Fever Dreams

by Laura Resnick

  They stood staring at each other in tense silence. Damn him, Madeleine fumed. He must know how hard this was for her! Why didn't he say something?

  “Aw, Maddie,” he shook his head, and a slow, tender smile touched his mouth, “you really know how to take all the fight out of me.”

  “Is that all you have to say?” she snapped.

  He grinned. “Not by a long shot.”

  “Ransom...” Her heart pounded painfully as she searched his expression.

  He crossed the room to her. “Actions speak louder than words.”

  She was in his arms before she took her next breath. His kiss was fierce and possessive, telling her everything she needed to know, offering her everything she so wanted from him. Then he buried his face in her hair. She clung to him, murmuring to him, listening with blossoming joy to the endearments he whispered as his arms tightened desperately around her.

  “I was so afraid for you...”

  “I missed you so much...”

  “I couldn't think about anything else...”

  “Day and night...”

  They kissed again, the warm melding of theirs mouths trying to satisfy all the longing and hunger of the past two weeks. Their whispers grew breathless and dazed as their hands found familiar ways to delight and entice.

  “Wait,” he said as she fumbled with the buttons of his rented shirt. “Wait a minute.”

  “No,” she sighed. “Now.”

  He stilled her seeking hands. “Maddie, I know I've never said or done the things that a guy probably should...” He took her by the hair and tilted her face up until their gazes met. “But, uh...” He swallowed. “Will you marry me?”

  She studied his intent, uncharacteristically hesitant expression. “You're serious,” she whispered.

  He frowned. “Of course, I'm serious. Do you think I go around saying this all the time?”

  “No, I can tell that you don't.”

  “It's the first time I've ever proposed to anyone,” he said a trifle defensively. “It's bound to be a little—”

  “It was perfect,” she said sincerely. “How could I refuse?”

  “You might,” he grumbled, still tense. “Just to be difficult.”

  “I'm never difficult on purpose,” she argued. She kissed him lightly, her blood thrumming with happiness. “Yes, I'll marry you.”

  “Oh. Good.” He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I mean, it saves me the trouble of carrying you off or something drastic like that.”

  “Would you?”

  “You bet. I don't give up easily.”

  She smiled and snuggled closer. “But there's something I want to know first.”

  He ran his hands over the smooth skin of her back. “What?”

  “Your name.”

  He went still. “Oh. That.”

  “Yes. That.” She finished unbuttoning his shirt and kissed his chest.

  He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. “Later.”

  She pressed her hand between his legs and felt him stir eagerly against her palm. “When?”

  “I'll tell you in the morning.” He undid the zipper at the back of her dress and slipped his hands inside.

  “I've heard that one before.” She let him peel the bodice of her dress away from her breasts, sighing as he caressed them.

  “No, I think I've heard that one before.”

  He arched her across his muscular arm and lowered his head to explore her breasts with his mouth. She buried her fingers in his crisp, sun-streaked hair and held his head against her, sighing with pleasure.

  A knock at the door made her gasp and lose her precarious footing. Ransom used the opportunity to back her against the wall.

  “Madeleine?” Preston's muffled voice came from outside the door.

  Ransom kissed her when she would have answered, then started pulling up the hem of her gown.

  “Madeleine, are you all right in there?”

  Her breath caught in her throat when she felt Ransom's hand between her legs, pulling away her delicate panties and then boldly exploring her with his fingers.

  “Let me get rid of him,” she whispered helplessly, trembling as her stroked her.

  “Ignore him. He'll go away,” was the soft response. Madeleine felt him unfasten his pants as he pressed against her. She shifted her hips suddenly, and Ransom winced.

  “Your leg!” she murmured, suddenly remembering his injury. “We should stop.”

  “Madeleine! Is that you? Are you all right?”

  “I can do this,” Ransom assured her, guiding her hand to his erection and closing his fingers around hers.

  “Are you sure?” she asked in concern.

  “Yes, I'm sure.” He was starting to sound exasperated. “Could we just get on with it?”

  “Do you need help?” Preston called.

  Ransom laughed. While he nibbled on her neck, Madeleine called, “No, I'm fine, Preston.”

  “Are you sure? Why is this door locked?” He rattled it.

  “Great,” Ransom muttered against her neck. “Now he'll never go away. Nice going, Maddie.”

  “Let me get rid of him,” she repeated.

  “Not just now,” he said tersely and thrust into her with enough force to make her head bang against the wall.

  “What was that?” Preston demanded.

  “N ... N ... N ...” Eagerly moving to accommodate her lover, Madeleine was breathing so hard she couldn't answer. “Nothing!” she called at last. Then she pressed her face into Ransom's shoulder, murmuring, “Oh, God, yes, yes...”

  They kissed, moving together, supported by the wall, forgetting everything but each other—until they heard a woman's voice outside the door. Even Ransom's ardor was somewhat dampened by their growing audience.

  “Christ, don't these people have anything better to do?” he growled. “What kind of a party is this?”

  Giggling helplessly, Madeleine slid her leg around his hip to pull him more deeply into her body. She stilled when she heard his sharp intake of breath and felt him stiffen with pain.

  “Careful. Here, like this.” He gripped her bottom and lifted her higher so that she wasn't putting pressure on his healing wound. Then he cast a glare at the door, where the voices were getting louder.

  “It's Caroline,” Madeleine whispered against his mouth. “She'll convince him you're not assaulting me in here.”

  “If she doesn't, he'll have the shock of his privileged young life,” Ransom muttered, plunging into her.

  The voices beyond the doorway rose in volume for a moment, arguing, then faded away and disappeared. Madeleine released her breath on a loud, voluptuous moan.

  “That's better,” Ransom said, making her do it again.

  “Tell me,” she panted.

  “I love you,” he murmured against her throat.

  “I meant ... Mmmm...”

  “What?”

  “Tell me ... Oh! ... your name.”

  She felt his soft puff of laughter against her hair, and then he was driving into her, driving her over the edge, and all she knew was sensation and the breath-stealing joy of his love.

  * * * *

  They sat slumped together, leaning against the wall, their clothes in wrinkled disarray, their skin flushed and glowing. Trembling in the aftermath, they nuzzled each other contentedly, whispering promises and secrets straight from their hearts.

  She told him about the daily tragedy she had witnessed at San Remo, the courage of the hungry Montedorans, and the reckless daring and scheming self-interest of the various journalists who had come to the mission. Mostly, though, she told him about Sister Margaret.

  “I've never met anyone I admired more,” she said. “Someday, I want you to meet her again.”

  He brushed her hair off her shoulder. “She sounds like you, only celibate.”

  “She has a true calling. But maybe ... maybe if she'd met a man like you fifty years ago, she might not be celibate either.” She linked her fingers
with his. “I've decided to give her the ranch.”

  He looked surprised. “Do you even still have control over what happens to the ranch?”

  “Not exactly. Even if I could organize a sale now, who would buy it?” The Germans had never reached Montedora, having cancelled their plans upon learning of Escalante's coup. “But Margaret is a friend of the Doristas. If they win the war, they'll let her have the ranch without a quarrel. If Escalante wins, he probably won't interfere with my donation to the mission, especially not with what I can tell the world about his treatment of us in Montedora. And if Veracruz wins—”

  “Veracruz is finished,” Ransom said with certainty. “How long will his troops stay loyal to him, if he's living comfortably in exile while they're surrounded by Doristas and Escalante's followers?”

  She watched him light up a cigarette, then asked a question that had been on her mind for a while. “Do you think Miguel made it out alive?”

  He squeezed her hand. “I didn't tell you! He called me.”

  “He called—”

  “From New Orleans. After he left Doragua, he picked up his mother and sisters at the border and drove the car all the way to Rio de Janeiro. Then he sold it and bought four round-trip tickets to New Orleans.”

  “Round-trip? But he's not going back—”

  “No, but it's easier to get through immigration if you've got a round-trip ticket.”

  “Why New Orleans?”

  “He read that it was an easier port of entry than L.A., New York, or Miami.”

  “He had been planning his escape for a long time,” Madeleine surmised.

  Ransom blew smoke toward the ceiling. “He was kind of emotional when he called. He knew about the war, of course, so he started trying to get news about us the moment he reached the U.S.”

  “I hope you weren't too hard on him,” she said.

  “I was ... a little hard on him,” Ransom admitted. “He expected it. And I couldn't just forget everything that happened to you after he took the car.”

  “You're the one who got shot.”

  “You're the one I worry about.” He kissed her.

  “But you're going to help him, aren't you?” she prodded, knowing the answer.

  “Yeah,” he admitted.

  She snuggled against him, smiling. “You're not half as tough as you pretend to be.”

  “Maybe not,” he agreed mildly, “but let's keep that between us, okay?” He rose to his feet and found an ashtray for his cigarette.

  “Okay,” she agreed as he helped her off the floor.

  She straightened the front of her gown, then turned around to let him zip it up. She tried to tidy her hair, then faced him. “How do I look?”

  “Like you've been having sex in the sitting room.”

  “Great. Maybe we should try to leave without being seen.”

  He finished buttoning his shirt, not bothering to tuck it in, then pulled his coat back on. “I think I've lost my tie.”

  “Too bad. But twentieth century fashion will survive this setback.”

  “You're the one who took it off. Where'd you put it?”

  “Here it is.” One of them had kicked it under an end table.

  “Oh. Thanks.” He stuffed it in his pocket.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Sure. Your place or mine?”

  “Mine. I haven't been home in three weeks,” she reminded him. She stretched and added, “I'm so tired, I could spend the next week in bed.”

  He grinned at her. “Precisely my plan.”

  She held out her hand. He took it and let her lead him to the door. “I'll just tell Caroline to make my apologies to my parents,” she said, unlocking and opening the door, “and then we can ... Mother!”

  Ransom looked doubtfully at the elegant woman who had turned to face them when Madeleine opened the door. Her expression swiftly changed from one of polite interest to frosty distaste as she studied them with glacially blue eyes. He realized that their appearance, added to the locked door, left little doubt about what they'd been doing. They probably even smelled of sex. Dammit, why did they have to bump into Maddie's mother, of all people? He glanced at Madeleine, waiting for her renowned tact to rescue them all.

  “Mother, I'm so glad you'll be the first to know. Mr. Ransom has just asked me to marry him, and I've accepted,” Madeleine said with as much composure as if she'd been planning this moment for weeks.

  Ransom grinned. Yeah, she had guts, all right.

  Madeleine's mother quickly concealed her true feelings (shock and dismay, Ransom suspected) behind a bright, artificial smile. “How delightful, dear! When will the wedding be? Or...” She laughed prettily. “Is it too soon to ask?”

  Ransom glanced at Madeleine. “Next month?” he ventured, supposing she'd want time to do whatever it was women did for their weddings.

  “Next month,” she agreed, smiling beautifully at him. Okay, he could put up with her mother now and then, he supposed.

  “Madeleine!” a voice boomed from halfway down the vast corridor. An elegant, gray-haired man came striding toward them, and Ransom realized they weren't going to escape the party as easily as they had hoped.

  “Uncle Winnie!” Madeleine accepted the man's embrace and exchanged a few words with him before her mother interrupted.

  “Winnie, dear,” Eleanore said, “please allow me to introduce Madeleine's fiance.”

  “Fiance! You're getting married?”

  “Mr. Ransom,” Eleanore said. “this is my brother-in-law, Senator Winston Barrington.”

  “How do you do, sir?” Ransom decided he'd better take control of the situation before any more relatives turned up. “It's been a pleasure meeting you both, but we were just about to—”

  “You're getting a wonderful girl, er...” Uncle Winnie frowned briefly at Ransom. “Sorry, son, didn't catch your first name?”

  “Come to think of it, neither did I,” said Madeleine's mother.

  Her eyes glowing with amusement, Madeleine said, “Don't be shy, darling. Tell them.”

  “Shy?” boomed the Senator. “Nonsense! We're all family now, eh?”

  Ransom looked a little desperately from one Barrington to the next. Might as well get it over with, he decided.

  “My full name is Horace Balthazar Ransom.” He glanced at Madeleine and added defensively, “It was my grandfather's name.”

  “Ah, a fine old family name then!” Uncle Winnie pumped Ransom's hand and cried, “Welcome to the family, Horace!”

  Ransom winced. “Actually, sir, I prefer to be called—”

  “Sorry, can't stop to chat now. But we'll be seeing lots more of you, I'm sure.” The Senator patted him on the back and strode away.

  “He's canvassing. As usual,” Eleanore said with evident distaste. She then turned her attention to the happy couple. “I'm sure you want to share this, er, delightful news with your father, dear, but perhaps you should freshen up first. If you'll forgive me for saying so, you look rather—”

  “Yes, actually, we were just leaving, Mother. I'll call Dad tomorrow, all right?”

  It clearly wasn't all right, but Eleanore Barrington wasn't about to have an argument in front of the virtual stranger who'd been ravishing her willing daughter in the sitting room. She wished them a frosty goodnight, then returned to her guests. Ransom stared after her till Madeleine tugged on his sleeve.

  “Come along, Horace.”

  “Don't call me Horace,” he warned, following her down the corridor.

  She paused before a door leading out to the kitchen garden, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Touchy, aren't we?”

  “Damn right.” He eyed her lazily, thinking she looked pretty good in that gown, thinking maybe he'd pounce on her once they reached his car.

  “Horace,” she repeated. She shook her head. “No, it just doesn't work, Ransom.”

  Smiling, he followed her laughter out into the night air.

  * * *

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