The Dixie Virgin Chronicles: Belinda (Book 1)

by Peggy Webb

  “Well, I’ll be...” she said as she walked into the room.

  “Please close the door behind you.”

  She eased the door shut, then she stood uncertainly.

  Reeve stood up, tall and handsome and formal. “Won’t you please sit down, Belinda?”

  She wasn’t about to be intimidated by circumstances. If there was one thing she’d learned from the friends she’d made at Camp Piomingo so many years ago it was stand your ground. Walking so her skirts would swish, she made her way to the sofa.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Once she was seated, she leaned back, kicked off one shoe and tucked her leg under her. “My, my. How good it is to relax after a long hot summer day.”

  Reeve chuckled as he sat back down. She guessed that was a good sign. It did seem to her that he laughed more than he used to. She liked to think it was her influence. Maybe it was time for that jitterbug lesson she’d promised him. And after that, she thought she’d start planning family picnics. Of course, she wasn’t really a part of the family, but as the nanny, she would certainly go along. And she could pretend.

  She’d done a lot of pretending lately. Just the night before she had pretended Betsy and Mark were actually her children and that she would be in a front-row seat when they graduated from high school. Shoot, she could picture herself sitting in the front pew of the church when Betsy got married, wearing a nice crepe-de-chine dress with just a touch of sparkle on the shoulder. She did love fancy clothes. She gave a long contented sigh.

  “Happy?” Reeve’s voice startled her. He had been quiet so long she had almost forgotten he was there.

  “Yes.” She started to add she was happier than a pig in the sunshine, but she had noticed that Reeve didn’t talk like that. She guessed if she lived around him long enough she might get to talking classy like him. Heck, if she’d got to spend more time with the Dixie Virgins through the years, she’d be talking as educated as Janet, who was studying to be a pediatrician.

  “I’m glad.” He didn’t say anything else, but kept watching her like she was some sort of prize at the county fair, and he was figuring out whether she was worth trying to win.

  She didn’t mind. In fact, she sort of liked having his eyes on her. It made her feel soft and liquid and kind of hummy inside, like she might break out in song in a minute or two.

  “You’ve done an excellent job with the children.”

  “Thank you.”

  His eyes settled on her once more, and she let out a big sigh. “I have always believed in rewarding excellence,” he said after a moment.

  “That’s not necessary. My salary is more than generous.”

  “Indulge me.” Smiling, he rose from his chair. The lamplight slanted across his cheekbones, softening his whole face. Belinda wanted to leave her comfortable place at the sofa and run her hands down the sides of his face.

  His back was turned to her as he fiddled about the entertainment center. It was a lovely back, proud and straight with a broad set of shoulders that made her glad he belonged to her. Of course, he didn’t really belong to her, but he was her boss and she reckoned that gave her some privileges.

  When he turned around he was holding the prettiest box Belinda had ever seen. “Oh,” she sighed. It was a large box wrapped in gold paper and tied with a sparkly pink bow. The bow glittered so much in the lamplight that she figured it must be sprinkled with stardust.

  Reeve slowly walked toward her, holding the box out in front of him. “For you,” he said, setting the box on the coffee table.

  “For me?”

  She didn’t dare touch it yet, for she couldn’t believe that such a beautiful thing was hers just because she’d been in the household for two weeks. It didn’t make sense to her. Nobody had ever given her such a gift.

  “This is my way of saying thank you for a job well done.”

  She reached for the box, then ran her hands over the ribbon.

  “It’s so pretty I hate to unwrap it.”

  “I’m glad you like the wrapping.” He chuckled. “But I also want to know if you like what’s inside the box.”

  Belinda carefully removed the bow and set it aside. Then she undid the paper with equal care, folding it neatly and putting it beside the bow. She thought she’d save the wrapping forever, preserve it in a spot of honor next to her Hank Williams CD.

  When she saw the dress, she tried to contain her disappointment. It didn’t look like much in the box, plain as could be, though it was a good color—black. Belinda had always been partial to black. She held it up and tried to sound excited.

  “My, my. How elegant.”

  She figured Reeve was fooled, for he beamed at her as if he had invented Christmas. “Simplicity is always elegant. Why don’t you try it on?”

  She nodded and left the room, carrying the dress, the box and all the wrappings. Of the three, she valued the wrappings most. When she reached her bedroom she spent considerable time trying to figure out how the dress went. It was slashed in unexpected places, and she made two or three false starts in trying to get into it.

  Finally she figured it out. It came off one shoulder in the front, and most of the back was cut away. The fitted skirt buttoned straight down the back side of her left hip. First she looked down at herself, then she twirled in front of the mirror.

  “Oh my!” For all its plainness, the dress was grand. It made her look like one of those TV heroines who walk down the staircase with everybody looking. Her pantyhose with the rhinestones set it off perfectly, even if she did say so herself.

  For a minute she thought it needed a necklace and two or three bangle bracelets and maybe her big rhinestone earrings; then she changed her mind. She walked to the dresser and took out a box she always carried with her. Inside was a pair of pearl-and-rhinestone earrings that had belonged to her grandmother. She had never worn them, for they had always seemed wrong with all her outfits; but with this dress, they looked just right.

  She gave one last glance in the mirror before she left the room. She would say one thing for that Reeve Lawrence—he certainly did know how to dress a woman.

  Reeve stood up when she walked into the room. An entrance like Belinda Diamond’s demanded standing. She was sensational. Her creamy skin glowed against the simple black silk, and the pearl earrings she was wearing added just the right touch of elegance. Even the rhinestone-studded stockings seemed right.

  “Well?” she said, twirling slowly.

  “I’m speechless.”

  “Good. I never did like a talkety man.”

  Belinda paraded up and down the room as if she were a model on a runway, turning this way and that, giving him a view of herself from all angles. And every angle he saw was delicious.

  He poured himself a fortifying drink of wine. When she glided his way, he offered her a glass.

  “Won’t you join me?”

  “Well...” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Since this is a celebration, I guess one little glass won’t hurt.”

  She took the glass bravely and began to sip. Reeve watched in fascination as her face flushed and she sank languidly onto the couch. As the blues music drifted around them, the one shoulder on her silk dress slid downward. She hiccuped softly.

  “My goodness.” She giggled. “I feel all swimmy-headed.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t finish that wine.” He reached for the glass.

  “Nonsense. I always start what I finish.” She took a big gulp, and her strap slid inexorably farther.

  Reeve cursed himself for being a fool. She had told him the effect wine had on her. Why had he offered her a glass? Indeed, why had he set the room up like a seduction trap, then waited inside like some love-starved teenager for his first victim?

  “Hell.” He sat on the sofa beside her and leaned over to pull her dress back onto her shoulder.

  She leaned close to his face. “Hello, there. Fancy meeting you here.” She hiccuped once more, then gulped down the rest of her wine.

 
; Her lips were so close, so temptingly close. With one finger he reached out and traced their bow-shaped lines. They were still damp from the wine. He knew exactly how they would taste. His finger played over her lips once more. She closed her eyes and made a little humming sound.

  What had he done? He jerked his hand away and began to straighten her dress. His fingers encountered her naked shoulders and he was lost once more. He couldn’t seem to move. Ever so slowly, his thumbs caressed her silky skin.

  “Hmm,” she murmured. “Tha’snish.”

  She was drunk. On one glass of wine. He held her by the shoulders and gazed down into her face. Belinda Diamond was at his mercy. He could kiss her. He could pull her onto his lap and run his hands down the length of her slim legs, tracing the same path he’s seen her trace so often. He could bury his face in her hair and feel its silky strands caress his cheek.

  He was sorely tempted. He battled temptation for several minutes. A muscle ticked in his tight jaw as he carefully rearranged her dress and propped her on the sofa.

  “Wait here, Belinda,” he said, although the instructions were totally unnecessary. In her condition she couldn’t have moved if she had wanted to. Apparently she was extraordinarily sensitive to wine, perhaps even allergic. All the way to the kitchen he berated himself. What had he been thinking of, setting out a glass of wine for her?

  As he prepared a cup of strong coffee, he decided that the remaking of Belinda Diamond was going to be somewhat dangerous. She was warmhearted and sweet and sexy, and he was, after all, a man—one who had been without a woman for a long time. He’d have to learn to keep the proper distance. Surely he could exercise that much control over himself.

  When he returned to the den, he propped Belinda into the crook of his arm and held the coffee cup to her lips.

  “Sip, Belinda... That’s right....”

  She made a face. “It’s bitter.”

  “I know, sweetheart. That’s how it has to be.”

  Neither of them noticed the endearment. He was too preoccupied and she was too tipsy.

  He held her while she finished the coffee. Then he smoothed back her hair. “Can you walk, Belinda?”

  She smiled at him, then reached up and patted his face. “You’re a nice man.’’

  “Upsy-daisy.” He got her to her feet. She swayed toward him and he braced her with a firm arm around her waist. “Hold on. Let’s see what those legs can do.”

  She was rubbery-legged all the way across the den and back.

  “Whoops,” she said, giggling, as she fell into him.

  “This doesn’t seem to be working.” He untangled her and tried one more circuit of the room. She spent most of the time lurching into him, hanging on and giggling.

  “Are we going to dance like this all night?” she asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Reeve got her into his arms and strode from the den. He had gotten her into this condition and now he was going to take care of her. There was no need to torture her the rest of the evening with strong coffee and forced marching.

  Belinda wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck as he ascended the stairs. He tightened his jaw and kept his inexorable march toward her bedroom.

  She had left a lamp glowing beside the bed. He stepped through the doorway and kicked the door shut behind him, just in case. He never knew when Quincy would decide to roam the halls, checking on things, and he certainly didn’t want her to see what was going on. She would take great delight in misinterpreting the entire scene.

  He lowered Belinda to the bed, and she lay on the silk coverlet like a fallen flower. With the lamplight gilding her hair and her skin, she was exquisite.

  Reeve yielded to temptation long enough to lean down and caress her cheek.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

  “Hmm.” She settled into a comfortable position and her eyes slowly drifted shut.

  Reeve briefly considered removing her dress so she would be more comfortable, then tucking her under the covers, but that was too much temptation for any man. He contented himself with sitting at her bedside a while, watching to be sure she was all right.

  She sighed and stirred in her sleep, and the smell of roses drifted around him. Once more he leaned down to caress her face.

  “Do you have any idea how desirable you are, Belinda Diamond?” he whispered. Probably not. Once more he was overcome with the temptation to remove her dress, but this time he wasn’t thinking of her comfort.

  He stood up to leave. The fates would just have to take care of Belinda, for he was in no condition. Belinda’s discomfort and a hopelessly wrinkled dress were small prices to pay for his sanity.

  Tomorrow he’d send the dress to the cleaners. And tomorrow he’d feel more like himself, more in charge. He had to, otherwise this strange metamorphosis might become permanent.

  o0o

  Belinda woke with such a horrible headache she could barely read the note she found on her bedside table.

  “I’ve arranged to send your dress out to be cleaned and pressed. Please be ready for the ballet at seven-thirty.” The note wasn’t even signed.

  Reeve’s note crackled with cold authority. Oh, Lordy, and here she was lying on her bed still dressed in her new silk outfit. No telling what she had done after drinking the wine. The last thing she remembered was how much she wanted to crawl all over Reeve and nibble his neck.

  The note was plain enough. He was going to act like nothing had happened. Maybe it hadn’t. She didn’t know. Anyhow, two could play the same game. Tonight when she sashayed down the stairs in her fancy new dress, as elegant as Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, she’d act as cool as you please.

  She eased out of bed, hanging onto her pounding head, then slid out of her dress and into the tub. When she had finished, she wrapped a fluffy towel around herself and sank into the middle of the bed with her laptop.

  From: Belinda

  To: Janet, Catherine, Molly, Joanna, Clemmie, Bea

  Re: Nothing is simple

  I thought being a nanny would be simple. But now Reeve has invited me to the ballet tonight, and I don’t know whether it’s a date or just his way of saying thank you for taking good care of my kids.

  Belinda

  From: Janet

  To: Belinda, Catherine, Molly, Joanna, Clemmie, Bea

  Re: Tonight

  It is not a date! He’s your boss and you’re too young for him.

  Janet

  From: Molly

  To: Belinda, Janet, Catherine, Joanna, Clemmie, Bea

  Re: Age

  Age has nothing to do with it, Janet. Daddy’s signed himself up for Match.com! And he’s 50!!!!

  Molly

  From: Joanna

  To: Molly, Belinda, Janet, Catherine, Clemmie, Bea

  Re: Yay!

  LOL! I think that’s so cute about Mr. Rakestraw, Molly!

  And Janet, NOT A DATE!!!! Are you kidding me! Of COURSE it is!!! Belinda, find out if he French kisses!!!!

  Joanna

  From: Bea

  To: Belinda, Molly, Joanna, Janet, Clemmie, Catherine

  Re: Mr. Rakestraw

  Cute my butt! You can meet criminals on Match.Com. I’ve heard of it. Thank God, Mother hasn’t signed up.

  Belinda, listen to Janet. This is not a date!!!

  Bea

  From: Clemmie

  To: Molly, Belinda, Joanna, Janet, Catherine, Bea

  Re: French kisses

  Listen, Belinda, if he wants to make out, go for it, just don’t go all the way! I’m not likely to get kissed French or any other way stuck over here at the backside of nowhere.

  Clemmie

  From: Catherine

  To: Belinda, Molly, Joanna, Janet, Clemmie, Bea

  Re: BIG test

  OMG, Belinda! Don’t do you dare let him get in your Virginia! Got a big test. Gotta run.

  Catherine

  Belinda was still giggling when she shut off her email. The
n she shut off her computer, got dressed and went downstairs for another wonderful day with the children.

  o0o

  That evening, promptly at seven-thirty, Belinda descended the staircase. Reeve was standing at the bottom, as stiff as a stuffed turkey, but she wasn’t going to let his attitude bother her. This was her first real ballet, and she was going to have a ball, whether it was a date or not.

  “Ta-da!” When she reached the bottom she twirled around for him. “I’m all pressed and polished and ready to go. How do you like me?”

  “You are lovely,” he said, without a smile. He held his arm out as formally as if he were a doorman or something. Belinda wanted to bash him over the head with one of her high-heeled shoes. She wanted to rumple his hair and leave a lipstick mark on his cheek and say, “Hey, let’s have some fun!”

  Of course she did none of those things. Instead she took his arm and inclined her head toward him as if she’d been born acting high-and-mighty.

  “I’m ready when you are, master.”

  That brought a small smile to his face. It even put a twinkle in his eye. Good. Maybe there was hope for the evening, after all.

  Once they got into the Corvette, Belinda did most of the talking. He had opened up some by the time they got to the ballet, but he said nothing personal. As they took their seats, he started explaining the ballet to her, telling her about the music and the composer, and the various places this particular company had performed.

  Belinda listened with half an ear, all the while studying Reeve. He looked like a prince right out of a fairy tale. She smiled, remembering the way he had held her when they danced, recalling the way the expression in his eyes sometimes got hot when the two of them were alone together.

  “You seem to be enjoying this rather boring lecture of mine.”

  “I am. Tell me more, please.” She wasn’t telling a lie exactly. What she was enjoying was the sound of his voice and the feeling of sitting beside him all dressed up, just like a real date. He leaned closer, making a point about Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty ballet, and his arm brushed against hers. She felt as if the night sky had opened up and all the stars had lined up to blink a message, especially for her: Belinda Stubaker loves Reeve Lawrence.