Love's Golden Spell

by William Maltese

  He kissed her chin, and she seductively arched her neck to give him access to her breasts. He took her cue, simultaneously finding the buttons of her blouse with his skillful fingers and unfastening the material with gentle insistence. Green silk parted with a whisper like a lover’s sigh. His hot kisses branded the creaminess of her breasts.

  “Oh, Christopher,” she moaned. Her voice was a low purr from sensuously parted lips. Bowing her head, she saw his mouth closing over the bud of one nipple. The nipple plumped in the fire with which his hungry mouth consumed it. He teased it further, nibbling it gently with his teeth. He caressed her other breast with his lips, his hands warm as toast as they cupped her.

  He sank slowly to his knees, his hands skimming her hips as he pulled her closer, his tongue wet and alive against her navel. He moaned softly at the taste of her. He followed the waistband of her slacks from back to front with his fingers, expertly unfastening the side buttons. She buried her fingers in the soft silkiness of his hair as her slacks slid down her shapely legs and made a gray puddle around her feet. Hooking his thumbs in the elastic that hugged her waist, he peeled the pink silk downward, his hands searing her hips and thighs.

  Convulsively she took hold of his hair as the caress of cool air against her newly naked skin was replaced by the heat of his maddening kisses. Her pleasure was unendurable, and she pulled his face upward, bringing him back to his feet. He was eager to reclaim her delicious lips, drinking in the sweetness of her breath, his hands guiding her blouse down over her shoulders. She dropped her arms to her sides, letting the clinging material come free and float dreamily to the floor behind her.

  She stood in exquisite nakedness, more aware of her body than ever before. A vague guilt and painful shyness, never shaken throughout her marriage to Bob, were miraculously shed with her clothes, purged by Christopher’s searing kisses and his touch. She was a pagan Venus born from a sea of pink and gray and green swirls.

  He lifted her in his arms, leaving her clothes and shoes behind her. She held on tightly, burrowing her cheek against the straining cords of his neck. The frantic beat of his pulse vibrated against her lips, matching the racing of her heart. She nuzzled the sweet saltiness of his golden flesh.

  In fact, she’d been wrong to think that the reality matched the fantasy. Nothing in her dream world rivaled the pleasure of Christopher’s touch. Nothing in sixteen years of anticipation had prepared her for this moment or for the wonders she knew would follow.

  He laid her gently on the bed, sitting beside her. His hands ran the length of her trembling body, exploring intimate places no other man but Bob had known before. “You’re as beautiful as I imagined you would be,” he said, his eyes never tiring of her sensuous curves. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs gently massaging her sensitized nipples.

  He loved her, and she loved him. He preferred her body to precious gold. There were ways to work out any problem. If that wasn’t perfection, it was as close as she was likely to come in the real world.

  He eased away from her, standing by the side of the bed. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, enjoying her enjoyment as he revealed the magnificence of his muscled torso. The smoothness of his golden flesh was stretched over a scalloped pattern of bone and muscle. What she remembered from their swims in the pools above Lisbon Falls, the memories upon which she had built her fantasies, was nothing compared to the wonders worked by Mother Nature on the real flesh and bone. He was her ideal man. He always had been and he always would be. She would find greater happiness in his arms than in the arms of any other man. She knew that with a certainty that scared her.

  A sudden chill overcame her, a fear that she would not be able to fulfill his fantasies. Although Christopher talked about perfection as an illusion, it didn’t mean he didn’t picture an ideal woman. What expectations did he have—and how completely could she meet them?

  He said he loved her, and she believed him. He said he wanted her, and she believed that, too. She had told Bob she loved him and meant it at the time, knowing he was less than the ultimate. Was that why Christopher said he loved her now, because he had given up looking for anything better?

  He hadn’t really loved since he was eighteen, and at eighteen, he had loved an innocent thirteen-year-old girl who had hurt him badly. Deep inside, she feared that Christopher loved only that part of her, the Janet Kelley of his past. Yet Janet couldn’t respond to him from the depths of her being while suspecting that he would come to hate her if he ever found out who she was. And if she couldn’t respond from that depth, she couldn’t measure up to his ideal. She was destined to come out second best, as Bob had come out second best. She was cheating herself and she was cheating Christopher. Sometimes it had to be all or nothing, as pleasurable as mere fragments might be.

  He unbuckled his belt, releasing its small metal catch. Within a matter of seconds his trousers would drop, and Christopher would be more powerfully attractive in complete nakedness than he was now. There would be no turning back then. Janet was only human, and she knew her weaknesses. But she also knew that their relationship could be better than second best—if she took a chance.

  “Christopher, my maiden name was Kelley,” she said, the words strangled in her throat, so that she didn’t think he heard her. His belt was open, his pants unzipped. Golden hair curled on his lower stomach, disappearing beneath the snug fit of his blue jockey shorts. Having second thoughts about her confession, she now hoped he hadn’t heard. She wanted him as naked as she was. She wanted him on the bed with her, making love.

  “Kelley?” he asked, shaking his head to clear it. Where had his mind been before Janet wrenched it back to this less pleasurable reality?

  “Janet Kelley,” she said. She took the plunge, for better or worse. There was no turning back. “My father was Jack Kelley.”

  “No,” he said simply. He didn’t believe her. He thought she was joking. But it would have been a joke in poor taste, and he had obviously come to the same conclusion as comprehension dawned. “You?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She turned her head, unable to look at him. It was too impossibly painful to sort out the emotions that flashed across his handsome face. It was too painful to realize, she had come so close to the fulfillment of her fantasy, spoiling the moment because greediness made her hope for more.

  He should love her despite her revelation. Their good memories should override the bad. He should rea1ize the rare opportunity they had to rise above their parents’ conflicting past. He had promised they could challenge all obstacles and beat them. He had lied—to both of them.

  The door opened and closed softly behind him. She began to cry, her body aching from needs aroused within her, then left unsatisfied.

  “Oh, Christopher, I do love you!” she said, sobbing. She sat up on the edge of the bed. Inner heat, a raging fire that had warmed her only moments before, had been doused by his rejection. She was icy cold.

  She got up and pulled back the blankets, hoping to find warmth beneath them. Her legs hardly supported her. She saw Christopher’s shirt, left where he had dropped it on the floor. He had been in too much of a hurry to bother taking it with him.

  How exquisite his body was when it was free of that shirt. How near she had come to seeing the rest of his powerful physique, never to see it now. She picked up his shirt, rubbing it against her cheek, soaking its softness with the wetness of her tears.

  The shirt smelled of tangy lime. It was a fragrance she would forever associate with her shattered dreams for happiness.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SHE WAS A MAGNET, drawing them all to her that morning, except the one person she wanted. Even Craig was there, confused by her suitcase. “I thought Van Hoon arranged for you to stay?” he said. It was the cue for Roger, Tim and Jill to give her curious stares.

  “When was this?” Roger asked.

  “I found out last night,” Janet said. Fat chance anyone would leave it at that!

  “Van Hoon was insistent,” Craig a
dded.

  “Well, I’m not staying,” she said. “I told him so, too. I couldn’t do much here without a camera crew.”

  “Ah!” Roger exclaimed. Christopher’s arrangements hadn’t included Roger, Tim or Jill.

  “I’m not on vacation,” she reminded them all. “I’m covering a story—on elephants, not on the search for Great Zimbabwe gold. While the discovery of gold would have an impact on whatever future there is for the reserve, I already have enough footage to emphasize that point. Now shall we go for breakfast?”

  They wanted to hear more. Her crew no doubt remembered Janet’s private supper with Christopher at Lionspride, her private trip with him to the Van Hoon Deep Levels Mine, and his unexpected arrival at Great Zimbabwe. And Janet knew Craig was probably recalling Christopher’s appearance at Victoria Falls.

  She had said all she planned to say. What had happened the night before was too painful to relive in conversation. Such wounds were a long time in healing—if they ever healed.

  She wasn’t hungry. Her trip to Africa had been wonderful for her waistline. She would write a book: The South African Diet Book by Janet Westover AKA Janet Kelley. Americans were forever trying to slim down. They were always ready for the latest diet fad.

  Roger carried her gripsack to the Land Rover. From there, they all went to the restaurant. Janet ordered tea and toast. Everyone else was hungry and tackled large servings of eggs, ham and potatoes.

  “I hope none of you take your expulsion personally,” Craig said over a forkful of food. “You see my position—a stampede, a shooting, one man dead and another one dying. I’m no longer in any position to guarantee your safety. Van Hoon is staying, knowing I’m refusing all responsibility for him and his team.”

  “We have plenty of footage for a good show,” Roger said. “I’d be less willing to go if we didn’t.” Tim and Jill nodded agreement.

  Christopher wasn’t in the room. Janet glanced toward the door, hoping he would appear. She was still praying for happy endings and should know better. Janet, you silly fool!

  “Well,” Roger said, pushing away his empty plate, “it’s about that time, so I’ll get the rest of my stuff loaded.”

  “Same here,” Tim said. Both men got to their feet. “Jill?” Tim asked.

  Craig would be less diplomatic about his curiosity once he got Janet alone, she feared, and Jill seemed reluctant to leave at this crucial moment. “I’ll finish my coffee,” she said. In the silence that followed, she got the hint. She excused herself, too.

  “I guess I’d better do a once-over of my room in case I missed something,” Janet said,, hoping to head off the cross-examination. She should have left with the others. There was anonymity in numbers.

  “Why don’t you stay until I finish my coffee?” Craig suggested. “I haven’t seen much of you the past couple of days.”

  Janet nervously checked her wristwatch. “It’s getting close to ten,” she reminded him. “I’m famous for leaving things in hotel rooms.”

  “We’ve plenty of time,” he assured her. “The plane is here to fly certain people out, and it won’t go without everyone. In the meantime, let’s talk about you and Christopher.”

  “I don’t want to talk about me and Christopher,” Janet said. She couldn’t be plainer than that. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk about them. She couldn’t talk about them. Let Craig play policeman. His interrogation would get nothing from her that she hadn’t already volunteered.

  “I was delighted when Van Hoon insisted you stay,” Craig said, surprising her. “Do you know why?”

  “You’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?” she said. She tried for sarcasm, but her curiosity came through. She did want to know.

  The V.H.A.M. team has been lax from the beginning on its itinerary reports to me,” Craig said. “I mentioned that to you on our flight back from Fort Victoria, remember?” Janet nodded. “This thing with Spencer has them momentarily realizing the error of their ways,” Craig continued. Paul Spencer, the wounded member of the V.H.A.M. team, was in critical condition. He wasn’t expected to pull through. “It’s surprising, though, how quickly we forget. Christopher and his men will be back to their irresponsible habits in no time. I was hoping you’d serve as their insurance policy.”

  Me?” Janet wasn’t following.

  “A smile from a beautiful woman, accompanied by her, ‘So where are we off to today?’ would produce more accurate information than anything quickly jotted down on paper for me the night before,” Craig said. He smiled. He really was handsome, and Janet regretted never having fully explored their possibilities. If only Christopher had stayed in Johannesburg! “You would have been able to double-check on their movements,” Craig continued. “Van Hoon thinks he can handle himself in any situation, but Paul Spencer thought the same. I’m hoping to keep Van Hoon and his men alive in spite of themselves.”

  It gave her an excuse for staying—to help guard Christopher’s life. Craig’s reasoning seemed valid to her. Christopher’s interest in Janet had been more than evident. Her interest in Christopher was as easily assumed. So she couldn’t be angry at Craig for again wanting to use her. When he had pleaded for her help at Victoria Falls, it had been because of his concern for the animals. This time he had human life in mind—Christopher’s life. “Unfortunately, whatever was between Christopher and me ended last night,” she said. Who said talking helped?

  “Irreconcilable differences?” Craig asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” she said, but didn’t leave it at that. “We knew each other before—years ago, as children. There were bitter feelings then, and the years have changed nothing. For a while I hoped, but…” She shrugged helplessly. It was out of her hands. She wanted more from Christopher than he was prepared to offer. His fine talk of love as the universal cure-all was really meaningless.

  “You’re sure?” Craig persisted. “You’re sure it wasn’t just a simple lovers’ quarrel?” Clearly, his job was complicated by the uncooperative V.H.A.M. team. He had enough problems with poachers, elephants and his superiors. The latter had not only countermanded his eviction of the team but had threatened to pull him out before he accomplished all that he’d set out to do. Janet regretted that she couldn’t help him now.

  “I’m positive,” she said. She couldn’t do any good by staying. Christopher wouldn’t confide anything to her, no matter how much she smiled and wished him a pleasant day. He would avoid her like the plague. She wasn’t about to submit to daily rejection.

  “I’m sorry,” Craig said, putting down his cup and getting to his feet. He read the impossibility in her eyes. “Well, he and his men have been warned. If they refuse to keep me informed of their movements, it’s out of my hands.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said, the words catching in throat. He didn’t know how sorry, and neither did Christopher.

  They walked into sunshine too bright for Janet’s depressed state. A dreary, cold, rainy day would have been more appropriate.

  “Will you ride with me to the airport?” he asked when they reached the parking lot. Dr. Nhari and his men were busy loading their gear. Roger was storing the last of the camera equipment in one Land Rover. Tim and Jill were relaxing in the nearby shade. Janet was in no mood for further attempts by anyone to change her mind, and Craig seemed to guess her thoughts. “We won’t talk about Christopher or poachers,” he promised.

  “Then I’d love to ride with you,” she said. “Just let me check my room.”

  There was nothing of hers left there. She had spent the morning going through it time and time again. She had packed meticulously, folding the clothes Christopher had unceremoniously stuffed in the dresser drawers. He had looked so silly emptying her bag on the bed. He had looked so silly ramming fistfuls of clothes into the drawers. So silly and, oh, so lovable!

  How high Janet’s hopes had soared when he’d said he wasn’t letting her go. She had believed him. How naive she was after all these years! Christopher was letting her
go, and he was glad to be rid of her.

  She splashed cold water on her face and checked for signs of her pain reflected in the mirror. That’s what she had really come to her room to do. She wanted to put on a good face for the world.

  She didn’t look much the worse for wear, considering what had happened since her arrival in Africa. She was thinner, more tanned, a little haggard around the edges, but she wasn’t the mess on the outside that she was on the inside. Her body was a marvelous performer. Her experience as a television personality helped her to mask her emotions further.

  “Oh, Christopher, damn your lies!” she said, placing her hand on the mirror to blot out her pain-darkened eyes and give herself needed support. She was going to be sick. “Pull yourself together, Janet!” she commanded. This wasn’t the only setback in her life. It wasn’t even unexpected. She pushed away from the sink and forced herself to smile. “Your smile has to be more sincere,” she criticized herself. She was actress and director. Her smile widened. “Better, better,” she commented. “Not perfect, not good enough for an Emmy, but it’s passable.”

  She didn’t look at the bed on the way out, just as she had avoided looking at it on the way in. She might have experienced infinite bliss among those sheets and covers, Instead she had ended up shivering away the previous night like a feverish child, holding Christopher’s shirt as if it were a security blanket or a favorite teddy bear. The shirt was now in the wastebasket by the desk. It had suffered the same ignominious fate as her silk negligee. She didn’t look at the shirt, disturbed by the temptation to take it with her as a macabre souvenir. Her break must be a clean one.

  She smelled the fragrance of lime as she opened the door and stepped outside. Her pulse quickened expectantly, but it wasn’t Christopher. There was an orchard of lime trees behind the hotel. The fragrance stayed with her as she headed down the pathway toward the people waiting for her. Christopher wasn’t waiting. He had left early to scour the hillsides for gold.

  So much had happened for nothing to have happened at all.