Girl in the Mirror (16 page)

“Yes,” he said, looking into her eyes with a sense of heightened wonder. Could she know that was how he felt when he saw her that day in his nursery? A new thought struck him. Perhaps this was all predestined. His father calling him home. His working at the nursery. All to bring him here, at this point in time, to meet her.

“Yes,” he repeated. “Absolutely I believe that.”

She smiled brightly then and moved her hand to cover his heart. His larger one covered hers.

“I hoped you’d say that, Michael,” she replied. “Please. I want you to stay.”

S
he led him through the quiet house, dark except for the kitchen light.

“Melanie?” he asked, looking toward the light.

“She’s not here.”

He didn’t reply, but squeezed her hand.

It seemed a long way to her bedroom. For her, a journey of a lifetime. Twenty-two years. Her heart raced on ahead, eager to be there, in his arms, skin to skin. Her mind, however, was back out on the porch, closing the door, locking him out. No, her heart called back, singing. Come, hurry! It’s your turn, it’s your time. He’s the one.

He
was
the one, she knew it in her heart. Other men didn’t matter. Those who offered furtive glances—all so annoying and so forgettable. Only Michael mattered. Everything about him captivated her, but it was the details that evoked this newfound sensuality in herself. She loved the way he listened to her, leaning back in his chair, relaxed, attentive, even amused. She loved the way his eyes lit up under those heavy brows at something she said, the way he cocked his head, lifted his shoulders in a shrug, the way his beautiful hands stroked the wineglass. Yes, especially that. She was driven near mad staring at his middle finger tracing a watery path across the condensation on his water goblet.

That was when she knew she wanted him. The way a woman wants a man at night, in a romantic restaurant, over drinks and glowing candles and intimate conversation. Of course, she’d been terrified of the possibility that they would be together tonight, that her long-endured celibacy would come to an end. Still, the wanting in her core was a burning thing—the fingers stroking the glass hinted at what could be, his pouting mouth, pursed in thought as he considered, then asked, question after question…. God, she felt obsessed with desire for one kiss from that mouth.

And when he did kiss her, her fears melted like ice. An Antarctic glacier slipping into the ocean. No more fears, she told herself as she approached her room. No worries, no regrets.

Her room was dark when they entered. Her hand reached for the light switch, but Michael’s hand covered hers and drew it away to his lips. Her heart fluttered as he kissed each fingertip.

“Your hands are like ice,” he said, rubbing them under his breath. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head.

“Wait,” he said, and walked to the windows, pulling back the drapes. A pale stream of moonlight flooded the room. The whiteness of his shirt was opaque in the shaft of gold light. When he turned, she could see the whiteness of his eyes as well, standing out against his bare, tanned skin. They shone with intent. He was a study of contrasts: dark and light; tender yet strong. She, standing a short distance away, felt she was a study of shadows and secrets. He would make it all right, she thought, thinking of the lies she’d told at dinner. She would tell him the truth soon.

The hum of a zipper sounded in the silence, startling her. Unbidden, the image of Lou Kopp flashed before her.
“Let’s you and I have a little party.”
She shuddered and turned away.

Michael immediately reached out for her.

She balked and stifled a protest.

“Charlotte?” he called to her, his voice gentle and questioning. He held out his arms again and waited. He was magnificent in his nakedness, all lean and broad shouldered, his skin the warm color of amber, his thick wavy hair falling to his shoulders. “Charlotte, you’re shivering. Come here,
querida.
”

She looked into his face, so full of gentleness. The specter of Lou Kopp vanished. She walked into his arms and he wrapped them around her.

“Michael,” she began, her lips against the soft black hairs of his chest. Beneath her palm, she felt his heart beating. “You should know…”

“Know what, my sweet,” he replied, nuzzling her forehead, her cheeks, her neck.

She sighed and tilted her head back as his kisses sent tingling shivers down her spine. “I’ve never done this before.”

His kisses stopped abruptly as he froze, then slowly he righted himself, and holding her shoulders with his hands, he bent at the knees to stare into her eyes. “What are you saying?” he asked in seriousness. “You’ve never…”

“No. I’ve never made love. I’m a virgin.”

He stared at her, blinking once. It didn’t seem possible. He played the words over again in his mind. Then slowly, a small smile tilted the corners of his mouth, changing to a wide grin of surprise. “My darling, I never thought. Are you sure?”

She giggled. “Quite sure.”

“No,” he replied, chuckling a little. “Are you sure you want to? Make love. Tonight. With me?”

She brought her hands up to cup his face like blinders so that he would stare only into her eyes. “Oh, yes. Quite sure,” she repeated. “It’s just that I’m not sure what to do. How to make you happy. And—” she giggled again “—I’m a little nervous. I’m ready, willing, hopefully able. But very nervous.”

He pressed her head against his chest again and lay his lips to the top of her head, then just held her, squeezing her tight for a second. Then again. Charlotte felt cherished, treasured. Unafraid.

“We shall go very slowly” was all he said, but his hands trembled as he ran his fingers down her hair and traced her jaw. Moving steadily down, he unbuttoned the seemingly countless tiny buttons on her dress, released her new lacy bra and slid away her silk panties, first one leg, then the other. It was like a choreographed ballroom dance. His hands never left her body, never broke the tender connection between them, turning her left, then right, as he undressed her, then, holding her hand, led her to the double bed.

“Don’t be shy,” he said when she ducked her head.

“Don’t you know how beautiful you are?” She had the voluptuous body of a temptress and the innocence of a girl. How could such a thing be possible? he wondered. How could he be so lucky?

He was as good as his word. She sensed he was holding back, going very slowly for her sake. He laid her down on the sheets, then arched over her, his dark hair falling forward. She closed her eyes, waiting, her arms by her side.

She truly was inexperienced, he thought. She positively trembled beneath him. He wanted to be gentle for her. To be patient and hold back his desire. He lowered his head. His kisses alighted here and there across her face, her shoulders, her breasts.

She was inexperienced, true, but even she knew that he was being exceedingly gentle. Unlike Lou…No, she shook her head, clearing it. She wouldn’t think of that night. “Michael,” she whispered, wanting his name on her lips.

He answered her with his mouth, searing his name on her lips. She willed herself to relax beneath him as his fingers explored her body, encircled her breasts, then slid down her taut belly to skim her inner thighs.

“Relax, my love,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you. Shhh…we’ll take our time.”

His fingers found a spot so tender that she arched against him in surprise. He caressed her there in small, gentle circles, swallowing her sighs. She felt as though liquid fire flowed through her veins to where a small nut of desire was beginning to crack in the heat. She began to move her hips involuntarily, sharply focused on the spiraling within her.

“Michael,” she called again, this time in urgency.

He moaned, vying for control. He’d felt her sudden tightening, heard her sudden intake of breath, and he was blinded by the fire that burned upward to his brain. It ripped away his rationale, making him feel like a raging animal, wanting all of her, now. With a groan he arched above her, creating some space between them. Baring his teeth against her shoulder, he closed his eyes tight in concentration and told himself,
Slow down….
Holding his breath, he ordered himself,
For her.

His body responded and he felt his control return in ebbs, amazed that it had been so difficult. He’d never felt so excited, or unsure of his skills. He wanted this to be perfect for her. This joining was so much more than another sexual encounter. It was an honor. So many women he’d had, but she was his first virgin. He’d heard the stories. There would be pain, and blood. It was said she would remember him always.

At that another instinct flared, slamming his brain with a strange new arrogance. He stared down at her face, so pale and lovely, her eyes trusting, yet fearful.
Yes,
she would remember him, he vowed, gritting his teeth. Forever. She would be
his.
He lowered his mouth to hers again, tasting the sweetness he already was addicted to.
His
sweetness, he thought.

Her skin and flesh were like pink flower petals, moist with dew. When she arched again her fragrance engulfed him. His vision blurred and his blood surged.

“Tell me you want me,” he almost growled.

Charlotte flickered open her eyes to see him staring down with a ferocity that excited her.

“You must tell me,” he said in a strained voice.

“I want you,” she cried, quickly reaching up and holding him fast around the neck.

He saw the fear in her eyes again, but it was time.
“Querida,”
he murmured, gentling her with kisses, unaware that he was speaking Spanish. Then when she relaxed again, he began moving within her. Advancing and retreating, slowly at first, giving her time. He thrilled at her high-pitched gasps and her soft sighs.

Charlotte knew her virginity was over, and she hugged Michael fiercely in a triumphant welcoming. This was right, she told herself. I give myself to him willingly. I will never have any regrets.

The sensation of him inside of her was so deliciously foreign. There was nothing in her sheltered experience to compare it to. When Michael thrust, it felt as though he’d pushed straight up to her heart, piercing it through. Then higher still, to her mind, obliterating all thought. Everything except for her senses. She could smell the pungent scent of his skin, taste the saltiness of his shoulder, feel the scrape of his jaw against her cheek. He stoked the fire crackling inside of her relentlessly, making that little hard coal glow hotter and hotter. Charlotte felt bits of her past peeling away like old veneer under the flame. The ugly girl, the shy girl, the insecure girl, they were all curling up and turning to ash.

Make it burn hotter she begged in her mind. Make it burn away those memories. Make me new. Make me whole. Make me yours.

Michael felt her fire spread throughout his own body like a blazing torch, cleansing him of all memory of those who came before her. Scorched clean, he felt like a virgin himself. Surely, lovemaking had never felt so pure.

Later, he felt her smile move beneath his lips. For a while, neither of them spoke. Their breathing gradually returned to normal, and when he could lift his arm, he gently stroked her damp hair away from her face as he looked down at her.

“Michael,” she began in a voice so quiet he had to move his head to hear her. “I feel—” She paused, lifting a limp arm to smooth away the straggles of hair from his eyes. “I feel like I’ve been baptized.”

“A baptism by fire.” He chuckled and shifted on the mattress, lifting her to his shoulder. He took the wrinkled sheet and wrapped it over them. In the warm, moist cocoon of their lovemaking, he cradled her. “Sleep now, Charlotte,” he crooned in her ear. “Tomorrow will be brand-new.”

Charlotte awoke with the sun pouring in from her window directly on her face. Every muscle and bone in her body ached, but it was a delicious kind of ache. Her skin felt smoother, her lips fuller, she stretched taller. Yawning, she fluttered her eyelids open, feeling a little disoriented, as if she’d wakened in some strange room.

Suddenly she recalled everything and her eyes opened wide. “Michael…”

But when she looked for him beside her, he was gone. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp. He couldn’t have left her. She’d heard how some men didn’t like to wake up with a woman after casual sex. God, no, she thought, running her hand through her tousled hair. He couldn’t think what they’d shared was commonplace. The pillow beside her still bore his imprint, the sheets still held his scent. But they were cold, like her heart.

“Michael?” she called out. No answer.

She rose from the bed, spotting the red stains on her sheets. The red color flooded her cheeks. Grabbing her robe to cover her nakedness, she hurried to the kitchen, to the back patio, out to the yard. His car was gone. He was gone.

She felt a sudden chill and wrapped her arms around herself. What a fool she was, she chided herself, kicking a pebble in the driveway. Last night in his arms she’d felt beautiful. Truly loved and cherished. What was the matter with her? Why couldn’t anyone love her? She knew the answer. It was because she was nothing but an empty shell. When he touched her deep inside he must have sensed that. Otherwise, how could he have just left? Not even left her a note to say goodbye?

Wiping her eyes, she turned and headed back inside. Just as she reached her front door she heard a crunching of gravel at the drive and two short beeps from a horn.

Roaring up the driveway was Michael’s red pickup truck, looking more like a Parisian peddler’s flower cart. The sides were overflowing with the large pink blossoms of a magnolia tree, dozens of flowering shrubs, and bursting at the seams with annuals and perennials of reds, blues, yellows and pinks. Behind him were two more trucks filled with tools, soil and men in green T-shirts emblazoned with the name Mondragon.