by Helen Conrad
The silver bolero jacket was deeply cut and laced together with slender threads. If she took a deep breath, she thought, it would be all over. The tips of her nipples threatened to show as they rubbed against the soft interior. She was going to have to be careful, she told herself, adjusting the gold armbands Martha had given her. Shane fastened her veil, taking care to leave her flowing hair free.
Sultry. That was the word, she thought with satisfaction. Salome, eat your heart out!
It was obvious that Nick was eating his out when he first laid eyes on her. She pretended not to notice as she slid into the backseat of the limousine, trying to keep her jacket shut. But the jacket did precious little to hide the outline of her legs beneath the skirt’s gauzelike material.
Nick was dressed as a Viking. A horned helmet lay next to him on the seat. He quickly pushed it to the other side, allowing Shane to move closer. “Now I know why the Vikings like to loot and pillage strange new lands. Look what they could come up with,” he said in admiration. “Let’s see the rest of it,” he coaxed.
But Shane clutched tightly at the jacket’s collar. “All in good time, my Viking lord, all in good time.”
“You’re turning into a real temptress,” Nick said, shaking his head. But he let her have her way. Shane smiled smugly all the way to the party.
“Martha’s getting risqué in her old age,” Nick said, his eyes echoing his obvious pleasure as Shane peeled off her jacket. She handed it to the very stiff, very proper butler, who also offered to take Nick’s fur cape.
But Nick declined. “The lady might have need of it if she inhales deeply,” he commented, eyeing the thin lacing on Shane’s bolero. “I should have made Scottie take us to my place,” he murmured into her hair. “God, you smell good. I might need this sword just to keep men away from you all night,” he teased, patting the scabbard at his side.
Shane felt all eyes upon them as they entered the huge ballroom. As at the last party, peaceful music floated through the air, thanks to a large orchestra that played off to the side. But there were many more people at this one, and Shane recognized more than a few faces that had graced movie screens across the world. Despite the fact that the room was tremendous, it was filled to capacity with gaily-clad partygoers. She glanced at Nick, but he seemed to be looking for someone. Probably their hostess, Shane thought, picking out several faces she knew and making a mental note of them.
“This way, Shane,” Nick said, taking her arm. “There’s someone here I want you to meet.” She wondered what big-name movie star or producer he was going to introduce her to. Instead he brought her over to an aging, distinguished-looking Rhett Butler. Next to him stood a very young-looking Scarlett O’Hara, making Shane once more aware of the fact that men were always interested in young, pretty women. Once a woman reached a certain age, her face became a liability, and another sweet young thing emerged to take her place. She looked at Nick, wondering how many “sweet young things” would dog his tracks ten years from now.
“Alexander Tate, I’d like you to meet Shane McCallister,” Nick said, presenting her. “Shane’s with Rendezvous magazine.”
“Ah, yes,” Tate said, a genuine smile touching his mouth. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’m familiar with your work.”
What an odd way to put it, Shane thought. She judged the man to be a jet-setter. Probably read Rendezvous while sitting in different airports around the world, waiting for his flight.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Nick said, suddenly leaving her side. Shane stared after him, confused. Just a moment before, he had been so attentive. What had caused this change?
“Ginger?” Nick asked, offering his arm to the woman at Tate’s side. “How about a quick whirl around the floor? Watch him,” Nick warned Shane audibly. “He’s not as harmless as he looks.”
And with that, Nick and Ginger disappeared into the crowd, leaving Shane strangely feeling empty.
Get used to it, McCallister. It’s coming by and by. She turned to Tate and forced a smile. “He seems to have run off with your date,” she said, her throat unusually dry.
“My daughter went quite willingly, I assure you.”
His daughter? Shane looked at the distinguished-looking man in a new light. “So,” she said, “you’ve read some of my articles. I’m flattered.”
“You’re also very good,” Tate told her.
A waiter walked by with a tray of glasses filled with champagne. Tate took two and handed Shane one. As he talked and asked her questions, Shane looked over the rim of her glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nick.
Chapter Twelve
Shane did her best to be polite to Tate. She tried not to be too obvious as she kept an eye out for Nick. But soon her answers to his questions were no longer preoccupied, and she turned to the man with genuine interest as he went on engaging her in conversation.
“Why don’t we sit down somewhere so we can talk without getting in the way of the traffic?” Tate suggested, taking her arm and leading her to a nook. Obviously the man knew his way around, Shane thought, and he was used to taking charge, though in a low-keyed manner. She offered no protest, wanting something to take her mind off Nick’s abrupt disappearance. “Scarlett O’Hara” was quite beautiful.
Tate gestured toward an unoccupied sofa that was partially shaded by a potted palm and flanked on the other side by a large window that offered a view of the vast grounds behind the house. Guests were milling about on the terrace, which was bathed in soft, colored lights. Shane noted everything as if she were a person apart from herself. The way she felt about Nick was affecting her normally keen eye. This was going to have to stop, she told herself sternly, sitting down. She was a mature woman, not some wide-eyed, teenaged romantic.
The eyes that looked at her were keen and interested as Tate continued to ply her with questions about her work, her interests, and her political opinions. He delved into a lot of corners without being offensive. It was one of the first times Shane had talked so much about herself without learning a great deal about the person she was speaking to. Yet she found herself liking Tate and his manner. He had put her at ease almost immediately, making her feel as if she were in the company of an old family friend instead of a stranger. Maybe it was the costume, Shane thought. She had grown up loving Rhett Butler and having him fill her fantasies.
Fantasies. Where was Nick?
She tried not to be too obvious as she looked past Tate’s shoulder through the long green fingers of the palm, searching the crowd once more for Nick. A glimpse of white fur went by, but it was only someone dressed as a polar bear.
“He’ll be back presently,” Tate said warmly.
Shane flushed, embarrassed. “Your daughter’s very beautiful.” Now, why in heaven’s name did she say that? The man would know exactly what was going on in her mind.
“And very resourceful,” Tate added mildly.
Terrific. Did that mean that the raven-haired woman was sewing Nick up as her own right now?
“But Nick is very taken with you,” Tate said, and Shane almost dropped the goblet she was toying with. She stifled the urge to pump Tate with eager questions, asking how he knew something like that. That, she told herself, was supposedly reserved for high-school girls and long, afternoon phone conversations about the dreamboat in one’s homeroom.
“He speaks quite highly of you,” Tate offered when she couldn’t think of a suitable response.
“Have you known him long?” she asked, wondering just what Tate’s connection with Nick was. He had offered no information about himself, appearing only to be interested in what she had to say. In a subtle way, she realized, he had been questioning her.
“Since before he had his first rippling muscle,” Tate told her.
“Then, you were neighbors?” she prodded.
Tate brushed a speck of dust from his cut-waist vest, which hung from his thin body. “Once,” he replied without looking up.
Boy, some
interviewer you are, she thought disparagingly. Can’t even get full sentences out of Rhett Butler.
“Ginger’s worn me out.”
Shane looked to her left in surprise as Nick returned with the voluptuous Scarlett still clinging possessively to his arm. They were both laughing.
“I give her back to you,” Nick said, handing her over to Tate.
“Oh, dear,” the silver-haired man said, rising, “that means I have to find someone else to occupy her for a while.” He turned toward Shane, who was still seated. “Thank you, Miss McCallister. I had a very pleasant chat.” He made Shane a little bow; then, offering his arm to his daughter, he left.
Nick sat down next to Shane, putting his arm about her shoulders. “Have a nice talk?” he asked.
“Yes, I guess you can say that ...” Shane’s voice trailed off.
Nick laughed. “Alexander’s a little eccentric,” he agreed, obviously interpreting her tone to mean that she wasn’t quite sure how to take the older man. “But geniuses are allowed to be.”
“Geniuses?” Shane echoed, looking at Nick quizzically. “What does he do?”
“Oh, Alexander’s dabbled in a lot of things in his time,” Nick said evasively. “Care to eat?”
Shane nodded, and they went in search of the sumptuous buffet that Nick had assured Shane their hostess was famous for. At the long table Shane found more gourmet foods than she could conceivably hope to sample in one evening. Absolutely everything looked tempting to her.
But the food did not hold her attention for long, as Nick began to introduce her to people she had only seen gracing the front covers of magazines or read about in newspaper articles. Names that flashed by in movie credits became flesh and blood for her as the evening wore on. Nick’s life-style had its definite attractions, she thought, enjoying herself thoroughly.
Suddenly there was a hush, and the milling sea of people parted as the hostess, dressed as Guinevere, came forward.
“And now,” she announced, “for our talent contest.” This was met with enthusiastic applause.
Shane moved closer to Nick, looking forward to the show. “This promises to be good,” she told him in a whisper. She couldn’t understand why he was grinning at her so mischievously as Gloria went on to refresh people’s memories about the rules of the competition. Each contestant had to do something that was connected to the costume he or she wore.
“Our first brave entry,” Gloria announced, “is Miss Shane McCallister.”
Shane’s eyes widened in horror as she heard her name. She jerked her head sharply toward Nick.
“I volunteered you,” he told her.
Her hands turned icy. “But what’ll I do?” she asked in distress, between lips that could barely move.
“You’re a harem girl,” Nick said, pushing her slightly forward. “Dance.”
The applause was kind, coaxing her to step up to the cleared area. Sultry music pervaded the air. Shane turned back to look at Nick, who smiled encouragingly. Obviously he had told Gloria that she was going to dance.
For a moment, Shane stood immobile, trying to recall a movement, a gesture with which to begin. And then her body just took over. Her hips began to sway to the tempo of the Eastern melody. Slowly Shane gave herself up to the music, her dancing becoming more and more heated. By the time the last crescendo cut through the air, Shane was dancing with controlled abandon, her cheeks glowing with exhilaration.
She returned to Nick, followed by a din of hearty applause.
“You rat,” she said, slightly breathless.
Nick held up his right hand solemnly. “I cannot tell a lie—you were magnificent.” He hugged her to him. “We’re leaving soon,” he told her, whispering the words in her ear. Someone else was performing now, but Nick’s words, pregnant with promise, drew all Shane’s attention.
“But the party—“ she protested, although not very strongly.
“We’ll make our own,” he promised her, running his finger along her lips.
The thrill of anticipation took hold of her body as she snuggled closer to him, her shoulders partially draped by his fur cape.
Pins and needles of excitement coursed through her veins as she leaned against him in the dark interior of the limousine. They were going to his place. Her heart sang. And for another night, ecstasy would keep the future, with its cold realities, at bay. She willed herself not to think of anything but the warmth of his body next to hers and the thrill of his lovemaking.
Scottie let them out at the front door and took the car around to the garage. She didn’t see him again until the next morning.
“Come, milady,” Nick said, scooping Shane into his arms at the foot of the spiral stairway, “I wish a private performance.” Shane cradled her body against his chest, the melody from the seduction scene in Gone With The Wind floating through her head. But Rhett Butler, she mused, never held a candle to Nick Rutledge.
He carried her into his vast bedroom and closed the door softly behind him. One lone, brass lamp gave light to the dark. Nick pushed a button over the carved headboard of his bed, and the ceiling retracted before Shane’s surprised eyes. The stars she had admired on the trip back now winked at her through the domed skylight.
“Dance,” Nick whispered. He sat down on the bed and watched.
Shane kicked off her shoes. The tiny bells on her ankles tinkled seductively as she began slowly to sway to the inner music she felt. This time there was no wild abandon; this time the dance was performed as a rite of love as she moved seductively closer and closer to Nick, tantalizing both of them.
She watched his face as she took off first one armband and then the other, tossing each to him with a wicked smile on her face. She wasn’t even certain what possessed her to behave like this. Maybe it was the costume, or maybe it was the woman in her that Nick had awakened with his kisses. She wasn’t sure. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to bring out and heighten the look of love and desire she saw flickering in his eyes.
The transparent layers of her skirt came floating toward him next as she peeled them off one at a time. The process was slow and deliberate. The last layer left her in the tiniest of panties. A ribbon beckoned invitingly on either side of her hips. But she ignored that and went on to the thin laces of the shimmering silver bolero. Deftly her fingers pulled at the tiny cord, drawing it away from the first hole, then from the second, and finally the third, leaving the material barely draping the sides of her breasts. The pink tips of her nipples peered out teasingly.
Shane heard Nick mutter an anguished groan as she drew nearer, offering herself to him and then drawing away at the last moment. The sides of her bolero hung open, exposing the fullness of her ripe breasts to his ravaging eyes. She could hear his breath quickening as she whirled slowly around the bed, thrusting her body forward and then pulling it away. The bells jingled hypnotically as she drew closer again. With calculating movements, she offered her hip to him.
Nick pulled at the pink ribbon that was there, causing it to fall open. She shifted her weight, hardly able to stand the excitement herself. Nick’s fingers parted the other ribbon, and the last shred of material on her body drifted to the floor. Moonlight illuminated her nude body as Nick reached out for her.
“C’mere, you,” he breathed huskily, his voice choked with emotion.
“No,” she whispered back. “You’re not ready yet.” She breathed the words into his ear, touching his ear lightly with her tongue. She caught the involuntary shiver and smiled. “Stand up,” she commanded seductively, drawing him up against the length of her body. She could feel the hard outline yearning for her. Her satisfaction deepened.
With fingers that were almost trembling, Shane unfastened the fur cape that was draped across his right shoulder and let it fall to the floor. One by one she undid the lacings of his leather vest, her throbbing fingers caressing the hard muscle that met her touch as the vest parted. She slipped it off his shoulders, coming around behind him and taking care to allow her br
easts to brush teasingly, lightly, against his back. She heard Nick whisper her name.
He turned to take her.
“Not now,” she warned, still determined to go on. She came around to face him once more, applying herself to his leggings next, stripping away the leather lacings until his bared legs met her gaze. Rising to her feet, she found him waiting for her. But there was one more article in their way.
“Never met a Viking in briefs,” she murmured, her hands slipping in on either side of the blue cotton that clung to his firm hips. His skin felt hot.
“And how many Vikings have you undressed, vixen?” Nick asked. His voice sounded strained, as if he were fighting for control.
“Just one,” she replied, sliding the material off one hip and then the other with deliberate movements. The briefs fell away. Shane raised her head, pressing her body against his. “Now,” she said. “Take me now,” she all but pleaded, entwining her arms around his neck.
The passion that exploded within them took a long time to quell. With the stars defining their boundaries, Nick made love to Shane, not once, but several times, that night. Each time brought with it fulfillment and the sting of bittersweet sadness. Shane sought desperately to lose herself in Nick’s arms, feverishly making love to him.
“Hey, what is it?” he asked at one point, his arms cradling her as the length of his body fit against the soft contours of her own. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back, pulling him in closer to her. Nick stopped moving and pushed away the strands of hair that had fallen into her face.
“Just love me, Nick,” she cried, pulling his head down closer to her, her lips yearning for his. “Just love me.”
“I do,” he murmured against her mouth, scorching it once more with the intensity of his kiss. One arm pillowed her head while another stroked the side of her body, stroking her over and over again before it slipped beneath her hips.
She parted her legs, responding to the signals that had become almost like second nature to her. She felt the hot, urgent thrust within her and gloried at the sensations that rushed to meet it. Their ragged breathing mingled and echoed through the dark room as the united rhythm of their movements increased, reaching up to the ultimate burst of fulfillment.
