Wolfe's Lady

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  “That’s a Craftsman home!” Stella gasped with appreciation.

  “Oh, Darien, it’s wonderful. I love Craftsman homes. They are such a perfect shift from the larger Victorian styles like the Queen Anne down to a more friendly but still large size. I don’t suppose at the time it was built that anyone realized how famous the whole Craftsman movement would became or how many people would seek them out more than a century later. They have so much more style than the later homes, the ones all built so much the same.”

  “I am honored that you like my humble house. It was built in 1906 and you are correct, my dear historian, it is indeed Craftsman although until now, I had no idea just what that meant. It boasts two fireplaces, a book-lined library, a carved walnut grand staircase, a full dining room, front and rear parlors, five bedrooms, a narrow back servant’s stair, full basement, large attic, three full bathrooms and two half baths. It’s far more space than I require but it was a bargain and besides, I like the setting.”

  For the first time, Stella realized that the house sat in the midst of thick woods, aged trees with broad trunks that isolated it from the road. Not one neighboring house was visible through the thickets and in addition, the lawn ran wild with forsythia bushes, rose of Sharon trees, evergreens, and even dogwoods. Flowers bloomed everywhere, some in neat, tended beds but others rampant across the lawn. Most were old-fashioned flowers, storybook blossoms like hollyhocks, roses, lilies, and more. The sheer wild beauty of the scene caught her breath for a few moments, and then she turned to Darien with honest enthusiasm.

  “This is absolutely lovely, Darien. It is like something out of a storybook or fairy tale. It reminds me of Sleeping Beauty’s castle when the prince found it, a jewel tucked away in a verdant wood.”

  Darien offered her his hand, chuckling with pleasure as they mounted the broad stone steps to the wide covered porch that ran the front of the house. There, too, clematis and moonflower vines climbed trellises, adding to the air of privacy.

  “You approve; that’s very good,” he said. “Let’s see what you think of the interior.”

  He threw open the heavy carved door and let her walk ahead into a huge room with many windows. To her right, a carved staircase ascended, as graceful as an Edwardian lady waltzing would.

  A chandelier with multiple prisms sparkled from the very center of the ceiling. Each doorway that led from the room – into a dining room, a hallway, and the library – each had dark walnut trim. Even the furnishings, crushed velvet crimson sofas and chairs, added to the air of mystique and yesteryear.

  “Darien, this is amazing. This room is stunning.”

  “No. You, my dear, are stunning,” he said. Darien stood beside her and then turned her to face him. Stella’s heart pounded faster as he bent and kissed her, unhurried, his lips burning against hers, warm and soft as melted candle wax. Her body kindled at his caress and she leaned against him, letting the fever that spread over her body consume her. Stella felt his powerful body surge against hers, masculine and vital. His passion, his desire was a living thing between them. When he released her, she almost fell, her legs weak but he caught her.

  “Stella, dear heart, you are a delight. Come have a drink with me in the library before I lose my head. Will champagne do?”

  Her mouth refused to work so she nodded, trailing in his wake into the library, tucked behind the foot of the stairs. This too was a marvelous room, cozy with a granite fireplace, each block carved with intricate designs, and the walls lined with books. Most appeared to be antique volumes but among them Stella recognized a few more modern works. A small bar stood opposite the hearth and after he pointed her to the black leather loveseat, he brought out two fragile flutes and filled them with Dom Perignon. Darien handed her a flute and raised his glass to touch hers with a soft, ringing sound.

  “To what the future and the stars may hold,” he intoned in a voice as serious as a prayer, soft as a blessing.

  “To the future,” Stella repeated and sipped.

  The sweet, crisp wine was a good vintage and her surprise was evident as the smooth taste burst into her mouth.

  “This is 1975 v Dom Perignon,” Darien said. “It is one of the best modern vintages available. Will it do?”

  “It’s awesome,” Stella said, draining her glass. The wine must have gone to her head, she thought, for without hesitation, she mimicked a child’s British accent and quoted Oliver Twist, “Please, sir, may I have some more?”

  Darien’s face shifted, his lips twitched and his eyes rolled until he burst out laughing. He sat down on the loveseat, wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, and drank his champagne.

  “You are the most remarkable woman I have met in years,”

  Darien said, shaking his head. “Stella, I find myself quite smitten with you. Dare I hope that it might be reciprocated?”

  She made a quick translation of his old school language and replied in her own vernacular,

  “I think you’re totally hot, Darien, so yes.” Champagne evaporated her polite façade so that she said what she felt, without restraint or embarrassment. The sweet, sparkling wine swept through her veins like liquid wildfire and she could feel not just the heat but the giddy spin it always gave her head. He tossed back his head and chortled with such gusto it almost became a howl.

  “Good. Then let me pour you another glass and we shall see where the evening takes us.”

  “Let’s do that,” Stella said, surprising herself with her boldness. She was not usually so outgoing, so outspoken, or so easily aroused but Darien and champagne brought out her latent qualities.

  They ended up in the garden, finishing off the Dom Perignon and talking until the longer shadows of dusk fell. With so many tall trees and vegetation, the night seemed to move in on fleeter feet and there were no street lamps or yard lights to mar the darkness. A soft breeze rippled across Stella’s bare arms and she shivered.

  “It’s getting cooler.”

  “It is,” he agreed and rose from the black wrought iron bench with grace. “Shall we go inside or would you prefer that I deliver you home? The night is young but your wish is my service.”

  “Could we stay outside and watch the stars come out?” Stella asked. She loved the stars, perhaps because of her name, chosen by her star-gazing parents in honor of their favorite hobby. “The moon isn’t quite full but it’s waxing enough that the moonlight should be very pretty. Doesn’t all of this look spectacular by moonlight?”

  A strange expression flitted across Darien’s face, a look of dismay, she thought, or something more. Whatever it was, it vanished in seconds, leaving her to doubt that he had ever looked anything but serene.

  “Yes, my little patch of woods and gardens is quite lovely by night,” Darien said. “We have drunk but we have not eaten. Are you hungry, my star?”

  No one until Darien ever made her name into an endearing nickname but after a moment’s reflection, she liked it.

  She had not even thought about food but now that he asked, she was ravenous.

  “Yes, I am.”

  He extended his hand to her and she took it, allowing him to lift her from the bench.

  “I can offer food. Come inside; we can come back out after we eat.”

  “Anything is fine.”

  They ate a late light supper of pastrami, cheese, and prosciutto. Again, Darien ate nothing but meat and a small amount of cheese but Stella didn’t really mind. If he had eccentric tastes in eating, his other qualities more than compensated. After the meal, they returned outside, settling onto the bench and watched the first stars appear. The blooming flowers gave off a rich, intoxicating aroma. With his arm around her shoulders, Stella was content but very aware of his male proximity. When he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, she shivered with delight and the anticipation of the way his kisses sent fire through her veins. Every nerve in her body tingled with the sweetness of desire and throbbed with fiery heat that swept through her body like wildfire. He took a single finger and ra
n it from her mouth, down along her throat, to the valley between her breasts. Without the bra that she normally wore in place, he touched skin without any barriers with his first effort, his hand snug between her breasts, as she savored the feel of his touch against her bare, sensitive flesh. That fine touch was so sensual that she trembled and when he reached deeper inside her blouse, his hand warm against her tummy as he reached over mere inches to caress her nipple with gentle fingers that knew very well what they did, she quivered so much that he laughed. Her taut nipple ached for more and so did she.

  “I take that as approval,” he whispered to her, his voice as soft and sibilant as the night wind that ruffled her hair.

  “Yes,” her voice came out as almost a moan.

  “Then do you like this?”

  Darien took her mouth with force, devoured her lips with hunger and passion. His strength as he kissed her amazed her as his muscles strained against her with such power that she felt caught by a force of nature, carried away by the floodwaters or shaken by an earthquake. Such raw energy drew her in, like a moth dancing around a light in darkness. Stella could not say no, could never deny such intense dominance nor did she want to do anything but yield.

  He slid her arms from the sleeves of her blouse and then pulled it over her head in one motion. Stella smoldered with his touch and felt so hot that she thought her skin might ignite. When Darien put his dark head, his long hair trailing against her skin, and kissed her breasts with reverence, she thought she might die from wanting him.

  As the crescendo began to build within, he reached to undo her jeans even as she struggled to kick them away but just as the denim reached her knees, a shrill, raucous sound shattered the mood and the night. The insistent noise echoed off the trees and rang in her ears, almost painful. Darien’s hands paused on her skin, and then stopped.

  “I must apologize, sweet Stella, but I must answer that.”

  That noise, that deafening interruption was nothing more than the telephone, Stella thought, and shook her head with disappointment as she pulled up her jeans and reached for her other garments. By the time, Darien returned, with two fresh flutes of champagne in his hands, she had dressed and her desire had ebbed away into the shadows.

  “I am so sorry,” he said, offering her a flute in mute apology.

  “That was Sanderson…”

  Stella felt caught, like a teenager making out in the back of a car, embarrassed that their principal called during such a passionate moment.

  “What did he want?” Her voice sounded as petulant as a spoiled child.

  “He is having a department meeting in the morning.” Darien said. I have to be there at the beastly hour of seven.”

  The mood of moments earlier had vanished, the romance trumped by both telephone and duty.

  “I really should go,” Stella said as she drained her flute in a single gulp. The rush of alcohol made her dizzy for a moment and she swayed as she stood. Darien rose to steady her, his hands feverish on her arms. “It must be late.”

  She thought he might argue with her and beg her to stay. If he did, she was more than willing, but instead he nodded.

  “Very well, as you wish. I shall deliver you home.”

  On the brief ride back to her apartment, they said little but as before, he insisted on walking her into the building and to her door.

  She had almost decided he was perturbed at her hasty exit but after she unlocked her door and turned to him, Darien seized and kissed her.

  His lips scorched her and his hands moved over her body at will, hot and insistent. Her head whirled and she clung to him as the one steady object in a world of chaos. Her body answered his call, caught his unholy flame, and blazed with it. He could have taken her at any moment and she could not have denied him but he pulled away, leaving her lips swollen but not sated.

  “Whatever we have, this attraction, this desire, will not be forsworn,” Darien softly growled.

  “Good night, Stella, my shining star.”

  “Good night.” Her whisper vanished in his departure, lost in the whirl of his body and the sound of his feet retreating down the hallway.

  Chapter Three

  Stella almost overslept on Tuesday, waking late from a dream about Darien, and hurried to dress for school. Today, she did not try for formal or professional, just comfortable in a multi-colored patterned skirt and a matching solid color blouse. She had no time to curl or style her hair so she twisted it up on top of her head and hurried to the high school, arriving less than five minutes before the first bell rang.

  As she passed Darien’s classroom, Mr. Sanderson was deep in conversation with him so she waved and went to her room. Several students were already in place but they greeted her with polite smiles and the day began well. By noon, however, she was eager to see Darien and wondered if he had brought lunch for them both. Stella hoped that he had; since she overslept, she had not taken time to make a sandwich. When the bell announced lunch and her fourth hour students charged from the room, she lingered in her room. After a few minutes when Darien did not appear, she walked down to his classroom.

  “Mr. Wolfe?” she called, in case any students remained.

  “Miss Raines.”

  He was behind her and she whirled, restraining an urge to throw herself into his arms. When he smiled, resistance was even harder.

  “Would you like to join me for lunch, my dear?”

  Her mood sparkled like the champagne they drank.

  “I would love that, Darien.”

  He stood at the door and bowed. “Then come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.”

  His quotation of the age-old children’s poem, The Spider and The Fly, delighted her. Stella remembered it from a well-worn book of poems her mother used to read to her at bedtime. The delicious hint of seduction titillated her.

  “Will I come out again?” She quipped from the same May Howitt poem.

  Darien grinned. “That is entirely up to you, dear star.”

  As he closed the door for privacy, Stella saw that a table at the rear of the room transformed into a dining table complete with a cloth, china, and silver. Darien pulled out a chair and she slid into it, delighted. Her plate held a thick roast beef and Swiss cheese sandwich on a French bread bun while his had sliced beef and cheese.

  “I brought a sandwich for you, Stella. Just because I prefer not to eat bread is no reason why you should do without.”

  “Thank you.” She bit into the sandwich; it was delicious.

  The lunch break passed too fast but as she left and he put away the fancy tablecloth, Darien told her,

  “We’ll do this the rest of the week but next week I have lunchroom duty and you, my dear, will have it the following week.

  We must enjoy while we can, Stella-star.”

  She nodded, wondering if his words had the double meaning that she thought they did.

  After school, she lingered but Darien did not come and his classroom was empty. With head down and feet dragging, she left the building to walk back to her apartment. After the romantic evening beneath the stars, fueled by both desire and champagne, Stella didn’t want to go home and stare at the walls in her small space but she had no alternatives. New to Riverville, she knew almost no one and so she had no place to go, nothing to do. She did not even have his phone number.

  That inspired her to call information but there was no listing for “Darien Wolfe” and a quick internet search turned up nothing.

  Maybe the fun flirtation was over before it truly began, she thought, with such disappointment that she might cry. She picked up the paperback novel she had been reading but she could not stay focused on the story. Idle, she picked up the remote control and flipped channels but found nothing of interest. Although she wasn’t hungry, she decided she might open a can of soup and just as she started for the single strip of cabinets that were “the kitchen,” someone rapped at the door.

  With a quick tug to make sure her clothing was all in place, Stella
smoothed down her hair and licked her lips. There was no peephole so she opened the door and found Darien, holding a giant bouquet of roses in one hand, a pizza box in the other.

  Dumbfounded, she stared at him.

  “Good evening, Stella. I had errands to run after school but I finished them. I thought you might like to see me.”

  His unanticipated visit was a surprise but she welcomed it.

  “I did, I do… Come in, Darien. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  He entered into her home for the first time and in the small space, he seemed even taller. His topaz eyes scanned the room until he saw the coffee table in front of the battered, rump sprung couch and then he put the pizza box on it. He thrust the roses, at least two dozen, scarlet and fragrant flowers, into her arms.

  “These are for you, my star. Do you have a vase?”

  Stella did not; she moved in with no more than the barest housekeeping necessities and a vase had not been something she expected to need.

  “I don’t.”

  He grinned, revealing those long eyeteeth again and she realized that they reminded her of a wolf. The resemblance didn’t stop there; his dark hair, his lean face, and his easy gait all reminded her of a wolf. Even his eyes glowed with an animal like glint. Stella found that fascinating and far from repulsive.

  “Ah. I thought not. Wait just one moment.”

  He exited into the hallway and returned with a crystal vase.

  Stella eyes widened; it was Waterford Crystal and if she was right, it was Lismore, one of Waterford’s oldest designs. Her great-grandmother had owned a similar vase.

  “Darien, it is magnificent! That’s Waterford, isn’t it?”

  “You know your crystal.” He seemed quite pleased about that.

  Stella arranged the roses in the vase and placed it on the lamp table near the window.

  “Thank you for both the roses and the vase. You didn’t need to bring me flowers.”