Love Lyrics

by Mary Haskell Curtis

  Ashley’s eyes moved around the room as she followed Zach. This place had a more ornate aura than their suburban home. She’d been a guest there several times in the past, when she and Zach were together. That house had enough of the sprawling, country feel to dissipate any sense of grandeur. But here, in the more confined quarters, the elegance was more pronounced. Deep-piled Oriental rugs of a quality that retained their beauty through the generations covered the dark, shining floors. The furniture had that dense, layered gleam peculiar to beautifully maintained antiques. Ancestral portraits shared wall space with authentic Audubon prints and tastefully selected paintings — originals, of course.

  There were about fifty or sixty guests standing in small groups chatting, sipping drinks out of sparkling crystal glasses while a string ensemble consisting of a harp, two violins, a cello and a viola supplied a discreet musical background. The men wore dark suits so similar they could have been in uniform, the women tasteful dresses in classic styles. Ashley could see Craig taking it all in, imprinting the scenario on his memory, and she knew, instinctively, why. If he ever had to stage a scene of top-drawer refined civility, this was the ultimate model. Ashley, despite Matt’s buoying assurances, still experienced a wave of Cinderella syndrome: hoping her gown wouldn’t revert to rags in front of these highly refined people.

  To augment that tremor of uneasiness, here and there, easily spotted in the group, were her theatrical colleagues. Sonja and Hans and Sammy and Kelly and Lyle and Buzz and Claire, plus a few others, each displaying the touch of shabbiness or “today” fashion or flamboyance that stamped their individual style. Talk about two different worlds! And behind it all, lodged firmly in her mind, dwelled vivid etchings of yet another milieu: the homespun, paycheck-to-paycheck environment in which she had grown up. In her heart Ashley knew there were real differences between them, gaps wide and deep enough to make the transition difficult to impossible. Could she and Zachary, even without the problems that had been discussed, truly find a sturdy bridge by which to move freely back and forth?

  She pulled her rambling mind to attention as they approached Mr. and Mrs. Jordan. Zach’s mother, much to Ashley’s surprise and pleasure, opened her arms. “Ashley, my dear. We are so very proud of you.”

  Ashley stepped into the embrace, warmed by the genuine sound of approval in the woman’s voice. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  Mr. Jordan took her hand in both of his. “My, my, what a triumph you’ve had! It isn’t hard to see what has kept you so busy the past few years.” He patted the back of her hand. “We’ve missed you, Ashley. It’s a great pleasure to have you here.”

  She looked at him, her eyes widening, for an instant, with wonder. The words seemed to be spoken from the heart. Had she, by nursing her own insecurities, built obstacles to their affection? “I’ve missed you, too.” And, even as she said it, she knew it was true. She’d not only missed Zachary, she’d missed his family and their gracious way of life and their never-wavering courtesy. There were many admirable qualities here worth savoring and copying. Not the least of which was an unbending code of good manners.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder and, upon turning, saw Emily, her face split in a huge smile. “Ashley!” This embrace was easy and natural. “I didn’t get a chance to see you after the play. God, it was marvelous! It’s so exciting to know someone who’s really famous. Especially when it’s so well deserved!”

  “I should get you to write our reviews.” Ashley was so glad to see her old friend.

  “I don’t know how they could have come out any better than the ones you got.” She tipped her head toward Matt and Craig. “Are you going to introduce me?”

  During the introductions, Jared and Diane appeared, and there was another round of compliments and thank-yous. From that point on, the evening raced by, full of meeting new people, accepting congratulations and the wearing ritual of small talk. Ashley found herself the center of attention, along with Matt. They were surrounded all evening, answering questions, describing work rituals, receiving the somewhat awed homage paid to stars of the theater. Ashley, on several occasions, caught Zachary watching, his face unreadable, one thin line between his brows.

  But the two incidents that stuck fast in her mind had nothing to do with her career or with its inevitable side issues. During the evening, Ashley met Graham Sawyer, a man of advanced years who had, he proudly informed her, been the senior partner of the law firm before he’d retired and Zach had assumed the position. He was a handsome old man, tall and straight and white-thatched. The first thing he did was apologize for the fact he hadn’t seen her play.

  “My ears have gone into semiretirement. Entirely, I might add, without my permission. It does no good whatever to attend the theater, unless, of course, it’s mime. But I understand it was superb.”

  “It got a good reception, we’re very pleased. I’m sorry you weren’t able to come. It must be very frustrating to lose your hearing.”

  “Maddening, child, maddening. I have yet to find any socially redeeming features about growing old. That statement is usually countered by the overworked saying that it beats the alternative, but I have, as yet, met no one who can give me firsthand assurance of that.”

  Ashley was charmed by the elderly gentleman. The complaint was heavily laced with humor, as though he’d long since quit taking life too seriously. “I must admit, neither have I.” They shared a moment of laughter.

  “I understand you are the young woman with whom our Zachary was so enamored a few years back. I must say, the lad has good taste.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “And so, I dare say, have you. Zachary is an extraordinary man. One of the few true gentlemen of the younger generation.”

  “I have to agree. He is extraordinary.”

  “Of course, being special, as you must know, has its cost. Zach, for instance, is being pursued by the pols. They want him to run for public office. I do believe he is seen as a viable contender, in the future, for the governor’s office.”

  Ashley stared at him in shock. “Really? He’s never said a word about that.”

  “Oh? Then perhaps I shouldn’t have, either. Personally, I have mixed feelings about the possibility. He’d be a boon to the world of politics but a dire loss to the firm. One doesn’t replace a man of Zachary’s caliber.”

  She nodded. One certainly didn’t. “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “Well, it has been a delight to meet you, my dear. I wish you great success in your theatrical endeavors.” He bowed his head graciously and walked away.

  Ashley’s eyes followed him as he moved across the room and stopped to join a small group. She had the distinct impression there had been a message in his words. In a subtle, courteous manner, he’d informed her that Zachary was needed where he was. Well, she thought, he’s needed elsewhere, too. But where, Ashley? The question immediately presented itself. Would she want Zachary to take premature retirement to follow her about, making her reservations and tending to the busywork of her life, the way the husbands of some stars did? No. Because then he’d no longer be the Zachary she so loved. Damn. Everywhere they turned, obstacles rose to display themselves, to prevent their forgetting that, as the old song said, they lived in “two different worlds.”

  The other incident was more distressing and caught Ashley entirely by surprise. At one point in the evening, she caught sight of Zach, standing beside a lovely young woman with blond hair, his arm around her shoulder, his head inclined toward her as though he couldn’t bear to miss a word. Ashley knew who she was, because Emily had pointed her out. Her name was Joan Hudson, and she was, in every way, one of “them.” Her parents were lifelong friends of the Jordans, and Joan had been in love with Zachary most of her life. She was eminently qualified to be his wife. As Ashley watched them, heads close together, laughing and talking, she was assaulted by a vicious stab of jealousy. She was forced to f
ace a grim scenario. If she didn’t marry Zach, eventually someone else would. Maybe even that too-alluring bluestocking now monopolizing his attention.

  She was galvanized to the spot by the dreadful speculation. What would she do if Zachary married someone else? She’d repeatedly pushed the possibility from her mind so effectively she’d almost succeeded in blotting it out. But now she couldn’t. He was one of the most attractive men she’d ever met, both physically and mentally. He was handsome, rich, successful, charming and incredibly nice. And he was thirty-three years old. His yearnings for a wife and children were bound to escalate rapidly in the near future. Suddenly, Ashley felt terrified. She couldn’t lose him, she couldn’t! The thought of some other woman becoming Mrs. Zachary Jordan was unbearable!

  Then her eyes moved across the room to where the “theater folk” had clustered together, their expressions intense as they talked. She had no doubt about their subject. It had to be the show. At that moment, Ashley felt as divided as East and West Germany. One side of her dreams and longings and aspirations drawn inexorably to the right, the other side pulled with equal force to the left. The problem was, both sides wanted Zachary, and each side recognized the near-impossibility of reconciling the differences. It appeared that either decision would cost half of herself. She felt sick. Sick and confused and terribly afraid.

  Ashley was supposed to return to the hotel that night, so she and Matt could get an early start the following morning at the endless revisions and corrections that were part of any out-of-town tryout. But she made an arbitrary decision to go home with Zach. An awful mental picture had seared itself on her brain of Zachary leading that cool, elegant Joan-person into his bedroom, taking her into his arms . . . it was too much for her. She had to cancel, entirely, the unlikely but threatening scene.

  All the way to his house, she snuggled close to him, her head on his shoulder, her hand possessively clamped on his thigh. Acute awareness ran rampant in her, increasing sensory reactions, augmenting sensual response. The hard, bulging muscles of his thigh rippled beneath her hand as he braked and accelerated. The subtle scent of his after-shave tickled her nostrils. When she raised her head to gaze at him, the sheer beauty of his features pricked her ardor. She ran her hand up his leg, smiling at the low moan of response when she reached the V of his body. Excitement built in her like a surging tide.

  The car swerved slightly. “Ashley, what are you trying to do, get us killed?” His voice was a growl, hazed over by arousal.

  “Just tend to your driving, don’t mind me,” she teased. She could feel her blood speeding through her veins as she gently touched him, barely restraining herself from doing things that might send the car careening off the road. She nuzzled her face in his neck.

  “Ashley . . .” Her name came in a gasp as she nibbled his ear, her hot breath fanning the sensitive area.

  When he had pulled the car into the garage and pushed the release to close the door, he turned off the motor and reached for Ashley in the same movement. “You vixen.”

  She smiled at him seductively, her yearnings far from sated. “Are you complaining?”

  “Oh, no. Crazy I’m not. But now it’s your turn.” He grabbed her shoulders in his steely grip and brought her mouth to his, covering it with emphatic ownership, his tongue plundering, demanding, inciting. Every inch of Ashley responded. She pulled at his tongue and followed it with her own, wanting all of him. Her breath escaped in a heated rush when he undid the buttons of her dress and his fingers slipped inside her brassiere to torment the throbbing peaks of her breasts. “You have far too many clothes on.”

  She started to undo his tie, but he pushed her hands away. “Uh-uh. Just lie back, give yourself entirely to me.”

  His head dropped forward, kissing her breasts through her lacy bra. The gentle touch of his teeth, the relentlessly firm warmth of his tongue, his lips pulling on her nipples though the taut fabric, filled her with the agony of ecstasy. Her hands began to push at Zachary’s coat, struggling to remove it, but his hands came up to stop her.

  “Not yet, my darling.” Before she could react, he was out of the car and had come around to her side. “Come along, wench. My sword is poised, ready for the attack.” He leaned down and pulled her out of the car. She gasped as the cold air cut through her open blouse to her still tingling breasts. But before she could register a complaint, he had swept her into his arms and carried her through the back entry into the house.

  By the time they’d reached the living room, he had maneuvered his arm tightly around her so his fingers could just reach her nipple. She squirmed with desire at his touch. “Not fair,” she moaned. “I can’t stand any more ecstasy, I may perish of it.”

  “What? After that blatantly lascivious attack on the most private sector of my personage, you dare say ‘no more’? There are penalties to be paid for such conduct.” He lowered her to the soft fur rug that was laid out in front of the fireplace. “I intend to lay my prize on top of the prize my grandfather brought back from Africa.” He was on his knees beside her, and bent to kiss her lips as he laid her down. “Are you absolutely sure you can stand no more?”

  “Zachary, no more teasing. Oh please, touch me, kiss me, take me.” She’d already wriggled out of her coat and dress. His fingers struggled with the hook at the back of her brassiere, then, with a grunt of impatience, he yanked it free. She was in no mood to mourn a torn bra. He slid out of his own coat, his eyes seeming to sear her skin with the heat of his desire. Then his strong hands eased her back and his lips went to her upthrust, pulsing nipples. She would explode, she knew she would. Hot licks of lust swept through her, turning her into a blazing inferno.

  Zachary’s hands were busy again, pushing down the slip and the panty hose and the bikini in one movement. He took them off and threw them aside with her other clothes. She lay stretched out on the fur, naked and quivering under his demonically clever touch. He leaned over her, his lips taking command of hers, their mouths grinding together in hungry response, each to the other. But each time she tried to undo his shirt, or push at his jacket, he thwarted the effort.

  “No. I want you just this way, naked to me, at my disposal.” It was richly, excitingly decadent to lie there nude, stretched out for his use, while he remained fully clothed. His hands roamed every part of her, his fingers dipping into crevices, tormenting each erogenous particle of her flesh, his lips and tongue locating and tantalizing the hardened nubs of her desire. He played her like a gifted musician would play a tautly strung harp, until she twanged with pulsating fervor.

  Ashley flung her arms above her head, arching to his touches, giving way completely to the unimaginable pleasuring of her body. He brought her to the edge of orgasm again and again, then tarried, holding her on the torturing brink until finally she cried out. “Oh please, please!”

  With a satisfied groan of victory, he completed his conquest. With his tongue and his fingers, he pushed her beyond the confines of ecstasy. Then beyond that limit, until she sank back, snuggling onto the fur, exhausted.

  “Ummm.” She gave a deep sigh and closed her eyes. “I could go to sleep right here.”

  “Sleep?” he asked incredulously. His finger crept into the most private sector of her personage, and she wriggled in animal pleasure, her back tickled by the fur. “See there?” His voice rumbled, low and excruciatingly sexy. Shock waves of wildfire jolted her deep inside. “Are you sure you want to sleep?” He stood and loomed over her, one foot on each side, his eyes dark as midnight as they looked down at her, his black hair tousled on his forehead, his chiseled features accentuated by the one shaft of light that shone from the hallway. Whatever the game they played, she wished it would never end.

  “Why do you insist on keeping all those clothes on?” she asked plaintively. “I want to see your body.”

  “If you want them off, why don’t you see to it?”

  With a smile of impure lust, she got
to her knees and reached to unbuckle his belt. Unzipping his pants, she pulled them down to his ankles.

  “You should have started with the shoes.” The wicked grin on his face gave him the remaining aspect of a marauding buccaneer.

  “Why? Now I have something very appealing to look at while I undo the laces.” She mentally became the subservient captive ministering to her master’s designs. When she had one foot bared, he lifted it and tucked it into her lap. The toes were unmerciful as she untied the other shoe. When he had kicked aside his lower garments, she stood to undo his tie and shirt, while all the while their bodies rubbed together, whipping their need to a roiling tumult.

  When Zachary, too, was naked, they sank to the rug together, arms and legs encircling each other in the frenzy of their fiery passion. Lips, fingers, palms, tongues, every instrument of excitation was used, again and again, back and forth, from one to the other: a total, unrestrained giving of pleasure to pleasure, love to love. Nothing seemed too much, nothing withheld or restrained, two bodies joined in a frenzy of smoldering, mutual need. When Zachary entered her, Ashley cried out in gratification, calling his name aloud.

  They were molded together, one undulating form, writhing in the ritual dance of passion. When she was halfway arched, on the edge of the precipice, he stopped the movement and lifted his head, holding her in the heat of his gaze. “Say you’re mine, Ashley. Say you belong to me!”

  She looked deep into those dark wells of enchantment, sinking in their beguiling tide. “Oh, yes.” It was a hoarse whisper. “Yes. I belong to you.”

  “And I to you. Remember that. Remember this. You and I are part of each other.” With a husky moan, he sank into her once more, initiating the irresistible rhythm that would carry them both beyond ecstasy.