The Dixie Virgin Chronicles: Molly (Book 3)

by Peggy Webb

  He lifted one of her hands to his lips.

  “Feeling shy? Perhaps I can help you.” He turned her hand over and planted a lingering kiss in her palm.

  When she could trust herself to speak, she pulled her hand away. “I don’t need any help.”

  She sat up and smoothed her tumbled hair. They faced each other on the bed like two jungle cats.

  “Why don’t you...” She hated the way she sounded, all whispery and uncertain. She cleared her throat. “Why don’t you lie back on the pillows?”

  He obliged, grinning. “You like to be on top, Molly? You keep surprising me.”

  Even lying down, he still looked as if he were capable of doing battle with Goliath. And his skin! It was slick and bronze and delicious and dangerous. She’d have to touch him soon or abandon her game.

  Leaning down so that her hair shielded her face, she stilled her trembling hands and ran them over his chest. She heard his sharp intake of breath. So far, so good. Still keeping her curtain of hair between them, she slid her hands into the waistband of his gym shorts. He offered no resistance as she lowered them down his legs.

  She tried not to look, but her eyes kept straying in that direction. Her effect on him was painfully obvious. She bit her lip and tossed his gym shorts onto the chair.

  “Your hands are soft.”

  She jumped at the sound of his voice. Her head swung around, and she stared at him. He was no longer laughing. A muscle pulsed in his tightened jaw, and his eyes were as dark and deep as the pits of hell.

  “A model has to take care of all parts of her body, including her hands.”

  “Is the rest of your body as soft as your hands?”

  She couldn’t speak.

  “I could find out.” He made a move to rise.

  “Don’t.”

  “It’s your game, Venus.”

  He was making it easy—too easy. But she didn’t question her good fortune. All she wanted to do now was finish her work and get out of his bedroom.

  Moving quickly, she reached into a pocket of her skirt and pulled out two lengths of red silk ribbon. She took one of his hands and lashed it to one of the bedposts.

  “Intriguing, my dear.”

  Biting her lip, she leaned over him and tied his other hand to the opposite bedpost.

  The sound of his laughter echoed around the bedroom. He wasn’t supposed to be laughing, darn his ornery hide. She’d give him something to laugh about.

  Feeling bolder now that he was tied down, she bent over and reached for his briefs. He shivered when she touched him. She’d never known that touching a man in such an intimate way would make her feel like this—triumphant and uncertain, all at the same time. There was something mysterious and magical about that unseen, untouched flesh below a man’s waistband.

  Molly’s fingers tingled and her palms felt sweaty. Biting her lower lip, she began to inch his briefs downward. There was no sound in the room except his harsh breathing. Her hands clenched involuntarily, and she pinched his smooth, forbidden skin. His back arched, and all she could see was the dark swirl of hair on his flat stomach, intriguing, silky-looking hair that disappeared into his briefs.

  She closed her eyes. There was a small sound in the room, a low moaning, as if the night wind had crept under the windowpane and sighed with pleasure.

  “Did you say something, my dear?” Samuel’s voice was soft and wickedly seductive.

  Molly’s eyes snapped open and her head jerked up. A flush heated her cheeks as she realized that she’d made the sound. That wouldn’t do at all. She had to control herself. She had to finish the game.

  “I was just clearing my throat.”

  “That’s what I thought you were doing. Carry on.”

  He stretched, and she’d swear that he wiggled his hips just to spite her. She squeezed her eyes shut again and grabbed his briefs. Nothing was going to stop her. She jerked, and the darned ornery things got stuck. It was like trying to peel a banana whose skin had been glued to the fruit. She hadn’t counted on that. Ignorance was not bliss at all: it was embarrassment.

  Sweat popped out on her brow, and she tried again. She felt his hips lifting, and the offending garment slid free. That wretched, arrogant man had actually helped her. She was too relieved to care.

  With her eyes still closed, she got off the bed. She felt a little light-headed, and had to grasp a bedpost for balance. She drew two quick breaths, then opened her eyes and headed for the safety of a chair across the room. She carefully avoided looking at the bed.

  His wicked chuckle followed her all the way. She sat down in the chair and gripped the arms.

  “How does it feel to be my captive, Samuel?”

  “Why don’t you look and see how it feels?”

  She forced herself to look at him. She’d have to do it eventually, anyhow. Samuel Adams, naked on his bed, was an awesome sight. How he could manage to look like a warrior god with his hands tied with red silk ribbons was beyond her. But he was tied up. She’d have to remember that.

  She smiled at him. “Every now and then, men have to be shown who’s the boss.”

  “Is that all you’re going to do? I’m disappointed.”

  “Perhaps this will make you feel better.” She picked up a sketchpad and a pencil lying beside her chair. She worked quickly, relying on her memory, sketching Samuel’s dark hair and Roman nose and sensuous lips. Next she drew the broad chest. She didn’t have to look at the bed to see it. It was forever etched in her memory.

  He looked at her bent head. The silky golden hair lay against one very pink, very flushed cheek. That appealing aura of innocence glowed about her. He lay against the pillows, content to wait a while longer. And to watch.

  “The naked body is a work of art, Samuel.”

  “It’s also a very efficient machine, designed for work... and for love.”

  “You still think it belongs only in the bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll show you.” She looked up from her sketchbook to get the exact fluid line of hip and leg. His body mocked her. So did his smile.

  She bent over her work again and quickly finished the sketch. It was a talent she’d learned from the street artists in Paris. When she’d finished, she stood up and tore the drawing from the sketchpad, then waved it the air.

  “Here’s the evidence, Samuel. Your body is a work of art.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t want your thanks. I just want to change your bullheaded mind.”

  She placed the drawing on a table beside the chair and turned to leave the room. Behind her, there was an ominous tearing sound, then footsteps.

  “Did you think I was your captive, Molly?”

  Samuel’s large hand gripped her shoulder, and he spun her around. She could see the torn ribbons dangling from his wrists.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Never underestimate your opponent, Venus.”

  His mouth came down on hers. The kiss was fierce and wild and hungry. Every ounce of passion he’d kept in check through the nerve-racking party, through the vicious game of racquetball, and through her tantalizing seduction was finally released.

  He dragged her hips into his and pressed against her filmy chiffon skirt. He wanted her to feel the power and danger in him. He wanted... Oh, God! She felt so good. He wanted to lower her to the floor and find release.

  He kept her in his bruising embrace a while longer—mainly to prove to himself that he could kiss her and walk away. When he let go, he noticed that her lips were red and her eyes were extraordinarily bright. She looked incredibly desirable.

  “Molly, go back to your room before you get into trouble.” He turned her toward the door. “Real trouble.”

  Chapter Seven

  She hurried from the room, closing the door softly behind her. When she reached the hallway she leaned against the wall. Her ordeal was over. And what had she proved? Certainly not that she could ever get the upper hand with Samuel Adams. An
d certainly not that they would ever see eye-to-eye in the matter of the body as art.

  She closed her eyes, and the memory of his sizzling kiss washed over her. Oh, Lord, he was a dangerous man. His arms had been divine, his kiss heaven.

  She struggled with the temptation to go back to his room and climb into his bed, Rule Four be damned. What would it be like to share that big four-poster with him?

  But, oh God, he was Bea’s brother! And there were no guarantees, ever.

  Molly hurried her bedroom and didn’t once think of opening her laptop and emailing the Dixie Virgins.

  o0o

  Samuel was gone when Molly awoke the next morning. It was just as well. She didn’t think she could have faced him after that scene in his bedroom.

  She and her daddy spent a happy, busy day with Glory Ethel, planning the wedding. And late that evening, they sat down together in the big house on North Wood Avenue and prepared to eat dinner.

  There was an empty place at the table.

  “Is Samuel coming to dinner?”

  Molly thought her question was innocent. She had no idea how bright her cheeks and eyes were.

  “I never know about my son. He told me not to plan for him, but still, a mother can hope.”

  Squelching her disappointment, Molly changed the subject.

  “You have a wonderful name. Do you mind telling me how you got it?”

  “I was the last of nine children, eight of them boys.” Glory Ethel paused to laugh. “When the doctor told my daddy that I’d been born, he rushed into Mama’s room and shouted, ‘Glory, Ethel, it’s a girl!’ As if she didn’t already know.” She wiped tears of laughter from her cheeks. “The name stuck.”

  “The name suits you.” Molly’s dad reached for Glory Ethel’s hand. “You’re my glory woman.”

  “And you’re my sweetheart, Jed.” She patted his hand. “I can’t wait for you to see Bea again. She’s grown into such a lovely woman.”

  Molly flushed bright red about what she had done with Bea’s brother. Did friendship make that wrong? And for Pete’s sake, what about the wedding? Things were getting so complicated, Molly wanted to crawl into a hole.

  “Molly.”

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  “Glory Ethel asked if you’d like to live with us. You’ve been talking about leaving Paris and setting up your own little gallery. You could have your choice of towns. We’ll keep both houses, sort of go back and forth as the mood strikes us.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but I won’t be here much longer. After the wedding I’m going back to Paris.”

  “I thought you were going to take a long vacation, Molly. You deserve it.”

  “I had planned to, Daddy. But models can’t drop out of sight for too long or they’ll be forgotten. I need to go back.” Have to go back. She had to put an ocean between herself and Samuel. And then she wasn’t sure that would be enough.

  As quickly as she could, she excused herself and went upstairs to her laptop.

  From: Molly

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

  Re: Daddy’s Wedding, etc.

  Daddy and Bea’s mom have decided to have a quiet wedding, family only. Janet, they’re so excited about getting married in your house. Daddy’s is too small, and Glory Ethel’s house is the same one she lived in with her first husband, so they wanted something neutral.

  Oh, Bea, I can’t wait to see you again! We need to have a long, heart-to-heart talk. I’m afraid I’ve made a big mess of things with your brother. He can barely stand to be in the same room with me. I don’t even know what will happen when this extended family has to get together for holidays!

  Molly, feeling blue

  From: Bea

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

  Re: The wedding

  Molly, I’m taking an extra day off so we can talk! I’m coming straight to Tupelo, so stock up on popcorn and chocolate! Make sure you get Hershey’s with almonds! Get a few Almond Joys, too. Fortunately, the bridesmaid dress Cat and I found in New Orleans has a skirt big enough to cover a multitude of sins. Chill, girlfriend. I’m on the way!

  Bea

  From: Catherine

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

  Re: Wedding dress

  Molly, it sounds like you got to the iron-clad Sam Adams. Good for you!!! Wait till you see the wedding dress Bea and I found for Glory Ethel!!! She’s going to look like a Southern belle from Gone With the Wind!

  Cat

  From: Clemmie

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

  Re: Bea’s visit

  Oh, I can’t wait to see you, Bea! I’m going to make some popcorn balls, and we can all stuff ourselves silly while we talk!

  Clemmie

  From: Janet

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

  Re: Can’t wait

  It will be wonderful to have you here, Bea! Molly, you hang in there. We’re going to figure this out. There’s nothing broken that the Dixie Virgins can’t fix!

  Janet

  From: Belinda

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

  Re: Deep Doo Doo

  Janet’s right, Molly. When I got in deep doo doo, ya’ll knew just what to do, and look at me now!!! The happiest woman on earth!!! We’ll figure it out.

  Belinda

  From: Joanna

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

  Re: Envious

  OH, I’m so ENVIOUS I could JUST DIE!!! I wish I could tell the nuns to go jump in the lake, and then I could hop on the first plane and come home!!!! Molly, just remember that your face and your body are famous all over Europe! There is NO REASON to believe Bea’s brother won’t fall head over heels in LOVE with you!!!! If he doesn’t, he’s not worth a second glance!!! Sorry, Bea. Nothing personal!

  Joanna

  From: Bea

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

  Re: Sam

  I agree with you a hundred percent, Joanna! Listen, there’s nothing that would make me happier than to have Molly for a sister-in-law!!!! Except maybe getting to turn Virginia loose. Dang, Rule Four is for the birds!!!

  Bea

  From: Molly

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

  Re: Us

  What would I do without you!

  Molly, feeling better already

  o0o

  Molly had been gone from Florence for two days and for Sam it felt like two years.

  He slammed shut the file folder and opened his desk drawer and picked it up Molly’s sketch for the thousandth time. He was no fool. What he was seeing was not a picture of a naked man but a nude study. It was art.

  Molly was good. And she was right: the unclothed human body didn’t belong merely in the bedroom. Done in good taste, it belonged in museums and art galleries and even on office walls.

  He put the sketch back into his drawer and buzzed his secretary.

  “Delores, get Carmondy down here.”

  It took Carmondy only five minutes to get to his boss’s office. He sat in the chair facing Samuel’s big desk and snapped open his briefcase.

  “You won’t need that.”

  “What’s up, boss?”

  “That painting in your office. I want to buy it.”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  “Everything can be had for a price. How much?”

  Carmondy wasn’t afraid of arguing with Samuel. His boss was bright, tough and hardworking, and he expected all his employees to be the same. But he also expected and encouraged them to use their own judgment and to speak their mind.

  Carmondy started to state again that the painting was not for sale, and then he took a closer look at Samuel’s face. It was as fierce and determined as ever, but it was also haunted, as if he were seeing a vision that he couldn’t quite believe.

  “You really wa
nt that painting, don’t you, Samuel?”

  “Yes. How much?”

  “Well, I’m going to be blunt with you.”

  “That’s what I expect.”

  “I’m crazy about it, but my wife Martha isn’t too taken with it. She won’t let me hang it at home, and to be honest with you, it doesn’t quite fit the image of a staid old bank—even draped in a curtain.” Carmondy chuckled. “You can have it for exactly what I paid for it.”

  “Done.”

  “I guess you’ll want to pick it up in the next day or two.”

  “I’ll send Wayne for it immediately.”

  o0o

  Wayne, Samuel’s sometime chauffeur and sometime housekeeper and all-the-time gofer, did his usual efficient job. By the time Samuel reached his apartment that evening, the painting of Molly was hanging on his bedroom wall.

  He tossed his briefcase onto a chair, loosened his tie and stretched out on his bed. Propping his hands behind his head, he studied the painting.

  Smiling down from the painting, Molly teased and taunted him. She made him feel good and kind and warm and generous. She made him feel strong and protective.

  He got up and began to pace, but every time he glanced at the painting, Molly hit him like a blow to the chest. He continued his restless pacing, wrestling with the problem, viewing it from all angles. As a businessman he was accustomed to looking for the bottom line, and the bottom line was simple: he was in love with Molly.

  He analyzed his options. An affair was logical. He could have Molly; and then when he came to his senses, they would both be free. He stopped beneath the painting and gazed at it, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could never let her go.

  “Do you know what you’ve done, Venus de Molly? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to this dyed-in-the-wool bachelor, this polite, scandal-avoiding citizen?”

  Wayne stuck his head around the door. “Did you call for anything, sir?”

  “No, Wayne. I’m just talking to myself.”