by Ann Cristy
Damon massaged Zen's warming body, arousing an even deeper heat. "Boys do crazy things," he mused. "It's the part of them that tells them to assert themselves, rebel, accept any challenge. If a boy survives a wild boyhood, he can survive anything."
"Do mothers of boys survive?" Zen mumbled against his throat.
"Only sometimes." Damon chuckled. "Did you ever use this tub with Cherry?" Zen asked faintly.
"No woman has ever shared these rooms with me— and no one ever will, except you."
"You had an apartment in town?"
"A penthouse in Manhattan, yes," he answered. "I won't lie to you, Zen. When we were apart, there were many women, all sizes, all shapes, all—"
"Twaddle. You only had tall, gorgeous creatures with big breasts and long legs," Zen grumbled, pulling at the hair on his chest.
He laughed. "It's true that none of them was as small as you."
"You love tall women."
"No doubt I thought so once."
"Now you have a short woman. Short women are out of style."
"Good. Then I won't have to beat the men off with a stick."
Zen giggled. "There weren't many men." "Some, though." "Oh, yes."
There was a long silence as Damon caressed her, his hands exploring gently. "And you would have married Seamus?" he asked.
Zen realized now that it would have been a mistake to marry Seamus when her feelings for Damon were so strong. "Yes, I was leaning that way. I knew that Seamus would be good with David. He's a man of high principles, which not all his joking and easy manner hide."
"A paragon," Damon agreed ironically.
"You asked me..."
"I know what I asked you." Damon surged to his feet, pulling her with him out of the tub and into the shower stall.
"No... eek! Stop it, Damon! I hate cold showers." Zen pummeled his chest.
"All right." His expression relaxed, and he switched the water to slightly warmer. He stepped out onto the tile floor and held out a heated bath sheet for her.
"Why did you do that?" She demanded, glaring up at him.
"Caprice," he replied, his jaw tight.
"More like meanness." Zen stalked into the bedroom—and stopped dead. She had forgotten she was in Damon's wing of the house. She had no clean clothes with her.
"Your clothes are over there." Damon gestured to a long wall of cabinets in the dressing room. "When were they moved?"
"Lona did it this morning." He held up her wedding gown. "Do you want to put this back on. Our guests will be waiting for us."
"Yes, I'll wear it." She didn't bother to tell him that she loved the dress, that she enjoyed wearing it.
They put on their clothes in comfortable silence, though several times Zen felt Damon's gaze burning into her, hot with desire. Feeling self-conscious under his probing stare, she fumbled with the tiny buttons on her gown and gratefully accepted his help when he bent to fasten them for her. He straightened in front of her, looking so handsome in his dark silk suit. When he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard, his tongue filling her mouth, it was all she could do to remain standing. Her blood raced hot in her veins as he took her arm and led her to the top of the stairs.
They descended the grand staircase, the sounds of music, laughter, and the clink of glassware growing louder as they reached the bottom. Damon held Zen close to him. "Did I tell you that we're going to spend the night at my apartment in Manhattan?"
"Since when? I thought we had decided to stay here and take a trip later with the boys." She paused a step above him.
Damon urged her back to his side. "Yes, but we can take one night for ourselves. I've ordered a dinner to be sent there, with champagne..." His voice trailed off, his thoughts wandering as his eyes lingered on her red-gold hair.
"There's enough food here to feed all the starving people in Africa."
"My mother has mentioned that you are horrified by what we've spent on our guests... so I have had my lawyers allocate an equal amount to charity."
Zen stopped again. "What charity? Some big organization in which the money twists and winds through a bureaucratic system and only a small fraction of the original amount gets to the needy?"
Damon chuckled. "Have a little faith, wife. The money is going to build recreational facilities for the hearing-impaired, the blind, and the retarded."
He turned to stand in the foyer, one step below her. Now he was only a little taller than Zen. Her hand came up to touch his cheek.
"Thank you. That's the nicest wedding present you could have given me." Her chin trembled.
Damon sighed. "You are the least acquisitive person I have ever known. Isn't there one material thing I can give you? Please?"
"Well... although I do appreciate how useful the Cherokee is, it would be nice to have—"
"You're joking," Damon interrupted, throwing back his head to laugh and clutching her upper arms.
"It isn't necessary for you..." Zen began, puzzled.
"In the garage, at this very moment, a gold-colored Corvette is waiting for you. I was afraid to give it to you for fear you'd be angry."
Zen stared at him. He was afraid of angering her? Incredible! "A Corvette? That's some runabout. I was thinking more in terms of a VW bug or—"
Damon touched his tongue to the corner of her mouth.
"The guests will see," Zen protested, her hands tingling, her legs weakening.
"That's a very bad habit, Xenobia—always putting me off when I begin to make love to you."
"Then pick a more private place." She gave a small screech as she was swept off her feet into his arms.
Damon headed back up the stairs with powerful strides.
"Where is Uncle Damon taking you now, Aunt Zeno?"
David asked from below them in the hall. Zen twisted to see Daniel by his side, Curly and Yanos behind them. "Are you going to take a nap? I told Lona that Dan and I would like to stay up for a while. Is it all right for Yanos to meet all the people, Aunt Zeno?"
Damon paused halfway up the stairs and then returned to the foyer, letting Zen slide down his body but not releasing her. "Of course Yanos will come with you to meet the people," he said, "and you will stay close to him and Lona." He squatted down in front of the boys while Zen hovered over them, touching them, leaning down to kiss them. "You are never to do anything like that again," Damon admonished them. "Both Nonna and Aunt Zeno were very worried."
Both boys nodded, looking at Zen askance. "We won't do it again, Aunt Zeno," Daniel promised.
She nodded and gestured for them to precede her through the lounge and into the (lining room. They stopped here and there to explain to people that the boys were indeed all right. "I'm fine now," she assured Aunt Sophronia, another of Damon's aunts.
"In my day girls didn't swim in cold water," said the tiny old lady. "Of course, I'm glad the boys were rescued. They are Aristides, you know." She waved her hand like Queen Victoria bestowing a blessing and moved toward the canapé tray.
Zen shook her head in exasperation. "Your family is—"
"Doesn't it make you feel good to know how important you are to them?" Damon interrupted, chuckling and hugging her to him.
"Dear Aunt Sophronia would no doubt arrange a French picnic in honor of my hanging," Zen said, watching the birdlike woman pop an entire stuffed mushroom into her mouth, then wrap some in a napkin and stow them in her capacious purse. "Why don't you give her some money, Damon? The poor dear doesn't have enough to eat."
"Aunt Sophronia is worth millions, my love. She has a house staff of thirty. None of her investments, which are legion, has ever suffered a loss."
"But she's stealing food," Zen whispered, her eyes widening as Aunt Sophronia wended her way past trays of delicacies, selecting liberally from each of them.
"She always takes food. No one is sure what she does with it, but you can be certain it won't be wasted. Aunt Sophronia is very thrifty."
"Amazing."
Damon led Zen out onto the dance
floor. As they danced, she continued to watch his aunt and to keep a wary eye on the boys. "Damon, I think she's going to take—my lord, she put a bottle of champagne in her purse!"
"And after she takes it out to her chauffeur to stash in her Rolls, she'll be back for more."
Zen looked up at him and saw no contempt or censure in his face. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Why should I mind? Aunt Sophronia supports a Boys' Club and is active in promoting rehabilitation houses for first offenders. I admire her."
Zen felt ashamed of her previous rude behavior toward the old woman. "I didn't know," she whispered as the tiny creature upended a peanut dish into her purse. As soon as she moved away, Maria refilled the dish.
Damon whirled Zen around the spacious solarium, his mouth tight, his muscles tense.
"What is it?" she asked.
"We're dancing together. We've just been married, but you, the bride, are more fascinated with the guests than with the groom." The cords in Damon's neck stood out as he stared out over her head.
Zen felt a girlish hesitancy as she looked up at him. She remembered the twenty-year-old Zen who had first worshipped Damon Aristides, and the twenty-five-year old Zen who had fled from him, brokenhearted. "I love to dance with you, Damon," she assured him.
"How do you know? We haven't danced together much," he replied sternly. Even when the beat became faster, he held her close to him and twirled sedately round the room.
"Pardon me, may I cut in?" Seamus beamed at a glowering Damon, who showed great reluctance in releasing his wife.
In seconds, Seamus and Zen were gyrating to a hot rhythm. They faced each other, not touching, but their feet and bodies moved in perfect synchronization.
When several of the guests backed away to give them more room, Seamus became more daring, his movements more complex. Zen laughed when Seamus whirled her around him, then caught her back to him in a graceful, shallow dip. Not once did her nimble-footed friend miss a beat.
When the number ended. Seamus caught Zen in his arms and planted a kiss on her mouth as the crowd laughed and applauded.
"It's time to leave." Damon all but lifted Zen free of Seamus's hold.
"So soon?" she asked, a little out of breath.
"Yes," he bit out.
Zen was about to protest, but one look at his black expression made her change her mind. "I'll go up to change my clothes," she said.
Upstairs, Lona helped her take off her gown. Her head was still buried in the depths of material when she heard the door open.
Lona was quick to slip a silken wrapper around her before Zen faced her mother-in-law. "Sophie?"
"I don't know whether to laugh or cry." Damon's mother paced restlessly up and down the spacious dressing room. "That sister of mine is filling Damon's head with foolish stories, and he is filling his mouth with whisky."
"I'll drive, don't worry," Zen assured her.
"That isn't what's worrying me, Xenobia," Sophie said. "Not that Damon will let you drive. No one drives Damon except his chauffeur, or Yanos in a pinch." She pursed her lips. "No, I'm afraid Damon might become violent. It would be most embarrassing."
"Damon is very correct in his behavior. You needn't worry." Zen zipped up the skirt of her blue Irish linen suit. Her leather shoes and bag were of the same pale color. "Did you pack everything already, Lona?" she asked.
"Damon is never civilized where you are concerned, Xenobia," Sophie said. "And it annoys me that you should continue to be so unconcerned when you husband may be downstairs fomenting chaos. Damon is terrible when he feels he is being threatened. He will attack first and ask for the full story later." Sophie raised her eyes in supplication. "I could kill that Dalia. Just because she didn't want me to marry Thag... And, of course, she knows that she cannot control you."
"How does she know that?" Zen checked her makeup for smudges.
"Damon can't control you, so how could Dalia?"
Zen knew Sophie was deeply irritated with her. "What do you want me to do?" she asked.
"Get him out of here—and do not talk to that Irishman again tonight. Not that he isn't a most charming fellow, Xenobia, but..." Sophie glanced at Lona and nodded curtly. When the woman had left the room, she added, "One of my husband's ancestors was from Mani, the region of Greece where the wild people live." Sophie nodded thoughtfully. "Sometime I see the same wildness in Damon."
Zen wanted to laugh, but Sophie's sober look stopped her. Instead, she bent to pick up her overnight case and gestured to Sophie to open the door.
As she descended the stairs again, Zen experienced a sense of deja vu. How many times had she gone down those stairs that day?
"I don't hear any disturbing noises," she said, smiling at the older woman.
"Let's hope you can get Damon out of the house in a hurry," Sophie replied.
When they entered the living room, the first person
Zen saw was Damon, lifting a glass to his mouth and draining it. "Oh, dear," she whispered as Seamus came towards them both arms outstretched. She patted Sophie's arm. "Don't worry. No doubt Seamus wants to say good-bye. He's returning to Ireland soon."
"Not soon enough," Sophie whispered.
Zen followed the direction of her mother-in-law's gaze, and her mouth dropped open. Damon was striding angrily through the crowd, his face a hard mask. Guests stepped hastily out his way, clearing a narrow path for him.
"Damon." Zen stepped in front of him, but he lifted her like a doll and set her to one side.
Seamus looked up in surprise as Damon bore down on him. Everyone seemed turned to stone.
Zen ducked under her husband's arm and stood up, stopping him short. She reached up and pulled his stiff head down until their lips met. She let her mouth soften and move on his until she felt his response, his tongue moving to touch hers. She massaged his face and neck, and she didn't release him when she moved her mouth back an inch. "Damon, we're married," she murmured.
"I won't have him kissing you," Damon muttered back, though he didn't move away from her.
She stroked his cheek. "Seamus is a friend." She kissed him again. "People kiss their friends."
Damon straightened but kept his hands on her, kneading her shoulders, swaying imperceptibly. "Let's get out of here," he said at last, the words slightly slimed.
"Damon, if I ask for the keys to the car—because you have been drinking "more than you should—what will you say? Or would you prefer having the chauffeur drive us into Manhattan?" Zen kept her voice low, for his ears only.
His mouth caressed hers. "I say I don't like it, but it's the smart thing to do." He fumbled in his jacket pocket and handed her the keys, kissed her again, then turned to speak to Sophie and Thag.
With a sigh of relief, Zen turned back to the guests and began bidding them good-bye. Damon, stiff but cordial, remained close to her side.
When it was Seamus's turn he grabbed her around the waist and kissed her full on the mouth with a noisy smack.
"Stop that, you fool," Sophie said. She tapped Seamus imperially on the arm.
Thag shook his head. "You are a wild Irishman," he said, but he, too, was smiling, and Zen couldn't help grinning in return. Seamus would keep the family well entertained during his visit.
Zen was still chuckling over something Seamus had told her as she followed Damon out to the Ferrari. Yanos was just slamming the lid of the trunk shut, having stowed away their luggage.
The old Greek rolled his eyes toward the front seat, where Damon slouched on the passenger side. "He is more in the wine than he should be, Kyria Xenobia."
"More in the Old Bushmill's, I think you mean." Zen smiled wider when the old man's lips pursed at her reference to the Irish whisky Damon had been drinking.
"He is Apollo's son, Kyria. He is much used to being boss and clearing all obstacles."
"And being full of himself, as Apollo was," Zen pointed out, moving toward the driver's side.
Yanos's lips twitched. "That too, Kyria."
Zen leaned over and kissed the grizzled cheek. "Take care of my boys, Yanos."
"That I will do, Kyria. I will not let them out of my sight." He held the car door for her and closed it behind her after she slid behind the wheel.
"So far you've kissed every male in the place but your husband," Damon complained, hitting the dashboard.
"Not true." Zen slipped the car into gear and headed down the driveway. "I kissed most of the men at the wedding, not all." She bit her lip when he growled. "And, as I recall, I kissed you five minutes ago. How could you forget that."
"I recall every kiss and embrace we've ever shared, every moment of our lovemaking. Shall I tell you about the first time? We sailed all day on my schooner, then anchored out from the dock—way out, as I remember."
Zen's palms grew damp. "There's no need to go into it now."
"Oh, but there is, my wife. You were mine then. You wanted me to take you. You asked me to make love to you, said that you wanted me to be your first and only love. Do you remember?"
Damon's words, like velvet-covered steel, seemed to pierce her very core and arouse all her desires once again. He talked on and on, recalling their lovemaking in excruciating detail, making her burn all over for him.
Even as she sought to concentrate every effort on driving, Zen recalled her younger self, as she had been then. She envisioned a twenty-year-old Zen as she followed Damon into the cabin, where they were going to change into dry clothes after having gone swimming. Then they would eat dinner.
Damon had gone to the bow of the boat, leaving the cabin for her.
Zen had removed her bikini top, but instead of taking off the bottom and showering, she had leaned against one of the bunks and looked out the window over the water. She felt like one of the luckiest people in the world because Damon Aristides was paying attention to her, because he looked at her as though he wanted to possess her. She didn't hear him enter the cabin, but when she heard him gasp, she knew he was behind her.