What the hell was he going to do?
He rubbed her shoulder, tilting his head so his cheek rested against the top of hers.
“Bolt, I feel so...empty,” she whispered.
“Oh, baby.” He pressed his lips to her head, feeling her hair slide like warm silk against his mouth. “I wish I could turn back the clock and make it so you’d never come here, never found out any of this.”
“I’m glad I did,” she said. “It certainly makes things simpler.”
“The toughest lessons usually are the simplest. I just wish there was some way I could make this easier for you.”
“There is,” she said simply, startling him. “Make love to me, please, Bolt.”
He went from being startled to shocked. As he struggled in silence to make some sense in the abrupt turn the conversation had taken, she twisted around in his arms to gaze at him. Her sunglasses had fallen aside and her eyes were a deep, clear violet full of urgency.
“You don’t want that,” he said, feeling his body tense at the mere thought of making love with her.
“Yes, I do,” she said in a sure, quiet voice. “That’s exactly what I want. I wanted it the other night and I want it more now. For years I’ve watched my friends and roommates fall in love and share the closeness and intimacy that comes along with loving someone. But I always held back, refusing to let myself get that close to anyone, telling myself it was worth the sacrifice—or would be someday—because I was waiting for something really special...for something and someone that doesn’t even exist. I know that now, and I’m not willing to wait any longer.”
“Slow down,” he urged patiently, as her hand moved on his chest, an innocently yearning gesture that he found much too stimulating. Hell, everything about her was like that, innocent and erotic at the same time. He struggled for control.
“Cat, listen to me,” he said. “Just because your parents didn’t have as perfect a relationship as you believed they did doesn’t mean that you won’t someday meet the right man for you and have a good life together with him.”
Me, something inside him cried so insistently he had to pause and bank down on the urge to speak out. A man like me, he wanted to say. Let me love you and take care of you. He longed to say all that and more, but he didn’t want to take any chance that she might later think what he said and what he was feeling at this moment were somehow prompted by her situation. He wasn’t taking any chances this time at all.
“Their relationship wasn’t simply not quite perfect,” she said. “He ran her down, for pity’s sake.”
“Shh, shh.” He pulled her head against his chest as her voice cracked. “It’s okay.”
“It can be,” she whispered. “I know now that there is no Mr. Right waiting out there, looking for me the same dumb way I’ve been looking for him.”
Want to bet? The words burned on his tongue.
“I know now that you have to make things right for yourself, and you have to reach out and take what you want when you have the chance. Because...because you never know when it might all end.” She tipped her head to meet his gaze. “Will you make love to me, Bolt?”
“I would. In an instant,” he murmured. “But I don’t think this is the right time for you to be deciding how you feel about something so important.”
“It’s already been decided,” she replied placidly. “I’ve been sitting here a long time, thinking and making decisions about the future.”
“How did you come to the decision that losing your virginity will make you feel better?”
“I’m not sure it will. I only know that I need to feel something.”
“You don’t need that. Not tonight,” he insisted, his insides drawn as tight as a bowstring, ready to snap.
“You wanted me the other night,” she reminded him.
“I still want you, damn it. More than you’ll ever know.”
She rolled to her knees and reached for his hands, tugging gently. “Then take me. Please, Bolt. Let’s go someplace where we can be alone.”
It was an impossible situation. Cat and every fiber of his being were urging him on. Every part of him, that is, except for a very fragile thread of scruples.
She was damn lucky he was a man with a conscience, he thought roughly. If he wasn’t, and she looked at him the way she was looking at him now, she would be on her back in that car and wouldn’t have to worry about being a virgin any longer.
Following hard on that thought was one about how in only a few days she would be home and surrounded by men who might have considerably fewer conscience pangs when it came to taking up the offer of a beautiful and vulnerable woman looking to prove something to herself. Men without his understanding of what had happened here today to change and confuse her. Men without his willpower.
Men who didn’t love her.
Resistance roared up inside him until a single thought filled his head. No. He couldn’t let that happen.
He couldn’t risk having her go running to another man in this mood, couldn’t let another man make love to her when he loved her more than he’d known it was possible to love someone.
If anyone was going to make love to her, it was going to be someone who understood and cared about her. Someone who loved her.
Forget all that, he thought feeling a fiercely proprietary surge of emotion. If anyone made love to her it was going to be him.
And it was going to be real, he decided. Not some frantic coupling, or a quick surrender to his desire and whatever Cat might be interpreting as passion.
It was inevitable that what she had found out today would change her and play a major part in anything she was feeling now. He knew as well as anyone that painful losses and adjustments were part of life, and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop them. But he could at least see to it that the fairy tale she’d once believed in came true. If only for one night. Even he ought to be able to play the part of Prince Charming for one night.
His mind whirling with plans, he got to his feet and drew her up to stand beside him. He lowered his mouth, taking hers in a quick kiss tinged with passion and promise.
“All right, Tiger, let’s go find someplace where we can be alone.”
* * *
Cat was willing to stop at the first motel they passed. Now that she’d made up her mind, she was eager to get on with it. She didn’t consider that she was about to lose her virginity so much as escape from it...and along with it, all the illusions of the past. She wanted to start fresh, with her eyes open, and she wanted to make that fresh start with Bolt.
She hadn’t entirely lost her mind and suddenly decided he was right for her. While she might no longer believe in magic, she wasn’t dumb enough to discount the importance of things such as compatibility and shared interests. But while he might not be the right man, he was decent and kind, and she was more attracted to him than she’d ever been to anyone else. Maybe, she told herself, that was the best you could hope for in life, a little kindness and a little passion. For sure her situation tonight was better than some she could think of...better than being pregnant and stranded alone in the rain on a dark highway.
Closing her eyes, she willed away that painful thought and all others that centered on her parents and the past. She had the rest of her life to think about all that and decide how it would change things for her, her hopes and plans, even her relationship with Uncle Hank. She didn’t have to think about it tonight. She wasn’t ready.
It was growing dark, and up ahead a flashing red vacancy sign came into view.
“How about that place?” she asked.
Bolt shook his head. “Too seedy.”
They were on a road she didn’t recognize. “You’re not trying to get us lost, are you? Or else planning to stall all the way to Florida just to get out of this?”
He looked at her with more tenderness than she had once believed him capable of.
“I have no desire to get out of anything. Trust me. I have someplace in mind.”
&nb
sp; The place he had in mind, she soon discovered, was set far back from the road at the end of a narrow, winding drive lined with flickering gaslights. As they pulled closer, she realized that the gaslights weren’t the only thing about the place reminiscent of another era.
Carlysle House wasn’t a motel, or even a bed and breakfast as the small, discreet sign purported. It was a castle. Built of stone that shimmered like silver in the moonlight, it had turrets at the corners of its three-story frame, mullioned windows and a portico out front where they parked the car.
Cat stared in amazed silence for a minute, then turned excitedly to find Bolt watching her, his expression cautious. “Bolt, how on earth did you know about this place?”
“I found it earlier when I was driving around. I thought you’d like it.”
“I do. It’s wonderful.” She eyed him quizzically. “You mean you planned to come here all along?”
“No,” he admitted, his tone rueful. “My plan was to leave you alone.”
“And now?” She held her breath, feeling a strange yearning down low inside.
He reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing first the back, then the palm before pressing it to his heart. “Now my plan is to see to it that you never regret this night.”
“I won’t,” she whispered. “I promise you, I won’t.”
The castle’s heavy wooden plank door was shaped like a battle shield, and instead of a doorbell there was an elaborate wrought-iron knocker mounted there. As they waited for someone to answer, Cat studied the crest imbedded in the stone beside the door. Love, Truth, Honor was engraved beneath it. She turned away with a sigh. It made a pretty slogan, but if truth and honor had anything to do with love, she would eat the little stone stool by her feet.
The heavy door was swung open by a short, plump, middle-aged women with a friendly smile. Joan Carlysle greeted them and explained that she and her husband, Allen, ran Carlysle House. To the accompaniment of an obviously oft-practiced welcome speech, she ushered them inside and gave them a quick tour of the public rooms on the first floor. Fascinating tidbits about the castle’s design and the furnishings, which were a striking mix of antiques and reproductions, peppered her brief remarks.
“So,” she said when she’d finished and brought them back to the front entrance where a wide stone staircase with a massive banister carved from black oak curved upward and out of sight. “Would you like to be our guests for the night?”
“We’d like that very much,” Bolt told the woman as Cat stared at the darkness at the top of the stairs in fascination.
That was all it took to set in motion a very well-oiled operation. A short ring of the bell on a nearby table quickly summoned Allen Carlysle to whisk their bags upstairs. At Bolt’s request they were given the suite on the third floor. A younger woman appeared with a card listing the dinner prepared for that evening, and after handing it to Cat was dispatched to ready their suite.
The card carried a description, written in flawless calligraphy, of a feast of roast Cornish hen with a host of accompaniments. Cat’s mouth watered as she read it, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since early that morning. Joan Carlysle agreed so readily to Bolt’s inquiry about having dinner brought to their room that it was clear she’d dealt with the same request from romantic-minded young couples many times before.
“I’m sure you’ll be comfortable,” she said as she led them to the bottom of the stairs, clearly sensing their eagerness to be alone. “It’s very quiet and private up there. Just follow the stairs all the way to the top. You can’t go wrong.”
Can’t go wrong, Cat echoed silently as Bolt took her hand and led her up the stairs. Yes, she agreed with that. If she hadn’t been sure before he’d brought her to Carlysle House, she was convinced now that whatever truths she might have to face in the morning, for tonight she would be safe with Bolt.
The suite was comprised of a large, sumptuous sitting room and an even more spacious bedroom. A king-size four-poster bed, swathed in burgundy silk and satin, held center stage in the room. On either side were positioned small sets of wooden steps. For good reason, Cat mused, marveling at the height of the mattress. She ran her hand over it, smiling as she felt the unmistakable softness of a feather bed. A small fire smoldered in the fireplace, pleasantly offsetting the coolness preserved by the stone walls.
Cat turned in slow circles, trying to take it all in, and ended up slightly dizzy and feeling, ridiculously she knew, as if she’d been transported into the pages of one of her favorite novels.
That, she surmised, had been precisely Bolt’s intention in bringing her here. As he approached, she reached for him to steady herself.
“You okay?” he asked, supporting her effortlessly.
“I am now,” she replied, leaning against him. “Twirling makes me woozy.”
He laughed softly. “You look beautiful woozy.”
“I’m also starving.”
Another laugh. “Want me to run down and get you some pretzels from the car?”
“No, I can wait for dinner.”
“Joan said it might be an hour before it’s ready.”
She smiled and slid her hands down his chest. “Well, then...”
“Don’t tempt me,” he murmured, sweeping her hair from her face, his eyes molten in the firelight. “What I have in mind for you will take a lot longer than an hour.”
“It’s a start,” she offered.
“I also need some time to take care of a few things first.”
“Such as?”
“A shower, for starters.”
“I thought only women primped beforehand,” she teased, “and that men were always ready, able and willing.”
“I plead guilty to being able and willing,” he countered, proving it by brushing his hips against hers provocatively. “As to the rest, you’ve got a lot to learn.”
Her expression sobered. “Teach me, Bolt.”
“I intend to, sweetheart. With great pleasure.” He kissed her lightly and pulled away with a tantalizing smile. “Be patient, wench. I’ll be back.”
Cat arched her brows. “Wench?”
“Blame it on the atmosphere,” he told her as he left.
He was gone less than an hour, time enough for Cat to explore all the nooks and crannies of the suite, try out the bed and all the overstuffed chairs and draw a hot bath in the oversize claw-footed tub she was delighted to discover in the bathroom.
The bath was actually three adjoining rooms, one with the basic facilities, another with a double sink and shower stall and the third, the size of the living room in her apartment, which contained the tub set beneath stained-glass windows that were backlit for use at night. All three rooms were decorated in the same regal shades of crimson and gold, and no expense had been spared on the plush satin-edged towels and array of scented soaps and oils arranged on a gilded tray.
She felt like a princess as she soaked in rose-scented bubbles to her shoulders, the soft background music she’d chosen filtering through the suite’s speaker system. She was going to need a new goal to replace all the ones she was going to have to abandon, she decided, and she knew exactly what it was going to be. Somehow she was going to make enough money to build her own castle. Bandini House, she thought, first giggling, then weeping, which seemed to be the full spectrum of her emotions at the moment.
She had composed herself but was still lingering in the tub when Bolt returned. She heard him open the door to the suite and call out her name. As she answered she had to fight the urge to jump up and grab a towel. If she was going to share a bed with the man, she told herself, she’d better get over feeling self-conscious around him.
She lay back against the bath pillow provided, listening to the sounds of him moving about in the other room. She heard the tinkle of ice against glass and a rustling, like a plastic bag being crumpled. Her puzzled frown quickly gave way to a knowing smile. Of course, he must have gone to the store to buy protection. She felt a rush of affection
that he would go to the trouble to do so even without being asked. Something that in her nervousness she probably wouldn’t have remembered to do. She was even more pleased that he wasn’t prepared to the point where he carried them in his wallet at all times.
As she listened, waiting for him to come looking for her, she heard the shower running and then the water in the sink outside the door, interspersed with the low pitch of his humming. Water, humming, more water, more humming. It seemed to go on and on. What on earth was he doing? she wondered.
As soon as the door opened, she had her answer.
“You shaved,” she said, her stomach fluttering at the sight of the sexy near-stranger standing in the doorway. He looked different. Younger. Even more appealing.
He nodded. “I remembered that I left marks on you when I kissed you the last time.”
“I didn’t mind.”
“I did.”
“I’ve never seen you completely clean-shaven before,” she told him. “You’re pretty sexy sans stubble.”
“Sans stubble?” he countered, chuckling and coming away from the door. He was barefoot, and the white shirt he’d pulled on hung open, baring his chest above the low-slung waistband of his jeans. Cat’s gaze dropped to his belt buckle and she shivered in spite of the still warm temperature of the water. “Is that French for no beard?”
“Something like that,” she murmured.
“And you think I’m sexy this way?”
He stepped closer.
Cat gripped the rounded edges of the tub. “I know you are. Very sexy. I think you know it, too.”
He shook his head, his eyes reflecting honest surprise. “No. I do okay with women, I suppose, but sexy...I never thought of myself that way.”
“Trust me,” she returned dryly, “the women you’ve done okay with, to use your terminology, thought of you exactly that way.” She nonchalantly swatted at the bubbles near her hand. “So, were there lots of them? Women, I mean.”
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