Sweet Caroline's Keeper

by Beverly Barton

  "Like it?'' She stopped twirling and smiled at him. "I love it."

  Wolfe closed the door behind him, then stood in place, his arms crossed over his chest, and watched Caroline McGuire savor the fantasy world he had created for her. How many times had he longed to do something special for her? How often had he envisioned a moment like this? If it was wrong of him to want this particular birthday to be memorable, then God forgive him. But this would be the one and only birthday he would ever spend with her. He intended to do everything in his power to make the night unforgettable for both of them. Soon the Fates would condemn him to hell, into a world without Caroline. Damned for past sins. Unforgiven.

  She reached up and pulled the scarf holding her ponytail in place and let the small square of lavender silk sail down to disappear in the ocean of balloons at her bare feet. Her hair fell around her shoulders, strands of shimmery onyx that beckoned him to run his fingers through them, to grasp her head and hold her face to his. He had long ago memorized the features of her beautiful face from having spent hours gazing at photographs of her. But no picture could capture the vibrant loveliness of this woman. She swayed to the mu­sic, her green-and-lavender floral skirt whirling around her calves.

  Caroline held out her hand. He walked across the room, removed his hip holster and laid it on a side table, then went to her. Without a word being exchanged, he took her into his arms. Their bodies came together, touching tenderly, unde­manding and totally at ease, as if they had danced together countless times. In tune. Perfectly matched. A man and a woman. A night filled with promise. Unhurried. As if each moment had no beginning and no end.

  Wolfe knew he had no right to expect anything beyond giving Caroline pleasure. And that would be enough. It had to be enough! A part of birr! longed to tell her that he was her David, the man she had turned into a larger-than-life hero that no mortal man could possibly live up to. But with that sort of revelation would come questions that he could never answer, inquiries into a past he must keep secret from her. He had one more week with her and then he would disappear from her life and her David would also cease to exist. It was the only way—for him and for her. She could never have a normal life as long as she clung to the impossible hope that someday her David would become a part of her world.

  Caroline's body heat invaded his skin, seeped beneath the surface to warm his muscles and bones and set afire the desire he had been keeping under control. She tilted her head and gazed up at him. A dreamy smile opened her mouth and curved her soft lips. How could he resist the temptation to sample such sweetness? He brushed his lips over hers. She shivered ever so slightly, an almost indiscernible quiver that shook him as much as if a volcano had exploded inside her. He was so in tune to her body, so in sync with every little nuance, every varying shade of Caroline McGuire. Wolfe cursed himself for the doomed fool that he was. She had not been the only one with a fantasy—an unrealistic dream—as equally impossible and with as little hope of existing in re­ality as his was.

  Like her, he had been alone for most of his life, having lost his entire family by the age of thirteen. Although he had pretended to be strong and fearless, to be self-contained, needing no one, there had been a hunger inside him, a deep, human longing to have something—someone—of his own. For the past fourteen and a half years, he had allowed Car­oline to become that someone—the center of his universe. From a safe distance he had watched her grow from a child into a woman and his feelings for her had changed just as gradually. In the beginning he had cared for her as a big brother, a generous friend and a man eaten alive by guilt. And then one day he realized that his thoughts about Caroline were the thoughts a man entertained about a desirable woman. Somewhere along the way she had, in his mind and heart, ceased to be his ward and had become his woman.

  Always separated. A safe distance between them. It was easy being infatuated with a phantom lover, one who could never reject you, never disappoint you, never leave you. His sexual appetite had been appeased by numerous women, but not a one of them had taken anything from him because he'd given them nothing beyond the moment, nothing except sex. He had risked nothing. Expected nothing. But Caroline was different. She meant more to him than he dared to admit, even to himself.

  "This evening isn't real, is it?" she asked as she lifted her hand to the nape of his neck.

  Her question brought him to the present, to this moment in time, with Caroline secure and happy in the safety of his arms. "No, this evening isn't real. It's a birthday present that ends at midnight."

  She slowed her movements but stayed in his arms. Look­ing straight at him, a melancholy wistfulness in her eyes, she whispered, "I care about you. I care too much. But you must know that I don't dare love you. And without loving you, I can't—"

  He pressed his hand over her mouth, ending her pro­nouncement, then when she quieted and simply stared at him, he caressed her face. "My sweet Caroline, you're very wise not to throw away your love on me. Save it for a man worthy of you. But don't wait for your David."

  She sighed and her fragile smile vanished. "Did you know that's what he calls me, what he's always called me? My sweet Caroline."

  Wolfe hadn't realized how easily those words rolled off his tongue. How many times had he referred to her as sweet Caroline? "Then he and I are in agreement. I think that any man who truly knew you couldn't think of you in any other way. You are so very sweet."

  "And just what does that mean?" she asked.

  He released her, then cradled her face with his hands. "You possess a loveliness that goes beyond the physical. You have a kind heart and a generous spirit. And although you've experienced tragedies and traumas that would have destroyed a lesser person, you came through it all still pos­sessing a goodness I can't even begin to understand."

  ''Wolfe. . .David. . .why can't you be—"

  Her words were like a knife stabbed into his heart. How odd that he should be competing against himself, that he was his only rival for Caroline's affection.

  "I'm so sorry," she said. "You've gone to so much trou­ble to make everything wonderful for me, and instead of being grateful, I tell you that I wish you were another man."

  She tried to turn from him, but he grabbed her wrist and jerked her up against him. Their gazes locked. Their heated breaths mingled.

  "It's all right," he told her, his voice thick with passion and deceptively soft. He wanted to tell her that all Davids were the same in the dark, but wisely didn't make a joke of the matter. In his case, it was true. He was her David. "You may think you love him, but you want me, don't you, Car­oline? Even if you feel that you're being unfaithful, you can't help wanting me. Loving a phantom is so much safer than caring about a flesh-and-blood man, isn't it?" He could tell her that he knew only too well the truth of his words. Hadn't he spent years, just as she had, investing all his deepest emo­tions into a relationship that was nothing more than smoke and mirrors? An illusion of love.

  "You're the one who told me that you and I are all wrong for each other," she said.

  "We are." For many reasons, most of which you can never know.

  "Sometimes we want what is bad for us, don't we?" She shut her eyes, breaking the visual link that bound them. "I've never understood that before, not until I met you. I thought desire was a part of love and that love was a simple thing. I believed that you love and are loved in return and the two of you make a lifelong commitment and then. . ."

  "In the best of all possible worlds, that's true."

  "But not in our world. Not for you and me. We're both afraid of love, aren't we?"

  He didn't respond verbally. There was no need. He saw the acceptance and the disillusionment in her eyes. God help him, he was destroying her dreams. When she eased out of his arms and walked away from him, he did not try to stop her. Had he made a mistake in trying to give them both a moment out of time, one evening that could belong to them alone, that nothing and no one could ever take from them? Had he prepared this surprise more for himself th
an for her, knowing that he was the one who would need the memory to cling to, not Caroline? She would have a future, free from him and from her David. Eventually she would fall in love and marry and have children. But what would he have? A lifetime alone.

  Caroline had to put some distance between them, had to escape from the seduction of his strong arms and hypnotic gaze. It would be so easy to love this man and so very dif­ficult to get over him once he left her. And he would leave her, return to the life he'd had before he had taken the job as her bodyguard. She knew that he wanted her. . . sexually. . .just as she wanted him. She couldn't even begin to explain the strange fascination he held for her. Why, after all these years and all the men who had come in and out of her life, was she drawn to this one man? David. But not her David. If she hadn't been attracted to him when she'd known him only as Wolfe, she would have suspected that his name alone had seduced her, that she had allowed herself to con­fuse the two men in her mind. But she had experienced that inexplicable pull, that irrefutable chemistry the moment she met him.

  If Wolfe was right—that she would never meet her David, would never be allowed to see him, touch him, love him— then would it be so wrong to experience passion with an­other? With this David, whom she could see and touch and. . . love.

  How could she show him the way she felt? How did she tell him that she wanted him, but was afraid that if she gave herself to him physically, she would fall in love with him? You're already halfway in love with him as it is, an inner voice whispered. But once they became lovers, there would be no going back, no return to the safety of loving her David. Was she prepared to relinquish her dream for reality? Would a few days in David Wolfe's arms, becoming his woman on a temporary basis be worth what she would have to give up?

  Yes. Yes. Yes!

  Having made her decision, Caroline searched the shelves that held some of her photography equipment. She knew of one way—a way very personal to her—that she could seduce David Wolfe. Glancing over the variety of cameras at her disposal, she quickly chose her Rollei, one of her favorites, which was easy to operate, thus giving her flexibility and creative control. Even in candlelight, she could count on this camera to capture more than the eye could behold. Before Wolfe became aware of the fact that he was her subject, she aimed and shot, then aimed again, repeating the process sev­eral times.

  He faced her. Boldly. Surprised by her actions. For several minutes, he stood before her. Unmoving. He was a magnif­icent man and the camera loved him. The high cheekbones. The slanted shape of his eyes. The hard, chiseled imperfec­tion of his features. The wide shoulders encased in a loose white shirt. The sleek, fluid lines of a superbly honed phy­sique.

  Long after he was gone, she would have these photographs to remind her of this special man.

  Suddenly she realized that he was coming toward her, an agitated expression on his face. Without hesitation she con­tinued taking pictures. Hurriedly. Furiously. Moving around the studio, keeping just out of his reach. She knew he in­tended to stop her. When he finally captured her, he manacled her wrist and jerked the camera out of her hand. She gasped aloud the moment he grabbed her by the waist.

  "Why did you do that?" she asked. "I took those shots for me. I promise that no one else will ever see them. Please. . ." She reached down to where he held the Rollei at his side.

  He held the camera just out of her reach. "You were trying to make love to me with the camera, weren't you?" He circled her waist and pulled her close, then lowered his head. "As sensual as we both found the experience, it's a poor substitute for the real thing."

  She looked up, thinking he was going to kiss her. Hoping he would. Afraid he would. But instead his tongue touched her throat. Light. Moist. A faint, tingling caress that moved down her throat and onto the flesh exposed by the V-neck of her billowing lavender blouse. When he released his hold around her waist, she didn't move, didn't pull away. He tugged on her blouse until he loosened it from beneath the waistband of her skirt, then he reached underneath, his big hand flattening across her midriff. She sucked in her breath. She quivered as her nipples tightened. He undid the front snap of her bra, pulled back the cups and freed her breasts, still covered by her blouse.

  His mouth opened over one breast and his lips encom­passed her nipple through the thin barrier of cloth. When he sucked, she leaned her head back as if it were too heavy for her neck to hold upright. He moved to the other breast, giving it equal attention. Caroline began unraveling, coils of plea­sure spiraling, swirling inside her like wind-tossed streamers. While she was in the throes of passion, consumed by pure sexual hunger, Wolfe released her. She lifted her head, her gaze searching for him. He stood several feet away, the Rollei in his hand, the lens pointed at her.

  "It's my turn," he said. "To make love to you."

  She understood his meaning. She would be his subject. The object of his desire. She looked at him, knowing that all she was feeling in that moment showed plainly in her eyes. He snapped the first shot. She began moving, swaying this way and that, to the soft, jazzy beat of the music. He took picture after picture, his actions frenzied. She had never felt so alive. And for the first time in her life she knew she was sexy and seductive.

  She lifted her hair in her hands and then let it cascade through her fingers. She turned her back to him and removed her blouse and bra, then glanced over her shoulder. He cap­tured that seductive pose on film, exploring the fantasy and the pure sexuality of the moment. A clutching pressure built between her thighs, a prelude of longing so intense that it overwhelmed her. She licked her lips, moistening them, and looked at David, knowing he would recognize the invitation.

  He came toward her, then stopped to lay the camera on the table where their uneaten food awaited them. She held her breath, anticipating what was to come. He eased up be­hind her and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned her head back to rest on his chest. He lowered his head and placed his cheek against hers. She curved her arms backward so that her hands rested on his hips.

  All rational thought ceased to exist for Caroline. She gave herself over completely to the moment and to the man who held her captive. When his hands lifted to cup and then cover her breasts, she rubbed her hips seductively against his erec­tion. Wanton, alive with a desire unequaled by any previous experience, she surrendered and yet simultaneously con­quered.

  Wolfe turned her to him and took her mouth in a kiss of unleashed passion, as if a dam of control had burst free inside him. She flung her arms around his neck and participated in the kiss with equal abandon. He unzipped her skirt and pulled it down her hips. It fell to her feet, draping over the nearby balloons like a voluminous tent atop quivering white sand dunes. She clung to him, totally nude except for her lavender satin panties.

  He touched her. Everywhere. Her face. Her hair. Her throat. His hands skimmed her arms, her waist, her hips and down her legs. He knelt before her and buried his face against her belly. She threaded her fingers through his thick golden hair and held him to her, glorying in his adoration. He made her feel as if she were the most precious thing on earth to him.

  When he hooked his forefingers under the elastic of her panties, she waited, breathlessly, for him to remove the last barrier, the last fragment of cloth that covered her. The pant­ies slid over her hips and down her legs. She lifted one foot and then the other. He grabbed the panties and tossed them aside. His mouth touched her intimately, kissing her, arousing her unbearably. As he spread her legs farther apart, she gripped his shoulders to balance herself and within moments succumbed to the passion of his marauding lips and tongue. He held her in place, his palms on her buttocks, as he brought her to the edge of release.

  Caroline wanted the fulfillment desperately. Her body yearned for him to take her that final step into completion. "Please, David, please," she whispered, calling him by his given name in her passion.

  And he did please her. The intensity of her climax bolted her knees and shook her from head to toe. While the rippling aftersho
cks trembled through her, Wolfe swept her up into his arms and carried her across the room, sending balloons flying in every direction as he strode through their midst. He shoved open the door to the nearest dressing room and eased her down on a white damask sofa, then stripped off his shirt and tossed it to the floor.

  Caroline reached up, her hands trembling as she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his slacks. He removed his clothes and stood there, hovering over her, gloriously, magnificently na­ked. Only the candlelight from the studio illuminated the dark dressing room, so her view of him was shadowed, but she could see the scars that marred his big body. A crisscross of scar tissue bisected his brown chest hair in several places and zigzagged atop his thighs.

  "Be very sure this is what you want," he said, his voice a hoarse, heavy growl. "We have no future together. This will change nothing between us."

  Caroline lifted her right arm and reached up with her left hand to undo the closure on her new diamond-and-pearl bracelet. When she removed the valuable piece of jewelry, she dropped it to the floor atop the small lambswool rug beside the sofa. Not without some regrets, she set aside the past, disengaging herself from a dream that she had out­grown.

  She held open her arms to Wolfe, beckoning him to come to her. She would accept him on his terms, take whatever he offered. But he was wrong if he thought this would change nothing between them.

  Wolfe knelt, dove his hand into the pocket of his discarded slacks and removed his billfold. She watched, sighing when she saw him remove the wrapped condom. Even in this, in a moment of supreme passion, he was protecting her. She gazed at him. He was big and savage-looking and over­whelmingly male. She knew a moment of panic, of uncer­tainty that she could accommodate him fully, but when his body covered hers, she surrendered to her own needs.

  "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered against her ear, his breathing ragged, perspiration dotting his brow.

  "I want you so. Make love to me. . ." David. My David.