by Peggy Webb
The memories of those nights in Paris seared her mind. How he had made her tremble . . . just as he was now. She fought to hold on to her last shreds of control.
"Do you want the lights?" she whispered, hoping that would show him this was all a game to her.
"Yes. I want to see you ... all of you."
He moved his mouth over her erect nipple, wetting it through the thin layers of chiffon. She moaned, adrift in sensation."
"You get the lights," she murmured, too weak with pleasure to move.
When Sid left her, she sagged against the wall. He snapped on the bedside lamp, then found a radio station that played dreamy, made-for-loving music.
"I wish it were your music." The confession escaped before she could stop herself.
"I'll make music"—he lifted her and carried her to the bed—"with you," he added as he spread her across the covers.
His heart raced at the sight of her. She was impossibly perfect.
She held up her arms and he came to her. He contrasted starkly with her, his white uniform against her black dress, his sun-bronzed skin pressed close to her fair, his plain face next to her beautiful one, his big, rugged frame dwarfing her slender body. Only their passion was the same. It enslaved them.
Sid kissed her until his lips felt bruised and puffy. She was pliant under him, her body so slender, it felt fragile; and yet there was strength in the way she moved her hips, strength and a wild wantonness that made him long to rip aside her clothing and bury himself completely in her slick, satin flesh.
She dug her fingernails into his back. "Oh, please, Sid . . . please."
He levered himself off the bed and quickly removed his clothes. Rose Anne's eyes were huge as she watched him.
"You are magnificent," she whispered. "I had no idea a man would be that . . . huge."
He was too far gone for her words to register.
"It's all for you, all because of you." He lay down beside her, bracing himself on an elbow so he could see her face. "I want to undress you. Rose Anne." His free hand traced the neckline of her bodice, dipping downward to tease her nipples. "I want to unveil you slowly, as a goddess deserves. I want to see every inch of your exquisite body."
He played with her nipples until she was moaning softly. "I want to see what I do to you," he whispered.
"You make me crazy . . . mad as a hatter . . . mindless." He skimmed his hand lower, across her belly, and she arched against him.
He felt the warmth of her skin through her silk chiffon dress. Moving his hand back and forth, he caressed her, silk against satin. It was not enough. He had to see her; he had to touch her, all of her.
He unfastened the wide beaded belt that cinched her tiny waist. She arched as he drew it off and tossed it onto a bedside chair. Her soft gown fell away from one shoulder. With one finger Sid pushed it down. Her left breast came into view. Awed by the creamy perfection, the lush ripeness, he stared at her. The nipple peaked and hardened under his watchful gaze. Shivers rippled through her and puckered her skin.
"You do that to me," she said, her eyes wide and bright. "Sometimes, just thinking about you is enough."
Sid felt as if he had been crowned king of some faraway country. Love for her swelled through his heart until he could no longer contain it.
Bending down, he slowly lowered her bodice, his voice rich and musical as poetry spilled from his soul. When she was bare to the waist, he stroked her, mesmerizing her with his magic touch and his golden tongue.
She felt as if she were flying. She arched into his hands.
"Please," she whispered. "Please."
"To know you is to know a perfect thing, heaven come down to earth, full of grace and charm, wrapped in a body so lush that even Venus blushes with envy."
He kissed her shoulder, the hollow of her throat, the gentle swell of her breast. Blindly she reached for his hair, guiding him toward her straining nipple. His mouth closed over it, and she made soft humming sounds of pleasure. He sucked her breasts until she was mindless with passion. She writhed under him, kicking at her restraining skirts.
"A while yet let me suckle here," he murmured, "this divine nectar, fit for princes and kings."
"Touch me . . . oh, please, touch me ... all over."
He drew her breast deeply into his mouth for one last sweet taste, then slowly stripped away her dress. She had long since tumbled the pins from her hair, and she lay before him, a golden goddess, her long hair spread across the pillows and her body lush and ripe and bare except for a tiny wisp of lace around her hips.
He touched her stomach lightly with one index finger, drawing lazy circles on her silky skin and watching the way her eyes widened with pleasure.
"I will sip here ..." His finger skimmed lower. "And here . . ." He brushed away the bit of lace until his hand found what he sought. "And here."
She was sweetly swollen, and as she called his name he bent his head to her. White-hot sensations coiled in her loins and rippled outward. Instinctively she tangled her hands in his hair, drawing him closer, guiding him to the core of her pleasure.
What she had felt in Paris had been wonderful, and what she had known in Africa had been exquisite, but who could dream heaven? She glided. She soared. She flew straight into the face of the burning sun and felt its heat consume her. The flames grew hotter and hotter until she was clinching against the heat, crying out Sid's name, over and over. She flung her arms outward and grabbed the sheet, hanging on as the spasms of sensation ripped at her.
Sweat beaded her upper lip and dampened the hair at her temples. When she slumped back, limp and drained, Sid lifted himself on his elbows and gazed down at her flushed face.
"Sid," she whispered, breathless with satisfaction and wonder, her plan no more than a forgotten dream.
Her eyes shone, her lips were softly pouted, and her skin glowed. She was so beautiful, he almost couldn't bear to look. He closed his eyes in reverence.
"Is something wrong?" she whispered.
"No, fair one. Everything is so perfect, I think I must be dreaming."
She raked her fingernails softly across his chest, then slowly downward. Her eyes widened when she wrapped her hands around him. Satin- covered steel.
He groaned. "Touch me. Rose Anne. Touch me."
He covered her hand and guided it up and down his shaft. His eyes blazed at her with an unholy light.
Ripples of sensation started deep inside her once more and grew until she was reaching for him, crying out his name.
He levered himself over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head to hold back his weight. She felt the size of him, hot and hard against her thighs, and she arched to meet him.
"You are so slender," he whispered, "so fragile. I don't want to hurt you."
"You can never hurt me," she said with a gasp. She was frantic now with wanting.
He was gentle with her, entering slowly. She tightened instinctively. Suddenly Sid stiffened.
"Rose Anne?" he said.
She lay still against the sheets, waiting.
Anguish and regret colored Sid's face as he withdrew.
"Don't," she whispered. "Please don't."
"You're a virgin." There was awe in his voice.
"Is that a sin?"
"It's a miracle." He raked his hands through his hair. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it doesn't matter. I'll lose my virginity when and where I please. I don't recall needing to ask anybody's permission."
"You're on the pill?"
She colored. How could she have been so stupid? Of course she wasn't on the pill.
"I assumed you would be . . . ready for this sort of thing," she whispered, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.
"I'm equipped with many things, but not built-in birth control."
She supposed a modern woman would send him down to the nearest all-night drugstore, or, better yet, hop out of bed and go herself. She guessed she wasn't a very modern woman.
Sid ben
t over her, looking into her eyes, and the silence stretched out until it fairly hummed. He brushed her damp hair back from her face.
"Don't think I don't want you. It's taking every bit of the willpower I possess to keep from plunging into you and taking what I want."
With exquisite care he drew the sheet over her. She clutched it to her chin.
Tenderly he kissed her eyebrows, her cheeks, her lips.
"I'm not prepared to deflower a virgin. Rose Anne."
"I don't care."
"Yes, you do. When you wake up in the morning, you'll be glad we didn't go through with this."
"I think I hate you more than I've ever hated any man in my life."
"That will do for starters . . . good, strong emotion." He loosened her fingers from the sheet and lifted her hand to his mouth. One by one he kissed the tips of her fingers, then he turned her hand over and kissed her palm. There was no tongue, no erotic teasing, just old-fashioned respect.
Her defenses almost toppled. She almost made untimely confessions of love.
Still holding her hand, he gazed deeply into her eyes. "Make no mistake about it, Rose Anne. I will be the one to pierce your maidenhead. But when I do, you will call it lovemaking, not sex. When we come together, it will be because you love me as much as I love you."
He truly was an officer and a gentleman. His wisdom and gallantry made her feel shame.
"Please leave," she whispered.
"I'll go . . . for now. But tomorrow I'll be back."
He kissed her cheek once more, then got off the bed and began to dress. She shut her eyes, praying he would hurry, praying he would get through the door before she made a fool of herself and begged him to stay.
She heard his footsteps as he crossed the room. She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from calling him back.
In the doorway he paused. "I love you. Rose Anne."
He stood tense, waiting. She remained silent, and the door closed softly behind him.
Chapter Nine
The flowers arrived early the next morning. Still puffy-eyed from crying. Rose Anne looked at the card. "I know how you love white roses, fair one. Please accept these with my deepest apologies. I'll pick you up for lunch and we'll talk. Love, Sid."
Love. She was learning to loathe the word. Rose Anne tore the card to pieces, then threw the roses into the garbage can.
"Room service," a voice said through her door.
After the bellboy left. Rose Anne sat beside the window, staring at her breakfast. She didn't even know why she had ordered It. She wasn't hungry.
The perfume of white roses filled her nostrils. Still feeling tearful and droopy, she plucked one out of the garbage can and held it against her cheek.
"Damn you, Sid Granger. Why did you make me fall in love?"
o0o
Sid stood at the front desk of Rose Anne's hotel, refusing to believe what he was hearing.
"There must be some mistake. Will you check again?"
"Certainly, Commander Granger." The desk clerk riffled through his records, looking rattled. The navy provided him with a lot of business. He certainly didn't want to anger a high-ranking officer. "I'm sorry, sir.. The lady has checked out.'
"Do you know when she left?"
"Early this morning, I believe. Around eight o'clock."
Sid got into his car and drove back to the base. He would find Rose Anne if he had to travel to the ends of the earth—again.
o0o
By the time she got to Atlanta, Rose Anne had stopped crying and started thinking. It was funny how you couldn't cry and think at the same time, she mused as she watched the runway come into view. She wondered if you could feel and think at the same time. All she had done lately was feel and react.
It was time to turn over a new leaf ... if she could just figure out which leaf to turn over. She smiled. Sid had said that in Paris.
Just thinking his name made her want him. It was time to decide why she wanted him and what she was going to do about it.
Bitsy met her at the airport. Her mouth tightened, but she didn't ask any questions until they were in the car going to Rose Anne's apartment.
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to guess?"
"I saw Sid Granger."
"Well, I hope you told him a thing or two."
"I did."
"Good."
"I told him to make love to me and even took him to my hotel room, but when he discovered that I'd never been with a man, he wouldn't go through with it."
For once in her life Bitsy was shocked into silence.
"I've got to face everything, Auntie, the truth about myself, the truth about Sid . . . everything."
"Any man with that much self-control can't be all bad."
"Certainly he's not all bad. He's not all good either. I was his pawn in Paris . . . and now he says he loves me, that he always loved me. I don't know what to think or even what to feel anymore. I made two bad choices and I'm terrified of making a third."
Bitsy patted her hand. "We'll take a little vacation, just you and Charlie and me. Down to the Bahamas. Or maybe over to Hilton Head. We've been talking about getting away somewhere quiet so we can plan the wedding."
Rose Anne smiled. "You're a saint. Did I ever tell you that?"
"No. But I think being a sinner is much more fun."
They laughed together.
"You and Charlie are having fun, huh?"
"Fun won't even begin to describe it. I didn't know life could be so delicious."
They left the car and the bags with the well- trained staff, and went upstairs to Rose Anne's apartment. Bitsy went straight to the kitchen.
"I'm going to fix you some hot tea with lemon."
"Please bring some cookies too."
Bitsy paused in the doorway and studied her niece. "Cookies? You're breaking your diet?"
Rose Anne sank to the sofa and kicked off her shoes. "I'm getting out. Auntie. Maybe not permanently. I don't know yet." She raked her hands through her long hair. "All I know is that I've been in this business too long. I think I'm warped."
"You're not warped, honey." Bitsy sat down beside her and patted her hand. "You're just tired."
"Modeling is almost like being in a convent. I've been isolated and insulated. I don't know how to deal with real problems, real people."
"Lord knows I'm not arguing with you, honey. With what you've made you'd never have to work again if you didn't want to. All I'm saying is be very sure of what you want."
"That's what I'm going to find out."
o0o
Sid didn't have any trouble locating Rose Anne. All he had to do was call Senator Montfort from Kentucky, who called Senator Wyland from Georgia.
Three days after Rose Anne had left Norfolk, he was in Atlanta. His spirits were high as he maneuvered the rental car through the late afternoon traffic toward her apartment. Flying Tomcats was easier.
When he arrived he straightened his tie, smoothed his hair, and grabbed the flowers. A dozen white roses. He'd picked them up at a florist shop near the airport.
She was not there, the apartment manager told him. Her apartment was listed to be sublet for a year.
A year. Sid was desperate.
"Do you know where she is?"
"I'm sorry, sir. Even if I knew, I'm not allowed to tell you that."
"What about her mail? Didn't she leave a forwarding address?"
"I'm sorry, sir."
Sid found Bitsy Rucker and Charles Lazarre listed in the telephone directory. Bitsy wasn't home, but Charlie finally agreed to meet him.
In the restaurant, waiting, Sid stared across the street at a billboard advertising Rapture perfume—one hundred twenty-eight square feet of Rose Anne, and every inch gorgeous.
"She's in seclusion," Charlie said as he slid into a chair at Sid's table. "And I'm not going to tell you where she is." He mopped his brow with a purple striped handkerchief. "I wouldn't even be here if I weren't such a
n old softie."
"I have to find her."
"Why?"
"Because I love her."
Charlie gave that some thought while the waitress poured two cups of coffee. After he had stirred in cream and sugar, he leaned on his elbows and frowned at Sid.
"If you weren't a commander in the U.S. Navy, I would probably doubt your word, but somehow I believe you."
"Then you'll tell me where she is?"
"No. But I'll tell her you came looking."
Sid pulled a napkin from the holder and began to write. When he had finished, he folded it once and handed it to Charlie.
"Will you give her this?"
o0o
Rose Anne sat in a swing on the front porch of a white frame farmhouse she was renting in north Georgia. When she first saw Sid's note, written on a paper napkin, she almost cried.
Reading the note, she set the swing in motion while Charlie and Bitsy watched her reaction.
"What does he say?"
"Now, Bits. That's none of our business."
"You better believe it's our business. If he hurts her again, I want you to shoot him, Charlie."
Charlie grinned. "I see that being Rose Anne’s uncle is going to be somewhat more difficult than being her manager."
Rose Anne looked up. "He says he loves me and that he'll find me if it takes the rest of his life."
Bitsy studied her niece. "Do you love him?"
"I love his music, his poetry, his passion. I love the way he makes me laugh and the way he makes me feel." The swing idled to a stop, and she shoved off again. "But I don't know if I love him, Auntie ... or even if I can forgive him. There is so much misunderstanding between us."
"Well . . . you can always fly up to Norfolk and find out if you want to."
"He and his squadron have been deployed." Rose Anne refolded the note and tucked it inside her bodice, next to her heart. "He's on a carrier in the Mediterranean."
o0o
Sometimes the water was the color of Rose Anne's eyes, so impossibly green, it seemed unreal. Sid stood on the deck of the carrier. The Mediterranean stretched endlessly around him, as if nothing existed except the sea and the ship of sailors it rocked in its bosom.
