Star-Spangled Bride

by Iris Johansen

  A shudder went through him. "Don't do that yet. I'm too—" He looked down at her and his hands reached out to tangle in her hair. "Lord, you're completely . . . beautiful."

  He meant it. She was beautiful to him at this moment. She knew she would look back on this moment with tenderness, but it wasn't tenderness she wanted now. "For heaven's sake, don't pay me compliments. This isn't the time."

  His laughter again had an element of desperation in it. "I'm trying to keep from acting like a sex maniac and hurting you."

  She said, "I want you. I want this. Don't make me ask again." She tried to smile jauntily. "Or I might just get up and walk away."

  "The hell you will." He started moving, thrusting slow, fast, long, short.

  His hands moved under her, lifting her to every thrust.

  The tempo was feverish, primitive, almost animalistic. Gabe's lips were drawn back from his teeth, his cheeks hollowed with strain.

  Ronnie could hear herself pleading mindlessly as she met thrust with thrust.

  When the climax came, it was like being torn from darkness into brilliant sunlight. She was scarcely conscious of Gabe's low cry as he gained his own satisfaction and collapsed on top of her.

  Pleasure. Madness. Closeness. Bonding.

  Forever.

  SEVEN

  "Well, that was a surprise." Gabe drew her into the hollow of his shoulder. "In more ways than one. Would you care to tell me how it happens you were still a virgin?"

  "You didn't seem to mind at the time." She raised herself on one elbow to frown at him. "Or did you? Were you pretending?"

  "I assure you it's impossible to pretend under those circumstances."

  Her frown cleared. "I thought so, but I had to be sure. I'll be better next time. I promise."

  "Don't. I don't think I could stand it." He pulled her down again. "You were quite enough as it was. I was just curious. You've led a pretty rough life. It would have been natural for you to take comfort where you could."

  "I could never see what all the shouting was all about." She suddenly giggled. "Until I started shouting myself. I wasn't very dignified, was I?"

  "No. You didn't shout; it was more like a seductive moan, but dignified isn't how I'd describe you," he said thickly. "Passionate, beautiful, moving."

  "Well, I did plenty of moving."

  "Stop being flip. I'm trying to tell you something."

  "What?"

  "This." He lowered his head and kissed her on the lips.

  Sweetness. Dawn after the storm.

  She closed her eyes. "Oh, I like that."

  "Then open your eyes and look at me."

  Her lids slowly opened and she dreamily looked up at him. "You've got wonderful cheekbones. They photograph like gangbusters."

  "I'm glad I have one feature you like." His eyes twinkled. "No, two."

  "Definitely two." Sweet heavens, she loved him so much. She suddenly hurled herself into his arms and held him tight. "It was good, wasn't it? It was good and real and—"

  "Shh, it was all of those things." He gently stroked her back. "Why are you so panicky?"

  "I want it to go on. I want it to last." She added quickly, "Forget I said that. I didn't mean it. It's the stupid kind of thing a woman who had just had her first man would say. You mustn't feel any pressure. I don't really—"

  He stopped her with his lips. "I've felt pressure since the moment you walked into my life. Why do you think I didn't drag you into bed last night? Because I've never felt like this before. I feel as responsible as hell. I want to guard you and take care of you and be everything to you that you want me to be." He kissed her gently on the nose. "Even Daddy Warbucks."

  "I never meant to make you feel like that," she whispered.

  "It goes with the territory when you love someone."

  She looked at him in shock that was comprised of as much fear as joy.

  "It surprised me too," he said ruefully. "I liked my life the way it was. No strings and the only responsibility strictly on the professional level. Then you appeared on the scene and suddenly everything changed."

  "Yes, it did." Her voice was muffled.

  He feathered a kiss on her temple. "I'd appreciate a similar declaration."

  So he could feel even more pressure and more responsible for her. So that he would be bound to her no matter how much it cost him. Dammit, she should never have lost control and triggered this confession on his part. No, she was glad she had done it, she thought fiercely. It might be selfish, but it couldn't hurt anyone for her to know he loved her. She could fix the rest.

  She buried her head deeper in his shoulder. "I can't tell you something that's not true. I don't love you."

  He went still. "The hell you don't."

  "I don't," she insisted.

  He lifted her chin with his fingers and stared down at her. "You're lying to me."

  "I'm not lying." She forced herself to sit up and look directly into his eyes. "I like you. And I love this, but if that's not enough for you, I'll have to leave."

  "What are you afraid of?"

  "Nothing. I'm not afraid of anything." She reached for the veil, which had landed at the foot of the bed. "And maybe it would be better if I did go."

  "The hell you will." He roughly pulled her back into his arms. "You'll stay with me."

  Relief surged through her. She had been afraid he would let her go and she didn't think she could surrender him without giving herself a little time. "Not if you expect me to swear undying love for you."

  "Dammit, you do—" He stopped, then said, "I don't know what's going on with that convoluted thinking process of yours, but I won't argue with you right now." His voice hardened with determination. "Just know this, Ronnie. I'm not going to let you go."

  "I don't want to go." She paused. "Not yet."

  He shook his head. "Never." He rolled her over on her back and parted her thighs. "This is it, Ronnie, the real McCoy. Get used to the idea."

  "This is wonderful," Ronnie said when she could talk without gasping. "Like a roller-coaster ride, but the ending is better. I've always thought that gliding slowly back into the starting ramp sort of took something away. They should find a way to catch the cars in the chute like they do jet planes on aircraft carriers."

  "Well, which am I?" Gabe lazily circled the areola of her nipple with an index finger. "A roller coaster or a jet plane?"

  "Neither." She kissed him lovingly on the mouth. "You're the bee's knees."

  "Sounds minuscule. I believe I'm insulted."

  "Don't be. You're just right. Delicious." She sat bolt upright in bed. "Which reminds me. I'm starving. How do you expect me to absorb all these new skills if you don't feed me?"

  "If I recall, you're the one who decided to postpone dinner."

  "I regarded this as more important." She reached for the veil. "Where's the kitchen?"

  "Good Lord, don't you know you're supposed to be languid after sex?"

  "Who made that rule? I feel alive. I want to go out and move mountains."

  He looked at her glowing face and then smiled. "Not now. The mountains are a good hundred miles away. Stay where you are. I'll bring you something." He got out of bed and went toward the closet. "It's chilly and at least I have a robe to wear."

  "I'm not cold."

  He shrugged on the white terry robe. "No, you're not, thank God. I'll be back in a minute."

  She watched the door close behind him before jumping out of bed and running to the closet. She grabbed a white shirt from a hanger and slipped it on. It came almost to her knees, but at least it covered her. She rifled through a bureau drawer and came up with a pair of white crew socks and pulled them on.

  She padded out of the bedroom and wandered down the hall until she heard the sound of metal against metal and zeroed in on the kitchen. Gabe was standing in front of the stove pouring an egg mixture into a frying pan.

  "Can I help?"

  He glanced over his shoulder. "Don't you ever obey orders?"
r />   "Not if I can help it. Besides, I'm too restless to sit still and be waited on."

  His gaze traveled over her. "That shirt looks better on you than it does on me."

  "Then it must look terrible on you." She made a face. "I hate cutesy outfits. They make me feel like Debbie Reynolds or Sandra Dee."

  "What do you know about them? I'd think they'd be before your time."

  "Are you kidding? The only movie theaters I got to go to when I was growing up were those in outback villages where Rudolph Valentino was still considered a current heartthrob." She moved to stand by his shoulder and peered down at the omelet. "That looks terrific. I'm so glad you can cook. I'm terrible at it. But I can make coffee," she offered.

  "Then do it. The coffeemaker's on the counter over there. The coffee's in the canister." He took plates from a shelf in the cabinet and set them on the table. "I take it I'm going to do all the cooking while we're here."

  "If you don't want chronic indigestion." She poured water into the coffeemaker. "Jed tried to teach me once, but he gave up. He says there's something seriously wrong with my culinary aptitude. I just don't have the gift. If you cook, I'll wash dishes."

  "Sounds fair." With a spatula he lifted the omelet onto a plate, cut it neatly in half, and shifted one half to another plate. "Sit down and eat. You're going to need your strength later."

  "Braggart." She could feel the heat in her cheeks as she sat down at the table. It was weird how he could make her blush when no one had been able to accomplish that feat in years. "You'd better be the one to shore up your reserves. I've decided I'm a nymphomaniac."

  "Then you've decided wrong," he said quietly as he started to eat. "You're loving and sweet and passionate and I have bottomless reserves where you're concerned."

  Her smile faded as she looked at him. "That's . . . nice."

  "More than nice. Extraordinary. You're not eating." He looked up and smiled faintly. "Protein, remember."

  "Sure I am." She picked up her fork and started on the omelet. "And you're the one who needs the protein." She had a sudden thought. "But you can't have any of that coffee. Why didn't you remind me before I started that pot? You need to sleep tonight."

  "My dear, if I don't sleep tonight, I guarantee I'll never sleep again."

  "No coffee," she said firmly.

  He changed the subject. "What debt?"

  She looked at him in confusion at the question that had come out of nowhere.

  "I suppose there's no big secret now that you've told me everything else about your background." He paused before asking, "What debt did you owe me?"

  "My life," she said simply. "Mekhit, Turkey, 1983."

  He shook his head. "I was in Mekhit, but I—"

  "You don't even remember. I didn't think you would. You dug me out of the ruins of a collapsed hotel after the earthquake. I knew I was only one of a score of people you helped during those two days, but you can understand why you were pretty prominent in my memory after that. You stayed with me and held my hand." She shivered even now at the memory. "It was the worst night of my life. The darkness—"

  "Was like a coffin," he quoted. "I do remember. But your name was Anita."

  "Anita Valdez. Spanish passport."

  "And when we pulled you out..." His gaze went to her hair. "You were pretty messed up, but I'm sure your hair was dark."

  "Vegetable dye. I had to look Spanish."

  "I felt guilty about leaving you to go to the hospital alone."

  "You did more than anyone could expect. The entire town was a disaster area. I knew you had to go and help dig out other people."

  He grimaced. "You make me sound like Superman. I was only doing what anyone else would do in an emergency like that. I did drop by the hospital the day before I left Mekhit to see how you were."

  "I didn't know that." She smiled radiantly. "That was nice of you."

  "They said you disappeared after they bandaged your arm."

  "Evan was there. He saw them put me in the ambulance and showed up at the emergency room to take me away. The deal had fallen through and we left Mekhit that night."

  "To another deal. . . another country," he said bitterly.

  "Yes." She finished her omelet and sat back in her chair. "But after that night I kept track of you. It wasn't hard. You were on the way up and were fairly visible." She chuckled. "And, in a way, I wasn't joking when I called you my Pygmalion. I first became interested in becoming a reporter because of you. I had a big-time crush on you for a long time and thought everything you did was the cat's pajamas."

  He made a face. "Where on earth do you come up with those archaic expressions?"

  "I like them. The twenties slang was very colorful. Bee's knees, cat's pajamas ..."

  "I'm beginning to like them myself. They suit you." He put down his fork, met her gaze, and said with deliberate emphasis, "But not as much as I suit you. To use one of your phrases, we fit like the cat's pajamas. Maybe that's why we were brought together at Mekhit."

  "Don't tell me you believe in fate too?" she scoffed. "First tradition and now fate?"

  "Why not? I do believe some people are meant to be together," he said softly. "And if you get lucky enough to find that person, you'd be stupid to let them go."

  She would hold on forever.

  She had believed in fate that night. She had found something strong and sure and unshakable in that volatile world. But the resolution she had made in Mekhit must be broken. By clinging to him to complete herself, she could hurt him.

  "Gripes, you're sentimental," she said. "But I can't totally knock this togetherness bit. You really know how to show a girl a good time." She stood up and swaggered toward the door. "Dump the dishes in the sink. I'll do them in the morning. I have enough protein in me now to keep you interested for a while." She slanted him a stern glance over her shoulder. "And don't you dare touch that coffee."

  "You didn't sleep again," Ronnie accused as she strolled with Gabe in the garden the next morning after breakfast. "So much for me exhausting you."

  "I dozed a little," Gabe said.

  She gazed at him worriedly. "You don't look it. I think you're just saying mat to keep me from nagging you."

  "It's entirely possible. You're persistent enough to make a saint try misdirection." He shot her a glance. "And very caring for a woman who only wants my body."

  "I do care about you." She looked away from him. "I told you I liked you. You're not stupid enough to believe I'd have sex with a man I didn't like."

  "No, you wouldn't tell me such an arrant lie. Because you're not stupid either." His hand closed on hers. "Though I've noticed a distinct muddleheadedness on occasion."

  "We're talking about you."

  "In connection with you." He stopped beside a white net hammock stretched between two pepper trees. "Vive la connexion. Would you care to forge another link? I've never done it in a hammock before."

  He was deftly changing the subject in a manner he knew would appeal to her, Ronnie thought in exasperation. It was a smart move. She had never dreamed she had such a sensual nature until last night. "This isn't about sex." She turned to face him. "Call Dan and ask him to bring sleeping pills when he comes tonight."

  "No pills." He sat down on the hammock and pulled her down beside him. "Read my lips, Ronnie. I don't take pills. I've seen too many people start out taking a few pills to relieve tension and end up hooked. People whom I respect for their strength and good sense."

  "But you can't—" There was no use arguing with him. He wasn't going to change his mind. She would have to go about seeking a solution indirectly. The only problem was that indirectness was not her forte. She lay down in the hammock and pulled him down beside her. "Okay, I'll drop it. What do I care if you turn into an insomniac? All the better for me. I'll just reach over in the middle of the night and know you're always ready for play."

  "Then shall we try the hammock?"

  "Not now. Later." She cuddled closer and put her head on his shoulder. "I
like this little garden. Someday I'd like to have a garden of my own."

  "I'll give you this one."

  "It wouldn't be the same. I think you have to plan and work in a garden to make it your own."

  "Like any endeavor."

  "Right." She chuckled. "Like setting up an angle for a camera shoot. I have a whole garden of photos that I've planted over the— Why are you frowning?"

  "The sun's too bright. I hate bright li—" He broke off and then asked, "What would you plant in your garden?"

  She went still. He had caught himself too quickly and the change of subject had come with equal swiftness.

  Bright light.

  He had said she wasn't stupid, but she had been blind. When she had been imprisoned in Kuwait, glaring light as well as darkness had been used to torture prisoners, to keep them awake, to shred their nerves and weaken their resolve. "How long ... did they do it to you?"

  He didn't try to lie. He knew she wouldn't believe him. "The first six weeks."

  Six weeks bathed in light, not permitted to sleep. "You didn't say anything about it at the news conference."

  "It was no big deal."

  She knew better. It was a very big deal. "You let me have the light on that night at Fatima's. No wonder you didn't sleep."

  "I probably wouldn't have slept anyway. I told you, it was an aftereffect."

  "You don't know. It might have triggered something that caused you not to sleep again. For heaven's sake, you should have told me."

  "You had your own demons. I'm not afraid of the light, it just bothers me."

  "Dammit, you'd just gotten away from those bastards. I could have stood the dark, but no, you had to prove what a big, strong man you are."

  "Stop crying."

  "I'm not crying."

  "Then why are you getting my shirt wet?" His hand gendy stroked the hair at her temple.

  He was comforting her again, blast it. He was the one who needed help and comfort and she was bawling on his chest. She wiped her wet cheeks on die front of his shirt. "Serves you right." She pulled his head down on her breast so that his eyes were shaded by the shadows of the branches overhead, and held him passionately close. "I want to kill them."

  "I'm the one you're killing. I'm about to smodier in your delightful bosom." His lips brushed the cleavage revealed by the shirt. "Though I couldn't imagine a nicer death."