Dixie Virgin Chronicles: Clementine (Book 5)

by Webb, Peggy

  “Do you have a place to stay?”

  “No.”

  A breathless silence descended on them once more. It stretched out until Clemmie’s nerves were twanging. She reached up and pushed her hair back from her face.

  Something snapped in Michael. He moved swiftly across the tiled floor. When he was only inches from Clemmie he stopped.

  “You have flour on your face.”

  “Oh?” Her hand fluttered upward.

  He caught her hand. “When you pushed your hair back you smeared it across your cheek.” Releasing her hand, he reached up and gently rubbed her cheek. “Here.” His fingers lingered, caressing the soft skin he’d dreamed about for almost two hellish weeks. “That should take care of it.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome.” With desire and need screaming along his nerve endings, he stepped back. “You can stay here.”

  “You’re sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “The house is big. Nobody will bother you.”

  She wept inside. This conversation wasn’t at all the way she had imagined. Thirty thousand feet in the air she’d dreamed of a different welcome, of Michael opening his arms and his heart to her. Now it seemed that nothing had changed. Neither distance nor time had made him more receptive to love. She should never have come to Hollywood. There was nothing to do but make the best of a bad decision.

  She turned up the corners of her mouth in the imitation of a bright smile. “That’s very generous of you. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

  “No.” He hadn’t realized he’d spoken so harshly until she flinched. Cursing himself, cursing the fates, he softened his voice. “You can stay as long as you like. My friends are always welcome here.”

  “I’ll think about that tomorrow. Right now, why don’t we eat the turkey?”

  “Is that what I smelled when I came in the house?”

  “Yes. I talked Rick into helping me buy a few groceries. Your pantry was almost empty.”

  His laughter was genuine. For the first time since he’d entered his house, he relaxed.

  “Still pampering everybody in sight, aren’t you, Clementine Brady?”

  “A body has to eat, and I do love cooking. Anyhow, it’s Thanksgiving.”

  “I never knew it was until you walked through my door.” He draped an arm across her shoulders and led her toward the kitchen. “This house has never smelled so good. Do you mind if I stick my nose in a few pots and pans?”

  “I’d love it.” Clemmie’s mother had once told her the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Watching Michael now, she almost believed it. “Your kitchen is beautifully equipped, Michael. I took a few liberties when I was searching for pots and pans.”

  Everything in his kitchen was state of the art, but today was the first time it had ever smelled and felt so homey. Michael replaced the lid on a pot of giblet gravy and smiled at Clemmie.

  “Coming here was dangerous, you know.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “I’m liable to keep you out here...” The lovely look of expectation on her face twisted his gut. “...to cook.”

  Right now, cooking was the last thing on his mind, but he didn’t want to give her any false impressions. In spite of the way he felt with her in his house, he had not changed his mind. He was what he was, and he couldn’t change that overnight. Clemmie deserved more.

  Standing in his kitchen, surrounded by the smells of Thanksgiving, he hungered for her. He hoped his newfound nobility would hold up under the tension of this unexpected visit. Looking at her now, with her ripe lips and ripe body, he hoped his nobility would last through the evening meal. What he wanted to do was back her up against the kitchen counter and love her until they were both panting.

  Clemmie rescued him.

  “Your house is beautiful...the parts Rick showed me. That mahogany table in your dining room is especially lovely. I wonder if we might use it tonight? We can make this a very festive occasion.”

  “With you, Clemmie, every moment is a festive occasion.” He loved the way she flushed at his remark. Too much. He loved it too much. “I’ll set the table.”

  He hurried to the dining room and flung open his china cabinet. The Baccarat crystal and Limoges china rattled on the shelves. He handled the expensive glassware as if it were cheap dime-store plastic. Nothing mattered to him except the woman standing in his kitchen. An alarming thought. He’d have to do better than that or he would never make it through the night.

  He made it through the meal. As a matter of fact, he enjoyed the meal so much that he was reluctant to leave the table. He guessed Clemmie must be a mind reader, for she kept the conversation light. Nothing personal, no reminders of those steamy nights in Mississippi when he’d come so close to robbing her of her virginity. He was relieved... and grateful.

  “Clemmie, you don’t know what this means to me. I can’t believe you left your home to spend Thanksgiving here.”

  “As I said, the one-way ticket was a gift.”

  “One way?”

  She tried to cover the slip. “You can imagine my surprise when David and Daniel gave it to me. I had planned a big dinner for the boarding house. In fact, the turkey was already thawing. But everybody was so pleased about what they had done. Naturally I couldn’t refuse the gift.”

  “Naturally.”

  She’d come to him on a one-way ticket. What was her reason? he wondered. The possibilities boggled his mind. And he discovered that he was much too tired to think about them tonight.

  “Clemmie, would you like to see L.A. by night?”

  “That would be wonderful. But the dishes—”

  “They can wait. The maid will be back tomorrow.” He saw the struggle she had with her conscience about leaving dirty dishes on the table, even if the maid was coming the next day. “Humor me, love,” he said lightly.

  She did. She walked blithely out the door and left the clean-up job for somebody else. It felt good for once.

  “Of course, I wouldn’t want to make a habit of this,” she told Michael as he helped her into her lightweight coat.

  He grinned. “Of course not.”

  There were three cars in Michael’s garage—a Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce, a Jaguar, and a Toyota pickup truck. He chose the Jag for their outing.

  As he drove through Hollywood Hills he felt as if he were seeing his neighborhood for the first time. Clemmie’s approach to sightseeing was the same as her approach to life: she discovered something to love at every turn, and she tried to make every minute count.

  She thought all the houses hanging on the side of the Santa Monica mountains were fabulous.

  “Your home is the most wonderful, of course,” she said.

  He’d never thought of his home as wonderful. It was well-built, architecturally pleasing, and functional.

  “Why is that?”

  “It’s friendly.”

  “Friendly?”

  “Yes. That grand courtyard and that fabulous greenhouse just hold their arms out in welcome. Don’t you feel it, Michael?”

  “Only since you came.”

  She pinned her hopes on that phrase... and on his smile. Across the other side of the car, he was smiling as he had in Peppertown, with joy and a certain dare-devil charm that gave her great pleasure. She leaned her head against the plush leather seat and sighed.

  “Tired?”

  “No. Blissful.”

  Michael thought of her one-way ticket again. Since it was dark and he was driving and couldn’t do much with his hands even if he wanted to, he risked asking a loaded question.

  “And what is the reason for your bliss?”

  The comfortable darkness made her brave. “You, Michael.”

  They were headed northwest now, into the fertile San Fernando Valley. Michael drove awhile, thinking about what she had said. He didn’t want to give her the wrong idea, but no answer at all seemed cruel. Abruptly he swung the car onto a small gravel r
oad that led up into the mountains. He parked on a mountain overlook and cut the engine.

  “I’ve never known a woman like you, Clemmie. You are totally unselfish.” He turned so he could see her. The moonlight slashed across her cheek and highlighted her vamp’s mouth. “And far too desirable.” He reached out and gently touched her cheek.

  She covered his hand with her own. For her, it was all or nothing. She’d taken the risk of coming to Hollywood uninvited, and now it was time to take the final risk.

  “I want you, too, Michael. But it’s much more than desire, much more than need. When you first came to Peppertown, I saw you as my chance for excitement and glamour and even a taste of sex. The only problem was, you developed scruples... and I fell in love with you.”

  His hand trembled on her cheek. When he started to speak, she put her free hand over his lips. “Please don’t say anything yet. Let me say what I have to say before I lose my courage.”

  “I’m listening, Clemmie.”

  “I didn’t come out here for a ring or a wedding or even a commitment. I came merely to tell you that I love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened in my life, and I couldn’t let you go without telling you exactly how I feel.”

  His hand left her cheek and caressed her lips. “I’ve dreamed of you every night. I’ve pictured you here in L.A., in my house, in my arms, in my bed. But there’s always something wrong with the picture. An affair doesn’t fit you, Clemmie. Even life in Hollywood doesn’t seem right for you. You’re too innocent, too natural, too good.” He gave a rueful smile. “Although seeing you here does lead me to wonder if I’ve been wrong.”

  “I’ll have an affair with you. I can get a job out here.”

  “What about your brothers? The boarding house?”

  “My brothers have student loans. Those can be increased. Harvey’s watching after the house now, and I can eventually find a buyer. And I’ll find a good place for Miss Josephine. She has no one except me, you know.”

  Michael pulled her into his arms and pressed his face against her hair. “Ah, Clemmie, you tempt me so.”

  He held her that way for a while, tenderly, pressing her so close he could feel her heart beating against his chest. And he kept a tight rein on his passion.

  Finally she lifted her head.

  “Michael?”

  “You wouldn’t have to take a job. You wouldn’t even have to sell your house. I’m a wealthy man, Clemmie. I can afford to support you and your brothers and Miss Josephine and keep all the houses in Mississippi you want.” He gave her a smile, and she thought it was the saddest one she’d ever seen. “The answer is no, my sweet. I would never forgive myself if I made you a kept woman.”

  Burrowing her face into his chest, she hugged him tightly. “And I would never have forgiven myself if I hadn’t tried.”

  Michael cupped her face. “Clemmie, don’t ever settle for an affair... with anybody.”

  “I never thought I would. And perhaps, even with you, I wouldn’t have—not for long. But loving you as I do, it seemed the best thing to say.” She smiled at him. “Do you know that you really are a knight in shining armor, Michael Forrest?”

  “Why do you say that?’’

  “You’ve rescued me from my own misguided intentions.”

  He started the car and headed back down the mountain to his home in Hollywood Hills.

  o0o

  It was past midnight when Clemmie went to bed. Michael had shown her into a guest room that was down the hall from his own bedroom. Actually it wasn’t a room: it was a suite of rooms—a sitting room, bedroom and bath in luscious peach colors that made her feel pampered. She tried her best to hang on to that feeling—pampered. As long as she could concentrate on that, she could push aside her other feelings—defeat, disappointment, heartbreak.

  Fastening her robe high around her neck, she sat down at the vanity and picked up her hairbrush. She always gave her hair one hundred stokes at night. The small routine was soothing.

  o0o

  Downstairs Michael sat in his leather chair and stared at the bookshelves along the wall of his den. He was a collector of books. He had some first editions of the greats—Herman Melville, Mark Twain, John Steinbeck. He had a few original letters of Cotton Mather and Dashiell Hammett and some of the Mark Twain papers. His collection was the envy of bibliophiles for miles around.

  Underneath his feet was an Oriental rug. The amount he’d paid for it would have put Clemmie’s brothers through college. The furniture was Louis XIV, original, and his walls were hung with Matisse and Picasso.

  For all the thought he gave his material possessions, he might as well have been sitting in a stable surrounded by hay and cows. His thoughts were centered on one woman—Clemmie. Right now she was upstairs in one of his guest bedrooms.

  And she loved him.

  The thought haunted him, taunted him and finally prodded him from his chair. He paced his room, a prisoner of his own thoughts. No matter what excuses he had made for holding back from Clemmie—calling himself a rake, a jaded Don Juan, a cynical reckless bachelor—he’d still been caught in her tender trap. And yet, now that she had come to Hollywood, he didn’t feel trapped at all. Actually he felt a soaring freedom, as if he had been waiting all his life for this moment, for this woman who held the key to his prison.

  What was he to do about it? Stopping by his liquor cabinet, he poured himself a good shot of scotch. He’d be going on location in Spain in another month if he pushed hard enough. Maybe he could just drift until then, let things take their natural course. She’d go back to Peppertown and forget about him. And what would he do? Keep on running?

  The scotch burned his throat going down. Suddenly he saw Clemmie’s face, heard her voice. I came merely to tell you that I love you.

  He set the glass on a table with such force the amber liquid sloshed onto the polished mahogany. Then he was off and running. He took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the end of the hallway, he had to stop and get his breath.

  Praying for composure and the right words, he pushed open the door.

  “Thank God you’re wearing white cotton.”

  Clemmie was sitting beside the vanity brushing her hair, and her cheeks went bright pink when she looked up.

  Michael laughed. “I feel like a fool.”

  “You look like a hero. Won’t you come in?”

  “I’ve been a perfect jackass, Clemmie. I probably should have stopped and given this some thought, but now that I’m here, I guess there’s only one way to say it.”

  Her hand went to her throat. The gesture made Michael ache.

  “I love you, Clemmie.”

  “Michael!”

  He stood in the doorway, taking courage from the solid feel of his well-built house.

  “I’ve loved you for a long, long time. It just took me awhile to admit it, even to myself.”

  Clemmie slowly put the hairbrush on the table and folded her hands in her lap. She was filled with such jubilation she could barely sit still, but she forced herself. She’d flown two thousand miles to declare her love for Michael and to find out how he felt about her. She wasn’t about to spoil everything by a wrong move now.

  He came toward her. When he was close enough, he knelt at her feet and took her hand. “I’m asking you to marry me, Clemmie.”

  “I’ve always wanted an old-fashioned proposal.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes.”

  She flung her arms around him and almost toppled them both to the floor. Michael steadied her then stood up, pulling her into his arms.

  Until that moment he hadn’t believed it was possible for a man to feel such happiness. Holding Clemmie, he buried his face in her hair, absorbing the fragrance of her, the feel of her. A thousand years would not be enough time to show his love for this woman.

  “Say yes again, Clemmie. I want to know that I heard you correctly.”

  She reached up and gently cupped his fa
ce. “Michael Forrest, I love you. It will give me great honor to be your wife.”

  “My wife...I like the sound of those words.” He caught one of her hands and kissed the palm. As always, one taste of her was not enough. He fitted her arms around his neck and lowered his mouth to her. The kiss was heady with passion and rich with promise.

  Groaning, he backed them toward the bed. The mattress squeaked under their weight. Clemmie’s dark hair fanned against the covers. Propping himself on his elbows, Michael lifted the silken strands, letting them drift slowly through his fingers. “I’ve wanted you here, pictured you here... just like this.”

  “I’m here, Michael. I’m real.” She pressed tender kisses around his jaw. “Love me.”

  “Ahh, Clemmie. You tempt me so.” Careful not to put his entire weight on her, he pressed full length, feeling every soft curve and enticing hollow of her body. She was his. She’d given her promise. He exulted in the knowledge.

  “Michael?”

  “Hmm?” Almost drugged with the nearness of her, he looked down into her face.

  “Is there any reason...” She hesitated, her smile so heart-breakingly innocent he wanted to shout his happiness for the whole world to hear. Licking her dry lips, she tried again. “Is there any reason to wait?”

  His joy bubbled over. Laughing, he pulled her into a bear hug. “Treasures are always worth waiting for...but not too long.” He sat up, taking her with him. “How do you feel about getting a license tomorrow?”

  “If you hadn’t suggested that, I was going to mention it myself.”

  Delight poured through him, shining on his heart and illuminating the dark corners of his soul. Clemmie. She was his Clemmie. She was his hearth, his home, his love. He’d wait, because he’d finally found a woman worth waiting for.

  o0o

  From: Clemmie

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

  Re: Married!

  Michael and I are married! My brothers and my boarders gave me a one-way ticket to L.A., and I flew out here on a hope and a prayer. Thank goodness, Michael loves me, too, and we had a quick civil ceremony here in town followed by a fabulous honeymoon in his home. He dismissed all the servants, and we had his wonderful house to ourselves! As Joanna would say, OH MY!!!