Pleased with his wife's praise, he admitted, “It was recommended to me by Ike. He said he and his wife stayed here every winter at least once, and he assured me we'd have a wonderful stay – and complete privacy.”
“So, he's well acquainted with the owners?” she asked, fairly sure of the answer already.
If Ike recommended the place, he would be certain about it.
“That is my impression,” he smiled in reply.
Grace laughed at herself and sighed.
“You know,” she said wryly, “all through dinner I worried that someone would recognize you, and our private getaway would be ruined. I know it would be unlikely, but that's what made me worry!”
“No more worries, milovany. Our meals will be brought to our room for the remainder of our stay.”
A knock at the door sounded, interrupting Drago's reply. He moved to the door, a puzzled look on his face.
“Who is there?” he called through the door.
“Compliments from the house, sir,” came a woman's cheery answer.
Mrs. Saunders, the establishment's owner, stepped inside pushing a small cart. Thick lenses in wire rimmed glasses enlarged her watery, blue eyes, and her plump face was wrinkled with many years of living. Her jovial smile deepened them further.
“I thought you might like to have something for the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Zadrovec. Now you just let me know if you need anything,” she said with twinkling eyes.
Taking a step back from the cart and clasping her hands together, she added, “It warms my heart to see young newlyweds here! Reminds me of when my Arthur and I were starting out. But, oh, forgive me for going on! That was many years ago, it was.”
Grace, appreciating the woman's kindness, asked, “And how many years are you and Arthur married, Mrs. Saunders?”
The older woman's face lit up at the question.
“Bless your heart, honey. We've had forty-six happy years together as of last October.”
“October is a lovely month for a wedding. Drago and I were married in October, too.”
Drago's arm slipped around her waist. He smiled, seeing his wife so eager to give happiness to another.
Deciding to participate, he added, “Mr. Saunders must be a lucky man.”
Chuckling and raising her hands to her mouth, Millie Saunders exclaimed, “Oh, he's a charmer, this one is! Just like my Artie. I can see you'll have many happy years. Now let an old woman get out of the way so you two can get back to one another.”
She headed toward the door.
“A simple breakfast is on the cart. I didn't want to have to disturb you in the morning. There will be a full breakfast served downstairs at nine o'clock. If I don't see you, I'll send up lunch at eleven-thirty.”
And with that, the silver bun on the back of her head disappeared out the door.
“What a sweet woman,” Grace observed aloud as Drago locked the door. “It was so thoughtful of her to bring us something for later.”
She peeked to see what delicacies were hidden beneath the linen covering, Drago joining her in the perusal. Cheese, crackers, and smoked turkey filled one small tray, and another sat piled with pastries. A bottle of chilled blush wine was included as well as a glass decanter of brandy and two matching tumblers. A carafe of water and bucket of ice sat on the lower tier along with rolls, butter, and napkins.
“I believe our Mrs. Saunders understands we mean to remain in this room for the duration of our stay,” Drago chuckled. “Intuitive woman,” he whispered in Grace's ear as his arms reached around her to pour the spirits.
“I'd like to freshen up a bit,” she said when he offered the glass, and a moment later, he heard the water running in the bath.
Swilling the warm brandy in the glass before downing it, Drago removed his clothing and pulled on cotton, drawstring pants. He arranged large cushions on the bear skin rug and added another log to the fire before settling to admire the flickering tongues of orange and yellow that danced in primal abandon. Heat from the fire and brandy lulled him as he watched the ever shifting flames rise, twisting together in nature's choreography.
Tonight he would love his wife tenderly. His prayers had gone up, asking that their love would produce a child. Their child. It was time. He thanked God for having been gifted with Grace to himself for the year and a half of their marriage, but eagerly looked forward to seeing her swell with his child. She would be a wonderful mother. Her thoughtful ways and soft words created a peaceful home for raising sons and daughters, and her generous nature ensured their children would be well loved and cared for. Aunt Visnja and Uncle Slavko had given him the foundation of a loving home, and with Grace beside him, they would offer the same to their own children. God willing.
Grace sank down beside him, redirecting his thoughts.
Handing her the blush, he inquired, “Do you feel better?”
“Very much so,” she sighed, leaning against his chest.
He moved her between his legs and pulled her against him, supporting her back with his chest, her loose hair sliding like silk over his skin. She sipped the wine, luxuriating in the comfort of her husband's form behind her and stared into the crackling fire, mesmerized.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?”
“It's not half as beautiful as you are, žena,” Drago responded, and although he could not see her face, he sensed the blush seeping up her cheeks.
He had known her countless times in their shared eighteen months of marriage, yet a shy innocence remained with her, and the knowledge that he still brought a blush to her skin with his open praise of her beauty endeared her more deeply to his heart. His hands smoothed up her arms over the thin robe she wore. Pushing the collar aside and brushing her hair from her shoulder, he kneaded the flesh beneath with slow deliberation. She relaxed under his practiced hands, and her tiny sighs of enjoyment kindled his arousal.
The robe parted and fell to her waist as his hands roamed her back, exposing her nakedness beneath. He lowered his lips to the nape of her neck and feathered kisses along its feminine curve as his hands molded her tiny waist. Deeply breathing in her sweet scent and exhaling against her skin, Drago felt a shiver pass through her, and when his hand slid up to cup the underside of her breast, a soft moan escaped her as she arched into his touch.
The weight of her head rested on his shoulder, and she turned in search of his lips upon her own. Covering her mouth with sensuous passion, Drago gave her what she wanted. He held her to himself, returning his kisses to her neck, easing her thighs apart before sliding his finger along her petaled flesh. She moaned, reaching behind to caress his rigid length, eager for him to share her pleasure.
Compulsion to be joined with his wife in the act of marriage overwhelmed his senses, and he withdrew from behind her, easing her down upon the soft fur, covering her with his body. Drago tenderly claimed her mouth, cupping her face in his palms and stroking his thumb along her jawline as he eased his body inside her. The slow act of filling her tore a groan from him, and his chest heaved as he stilled, beholding Grace's beauty beneath him. The sight of her parted lips and flushed skin brought Drago perilously close to spilling within her, and he remained motionless, pinning his love's hips with his own to regain control.
Dark brown eyes held his gaze, casting love's net – binding his heart closer to the woman who shared his name, his life. No longer differentiating unity of body from mind, he moved within her and stilled again, captivated by the power of their intimacy.
“Milujemtá, I love you.”
The tender words spilled from him. Grace wrapped her arms around his back and smoothed her hands up the muscled planes as she remained under his watchful gaze. Never taking his eyes from hers, Drago withdrew from her body, pausing in sensual torture before invading her anew. She arched against him, yearning for the bliss of his filling presence, urging him on with her hands and mewling cries, but he continued the languid pace of loving, entranced in watching her pleasure mount. Her insides clenched around his man
hood, telling of her impending release, and he thrust into her, savoring the moment of her climax. Reveling in the joy of his wife clasped around him, Drago gave into his own need and spent within her.
Holding her next to him in the low firelight, Drago remained awake long after she slept in his arms, marveling at the woman beside him.
* * *
Grace shivered in her slumber, waking Drago from his own. Easing from her side, he built the fire up as quietly as he could. The twinge of worry skirted his mind, still, at the memory of how ill she had been just two months ago.
Flames sprang again to full life as the fresh logs succumbed to the fire's consuming tongues. Lying behind her, Drago wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her snugly against his chest. She stirred, molding more closely, and settled. The rise and fall of her abdomen beneath his hand bespoke of her return to deep sleep, and he took the time to appraise her beauty yet again. Feeling the soft curve of her belly in his palm conjured the thought of his seed taking root in her womb. A smile played on his lips, and he pressed his hand to her more firmly.
His child, being conceived under his hand, under his watchful eye. He allowed images of his wife, rounded with impending motherhood to fill his mind. Her breasts ripening, her body swelling with life, her happiness, his pride – all flooded him with hope.
“Let it be as I have imagined,” he prayed.
The fire's illumination bathed Grace's skin in golden light, beckoning his lips to brush its glowing smoothness. He sought her with newly awakened hunger, caressing her hip and thigh with growing boldness as his lips trailed over her. She stirred, stretching her legs forward, waking at his exploration. Turning her head, she smiled and brought her arm back to cradle his head as he nuzzled her neck.
I hope you are rested, milovany. For I fear I must have you again,” he murmured seductively.
“My husband is insatiable,” she answered in sultry playfulness.
He descended on her zealously, kissing down her back as he rolled her hip open and claimed her most private flesh with gentle vigor. She gasped as he devoured her, his skilled mouth hot and insistent on her trembling flesh.
Grasping his head, encouraging him to gift her with release, she whispered, “Yes, love.”
Hard as iron and throbbing with need, Drago delayed no longer. He slid up behind her, seeking her entrance with his engorged shaft. Hooking his arm under her knee and drawing it up, he was granted access and pressed into her slick, tight folds.
Grace cried out in relief as the sensation of fullness flooded her pleasurably. But quickly it receded, replaced with the desire to feel him moving inside her. Soft whimpers of need and delight twined between the lovers as he filled her again and again. His length touched her so deeply that she gasped his name aloud, helpless under his sweet forays. His large form hovered over and behind her simultaneously, his firm grasp under her knee holding her open in surrender to his loving invasions. Surrounded by his strength and filled with his thickness, Grace shattered into pieces, falling freely into ecstasy while safe in her lover's embrace. A fervid cry escaped her lips as pleasure rippled outward from her core.
“Yes, milovnik,” he groaned softly in her ear.
Grace trembled beneath his sensual thrusts, her body building again toward sublime completion. His mouth wandered her neck and shoulder, blazing a path across her sensitized skin. Every nerve she possessed ached for his touch. Arching against him at each new invasion, Grace felt her husband tensing as his release neared. Each thrust took her to the brink of joy, his withdrawals prolonging the pleasure with sweet torture. His next movement carried her over the edge, blinding pleasure consuming her as Drago buried himself.
His heated essence pulsed into her with violent force while her name tore from his mouth. Gentling as their pleasure spent, he released her leg, wrapping her body in his arms. He slid from within her as his arousal subsided, and tender exchanges of affection passed between them in the low firelight.
Chapter 17
The return to First Strike was bittersweet. Their getaway had brought them closer, a new intimacy borne from the peaceful seclusion at Magnolia Hills, and Grace realized that it was Drago's presence that made First Strike, the guest house, or their house in Bratislava feel like home.
Dubravko and Ilija's visit passed far too quickly, and seeing her friend evoked a longing for their return to Slovakia even as the thought of leaving her father saddened her. Most disruptive to her piece of mind, however, was the announcement that Guy and Drago would travel to Montreal at the beginning of May for an intensive ten-week training camp with Jean Luke, the infamous K-1 kick-boxer and jujitsu specialist.
Drago had protested being gone from home so long, even suggesting that they return on the weekends, but Guy reasoned with him that the trip would be unnecessarily tiring and would steal a day of training from each week. It would also give no day to rest his mind and body. Knowing the wisdom in Guy's words, Drago capitulated. Focusing on the upcoming fight was paramount.
Spring awakened the land subtly as April passed its weeks, the earliest blooms and buds peeking from ground and branch, energizing both nature and man in expectation of warm, sunny days and the return of green foliage. Grace bustled about the gym, busying herself as Drago trained diligently, but as the date neared for his removal to the Canadian city, an agitation took root in her soul. Separation loomed ahead.
Drago noted his wife's unsettled state with concern. She clung to him during their lovemaking, but was distracted and moody, quiet and sullen at times, bursting into tears at the slightest provocation. He handled her gently, unable to read her moods, and his confusion mounted alongside worry. His wife was usually smiling and easygoing, and he could discern nothing to account for her odd behavior.
“Moja žena,” he soothed, holding her in his arms the night before his departure, “what troubles you so? Are you upset at my leaving?”
“No...Yes...I don't know,” she sighed. “I wish you weren't going, Drago, but it's probably good that you are. I'm awful company lately. Forgive me, love, I don't know why I'm behaving this way.”
“Gracie, if it will make you happy, I'll arrange for you to travel with us. I'll rent a flat for us. Forget the cost.”
“I know you would. But the purpose for your going is to remove everything but your training. I'd be alone most of the time and a distraction to you. No, Drago, you go. I'll be fine. And hopefully when I meet you in Pittsburgh, I'll be feeling myself again. Besides, I'm not feeling up to traveling or staying in an unfamiliar place.”
Running his fingers through her hair, he asked, “You're not feeling well? Tell me if you are ill, žena. I'll not go.”
“Nothing so bad as that. I'm just tired. Nothing more.”
Exhausted actually. But she wouldn't say that. She felt as if she could sleep for days. Her stomach roiled at the thought of food. She was unable to tolerate the smells of the gym, and her emotions assaulted her without warning. She desperately wanted to share with him her suspicions, but resisted, not wanting to stir hope in either of them until she was certain. Reasoning that the information might cause worry and distraction from his training, she tucked her secret away. If her body skipped another cycle, she would allow herself to believe.
* * *
“Grace, are you awake?” Drago asked quietly.
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled sleepily.
“I brought your tea. Drink with me before I go.”
With effort, she roused and scooted up to lean against the pillows.
“What time is it? I thought you weren't leaving until nine o'clock?”
Her voice was still dreamy.
“Milovany, it is just past eight o'clock now,” he chuckled. “You slept late.”
Grace took the heavy ceramic mug, blinking the haze of sleep from her eyes.
“Oh! I wanted to make us a nice breakfast before you left.” The disappointment carried in her voice.
Breakfast. The mention of the word set her stomach on edg
e. Just sip the tea, she told herself. It will pass. Easy Grace.
The first sip seemed to settle her, so she indulged in another as her husband offered the details of the drive.
“I will telephone when we arrive at the studio. It should be in the evening. Your father is a very punctual man,” he teased.
When she neither laughed nor answered, he looked at her closely.
“Are you alright, žena? You don't look...”
But his wife was headed from the room.
“Gracie?” he called, following her.
The door slammed in his face.
“Go away, Drago...I mean, I'll be out in a minute.”
The lock's click stung him.
“Open the door, moja žena!”
“Prosim! Please! Leave me alone,” she pleaded.
His wife's odd behavior had pushed him too far.
“Grace, you can open this door or I will break it in two, but either way...”
The sounds of her retching silenced him. Instinct prompted him at first to worry for her health, but a moment later a new thought began its inception in his mind.
My God, maybe she's pregnant! He rejoiced in the thought. Wondering if she suspected, Drago wisely decided to remain silent about his tentative knowledge. He would allow her the joy of discovery and the pleasure of telling him.
Returning to their bedroom, he fluffed her pillows and straightened the blankets. A few minutes later, she reappeared quietly.
“I'm sorry,” she started, but Drago interrupted her.
“Nie. Come back to bed and rest. You have no need to apologize.”
She accepted his words gratefully and curled next to him in the bed.
“Can I get you anything?” he offered.
“Just stay with me until you have to go,” came her only request.
“Of course, sipková.”
Savoring their final moments, he curled around her, a mixture of pride and humbleness filling his heart at the possibility he imagined. He stole from the bed, hearing Guy's vehicle approaching on the gravel, and without waking her, placed a final kiss on her forehead. The smile on his face traveled with him across the border.
Claiming The Prize Page 19
