Savannah Scarlett

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  She really was and he knew it. She wasn’t just making a play for him, teasing him. There was far too much terror in her voice. Even Mary Scarlett wasn’t that good an actress.

  Everything seemed out of kilter to Mary Scarlett. What was she doing here? Where exactly was she? There was someone in the bed with her, someone she trusted. That meant it couldn’t be Raul. Who then? She was certain that Raul had been here with her, threatening her, only minutes before.

  Raul is dead. She had heard someone tell her that. But how could that be? If he was really dead, how could he be here? How could he have come through the bedroom window? How could he have touched her the way he did?

  “Hold me,” she whispered. “I’m scared.”

  The arms that closed around her were strong and protective. She snuggled close, breathing more easily. His body felt warm against hers. Even the prickly feeling of his chest hair against her breasts was reassuring. Raul had kept his body smoothly shaved. She pressed closer into him, sliding her right leg between his. The intimate contact sent a warm shiver through her.

  “Mary Scarlett?” His breath teased her cheek when he spoke.

  “Hm-m-m,” she murmured, feeling drugged with weariness and with his nearness. She found his mouth and rubbed her lips softly against his.

  He touched her breast. Gently. So gently that afterward she wondered if she had imagined the sensation. Maybe she’d only moved slightly in his arms, making the sheer bodice of her nightgown slide against her nipple. No! There it was again. The light stroke of his fingertips. She arched her back, moving her body closer to his. She slid her right leg slowly up and down between his hugging knees.

  The next sensation she felt was indeed the slide of silk against her flesh. He eased the strap of her gown down from her shoulder. When he touched her breast again, there was no barrier between her flesh and his. He pressed his palm against her, then slowly stroked to the very tip of her nipple with his fingers.

  She sighed and a shiver ran through her.

  “It’s been a long time, darlin’,” he whispered.

  “A dozen lifetimes,” she answered.

  “Kiss me?”

  Mary Scarlett shifted her body upward to reach his mouth again. Her lips moist and parted, she covered his. He seemed to be holding his breath as she teased at his mouth with the tip of her tongue. While they kissed, his hands played at her breasts, sending little licks of flame all through her.

  Bolt eased the other strap of her gown over her shoulder. She sat up for a moment to let the cobwebby fabric slither to her waist. He held her in that position, staring up at the moonlight silvering her bare breasts. She could see the gleam in his eyes when he looked at her.

  “You’re as beautiful as ever, Mary Scarlett. As tender and sweet as I remember.” He raised up and caught her about the waist, burying his face against her breasts. “God, I’ve missed you!”

  Mary Scarlett wasn’t sure what to do. She wanted to pull away, but how could she? Bolt would never understand. She hadn’t been able to tell him how it was with Raul. Bolt wanted to make love. She knew that. She wanted it, too. But she wasn’t sure she could. Kissing, touching, holding each other—all that felt wonderful. Yet somehow she knew that anything more would send her over the edge. Raul had been a cruel lover, heartless and sadistic. She still felt his taint. She still feared the act as much as she longed for it.

  Sensing something amiss, Bolt said, “I don’t want to rush you, darlin’. Tell me if you want me to go.”

  She gripped him tighter, her fear of being alone overriding her fear of making love. “No! Stay, please, Bolt!”

  He nuzzled her breast and sighed. “Gladly, darlin’, gladly.”

  Bolt eased Mary Scarlett back down on the pillows. He leaned over her, kissing her breasts, making her writhe with need. As her body moved, Bolt slipped her gown lower, until it circled her hips. He slid his left hand underneath, stroking her ever so gently. He remembered her body well. He knew exactly the spot that aroused her to the brink of madness. Leaning over her, kissing her deeply, he continued the teasing fondling. Mary Scarlett went hot, then cold all over.

  Shoving him away, she cried, “Bolt, no!”

  He rolled to the other side of the bed, looking stunned and hurt. “What the hell did I do?”

  “Nothing,” she sobbed. “Nothing wrong, anyway. It felt wonderful, Bolt.”

  “Then why are you crying?” He made a move to take her back into his arms but she recoiled from his touch. “Why did you push me away?”

  “It’s not you. It’s Raul.”

  “He’s dead. Mary Scarlett! You know that as well as I do. I told you I don’t mean to push you and I meant that sincerely. It’s been only a few months. Damn! I really feel like a heel. You’re still mourning your dead husband and I’m already putting moves on you. I’m sorry, really sorry, Mary Scarlett.”

  Her laugh was almost hysterical. “Mourning him? Would I mourn the death of the devil himself?”

  “I don’t get it, Mary Scarlett. If that’s not the problem, what is?”

  She struggled to a sitting position, taking no note of the fact that her gown was still down around her hips and her breasts were peaked with the desire that Bolt had aroused in her. Leaning toward him, she let her hair hide her face. It was easier that way.

  “Raul was not a gentle lover,” she began uncertainly. “He delighted in terrorizing me. We had separate bedrooms, all part of his sport. He must have known that I’d lie awake every night, terrified that he’d come to me and demand his rights as my husband.”

  “What did he do to you, Mary Scarlett?” Bolt’s question seethed with quiet rage.

  In answer, she shook her head. “I can’t tell you that. I could never look at you again if you knew.”

  Bolt’s chin sagged to his chest. Mary Scarlett heard him expel a long, angry breath. “Why didn’t you leave him?” he asked at length.

  “He never gave me a chance. I was totally dependent on him. He provided everything I needed except a way out. I had no money, no friends, he even took my passport and locked it away. When that bull gored him, God help me, it was the happiest day of my life. I was free at last!” She sniffed back more tears. “At least I thought I was. But life with Raul changed me, Bolt. I’m not the same person you loved eight years ago. I’m not sure I’ll ever be myself again.”

  “What are we going to do, Mary Scarlett?”

  She brushed her hair back over her shoulders and smiled sadly at him. “Be patient with me. Take things slow. And, please, don’t marry Kathleen until I find myself again.”

  Not even thinking, Bolt reached out and drew her into his arms. She didn’t pull away.

  “It feels good, the way you hold me, Bolt. And the way you kiss me,” she whispered.

  He did kiss her then, but with great tenderness. She could feel him holding back, not wanting to frighten her again. When he cupped her breast and she felt a quiver of pleasure, she smiled. Maybe things would be all right after all. As long as Bolt was here to protect her.

  Suddenly she stiffened in his arms. What about when she moved back to the house on Bull Street? What would happen to her once she was all alone? Would Raul continue to torment her from the grave?

  Six

  Kathleen O’Shea had hung up the “CLOSED” sign and was locking the door of the real estate office when the phone started ringing.

  “Damnation! Who could that be?”

  She thought about ignoring it. Anyone who waited till this late on a Friday afternoon didn’t deserve to get an answer; they could talk to the machine. Her parents were coming for dinner and she needed to get home and start the fire for the steaks. Never one to leave loose ends dangling, however, she grudgingly unlocked the door and grabbed the receiver on the seventh ring.

  “I’m sorry. We’re closed for the day.”

  “Hey, Kathleen. Am I glad I caught you! This is Allen.”

  With an exaggerated sig
h of relief, she said, “Thank God you’re not a client I could just see myself having to cancel my hair appointment tomorrow to show a house, then turning up at your party looking like a hag.”

  “P-shaw, gal! You couldn’t look like a hag if you had a backstage pass to a Halloween house of horrors.”

  “Ah-h-h! Compliments! I like!” Allen wanted a favor, she could tell.

  “Listen, hon, I know it’s late, but I need a big favor.”

  Kathleen grinned. She knew it. “Like how big a favor? Don’t tell me Mrs. Hampstead came home unexpectedly and kicked you out of her house and you need to borrow a mansion to throw your party tomorrow night.”

  “Sh-h-h! Don’t even think such a thing. You’re the only one who knows about that, Katie-my-darlin’, and mum’s the word.”

  “What then? Make it fast. I’ve really got to get home, Allen.”

  “Well, to get right to the point, the favor is party-oriented. And I feel like a total jerk waiting this late to call you. I mean it’s not like you’re a last resort or anything. I simply forgot that I need a hostess. Someone to stand beside me, laugh at my jokes, and look utterly gorgeous. I know no one who could do a greater job of it. Please, Katie?”

  Kathleen arched an eyebrow. Something was fishy here. “I thought you meant for Bolt to bring me,” she reminded him.

  “Oh, tha-that.” Allen always stuttered slightly when he was caught in a lie. “Well, you see, with Mary Scarlett back in town, I just assumed that he would have to bring her. Somehow I can’t see you tagging along like it was a three-legged sack race.”

  “You’ve got that right, my friend.”

  “Let’s be honest, Kathleen.”

  “Yes, let’s,” she urged. “The truth, Allen. Out with it!” He sighed into the phone. “God, how I hate telling the truth! But here goes. I want to make them jealous—totally pea-green with envy.”

  “Because you’re green with envy that Bolt’s bringing Mary Scarlett.”

  “Aren’t you, Katie darlin’? The whole truth, remember?”

  “Oh, I suppose I am,” she admitted. “But it’s your fault, you toad! You made me think Bolt meant to invite me.”

  “One can always hope. And I do apologize, providing that you promise not to call me a toad in front of my guests. I need to make an outstanding impression on everyone tomorrow night.”

  “Everyone meaning Mary Scarlett, of course.”

  “Well, wouldn’t that suit your purposes, too, love? If I manage to worm my way back into Mary Scarlett’s affections, that would put Bolt on the market again.”

  “He’s not off the market, as far as I know. He just doesn’t want Mary Scarlett to feel awkward tomorrow night. After all, this will be sort of her second coming out party. And she has a lot of gossip to face.”

  “Mary Scarlett? Feel awkward? Come on, Katie darlin’, who are you trying to kid? The young widow Miguel will be in all her glory tomorrow night. That’s why I need you by my side. Will you do it for me, hon? I’ll owe you.”

  Kathleen sighed, then answered, “Big time!”

  “Fabulous, Katie! I knew I could count on you. You’re a real buddy.”

  “No, I’m not, Allen. I’m in this for myself and don’t you forget it. Mary Scarlett wrecked Bolt’s life once. I mean to see that she doesn’t do it again. If preventing that means I have to throw in my lot with the likes of you, I’ll even stoop to that.”

  “Gee, Kathleen, I love you, too.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Allen. I wish you all the best in this quest of yours. You and Mary Scarlett deserve each other. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  Kathleen hung up before he could respond. When she did, she was shaking all over. She might have tried to defend Bolt’s actions to Allen, but that was only for show. Until Overman called, she’d figured the game was all over for her. The clock had run out. But, surprise, surprise! There was still some time left, time enough to score. Bolt Conrad was the game ball. And she meant to have him, by fair play or foul!

  Saturday morning dawned cool and misty. As she gazed out over the fog-shrouded river Mary Scarlett realized that the weather mirrored her mood exactly. She had suffered another nightmare during the night. Bolt had once more come to her rescue—sleeping with her, but keeping his distance. Neither of them had slept much, although they had done a good job of faking it. Around five she had finally given in to frustration and exhaustion.

  Before she even opened her eyes, she had known that Bolt was gone. His scent and warmth still lingered, but the man himself had left at dawn. She had been vaguely aware when he rose and slipped out quietly, trying not to disturb her. She had slept lightly after that, wary every moment of Raul’s ghost returning to stalk her. Now, in the gray drizzle of the washed-out morning, she felt limp and tired and disappointed that Bolt had made no move during her hysteria, frightened off by her reaction a few nights ago.

  A soft knock at the door dragged her out of her dull brown thoughts.

  “Coffee’s ready,” Bolt called from the hallway. “May I come in?”

  Realizing she was naked, she said, “Just a minute,” then pulled on her robe. The stark morning light required more modesty than the cover of darkness. “All right,” she answered. “I’m decent.”

  Bolt came in silently, he, too, wearing only his robe. Carefully he set the Spode cup and saucer on the bedside table. “You take it black, as I remember.”

  She smiled at him almost shyly. “I’ll bet you also remembered that I like Luzianne with chicory.”

  Bolt shrugged, tried to smile at her, but it faded before it took hold. “Is there any other kind in Savannah?”

  She patted the side of the bed, inviting him to sit down. He ignored her gesture and remained standing, looking awkward as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

  “Looks like March means to go out like a lion,” he said, gazing out the window, trying not to look at Mary Scarlett. “Not a very good day.”

  “No worse than last night,” she answered softly. “Bolt, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I guess my nerves are just shot. Don’t you worry, though. I’ll be okay.”

  “About last night?” Bolt hesitated, seeming reluctant to go on.

  “I’m sorry,” Mary Scarlett whispered again, lowering her eyes.

  “You’ve no need to be. Anyway, I meant about Raul. You don’t really believe he’s still alive, do you?”

  She shook her head. “Only in my nightmares. But I refuse to let him haunt me any longer. I’ve made a decision, Bolt. I want to go to the house today.”

  He reached out and touched her shoulder. “Mary Scarlett, are you sure? You don’t have to rush this. You know you can stay here as long as you like.”

  She looked up at him and smiled sadly. “I know that and I appreciate it, Bolt. But the longer I stay, the more dependent I’ll become. You don’t need that and neither do I. While I was married to Raul, I let him control me completely. I can’t allow that to happen again, not ever.”

  “You know I’d never try to control you, Mary Scarlett.” Bolt sounded hurt, almost guilty, but not angry. The white picket fence around the house he had built for her flashed through his mind. Wasn’t fencing her in the same as trying to control her?

  She reached up and took his hand. “Bolt, I need to go to the house. I won’t be able to move in for a time, not until it’s been cleaned and put in order. But I can’t face the people at Allen’s party tonight unless I have the courage to face my old home first. You’ll go with me, won’t you?”

  He nodded. “You know I will, if you’re determined.”

  “It’s something I have to do.”

  Bolt turned toward the door. “There’s cereal and fruit in the kitchen. Milk in the fridge. I’ll get dressed while you have some breakfast. We’ll go as soon as you’re ready.”

  A shiver passed through Mary Scarlett, but she smiled and said, “Thank you, Bolt.”

  Before
she could change her mind, she forced herself into action. She pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt, then gave the rumpled bed a lick and a promise.

  While she was eating her breakfast and drinking more coffee, she kept telling herself it would be all right. Any ghosts that still inhabited the old place on Bull Street were family spirits, after all. They wouldn’t take kindly to a Spanish bullfighter invading their territory. And how could he come, if she refused to think about him? With a determined effort, she put Raul out of her mind.

  “Ready, Mary Scarlett?” Bolt said from the kitchen door.

  She turned and gave him an overly bright smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

  A short time later, Bolt pulled the CRX into the old carriage drive beside the Bull Street house. The wind and rain had tossed wisteria blossoms all over the front lawn, turning it to a patchwork of lavender and green. The heavy vine that clung to the front of the house groaned in the brisk gusts under its weight of flowers and leaves. Azaleas—pink, fuschia, coral, and white—all but smothered the veranda and stairs. The whole front of the place looked like the Mad Hatter’s Easter chapeau.

  Mary Scarlett stepped out of the car and climbed up on the old carriage block, remembering how Granny Boo had told her that in the old days ladies always alighted from their traps by way of this square of North Georgia marble. She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking that contact with the block might bring on another of her time-travel episodes. But nothing moved and no strange voices called to her. When she looked again she could see only the tangled mass of the grounds around the house.

  “I’ll need a yard service first thing,” Mary Scarlett noted aloud. “God, it reminds me of an overgrown grave at Bonaventure.”

  “Pleasant thoughts only, darlin’,” Bolt reminded her gently. He chuckled. “Remember how you used to hide behind that big white azalea bush over there and wait for me to deliver the paper?”

  She turned on him, her eyes blazing blue fire, but a devilish smile on her face. “I never told you about that.”