Flight of Passion: True romance and the obsession for love

by Mollie Mathews

  There was no attempt to warm her up with sensuality this time. No intention to beguile or seduce. His kiss was a powerhouse of passion, an offensive so sudden and so urgent that no defense could have been mounted, let alone sustained.

  Strapped to her seat, imprisoned within the glass confines of the chopper, she had nowhere to go. He knew it. But he wanted to give her a kiss to remember. He knew they would never get another chance.

  His mouth stormed hers, ravished it, eclipsing all thought with sensations that powered through his entire body, setting off adrenaline that stirred something deep and savagely primitive within him.

  He quaked with the need to reach into her, stun and invade, to take and possess, to wreak as intensive a violation on her as that she was wreaking on him.

  To his surprise and delight, she met his kiss with an explosive, sky-high passion that recognized only one pilot.

  His hands moved to pleasure her lower body where he met with a desire that soared beyond this control. Ruby lifted her arms, wound them around his neck, twisted and arched her body.

  A low growl issued, feeding on what he gave and took, greedy for each wild, unbridled foray of passion that fought for dominance that neither of them wanted to concede.

  Searching fingers thrust through his silky mane, curled around his skull, and wrenched his head toward her.

  A low exultant laugh graveled from Oliver’s throat as Ruby stared up at him with glazed eyes. His gaze glittered over the curly, tresses of her hair.

  Frantically he ordered his mind to lift above the chaos of sensation that halted his willpower, eroded his reasoning, silenced his conscience.

  The madness of his violent impatience to plunder the depths of her body stirred an equally insistent pride that demanded he do the right thing.

  If they were to ever have any future it wasn’t going to be like this, childlike quick, grasping, amateur, teenagers parked in a car.

  “That was a mistake.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Oh.” Ruby blinked. That she hadn’t expected. Her cheeks heated. She felt nauseous.

  She looked up at Oliver as he expelled a whoosh of air from his lungs. His face, normally deeply tanned, was all shadows and contorted angles. He looked as awful as she felt.

  The noise of the rotor drowned the silence that ballooned between them as they kept a reluctant distance. It was as if a treaty had been signed and ratified. There would be no more war.

  As Oliver flew the helicopter through the air, deftly riding the currents like a bird, she should have felt wonderful. She’d just enjoyed the most sizzling, steamy helicopter kiss ever, she was flying high in a heaven-like sky with the man of her dreams at her side—yet she felt deflated. As though she’d got too close to the sun, too close to all that glittered brightly, too close to the person she knew sustained her life, and it had all melted.

  She looked down, recognizing the giant metropolis of Mexico City—a crowded hotpot of color, but all she could see was funeral-gray. The helicopter was buffeted by a rough current and she felt her heart plummet to the ground, saw it about to shatter into a million pieces and felt powerless to stop it.

  Her family needed her. She had made promises.

  She turned and studied Oliver. His gaze locked ahead. How easily you can shut me out, she thought, reminding herself how unpredictable and self-serving he could be.

  Yet here he was acting against his interests and taking her back. She didn’t get it. It was so unlike him to concede defeat. Maybe he’d decided she just wasn’t worth fighting for. He’d made his conquest, feasted upon her body, plundered her lips and now he would scan the terrain for the next elusive specimen to add to his bachelor collection.

  She knew she was grabbing at straws. Talking herself into all the reasons Oliver was no good for her was meant to make the pain more bearable. Only it didn’t. Because for every flaw he possessed, he had an equal if not stronger counterpoint.

  He was successful, strong and, normally, persevering. She liked his intelligence, his resilience—especially his hard-earned street smarts—and the fact that he was spontaneous, fun, sensual and passionate.

  Not just in the sack but passionate about his life. He had convictions that he would live and die for. Compared to Carlos, Oliver was positively colorful. He lit up her life.

  But more than that, he had encouraged her to pursue her dreams. He had shared her conviction that her eco retreat was not just a winning one, but also a worthy one. And he had supported her unconditionally. His motive was never to own her but to free her from a bad mistake. And though it pained her to admit it, she knew he was right.

  Ruby bit her bottom lip. She didn’t know what she was going to do without him.

  What to do? The choices were equally unpalatable. Marry Carlos and live the political life as an adoring wife permanently on show, encased in his campaigns. She would be no better than a mounted butterfly.

  Or throw it all away—her impending marriage, her family land, and with it her family’s love and acceptance. Could she really toss everything and risk a life of uncertainty with Oliver, when the last thing he wanted was to be tied down?

  Ruby slumped in her seat. If only someone or something would decide for me. She yawned. Her mouth felt dry like it was filled with cotton wool. She suddenly felt overcome with fatigue. Her eyelids opened then fluttered shut.

  She tried to sit upright in her seat, but struggled to find the energy. Even keeping her eyes open was a challenge. Perhaps it was the stress of leaving, or that the highs and lows of the past few days were taking their toll.

  But it was more. Much more and she realized almost too late. Ruby made a grab for her bag. She rummaged frantically through it.

  It wasn’t there.

  She flung the bag on the floor, and kicked it open with her feet, spilling the contents.

  She felt faint. Her eyes weren’t quite open. She tried to speak. Her voice seeped from her parched lips, a quiet whisper, masking the fear she felt inside.

  “Oliver, my insulin pen! Where is it?”

  Ruby heard his anxious voice, his searching words, struggling to understand as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

  She tried to hold on. To stay awake, alert, alive. But she felt tired, so tired.

  A loud buzzing filled her head, she slumped against him and there was nothing but darkness.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Unable to wake her Oliver dialed emergency services. He described her symptoms over the phone. The twitching, the convulsions. He felt her pulse again—rapid like shooting pellets, studied her face—so pale, her body soaked in sweat.

  The diagnosis was instant. “Severe hyperglycemia,” the operator said. “It can be brought on by stress, or if a diabetic does not take insulin when required.”

  “Diabetic? Jesus. Why hadn’t she said?”

  “She should be taken to a hospital immediately, untreated it could lead to a diabetic coma or death.”

  Oliver checked the fuel gauge. He smashed his clenched fist on the dash.

  “Stupid piece of shit!” he cursed. There was no way he’d make it to a hospital. He checked his co-ordinates. Only 8 minutes from the Diaz ranch. He prayed Ruby’s family would be equipped to help. He phoned ahead to be sure.

  Antonio ran to the chopper as it descended. He ducked beneath the twisting rotor and wrenched her seat buckle free.

  Oliver killed the engine. Raced to his aid. They gently pulled Ruby’s limp body free.

  They stretchered her to safety, Oliver took her arms, Antonio her feet, and headed for the refuge of the house. Fear paralyzed Oliver’s tongue. Oliver feared the worst, hoped for the best.

  Joe Diaz glanced anxiously at his daughter, his eyes filled with a tenderness Oliver had never seen before.

  Oliver wrung his hands helplessly. “I had no idea,” he stammered, “She never told me.” It made sense now, the sprinkle of needle marks on her stomach, her thighs, the back of her arms.

  If she died it would b
e his fault.

  Unspoken words of accusation and blame jackknifed through the air. Where the hell have you been and what have you done to my daughter?

  Maria came bustling into the room, changing the angry mood with her calm, practical manner. She went to Ruby, felt her pulse, and turned to Antonio. “Get your father’s insulin.”

  Joy was staring at Oliver with wildly accusing eyes. “You did this. If you hadn’t filled her heart with flights of fantasy.”

  “Joy, stop it!” Joe hissed at her, his eyes stabbing a begging plea at Oliver. “She doesn’t mean that.”

  Joy was too worked up, too distraught to listen to him. “You’ve always been bad luck. I knew something dreadful would happen. It was all a lie, wasn’t it? You weren’t here for Ruby. You were after something.”

  “Don’t project your guilt on me, Mrs Diaz,” Oliver cut in, his voice shaking from his own overwhelmed sense of blame. “We’re all at fault here.”

  Joy Diaz didn’t even pause to take that in. The bitter accusing words kept spilling from her lips. “I knew it would come to no good. I knew it would never work. You snaked your way back here into her life, fooled her just to get back at us.”

  Oliver’s control snapped. The exhaustive tension he had been under exploded in a passionate outpouring that finally silenced the woman.

  “Who do you think you are?” he railed at Joy. “The world does not revolve around you, your land, your ambitions. You’re so wrapped up in yourself and preserving your status you never once thought about Ruby’s needs. You only thought about yourself.”

  “Oliver!” Joe Diaz hoarsely protested.

  What had begun had to be finished. Oliver owed Ruby that.

  “Do what you want with your life, play your political games, but find a new piece to play with, I’m not going to let you use Ruby as your marriage pawn.” He flung at both of them.

  “Ruby’s life, her dreams, her desires are not yours to sacrifice. She doesn’t belong to you. She doesn’t belong to Carlos, she doesn’t belong to me,” he hesitated, took a deep breath, a huge lump swelled in his throat.

  Now, holding Ruby’s soft hair in his hand, feeling her faint pulse, he wondered what the hell he’d done. He had fought so hard to quell the powerful desire to claim her as his wife. What he had felt was too big, too deep, too raw and frightening. His regimen of hard work, discipline, self-denial had honed Oliver into a man of strength and single-mindedness to rule and conquer, not to lay his heart bare and succumb to neediness. The desire for safety wrestled with the need to open his heart and submit—to hell with whether they thought him worthy.

  “I love her. I’d give up my life for her if I could. And so help me if—when,” he corrected, fearing if he acknowledged his deepest fear it would manifest “—when she wakes up you’d better have given her back her freedom.”

  “Oliver...” Joe Diaz cut in urgently, then in a tone of despairing impatience, “Joy, for God’s sake! For your daughter’s sake, snap out of this! What more do you have to hear or see? What you’re doing is destructive! It has always been destructive. You manipulate people until they’re so screwed up they have nothing left to give.”

  “Joe?” Joy’s voice trembled as the support she had depended on for so long eroded.

  “Face it Joy! For once in your life, face what you’re doing, face what you’ve become and stop it!” he pleaded hoarsely.

  “Can’t you see? Oliver loves Ruby, and Ruby loves Oliver. Oliver. If Carlos loved Ruby he’d be here—not chasing his career. It has nothing to do with you or me or anyone else. Only them! And your anger is only making everything worse than it already is.”

  “But the wedding? The money? The land—”

  “The land?” he let out an exasperated sigh and threw his arms in the air. “You ask about the land, yet you say nothing of Ruby. Can you not try to love her as your own flesh and blood?”

  “Joe…don’t. Not now.” Maria cut in urgently, her eyes overflowing with despair.

  He halted, clamped his mouth, then shook his head wearily. “I’m tired of this fighting, Joy. Tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. Tired of the lies,” came his flat, weary retort.

  “Deadly tired,” he said turning to face them all. “It’s time Ruby knew the truth.”

  Joy’s face blanched. Maria clutched her hands to her chest.

  “This good woman, Oliver” Joe said, going to Maria’s side, “Was my lover. She’s Ruby’s mother.”

  Oliver stood mutely silent, dredging up a shadow of a smile that threatened to crack the taut flesh of his face. How happy Ruby would be to know the woman who had loved her as a daughter was her birth mother. But the lies? How could he judge them. Hadn’t he done the same thing—waited until it was almost too late to speak the truth that lay in his heart?

  “I’m going to sit here quietly with Oliver and when Ruby wakes up I’m going to tell her the truth. Then I’m going to listen to the ideas she’s been trying to share and I’m going to put all my energy into finding a way to help her. If you can set aside your jealousy, you’ll help her too.”

  “Joe, I...I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry, without change doesn’t cut it,” he rasped. “This all happened before we met. If you can’t let go of the past, and be good-hearted, then go. It’s one or the other. Is that clear? Just for once you might think of someone else besides yourself!”

  He took a few paces forward. His strong hand pressed on Maria’s shoulder. “Is there anything we can do?”

  She shook her head, too distressed to speak.

  Joe turned to Oliver, “Oliver there is no excuse I can give for my wife’s behavior—I blame myself. It was so many years ago. My first wife had died. Maria was a great comfort…she never told me…she was ashamed…we weren’t married—her family were religious,” he gave an exasperated sigh. “She thought she was giving Ruby a better life. When I heard she sent our baby away I did everything in my power to bring her home.”

  Oliver stared vacantly ahead. His head whirled. His chest constricted. His mind was an aching blank. He had no idea what was going on with Ruby’s parents. All families have dramas but right now all he cared about was the only woman he loved more than he had dared admit.

  Maria’s anguished scream ripped through the air, “Call an ambulance. Call nine-one-one. Hurry, hurry!” Maria laid her ear to Ruby’s heart then began to press on it. “She’s fading. Tell them to hurry!”

  * * *

  “You know what kind of insect you are?” he said, reaching out to her, as she lay in the hospital bed three days after the incident. He gently lifted an errant coil of hair and tucked it behind her ear.

  “Don’t you dare say a bug.” She reminded herself to breathe.

  “A bug? Hardly,” his eyes glistened, “I was thinking more along the lines of a butterfly, a beautiful butterfly, the rarest gem of the insect world.”

  She knew she was in trouble again when he looked at her like that. “You’ve got to be kidding. I must look a wash out—like a cabbage butterfly.” She was a bug—an annoying bug that irritated everyone and everybody trampled. Not remotely like one of those nimble, colorful , pretty things with the freedom to transform themselves so effortlessly.

  At least, that was what she had once thought. But she was getting stronger. Her illness had changed something. Had changed a lot, she corrected. She knew now that life was fleeting, happiness was fleeting—but even happily forever afters were fleeting she reminded herself as Oliver moved closer toward her.

  “No I mean it,” he said, his breathe a rich chocolate caress across her cheeks. “If you were a butterfly you’d be an Agrias hewitsonius beata type . Exotic, beautiful, warm, vibrant, unique exceedingly rare.”

  She felt her face flush, her body shiver as he moved closer still. “They’re flittery and fragile and delicate—and they take fright. ”

  “I don’t take fright,” she inched back further away from the bed.

  He took her hand in his, and held it as
though protecting what was his rightfully as she tried to pull away.

  “I hadn’t realized how much you’d come to mean to me.”

  The words slipped from his mouth so quickly, so unexpectedly, so honestly, Ruby responded without censuring her words. “You mean everything to me too.”

  No, not everything. He can’t mean everything.

  “I didn’t mean that,”

  * * *

  “Yes, you did,” he said softly. He stood and walked to the end of the room, bracing his arm against the open window. A soft breeze feathered across his chest and rippled his loose cotton trousers against his powerful thighs. But it did nothing to cool him. Even the plunge under a cold shower earlier hadn’t brought relief from turmoil simmering within.

  He was the one so needy of love, but he was the one who couldn't settle. He should have silenced his fears, conquered his demons, abolished his parents and the Diaz’s taunts that he was worthless. He should have done it eight years ago.

  She’d listened to her parents then. He understood why. But she’d abandoned him. He knew it was irrational reasoning but when she’d nearly died he’d felt betrayed—as though she’d abandoned him again. As though, again, it was his fault. As though being loved wasn’t his destiny.

  Nearly losing her had been a cruel reminder of how fragile and painful his heart was. They’d had a second chance at love. Did her survival now count as a third? How many other chances would they have before he’d finally commit his heart and soul again and reclaim his lost love?

  “Ruby!” he said, striding toward the bed. “I wanted to ask you…”

  “What?”

  “Did you ever love me?” It came out as a growl because inevitably his gaze had dropped again to where her hospital gown had splayed open revealing the creamy swell of her breasts.