"I already told you that I still love you."
"I know, but that isn't the same as forgiveness." Once again, his gaze locked on to hers. "Is it?"
She wanted to pull away from him, to punish him for her pain, but she couldn't. She could see the truth in his eyes, the remorse, the shame. "We both made mistakes."
"Does that mean you forgive me?"
She kept his hand in hers, wishing his touch didn't leave her aching for more. "Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," she repeated her answer, moving closer, angling her legs toward his, nearly bumping his knee. He meant everything to her, and he always would. "I won't hold this against you."
"Cindy was a fool to think she could take me away from you." His breath rushed out. "Nobody can replace you. Not in my heart."
Every nerve ending in her body came alive, sizzling beneath her skin, filling her with electricity, with anticipation. "What exactly does that mean?"
"That I finally figured out what love feels like." He grabbed the front of his shirt, as though his heart were racing, pounding rapidly beneath it. "I think deep down I always knew, but I was too afraid to admit it. There was so much turmoil between us. And as soon as Lady Savannah went away, the problem with Cindy started."
Lea's mind started to spin. "You love me?"
He nodded. "Desperately, madly. I've been going crazy this week without you. But that's how it's been all along. When you're not with me, I can't function." He leaned forward. "But I didn't know that was love. Not until I screwed up. Not until I realized that I'd made all the wrong choices."
"I can't function without you, either." And now she understood why he hadn't been able to clarify his emotions, why being in love confused him.
"Can we start over?" Michael asked.
"Of course we can." She noticed he was still clutching the front of his shirt. "Do you still want me to live with you?"
"More than anything."
"Me, too." Her eyes misted, and he kissed her, brushing her lips with his, giving her the tenderness she craved. She held on to his shoulders, to the strength of his body.
When they separated, they gazed at each other, still caught up in the emotion, in the need to be together.
"It's over," Lea said. "Cindy is out of our lives."
"I can't believe I fell for her ploy. I should have listened to you from the start."
Just then, the door to the offices opened and the blonde strode into the reception area, carrying a small box with her belongings. She looked cool and crisp and a bit too showy, her clothes designed to get her noticed.
"I see you two are talking about me," she said.
"You think?" Michael shot back.
"Jerk," she retorted, her heels sounding on the floor, her skirt hugging her rear.
When she stopped to look at Lea, they glared at each other. Lea wanted to scratch the other woman eyes out, but only for a second.
By the time Michael's former assistant swept out of the building, she hardly cared.
"Good riddance," he said.
"I'm not as angry as I thought I'd be," Lea admitted.
"How can you say that after what she did to us?"
"Because I'd rather forget that she ever existed."
"So would I." Michael glanced at the door. "But first we have to agree that she's a first-rate bitch."
Lea couldn't help but laugh. "I never said she wasn't a bitch."
He laughed, too. And then he hugged her, holding her close, making the moment last, the incredible feeling of trusting each other, of starting over, of being in love.
* * *
John Van Gelder walked among the live oaks at Forsyth Park. He'd spoken to a few people along the way, folks who recognized him and promised him a vote. But that didn't put his mind at ease.
His opponent was still leading in the polls.
Who knew that Abraham's illegitimate child would turn out to be a beautiful Amerasian woman singing her father's praises?
John lifted his shoulders and kept walking, doing his damnedest to appear confident, hoping to make an impression on anyone who saw him.
Didn't it just figure? Only Abraham could engage in an illicit affair and come out of it twenty-eight years later still looking like a war hero.
The son of a bitch had been stricken with amnesia when he'd cheated on his wife. But even so, he'd taken full responsibility, giving the interview of a lifetime.
Once again, Honest Abe had lived up to his name.
Sunlight dappled the walkway and scattered through the trees, making John wish the historic setting would calm his nerves. He loved Savannah. This was his home.
When he looked up, he saw Hayden cut across the path and head toward him. He frowned, wondering why the kid had tracked him down. They hadn't arranged a meeting today.
"Sir?" Hayden approached him, a bit too breathless. The young man looked as though he'd seen a blood-soaked ghost. His skin was pale, his eyes ringed with shadows. "We have a problem."
What now? John thought. How much worse could it get? "I'm listening."
"The woman who helped me was fired from her job. She worked for a security company and the information about the paternity test had come from their files." Hayden's voice vibrated. "Her boss is investigating her."
"That's not our problem."
"What if her boss finds out I was involved?"
John slowed his pace, keeping a safe distance from potential eavesdroppers. "The newspaper isn't going to reveal their source. Her boss isn't going to be able to prove a thing."
"That's what she said." Hayden wouldn't let it go. He shoved his hands in his pockets and exhaled a loud breath. "But it doesn't matter. I can't take this anymore."
"Take what?"
"Digging up dirt on your opponent. I'm turning in my resignation, sir."
John stopped walking, still surrounded by the grandeur of live oaks, still keeping his shoulders back. "Do you think I care? The information you uncovered wasn't worth a plugged nickel. Why didn't that woman tell you the whole story?"
"Maybe she didn't know all the details."
"And maybe she had her own agenda. Maybe you weren't smart enough to see through her."
The kid ignored the insult. "I'm leaving town. I'm going back to Boston. I never liked the South anyway." He rubbed his arm as though a gnat had just bitten him. "I've had enough."
"Then go." John didn't want the little weasel working for him anyway. Anyone who didn't relish Savannah didn't deserve to be part of his campaign. "I'll win this race without you."
Sooner or later, he would come up with another plan to knock Honest Abe off his high-and-mighty pedestal. Because there was no way John was going to settle for less than a seat in the United States Senate.
* * *
The wedding was spectacular, the social event of the season. Dusk colored the sky in shades of mauve and blue, and tea lights floated in a lily pond.
The ceremony took place at a Savannah estate, a Greek Revival mansion owned by the bride's family and boasting of old money.
Lea sat with the other guests, watching the procession. Flowers from the formal garden lined the way, making a breathtaking path.
Michael was at the pergola, a limestone structure custom-built for the ceremony. He stood next to the groom, both men wearing black tuxedos.
Clayton Crawford seemed anxious, eager to marry Katrina Beaumont, the woman he called Kat. When the Bridal March began, the traditional wedding song seemed to stir his heart. He turned to watch his lady, his expression filled with wonder.
Lea's eyes started to water. Michael watched the bride, too. She captured everyone's attention, with her jeweled gown and cathedral-length veil. She looked like a feminine mystery, the train on her dress trailing gloriously behind her. Her father held her arm, offering her to Clay with a proud nod.
After the vows were spoken and rings exchanged, a pair of white doves were released, followed by a shower of rose petals.
Lea could on
ly imagine how Kat felt, marrying the man she loved, knowing she would spend the rest of her life with him.
An hour later, Lea and Michael sat at the head table at the reception, where she'd been invited to dine with the wedding party since she was Michael's date. She assumed Clay and Kat had made those arrangements, wanting her and Michael to be together.
The ballroom in the mansion was exquisite, with ornate ceilings, stained-glass windows and beveled-glass doors. Trellised balconies offered an expansive view.
A local chef had prepared the meal, and Lea thought the food looked almost too pretty to eat.
Michael reached for his wine. "This is quite an affair, isn't it?"
She nodded and glanced at the bride, wondering if Kat felt like a princess. "A storybook wedding in a Southern castle."
Michael leaned into her. "Is it true that most little girls dream about their weddings? Did you do that when you were young?"
She shook her head. "I tried not to dream too much, but weddings in Vietnam are as important as they are here."
"Tell me what they're like."
His curiosity didn't surprise her. Although she was living with him now, he still asked questions about her culture, wanting her to share bits and pieces of her homeland with him. "The couple who will be married can't see each other on the day before their wedding," she said. "Seeing each other on that day can bring bad luck. Some families don't observe this tradition anymore, but my mother believed in it."
"What else did she believe?" he asked, the flame from a nearby candle reflected in his eyes.
Lea tasted her meal, thinking how handsome he looked in his traditional tuxedo. "She believed the bride's mother should comb her daughter's hair the night before the ceremony."
"Why? Does it mean something special?"
"Yes, especially the third comb. It brings luck and happiness."
He cut into his meat, but he didn't take a bite. He simply held his fork and gazed at her. "I love your hair. It's so pretty, so silky."
She nearly caught her breath. There were hundreds of people all around them, yet somehow it seemed as if they were alone. "In ancient times, a girl's hair was valued, praised in literature, poetry and art. She didn't dare cut it."
"I'm glad you wear yours long." His gaze was still riveted to hers, as though he were memorizing this moment and every word they spoke. "Tell me more about a Vietnamese wedding. What does the bride wear?"
"A traditional bride would wear a dress called Ao Dai, and the most appropriate color is red. It represents love and passion."
"What color does the groom wear?"
"Black, with a red flower." She glanced at her plate, at the baked lobster and prime rib, at the seafood-stuffed mushrooms and artfully prepared vegetables. "The food is important, too. There's at least twenty dishes at a Vietnamese wedding, and the egg rolls should come in pairs, so they are like the couple."
"That's nice. Romantic." He smiled at her. "In the old days, when a Seminole girl wanted to find a husband, she draped herself in extra beads and silver ornaments."
"I like that." She returned his smile. "Women adorning themselves for love."
When they both fell silent, one of the bridesmaids engaged them in another conversation and they socialized with everyone at their table, chatting amicably with the wedding party.
The festivities continued, with champagne and cake and a toast from the best man, from Michael. He raised his glass and honored Clay and Kat with humor and warmth, with words that tugged at Lea's heart. Each day that she spent with him, she fell deeper in love, deeper under his spell.
Everyone watched the bride and groom dance, and a bit later Michael and Lea danced, as well. She could smell the woodsy scent of his cologne and the boutonniere pinned to his jacket was the color of fire. Love and passion, she thought.
"I have something for you," he said.
"You do?"
He nodded and led her to the nearest balcony, where they stood in the night air, gazing at the garden below. He reached into his pocket and removed a white gold necklace. "It's a panther."
Awed, she studied the diamond-studded, ruby-eyed cat. "Because you're from the Panther clan?"
"I wanted to give you something that was unique, something special between us."
"It's beautiful." More stunning than anything she'd ever hoped to own.
He moved closer. "It's an engagement gift."
Stunned, Lea lifted her gaze. He was looking at her the way Clay had looked at Kat when he'd watched her walk down the aisle. "Are you asking me to marry you?"
"Yes."
"Oh, my God." She clutched the panther against her heart. "I didn't expect this. Not now, not this soon."
Fear flashed across his face. "Is it too soon?"
"No, not at all." Her eyes misted with tears. "I'd marry you tonight, tomorrow, the next day. I'd become your wife in an instant."
"I don't want to wait, either. We'll do it as quickly as we can." He took her in his arms and stroked a hand down her hair, holding her close. "You're the woman I love, the woman I want to exchange vows with." He stepped back, searching her gaze. "Will you wear a red dress at our wedding?"
"Yes, and I'll wear this, too." She held up the necklace, the jeweled cat shimmering against her skin.
"Let me help you put it on." He moved to stand behind her, then fastened the clasp and brushed his lips against her neck.
She felt her knees go weak, knowing he would have that effect on her for the rest of her life. "I love you, Michael."
"I love you, too." When she faced him again, he touched the panther, then slid his hand a little lower. A simple touch, an erotic touch. Finally he leaned in to kiss her.
He tasted like Cristal, like the French champagne they'd drunk, like the flavor of a fine yet complex bouquet, creating a sensation of creaminess, of white-fleshed fruits and spine-tingling fullness.
"I want to make love," she said.
He smiled against her lips. "Here?"
She smiled, too. "When we get home."
"Then we'll go home soon."
He kissed her again, and she knew she had everything she could want, including the spark that first drew her and Michael together, the beauty of passion, of steamy Savannah nights, of a world only they could create.
* * * * *
STEAMY SAVANNAH NIGHTS Page 13
