Forever, For Love

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Pandora was angry. Was the man purposely trying to goad her? Then she realized how silly she was being. This stranger could know nothing about her and certainly he had no inkling of her past with Jean Laffite. His choice of costume and his words were mere coincidence. She willed herself to relax in his arms.

  “That’s better.” He breathed the words close to her ear in perfect English and drew her hard against his chest.

  She stared up at him, at the almost black eyes glittering at her through the slits in his satin mask. Something stirred inside her. Then suddenly the villa was thrown into darkness. The moment of unmasking. The moment of the kiss.

  He held her face between his warm palms. Pandora tried to reach up and give him the required brief kiss to be done with it but her partner had other ideas. His lips moved across her brow, down to kiss her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks. She felt the light touches deep down inside, stirring up a maelstrom of old memories and desires. Then his hands moved from her face to slip around her waist. He drew her close. When his lips captured hers and he teased gently, urging her to open for him, she went weak all over. For a brief moment, their tongues caressed. Even before the lights came on, she knew…

  “Ward,” she whispered, staring up at him as the room flooded with lamplight. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  He only smiled at her, tracing one finger over her moist, puffy lips, making her tremble all over.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Pandora could not quite remember the sequence of events at the Bellinis’ party after the unmasking and Ward’s kiss. She knew she had stayed at the party for a time and that she had left with Ward. The rest remained a warm, hazy cloud of light and color and sound in her memory—like one of her visions.

  As she sat on the terrace of Ward’s nearby villa, still clutching her prize in her hands, it came back to her that her filmy Diana disguise had been chosen the party’s best costume. Everyone had cheered and toasted her. All the while, Ward Gabriel had clung to her as if he meant never to let her out of his sight again.

  Ward handed her a brandy and nudged the long, slender package she was holding. “Why don’t you open your prize, Pan?”

  She smiled at him, still not quite able to believe they were really together again. “I forgot all about it,” she said, stripping off the bright wrappings. By the wavering light of the flambeau on a nearby wall, she could see the gleam of silver inside the velvet box when she lifted the lid. She gasped in surprise.

  “That’s no trinket. It’s the real thing,” Ward told her, unable to mask the pride in his voice. “Mexican silver, handworked by Italian artisans. What do you think?”

  “Why, it’s beautiful! But I’m amazed. I thought the Bellinis’ silly contest warranted only a silly prize.”

  “Here, let me fasten it for you.”

  Ward took the delicate necklace from her. She trembled as his cool fingers brushed her bare shoulders.

  “Lovely,” he murmured. “Perfect for you. I knew it would be.”

  She stared at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

  Quickly, he explained the whole plot, or at least a version of the truth fit for Pandora’s ears. “I told Magnolia that I’d provide the prize, but only if it went to you.”

  Pandora touched the cool silver at her throat and feigned a disapproving look with the lift of an eyebrow. “A rigged contest? Ward, for shame!”

  He laughed and went on to explain. “Magnolia thought it was a fine idea. In fact, our hostess was my co-conspirator for the whole evening. Over the past couple of years, she has come to look on me as one of her special charities. She’s taken me under her lovely wing like a mother hen protecting a prize chick. This villa was her idea. I’d planned to stay in a hotel while I was in Naples on business, but she insisted that I lease this place instead.” He glanced at the pastel stucco walls, pale in the moonlight. “I haven’t been sorry. I may even buy it. At any rate, Magnolia knew that you and I were old acquaintances. She loves bringing people together and she loves surprises. She’s always had a flair for the dramatic. When she found out you were in Naples, she told me she was working on a plan to get us together. Then her husband bought that painting by Nicolette and Magnolia had the perfect vehicle for a party that she could turn into a surprise reunion. It was her idea to spring me on you unexpectedly. She said you deserved no less for having been in Italy weeks before you let her know. She planned tonight’s festivities with all the care and attention that she might have lavished on her own daughter’s wedding. I’m sure she’s hoping that she’s just engineered the match of the season.”

  Ignoring his last statement, Pandora said, “So you knew that I was there all evening. Why didn’t you show yourself sooner, Ward?”

  He laughed. “You were there all evening but I have been down in Sorrento for several days. I decided to take my boat from there to Capri, but I misjudged the time and distance. I very nearly missed the whole damn party. Magnolia would never have forgiven me.”

  “So that’s why I didn’t see you before.” Her hand went again to her throat, to the necklace of delicate silver filigree set with tiny cameo roses of pink and white. “You certainly came as a shock, but a pleasant one, Ward. I love my prize. Thank you!”

  He came toward her and sat beside her on the low wall overlooking the bay. “Somehow I knew it would look perfect on Nicolette,” he whispered.

  “You know about me?” Suddenly, Pandora felt ill at ease.

  He raised her hand to his lips and held it there. “I guessed the first time I saw one of the paintings. Who else would choose that name? Besides, you told me you were going to Paris to paint. I never doubted for a moment that you’d become famous.”

  She looked away from him. “Oh, Ward, I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “It’s our secret,” he murmured, slipping his arm around her and drawing her close. “You are quite the loveliest artist I’ve ever seen, Pandora. You should be on canvas yourself.”

  “You’re making me blush,” she whispered.

  He laughed. “All over, I hope. You told me something else that you planned to do in Paris, Pandora. Do you remember?”

  “I do,” she answered, knowing full well what he meant. Suddenly, it seemed desperately important that she tell Ward she had not taken any lovers after all, but she was too embarrassed to confess to him that she was still the chaste maiden he had rejected three years before.

  Silence stretched between them. Ward was still holding her hand, still gazing at her. A gentle breeze, scented with lime blossoms, danced over the terrace, riffling through Ward’s thick, dark hair. A lock fell over his forehead. Without realizing what she was doing, Pandora reached up and gently brushed it back in place. Ward felt a shock surge through him.

  It was hard to believe that she was really here, that she was so close he could feel her warmth and smell her expensive French perfume. How often he had dreamed of this moment! How often he had rehearsed what he would say, what he would do. Instead of confiding in her, confessing that he had searched the Continent for her for the past three, long years… instead of telling her his plans, his dreams, his hopes, he sat like a statue, unable to do anything but stare at her, drinking in the passionate woman that the precocious child had become.

  Her voice jolted him. “What are you doing here, Ward? In Italy?”

  “Consulting with Italian craftsmen.” He answered her, but his mind was not really on her question. “My silver mine has put me into another sideline—jewelry. This necklace is only one of the designs I’ve commissioned. Soon every woman in America will feel naked unless she’s wearing a piece of my silver. It’s all the rage in Galveston. Your uncle carries a whole line of my baubles at the Emporium. What about you, Pandora? What are you doing in Italy?”

  She shrugged and offered him a girlishly guilty smile. “Still painting, of course. To be more honest, still searching for something or someone.”

  “Oh.” Ward could not
hide the disappointed tone in his voice. If another portrait was in progress, then her handsome model was probably her present lover as well. The gossip in art circles said she flitted from lover to lover. No model had ever posed for more than one canvas. Her latest affair would end the moment the painting was finished.

  No, by God, it will end now! he vowed silently. He didn’t care how many lovers she had had, he still wanted her. They would both wipe their past slates clean and begin again together. He was about to tell her all this when she cut him off.

  As if reading his mind, Pandora said softly, “Franco and I, we are through. I’ll miss him. I admired him greatly. He never looked down on me because I was a woman. He was extremely sensitive—wonderfully warm.” She looked up at Ward from under her long lashes and grinned almost impishly. “He was able to bring out the very best in me. We were good together.”

  Unable to contain his shock and dismay, Ward rose and strode across the terrace, pouring himself another brandy. How could she speak so openly to him of her lover’s talents in bed? Had she no consideration for his feelings? Surely, she must realize how he felt about her, even if he hadn’t spoken of love yet. But that wasn’t his fault; when had she ever given him the chance?

  “You were good together, eh?” He fired the words at her.

  The deep growl in his voice confounded Pandora. Why was he suddenly so out of sorts, when a moment before he had been mellow with good cheer?

  “Yes, I consider Franco the finest, the most sensitive model I’ve ever known. He demanded perfection of me. At times it could prove tiring, but never disappointing.”

  Ward, raging inside at her words, gave her a long, cool look. “No doubt his perfection comes through long, careful practice.”

  “I suppose,” she answered. “He was most complimentary of my skills. None of the others ever told me what they thought of my talents.”

  “My God, Pandora!” Ward was staring at her, unable to believe his ears. Surely, after three years in Europe and God alone knew how many lovers she could not still be so naive, needing praise from the men who bedded her. “I can’t take any more of this. Forget your painting and your models and everything else in the world. We’ve waited too long to let anything spoil this night.”

  “You’re right, Ward,” she said softly. “You and I have a lot to discuss. That last night, I wasn’t myself. I don’t think you were either.”

  He’d dreaded her bringing up this subject. He didn’t want her ever to know the hell she’d put him through that night. He’d damned himself a thousand times over for being so quick to dismiss her. If he had another chance—and he certainly intended to—she could call him anything she liked, so long as she came to him with love on her mind.

  “If you want an apology, you have it,” he said quickly.

  “I’m the one who should apologize. You were right. I shouldn’t have asked you to make love to me,” she admitted. “You must have thought me an absolute wanton.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. This was so outrageous. She’d just been explaining to him about her last in a long string of affairs, now she was apologizing for begging him to be her first three long years ago. He was the fool; he was the scoundrel.

  Ward had been as nervous as a boy about their meeting tonight. He’d spent three years going over in his mind and heart their last time together—the night of Jacob and Angelica’s wedding, the night Pandora had offered herself and he had refused. All because of his foolish hurt pride. In a fit of passion, she had called him by Jean Laffite’s name, bruising his delicate ego. Bah! Laffite was long dead. What kind of man was he if he allowed himself to envy a ghost?

  On that night—before she’d asked him to make love to her, before he had rejected her—his own mind had been set. He had planned to begin his earnest pursuit of Pandora Sherwood. He had thought it all through carefully. She was the only woman he wanted. Granted, she was outrageous and cared nothing about what anyone thought of her. She was given to eccentricities that often proved shocking, but wasn’t he as well? That night he knew he loved her.

  He had told her about the silver mine and that he planned to build a fine home in Galveston. He had not told her that he had already purchased four of the best lots on Broadway, that he had engaged architect Nicholas Clayton’s services, and that he was planning his magnificent mansion with her in mind. He had never had a chance to tell her any of this. He had never had a chance to tell her how much she meant to him because he had not realized until after she was gone.

  Again, he hesitated. If he could not deal with his jealousy at the simple, whispered name of a dead man, how could he live with ghosts of her many living lovers? He set his jaw in a grim, firm line.

  “Ward, something’s wrong. Tell me what it is.” Pandora’s voice shocked him out of his contemplative silence.

  “It’s seeing you again, Pandora. You’ve changed so.”

  “Have I?” There was pain in her question. She had changed and she knew it. She had hoped that Ward would not notice.

  He came to her and took her hands in his, drawing her up to stand before him. Searching her face, his own unsmiling, he said quietly, “Yes, Pandora. The last time we were together, you felt a woman’s need, but you were still a little girl. A precious child, tottering on the brink of life. Uncertain. Untried. Now you are a lovely, exotic, passionate woman. You’ve come into full bloom. You know who you are and what you want. There’s a depth and a meaning to you that were never there before. I’m not even sure any longer that I’m man enough to deal with you.” He drew her close, brushing her cheek with his lips—seeking, testing. “But I’m damn well going to try!”

  Oh, Ward, you are man enough! Only Pandora’s heart spoke the words as she leaned against his hard body, offering her parted lips to him, offering him everything—everything she had to give. Suddenly, three years of her life vanished in the blink of an eye. She was totally innocent again, wanting him, aching for him. They were not in Italy, but back in Galveston. She was pleading once more that he make her a woman, that he love her as she had never been loved before.

  His hand brushed the side of her breast. She tensed. He hesitated but only for a moment. She moaned softly as his fingers closed around her, teasing the nipple through the thin fabric of her gown.

  “Oh, Ward, please,” she whispered between their feverish kisses.

  In answer, he swept her up into his arms, carrying her inside to his bed.

  He stared down into her face. Her green eyes gazed steadily, boldly up into his. He saw a lazy sensuality there that he had never seen before. She could speak silent volumes with those eyes. They were dark now, like the mysterious ancient hue of the soft moss that grew on the ruined walls of Pompeii. Her eyes were suffused with a softly glowing light, as if her very soul shone through. These were the eyes that had haunted his dreams since that last night in Galveston.

  Pandora was the only woman he really wanted. And now, she was about to be his. But she was no tender virgin as she had been three years ago. She was an experienced woman, wise in the ways of love and passion. His skills would be tested to their very limits, but he vowed to please her, to erase all the others from her mind and from her heart. He leaned down to capture her lips.

  Pandora’s heart was beating wildly. She felt as if the whole world were moving in slow motion; her body felt heavy, her mind drugged. How many times had she thought of this moment, prayed for Ward to come to her? She had dreamed at night of their last time together. Only while she lay sleeping they had continued the scene beyond that evening’s true ending. There was no rejection, only the warm melding of two bodies—aching for each other, dying to be one. Her dream was about to begin all over. Only this time her fantasy was real.

  “Ward.” His name whispered over her softly pouting lips.

  He was beside her. She closed her eyes, trembling with pleasure, feeling his hands on her body. He kissed her deeply, drawing his breath through her open mouth until t
hey breathed as one and it seemed as if their life forces mingled. His strong hands tangled in her hair, forcing her to lie as she was so that he might take his pleasure. Slowly, lightly then, he kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her nose. He nibbled at her lips, at the tip of her tongue. She squirmed with pleasure, with growing need.

  His hands slid from her hair, gliding down her face and throat, coming to rest on her breasts. Through the thin, silvery fabric, he kneaded and caressed. Her nipples rose to him in sweetly painful desire. He leaned down to suckle them. The smooth silk of her gown and the wetness of his mouth created a searing, engulfing heat.

  With gentle expertise, Ward unwound the silver cord from her waist. The touch of his hands made her quiver as he loosened her gown. He was impatient. So was she.

  He unfastened her silver sandals, fondling her tender soles until she writhed with pleasure. The heat of his caresses flowed up her legs, centering between them, throbbing like a fresh-burned brand. She needed him now! But instead of taking her immediately, Ward rose from the bed. He poured a glass of wine, took a sip, then handed it to her.

  “Drink,” he ordered.

  Pandora raised up on one elbow. Her gown slipped from one shoulder, exposing her right breast. He stared, a hungry look in his dark eyes, and smiled.

  “And the other!” he commanded.

  The silvery cobweb of fabric slipped to her waist. For a long time he stood some distance away, gazing at her until her nipples grew hard under his hungry stare.

  He came back to stand beside the bed, still looking at her, but now his eyes held hers. As their gazes remained locked, he reached down with both hands, fondling her lovingly.

  Pandora began to tremble. His hands, teasing her breasts, seemed to be reaching inside her to tug at new cords of desire. He sat beside her then, and eased the gown down over her hips, letting one of his large, smooth hands slide over her quivering belly.