Savannah Scarlett

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  “No. I’m bushed. A martini would be wonderful, then maybe those cold stone crab claws left from yesterday. I’ll fix a salad and you can nuke the sourdough bread.”

  Bolt busied himself at the bar while Mary Scarlett tore cold, crisp lettuce for their salad. When he handed her her glass, he slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek.

  She turned slightly and smiled at him, feeling last night’s tingle of intimacy rekindle. “What’s that for?”

  “Just decided I’d like an appetizer.”

  “Me, too,” she whispered, turning into his arms.

  This time they shared a real kiss—slow and deep and wonderfully arousing. Mary Scarlett clung to him after it was over.

  “I hate your having to leave,” she whispered. “I’ll miss you, Bolt.”

  “I’ll miss you, too, but it can’t be helped. Business is business, as the saying goes. Really, though, you’ll be so busy at the house on Bull Street that you won’t know I’m gone.”

  “Is Mr. Tollison going with you? Dr. Schlager says he’s a real important guy.”

  Bolt threw back his head and laughed. “The joke’s on me! My client isn’t Tollison of Sea Island, but his purple-haired, tongue-ringed son from SCAD.”

  “Oow!” Mary Scarlett shivered at the very thought of having anything stuck through her tongue.

  “Yeah,” Bolt agreed. “My Mr. Tollison goes by the name of ‘Rat’ as in R. A. Tollison III. I doubt he’s even welcome at the old homeplace on Sea Island.”

  “Poor kid!” Mary Scarlett went serious suddenly. “I know how he must feel.”

  Bolt stared at her, his brow creased in a frown. “Mary Scarlett, you were never unwelcome in your home.”

  “Oh, no? Why do you think I took off for Europe?”

  “Good question.”

  Turning away from Bolt, back to the salad she said “I wasn’t ready to get married. I’ve always let myself believe that I really talked to Granny Boo that night and she’s the one who told me to go.” She chuckled. “I guess I needed someone to blame for all my mistakes. I think I’m beginning to face the truth now at long last. Mama wanted me out of the house. That’s why she was pushing me to get married. Big Dick wanted me gone, too. I don’t know what all went on while I was away at college, but once I returned, I stood up for Mama against him. He despised me for that. He was always lord of his castle. He wouldn’t take any backtalk or interference from anybody. One night shortly after my graduation, I truly believed he was going to kill Mama. He was drunk and she made some comment about his drinking and staying out all hours. The look in his eyes when he came at her was murder, pure and simple. I jumped between them and stood my ground.”

  “You never told me about that.” Bolt caressed her shoulder soothingly. “It’s a wonder he didn’t go after you.”

  Mary Scarlett laughed humorlessly. “He did. But I pulled Granny Boo’s gun on him and he backed off and stormed out of the house. He didn’t come home for three days and nights. He claimed he was staying at his club, but I heard rumors he had a woman on the side. Probably the same one he took off with when he supposedly went on that fishing trip.”

  Bolt didn’t comment. Mary Scarlett obviously knew a lot more about her father’s affairs than she had let on. She might not know Magnolia’s name, but she was certainly aware of her existence.

  “How’s that salad coming?” he asked. “Should I put the bread in the microwave?”

  “Any time. I’m all ready with my part of the feast.”

  Bolt was glad to hear a different tone in her voice. She had pushed Big Dick out of her mind to concentrate on the pleasures of a quiet supper, just the two of them.

  A few minutes later, they were settled comfortably on the little balcony that hung out over River Street. The breeze was fresh and the music drifting up from one of the bars below was soft, cool jazz.

  “Ah, this feels good,” Mary Scarlett said, drawing in a deep breath.

  “Have you noticed that everything feels good when we’re together?” Bolt had cracked a stone crab claw for her. He held it out and she sucked the rich white meat from the shell.

  She nodded her agreement. “When are you going to come back to Dr. Schlager’s with me, Bolt? I really need you to participate in one of the sessions with me. I’ve reached a point where I know my way around that other world, back in time. But there’s something—someone—missing. I need you with me … soon.”

  “Especially after last night, you mean?” He was staring at her, giving her a drowsy, sexy look.

  “Yes,” she answered quietly. “Last night made all the difference. I think you may be the one, Bolt. The Jacques St. Julian I’ve been searching for all my life.”

  She felt a change in his emotions. He looked away from her and stared out over the water. His shoulders seemed tense. His hands tightened on the arms of his chair.

  Without looking at her, he asked, “Mary Scarlett, isn’t it enough for me to just be myself—Bolton Conrad the guy who’s been in love with you for most of his life? Why do we have to connect everything? Why must we only think of the past, the distant past, at that? I want to look to the future, the living. I want to think about us.”

  She reached out and touched his hand. “Give me some time, Bolt. I’m carrying around a lot of baggage from my past lives. I need to sort through the junk before I know what’s of value and what needs to be trashed. I have to figure out what’s real.”

  He reached for her suddenly and kissed her hard then released her just as quickly. Still staring right into her eyes, he demanded, “Tell me that’s not real! Right now, it’s almost too real. I want you so bad that I’d like to jerk you up from that chair this minute, carry you to my bed and make love to you till you beg for mercy. After last night, the thought of leaving you to go to Atlanta, even for a few days, tears me up inside. I don’t know how I’ll last till I can get back here to you. I want you, Mary Scarlett! Not just last night or tonight or next week. I want you right here with me for the rest of my life.”

  He paused for a moment and looked out over the river. “You said we needed to talk about what happened between us last night. Well, that’s what I have to say on the subject. How about you?”

  Mary Scarlett felt breathless by the time he finished. She couldn’t find words for a reply. Last night had been wonderful, but was it real? Was it love? Or had she been without a man for so long that any red-blooded male who showed her that tender side of passion would have sent her into orbit? There was only one way to find out and no time like the present.

  Without a word, she rose from her chair. Bolt looked at her quizzically. “Where are you going? You haven’t finished your supper.”

  “I’m not hungry … for crab.” Her voice was a breathy whisper.

  She stood there, unbuttoning her blouse while Bolt watched. Still on the balcony, standing beside him, she let the garment slither down her arms. She was now wearing only her slacks and a blue lace bra. Bolt’s gaze never wavered as she reached her hands up behind her back.

  “Damn,” she cursed softly. “My hair’s caught in the hook.”

  She sat down on Bolt’s knee with her back to him. “Undo me, please.”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Mary Scarlett, but I think I like it.”

  He stroked his cool hands over her back, then slid them around to cup her lace-covered breasts. She trembled when he squeezed.

  “Good thing there are no lights on up here,” she said with a laugh. “We’d be giving the tourists quite a show.”

  “Damn the tourists,” Bolt said, brushing his lips against her shoulder.

  While she sat astride his leg, Bolt continued gently stroking her breasts and bare midriff. He kissed her back and shoulders, giving her delicate little flicks with his tongue. Before long, Mary Scarlett was moving sensually as her desire rose with his every touch.

  Finally, she felt his fingers at the back hook of her bra. He played w
ith the thin strip of elasticized lace, pulling it tight, sliding the straps slowly down from her shoulders, doing everything but unfastening it.

  Mary Scarlett reached behind her and braced her hands on his thighs. She leaned her head back so that her cheek pressed his. “Are you going to play with me all night?”

  He kissed her cheek, then uttered a low, growling laugh. “Could be. I think I’d like that.”

  She chuckled back. “I think I would, too, but I don’t know if I can take much more.”

  He chose that moment to unhook her bra. The froth of lace fell into her lap. She gasped softly and, remembering all the tourists strolling directly below them on the street, tried to bring her arms forward to cover her nakedness. Bolt caught her wrists and held her hands in place on his thighs.

  “Don’t!” he said. “I like your hands right where they are.”

  “Bolt,” she pleaded, “people will see me.”

  “And think you’re gorgeous. Don’t worry, honey, this is Savannah. Remember? Relax! Enjoy!”

  He was right. What did it matter? The playful breeze on her bare breasts felt wonderful. She leaned back farther, tilting her face to the night sky. Bolt reached around and grasped her midsection just beneath her breasts, lifting them higher, massaging the undersides gently.

  Mary Scarlett moaned and tilted her head for another kiss. “You’re driving me wild.”

  “Good,” he whispered. “I do enjoy a wild woman after dry martinis and cold crab.” He nipped at her earlobe and let out a long sigh.

  She held very still, wondering what he would do to her next, almost afraid to move she felt so aroused. As she suspected, Bolt had other surprises in store. He slipped his fingertips slowly up her breasts until he was touching her nipples, erect now with her need. Caressing, pinching, probing, he brought another moan from her. Then, coming as a total shock, he removed his hands from her breasts. Once more, she felt only the humid breeze fondling her. With her back still to him and her face to the river, she could feel him moving, but had no idea what he was doing.

  “Turn around,” he said in a husky voice.

  She stood, turned and straddled his lap. They were now face-to-face. Bolt had removed his shirt and tie. He, too, was bare to the waist.

  “What now?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Just sit there. I want to look at you.”

  There was no light on the balcony, but a lamp in the room behind Bolt functioned as a spotlight to bathe Mary Scarlett in a soft, golden glow. For a long time, he only sat with his hands on her hips, gazing at her breasts. She became very conscious of their rise and fall with each breath she took. Bolt was smiling, nodding slightly as if to let her know he approved of what he saw.

  When he raised his hands toward her, she held her breath for a moment, waiting to feel his touch. But he held his palms away, only a half-inch. His flesh was close enough so that she could feel his warmth before he actually made contact. Neither of them moved for long moments.

  The suspense grew. When would he move? When would she feel his touch?

  She started to lean forward to rush the moment of contact.

  “No!” Bolt ordered. “Wait!”

  She stared down at her bare breasts, the nipples straining to feel his palms against them. She took deeper breaths, expanding her chest, yearning for flesh to meet flesh. Unable in her need to stay silent, she began to moan softly. The sound was animal-like, low and throaty, filled with desire.

  “Now you know,” Bolt whispered.

  She was beyond speech. She simply stared, wondering what he meant.

  “You know what it feels like to want something the way I’ve wanted you since the first day we met. You want me to touch you, don’t you? Nothing else in the world matters right now, does it? At this moment, you’d do anything for that sensation—that intimacy, that togetherness, wouldn’t you?”

  “Please, Bolt!” she cried out.

  He chuckled. “Now you’ve aroused the curiosity of a couple of tourists down below. They’re watching, Mary Scarlett. They know what we’re doing.”

  That snapped her out of it for a moment. Her thoughts turned back to her prim and proper upbringing. What would Mama think if she knew I was up here half-naked with a man while strangers watched?

  She was about to reach for her blouse, when Bolt made contact—fierce, hot, passionate contact. He closed one hand over her right breast while he sucked her left nipple into his mouth. A smattering of applause reached them from below. Mary Scarlett ignored the sound. She ignored the whole world. Bolton Conrad was her only reality at this moment in time.

  “Take me to your bed” she begged in a ragged whisper.

  His free hand went to the waistband of her slacks. She felt the button snap off, heard the zipper glide down.

  Did he mean to make love to her right here on the balcony?

  Her body refused to acknowledge her thoughts. She didn’t care where they made love as long as they did. As Bolt had said earlier, Damn the tourists!

  He released her long enough to whisper, “Take ’em off, darlin’.”

  Mary Scarlett rose from his lap quickly and stepped out of her slacks. Now she wore only blue lace panties, French cut. She looked at Bolt for further instructions. He nodded smiled and patted his lap.

  With more of her flesh at his tender mercy, he drew invisible pictures on her bare hips and belly until she quivered all over. He pulled the elastic tight, then let it snap loose. He slipped one hand down over the thin lace until he was cupping the narrow crotch. Mary Scarlett squirmed against his hand, trembling from the sensations he aroused with such intimate fondling.

  “You’d better take me to bed,” she begged in soft, panting gasps. “Time’s running out. That feels too good, Bolt.”

  “Really?” he said with a chuckle. “Then how about this?”

  Taking her by complete surprise, Bolt lifted her and maneuvered her body until she was sitting side-saddle on his lap. He held her with one arm, leaning down to kiss her breasts again. Once he had her totally distracted, he used his other hand to ease her panties down, lower and lower. By the time he lifted his head, she was wearing only blue lace anklets and the breeze was teasing her whole body.

  “How’s that?” he called down to the street below. But the crowd had moved on and no one was aware of the passionate scene taking place just over their heads.

  “You’re so bad,” she whispered in a quivery voice.

  He chuckled. “Would you have me any other way?”

  “Right now, Bolton Conrad, I’d have you any way I could get you.”

  She found the rise in his trousers and gave it a good squeeze.

  Moments later they were in his big bed together, their naked bodies pale against his forest-green sheets. The very smell of the room aroused Mary Scarlett even more. The piney, smoky, musky-male scent that was different from any other part of the house.

  They didn’t make love immediately, however. Instead, Bolt stretched out beside her and propped up on one elbow, gazing down at her, toying with her breasts.

  “What’s all this about?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She was touching him, stroking him, trying to make him take her.

  “Yes, you do. One minute we’re eating crab and the next minute, without even a change of conversation, you’re doing a striptease for me. Wouldn’t you say that’s just a bit unusual?”

  “You didn’t like it?” She drew a line down the center of his chest and belly with one finger.

  He shuddered with a low groan. “Don’t try to distract me. I want to know. What are you up to, Mary Scarlett?”

  “Don’t you want me?”

  “What do you think?”

  She smiled. “I’d say all appearances seem to point in that direction. So, what’s your problem?”

  “You are, dammit! I never met a woman like you in my life. You twist me and turn me and keep me off balance till I don’t kn
ow if I’m coming or going. What’s the game tonight, Mary Scarlett?”

  She leaned forward and kissed his chest, teasing his nipple with her tongue. “No game, darling. I just want to make sure last night wasn’t a fluke. It had been a long time since any man touched me. And, Bolt, no one ever touched me the way you do. So maybe last night was only so good because I was purely starved for love. Or maybe because it was our first time. I’ve thought about you all day and the more I thought, the more I wanted you again. I have to make sure, Bolt. I have to know that the second time will be as good as the first.”

  “Ah, so this is a test.”

  “Don’t make it sound that way. You know what I mean. And I know very well that you want me, too.”

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I thought I’d already admitted that, darlin’. You want more proof? Fine with me. Hey, I’ll give you proof three times a day for the rest of your life if you’ll let me.”

  His hands played over her while he talked. Soon she was writhing on the deep-green sheets. When he came into her, she was more than ready. They moved perfectly together this time. No missed cues, no loss of rhythm. They were together all the way.

  The night before had been wonderful because it was Mary Scarlett’s first time with a man who truly cared for her. Tonight was even better because she knew no fear. Raul was dead—dead and gone forever. Only Bolt was here, loving her with a tender fierceness that took her straight to the promised land.

  When the stars had burst overhead and the heavens had clashed with sweet music, they lay still in each other’s arms, their bodies fused with the sweat of passion.

  “Well?” Bolt whispered after a time. “What’s the verdict on last night? A fluke?”

  “No fluke!” she purred. “Three times a day, you say? How about four?”

  Bolt pressed his mouth over her ear and whispered “Will one more for the road do for now?”

  Remembering suddenly that he would be leaving in the morning and this would be their last chance for at least a week, Mary Scarlett gave that one more for the road her all. Afterward they slept in each other’s arms until the alarm clock roused them with its demanding buzz.