Sacrifice

by Alexandrea Weis

  When he finally stopped, I was covered in sweat and my body was throbbing with satisfaction. I lay spent on the sheets below him as he placed his lips to my ear.

  “My turn,” he murmured against my skin.

  He turned me over onto my stomach and pulled my hips up to meet his. He kneeled behind me and ran his hand between my legs. He spread my legs apart and forced his fingers deep inside of me.

  I raised my head and gave a guttural cry as he teased my body once more into a renewed wave of desire. But before I could climax he stopped, and without warning, drove himself deep inside of me. I gasped with pleasure and surprise. He pulled out of me and entered me again and again.

  “Harder,” I called out into the darkness as I slammed my hips into his.

  David moaned as he responded to my demands by increasing the depth of each and every thrust.

  My body arched against his as the tension mounted inside of me. And just when I was about to beg him to stop, my body let go in one unforgiving jolt.

  I screamed with such abandon that it felt as if I had completely lost control. Then David’s arms tightened around me.

  “Nicci,” he cried out as his body shuddered.

  A few moments later, we were lying on the bed, blissfully satiated, when David reached over and raised my face to his.

  “My God, woman, what have you done to me?”

  I laughed into the recesses of his neck. “I guess I should apologize for attacking you like that.”

  He pulled me to him. “You’ve changed. You’ve never been that…how can I put this diplomatically… assertive with me before.”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t changed. I just needed to feel you and to be with you. I can’t explain it.”

  “I like you this way,” he whispered. “I like the new Nicci.”

  “Same old Nicci, David. I’m just not holding back anymore. From now on I’m going to live every day, every second, to the fullest. For the first time in my life, I’m going to start living, really living…with you.”

  I rolled over and climbed on top of him. I hungrily sank my teeth into his neck. I lowered my hips onto his and slowly began teasing him by gently rubbing myself over his growing erection.

  “Now what do you say we do that again,” I whispered into his chest.

  David wrapped his right arm about my waist and flipped me onto my back. He kneeled between my legs and held my hands above my head. He let his lips tease my right nipple and then my left.

  “Yes, let’s definitely do that again,” he whispered against my chest. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next morning David stood by my side and listened as I called The Carol Robinson Art Gallery on Jenny Ryan’s cell phone.

  “Hey there, it’s Jenny,” I said, trying to imitate Jenny Ryan’s New Jersey accent.

  “Jenny?” a woman’s voice said on the other end of the line. “It’s Leslie. You sound terrible. Do you have a cold?”

  “Yeah, I do, Leslie, but that ain’t why I’m callin’,” I replied inwardly cringing at the sound of my own voice. “I, ah, I’m quittin’. I’m gonna head back home for a while. I’ve had enough of N’awlins.”

  David was trying the best he could to stifle his laughter as I rolled my eyes at him.

  “I don’t understand. You seemed so happy here.” Leslie sounded genuinely concerned. “Why just last week you were telling me and Helen how much you loved it here in New Orleans.”

  “Yeah, well, things change, ya know?”

  There was an uneasy moment of silence on the other end of the phone. “But you told me you never wanted to go back to New Jersey,” Leslie eventually stated.

  I felt a sudden rush to get off of the line before the conversation got too uncomfortable. “Look, Leslie, I gotta go. I’ll send you a line from Jersey and let you know where I end up. See ya.”

  I hung up the phone before Leslie could get in a reply.

  David raised his dark brows at me. “Well?” he inquired.

  I shrugged. “I guess she bought it. Seems Jenny told them she never wanted to go back to New Jersey.” I gazed around the small bedroom and sighed. “Now what do we do?”

  David smiled. “We go home.”

  ***

  While David searched the house for any important personal items belonging to Jenny Ryan, I packed up all her clothes into her one suitcase and threw it into the trunk of the red Jaguar. After I had locked her front door, I placed her house key in the mailbox.

  “Do you think anyone will come searching for her?” I asked David as I climbed into the front seat of the Jaguar.

  “Who knows? I found nothing among her papers to indicate that she had anyone who cared about her.” He put the car into gear and slowly pulled away from the curb.

  I watched as the little yellow house grew smaller in my passenger side mirror. “That’s so sad,” I whispered.

  David placed his hand in mine. “I know, Nicci. It makes you appreciate what you have.”

  I looked over at his bruised face and smiled. “Yes, it does.”

  As the wind from the open window tossed his wavy, brown hair about his head, David maneuvered the car down Magazine Street.

  “This feels familiar,” I commented. “That day at St. Louis Cathedral—”

  “We went to City Park in a Jaguar very much like this one,” he said, finishing my words. “I think that was the day I started falling in love with you.”

  “When we first met you asked me about my dreams. Do you remember?”

  “What are your wants, your desires, your dreams? I’m still waiting for you to tell me, Nicci.”

  I shook my head. “I never had any wants or desires until I met you, David. And as far as my dreams go, well, they came true the moment I found out you were alive.”

  As I watched David negotiate the Jaguar onto the open expressway, I realized how much his love had changed my life for the better. We may not have taken an easy path, but as Dr. Appell had said, it’s not the destination but the journey that matters. And I could not imagine being on such a journey with anyone else.

  “I love you, David. Did I ever tell you that?”

  “About bloody time you said it,” he grumbled.

  David looked over at me and the emotion I saw in his face warmed my heart.

  I settled back into my seat. “So where is this house of yours?”

  He grinned. “Hammond.”

  I bolted upright and stared at him. “Hammond?”

  “You didn’t think I would let you sell my house to any stranger did you?” He laughed at my reaction. “I had George retain an attorney who handled the closing paperwork for me. Even made sure the act of sale was filed under another name so Simon wouldn’t find out about it. And since I paid cash for the place, there weren’t a lot of questions asked by either the real estate agent or the seller.” He winked at me.

  “No wonder I recognized the name Dan Goldvarg. I saw that name on the initial offer documents my agent sent me when I was in Connecticut.”

  “Even bought some furniture for the place a few weeks back.” He shrugged. “It’s not much but it’s enough for us to get settled. Just a bed, a table and chairs for the dining room, and a new couch,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

  I laughed. “Perhaps we should move the couch in to the bedroom for a while. Just to make sure,” I teased.

  “You know what?” David flashed me his warm, wonderful smile. “That sounds like a great idea.”

  Epilogue

  There was a slight December drizzle coming down as the bride and groom made their way out of the St. Charles Presbyterian Church. The bride, dressed in a long gown of light blue silk, waved happily as the wedding guests threw grains of rice about her head. The groom, dressed in a dashing gray morning suit and light blue tie, helped his bride into the back of the limousine. He stopped just before he entered the limousine and peered at a red Jaguar parked across the street from the church. He waved his h
and slightly, nodded his head, and then dipped into the back seat of the limousine.

  “I think he saw me,” I said hopefully as I turned to David in the driver’s seat beside me.

  “Bill saw you, Nicci,” David asserted. “Lance told him we would be here. I know how much he and Betty wanted you to be a part of their wedding, but I’m sure they understand.”

  He caressed my cheek with his left hand. The glint of the gold band around his third finger caught my eye and made me smile.

  “I wish they could have been at our wedding. One day, I promise, we will have a big ceremony with all your family in attendance,” he avowed.

  “I don’t know you, me, Dale, and Harding seemed kind of romantic.”

  David laughed. “The justice of the peace and his dog were hardly what I would call romantic.”

  I turned back to see the crowd of wedding guests cheering as the newlywed’s limousine drove away. Aunt Hattie was crying into a hankie as Uncle Ned gently patted her shoulder. Colleen and her husband, Ray Phillips, stood next to them. Colleen’s baby bump stood out prominently from underneath her blue satin and white lace dress complete with long white gloves. I laughed to myself, heartened by the fact that Colleen had not given up her dreams of becoming the next Chanel. Next to Colleen, I saw my Uncle Lance and Auntie Val hugging each other and laughing.

  My heart ached to be with them. It took everything I had not to open the door of our car and go running off to be embraced by every last one of them. They were my family and so much a part of me that their absence during the happiest moments of my life had made the realization of my dreams feel bittersweet.

  “Soon, Nicci,” David assured me as he squeezed my shoulder with his hand. “Dallas said he’s making a lot of headway with Simon’s organization. Especially since Simon’s body was recently discovered in the Atchafalaya Swamp. He thinks it shouldn’t be much longer before we are able to come out of hiding.”

  I sat back in my seat and fought back the tears that had been gathering in my eyes. “And when we come out of hiding, then what?”

  “Well, I guess there will be your best-selling book to contend with.”

  My sequel to Painting Jenny, Unfinished Business, had gone to number three on the New York Times Best Sellers list. Thanks in part to the national media coverage of Nicole Beauvoir’s tragic suicide. For weeks the story of how David Alexander’s Jenny had murdered esteemed New Orleans businessman, Greg Caston, had been plastered all across the news. Even photos of my funeral, at the little graveyard in Hammond, had been a front-page exclusive in several local newspapers. My father and Uncle Lance had buried Jenny Ryan next to the unknown man in David Alexander’s grave. To the world, David and his Jenny would spend eternity together, but in reality the tragic love story was not a love story at all. It was simply a sad tale of two forgotten souls. Not long after the national press had put my death to rest, the tabloid press began to cover the supermarket racks with tales of torrid romances and jealous lovers in the life of Nicci Beauvoir. I had enjoyed all the speculation and gossip for a time. But soon the death of Nicci Beauvoir was replaced by another story of a famed actress’s drug addiction, and the flurry of press slowly dried up along with my book sales.

  “I wonder what the world would think if they knew the truth about us?” I said, pondering the possible headlines.

  “They wouldn’t be interested in the truth about Mr. and Mrs. Dan Goldvarg,” David replied as he looked over my shoulder at the disbanding wedding guests across the street. “Nicci and David Alexander, however…” He raised his dark brows playfully.

  “The publisher I sent my new novel to felt the same way. I think that’s why they want to publish it. I guess it doesn’t matter who writes about David and Nicci, as long as there is a good story, everybody still wants to read about us. Even if in my version I changed their names to Lionel and Rita in the end.”

  “I think your grandparents would be pleased. Seems only fitting that their story should become ours.” He paused and started the car. “We can drive past the reception on the way to the gallery.”

  I looked in the back seat at the paintings David had placed there. “How many are you bringing Russell this time?”

  David put the car into gear. “He sold my other two and told me to bring three more for an interested buyer. So I have the two landscapes and the one I did of you on the porch at sunset.”

  “And do you think anyone will recognize Jenny?”

  He leaned over and patted my belly. “I painted the Jenny you will be in about five more months. Besides, no one will see Jenny. They will be too busy looking at the beautiful baby girl in your arms.”

  I laughed. “We don’t know for sure that it’s a girl yet.”

  “It’s a girl. I only paint girls. So from now on they’d better all be girls,” he stated emphatically. He eased the car away from the curb and onto St. Charles Avenue.

  “And what if they’re not girls?” I asked.

  “Then I will trade in my paints for drum sets, change our name to Van Halen, and hope we go deaf before they reach puberty.”

  “And what if they are artistic and handsome like you?”

  “God help us. I don’t think the world is ready for any more David Alexanders.”

  He expertly maneuvered the car down the slick street and I felt my stomach surge with happiness, or hormones, I wasn’t sure.

  I brushed away the comma of dark, wavy hair that had fallen over his forehead. “The world is always in need of a few more dreamers, David,” I proclaimed as I admired his handsome profile. “After all, dreams are what make life come true.”

  THE END

  About the Author

  Alexandrea Weis is a registered nurse from New Orleans who has been writing novels and screenplays for over twenty years. Her first novel, To My Senses, was a finalist for commercial fiction in Eric Hofer Book Awards, a finalist for romance in the Foreword Magazine Book of the Year awards, and a finalist for romance in the USA Book Awards. Her second novel, Recovery, was ranked #1 on the Amazon top rated for romantic suspense in kindle books. Buyer Group International, an independent production company in Austin, has optioned the motion picture rights for Recovery. Ms. Weis is also a permitted wildlife rehabber with the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries and when she is not writing, Ms. Weis is rescuing orphaned and injured wildlife. She lives outside of New Orleans with her husband and a menagerie of pets.