by Webb, Peggy
“I never say things I don’t mean.” He took up his rhythm again. “Never.”
There was none of the awkwardness of new lovers between them. Their minds were as connected as their bodies. A mere thought from her became action from him. He understood her sighs, her moans. He knew her moods, her desires, her preferences.
The years rolled away, the years of sacrificing her own desires for the sake of her child and her career, and she was once again a woman, a woman by turns tender and bawdy, gentle and fiery. She felt fulfillment and hunger at the same time.
For the beautiful moments they lay together in her bed she believed that all she had to do was reach out and Bolton would be there, all she had to do was call and he would come running, all she had to do was wish for this magical joining and he would make it happen.
But when the loving was over, when they lay tangled together on her sheets, she knew that she was being the worst kind of fool, the kind who believed in miracles. She’d learned long ago that the only miracles were those earned by sweat and toil and intelligence and perseverance and sacrifice.
Bolton laced their fingers together and squeezed. She could almost see him gathering his wits to make a pretty speech.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t say anything except the truth.”
“What truth?”
“I needed this but now it’s over and done with and neither of us has to pretend it was anything except great sex.”
“That’s not the truth, Virginia.”
She pulled away from him, put on her robe, and curled up on the chaise longue.
“I’ve been called worse names than a liar.” She folded her hands tightly together to keep them from betraying her with their awful shaking.
Without a word Bolton got off the bed, knelt beside the chaise, and gently unfolded her hands. Then he kissed her fingertips, one by one. His actions were far more revealing than denials.
“If what we had was just good sex, why are you trembling?”
“I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’m an insomniac. It happens with age.”
He said nothing, merely lifted one caustic eyebrow.
She stared at him, waiting for him to fill the silence with excuses, waiting for him to push her into anger. She was mad, unaccountably mad, and she wanted some reason to show it. Tilting her chin up, she dared him to give her a reason.
Bolton remained as implacable as the mountain from which he had come. Still kneeling, he began a slow, erotic massage of her feet. That alone was enough to make Virginia forget her anger and confusion, make her forget that he might be after her money or her secrets or both, make her forget the horrible age gap that separated them. When his hands moved over her legs, she knew she was lost and nothing else mattered except his touch.
Closing her eyes, she let herself go limp. It felt amazing to be spontaneous and reckless and absolutely feminine.
“That feels so good,” she whispered.
“Yes, it does.”
He untied the sash and opened her robe so that she lay upon the chaise like a fallen flower. He tasted her, lingering so long that she lost all reason. When she was finally limp and satisfied, he lifted her into his arms and held her against his chest.
“This is not about your money,” he said, as if he had read her mind. “It’s not about your profession and mine. It’s about us, Virginia.”
She was too far gone to argue with him. She laced her arms and him and leaned on cheek on his chest.
“Take me back to bed, Bolton.”
“And then what, Virginia?”
“You know....”
“Say it.”
“Are you going to make me beg?”
“No. I want to hear you say the words.” His eyes were so intensely blue, she was almost blinded by them. “Say the words, Virginia.”
“They’re just words.”
“Say them.”
She closed her eyes, but even then she could see his face, naked with emotion.
“They’re just words,” she repeated, closing her eyes to shut out his face. His lips brushed hers softly, tenderly. And she was lost.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
“Yes. I will love you.”
He lowered her to the bed. Pinioned against the sheets, she looked up at him. There was no triumph in his face, no sense of victory, only passion, raw and pure.
“And you will love me.” It was the last thing he said to her, the last thing that needed to be said.
What they did in her bedroom needed no words. What they did was too beautiful for words, too powerful, too sacred. What happened between them was a rare gift, too precious to cast aside.
Virginia knew that as soon as his job was finished he would leave her and never look back, leave Mississippi and forget about the woman whose heart he had stolen.
One week. Two. It didn’t matter how long he stayed. What mattered was what they did with the time. Call her selfish, call her foolish, call her anything at all, but Virginia knew what she was, understood what she was doing.
She was a woman who had spent too many years in the twin prisons of responsibility and fame. Bolton had handed her the key, and she was going to take it. For today and tomorrow and all the days that he was in Mississippi, she was going to be free. And when he was gone she’d shut herself up with her responsibilities and her computer and her money and her fame and never look back with regret.
Never.
Chapter Four
He photographed her leaning against an oak tree with the late-afternoon sun filtering through the leaves and dappling her with gold.
“You are so beautiful,” he said. “Soft and lush and satisfied.”
“You make me feel that way.”
He took aim, and she tilted her head back, laughing. He captured her that way, happier than she ever remembered being, in love with life, in love with the world. A shower of leaves fell on her white blouse and settled in the folds of her full peasant skirt. She bent over to brush them away, then changed her mind and playfully flicked them in his direction. With cameras whirring, he caught her in the falling leaves, caught her as she moved in close, eyes gleaming with erotic intent.
Camera forgotten, they tumbled among the leaves as playful as children. Their playfulness quickly turned to passion, and they made slow, beautiful love on a golden carpet of leaves with the sun burnishing their skin.
“I can’t get enough of you,” she said.
“You don’t have to get enough of me, Virginia. I’m here. I’ll be here.”
Full of him, full of pleasure, full of joy, she could imagine herself waking every day to find Bolton beside her, reaching out to touch the pillow that had been empty for so many years and finding this magnificent man who could turn her inside out with a single glance.
Propped on her elbows, she gazed down at him.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“For food or you?”
“Food. We missed lunch, and if we keep this up, we’re going to miss dinner.”
“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”
“Me too.” She kissed him on the cheek, then stood up and adjusted her clothes. “However, if you’re to keep up your strength, you have to eat.”
She loved his hearty masculine laughter, loved the way he lifted her off the ground and hugged her close. Noses touching, lips a hairbreadth away, he whispered, “You want me to keep up my strength, do you?”
“Yes.”
“Any reason I should know about?”
“If you’re as smart as I think you are, you probably already know the reason.”
“Indulge me. Tell me.”
“For this.” She kissed him, lightly at first and then with such intensity that they were both breathless.
“And this.” She ran her tongue down the side of his neck. “And this.” She caressed his back, as far down as her arms would reach.
“That will do for starters.” He nudged open the front of her blouse and
goose bumps the size of golf balls ran over her.
“You like that, don’t you, Virginia?”
“Yes. I like everything you do to me.”
“Not to you. With you. Love has to be reciprocal.”
There it was. Love.
“Why do you insist on using that word, Bolton?”
“Because it’s true.”
“Love only happens this fast in fiction.”
“My parents fell in love at first sight. And I’ve never seen any two people so happy together.”
She tried to wiggle her way out of his arms, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“Put me down, Bolton.”
“Why? So you can huff off somewhere and try to justify your mistaken notions?”
“I don’t have any mistaken notions. I know exactly what this is: it’s a wildly passionate affair that will end as soon as this interview is over.”
“I’m not doing the interview.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I won’t do the interview.”
“But you have to. It’s your job.”
“I choose the jobs I want to do. I’m choosing not to do this one.”
He set her on her feet and pinned her against the tree.
“You can’t do that,” she said.
“Do what, Virginia? Keep you pinned against this tree?” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he pressed his hips closer. “Just watch me.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m half Apache. We’re known for taking the women we love captive, especially ornery, opinionated, stubborn women like you.”
“Stubborn? I don’t hold a candle to you, Bolton Gray Wolf.”
“What happened to make you so distrustful of men, Virginia?”
“Is this an interview question?”
“I told you, I’m no longer doing the interview.”
“You have to.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve promised to grant one interview, and if you don’t do it, then I’ll be stuck with some arrogant upstart who’d like nothing better than to dish the dirt on me.
“Does that mean you no longer suspect me of going to bed with you so I can learn your secrets?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Not exactly in those words.”
“Look... can I help it if I have this built-in distrust of journalists?”
“Haven’t we gone beyond that, Virginia? When are you going to start viewing me as a person instead of a profession? When are you going to learn to trust me?”
“You’re tough. No wonder you’re good.”
“In bed or in the magazines?”
“Both,” she said. Bolton’s smile was slow and easy. “All right... all right. I admit it. I trust you, Bolton. As much as I can trust any of you.”
“Good. Then I’ll do the interview.”
He studied her for so long, she felt as if he were probing her with laser beams.
“Back to my original question: What happened to make you distrust men?”
This time he didn’t protest when she walked away. With the instinct given to all men who love nature, he understood that there were times when all creatures must be free. He knew that unless he let Virginia go, he could never keep her, never even hope to keep her.
Her stride was long and determined, and for a moment it looked as if she meant to stalk all the way to her house and never look back. He stood with his feet firmly planted, resisting the urge to follow her.
There was something magnificent in her anger. The way her skirts swished left no doubt in his mind that underneath was a body seething and ready to explode. That was one of the things he loved about Virginia: She never did anything halfway. Whether she was making love or expressing her rage, she put her entire self into it. With her there was no pouting, no sniffling, no retreating into silence. With Virginia, he knew exactly where he stood.
And at the moment, he was at the edge of the woods all by himself, literally as well as figuratively.
He knew the minute she made up her mind to turn back. Her skirt told the story. The angry, swishing skirt began a gentle swaying. Bolton held his breath, watching. The sun had all but disappeared, leaving a red-gold glow that reflected in Virginia’s honey-colored hair and on face.
It was a picture too good to miss. He aimed and fired. He would never tire of watching Virginia, never tire of photographing her. With or without the lens she was a subject worthy of hours and days and years of contemplation.
When she turned and saw the camera, she smiled.
“You can’t resist a good shot, can you?” she said.
“I can’t resist you.”
She came back up the path to him, and he didn’t stop shooting until she stood two feet away, eyes lifted to his.
“You are irresistible,” she whispered. “I can’t walk away from you like that.”
He took her hands, lifted them to his lips, and kissed her open palms.
“Virginia, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Your past doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is us... here... now.”
“No, I need to tell you.” She withdrew her hands and stepped back as if touching him while she talked might taint him. “It was a long time ago. I was younger then, naive in many ways, especially about men. Roger was the only man I’d ever known... intimately.”
The confession made her self-conscious, and she turned her face from him. He caressed her cheek lightly, once, making no attempt to turn her face back to his.
One touch was enough. Virginia faced him once more.
“I guess that makes me hopelessly outdated,” she said.
“It makes you hopelessly wonderful.”
“Don’t,” she whispered. Quickly she shut her eyes so she wouldn’t see the love light shining in his. She’d seen that love light once, had thought it would burn forever.
What had gotten into her anyway? Baring her soul like that?
Shrugging her shoulders, she attempted a light laugh.
“Look,” she said. “It was nothing. He left me for another woman. Men do it every day.”
In the fading light she tried to study his face, but it was hidden in purple shadows. Why was he so still? Why didn’t he say something?
She clenched her hands together, then hid them in the folds of her full skirt. Still, Bolton was silent.
“All right,” she said. “He didn’t just leave me for some stranger. Besides Jane, she was my best friend. Jane, Sandra, and Virginia, the Three Musketeers, one for all and all for one. I was teaching history, saving every penny I made so Roger and I could build our dream house. He not only took my best friend, he took all my money as well. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had. If it hadn’t been for Jane, Candace and I would not have had a place to stay.”
“Jane’s a lovely woman, Virginia.”
“Yes, she is, inside and out.”
“I don’t want Jane. I want you.” Bolton glanced over her vast estate. “This is an impressive place, but I prefer a simpler setting, mountains instead of tennis courts, woods instead of swimming pools, birch logs instead of brick and stone.” He took both her hands. When she tried to jerk away, he held on tightly. “I don’t want your money, Virginia. If you gave every penny of it away, I’d still be in love with you.”
Cursing the darkness that hid her face from him, he waited for his words to sink in. He could tell by the stiffness of her body that she was still unconvinced. What would it take to make this woman believe how he loved her? What would he have to do to show her that the fire and magic between them was a once in a life time thing?
“You push too hard, Bolton,” his mother was always telling him. “Ever since you were born you’ve tried to control everything in your path. Sometimes you have to let go. Sometimes you have to let things happen.”
He would give everything he owned, including his beloved horse and dog, if he could know the right thing to say, the right thing to do so that Virginia would
let down her guard and let him love her. But when it came to matters of the heart, he was a novice. And so he decided to simply let things happen.
Gathering her into his arms, he held her close. Her rigid stance told him that she was merely allowing this embrace, and perhaps only for the moment.
“It’s all right, Virginia,” he whispered, pressing his cheek against her hair. “We won’t speak of these things.”
Relief flooded through her. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
“Let’s go inside and raid the refrigerator,” she said.
“Let’s go.”
Linking hands, they raced down the path together. Then together they created a feast as unconventional as it was huge, scrambled eggs and pasta salad, graham crackers with melted marshmallows and chocolate on top, iced tea with a sprig of mint, and toast cut in the shape of hearts. Bolton did the cutting, and she did the supervising. The result was eight perfect hearts spread with butter and raspberry jam.
“Too pretty to eat,” she said.
“Unless you’re starving.” He ate two at one time. “I’m glad I thought of them.”
“Hey, the hearts were my idea.”
“I beg your pardon. That’s outright plagiarism.”
“Guilty.” She held out her hands, laughing. “Take me captive. Punish me.”
He carried her up the stairs, and they made slow, exquisite love while the moon made changing patterns across the sheets.
“I wish you had brought your clothes so you could stay the night,” she said.
“I don’t need anything except you, Virginia.” He yawned and stretched flat on his back. “I’ll get my clothes in the morning.”
It was that simple. Bolton was moving in with her. At least until Candace came home.
Virginia wasn’t going to think about that. Not yet. What she’d think about was the glorious week ahead.
Bolton was already asleep. Spread across her sheets gloriously naked, his right hand resting on her stomach and his left flung above his head, he took up most of her bed. Smiling, Virginia curled next to him. She loved the smell of him, the feel of him, the look of him.
The last thing she thought about before she fell asleep was that when she woke up in the morning, Bolton would be there.
