You Belong to My Heart

by Nan Ryan

  The girls Mary Ellen’s own age whispered that Brandy was also shockingly bold and flirtatious. Gossip had spread through Mary Ellen’s circle last winter that a respected Tennessee congressman, married and the father of four, had shared a secret afternoon tryst with the gorgeous Brandy and had fallen madly in love with her.

  Mary Ellen wasn’t sure just what “tryst” meant. And she didn’t want to ask anyone and show her ignorance. So she decided that the tryst had been nothing more sinful than Brandy sharing a bottle of champagne with the distinguished congressman in some romantic out-of-the-way restaurant. Urbane, broad-minded people did that sort of thing, Mary Ellen supposed.

  Mary Ellen made a face at herself in the mirror.

  She would never have the smoldering beauty and poise of Brandy Templeton and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Frowning, she gave the bodice of her white dress a firm downward tug, causing the rounded, ruffled neckline to slip lower on the pale swell of her bosom. She drew in her breath to get the full effect of her breasts pressing against the tight, low bodice.

  She smiled at herself. Maybe she did look sixteen. Maybe she looked almost as grown up as Brandy Templeton.

  She whirled away from the mirror, flew across the room, and yanked open the door. When she stepped into the wide, upstairs corridor, she smoothed back her long, carefully brushed white-blond hair, pinched her cheeks, bit her lips, lifted her full white skirts, and headed for the grand staircase.

  In the marble-floored foyer below, a nervous Clay Knight waited. He was afraid he was going to feel uncomfortable and out of place in this glittering gathering of the city’s wealthiest citizens.

  Mary had warned him that her father intended to make her sixteenth birthday the social event of the summer season. The guest list was all-encompassing. The governor of Tennessee was to be there.

  Clay dreaded the long evening stretching before him. He knew very few of the elegantly clad people he’d seen arriving. If Mary left his side—which she would surely have to do since it was her birthday party—what was he supposed to do with himself?

  “Clay.”

  The sweet, clear voice snapped him out of his worrisome reverie. Clay looked up and saw her on the landing above. She wore a dress he’d never seen before, a new dress for this very special occasion. It was white and it was lovely. Tier after tier of ruffles went from her narrow waist to the floor. The dress’s bodice was very tight, and the neckline was quite daring. A wide ruffle clung to her pale, luminous shoulders and dipped provocatively low over her swelling breasts. Her gleaming white-blond hair fell around her flawless face and bare ivory shoulders. Her dark eyes were alive with excitement.

  She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. The virginal white dress, the magnolia white skin, the golden-white hair; she was a glorious vision that would stay with him forever. She was that totally irresistible combination of unspoiled angelic innocence and unashamed natural sensuality.

  Clay was awestruck.

  No more so than Mary Ellen.

  With her first glimpse of Clay she made a misstep and had to reach out and clutch the well-polished banister.

  He was standing in a late afternoon sun shaft at the base of the staircase, looking up. His gleaming midnight hair was carefully brushed back off his high forehead and temples. His handsome, boyish face had a healthy, scrubbed-clean glow, and his beautiful silver-gray eyes looked startlingly pale against the darkness of his smooth olive skin. His shoulders appeared broader in an immaculate white dinner jacket, which was open, one side pushed back, his hand thrust into the pocket of his black dress trousers. A scarlet rose bloomed from the wide lapel of the dinner jacket. A white pleated shirt pulled appealingly across his chest. One knee was bent, a black patent-leather-shod foot resting on the bottom step of the stairs.

  He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life. The jet black hair, the silver eyes, the tall, slim frame: He was a living dream, and Mary Ellen knew she would never forget how he looked at this moment. He was an incredibly appealing combination of shy, little-boy charm and powerful, mature masculinity.

  Mary Ellen was mesmerized.

  For the longest moment they simply stared at each other.

  Then Mary Ellen broke the spell. She smiled nervously and descended the stairs.

  She reached him. She laid a hand on his pleated shirtfront and felt a wonderful wave of dizziness surge through her when his heart pounded strongly against her fingertips.

  Laughing, she said, “Does this mean you think I look pretty?”

  “You look beautiful,” he told her honestly. “So beautiful I’m not sure I deserve you.”

  Mary Ellen glanced around; there was no one presently in the foyer. She leaned down, gave his full lips a quick kiss, and said, “I love you, Clay. Never forget that.”

  He grinned then, relaxed a little. “I won’t.”

  “Is everyone here? Are they all outside?” He nodded. She swept down the last two steps and said, “It’s time to make our entrance.” She took his arm. Together they moved through the mansion’s long, wide corridor and went outdoors to join the celebration just as the last of the dying June sun disappeared.

  It was eight-thirty sharp.

  Midnight.

  Mary Ellen was turning about on the makeshift dance floor in the long arms of the tall, blond Daniel Lawton. Again. It was the third or fourth time she had danced with him. She would have much rather danced every dance with Clay, but John Thomas Preble had mildly scolded his daughter earlier in the evening, reminding her that she was the hostess. The party was in her honor; she couldn’t allow one guest to totally dominate her time.

  “You must circulate, Mary Ellen, dear,” John Thomas had warned when he claimed his daughter for a waltz. “It’s rude not to pay attention to your guests. Dance with some of the young men. Trade gossip with the young ladies. This is a party, for heaven’s sake.”

  “I’m sorry, Papa. I’ll be more sociable.”

  “That’s my good girl.”

  So now she again danced with Daniel Lawton. Distracted, she attempted to make pleasant small talk with the handsome, golden-haired man who next year would complete his college education at Loyola. But she had a hard time paying attention. She couldn’t locate Clay. She didn’t see him on the dance floor or seated at their table.

  “…and perhaps a pleasant ride in the country,” her dance partner was saying.

  “What?…I…I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” Mary Ellen forced herself to turn her attention to Daniel Lawton.

  He squeezed her hand and smiled down at her. “I said I’d like permission to call you some evening soon. Take you to the opera or perhaps for a ride in the country.”

  “That’s most kind, Mr. Lawton, but I—”

  “Please. Call me Daniel.”

  “Daniel, that’s most thoughtful, but I really couldn’t say yes.”

  “No? Why ever not?” His smile showed his surprise; he was not used to a female turning down an invitation from him.

  “I don’t like the opera, and my father doesn’t allow me to go for rides in the country with strange gentlemen.”

  “Strange gentlemen,” he said, and laughed, amused. “Why, Mary Ellen, there’s nothing strange about me.” His encircling arm drew her closer, and his green-eyed gaze lowered pointedly to the pale expanse of flesh exposed by her low ruffled bodice. “Give me the opportunity to prove what a regular fellow I am.”

  At a table ringing the dance floor, John Thomas Preble, brandy snifter and lighted cigar in hand, smiled with pleasure as he watched his daughter being spun about the floor in the arms of young Daniel Lawton. He was pleased to see Lawton laughing, as if Mary Ellen had said something clever to charm him.

  John Thomas touched his wife’s bare arm. She turned to him. He leaned close, whispered, “Young Lawton’s dancing with our Mary Ellen again.”

  Julie Preble shook her head. “So I see. I’m surprised. Daniel is Brandy Temple
ton’s escort this evening; I can’t imagine him paying so much attention to Mary Ellen.”

  “Mmm,” John Thomas mused. “I’m sure Pres Templeton’s hoping his daughter’ll snare young Lawton and put an end to the recent gossip. I hear Brandy’s as wild as a March hare.”

  “Shhh, John,” his wife cautioned, looked anxiously about.

  His gaze lingering on Mary Ellen and Daniel, he said thoughtfully, “Lawton deserves better than the likes of Brandy Templeton. A gentleman wants a young lady with impeccable morals when he chooses a wife. A sweet, innocent girl like Mary Ellen.” He smiled again and added, “He’d sure make a fine son-in-law.”

  “Indeed he would,” agreed Julie Preble.

  Mary Ellen’s pleased parents were not the only ones closely observing the handsome, dancing couple.

  His eyes like silver ice in his dark, unsmiling face, Clay was just beyond the lantern-lighted party’s perimeter. Alone and apart from the crowd, he stood in the shadows and watched every move Mary made. Every move Daniel Lawton made.

  His cold eyes never leaving the white-skinned girl in the ruffled white dress, Clay was utterly miserable. For the first time in his life he experienced the immeasurable agony and frustration of jealousy. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. His entire body was rigid with tension. His hands clenched into fists inside his trouser pockets, he imagined all kinds of horrible things.

  Mary would forget him; she would forget he existed, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was no match for a rich, older college man. He couldn’t possibly compete with Daniel Lawton.

  Mary was charmed and thrilled; he could tell. She would laugh and dance and flirt for the rest of the evening with Lawton. And when the evening ended, when the party was over, it would be Lawton who held her in his arms. It would be Lawton’s mouth capturing Mary’s lips for sweet kisses. Lawton’s hands on Mary’s pale flesh. Lawton’s body pressing against her…

  “Are you pouting or are you just bored?”

  Coming out of his tortured trance with a jerk, Clay turned to see the dark-haired Brandy Templeton standing beside him.

  He smiled. “Neither,” he lied. “Just taking a breather.”

  “Mmmm.” She swayed a half step closer, plucked the red rose from his lapel, lifted it to his face, and drew the fragrant blossom slowly along the rigid line of his jaw. “A good idea. There’s a summerhouse down on the lower terrace. Why don’t we walk down there and”—she paused, smiled wickedly—“rest.”

  “Ah…no, I…thanks all the same, but…”

  “Why not?” she said, smiling seductively. “No one would miss us. See for yourself.” She inclined her dark head toward the crowded dance floor.

  Clay glanced again at the spinning couple. Just then Daniel Lawton bent his golden head and whispered something against Mary’s ear. She nodded and laughed with delight.

  Clay ground his even white teeth.

  Brandy smiled, wrapped long, red-nailed fingers around Clay’s biceps, and squeezed. “Come with me.”

  6

  THE RAPIDLY WILTING RED rose plucked from Daniel’s lapel lay forgotten on the seat of the long white settee. Near the rose was a pair of kid leather dancing slippers, sheer silk stockings tucked into the toes. Draped over the settee’s high back was the most intimate of ladies’ apparel: delicate lace-trimmed underpants.

  Thrown carelessly over the settee’s wooden arm was a pair of finely tailored dark trousers. White linen underwear tossed hurriedly after the trousers had missed and lay on the ground between the facing white settees.

  “Oh, God, my…God.” His hoarse voice hissed through clenched teeth, and the veins bulged on his neck. “Yes…oh, yes…”

  Knees spread wide, shirt and jacket unbuttoned and open, he sat there bare-assed on the white wooden settee, his long fingers clasping the gleaming head bent to him, his heart hammering in his chest, the tendons pulling on the insides of his bare hair-dusted thighs.

  Mindless of the music and laughter and people less than a hundred yards away up the terraced lawn, he surrendered completely to the building erotic pleasure. He’d never experienced anything like this. Never dreamed such wild ecstasy was possible. Couldn’t believe his unexpected good fortune.

  This incredibly beautiful young woman had kissed him until he was putty in her hands. Then she had opened his trousers and touched him and teased him until he was so totally aroused, he was throbbing and surging and so impressively huge that it surprised even him. He was immensely proud of his erection.

  And rightly so.

  She admired it as though she’d never seen anything to match, praising him for being so much of a man. Never, she told him, had she been with such a virile stud. Why, the size of him, the hardness: he was awesome. So awesome, she wanted to reward him properly.

  Now she was seated on her bare heels between his spread legs, teasing at the thrusting, jerking male flesh with her talented tongue. As though he were a stalk of delicious human sugar cane, she licked her languid way from base to tip.

  Over and over again.

  Pausing occasionally to murmur, “You like that, darling? Feel good?”

  “Y-yes…I…I…but…please…”

  “Oh, 1 know,” she whispered, sensing exactly what he wanted her to do next. “Soon, you wicked boy…Very soon now…”

  Finally, when she’d tortured him enough, when she had him so hot and excited he could hardly stand it, she allowed his strong fingers to guide her open mouth down over the bursting head of his blood-filled tumescence. His eyes immediately closed in ecstasy. The rapture was fleeting. After only a few brief seconds of incredible pleasure—not enough to bring him to orgasm—she took her mouth away, lifted her head, tossed her hair back out of her eyes, and smiled evilly at him.

  He couldn’t speak, he was so undone; he moaned and quivered, helpless, in agony, physically hurting.

  “Love me?” she asked, rising onto her knees, raking her nails down his naked chest.

  “Yes, God, yes,” he gasped. “I love you…Pleeeease…”

  Satisfied she had him so aroused he’d never forget her or this night, she quickly lifted her voluminous skirts and petticoats, beneath which she was naked to the waist. She climbed astride him agilely and, looking directly into his eyes, eased herself slowly down on his gleaming, tongue-wet erection.

  “Ahhhhh,” he groaned, grabbed handfuls of her bare buttocks, and went to town.

  In minutes he was climaxing. She swiftly covered his mouth with her own to stifle his deep groans of ecstasy. The tempest finally passed, and she sagged against him tiredly, her head on his shoulder, a tiny little smile of triumph on her lips.

  “Jesus Christ, what are we doing?” He came suddenly to his senses, anxiously urged her up off him. “Someone could walk down here and catch us.”

  She laughed softly, unfazed. “You didn’t seem to mind the danger a minute ago.”

  He pushed her from him, rose his to feet, looked anxiously about, and grabbed his discarded trousers. “Get dressed, Brandy. We have to get back to the party before we’re missed.”

  “Why? So you can dance with that silly child?” She tickled his chest playfully. “You’re wasting your time, Daniel. Mary Ellen Preble has eyes only for Clayton Knight.”

  Daniel Lawton irritably shoved Brandy Templeton’s hand away. Cruelly he said, “Before the summer’s over, she’ll forget that sullen seamstress’s son exists.”

  “Perhaps,” said Brandy, carefully folding her lace-trimmed pantalets into a small, neat square. She reached out, pulled one side of Daniel’s dark evening jacket away from his body, and stuffed the underwear into an inside breast pocket. And she said, “Before this night is over, you’ll forget that spoiled Mary Ellen Preble exists.”

  His trousers back on, his hands at his belt buckle, Daniel Lawton started to smile again. He liked Brandy. He liked her a lot. She was daring and wild and did things to him no other girl would consider. After what they’d just done, it would be fun to go bac
k to the party and dance amid the crowd, knowing she was naked beneath her petticoats, that the insides of her bare thighs were sticky with the residue of their hot loving.

  Brandy was right.

  She probably could make him forget he’d like to get his hands on the beautiful golden-haired Mary Ellen Preble. Chances were Mary Ellen was such a baby, she’d cry and run to Papa if he so much as kissed her.

  Daniel raised his hand, cupped Brandy’s chin in his thumb and forefinger. “You know you’re the only woman for me, Brandy.”

  “You know you’re only the girl for me, Mary.”

  “Well, I can’t help it. I was so worried and jealous when I saw you with her.”

  Clay and Mary Ellen danced together to the resonant music; the mellow light from a colorful Japanese lantern spilled down from overhead. He held her properly in his arms, as a young gentleman was supposed to hold a young lady. Carefully adhering to the rules of propriety, Clay was mindful of decorum. And of her parents keeping a watchful eye on them. He left the correct amount of space between them, but he longed desperately to hold her closer. Much closer. So close he could press his lips to her ear to reassure her, to murmur how much he loved her.

  “Mary, dearest Mary,” he said, speaking softly so that only she could hear, “you have no need to be jealous of Brandy Templeton. Or of any other girl.”

  “Then why were you with her? Where were you two going? What would have happened if the music hadn’t ended when it did and I came searching for you?”

  “I told you, I wasn’t with Brandy. I was alone. Just relaxing. She came to join me.”

  “And…?”

  “And…nothing. She said she was overwarm and needed a rest from the dancing. That’s all.”