by Diana Palmer
“Now,” he whispered, “lie down and let me excite you. And then I’ll let you take me, the way you started to earlier.” He eased her onto her back, smiling. “It’s exciting for a man, to be taken by his woman. And you are that,” he breathed as he bent to her taut breasts. “You are, very definitely, my woman.”
She felt his open mouth on the swelling rise of her body with a sense of fatality. She couldn’t imagine ever letting another man touch her this way, possess her this way. He was every woman’s dream of what a lover should be, tender and demanding and wildly exciting to make love to. He kissed her all over, in ways and places that shocked her, and all the while he whispered to her, whispered intimate things that he was going to do, ways of pleasing her that made her tingle with expectation.
When she was crying aloud with the tormented, exquisite pleasure of wanting him, he shifted onto his back and lifted her over him. And helped her.
The feeling was almost painfully exquisite. And he watched her, and laughed even through his raging desire for her, his eyes possessive on the rise and fall of her slender, exquisite body, her breasts swollen and hard-tipped as his hands reached up to touch their warm beauty.
“I never wanted...a woman...so much,” he whispered huskily. “Jolana,” he groaned, holding her hips with his big hands, shifting her. “Like...that, baby.”
“Yes,” she whispered, shaken, “I love you,” she told him on a sharp breath, her eyes black with passion as she rocked softly. Her hands held his to her body. “Help...me.”
“Now,” he murmured, knowing the signs. His body rose with expert sureness, and he guided her. “Don’t be afraid...to let it happen. I can...make it happen. Like this...yes, now...”
She followed his lead, doing what he told her, and he watched it happen for her, watched her eyes dilate, her body arch and shudder, her throat stretch as she cried out his name and her nails dug into his body. And then, finally, he knew he could lose control of himself and feel her around and over and consuming him. He gave himself freely for the first time to something he’d never experienced before. Always, he’d held back at the last minute. His mind had refused to participate fully in lovemaking. But now, he relinquished control entirely, and his own body throbbed and burst and flew up into the sky, and he heard himself cry out helplessly, his voice deep and splintered, echoing in the sudden silence of the room. He seemed almost to lose consciousness then, the rigidity actually painful until that, too, vanished. He cried out something and then he collapsed, and she cried from the beauty of what they’d shared.
It wasn’t until much later that Jolana realized how careless they’d been. Of course, the odds were that she would not get pregnant. At any rate, it was past time to worry about it now.
“Jolana,” he whispered, holding her close. “Jolana, it was so beautiful. So beautiful. Adore mio, che bella. Che bella!”
“You said something,” she murmured. “At the last. I didn’t understand.”
“It’s just as well,” he laughed softly. “It was something explicit and not too nice. I thought I was going to die.”
“So did I, actually.” She nuzzled close with her whole silky body. “Oh, Nick, Nick, I never realized, never imagined, that it would feel like that to make love with a man. I don’t think I could stay alive if you never wanted me again.”
“I’ll want you all my life,” he said softly, and as he looked at her he suddenly felt the words, felt the truth in them. She was glorious, God, she was! There had never been anything like what they’d shared tonight, not even with Margery. That sounded traitorous, so he dismissed it. But he had an empty life to face, and Jolana was beautiful. Intelligent. Talented. He needed someone and he had finally found her. “Maybe we’ll have each other that long, too. But right now I have to go back to the apartment.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight.” He reached down and kissed her softly, warmly. “I have to think. Maybe, soon, I might want you to live with me. How would you feel about that, independent lady?”
“You mean, get married?” Her eyes adored him.
“Yes,” he said quietly, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. “Yes, I mean get married.”
“Would you make love to me all the time?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
Her arms reached up. “In that case, I guess it would be all right.” She buried her face in his neck, floating on pure joy, so happy that she felt nothing life ever offered her would equal this, now. He cared. He had to care, to be so tender and concerned about giving her pleasure. She sighed gently, giving in to drowsiness. Yes, there would be a future for them. And she’d make sure that he never regretted the commitment.
The next morning, he was gone, and she felt exhausted from pleasure. She showered and put on slacks and an overblouse before she went to work on the painting of Nick. Now she could do it so much better than before. Now she could put so much love into it...
She’d expected him to come, or call, but by afternoon when there was no word, she picked up the phone and called his office. His secretary seemed concerned when Jolana asked where he was. Mr. Scarpelli had phoned earlier, she told Jolana, and said he’d be out of the office for a couple of days, because of a family problem.
Jolana put the phone back down gently and chewed on her lower lip. Had something happened to his mother? She dialed his apartment and waited impatiently. Seconds later, a voice she recognized lifted the receiver.
“Hello?” Margery’s thin voice asked politely. “Who’s there, please?”
Margery. In Nick’s apartment. So that was his “family problem”! Jolana put the phone down slowly and started to cry with mingled rage and frustration.
Surely, there was an explanation, she told herself. Surely there was...! But the evening passed without a word, and she spent a long, sleepless night praying Nick would call and tell her he loved her.
Nick, meanwhile, was in torment. He’d gone back to his apartment from Jolana’s arms, looking forward to a wildly satisfying future, and found Margery waiting for him with her young son, Tom.
She’d rushed into his arms, weeping hysterically. “Oh, Nick, he threw me out,” she wailed. “I had no place else to go. Your mama gave me her spare key to your apartment and I took Tommy and we came here. I hope you don’t mind... Oh, Nick, I’m so sick, so sick. He broke the little china doll you gave me when I graduated from high school. He said... I never loved him and that I only cared for you, and if I wanted to leave, there was the door. He was drinking...”
“All right, honey,” he’d said softly, stroking her hair while his dreams turned to dust. “It’s all right. You know I’ll take care of you.”
And she’d relaxed then, clinging as she always had, while Tommy stood apart looking lost and frightened and hurt. After he’d settled Margery and the boy, he’d gone out for a long walk, trying to ease his conscience. He shouldn’t have started anything with Jolana. Not feeling the way he did about Margery. But now Margery was leaving her husband, and he could have her, just as he’d wanted her for so many years. He closed his eyes against the cold wind. Yes, he’d wanted her. But now she seemed a pale shadow beside the image of Jolana. He’d never expected what had happened between them earlier that night. He’d wanted only a brief affair with Jolana, to get her out of his system. But it had turned into something much more. He loved her. But it was too late. His obsession with Margery had finally gained him what he thought he wanted. And now that he had it, he was more unhappy than he’d ever been.
There was still Jolana to tell, and that was going to be an agony in itself. He was too honorable to throw Margery out into the streets, and too proud to tell Jolana the truth. So he’d have to go to the woman he truly loved and make her hate him, so that he could cope with the woman he had. Fate was cruel, he thought. He wondered why he hadn’t seen years ago what a clinging, helpless vine Margery really was. What a contrast to Jola
na, who was headstrong and independent and full of fire, who could make his blood run hot when she smiled. He almost groaned aloud. If only he could turn back the clock and make Margery see that what they had had together years ago had died, but neither of them had realized it. Margery belonged with Andrew—poor Andrew, who’d had Nick thrown in his face for ten years now. Jolana had said that, and Nick hadn’t listened. Now he wished he had. But it was too late. He sighed, feeling the cold wind in his hair. Later, he told himself. In a day or two, when he might be able to tell her without his voice breaking, he would go to Jolana.
CHAPTER SIX
ONLY TWO DAYS had passed, but Jolana felt as if it had been an eternity since Nick had gone. When the doorman announced that he was downstairs, she waited for him, calm and empty and expecting the worst. She’d given him all the love she had to give. And she didn’t need to ask why he was coming here, not when Margery had answered the phone at his apartment. She knew already that it was over. She was only bitterly curious about how he was going to end it.
She didn’t hold out her arms to him, as she would have done two mornings ago. She offered him coffee instead, and he shook his curly dark head, preoccupied. He dropped into an armchair. The suede jacket he wore was hanging open, and his white shirt was rumpled. He looked as if he’d hardly slept at all, yet it was late morning.
“Sit down. Please,” he added quietly.
It was a good thing that she did, because her knees felt weak. She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at him out of sad brown eyes.
“Well?” she asked with quiet pride.
He held his face in his hands, as if that would help his mind to function. He raised tormented eyes to hers. “Jolana, I said a lot of things the other night, and did a lot of things, that I’m sorry about. You see, Margery and I...” He fumbled to light a cigarette, and took a long draw of it while Jolana waited in an agony of impatience. He got up. “Margery and I, we got each other hot in the kitchen that night,” he said finally, turning away from the horrified look on her face, the shock. “I wanted her to the point of madness, and I couldn’t have her. So I had you instead. When I got home, she was there. She and Andrew are calling it quits. She and Tommy are staying with me now. I promised they could move in with me, that I’d take care of them.”
She laughed, but not out of humor. She laughed at the total absurdity of the situation. She sat there and laughed and laughed, her voice high-pitched and hysterical and building, until Nick realized what was wrong and slapped her lightly on the cheek.
“Stop,” he ground out, shaking her. “God, don’t make it any harder than it is!”
“Harder?” She wiped away the hysterical tears and tore away from him, still laughing from halfway across the room. “Harder? You leave here talking about marriage and come back telling me you’re moving in with another woman and her child?”
“I love her,” he growled, averting his eyes before she could see the truth in them. “I always have! Since we were kids. I’ve ached for her. And now, at last, she can be mine, don’t you understand?”
She forced herself to breathe calmly. “I understand, all right,” she said after a minute, and her eyes were accusing and dark with contempt. “I gave myself to you in love, in trust. If I’d known that it was all, all of it, because you were lusting after that woman, I’d have killed you first. Get out.”
His jaw tensed and he stared at her, tormented. “I’m sorry.”
“Is that supposed to make up for everything?” she asked with a cold smile. “Is it supposed to restore my pride and my self-respect? You used me, in the fullest sense of the word, and I let you. I’ll hate myself for that as long as I live. And I’ll hate you even longer.”
“I’m not proud of myself, Jolana,” he said. “I wish things had been different.”
She walked to the door and opened it, her chin up, her eyes glistening but steady. “It’s been an experience, Mr. Scarpelli. You’ll understand that I’d prefer to be alone now?”
He started toward the door and paused. “It won’t make any difference, to the exhibit.”
“I don’t care about the exhibit anymore,” she said. “And there’s something else I don’t want. Just a minute.”
She went into her studio and brought out the portrait she’d been doing of him. It was magnificent, even unfinished, flattering and obviously done by a woman deeply in love. She thrust it into his hands.
“Merry Christmas,” she said. “You can give it to Margery. Now get out!”
He actually winced. “Jolana...”
“Get out!” she screamed, hysteria finally winning out. She saw his face pale through a blur of hot tears. “Get out, get out, get out!”
He moved just a fraction and she slammed the door and locked it, bolted it, chained it.
“Jolana!” he called.
But she didn’t answer. He stared at the closed door in a desperate kind of quiet panic. He heard the sobbing behind the door and he wanted to do something violent. He leaned against the wall, trying to think of something, anything to comfort her. But what could he do? Margery had made a mess of everything. And he had made things even worse by telling that lie about Margery getting him stirred up in the kitchen at the party. It had been thinking about Jolana that had done that. He’d had to think about Jolana to bear the urgent kiss Margery had given him. Urgent. He almost laughed. Margery’s idea of passion was quiet kissing and comfortable sex. And today he’d killed any future he might have had with Jolana by telling her a deliberate lie. But he’d had to, he told himself. He couldn’t have allowed her to go through life mourning him, hoping for a new beginning. His dark eyes closed. He’d wanted to spare her any more grief. He’d wanted her to hate him so that she wouldn’t spend her life looking back. He’d promised to take care of Margery and the boy. He had no choice, no way out. He’d only wanted to spare Jolana the grief of knowing. And he’d caused her to have hysterics. Not only that...there was something worrying him, some nagging fear. It was too quiet in the apartment, and he was suddenly afraid. What if Jolana did something stupid? What if... His breath caught. She’d been so upset, and he knew that most of her strength was on the surface, a mask she wore to hide her vulnerability from people who didn’t know her. It was his own strength that had attracted her in the first place. What had he done to her while trying to spare her emotions?
He tapped at the door but she didn’t answer. Idiot, he thought, of course she wouldn’t! Not knowing it was him. What could he do? Call the police? What would he tell them? He turned away. Tony! He’d call Tony! Tony could get to her when he couldn’t. He stared at the painting in his hands as he waited for the elevator. That would have to go, he thought bitterly, turning his eyes away from the love he could see in every brushstroke, or he’d go mad remembering her. He sighed as he lifted his head. He knew without doubt that he’d just made the worst mistake of his life. Despite all his good intentions and noble ideals.
Jolana went into her bedroom and slammed that door, too, and took the phone off the hook. He was knocking on the outside door, but she put the pillow over her head so she wouldn’t hear it. Go away, she told him mentally as the tears burned hot in her eyes. Go away and leave me alone! She lay across the coverlet and cried until there was no emotion left in her.
She loved him. Nothing was going to change that. Not his treachery, or Margery’s triumph, or her own bitterness. Nothing would change what she felt. He’d taken her love and thrown it in her face, in the most horrible kind of way. She felt dirty. Unclean. As if she were no better than a common prostitute. She wanted to die.
For a long time, she lay there, thinking about the emptiness, about a world that held nothing for her. She’d done little else since she’d called Nick and Margery had answered the phone. She’d known all along, but she’d been holding out a tiny glimmer of hope that he might change his mind. She should have known better. She stared at the ceiling a
nd thought about how it would be not to hurt anymore. Not to ache for a man who didn’t love her. She got up and poured herself a drink. She gulped it down and had another. And another. And after a while, she began to wonder what it would feel like to give it all up and die.
To die. And afterward, she wouldn’t care that Nick didn’t love her. She wouldn’t care at all. She got to her feet, feeling very calm. She even knew how to do it. She had some tranquilizers in her medicine cabinet. There was more whiskey in the cupboard.
But that would be stupid. Nick wouldn’t care. Nobody would care. With a long, shaky sigh, she poured herself another drink and took just a couple of tranquillizers with it, just enough to help her sleep before she lost her mind with grief. She was so hurt and anguished and so alone. She knew only that life stretched ahead of her like an empty page that she could write nothing on. And without Nick, it would be forever empty. How would she live without him?
She began to get sleepy in a few minutes, finally! She felt herself drifting off quietly. Somewhere she thought she heard a pounding, but it was probably just her own heartbeat. Just that. She took a deep, slow breath and let it out. And knew nothing more.
Her nose hurt. She began to realize as she regained consciousness that there was a tube down it, and belching sounds coming from some loud machine nearby. She gagged, but she was held down, and then the machine was cut off and the tube removed slowly. Her throat hurt, her nose hurt, she felt very sick. All around her were lights and people in white. This, she thought, is a strange kind of heaven. Maybe it’s hell.
She turned her head and there was Tony, his face thin and white as paste as he watched. He came closer.
“Hey,” he said, trying to smile, “you okay?”
“Why am I here??” she asked faintly, and her eyes closed again.
The next time she came around, she was in a hospital bed with a plastic name tag around her wrist. She blinked and Tony was still there.
