Dixie Virgin Chronicles: Clementine (Book 5)

by Webb, Peggy

  o0o

  Michael had forgotten his coat, probably because she’d been sitting on it. Clemmie picked it up and brushed the pine needles away.

  “Hi, Clemmie. Have a nice dinner?”

  “Hello, Harvey.” She folded the coat carefully and draped it over her arm. “Yes, we did. Did you? I noticed you bought Earnestine’s box.”

  “Yeah.” Harvey scuffed his shoes among the leaves. “Tell me about that man who bought your box.”

  “Michael Forrest?”

  “Isn’t he that boarder, the one Miss Josephine says was involved in all that scandal?”

  “He’s a very fine man, Harvey. You shouldn’t pay any attention to those gossip sheets.”

  “I was just worried about you, that’s all. A man like that, from Hollywood... you never know what will happen.”

  St. Peter’s britches, she thought. Why did everybody insist on treating her like somebody’s kid sister? She wished something would happen.

  Sighing, she patted Harvey’s arm. “Don’t worry about me, Harvey. Nobody’s going to sweep me off my feet and carry me to Hollywood. That happens only in the movies.” She picked up the dinner box. “Are you headed back to the boarding house?”

  “Sure.”

  “How about a rousing game of checkers when we get back?”

  “Great!”

  The first thing Clemmie did when she got back to the boarding house was hang Michael’s coat; then she helped Miss Josephine up to bed. While the old lady regaled her with stories of her evening with Junior Wade, Clemmie thought of Michael’s coat. She could have put it in his room, of course, and he’d find it when he came home. But that seemed too impersonal and uncaring. Especially since he’d spent a thousand dollars on a box of fried chicken and gingerbread boys. No, she decided, she’d take the coat to him personally. It was the least she could do.

  She tucked Miss Josephine into bed and went back down the stairs, detouring by her room to make sure she’d hung Michael’s coat so it wouldn’t get wrinkled. There it was, in the closet, right where she’d put it. She brushed her hand down one sleeve, imagining what she would say when she returned it to him.

  “Here’s your coat, Michael.” No, that wasn’t quite right. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Michael. And thank you for letting me use your coat.” That was better. Of course, he’d say, “It was my pleasure, Clemmie,” and then she’d say, “There’s a wonderful concert at Itawamba Junior College next week. I’d like you to be my guest... to show my appreciation for the church social.” And he’d say—

  “Are you coming, Clemmie?” Harvey’s voice, calling from the parlor, broke into her reverie.

  “Yes, Harvey.” Her hand lingered on the coat a moment longer, then she went into the parlor for a game of checkers. But no matter how much she told herself it was a lively night of entertainment, she kept wondering what kind of night she might have had if Michael hadn’t been so noble.

  o0o

  The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Clemmie hurried up the stairs with Michael’s coat. She tapped on his door and waited for an answer. When there was none, she knocked again, louder this time. Still no answer.

  He must still be sleeping. She had no idea what time he’d come home last night. She and Harvey had played checkers until midnight, and although she’d lain awake an hour or two after she’d gone to bed she hadn’t heard Michael’s car come in. He’d probably driven to Fulton or over to Tupelo and found a sophisticated woman, someone who would know more about seduction than to call it canned pickles. Her face burned at the memory.

  Maybe she should simply hang the coat on the doorknob and leave.

  She had the coat halfway to the doorknob when she caught a whiff of Michael’s after-shave clinging to the wool fibers. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the clean spicy scent. She decided that leaving the coat on the doorknob would be cowardly. And foolish. After all, how many opportunities would she have to be in Michael’s company? She didn’t want to miss a single one of them.

  Draping the coat over her arm, she went back downstairs to dress for church. Still holding Michael’s coat, she put a recording of her favorite Verdi opera in the tape player. As the magnificent music filled the bedroom, she held the coat like an imaginary partner and waltzed across the room, humming the melody under her breath.

  She was foolishly breathless when she reached the closet.

  Affecting a deep voice, she said, “You dance so divinely, Miss Brady.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Forrest.” She bowed to the coat, then flushed and laughing, she hung it in the closet.

  Still humming, she pulled off her denim skirt and blouse and reached for her blue dress, the one she’d worn last night. It was halfway off the hanger before she changed her mind. She knew she couldn’t compete with the women he knew, but why be prim and proper when her mind was awhirl and her Virginia was on fire?

  Since Michael had kissed her in the gazebo, nothing had been the same. She’d always fallen into bed and slept the night through, flat on her back, her hands folded over her chest, hardly wrinkling the covers. Now she tossed and turned, her body filled with longing and her mind filled with romantic dreams.

  Deciding to look a little reckless today, she reached for her nice black wool skirt and bright red turtleneck sweater. The soaring voices of Violetta and Alfredo seemed to applaud her decision.

  She was pulling her sweater off the hanger when another voice made her whirl around.

  “You’re a vision of loveliness.”

  Michael was leaning against her doorway, his tie unknotted and his wrinkled shirt unbuttoned to the waist. His eyes were bloodshot from too little sleep, and his face was shadowed with a day’s growth of beard.

  She thought he was the most magnificent man she’d ever seen. Her face flushed hot and she made a small murmuring sound, like a hummingbird who has sucked too much nectar.

  “I knocked,” he said, nodding toward the tape player. “I guess you didn’t hear.”

  “I get carried away with opera.” Suddenly Clemmie remembered she was dressed only in bra and panties. And had she left that door open? It wasn’t like her.

  Her robe was across the room on the bed, so she crossed her arms over her chest and spread her hands over her bare shoulders. “You can’t come in here. I’m not dressed.”

  “An enticement rather than a deterrent, my darling.”

  Michael still lounged in the doorway, his eyes burning over her. The intensity of his gaze raised a pleasant heat that started in the middle of Clemmie’s chest and radiated outward. Her entire body felt sensitized, almost as if Michael’s hands were on her.

  “Harvey’s room is next door, and Miss Josephine is upstairs,” she said.

  “Unlocked doors can be dangerous.” Without taking his gaze from her, he stepped into the room and shut the door. “Is that better?”

  Clemmie took a deep, shaky breath. “Yes. A little.”

  “Are you afraid of me, my darling?”

  Her hands squeezed her shoulders. “No.”

  “You should be.” His gaze traveled over her, but he made no move away from the door.

  “Why?”

  “Because you have something I want.” He advanced slowly toward her. “And I usually take what I want.”

  Clemmie’s breathing quickened so that she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Nor could she tear her eyes away from Michael’s. That compelling golden gaze held her captive as he crossed the room. When he was only inches from her, he stopped. Although he wasn’t touching her, she felt the full imprint of his body. The heat from his body almost reached out and seared her.

  “Don’t cover yourself, Clemmie.” Michael reached up and gently pulled her hands away from her shoulders. “I want to look at you.” With the tip of his index finger, he traced across her cheek and down her throat until he found her pulse point. “Your skin is soft...so very soft.” He stood very still, watching her, his fingertips pressing lightly on the throbbing pulse.

&
nbsp; Clemmie’s senses were heightened so that every tiny detail was etched forever in her memory. She catalogued the cadence of Michael’s harsh breathing, the exact pattern of the shadowy beard on his face, the amber fire that lit his eyes, his sensual lower lip. Her gaze slid down to his chest. A path of morning sunlight from the window glowed on the fine mat of golden hair, making it look incandescent. And irresistible. Recklessly she reached out. Only inches from that shining mat of chest hair, her hand stopped, trembled.

  “Touch me, Clemmie.”

  When she hesitated, Michael took her hand and pressed it against his chest.

  “Do you like that?” he asked

  “Yes.”

  He guided her hand in a circle.

  “It’s softer than I imagined,” she said.

  He made a deep-throated sound that was part laughter, part agony. Her fingers curled around the hair and tugged gently.

  Michael’s eyes closed and his head fell back. “Ah, Clemmie.”

  Underneath her hand, she could feel the fierce pounding of his heart. For her, nothing existed except the moment and the brief stolen pleasure of being almost naked, almost in his arms.

  Suddenly Michael’s eyes were open, and he was studying her with such undisguised passion that even she couldn’t mistake his intent. His hands ran down the length of her arms, raising goose bumps. Catching her hands, he lifted them to his lips, first one and then the other, planting one hot, moist kiss in each palm. When he released her hands, he caught her at the waist and began circling his thumbs across her abdomen.

  She felt branded. And scared. And joyful. And absolutely determined not to say anything to spoil the moment.

  Michael slid his hands down over her thighs. The fire in his eyes glowed brighter as one hand moved around the front of her slip and lightly traced every curve and hollow of her body.

  “You were designed for love, my darling.”

  She willed herself not to tremble under his touch.

  “Do you know what you do to me, Clemmie?”

  “Yes... No.”

  His chuckle was rueful. “It’s just as well.”

  He leaned so close she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. Almost, she could feel his lips against hers.

  Suddenly he released her. His expression was grim as he stomped across the room and jerked her robe off the bed. He wrapped it around her, not bothering with sleeves, and held it tightly closed under her chin.

  “Never let a strange man into your bedroom, Clemmie.”

  “You’re not a stranger, Michael. You’re my friend.”

  “Woman are never my friends, Clemmie. And don’t you forget that.” He walked to the window and stood with his back to her.

  There was defiance in his stance, and defeat, too. Michael Forrest exuded a raw power and sexual magnetism that made her weak and yet he aroused protective instincts that made her feel strong. She wanted to love him and comfort him and laugh with him and share secret jokes with him. She wanted to touch him, to hold him, to be consumed by him. But most of all, at this moment, she wanted to understand him.

  She put her arms into the sleeves and belted her robe. “You look tired, Michael.”

  “It’s the price of debauchery.” He turned around and leaned against the windowsill. “I partied the night away then rented a motel room in Tupelo. I slept in my clothes.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s the kind of man I am—lawless and unreliable.”

  “Oh, Michael.”

  For a moment he gazed at her, his face vulnerable. Then he assumed his careless pose. She could almost see the mask drop over his face.

  “You have something I want, Clemmie.” Walking past her, he reached into the closet and pulled out his coat. “This.”

  “I was going to return it—after church.”

  He lifted her chin with one finger, but it was a careless touch, calculated and unfeeling.

  “I know that, because that’s the kind of woman you are, reliable and trustworthy.”

  “You make me sound like a good used car.”

  “You’re more like a golden Chariot that’s going to carry some man straight to heaven.” Leaning down, he brushed his lips lightly across her cheek. “Goodbye, Clemmie.”

  “Goodbye?”

  “Yes. I’m leaving. My bags are in the car and a check for a week’s rent is on the dresser in my room.”

  “I thought you were staying... I can’t possibly accept a week’s rent for two days.’’

  “You have no choice.” Releasing her, he strode quickly to the door. In the doorway, he turned. “Keep singing those sweet songs, Clemmie.”

  Then he disappeared down the hallway.

  Clemmie groped her way blindly to her bed and sank onto the mattress. Her golden man was gone. In the distance she heard the engine of his rental car roar to life. She put her hands over her ears to block out the sound. Michael Forrest was on his way back to Hollywood, and she was left with her canned pickles and her eccentric boarders and her leaky faucets and her foolish dreams.

  With the music of Verdi crashing around her, she rose from the bed and began to dress. She’d be late for church, but once in a lifetime didn’t matter. After all, it wasn’t every day a man like Michael Forrest walked out of her life.

  She pulled the red sweater over her head, then reached for her brush. Her hand stopped in mid-air. He was coming back. Hadn’t he said he was making a movie in Peppertown? He’d be back with his crew, and when he returned things would be different.

  She’d say, “I’m so glad you came back,” and he’d say... She dragged the brush through her hair, planning just how it would be when Michael returned.

  She was still making plans when she slid into the back pew of the church. Picking up her hymnbook, she joined the congregation in song—”Love Lifted Me.”

  o0o

  The minute she got home, she raced to her email.

  From: Clemmie

  To: Janet, Bea, Catherine, Molly, Joanna, Belinda

  Re: Michael

  Michael has gone. Everybody can relax now. Nothing happened. Well, that’s not entirely true. He kissed me, and I liked it so much I cavorted around half-naked hoping he’d take me into his bedroom and discover Virginia. So there. I’ve admitted it. I was ready to break Rule Four for him, and I still don’t know whether he really fathered a child by that woman with the silly name that sounds like cupboard. And I don’t care. Men like him don’t marry women like me. They don’t come along but once in a lifetime, either. If he comes back, I’m going to grab my chance for a fling, knowing that’s all it will ever be. I might not end up at the altar, but at least I’ll end up like Miss Josephine, who still lives on memories of her dead lover, Junior.

  Clemmie

  From: Janet

  To: Clemmie, Bea, Molly, Catherine, Joanna, Belinda

  Re: Memories

  Make sure those memories don’t kill you, Clemmie. When did Miss Josephine have sex with Junior? Back before STDs, I’ll bet.

  Janet

  From: Belinda

  To: Clemmie, Janet, Bea, Joanna, Molly, Catherine

  Re: Protection

  I understand how you feel, Clemmie, but do be cautious. If you’re going to break Rule Four, use protection. Really, I don’t think you ought to break it, though. Just because this man left you, that doesn’t mean he won’t come back with a whole new attitude. Look what happened with my darling Reeve. And believe me, Clemmie, the more you deny them, they more they want you! Trust me on this! Reeve still acts like every time with me might be his last, and he has to make the most of every moment. Oh, it’s DIVINE!!!! You’d think with that much great sex, I’d be pregnant with triplets! Why can’t I get pregnant?

  Belinda

  From: Catherine

  To: Clemmie, Belinda, Janet, Bea, Molly, Joanna

  Re: Saving it

  Maybe you’re trying too hard, Belinda. Just relax, sweetie, and don’t think about anything except seizing the day! Clemmie, sw
eetie, I’d save Virginia if I were you, but of course, I’m not, and I know you have plenty of common sense, so just go with your gut. But if you do go all the way, ditto what Belinda said about protection!

  Cat

  From: Bea

  To: Clemmie, Molly, Janet, Belinda, Joanna, Catherine

  Re: Your gut

  Clemmie, do not go with your gut! If I’d gone with my gut I’d have let Russ in my pants half a second after I laid eyes on him! Listen, men don’t marry easy women. They love the chase! They cherish the prize they believe to be unattainable! Do not forget your worth in all this angst!!!

  Bea

  From: Molly

  To: Clemmie, Janet, Bea, Catherine, Belinda, Joanna

  Re: Pregnant

  Clemmie, I have my fingers crossed for you. Did you call Daddy yet?

  Belinda, I’ve been reading up on getting pregnant. Not that I’m ready. At least not yet. I want to have Sam all to myself for a very long time! Still, I read if you want to conceive, you should light a white candle on a full moon, and then stand outside with the burning candle and make a wish. I know it sounds silly and bit woo woo, but I think the whole point is that you put your dreams out there to the Universe. Besides, it’s just fun to look at the stars and the moon, especially in the fall when they seem so big and bright.

  Oh, I’ve got to run. That cute guy with the tool belt is going to be here any minute to work on my art gallery. You know the one I told you about? If you change your mind about this Michael, do come over and let me introduce you to the man with the sexy tool!

  Molly

  From: Joanna

  To: Clemmie, Belinda, Molly, Catherine, Janet, Bea

  Re: Home visit

  Clemmie, why don’t you take a break and go out to Hollywood and find out about this man on his home turf? I’ve asked Fernando to introduce me to his family. Not that they will influence me in the least. I’d marry this man if his daddy was a street bum and his mother was a witch! Still, I think we should meet.

  What do you think I should wear? Fernando likes me to dress really sexy and show lots of leg and cleavage, but I don’t think that will go over so well with his mama.