was his secretary’s desk, laughing. He looked so good and so natural, a man comfortable in his skin and with the world around him. Several other people where surrounding him, all with pads and pens poised. His attention to detail and his precision with timing was evidenced by the way everyone deferred to him and moved around him as if he was King.

  As soon as he saw me, he stood and smiled. “Well, about time! He looked meaningfully at his watch. “I was expecting you three minutes ago.”

  I laughed. “Your elevator was a bit slow.”

  He laughed and came over to meet me. He grabbed me eagerly by the upper arms and leaned in to kiss me. I thought it would be a quick kiss because of the audience, but it was not. And then I remembered that he was used to audiences. For much more than what we were doing. However, I was not. As his kiss swamped my inhibitions and rocketed my passion into high gear I heard myself moan.

  That was when he finally leaned back and looked hungrily into my face. “God, I’ve missed that sound.”

  He deftly spun me, tossed an arm around my shoulder, and led me through the open door behind his secretary’s enclosure to his office. After a moment, I heard the door close firmly behind us. His secretary was apparently well trained. I couldn’t help but wonder how many times she had closeted him in with a woman on the other side of his office door.

  I was immediately impressed with the size off his office but as soon as I gained entrance midway into the room, I was bowled over by the view of the city. “Oh how lovely.”

  He smiled as he took my handbag from me and placed it on the corner of his desk. “It never fails to impress. You should see it when it snows, it’s quite . . . majestic. Like a kingdom out of a mystical world.”

  I was on the far side of his desk now, my fingertips on the glass. He turned me to face him, grabbed me by my elbows and pulled me back with him until I was between his legs while he perched on the edge of his desk, the skyline of the city behind me.

  “I missed you,” he murmured as he kissed the tender spot under my ear.

  I was suddenly delightfully dizzy. But he didn’t stop there, I was dressed in a smart business suit, one Clarice had picked out for me that she had assured me was “shabby chic.” It was a vivid yellow and the shirt I wore under the jacket a riot of black and yellow blossoms. “It’s warm in here, let’s take off your jacket.” It was warm what with the midday sun streaming through the wall of glass. He helped me shrug out of my jacket and then he carefully folded it and laid it on his desk, which I noticed was totally bare.

  “No work today?” I asked.

  “Just readied it for trysting,” he said with devilish smile.

  “In front of that bank of windows? I think not.”

  “Just joking, all my work’s done for the day, and I believe in a clean desk. If there’s something on it, I can’t leave until it’s taken care of. Sure you don’t want to be on it? Because I would love to take care of you.” He unbuttoned the top two buttons on my blouse and leaned in to kiss my cleavage.

  “You could take care of me by feeding me,” I reminded him.

  “Only if you agree to feed me by letting me feast on you later.”

  “Actually I’ve been kinda lookin’ forward to that,” I whispered as I ran a finger down his clean-shaven jaw.

  He pulled me close, making our centers touch. I could feel his arousal, a tall column of flesh pressing against his zipper. And I wickedly opened my palm against it, pressing lightly. His hand covered mine and increased the pressure. I watched his eyes close and his lips open around a moan. I wanted to sing, I am woman, hear me roar. I literally had this man in the palm of my hand. This amazing, powerful, ruggedly handsome man. The headiness of the moment had me looking at his “trysting” desktop. But then my eyes darted to the windows. No way; all of Charlotte was out there. And while I knew Philip would have no problem with it, I certainly would. He sensed it when I cooled and allowed my mind to come back to a semblance of level headedness. I felt his hands loosen and his taut body relax to make his own adjustment back to normalcy.

  The drop in his ardor was evident as soon as his eyes opened, the twinkle was there but the desire was banked. He set me away from him and stood. “Okay, lunch it is. But why do I have the feeling that had I only pushed this button I could have gotten lucky?”

  He pushed a button on the wall and a curtain of louvers lined up and moved out from each side to close out the city. Within moments the room was shrouded in shadow and gloomy. Then he pressed another button and the overhead lights came on and it became a private retreat, an opulent suite where million-dollar decisions could be reckoned with.

  He handed me my purse and walked over to the door and opened it for me.

  “So what are you hungry for,” he leaned in close and whispered in my ear as I walked by him in the doorway, “other than my cock?”

  He took me to Verona’s Italian Eatery, a little Italian restaurant hidden away on the second floor where we had a bird’s-eye view of the lunch crowed rushing to and fro on the avenue below. We had some marvelous Chianti, a lovely Caesar salad and a big bowl of Pasta e Fagioli. Lunch was simple yet superb, and it hit the spot. I knew without a doubt that it would last me until after the show when we would have a late dinner.

  Then we were back in the limo and heading to his home in the suburbs. While on the way, he pointed out some unusual buildings, explained some of the new renovations the city was doing, and showed me where the NASCAR Hall of Fame w
as due to open soon. As soon as we had cleared the city limits, he nonchalantly pressed a button and the slider between us and the driver moved into place.

  “I wanted to kiss you from the moment you pursed your lips while looking over the menu, then when you were sucking the sauce off the macaroni before pulling it off your fork, I thought I’d die. C’mere you.”

  He pulled me to him and with his palm gentle on my cheek he kissed me softly. His lips fanned tiny kisses over mine, then wrapping my bottom lip between his and sucking he probed under my lips and used his tongue to sweep my inner lips, keeping everything slick, and melting me. His hunger built as his kisses became bold and his tongued dueled with, and then mastered mine. I don’t remember ever spending so much time kissing, simply kissing. By the time the limo pulled into his long, curved driveway I was ready to rip his clothes off him. I’d heard, that simply by the act of kissing, a man passed testosterone from his body to his mate’s, transferring saliva, now rich with that lust-inducing hormone vamping her up, making her want to mate. I was practically to the moon with yearning.

  He helped me out of the limo and ushered me through the impressiveGeorgian columns and under the huge portico with its impressive looping chains that held a gargantuan wrought-iron lantern in its center. He stopped and kissed me when we were directly under it. Only this kiss said something; by its grand gesture—him holding me firmly and kissing me quite thoroughly under the regal swag of the focal point of this mansion on the hill—it was as if he was telling the world, this is my woman and I am welcoming her to her new home. I felt it as surely as if he’d said it.

  The house was grand. I had never been in one quitelike it. There were three levels on the front side and four toward the back where there was an underground garage. Everywhere we went there was a bustle of activity. A housekeeper was there to welcome us into the formal area, and we were told that her staff was just finishing cleaning and arranging everything on the living level. Many cooks were cleaning a huge kitchen and I was told that this particular group of women had gathered to spend the morning cooking. It seemed Philip often donated his commercial-sized kitchen to be used as a prep area for upcoming church events. Landscapers in the gardens were trimming and putting in the final touches to flower beds, and cabinet installers were putting more glassed-in bookcases in the library.