Moonlight and Magic

by Rebecca Paisley

  Slowly, with all the tenderness and love she felt for him, she took him into her mouth, marveling at the sweet sensation her actions aroused in her.

  Sterling clutched at her hair, squeezing great handfuls of it. Never, ever had he begun to lose control so quickly. He wasn’t going to last much longer, he realized, his chest heaving with his effort to curb the pleasure. “Chimera, stop!”

  She didn’t. She wanted never to stop. To love him like this...in this extraordinarily intimate way...tasting and exploring him as she’d never dreamed of doing before...how could he ask her to stop? How could he even think of denying her the pleasure of knowing him so sensuously?

  “Chimera!” He sat up abruptly and took hold of her face. “No. Not like this. My pleasure doesn’t come before yours. The pleasure is shared, estrellita. Together. That is how it should be, and that is how it will be.”

  She bit at her lip. “But—but what about a woman’s weaknesses? I wanted to show you my weakness for you.”

  “Your weakness! Hell, what about mine? I’m so weak with want for you I can barely think straight!”

  “Don’t think straight,” she blurted. “What’s the use tonight? This evening has been strange from the start, strange and...and beautiful. ‘There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.’ Francis Bacon. And what joy is there to be had in normal things anyway, Sterling? Isn’t the unique always better? Of course some things have to be normal, but some things are better when they’re different, don’t you think? Who, in their right mind, would ever actually try to conform to the conventional when the fantastic is more fun?”

  Sterling smiled. For his entire life, he’d been seeking anything and everything explicitly normal, but she made the outrageous seem so much more desirable. How did she do it? It didn’t make sense. But then, she could make sense out of anything. She could even make sense out of nonsense. His eyes caressed her as she rose to her knees. With a fluid gesture, she threw her heavy mass of hair behind her.

  “And so, tonight,” she told him, “we’ll live out a fantasy. An unusual one. Tell me, Sterling, if you could have any fantasy in the world, what would you choose?”

  His eyes widened. How many other men had had such an offer put to them? To have a fantasy, granted by the most beautiful and extraordinary girl in all the world...that, in itself, was a fantasy.

  “How about,” she began when he didn’t answer her, “you be the sultan, and I’ll be a harem girl?”

  He grinned. “Can you belly dance?”

  “Well, no.”

  “And you don’t have a ruby to stick in your navel. What kind of sultan would have a harem girl so sadly lacking in the essentials?”

  “I have a berry,” she said, and picked up a small one. “It can’t be a ruby because it’s black. We’ll pretend it’s onyx.”

  “I’m sure it has to be a ruby.”

  “Look,” she admonished, shaking the berry at him, “you couldn’t think of a fantasy, so I thought one up for you. Therefore, the fantasy is going to be how I want it to be. You just lie there and enjoy it.”

  “You’re not supposed to force fantasies on people,” he said, and chuckled when she pushed the berry into her navel.

  “Be quiet! See? It fits.”

  “All right, you have an onyx in your belly button. But what about the dancing and all the veils those harem girls wear? This is turning out to be a lousy fantasy.”

  “Veils?” She leapt from the bed and skipped to Xenia’s trunk. Upon opening it, she pulled out a multitude of brightly colored scarves and filmy veils. “Xenia wore these when she was a gypsy. They made up her fortune-telling costume.” Deftly, she wound the many-colored lengths of fabric around her body, tying them here and there until she was satisfied with the effect. “A sultan,” she said, a pink scarf in her hand, “has to wear a turban.”

  Before he could object, she had wrapped his head with the scarf. He sat there, bemused, and watched her return to the middle of the floor. He clapped once, loudly. “Let the dancing begin!”

  “But what about music? Sterling, I know you can’t sing, but tonight your sour notes will have to do. Go on, sing.”

  He could barely contain his laughter. What a lunatic she was. She the harem girl, he the sultan. Out in the middle of Arizona Territory. With werewolves, gnomes, and God only knew what else lurking about in the shadows. Dios mio, what a deranged delight she was. But he nodded Seriously and tried to think of a song he could sing for her. “I can’t remember the words to any songs.”

  “Then hum something,” she suggested, and raised her arms high above her head in preparation for the dance.

  “A song isn’t a song without words, Chimera. And may I remind you this is my fantasy? I want words to the song.”

  She sighed impatiently. “Well, hurry and think of one that has easy-to-remember words.”

  “I do know one, but I’m not sure it’s appropriate for the occasion.”

  “Whatever it is, just sing it.”

  He took a deep breath. “‘Three blind mice, three blind mice. See how they run, see how they run. They all ran after the farmer’s wife, who cut off their tails with a carving knife, did you ever see such a sight in your life, as three blind mice, three blind mice.’”

  Chimera stared at him in complete disbelief. “Sterling—Three blind mice?”

  “My fantasy, my song. Dance.”

  Giggling, Chimera began to move her body. Turning her hips to the choppy rhythm of his off-key tune, she twirled around the room, her veils and hair floating about her.

  Sterling kept singing all the while pushing his makeshift turban out of his eyes, for it fell frequently. He watched Chimera with tenderness and affection, and knew in his heart he’d never felt as carefree as he did tonight. They were being as silly as he thought it possible to be, and he was enjoying every second of it.

  And they hadn’t even gotten around to lovemaking yet. They would, they definitely would, but the evening would not be spoiled if they didn’t. No, not even lovemaking could improve upon a night that was already so enchanted.

  “Stop singing now,” she said, and laughed when she saw his turban around his eyes.

  “Why?” He pushed the scarf back to his forehead. “Do I sing so badly that you can’t even continue dancing?”

  “No, but my onyx fell out.”

  He saw her empty navel and smiled. “Come here, estrellita.” He opened his arms and waited while she settled herself in his lap, then held her closely. “You’ve given me a beautiful fantasy tonight. I’d forgotten how much fun it is to play.”

  She grinned up into his eyes. “Ovid said, ‘In our play we reveal what kind of people we are.’”

  He knew what she was hinting at and felt warmed to realize he was a man who could play. He’d never thought of that before. How nice it sounded. “Chimera,” he said tenderly, “you’ve given me a fantasy, and now I’ll grant yours. What is it?”

  “Love me,” she told him without hesitation. “For this night, the few hours left in it, love me like I love you.”

  In asking for her fantasy, she’d granted him his own, he realized, and bent to kiss her. For this night, he would love her completely, body and soul. He would allow no doubt, no hesitancy or suspicion to enter into his actions. Tonight he would be the man she said she loved. And perhaps, he mused, by living out the fantasy of love, he would better understand it.

  Slowly, he removed each veil from her body, savoring the revealed part of her before uncovering the next. He loved her thoroughly, thoughtfully. His hands caressed her pink cheeks and lips, her moist and slender throat, and her satin shoulders. He touched her breasts, dallied there for many long, slow moments, then slid his hands down her flat, white belly, across her slim hips and over her silken thighs, calves. He kissed her toes one by one, before smoothing his hands back up her legs to the mound of her femininity.

  “Chimera, you are a treasure so exquisite, you almost seem unreal. But you’re warm.
You move. You moan beneath my touch. And so, estrellita, you are real, and for this night you are mine—my exquisite treasure.”

  With whispered words of passion accompanying his actions, he brought her to ecstasy many times before he joined his body with hers and pleasured her further. He lifted her to heights he’d never taken any other woman and strained to keep her there for as long as he could, for as long as she could stay, for as long either of them could survive the sweet torment.

  His own release came violently. He held her as if he would never let her go while the pleasure washed over him like great waves that left him struggling for air, straggling for strength, straggling for the words to tell him what the night had meant to him.

  He slipped from atop her, kissed her fragrant cheek, and squeezed her so tightly, he heard her gasp for a breath. Relaxing his hold on her slightly, he concentrated on all the emotions swirling within him, trying to find the proper words for each of them. He thought of happy. Of incredulous, sated, warm, secure.

  Love. He wondered about love.

  But he thought of bashful, too. Dios mio, he felt so shy, he suspected he was even blushing. Damn. If she saw his schoolboy flush, he’d never hear the end of it.

  There was only one thing he could think of to say without betraying his timidity. “Where’d you learn to paint like that, Chimera?”

  She snuggled close to him. “From a master.”

  A master, he repeated silently, a magician between the sheets. He wondered why the familiar bitterness didn’t come. Instead, he felt proud. Proud and happy that he’d pleased her and taught her to please him back. He closed his eyes and knew his dreams of this night would be wonderful. “Good night, estrellita.”

  “Good night, Sterling. Good night, Edward Young.”

  Sterling opened his eyes. “Who the hell is Edward Young?”

  “He’s the one who wrote, ‘The man that blushes is not quite a brute.’”

  Chapter Fifteen

  With the arrival of winter, there also came a rhythm to Sterling’s days. He settled into a routine he found very much to his liking. It began in the morning when he forced the grumpy triplets out of their warm beds and into warm clothes. While Chimera made breakfast, he reviewed a list of chores with the boys. Their protests had become something he looked forward to dealing with. It was a challenge to earn their respect, and although they vexed him sorely, he never tired of them.

  By the time breakfast was over, dawn had broken, and the day’s work began. With everyone working on it, the new cabin looked like a real cabin, he was proud to see. He rarely left it while there was still sunshine. Some days Chimera followed him around, stuffing food into him while he measured, nailed, and sawed. And she was still after him to clear away the pile of dead branches. It had become a game between them to see how long it would be before she finally badgered him into doing the chore.

  But the nighttime routine was what he liked best. After supper, he told ghost stories by the fire and discovered he had a talent for storytelling. His tales were so real, so believable, sleep was often a long time in coming to the children.

  And when slumber did finally come, Sterling’s evening became magical. In Chimera’s arms, his fantasies were fulfilled night after night. They talked at length about the boys, the cabin, and all the everyday activities. Their outrageous midnight feasts continued, the playful nights always ending with lovemaking.

  There had been no further trouble with Everett Sprague, and the peace soon began to puzzle Sterling. Surely a new supply of arms and ammunition had arrived at the ranch by now. It was a huge temptation to ride out to the ranch and discover the reasons for the tranquility, but he dared not leave Chimera and the children alone again. He began to feel the seven of them were the only people in the world, until a traveling peddler stopped by one day.

  “Montague’s my name,” the elderly man greeted him and Chimera as he drove his sagging wagon into the yard. “Y’all need anything? I ain’t sold much lately. Just come from a spread a few hours from here, and them folks didn’t buy as much as a blasted hairpin. ‘Course, with all the Apache trouble they been havin’, cain’t say as I blame ’em. The owner...believe he said his name was Sprague...he said he’s lost cattle, horses, and some twenty men to them Indians lately. Said he’s got what hands he has left on constant guard duty. You folks best be on your guard too. Me, I ain’t never bothered by them Indians. The trick is to be brave. Apaches respect courage. So, what can I sell ya? Trade you for some livestock if ya ain’t got no money.”

  Sterling and Chimera were thrilled to understand that Everett was too busy defending his ranch to bother with them. The news especially relieved Sterling. Since the Apache had decided to make Sprague their target, it was highly doubtful Sprague would survive. He had few men to protect him now, and Cochise had the power to rouse the entire Apache nation, should he be inclined to do so. The Indians would more than likely solve Chimera’s problem with Sprague. And as for her problem with the Apache...he was beginning to think she didn’t have one. The Indians had never once bothered her, and Sterling was sure that whatever the reason for their odd benevolence, it was a strong and important one and would therefore continue.

  He and Chimera thanked the talkative Montague for the neighborhood news and traded two fine calves and several fat pigs and chickens for some windowpanes for the new cabin. Chimera was able to obtain badly needed food staples. The triplets stole sweets from the wagon; Sterling caught them and forced them to return the filched candy. A trip to the woodshed followed. He then returned to an amused Montague, and filled two boxes with gunpowder and shells before helping Chimera choose items that would be used as Christmas gifts for the children.

  “Sweet heaven, Sterling! Do you realize that Venus is six months old today? It’s time for her half-birthday party.”

  “Her what?” asked Sterling, surprised. Venus couldn’t be six months old already. But Chimera was chattering on.

  “Oh, Sterling, you know how I love parties—and you like them more now, too, don’t you? Besides, I’ve finished sewing the collection of rag dolls for her. We’ll let the boys help her open her presents. Maybe I’ll even make some pie—”

  “Fine,” Sterling murmured, “Whatever you want.”

  With enthusiastic assistance from the boys, Chimera placed the dolls on the floor with Venus, whose eyes lit up as each one was unwrapped.

  But Chimera’s attention was soon drawn to Sterling. He’d been unusually pensive all afternoon. She saw him carefully watching Venus. It was almost as if he were studying the baby. Then he became restless, getting up from his chair frequently to pace and stare out the window. He answered the boys whenever they spoke to him, but his answers seemed mechanical. It was as if he wasn’t really in the room. He was somewhere else.

  She suddenly realized his mind was in Tucson. With extreme effort she kept her anxiety from consuming her. She had to keep trying to win Sterling’s love, for she couldn’t bear the thought of losing both Sterling and Venus.

  “You know, Sterling,” she hinted while lying in his arms later that night, “I’ve been thinking of all the things we’ve all done together since you got here. We’re so close now, don’t you think? All our wants and needs are being met by each other. It’s exactly like what Aristotle wrote: ‘The family is the association established by nature for the supply of man’s everyday wants.’ Family, Sterling. Has it crossed your mind how much like one we’ve become?”

  His heart sank. “Chimera, Venus is getting real big now,” he said as gently as he knew how. “The time we’ve had together has been wonderful, but I—Chimera, I...from the very beginning I made it clear I would leave one day. I have real family, estrellita. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you and the children,” he hastened to add, “but I have a mother. She’s my blood-related family, and I must find her. I can’t give that up. Say you understand and that you accept my decision.”

  It was a long time before she spoke. “The only thing I understand
is how much I love you.”

  He stared up at the holes in the ceiling. He’d gotten used to hearing her say she loved him; she told him that every chance she had. But as sweet as the words were, and as much as longed to believe them, he couldn’t. He’d thought about love for many hours while working on the new cabin, but he still couldn’t understand what it was made of. That puzzlement was what convinced him he didn’t love Chimera. Love was supposed to be the grandest thing that could happen to a person, and something that stupendous surely wouldn’t go unnoticed. It would take hold of a man and explode through him; it would hit him all of a sudden. Like a huge and unexpected bolt of lightning, it would flash brightly, zigzagging through a man with such fiery intensity that there was no way on earth the man could miss it. As much as he cared about Chimera, nothing like that had happened to him.

  Still staring at the ceiling, he decided he’d stay just long enough to finish the new cabin. He suspected it would be inhabitable by the first of March. Chimera’s invented birthday of February thirty-first, by his best estimation, was actually March third.

  He’d give her a cabin for a gift. It would be the last thing he did for her before leaving.

  “Dammit!” Sterling swore when he saw the outer east wall of the new cabin. “I’ll beat them until their bottoms are as red as their hair!”

  Chimera, who was on her belly talking to the gnomes she believed were under the bush in front of her, rose to look at the logs Sterling had painstakingly assembled. Deeply, irrevocably carved upon them was a message that read: this is the home of snig, snag, snug. She felt terrible for Sterling. He’d worked so hard smoothing the logs and making them perfect. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t understand what gets into them.”

  “They even tried hiding their sins. Look at all the brush piled up against the logs. Did they think the brush would remain there forever and I’d never see what they did? You know, we might not know who their mother is, but their father is no mystery. They’re the sons of Lucifer! And now that we know who their sire is, let’s give them back to him!”