by Amii Lorin
“You’re committed now, you know. There will be no backing out.” The hard edge to his tone softened somewhat as he asked, “Has something happened to effect this sudden change in your attitude?”
“It was brought home to me that I had very little choice,” she replied softly, suddenly having to fight to keep tears from spilling over. “You have made a farce of all my hopes and plans. I’m afraid you’re in for a shock if you’re expecting an experienced woman. I’m one of the unmodern ones. I... I had thought to save my virginity for my husband, give it to him as a g-gift.” Her last word was spoken on a strangled sob, and she turned her head away.
Tara heard his indrawn breath, felt him move a moment before his fingers, gently grasping her chin, turned her face back to him. His face was close, his voice very low. “And so you shall.”
His mouth covered hers in a kiss both reticent and possessive; possession won. He drew her as closely to him as the console between the bucket seats would allow. Suddenly he released her and was moving away, cursing softly. Before she knew what he was about, he was out and around the car, yanking open the door next to her. In one unbroken movement he leaned inside, grasped her shoulders, pulled her out and into his arms. Shifting his weight to balance hers, he stood with his feet planted firmly a foot apart, crushing her body against the long, hard length of his.
He groaned softly and muttered, “God, Tara, I want you.” Then his mouth began plundering hers hungrily, drawing from her a response she had had no idea she was capable of. His hands moved urgently over her body, arching her to him, giving her shocking proof of his words.
First the ground rocked, then the world spun, and she was drowning in a sea of intense, electrifying pleasure. Fire whipped through her veins, igniting pulse points and nerve ends in its wake. Arms tightening convulsively around his neck, teetering on the very edge of total surrender, she moaned a soft protest when his mouth left hers. Opening her eyes, she saw him glance around before murmuring huskily, “Where the hell can we go?”
His words brought a measure of unwanted sanity and with a choking sob she wrenched away from him to stumble sharply into the side of the car. She cried out in pain, but the pain brought further sanity, enabling her to plead, “No, Alek, stop,” when he reached for her.
“No?” he rasped. “Stop? What are you trying to do, drive me mad?”
She was sobbing openly now, frightened badly, as much by her own body’s astonishingly urgent need as his. Shaking her head, she sobbed wildly, “I’m frightened. You as much as promised me, not fifteen minutes ago, that you’d wait. I can’t go on. Not here, not like this. Alek, please.”
His face went hard, a muscle kicking in his taut jaw. His hands clenched into hard, white-knuckled fists, and he drew deep, long breaths. “All right, Tara.” He groaned through clenched teeth. “We’ll do it your way. But you can be grateful you set the day as closely as you did, for I’m damned if I’ll wait one day longer.”
His words chilled Tara, promising difficulties for her nebulous plans. It was not until later, on the way back to town, that she admitted ruefully to herself that he had gained control much more quickly than she. For while he was cool and withdrawn, handling the car with smooth expertise, she was still a humming bundle filled with awareness of him. And she knew that if he touched her now, she’d melt as quickly as a snowflake in August.
As they entered the city, Alek glanced at the expensive, slim gold watch on his wrist and said, “We have something to do before dinner. I want you to pick out your engagement ring.”
His words jerked Tara away from her confusing emotions. “I don’t want an engagement ring,” she said flatly.
“Don’t want... ?” he began, giving her a startled glance. Then his eyes hardened, grew icy. “Don’t try playing games with me, Tara. You’ll wear my ring.” He finished grimly: “You said you’ll marry me, and marry me you will.”
“I’m not playing games,” she replied coolly. “I have no intention of backing out of the marriage. But if you buy an engagement ring, I won’t wear it. The only ring of yours I’ll wear is my wedding ring.”
His beautifully chiseled mouth flattened into a thin line.
“Why?”
“I simply do not want one.”
Tara could feel his anger crackling outward, touching her, and she shivered.
Grimly, he punched a series of numbers into his cell phone. Speaking to his mother, he made the announcement that he was engaged and would like his parents to meet their future daughter-in-law. After another minute of conversation, he hung up and turned to Tara, giving her a smile that didn’t quite make it to those glinting blue eyes.
“We’ve been invited to dinner so you can meet my parents. I’m sure you’ll want to bathe and change, as I do.” His smile changed, becoming cruelly sardonic. “But first we’ll stop at your parents’ home. I’m sure your family, especially your father, will be delighted with our news.”
Tara felt her blood turn to ice water and she shivered again. This was a ruthless man she was dealing with. Did she really have the courage to carry out her idea?
Chapter Six
The closer they drew to her parents’ home, the more tense and withdrawn Tara became. How would her parents react to Alek? Especially her father? He might fly into a rage. Hadn’t he referred to Alek as “that Russian?” “That swine Rykovsky”? On the other hand he might be so relieved to know Alek was going to make an honest woman of her, he might accept his future son-in-law gracefully. Too many mights, she told herself nervously; I might just be sick.
Alek said nothing, but Tara caught the several eagle-eyed glances he threw at her. As they turned into the street her parents lived on, Tara noted the long fingers of golden afternoon sun. Oh, great! she thought. Not only would her father be home from work but by now Betsy would be too. One was never sure of her brothers, but this close to supper-time, they probably would be too. Her mother, of course, was nearly always home. Tara grimaced inside. A regular family conclave.
Alek parked at the curb in front of her parents’ small frame home and said quietly, “Stay put,” as her hand jerked to the door handle. Almost lazily, he left the car and moved around to open her door, helping her out as a lover would. Leaning close to her, he teased, “Someone may be watching from the window.”
At any other time Tara would have walked, unannounced, into her father’s house but not now, after his crushing words to her on Saturday, she hesitated. Ignoring Alek’s questioningly raised eyebrows, she placed a none-too-steady finger on the doorbell.
The door was opened a few inches by Karl, who gave her a disgusted look and complained, “What did ya ring the bell for, for cripes’ sake?” He turned back into the hall at once, yelling, “Mom, Tara’s here,” not having seen Alek at all.
As she moved a few steps into the small hallway, Alek close behind her, she heard her father curse, then the rustle of a newspaper being flung to the floor.
Her father reached the doorway to the living room, George at his heels, just as her mother came hurrying along the short hall from the kitchen and Betsy came clattering down the stairs to stop abruptly in back of Karl, who had started up but had stopped and turned at their father’s curse. All five began speaking at once.
“Tara, I told you on Saturday—”
“Oh, Tara, I’m so glad to see—”
“Tara, I thought you were going to call—”
“Gee, Tara, did you come in that car out—”
“Tara, what’s going on any—
“Be quiet, all of you.”
The barrage ceased. Alek had not raised his voice, but the tone sliced through the babble like a rapier through butter. The tone of a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question: there were none.
The same tone broke the stunned silence as, eyes hard as the stone they matched, Alek addressed her father. “Mr. Schmitt, I’d like to speak to you in private a few minutes.”
Eyes softening, he turned to her mother. �
��Perhaps you could give Tara a cup of coffee in the kitchen?”
“Yes, of course,” her mother fluttered. “Come along, Tara. I just made a fresh pot for supper.”
Tara hesitated, watching her father’s angry red face, until he mumbled, grudgingly, to Alek. “All right, come into the living room.” Then: “Make yourselves scarce, boys.”
George threw a curious glance at Alek, then went up the stairs after Karl, and Tara followed her mother into the kitchen, Betsy right behind her.
Marlene poured coffee into two cups, placed them in front of Tara and Betsy, then asked, tremulously, “Who is that man, Tara? Why does he want to talk to your father alone?”
Before Tara could draw her attention from her mother’s tired, unhappy face, Betsy answered excitedly, “That’s none other than Mr. Aleksei Rykovsky, Mama.” Turning wide eyes to Tara, she went on. “Why does he want to talk to Dad?”
Tara had been asking herself that same question. Surely it would have been easier to tell them all while they’d been gathered in the hall.
She contemplated what to answer as she sipped her coffee.
“Well, I’m not quite sure—”
“Marlene,” her father’s voice cut her off. “Come in here and bring Tara with you.”
Biting her lip, her mother turned apprehensive eyes to Tara. Forcing a light laugh, Tara quipped, “I guess we’d better go and face me music.” Swinging out of the kitchen, she answered, “May as well,” to Betsy’s “Can I come too?”
The two men stood facing each other across the room, Alek in front of the worn sofa, her father in front of his favorite chair. Tara took one step inside the room and stopped, her mother on one side, Betsy on the other. Apprehensively she glanced at Alek, men her father, then back to Alek again, unable to read anything in the face of either man.
“Come here, Tara.”
Alek’s voice was low, his tone gentle, and without question Tara went to him, her eyes trying to read his impassive face, the small smile playing at his mouth.
Her mother and Betsy followed her into the room and out of the corner of her eye she saw her brothers slip inside the doorway. Deliberately, it seemed to Tara, Alek had kept his eyes on her face until they were all in the room, then he turned that brilliant blue gaze on her mother and said quietly, “Mrs. Schmitt, your husband has just given me his permission to marry your daughter. I sincerely hope you will give yours also.”
He had asked for permission! Alek Rykovsky! Incredible, Tara thought Tara felt her breath catch, heard Betsy’s small
“oh,” saw her mother go pink, glance at her husband then back at Alek before stuttering, “I-I—if Herman says—”
“He does,” Herman interrupted. Then, as if suddenly becoming aware that they were all standing, he said, “Won’t you sit down, sir?”
Too much! Tara thought. She stared at her father. The only other men she’d ever heard her father speak to in that deferential manner were their priest and doctor. And not always their doctor.
Alek murmured “Thank you,” lowered himself to the sofa, then held his hand out, palm up, and said softly, “Tara.”
Bemused, Tara sat down next to him, placed her hand in his large, well shaped one, and felt it squeezed as he said to her mother, “Tara and I would like to be married on the second Saturday in December. I hope there will be enough time to make the necessary arrangements.”
Her mother’s eyes flew to her, and Tara answered hurriedly, “Yes, of course there’ll be enough time. A small wedding really doesn’t take much arrange—”
“You’ll naturally want to be married in your own church,” he cut in smoothly. “But I hope you’ll have no objections to my own priest presiding.”
Tara turned astonished eyes to him. “You’re Catholic, Alek?”
“Yes, my love, I am.” Again that small smile played around his mouth. She watched it in fascination, then his actual words struck her.
“In church?” she choked. “But that’s not necessary. I thought a quiet wedding, no fuss.”
She heard her father snort, her mother exclaim, “But Tara!” But Alek again commanded the floor.
“We will have a full Catholic wedding, darling. Including mass. We’re only going to do this once; we may as well do it right. You may have as few or as many attendants as you wish.” The devil danced in his eyes as he added, “Just don’t exhaust yourself with the preparations.”
Tara felt her cheeks flush at his meaning: He didn’t want an overtired bride on his wedding night. She felt his arm slide around her waist, draw her closer to him. What’s he playing at now, she wondered fretfully. Then was surprised at the explanation that leaped into her mind. The endearments, the touching, the tone of voice were all calculated to assure her father, all of them, that she was loved, cared for, protected. But why would he bother to do that? she argued with herself. He had what he wanted. At least he thought he did. Nevertheless the feeling persisted that he was deliberately acting the role of a man very much in love simply to reassure her parents.
The action of Alek glancing at his watch forced Tara’s attention back to the conversation. He was speaking to her father, and his words jolted her alert.
“And, as I just said, the number of the wedding party, the type of wedding, is entirely up to Tara, but if you have no objections, I will arrange the reception.” He held up one hand as both her father and mother started to protest. “Let me finish, please. I’m afraid it will be, by necessity, both rather large and expensive. I have quite a few friends and business associates. I would not want to have any one of them feel slighted because they were not invited. Many of them will be coming from a distance. Not only from out of town, but out of state as well. Arrangements must be made for their accommodations.” Until this point his voice had been smooth, almost soft. Now it took on a thin, hard edge. “I insist on paying for it, as the majority of the names on the guest list will come from me.” He glanced at her mother, and again the tone grew gentle. “I would appreciate it if you could have your guest list completed within a few days. We have less than a month, and I’d like the invitations in the mail by the end of the week.”
“The end of the week!”
“But Alek, that’s impossible.”
Tara and her mother spoke in unison. Tara was too surprised to say anymore, but her mother continued. “That’s not nearly enough time. Not only do we have to make up the guest list but we have to see the printers, pick out the invitations—”
“That won’t be necessary,” he interrupted. “Just make up your list as quickly as possible. My staff will take care of the rest. The invitations will be handwritten. Believe me, you will be satisfied with the result.”
“Well, if you say so,” her mother murmured.
Tara was beginning to feel very uneasy. When had she lost control of this farce? She was actually not being consulted at all, for all his talk of the size of the wedding being up to her. Feeling that she had to make some sort of stand she said, firmly, “Alek, I really do not want a large wedding. I had thought a small, quiet affair with just the families and maybe a few close friends.”
The wicked gleam in his eyes alerted her, yet his words shocked her, causing a momentary hush in the room. “My sweet love, would you deprive the rest of our friends, everyone, the pleasure of witnessing the culmination of the union about which there has been so much speculation?”
Tara felt tears sting her eyes. “Alek.” It was a low cry of protest, almost instantly covered by the hurried speech of nearly everyone in the room.
“It is settled.” Alek’s tone indicated he would listen to no arguments.
“Well then, Tara,” Marlene said briskly. “You and I had better get working on a list.”
“Not this evening,” Alek stated. “Tara and I have a dinner engagement with my parents.” He paused a moment then went on. “Darling, as it appears you are going to have to be spending a lot of time here anyway, why don’t you pack what you’ll need and move in here until the wedding.
We can empty your apartment at our leisure later.”
Tara stared at him in stunned amazement, unable, for a minute, to speak. Too fast, she told herself. Everything is happening much too fast. Why had she told David the second Saturday in December? She was beginning to feel rushed, stifled. And who did he think he was? We? Our? And she definitely did not want to move back here. She opened her mouth to say no, but not fast enough.
“Tara, that’s a wonderful idea.” Her mother’s eyes were bright with excitement and enthusiasm. “It would save you all that running back and forth. Oh, honey, please, it will be such fun.”
The word no trembling on her soft mouth, Tara sighed in defeat, unable to utter the word that would extinguish the light in her mother’s eyes, cast a shadow on the happy face. But Alek would hear more about this later.
“All right, Mama,” Tara answered tiredly. “I’ll bring my things one night this week.”
“I’ll bring her and her things,” Alek inserted. “Tomorrow night. If that’s convenient.” He didn’t look at Tara’s angrily flushed face, but kept his polite gaze on her mother, acknowledging her nod with a smile.
“I have my own car,” Tara said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, darling, I know that.” His words came slowly, evenly measured, as if he were speaking to a child who was not too bright. “Nevertheless, I will bring you tomorrow night. Now I think we really must go, as Mother is expecting us in an hour and a half.”
His hand firmly grasping hers, he stood up and strode across the room, hand outstretched to her father. “A pleasure to meet you, sir. I assume we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other during the next few weeks?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Herman hastened to assure him, “and a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Rykovsky.”
“Alek. I insist.” His tone was so silky-smooth, Tara felt her teeth clench. He wished her mother a gentle good night, then started to move out of the room. He paused to raise an eyebrow at Betsy and murmur, “I’m depending on you to help Tara with all the arrangements. Will you do that?”