Spring Fires

by Unknown

  The hotel's dining room, like the rest of its facilities, was first class. While they lingered over their dinner of beef stroganoff, Stacy prudently sipped only a small quantity of the dry wine which accompanied their meal.

  After his plate was removed, Drew pushed away from the table and said, "Why don't we take a walk down by the river? I need to work off this dinner."

  Unaccountably, Stacy smarted under his prosaic tone. Instead of sounding like an eager bridegroom, he seemed more suited to the role of an inveterate husband. Miffed, she agreed tersely.

  Outside they followed the street for a ways and then descended a flight of steps which led to San Antonio's famous river walk. Even at this late hour there were crowds of people, and the path was well lit with strings of lights, so even though the sky had clouded over they could see clearly. Spicy scents from the sidewalk cafe's blended with the smell of the river and trees.

  Stacy figured that they must have walked about a mile when Drew finally suggested that they retrace their steps. Her feet were aching by the time they had reached the intimate privacy of their room. She thought ruefully that if she had known they were going to spend the evening strolling around, she would have worn appropriate footwear. All she wanted to do was kick off her shoes and soak her feet in some hot water.

  Drew's voice interrupted her musings. "Why don't you use the bathroom first? I haven't read today's paper yet." His hand indicated the newspaper and magazines arranged neatly on a low table.

  "Fine," she agreed, confused once again by his remote demeanor. She had not expected him to pounce on her once they were alone, but this was ridiculous!

  She opted for a warm shower, and after she had toweled dry she slipped on the silky white peignoir which she had bought especially for this night.

  Drew was still scanning the paper when she re-entered the lounge. He had removed his jacket and tie, but otherwise had not bothered to change.

  He glanced up and saw her hesitating just inside the doorway. For a moment Stacy thought she glimpsed a kindling of hunger in his eyes; then they were veiled by his lashes and he briskly folded the paper and tossed it to a table as he stood up. Without another look in her direction, he walked through the doorway, saying over his shoulder, "I'll take my turn now."

  Flummoxed, Stacy paced across the room, growing angrier with each step. She didn't know what he was trying to prove; whatever it was, she did not like it. She thought back over the preceding weeks, recalling that except for an occasional kiss, Drew had rarely touched her.

  By the time he returned, wearing pajama bottoms and a robe, Stacy had worked herself into a flaming temper.

  "That wasn't long," she said sharply.

  He glanced at her, perplexed. "No, it wasn't."

  "I'm surprised you didn't drag it out."

  He raised his brow. "You don't sound much like a timid maiden." His voice sounded sardonic.

  "How am I supposed to react when you make your disinterest so blatant?"

  "Is that the problem?" Stacy should have been wary of the iron ring in his voice, but she was beyond discretion. "You've hardly looked at me all evening, and then you… you read the paper!" She gestured dramatically at the innocent newsprint.

  "I'm looking at you now—come here."

  "Why should I?" she answered, oblivious to his cold, intimidating gaze.

  "Because you're my wife."

  "Big deal!" She had not meant those words to slip out. Uneasily, she ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. His face became thunderous and automatically she stepped back a pace.

  Swiftly, he crossed the intervening space and grasped her tightly, his fingers digging into her arms. "Don't you move away from me!" he blurted out.

  Although she tried to pull away, his hold was too strong. "Let me go!"

  "No! You're my wife. I can do practically anything I want." His jaw clenched.

  She continued to argue: "This is the twentieth century… I have rights!"

  "Oh, really," he drawled menacingly. "So do I."

  "A husband can't force his wife!" Now why did I say that? she wondered miserably. Nothing was going the way she had expected.

  "I've proved on more then one occasion that I needn't use coercion." He ran his hand up across the silky fabric, over her shoulder to her neck. Uncontrollably, she trembled; her heart was pounding. He smiled smugly as his eyes flickered over her. "You are ready and… willing."

  "My—you're so chivalrous." Her voice was scornful.

  "I've never claimed to be… I take what I want," he told her as one hand twisted through her hair and he held her head securely as he lowered his mouth to ravage her lips.

  Uselessly she struggled against his insolent possession, pummeling his solid back with her fists. He grabbed her flaying hands and pinned them to her sides by wrapping one long arm around her slender body and grasping the opposite wrist. Effectively bound, gagging her vocal protests with his mouth, he brazenly moved his other hand over the curves of her hips, up past her waist until it closed over her breast. Dexterously, he kneaded the swelling tissue until the tip hardened.

  He raised his head, arrogantly staring into her eyes. Stacy's breathing was rapid and shallow as she tried to control her betraying responses.

  "So much for your objections," he said.

  "You beast!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

  "You say one thing, but your body tells a different story."

  Then, unexpectedly, she burst into tears.

  He muttered an oath and contemptuously flung her away. Frantically, she grabbed the back of a chair for support.

  "Spare me the tears." His gruff voice sounded disgusted. "Go to bed. I won't bother you again." Stacy watched through stricken eyes as he turned on his heel and paced over to the built-in bar, flinging open doors until he located a glass and bottle. He lifted his proud head and glared at her. "Get out of my sight!"

  Biting back a sharp retort, she straightened away from the chair, regarding him wide-eyed. And then she dashed into the bedroom, slammed the door, and flung herself on the bed, burying her face in the cool, soft pillow, weeping bitterly over the fiasco which she had created.

  At some point she must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew it was morning and the sun was blazing through the undrawn drapes. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling and bleakly reflecting on last night's disaster.

  She realized, belatedly, she had misjudged Drew's motives. Thinking clearer this morning, she discerned that originally he had tried to relieve the inherent tension by not pressing her. Unfortunately, her frayed nerves had misconstrued this as indifference.

  Dispiritedly, she slid off the bed and went into the bathroom to bathe her puffy eyelids with cool water.

  "Well, my girl, you really blew it this time," she said to her mirror image. "What are you going to do?"

  "I'll tell you." Stacy jumped, startled by the sound of Drew's voice, and she stared at the reflection looming behind hers. His eyes were bloodshot and his chin was shadowed by his beard. He was naked from the waist up. By his disreputable appearance she assumed he had not spent a peaceful night. While she was absorbing these impressions, he continued: "First we're going down to breakfast. Then we'll go out sightseeing."

  "Sounds good." She managed to keep her words steady. "I've finished in here—I'll go get dressed."

  He nodded in agreement and she slipped around him and out the door.

  Minutes later she had applied a light cover of makeup and had zipped up her dirndl skirt and was reaching for her print blouse when he appeared and leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest.

  Quickly she thrust her arms into the full sleeves, conscious of his disturbing presence. When the last button was fastened, she turned to him.

  Giving her a lopsided grin, he said, "My head is pounding. Do you have any aspirin?"

  "Yes, in my tote bag." She rummaged through the contents of the bag while he waited. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him yawn
and stretch, the muscles of his chest rippling under the mat of hair and his pajamas loosely clinging to his lean hips.

  With a groan he clutched his head. "Something tells me last night didn't work out very well."

  Stacy looked up curiously. "Don't you remember?" she asked.

  "Not much," he said with a rueful grin. "Fill me in."

  Unsure of what to say, she paused, thinking swiftly. "What's the last thing you recall?"

  "We went for a walk by the river—didn't we?"

  "Yes."

  "That's it." His eyes locked with hers.

  Stacy released her breath slowly. "I think the combination of champagne and wine got to you. You went into the lounge while I changed… I guess you must have passed out." Deliberately, she skipped several major points.

  "How about you?"

  "I fell asleep on the bed." She indicated the rumpled sheets.

  Shrewdly, he stared at her, but her carefully schooled expression gave nothing away. He shrugged his shoulders as if dismissing it, took the bottle of aspirin from her, and went into the bathroom.

  "He really doesn't remember!" she whispered to herself. She had been so worried about facing him this morning, and now, like a gift from heaven, the memory of that sordid argument had been wiped away.

  Shaking her head in amazement, she walked out to the lounge. She halted, spotting the half-empty bottle. Furtively, she cleared it away. She would not leave anything to joggle his memory. Then her eyes inspected the room, and with a spark of amusement she set to work returning the sofa to its normal condition, fluffing the pillows and smoothing the fabric.

  "Well," she mused to herself while she straightened up, "this honeymoon isn't quite as I'd envisioned, but I'm not going to rock the boat."

  During the subsequent days Drew and Stacy spent their time on companionable outings, revisiting such well-known landmarks as the Alamo, which they now viewed with an adult perspective and understanding of the brave men who lost their lives there. One evening they went to the dinner theater, and for another Drew persuaded Stacy to go to a pro-basketball game.

  Each night when they returned to their hotel suite, Drew's manner became distant and withdrawn. And he always chose to sleep on the lounge sofa, leaving Stacy alone in the vast bed.

  When Stacy was besieged by doubts, she firmly suppressed them and took each day as it came, content, at least temporarily, with Drew's friendly company. She knew that this unnatural situation could not last indefinitely, but she was too proud to make the first overture, and remembering how ineptly she had handled their wedding night, she forebore provoking any confrontation. It had been like igniting a fuse to a stick of dynamite, and the memory of the resulting explosion still sent shivers down her spine.

  Chapter Ten

  One morning, a few days after Stacy had settled into her new home, she dismally surveyed the kitchen. What this place needs, she told herself, is a fresh coat of paint. Although Drew had suggested that she might make changes in the decor, she had confined her activities to rearranging furniture and purchasing a few knick-knacks to give it a homier atmosphere. With time on her hands, she found her purse and went out to the hardware store.

  She returned an hour later with two gallons of yellow paint and all the paraphernalia she needed for the job. Around three o'clock she paused to fix a sandwich, and was contentedly munching away, admiring her work, when the phone rang.

  She reached it on the second ring. "Hello."

  "Hi, Stacy… just wanted you to know I can't make it back for dinner," Drew said.

  "Oh?" In spite of herself she was plagued by doubts. Drew was a virile man, and she realized that if he did not satisfy his masculine needs with his wife, then he might choose to seek satisfaction elsewhere.

  "Yes. I'm meeting several men from United Oil. I'll be in late, so you don't have to wait up for me."

  "Of course not," she said, chagrined. Why bother waiting up for a husband who sleeps in a separate bedroom? she thought grimly. A dismal feeling swept over her.

  "Why don't you invite Katie over?" Drew's voice suggested.

  "I can't do that. The place is at sixes and sevens. By the time I get it cleaned up it will be too late."

  "What are you doing?" His tone was mildly curious.

  "Nothing much," she told him. "I'm painting the kitchen."

  "You should have hired someone."

  She sighed despondently and found herself explaining, "Since I haven't found a new job, I have plenty of time."

  "Okay, I'll let you get back to it. Bye, Stacy."

  "Bye, Drew," she responded just as the line went dead.

  Briskly she straightened up the debris from her sparse lunch and returned to work. The task took much longer then she had anticipated since she decided to go ahead and apply a second coat after Drew's phone call. By the time she had restored the kitchen to its former order, it was past seven. She was tired, but her stomach growled with hunger so she heated and consumed a small can of stew before she went upstairs to bathe.

  Splatters of paint covered her arms and legs, and it took quite a while for her to effectively clean all of the spots with turpentine. After using the smelly solution, she decided that she needed a bath more than ever.

  Slowly she eased her body into the tub filled with rich fragrant bubble bath and relaxed with her eyes closing from weariness. The water had cooled and she was preparing to emerge when the door opened and Drew strolled in. Barely daring to breathe, she plunged her body beneath the water, but little foam remained to protect her modesty. She blushed hotly as Drew slowly scrutinized her appearance and said sharply, "So here you are."

  Stacy wondered at the note of concern in his voice. Peeking up at him, she detected a strange glint in his eyes.

  "Didn't you hear me call?"

  "No." She nodded in the direction of the door. "It was closed."

  He continued to stare. "Have you just recently finished painting?"

  "Yes. It took most of the day… I thought you were going to be home late," she answered.

  "We got done early." He leaned casually against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest as though he had all the time in the world to chat. Stacy wished he would leave. Between the tepid water and the draft from the open doorway, she was becoming quite cold and had to clamp her teeth together to keep them from chattering.

  "I've been through the kitchen. You did an excellent job."

  High praise, indeed! she thought to herself. Aloud, she said, "Th-thank you."

  "You look ready to turn blue," he observed with a faint smile. "Come on, get out of that tub."

  "Not until you go," she snapped.

  Ignoring her request, he stepped forward, grabbing a towel off the rack. "Stand up!" he ordered implacably.

  Reluctantly, she obeyed, crossing her arms in front of her body. She could not meet his eyes. He might be her husband, but this was the first time he had seen her totally nude. Spreading the towel out as if to wrap it around her, Drew paused, running his eyes over her smooth skin, drinking in her loveliness like a parched man.

  "My God, you're beautiful," he murmured as he enfolded her in the fluffy fabric and rubbed her dry. By the time he was done she felt comfortably warm; her nerve endings were tingling from his intimate touch. As if compelled by some force stronger then herself, Stacy raised her lashes. Her breath caught in her throat at the passionate desire glowing in his eyes.

  Frightened by his smoldering gaze, Stacy took a ragged breath and tried to side-step around him. He anticipated her move and she plunged against the wall of his chest as he plucked the towel from her nerveless grasp. Flinging it aside, he imprisoned her body against his. "I've waited too long," he muttered just as his lips came down on hers in a searing kiss.

  She tore her mouth away and said, her voice faltering, "I… I'm not ready." But deep in her soul a voice whispered, Liar!

  "Yes, you are," he said hoarsely. "Your body is on fire." He traced a finger sensuously over her flesh. Then with
a slow, deliberate move he cupped her chin and forced her head up to meet his demanding mouth.

  As she quivered against him the pressure of his warm lips softened into a tantalizing caress. His tongue gently probed her lips apart. Her resistance ebbed away, dissolved by his ardent exploration.

  Sensing her capitulation, Drew swung her up in his arms and carried her through to the bedroom, never allowing her to re-establish her defenses by continuing his seductive stroking of her breast with the tips of his calloused fingers and teasing the bare skin of her shoulder and throat with titillating kisses.

  He set her on her feet for an instant while he threw back the bed covers, and then he was lowering her to the bed, pushing her back onto the soft cotton sheets and covering her body with his.

  The buttons of his shirt pressed into her tender skin, but after kissing her for another moment he uttered a muffled groan, rolled off the bed, and stood up, jerking his shirt from the waistband as he unfastened it. Quickly he shrugged out of the sleeves and Stacy watched transfixed as he continued to undress.

  Any niggling doubts were overpowered by the love that welled up inside her. She knew that this was the moment that she had been craving. It was right for him to possess her completely.

  Instinctively, with a naturally seductive movement, she raised her arms to him as he stepped out of his clothes. He melted his powerful body against her and her nostrils caught his distinctive masculine scent. His hardening muscles mutely proclaimed his desire. Gently teasing her with his hands and mouth, he patiently continued to arouse her with infinite care until she reached a fevered pitch. She felt as though she'd go mad unless he filled the gnawing void deep within her. Sensing her readiness, he rained fervent kisses on her mouth. Caught up in a vortex of sensual delight, Stacy arched her back to meet his movements until all her senses exploded with ultimate fulfillment.

  During the night, half-asleep, Stacy stretched her legs against the uncomfortably binding sheets.

  "Stacy? You awake?" came a deep voice from out of the darkness.