Mystique

by Ann Cristy

  "Going to sleep on me?"

  "Yes," she admitted with a tiny smile.

  "I forgot to tell you that that was only the beginning. I intend to make love to you all night." He took her earlobe between his teeth.

  "Wonderful. Don't start without me," she muttered, yawning.

  "Don't worry, I won't." He chuckled again. "I've never laughed quite so much either, my little wife," he whispered, pulling her closer to him and closing his eyes.

  In the night Misty dreamed again. She saw her father coming toward her, ever closer. But when she called out, Luc was there, and her father vanished in an instant. She sank deeper into sleep.

  Later, Misty smiled, her eyes closed, as she felt soft kisses on her neck and face. "Luc," she murmured.

  "Yes, my darling wife, it's Luc," he murmured gently.

  She felt his mouth move lower, caressing her breasts and arms. Her body wriggled in response, but still she didn't open her eyes. She had the irrational feeling that, if she looked, Luc wouldn't really be there, and that she would find that she had only imagined the ecstasy of their wedding night. Beautiful, wondrous emotions had cascaded over her. It would be terrible to wake up and find he had been just a figment of her imagination. But once again he proved his existence with the reality of his lovemaking.

  His hands coursed down one side of her body and began working their way up the other. He gently bit each toe. His mouth massaged each kneecap. He nuzzled her thighs with his mouth in a tender quest. He kissed her arms, her fingertips, and the crook of each elbow with special loving attention. He was nibbling her chin when she opened one eye.

  "Don't be a ghost, Luc," she whispered. "I'm not," he assured her. "Open both your eyes, Mystique."

  "All right." She opened them and sighed. He wasn't a ghost; he was real. With a deep, shuddering breath she touched his cheek with her fingertips.

  "Do you mind if I continue to enjoy my breakfast?" he teased with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  "Am I sunny-side up?" She smiled at him. Then she felt herself being lifted and turned over, face down in the pillow.

  "Now you're sunny-side up, angel. Ummm, how luscious." Luc nipped at her backside, his open mouth gentle on her scars. He explored her back from her neck to her ankles, setting her on fire.

  When he turned her over once again to enter her body, Misty was ready for him, eager to be swallowed by the hot, piercing rhythm they created together.

  They strove mightily to give the other the utmost satisfaction, and once again the world exploded. They lay close together, open mouth on open mouth, their eyelids fluttering, their breath mingling.

  "My goodness." Misty gazed lovingly at her husband. "That was more powerful than anything on earth."

  "Yes." His brown eyes were somber for a moment; then he smiled and rolled from the bed to pull her to her feet. "Let's take a shower."

  "Together?" Misty asked, recalling how Leonard had always insisted on having the bathroom first, leaving her to clean up after him.

  "Forget them," Luc growled, reading her thoughts and pulling her to him in a fierce embrace. "You're thinking of those two fools. Don't. I don't want to be compared to them."

  "That would be impossible. You'd get a nosebleed if you dropped down to their level," Misty said, the words popping out before she could stop them. She felt her face flush.

  Luc chuckled and kissed her cheek. "Mystique, that was a sweet thing to say. I think I'll run out in the snow and thump my chest."

  "Not without clothes on, you won't." She took a deep breath. "I won't let you."

  "Lord, I've married a bossy wife!" Luc lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bathroom.

  "Yes," she said firmly, marveling at her own daring as she clung to his neck, not letting go even when he let her slide down his body. He turned the spigots in the shower stall. "Will we fit?" she asked, laughing again. She had never laughed or giggled so much! Luc would begin to think she was silly.

  "Of course we'll fit." He watched with lazy amusement and flinched from the cold spray. After readjusting the knobs, he tested the water. "There." He lifted her into the stall and stepped in himself. "Isn't this nice?"

  "Yes," she said softly, loving the feel of his hard-muscled body against hers. "Luc..." She lifted her head to look at him as he began running a loofah sponge down her arm.

  "Uh-huh?" He seemed to be completely absorbed in the task.

  "Don't stay with me when we go skiing today. I'll get an instructor to teach me."

  He handed her the loofah, and stood still while she scrubbed him. "I've already arranged for an instructor, Debbie Allen, to give you a preliminary lesson. Then I'll take over." His eyes went to her breasts as she raised her arms to rinse the soap from her body. "Darling, are you finished? Good, because I think you'd better get out of here if you want to go skiing today." His eyes glinted with laughter as her eyes darted away from the most blatant sign of his obvious arousal. "I'm beginning to think I may have to move my office to our house."

  "Would you like to postpone skiing?" she asked, stepping out of the shower stall and taking a towel from the warming rack. Skillfully she wrapped it around her body like a sarong.

  "Yes, I would." He closed the shower door with a snap, then abruptly opened it again. "Don't think I don't know you're teasing me, wife." He grinned at her and banged the door shut once more.

  Misty skipped into the bedroom, hugging herself. This can't be happening to me, she thought. Luc can't be real.

  She was standing in her bra and panties in the bedroom when he came out of the bathroom, naked and rubbing his hair with a towel. She smiled, then laughed out loud when he closed his eyes and groaned. In a few swift strides he closed the space between them, a determined expression on his face.

  "Skiing," Misty muttered, laughing.

  "Skiing, hell," Luc snarled, scooping her up into his arms. "How can you stand there in those peach-colored underthings and expect me to go skiing? It's insanity." He carried her to the bed.

  "Luc, you haven't had breakfast yet," she protested laughing.

  "Tell me about it," he muttered into her skin, removing the bits of lace from her body.

  The fire storm took them again, yet to Misty it seemed brand-new—fresh and exhilarating. Afterward, she was sure she must have misunderstood the words Luc murmured against her flushed skin. He couldn't have said he loved her, could he?

  They were holding each other, their hands sliding over each other's bodies, waiting for the love tremors to subside, when a knock sounded at the door. "Mrs. Harrison, I have your ski clothing," said a voice muffled by the door.

  With a sharp yelp, Misty jumped out of bed and streaked into the bathroom. When Luc handed her a pair of slacks and a shirt through a crack in the door, she poked her tongue out at him.

  "Don't do that, love," he warned, "or we'll be back in bed again before you know it." She gasped, and he chuckled.

  "Answer that door," she told him.

  It didn't take long to try on the skiing togs, but Misty was surprised at how picky Luc was about everything for her. At last, after the bellman left, they finished getting dressed, Luc's eyes going over her in lazy assessment of everything that came into his view. "You are one beautiful woman, Mystique Harrison. Even in those skiing togs you send me into a spin."

  Misty looked down at her pale green ski outfit, which felt incredibly warm but as light as a feather. She moved her feet in the heavy green ski boots.

  Luc, dressed all in black with black goggles dangling from one hand, ran his other hand over her short battle jacket. "The man at the desk assured me that this was the lightest, warmest outfit. How do your long Johns feel?"

  "Comfy." Misty wriggled inside her suit.

  "You look damn sexy, too, my little siren," Luc said in low tones. "Here, these are your goggles, and I want you to wear them. The lenses are tinted to prevent glare, but they also react to growing darkness and allow clearer night vision."

  "The wonders of science," Mis
ty murmured, hooking her gloves onto her sleeves in the way Luc had shown her and placing her hand in his as they left the cottage and walked the short distance to the lodge.

  Misty inhaled deeply of the numbing air, feeling warm and comfortable in her thermal clothes. "My goodness." She pointed to the chair lift rising up the mountainside. "That looks as though it's going up at an awfully steep angle."

  "It is," Luc agreed, watching her. "The ride up can be cold, but coming down makes it all worthwhile. Here, let me take you over to the instructor's office and get you settled."

  "No," Misty said, "it's right there." She pointed to a small shed attached to the back of the lodge. "You go ahead and get some skiing in while the sun is still shining. I'll be fine."

  "You're sure?" Luc kissed her and glanced around him as if searching for hidden dangers. He scowled at several skiers who were lounging near an outdoor stove, then looked back at Misty.

  "I'll be fine," she repeated, giving him a slight shove. After kissing her again, he reluctantly left her.

  She went to the open window of the instructors' office. Seeing no one, she called, "Hello, I'm Misty Car—Harrison. I'm supposed to have a lesson with Debbie Allen."

  A tall blond man came up to the window. "I'm Roger Larsen, Mrs. Harrison. Debbie isn't finished teaching her youth group yet, so I'll be your instructor this morning." He smiled broadly, deepening the dimples at the side of his mouth and making his widely spaced blue eyes twinkle.

  Misty decided she preferred tall, athletic men with ash blond hair and brown eyes.

  "Ah, fine," she said. "Shall we go out now?"

  "Just let me get my gear."

  Roger demonstrated several basic maneuvers—the snowplow, a simple stem christie, and paralleling—on a slight incline nearby. As Misty gained confidence, they progressed to a more advanced beginners' slope. Roger skied closer to her as she tried to put her lessons into practice.

  Misty grew exhilarated as she continued to ski without falling and was able to perform most of the turns with ease. Soon she was eager to try the rope tow that would take them up an even longer and slightly more precipitous incline.

  She fell on the rope tow, receiving a faceful of snow, but she held on steadfastly until they reached the crest of the hill. "I really don't like that rope tow," she told Roger. "I suppose I will hate the chair lift."

  Roger laughed. "Don't worry. You'll like the chairs better. But we'll try this hill a few times first."

  Misty was amazed and pleased at how rapidly she progressed under Roger's instruction. As she skied down the gentle slope, she was delighted with the sensation of flying through space.

  "Now we'll try the chairs." But Roger fell abruptly silent as he gazed past her shoulder, a wrinkle of puzzlement in his forehead. Misty turned to see Luc striding toward them, looking like the very devil in his black attire. His mouth was a tight slash in his face, and his hair shone silver in the sunlight.

  "Mystique," he said angrily, tearing the goggles from his face and glaring at Roger. "Where is your ski instructor?"

  "Debbie was still with her youth group, so I volunteered to instruct your daughter, sir," Roger explained.

  Luc seemed to swell with anger.

  "Luc, you look like Darth Vader," Misty exclaimed, then clamped a mittened hand over her mouth when Luc's head swung abruptly toward her. "Ah, thank you for the lessons, Roger," she called. "We have to go." She pushed her poles into the snow and glided forward—straight into Luc! He caught her with his hands, struggling to maintain their balance. "Thank you." Misty leaned up and kissed Luc's chin, confirming with a quick sideways glance that Roger was skiing away from them.

  "Where the hell does he get off—" Luc fumed, glaring after Roger, his arms around Misty.

  "He was only teaching me to snowplow and stem Christie, and tomorrow he wanted to show me—"

  "I'll be teaching you tomorrow," Luc said firmly, his hands tightening on her. He brought icy lips down on hers. "Damn him," he said against her mouth before lifting his lips a fraction of an inch. "Thinking I was your father. I'll kill him." He ran his ungloved hand down her cheek. "You do look young. No more than seventeen."

  Misty leaned against him, reveling in his warmth as his body sheltered her from the wind. "Roger's harmless," she assured her husband.

  "Ha!" Luc laughed harshly and leaned over Misty, his body shielding her. "Are you warm enough? Would you like to go inside the lodge and get some soup?"

  She did feel a little damp, but she was eager to show Luc what she'd learned so far. "I'd like to go up on the chair lift and ski down that slope first."

  Luc studied her for a moment and finally nodded. He checked to see that her poles were in the proper position and skied with her to the end of the short line of skiers waiting for the lift. A stiff breeze momentarily chilled her. "Did you just shiver?" he demanded.

  "Uh-uh," Misty lied, sensing that Luc would whisk her back to the lodge in a moment if she gave him the slightest indication that she was cold. But she hadn't anticipated the blasts of frigid air that assailed her on the chair lift. Although she and Luc went to only one of the intermediate hills, the frosty wind left her stiff and chilled when she alighted with Luc's help.

  "You are cold," he accused her. "Your lips are turning blue. Damn you, Mystique."

  "I'll be better once we get moving," she said, trying to control the shivers that wracked her body. Turning away from Luc, she skied toward the lip of the hill. Looking down, she felt sure that the descent would be relatively easy, even for a beginner like herself. But the cold had begun to stiffen her hands, and her feet were chilled. She pushed off, wanting to get down to the bottom and into the warm lodge as soon as possible.

  "Mystique!" Luc called from behind her, alarm in his voice.

  Abruptly Misty forgot how cold she was in the stunning realization that she was going to need all her concentration to get down the slope without falling. She was moving faster than she cared to. "Plow, darling, plow," Luc called. "That's it.. .good. Now traverse. That's fine."

  Suddenly he was at her side, guiding her past a group of skiers. Sudden confidence infused Misty. Luc was there! He wouldn't let anything happen to her.

  Cautiously she tried to parallel. But her left ski slipped, and she felt herself falling. The heel and toe bindings on her left ski came undone, and she tumbled several yards down the hill, the collar of her jacket filling with snow, her face pushing through the soft powder. She was laughing as she raised herself from a snow bank.

  Before she could stand up, Luc was taking her in his arms and lifting her high. "Darling, are you all right? I shouldn't have let you do it." Cradling her close with one arm, he wiped her face with his other hand.

  "Ptui." Misty giggled. "Will Sweetgum Inn charge you extra because I'm eating up all their powder?"

  The beginning of a smile softened Luc's rocklike visage. "You're a good sport." He kissed her nose, then placed her on her feet. "Come on. Let's get down this hill."

  Misty helped Luc brush the snow from her clothes. "I want to ski down, Luc. Please. It isn't far."

  "All right. But traverse." She nodded, brushing some snow off him.

  Luc stuck to her like glue the rest of the way down the hill, talking to her, encouraging her, instructing her in soft, sure tones.

  When Misty reached the bottom, she wobbled, then regained her balance and came to a full stop facing Luc. "I did it!" she exclaimed, grinning and shivering at the same time.

  Luc scowled at her, gestured to an attendant, kicked off his skis, and loosened hers. In seconds he was hurrying her into the lodge. "But Luc, you can't walk away and leave our stuff out there," Misty protested. She looked over her shoulder to see if the young attendant was giving proper attention to Luc's equipment.

  "Never mind that. I have to get you inside."

  Another attendant rushed forward as Luc half lifted her, hustling her through the doorway into the basement ski room. A group of skiers was clustered around a blazing fire in a
rough-hewn stone fireplace. "Was there an accident?" a young man asked anxiously.

  "No, of course not," Misty denied, whispering furiously at Luc to let her go.

  "My wife is cold," he said. "I want some soup and hot chocolate now." He turned to glare at the people sitting on a couch next to the fire.

  "Stop that," Misty exclaimed. "You can't act like Attila the Hun in here." A flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks as three people scrambled up from the sofa.

  "Put her here," one offered.

  "She can have my spot," said another.

  "Did she fall?" asked the third. "Has she seen a doctor?"

  "Luc," Misty said with a moan as he settled her on the couch and unfastened her boots. She looked up at a semicircle of concerned expressions and tried to smile. "I'm fine," she said weakly.

  "She's very cold," Luc said, as if accusing the world. He rubbed her bare foot, then blew on it.

  "Stop," Misty said with a gasp, feeling tendrils of warmth begin to uncurl deep inside her. "You're tickling me."

  "Am I, darling?" He caressed her with his eyes.

  Misty tried to sink deeper into the cushions. "Have you no shame?" she whispered with a forced, lopsided smile.

  A young red-haired man hurried up to them, carrying a bucket of warm water. "Here. This will help," he said, lifting one of Misty's hands and plunging it into the water. "We have to gradually heat the extremities, you know." He stared at Misty wide-eyed. "I put baby oil in the water so your hands won't be chapped."

  Misty smiled weakly. "That was very kind of you."

  Someone bustled up carrying a small tureen of soup. Another hurried over with hot chocolate in a white china mug.

  "Luc," Misty begged. "Stop this."

  He looked up at her with surprise, then glanced around the room. "Stop what, love?"

  Lord, she had married a sweet despot! Luc was so used to having people jump up and run errands for him, that he saw nothing out of the ordinary in being waited on. When he took the soup spoon and tried to feed her, she glared furiously at him. "That's enough," she snapped, snatching the spoon from his hand.

  "Poor thing is still jumpy," someone said sympathetically.