Warrior's Embrace

by Peggy Webb

  The sound of cascading water drew her back to reality. Her bath was threatening to overflow and flood her floor. Sunlight, relentless and unmerciful, poured through the windows and illuminated a middle-aged woman with cellulite and a belly that would never be flat again.

  She’d always been one of those people who blithely said that age was all in the mind, but today she felt the mantle of her years. Today she wished for a windowless bathroom. Today she wished for dark clouds over the sun and shades drawn over all the windows.

  What could Bolton possibly see in a woman her age?

  Virginia climbed quickly into the tub so she could shut out the view of all the damage done by years of wear and tear, by an appendectomy and a hysterectomy, by giving birth and giving too much of herself to her career, by anxiety about the past and worry over the future.

  What kind of fool was she, anyhow? Dreaming of a man thirteen years her junior?

  Angry, she sloshed water haphazardly over herself, then stalked to her bedroom, dripping all over the floor. She found Bolton’s card on the antique table beside her bed.

  “Be there,” she said to herself as she dialed.

  “Bolton Gray Wolf.”

  She was held momentarily speechless by the sound of his voice.

  “Oh, shoot,” she whispered.

  “I beg your pardon? Virginia?”

  “I dropped the phone.”

  “I see.”

  There was laughter in his voice. Was he laughing at her?

  “Be here in one hour sharp,” she snapped. “Let’s get this interview over with.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Good.”

  There was laughter in his voice again. Ready? Lord, was she ever ready... A hot flush came over her as she remembered what she’d done in the bathroom. She hung up without saying good-bye, then sat heavily on the edge of her bed and stared at the telephone.

  “Mother?” Candace poked her head around the bedroom door. “Aren’t you coming down to breakfast? I’m leaving in half an hour to go back to school.”

  “Sorry, honey. I forgot.”

  How could she forget something as important to Candace as the Sigma Chi fraternity dance? Virginia threw on her pink terry cloth robe and raked a brush through her hair.

  “You look gorgeous, sweetheart.” She put her arm around her daughter’s waist and together they went down the stairs to the breakfast room. “You’re going to knock Walford’s eyes out.”

  “Wexford.”

  “Wexford. Beaufort, is it?”

  “Yeah. From Shreveport. Every woman on campus is going to be pea-green with envy.” Candace cast a disapproving eye on Virginia’s plate.

  “Mother, is that all you’re eating?”

  “Fruit and cereal. It’s a perfect breakfast.”

  “Four little sections of grapefruit and half a cup of cereal? Yeah. Perfect, if you’re a bird.”

  “When you get to be my age, honey, you have to count fat grams.”

  Candace’s laughter was affectionate. “How many more years do you think I have to eat banana splits with mountains of whipped cream and popcorn dripping with real butter?”

  “Plenty. Make the most of them, honey.”

  “I plan to.” Candace stood up and kissed Virginia on the cheek. “I’ve had a good example to follow.”

  Virginia escorted her daughter to the car, then stood in the driveway waving as the sky-blue Thunderbird convertible disappeared down the winding driveway.

  As she watched, another car came up the driveway, a red Mustang with Bolton Gray Wolf at the wheel. How appropriate that even the car he rented was named after a horse, she thought.

  “I’m early,” he said. He looked fresh and delicious standing in the morning sunlight with his cameras slung over his shoulders, his face just shaved, and his hair untamed. She could imagine how he had looked standing in front of the small bathroom mirror in his motel room, trying to subdue that mane of wild black hair.

  She wished she’d been there to help him. The thought made her smile.

  Bolton aimed, and the shutter clicked.

  “I look awful.” Virginia held a hand over her face.

  “Don’t.” Gently Bolton moved her hand, then tipped her face upward. Her breath caught in her throat. Something magical bloomed between them, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her.

  “You’re soft and beautiful in the morning sun.” He stepped backward, his camera clicking and whirring. “Pink becomes you.”

  His voice mesmerized her. She felt soft and beautiful. Even without her makeup. Even with her hair not fixed. Even with her crow’s-feet showing in the sun.

  “You have a lovely smile, Virginia.”

  “Thank you.” He was enough to make an Egyptian mummy smile. “I didn’t expect you this soon. Did you mean to catch me off guard?”

  He took one more shot, then slung the camera over his shoulder, stepped in close, and gazed down at her.

  “No, Virginia. An hour was too long to wait to see you.”

  The heat started in her cheeks, spread over her neck, and across her breasts. He was dangerous and persuasive. And she was alone with him, alone with nothing on under her robe.

  “Why?” she said.

  “For this.” He cupped her face and drew her gently to him. There was no hurry in him, no urgency, just a beautiful certainty as he fitted their bodies together, legs touching, hips perfectly matched, chests pressed close. He draped her arms around his neck and wrapped his around her waist and back.

  “And this,” he whispered. Then he took her lips. It was not an assault but a kiss as soft as the first rains of summer.

  Virginia didn’t stop to weigh consequences; she just let go.

  His lips were tender, his breath sweet, and his kiss as whisper soft as the brush of butterfly wings.

  “Virginia...” he whispered.

  “Bolton... we shouldn’t.”

  “We’ve already gone beyond that. It’s fate. Out of our control.”

  She took his hand and led him into her house. He needed no urging. At the foot of the staircase he swept her into his arms and carried her up.

  “To the left,” she whispered.

  There was no pausing at the bedroom door. Boldly he carried her inside. In a slow, sensuous movement he let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor.

  He dropped his cameras onto the chaise longue, his shirt on the dressing stool, and his pants and shoes beside the bed.

  Naked, he was a work of art. Without speaking, she walked around him, touching, letting her fingers graze the magnificent breadth of his chest, sinking them into the fine dark hair, running them down his belly.

  He smiled at her, then lifted her into his arms and spread her across the bed. Kneeling over her, he traced her cheekbones, her brow, her lips with his fingertips. A lock of black hair hung over his forehead, and she brushed it back.

  “I want to see your face,” she said, letting her fingers memorize him. “You take my breath away.”

  Slowly he untied her sash, peeled off her robe, and flung it onto the floor.

  “You won’t be needing that.”

  His rhythms were as graceful as music, and the song invaded every part of Virginia, its cadences and harmonies balm for her body, her heart, her soul. She felt reborn, as if the woman who had struggled to prove herself over and over again had vanished and in her place was somebody with wings, somebody who knew how to fly.

  “You are so good,” she murmured, “so very, very good.”

  ”We’re good. It’s us, Virginia, you and me together.”

  He paused and studied her face. His sudden smile was as dazzling as the sun.

  “I’ve spent all my life looking for you.”

  “Shhh.” She put her hand over his lips. “Don’t say things in the heat of passion that you won’t mean in the cold light of day.”

  “I never say things I
don’t mean.” He took up his rhythm again. “Never.”

  There was none of the awkwardness of new lovers between them. Their minds were as connected as their bodies. A mere thought from her became action from him. He understood her sighs, her moans. He knew her moods, her desires, her preferences.

  The years rolled away, the years of sacrificing her own desires for the sake of her child and her career, and she was once again a woman, a woman by turns tender and bawdy, gentle and fiery. She felt fulfillment and hunger at the same time.

  For the beautiful moments they lay together in her bed she believed that all she had to do was reach out and Bolton would be there, all she had to do was call and he would come running, all she had to do was wish for this magical joining and he would make it happen.

  But when the loving was over, when they lay tangled together on her sheets, she knew that she was being the worst kind of fool, the kind who believed in miracles. She’d learned long ago that the only miracles were those earned by sweat and toil and intelligence and perseverance and sacrifice.

  Bolton laced their fingers together and squeezed. She could almost see him gathering his wits to make a pretty speech.

  “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t say anything except the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “I needed this but now it’s over and done with and neither of us has to pretend it was anything except great sex.”

  “That’s not the truth, Virginia.”

  She pulled away from him, put on her robe, and curled up on the chaise longue.

  “I’ve been called worse names than a liar.” She folded her hands tightly together to keep them from betraying her with their awful shaking.

  Without a word Bolton got off the bed, knelt beside the chaise, and gently unfolded her hands. Then he kissed her fingertips, one by one. His actions were far more revealing than denials.

  “If what we had was just good sex, why are you trembling?”

  “I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’m an insomniac. It happens with age.”

  He said nothing, merely lifted one caustic eyebrow.

  She stared at him, waiting for him to fill the silence with excuses, waiting for him to push her into anger. She was mad, unaccountably mad, and she wanted some reason to show it. Tilting her chin up, she dared him to give her a reason.

  Bolton remained as implacable as the mountain from which he had come. Still kneeling, he began a slow, erotic massage of her feet. That alone was enough to make Virginia forget her anger and confusion, make her forget that he might be after her money or her secrets or both, make her forget the horrible age gap that separated them. When his hands moved over her legs, she knew she was lost and nothing else mattered except his touch.

  Closing her eyes, she let herself go limp. It felt amazing to be spontaneous and reckless and absolutely feminine.

  “That feels so good,” she whispered.

  “Yes, it does.”

  He untied the sash and opened her robe so that she lay upon the chaise like a fallen flower. He tasted her, lingering so long that she lost all reason. When she was finally limp and satisfied, he lifted her into his arms and held her against his chest.

  “This is not about your money,” he said, as if he had read her mind. “It’s not about your profession and mine. It’s about us, Virginia.”

  She was too far gone to argue with him. She laced her arms and him and leaned on cheek on his chest.

  “Take me back to bed, Bolton.”

  “And then what, Virginia?”

  “You know....”

  “Say it.”

  “Are you going to make me beg?”

  “No. I want to hear you say the words.” His eyes were so intensely blue, she was almost blinded by them. “Say the words, Virginia.”

  “They’re just words.”

  “Say them.”

  She closed her eyes, but even then she could see his face, naked with emotion.

  “They’re just words,” she repeated, closing her eyes to shut out his face. His lips brushed hers softly, tenderly. And she was lost.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered.

  “Yes. I will love you.”

  He lowered her to the bed. Pinioned against the sheets, she looked up at him. There was no triumph in his face, no sense of victory, only passion, raw and pure.

  “And you will love me.” It was the last thing he said to her, the last thing that needed to be said.

  What they did in her bedroom needed no words. What they did was too beautiful for words, too powerful, too sacred. What happened between them was a rare gift, too precious to cast aside.

  Virginia knew that as soon as his job was finished he would leave her and never look back, leave Mississippi and forget about the woman whose heart he had stolen.

  One week. Two. It didn’t matter how long he stayed. What mattered was what they did with the time. Call her selfish, call her foolish, call her anything at all, but Virginia knew what she was, understood what she was doing.

  She was a woman who had spent too many years in the twin prisons of responsibility and fame. Bolton had handed her the key, and she was going to take it. For today and tomorrow and all the days that he was in Mississippi, she was going to be free. And when he was gone she’d shut herself up with her responsibilities and her computer and her money and her fame and never look back with regret.

  Never.

  FOUR

  He photographed her leaning against an oak tree with the late-afternoon sun filtering through the leaves and dappling her with gold.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said. “Soft and lush and satisfied.”

  “You make me feel that way.”

  He took aim, and she tilted her head back, laughing. He captured her that way, happier than she ever remembered being, in love with life, in love with the world. A shower of leaves fell on her white blouse and settled in the folds of her full peasant skirt. She bent over to brush them away, then changed her mind and playfully flicked them in his direction. With cameras whirring, he caught her in the falling leaves, caught her as she moved in close, eyes gleaming with erotic intent.

  Camera forgotten, they tumbled among the leaves as playful as children. Their playfulness quickly turned to passion, and they made slow, beautiful love on a golden carpet of leaves with the sun burnishing their skin.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” she said.

  “You don’t have to get enough of me, Virginia. I’m here. I’ll be here.”

  Full of him, full of pleasure, full of joy, she could imagine herself waking every day to find Bolton beside her, reaching out to touch the pillow that had been empty for so many years and finding this magnificent man who could turn her inside out with a single glance.

  Propped on her elbows, she gazed down at him.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “For food or you?”

  “Food. We missed lunch, and if we keep this up, we’re going to miss dinner.”

  “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

  “Me too.” She kissed him on the cheek, then stood up and adjusted her clothes. “However, if you’re to keep up your strength, you have to eat.”

  She loved his hearty masculine laughter, loved the way he lifted her off the ground and hugged her close. Noses touching, lips a hairbreadth away, he whispered, “You want me to keep up my strength, do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any reason I should know about?”

  “If you’re as smart as I think you are, you probably already know the reason.”

  “Indulge me. Tell me.”

  “For this.” She kissed him, lightly at first and then with such intensity that they were both breathless.

  “And this.” She ran her tongue down the side of his neck. “And this.” She caressed his back, as far down as her arms would reach.

  “That will do for starters.” He nudged open the front of her blouse and goose bumps the size of golf balls ran over her. />
  “You like that, don’t you, Virginia?”

  “Yes. I like everything you do to me.”

  “Not to you. With you. Love has to be reciprocal.”

  There it was. Love.

  “Why do you insist on using that word, Bolton?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “Love only happens this fast in fiction.”

  “My parents fell in love at first sight. And I’ve never seen any two people so happy together.”

  She tried to wiggle her way out of his arms, but he wouldn’t let her go.

  “Put me down, Bolton.”

  “Why? So you can huff off somewhere and try to justify your mistaken notions?”

  “I don’t have any mistaken notions. I know exactly what this is: it’s a wildly passionate affair that will end as soon as this interview is over.”

  “I’m not doing the interview.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I won’t do the interview.”

  “But you have to. It’s your job.”

  “I choose the jobs I want to do. I’m choosing not to do this one.”

  He set her on her feet and pinned her against the tree.

  “You can’t do that,” she said.

  “Do what, Virginia? Keep you pinned against this tree?” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he pressed his hips closer. “Just watch me.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “I’m half Apache. We’re known for taking the women we love captive, especially ornery, opinionated, stubborn women like you.”

  “Stubborn? I don’t hold a candle to you, Bolton Gray Wolf.”

  “What happened to make you so distrustful of men, Virginia?”

  “Is this an interview question?”

  “I told you, I’m no longer doing the interview.”

  “You have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve promised to grant one interview, and if you don’t do it, then I’ll be stuck with some arrogant upstart who’d like nothing better than to dish the dirt on me.

  “Does that mean you no longer suspect me of going to bed with you so I can learn your secrets?”

  “I didn’t say that.”