Authors: Ann Logan
But why had he changed his name? Was he embarrassed because it sounded Jewish? But Wulf had said he was Catholic. If he was that young man, he probably had a perfectly good explanation. Maybe his past as a golf pro complicated his current job as an oil executive, although Mercy couldn’t think why that would be.
At that moment, Wulf turned to her with a wide grin. Her breath stopped, and she gulped, her knees weak. She let out her breath slowly. Talk about temptation.
“
Liebling
, I sank every putt with one stroke,” he said, dropping his putter on the ground and coming over to her. “Are you proud of me?” He pulled her into his arms giving her a big hug, then leaned down and nuzzled her neck.
Mercy quickly lost all coherent thought. Her world spiraled down to liquid, hot sensations. A kiss like this could start forest fires.
When he grasped her buttocks, pulling her up on her toes to press against his hardness, she swallowed as the ache inside of her spread. The rigid feel of his hardness nudged that growing throb to blossom forth even more. He might be clumsy at flirting, but his instincts were right on. She tried to bite back the small moan of pleasure and delight but failed. A tiny whimper escaped as she gave up, surrendering to him. He moved his lips over hers, lining her lips with his tongue. Her mouth dropped open in a gasp as a surge of overheated desire hit her broadside.
Yes, yes, yes!
Wulf’s body yelled as he gripped her tighter. For a moment, he considered the ramifications of taking her right here on the putting green, the lush grass providing a downy bed. As far away as they were from the house and barns, no one would ever see them. He bit down his lusty instincts with a vengeance. Never before had he felt so impulsive, so inclined to let the devil take the consequences. He damn sure didn’t need to be feeling that way now. It scared the hell out of him that he felt so desperate to mark her as his, to brand her with the fiery lick of his passion before she slipped soundlessly away from him.
What a turnabout of fate. His former life haunted him with the visions of all the women he’d been intimate with. Now all he wanted was Mercy, frumpy clothes, crooked glasses, awkwardness and all. He’d never before encountered a woman like her. Her compassion and caring made him feel like a villain.
For years, he’d used women like tranquilizers. Mercy damn sure didn’t tranquilize him. She affected him like a red-hot amphetamine, and she didn’t even know it. Her eager, enthusiastic responses, so honest and so real bespoke her innocence. That very thought caused a surge that threatened to stop the flow of blood to his brain. His tongue thrust into her mouth, in blatant imitation of his desire for her. God! He wanted her so much he hurt.
Wulf forced himself to loosen his taut grip. Making small circles on her buttocks, he slowly let her back down to the ground, searching her face. He found nothing but openness and purity. What a grand, cosmic joke. To find the one female in the world he could love and live with forever, and to know that once she knew how he’d used and deceived her, she’d never want to see him again. He hugged her warm, generous body close, rocking her gently.
At least she wouldn’t have to know anything for a while. Wulf had time yet to build on their love and closeness. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, loving the way she filled his arms, the way she tasted like honey, the way the subtle fragrance of her hair reminded him of a meadow in spring.
Deception wasn’t exactly a lie, was it? Yes, it was. He could lie to her, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He pulled away to study her face and was struck anew by the serenity and trust reflected there. Oh, yeah. He was a real son-of-a-bitch.
“Wulf, have you made those reservations for Germany yet?” Mercy asked the next day after Red and Dorie had departed for their morning golf game.
“
Ja
.”
“Good, because I’ve decided to go.”
He picked her up and swung her around in a circle. I’m going to lose her, he thought with despair, holding her tight.
“Of course,” she said breathlessly, when he finally set her down, “I insist on separate rooms, and we’ll have to book an inexpensive hotel so I can afford it, but…”
He glared at her, offended and guilty at the same time. “I pay
everything
. We stay at the best hotel in Berlin.
Ja
, separate rooms, but, I pay.”
“But I don’t think—”
“I pay,” he repeated more forcefully.
“Okay, if you feel that way,” she agreed, laughing. “You sound just like my father, so macho. Maybe European and Mexican men have something in common.” She took a deep breath as if relieved. “We’ll have a great time, and won’t Hazel be surprised? She’s always been after me to travel like this. I can’t wait to call her tonight and tell her.”
“
Ja
, she will be surprised.”
* * *
That evening Mercy came in from their usual stroll reeling from the hot, shivery feelings of Wulf’s steamy kisses. Her body glowed with energy though he’d seemed oddly tense. Maybe it was the pressure of working on the deal with Red and planning their itinerary at the same time. She shrugged, finally placing the call to Hazel after she took her shower.
“So, what do you think, Hazel?” Mercy asked breathlessly. “Am I crazy or what?”
Hazel gave a throaty laugh. “I don’t know, darling. It does sound awfully sudden. But then, he’s dashingly good-looking, isn’t he?”
“You noticed that, did you?” Mercy asked, amused.
“Of course, I did, you ninny. I’m not dead yet.”
“Hazel! Tell me what you think of him, you never said.”
“What do you want, an iron-clad guarantee or something? Just look at me and my four husbands!”
“Oh, Hazel,” Mercy said, her laughter bubbling over. “I guess I just never expected to be engaged someday, much less married.”
“Are you joking? Remember the genes you have to pass on. Your mother’s brains, your father’s looks.” Hazel paused. “I suppose you want me to say good luck, don’t you? Well, good luck. I mean it.”
“I feel so funny about this. It’s just not like me at all.”
“Well, you
will
have separate rooms,” Hazel interjected. “Although why you would want something like separate rooms in this day and age positively astounds me. I certainly wouldn’t want a separate room from someone like him. Are you afraid you might actually enjoy yourself?”
“Hazel!”
“However, if Dorie Ryder approves of him,” she continued, undaunted by Mercy’s screech, “then he can’t be all bad.”
“Goodbye, Hazel.” Mercy laughed. “Love you.”
“Ta-ta, darling. Love you, too.”
* * *
During the last days, when Red and Wulf weren’t closeted in the office, the four spent their time horseback riding, skeet shooting, fishing, and, of course, golfing. Mercy discovered that while Wulf was an excellent shot with a rifle, she could barely hit the broad side of a barn. He was an adequate equestrian, but she could ride rings around him. The funniest thing of all, she discovered, was that he hated fishing. He refused to bait his own hook, insisting that women were supposed to do those things. The many summers from age seven to seventeen Mercy spent at Heart of the Hills camp stood her in good stead.
She kept meaning to ask him about the Joseph Steinberg thing, but every time she started to bring the subject up, he waylaid her with one of his mind-numbing smiles or kisses.
The Ryders gave an old-fashioned barn dance on the last night, inviting the ranch hands and their families. The enormous bounty of barbequed meat, salads, breads, beans, pickles, onions, jalapenos, and fried okra spilled lavishly over the long tables. Children of all sizes sneaked goodies from the dessert table when their parents weren’t looking.
The Ryders’ son, Ben, was as good-looking and as big a flirt as his father.
She also met Ellie, Red and Dorie’s oldest daughter, and her husband, who managed the ranch. Seeing Ellie’s husband had eyes for no one but her, Mercy wondered if she would have that sort of relationship with Wulf. He did look jealous of Ben’s attention to her during their one obligatory dance.
She noticed, however, the way the other women eyed Wulf. Her green eyes must have turned a whole shade greener. How would she ever manage to act like her mother—a woman so sure of herself and her husband’s love that other women didn’t bother her?
Wulf swung her easily through the country and western dances. “This is just like polka. I dance the polka all my life.” When did he have time to dance with all that studying and work? But her doubts faded when he caught her in his gaze, scattering such thoughts to the wind.
They danced almost every dance until the last at the stroke of midnight when the catering people stepped in and began the clean up. Mercy’s heart raced as they stood in the middle of the dance floor at the end of the evening, gazing into each other’s eyes. It had been a perfect night, a night of enchantment.
When they reached the hallway of their respective rooms, Wulf turned her chin up for their customary kiss. Her dark hair shimmered in the dim light of the hallway and her face looked so open and honest. Underneath the prickly, no-nonsense appearance she cultivated so carefully, she was all hot-blooded female. It was enough to make him insane, the need to feel her bare curves, touch her center, and make her explode for him.
Their kiss, when he finally broke it off, left him totally unfocused and heavy with hunger for her. He brought his head low, touching her forehead with his, his breathing heavy and ragged with suppressed need. His hands shook as the hopelessness of his situation rose to choke him.
He braced her with his hands. “I love you, Mercy.”
She nodded, her hand caressing his cheek, loving the feel of his angular face. He was many different textures—hard and lean, sharp and solid. She loved them all. “I know,” she said simply, “I love you, too.” She opened her door and whispered, “Good night.”
She slowly got dressed for bed, letting her hands linger on her skin as she remembered the touch of Wulf’s face beneath her fingertips. If the time came… No, when the time came, could she respond the way he expected her to? According to her therapist, frigidity was a natural reaction to the trauma Mercy had suffered. But with Wulf, she felt anything but frigid. In fact, the emotions and sensations she felt drove her half crazy. But she knew one thing—her life had taken on new meaning when Wulf was around. He made her feel precious and loved. She wouldn’t give up that head-in-the-clouds feeling, even if she had to fight herself for him.
They left for Dallas the next day after Red signed the partnership agreement for the joint venture in Ecuador, and arrived back at the parking lot of Hazel’s building just after lunch. Wulf gave Mercy a long lingering kiss, ignoring the smiling looks of people returning from their lunches. She slowly pulled away from his embrace, loving the intense, heated expression on his face.
“Tomorrow we leave for Germany,” Wulf said. “You can be ready by five? We leave at eight, but we must be there by six for international flights, so, I must pick you up at five, okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll be ready.” For the first time in a long time, she felt breathless with excitement instead of panic. “You have my address and phone number. Oh, I wish I could go up and see Hazel with you, but I don’t know how I’m going to do all the things I have to do.” She broke off, giggling helplessly.
“Do not worry. Just be ready when I come.”
Wulf stood watching her as she drove off, longing to call her back, wishing he could change the inevitable. Part of his heart went with her, leaving a great, gaping wound inside. Hopes and dreams shattered before his eyes. His life would be nothing after she knew the truth about him. He headed up to Hazel’s office like a man going to his hanging.
“We leave tomorrow,” Wulf said, sitting on the hard wingback chair in her office, wishing it were more uncomfortable.
“This is wonderful, even better than I’d hoped,” Hazel said, her face glowing with excitement.
He stared at her, furious and bitter, but at himself, not at her. He’d agreed to this, and she’d kept her part of the bargain—the deal with Ryder in Ecuador. Now it was his turn to produce. For the first time he wondered just why he needed Jacob’s approval and acceptance so damned much.
Wulf threw himself out of the chair and stalked to the window. Just one more step. Once he accomplished that, Mercy would probably never speak to him again, much less marry him.
He turned to Hazel. “Well, your plans are working. In fact, everything is working so well that old British spy, Hartring, could’ve been your father.”
“She didn’t recognize you as Joseph Steinberg?” Hazel frowned.
She was a hard one, he thought, not at all like her sister, his mother, Juliette.
“I didn’t think she’d recognize you. After all, you hardly look anything like you did back then. Who’d remember that far back, anyway?”
“I do,” Wulf glared at her. “That was when my father found out that Juliette lied about me, that I was adopted.”
“It’s not fair to take your anger out on Juliette. She did her best. Can you really blame her if she wanted you so badly, she’d have done anything to have a child, even lie.”
“Maybe, but I’ll never forget how I felt when I found out.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” she murmured.
* * *
Mercy watched with fascination as Dallas/Ft. Worth Airport disappeared from the window of the Boeing 757. They were on their way to Germany to meet Wulf’s family, and they were flying first class. Everything was wonderful. Sometimes she’d have an inkling of doubt about her actions, but then she’d turn to Wulf and her heart would leap. How could she have any doubts about him? Smart, handsome, loving, attentive—the list went on and on.
It was time for her to spread her wings and fly! She’d used her education as a cocoon, but going to Germany signaled her coming out of that cocoon.