by Peggy Webb
When it was over, the audience went wild. They rushed the bandstand, congratulating her over and over again, praising her singing, the party, the animal shelter. Louie edged his way to her side, taking in his share of the praise.
Jacob waited patiently beside the French doors. His time would come. Soon. As soon as the crowd left. He leaned against the door frame, drowning in the presence of Rachel and the fragrance of gardenias suspended from the ceiling beside his head.
As the crowd began to leave, Louie pulled Rachel aside for a private word.
“That man, Rachel—Jacob Donovan. You two have been lovers?”
“How did you know?”
“A man sees these things.” He shook a cigar from his pack and clamped it between his teeth. “Something’s burning a hole in his heart. Yours, too. You want to tell old Louie about it, sweetheart?”
Rachel put a hand on his arm.
“Thanks, Louie, but not now. Maybe sometime, but not right now.”
She let herself scan the crowd. Jacob was still there. She’d known he wouldn’t leave.
“I’ve had three wives, Rachel. Loved them all in my own way. I know about love. When you need good, sound advice, you come to old Louie, huh? You come to me, sweetheart.”
She kissed his cheek. “How would I get along without you?”
“Very well, my dear. Very well, indeed.” Louie patted her shoulders, her arms, and her cheeks in his fatherly way, clucking and murmuring in Italian. “You come to old Louie, you hear?” With those final words, he followed the last stragglers out the door.
Rachel leaned against the piano, seeking its solid support, while the band packed to leave. The room was silent except for the rattling of cymbals, the shudder of the drums, and the snapping of locks on the instrument cases.
And then, she was alone with Jacob Donovan.
Peeling off his bomber jacket and slinging it over his shoulder, he walked toward her. She pressed against the piano.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“About tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Vashti told me this morning in the park. Then I read it in the afternoon papers.” He put one foot on the bandstand, propped his arm on his knee, and looked deep into her eyes. “You’re a busy lady.”
“I try to be.”
“I admire a person who is not selfish with her talents.”
“You admire me, Jacob?”
Their gazes clashed. They were playing a game, and both of them knew it.
“I admire your voice. Were you singing to me tonight, Rachel?”
“No.”
“You once said you sang all your songs for me.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Six years.”
“Yes.”
They were silent a while, their breathing a harsh sound in the room. Jacob leaned closer, his penetrating gaze making Rachel flushed and hot.
“You’re wearing pearls again, Rachel.”
Her hand went to the choker of twisted pearls and diamonds, brushed over the three large sapphires set in the center.
“Not just pearls.”
“But pearls, nonetheless.”
She thought she would drown in his blue eyes as memories washed over her. Pearls. She remembered so well. . . .
o0o
It had been seven years ago. Jacob had bought her a single strand of perfect pearls for her birthday. Standing in the bedroom of her apartment in Greenville, he’d lifted her hair, fastening them on her neck.
“Pearls become you, Rachel. You should always wear them.”
She turned in his arms and gave him a long, leisurely kiss. “For you, I’ll always wear pearls.”
He laughed. “One kiss always makes me hungry.”
“For food?” she teased.
“For more.” He bent her over backward, nuzzling her neck, nudging the top button on her cashmere sweater.
“Jacob . . . Jacob . . . .” One touch from him, and she was liquid with need.
In answer to her pleas, he unbuttoned her sweater and cast it aside. Still without speaking, his eyes burning into hers, he unfastened her skirt and let it drift to the floor. Her satin slip whispered as he slipped it over her head. His fingertips dragged slowly over her skin, sending shivers through her body. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her panties, he slid them down her legs.
When she was wearing only pearls and high heels, he made love to her. There on her brass bed with the moonlight filtering through the curtains. . . .
o0o
She still remembered how the pearls had felt against her skin, warm and alive. Sensual.
She shook her head and raked her hair away from her hot face.
“The past is always with us, isn’t it, Rachel?”
“Damn you for knowing, Jacob.”
Laughing, he reached for her hand. “Come.”
She tried to jerk her hand away, but he kept it in a tight grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Jacob. Who do you think you are to come barging into my house, ordering me around?”
“I’m the man you once loved.” His face tightened. “And I don’t intend to spend the rest of the evening standing here arguing with you.”
He swept her off her feet and tossed her casually over his shoulder.
“Put me down, you pirate.”
He swatted her fanny and continued his march to the door. “Behave.”
“Just where do you think you’re taking me?”
“Down memory lane.”
The French doors clicked shut behind him, and he began to whistle Waltzing Matilda.
CHAPTER FIVE
The plane stood on a deserted private runway ten miles east of Biloxi. It was Jacob’s twin-engine Baron, and the private strip belonged to Captain Mark Waynesburg. When Jacob had called that afternoon, he’d been happy to allow another flyboy to use it.
Jacob parked the rental car, opened the door, and lifted Rachel out. Slinging her over his shoulder again, he walked toward the plane.
“Put me down. I can walk.”
“I’m not taking any chances.”
“Look, I’ve given in to this kidnapping graciously—”
“Graciously! You call all that ranting and raving gracious?” He patted her bottom and kept on walking.
“I never rant and rave. I merely express my opinions.”
“The way you express your opinions is enough to make the United Nations sit up and take notice.”
“You used to call it spirit. You used to love it.”
He still did, but he wasn’t about to tell her. Things were already bad enough for him, with Rachel’s body pressed against him front and back and her fragrance drifting around him like an aphrodisiac. The sooner he got her off his shoulder, the better.
When they were beside the plane, he lowered her to the ground, but he kept his arm around her waist, holding her close against his chest. The wind caught her hair and blew it back into his face. The soft scent of roses nearly drove him wild.
“Rachel.” Her name was a sigh on his lips.
She looked up at him with eyes filled with passion. From the moment he’d walked into her ballroom, she’d known they were fated to come together. Heated by the love song she’d sung to him, spurred by the flame in his eyes, melting from the contact of being flung over his shoulder, she laced her arms around his neck.
“Kiss me, Jacob.”
His expression was fierce, then his lips claimed hers. Holding nothing back, she let herself be vulnerable to him. He caught her hips and dragged her closer. Through his jeans, through the heavy satin of her skirt, she felt the heat of him, the size of him.
“Jacob, Jacob,” she murmured.
“Ahhh, Rachel. . . .” His mouth seared her skin. “I can’t resist.”
“Don’t try.” Her head dropped back on her limp neck as he aimed his kisses lower. His tongue found the hollow where her breasts pushed up above the top of her strapless gown. The heat consumed her.
He kissed every inch of her exposed skin until even the pearls and diamonds at her throat burned her. When he took possession of her mouth, she leaned into him, as eager for him as she’d been six years ago -- before the fight, before her letter, before Bob.
“Rachel. . . .” He tried to pull away, then found himself drawn back to the mindless madness of her kiss. She was a sorceress, a beautiful alchemist who was changing him, turning him from his purpose.
With more than a little regret, he put his hand on her shoulders and gently separated them.
“It’s the heat,” he said, “the damned Biloxi heat.”
They both knew better. It was not the heat of the night that had them under a spell: It was the heat of passion.
Rachel saw her advantage and took it.
“You were never a coward, Jacob,” she taunted.
“I was never a fool, either.” He jerked off his bomber jacket and slung it around her shoulders. “Here. Wear this. You’ll get cold.”
“In this heat?”
“We won’t be in this heat much longer. We’ll be there.” He swept his arm wide to encompass the starlit sky.
The shock of his statement was enough to cool her ardor.
“Are you mad?”
“Yes.” His smile was rueful. “Totally without reason. Certifiably insane.” He opened the door to the cockpit. “You’d do well not to argue with me while I’m in this condition.”
She balked. “I’m not getting in that airplane.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No! I hate to fly. You know that.”
“Tonight you’ll show me exactly how much you hate the sky. You’ll explain to me precisely why.”
Rachel glimpsed the personal demons that drove him. The plane rose up beside them, gleaming in the moonlight, a ghostly machine, a diabolical machine that had haunted her since her mother’s death. Her chin went up. She wouldn’t be defeated, not this time.
“I’ll show you, Jacob. Help me into this damned machine, and I’ll tell you exactly why I hate it.” She put her arms into the sleeves of his jacket, then turned to face him. “And after tonight, I will never fly again.”
He helped her into the cockpit, leaning over her to strap her in. Her face was pale. He touched his hand to her cheek, already regretting his tactics.
“Don’t be afraid, Rachel. I won’t let any harm come to you.”
“I’m not afraid.” She pulled the jacket close around her throat, covering her glittering necklace.
Jacob’s hands played gently over her face. “I want you to understand, this is one problem that should have been resolved between us long ago.”
“You never tried to understand my viewpoint, Jacob.”
“Lord knows, I tried to, but I suppose you’re right. I could never understand how anyone could hate and fear something so beautiful.” He gazed into her eyes, willing her to understand—and to forgive. Then he turned resolutely and fastened on his headset. “Tonight you will see that flying is almost a religious experience. In the sky, in that vast and mysterious cathedral—” he paused, his arm swinging upward toward the stars “—you will feel almost as if you could touch the face of God.”
They were silent as Jacob concentrated on getting the Baron aloft. He taxied the craft smoothly down the runway, gaining speed, pulling back on the throttle, lifting the nose, climbing, climbing into the stars. A sense of exhilaration filled him until he almost shouted with joy. In the sky, he was both servant and commander. In the vastness of the heavens, he was as small and insignificant as a grain of sand. And yet . . . he was master. He commanded the machine that carried him. Like a well-trained dog, the plane obeyed his slightest order. In the Baron he could transcend the earth, traverse the heavens. All the wonder -- and mystery -- of the sky was his.
They climbed higher, higher than eagles.
Huddled into the copilot’s seat, Rachel forgot her fear when she saw his face. The only time she’d ever seen a face glow like his was more than five years before, when Benjamin had been born. Holding her newborn son in her arms, she’d seen herself in the mirror.
She looked out the window, trying to see her surroundings with Jacob’s eyes. But all she saw was darkness, interrupted here and there with a sprinkling of stars.
The Baron lifted into the sky. At 7,500 feet, Jacob turned to Rachel.
“Button your jacket. The temperature is zero degrees up here.” He flipped a switch that regulated the plane’s heater.
Even in the enclosed plane, she noticed the chill. Nodding, she obeyed Jacob, then she turned from him to look out the window. She was beginning to relax. She didn’t know if it had to do with Jacob’s presence or her own rationalization that she was too old to let her fear of flying continue to dominate her life. It was only part of the reason she’d left Jacob, but it was the sole reason she had never accepted singing engagements overseas.
Bob had known that and had not tried to change her mind. If possible, he’d always booked her engagements so that they’d have plenty of time to drive. Several times she’d had to make quick trips to New York or Los Angeles and had forced herself to fly, but she’d never conquered the fear.
She glanced at the man beside her. Things would have been different if she had married Jacob. She knew that now. He would never have passively accepted her fear of flying. At some point he would have done exactly what he was doing now—kidnapped her and taken her into the air to let her experience the adventure through his eyes.
She hugged his coat around her and smiled. Being with a swashbuckling man certainly had its appeal.
“Rachel.” She jumped when he spoke her name. He smiled at her. “You’re not scared, are you?”
“No. I don’t love it, mind you, but I have confidence in the pilot.”
“Good. We’re going into that cloud bank just above us. You won’t see anything outside the window until we climb out at about fourteen thousand feet. Think of it as taking a stroll through heavy fog.”
If he hadn’t explained what was happening, she might have been scared. Instead she felt only a slight tremor as the Baron cut through the bottom of the clouds and entered the darkness that was without stars. Puffs of dark gray clouds rolled by the windows like dirty snow that had banked along some cold street corner. Smoky wisps floated toward them, then rose up toward the dark columns of clouds that surrounded the plane.
“Are you okay, Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“We’re almost there.”
Suddenly the nose of the plane lifted out of the clouds. Color so brilliant it dazzled her eyes poured into the plane. The cockpit was filled with a golden glow. It shone on her skin, glinted off the diamonds at her throat and ears.
“Jacob!”
“It’s the moon, Rachel. Look.”
The moon, full and bright and so close she could almost touch it, hung between two banks of clouds, darkness above and darkness below. Its shining splendor touched the tops of the cloud mountains, gilding them.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“No.”
“And you never will. Except up here in the sky.” He watched her, watched her awe-struck expression. “This is one of the reasons I fly, Rachel. This is one of the reasons I will never give it up.”
“Nor should you.” She turned to face him. “It’s like being in the middle of a lovely song, Jacob. It’s like seeing the most incredible love song ever written come to life.”
He smiled. “You understand.”
At last, she did. “Yes.”
Too late for regrets, he thought. Too late to wish he’d brought her with him into the sky more than six years ago.
“Then let’s go home,” he said.
In silence they left the ethereal otherworld of the sky
and descended once more to the earth. So smooth was the landing that there was no indication they weren’t still flying except for the hiss of the tires as they connected with the runway.
They sat for two full minutes, unwilling to break the spell that bound them together. At last Jacob spoke.
“Is this why, Rachel?”
She knew what he meant. “Partially, Jacob. I could see only the danger not the beauty. I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
He helped her from the cockpit, careful not to keep her hand too long lest even that brief contact undo his control.
Inside the car, she peeled off his jacket and handed it back to him. The scent of roses clung to the garment. He flung the jacket carelessly onto the back seat, as if he hadn’t noticed, but he knew it would be a long, long time before he could wear that jacket without thinking of Rachel. Maybe he never could.
Neither spoke as they drove back to her house. Rachel was grateful he didn’t question her, thankful he didn’t press for the truth. She had other things on her mind. Jacob. She had Jacob on her mind.
o0o
He let her out at the gate, allowing her to make a graceful exit. If he had insisted on coming inside, insisted on kissing her, she didn’t, know what the consequences would have been. As she watched him drive away, she knew she had to leave. One by one Jacob was crumbling her defenses. If she stayed in Biloxi, she knew that her heart would betray her. It belonged to Jacob, always had, always would. She knew that now. The tragedy was that she couldn’t listen to her heart. She had to think of Benjamin.
She didn’t bother trying to sleep. In the few hours of night that were left, she changed into slacks and packed her bags. When the first light of morning glowed on the eastern horizon, she tiptoed into Benjamin’s room and packed for him, too. As she packed, she could hear Vashti stirring. Rachel smiled. Vashti had never been one to while away the day in bed.
She went into the kitchen, stopping by the stove long enough to pour herself a cup of coffee. It was strong and black, perked the old-fashioned way in an aluminum pot over a gas flame.
Vashti watched her for a while before she spoke her piece.
