Warrior's Embrace (3 page)

“I didn’t expect to see you this evening.” He
smiled as if he knew secrets. Lord, did he know hers?

“Even novelists have to eat.”

”Virginia
...” Jane said, then
cleared her throat with a sound that was half lady, half pit bull.
It was the signal she’d used with her best friend for years to let
Virginia know that she was out of bounds, out of order, and
threatening to be out of grace.

Virginia felt relief. And then hard on its
heels, regret. For a moment she’d fancied herself all alone in the
restaurant with Bolton.

She made the introductions smoothly then
watched as he turned his charm toward her best friend. He didn’t
flirt but merely used that natural easy grace that probably came
from living wild and free in the mountains of Arizona.

She knew about him, had made it a point of
knowing about him. Not just about his work, which was superb, but
about his history, his personal life. She’d worked too hard
building her career and recreating her life to trust just anybody
with something as important as an interview.

All the things she’d said to him at the
stable aside, she knew Bolton Gray Wolf was not only brilliant, but
honest and trustworthy. She also knew that he was intensely
independent, working freelance, taking only the jobs that
interested him. He preferred the company of horses and dogs to
women, which probably accounted for the fact that he was still
single. What amazed Virginia was that some cute young thing hadn’t
snatched him up long ago.

Maybe she ought to write every single female
in the western half of the United States and thank them for leaving
Bolton Gray Wolf to her. Or perhaps she ought to berate them for
leaving so much temptation in her path.

He was still standing beside the table
talking to Jane, but every now and then he sent Virginia one of
those riveting looks that made her feel naked and exposed. She made
a mental note: he was dangerous.

Suddenly his full attention was on her.
Bending over, he caught her hand.

“I’ll expect to hear from you, Virginia...
soon.”

His touch, his look rendered her speechless.
By the time she’d recovered, he had gone, vanished around the
corner to one of the tables out of sight.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” she muttered,
knowing that she lied.

Leaning across the table, her face flushed
and her eyes bright, Jane didn’t even hear her. Which was just as
well. Best to keep her feelings about Bolton to herself.

“Is he not the most gorgeous pulsating hunk
of male pulchritude in the entire universe if not the whole solar
system, or are they one and the same?” Jane fanned herself with her
napkin. “Whew, I’m having a hot flash.”

“You don’t get hot flashes from viewing
handsome men, and furthermore, it’s a good thing you’re a CPA
instead of a writer. ‘Pulsating hunk of male pulchritude,’ is gross
overstatement.”

“What’s got you so riled all of a sudden?”
Jane squinted her eyes, then tossed her napkin to the center of the
table and chortled with glee. “Well, well, well. Somebody of the
male persuasion has finally gotten under your skin. Hoorah! Old
Roger, move over.”

“Bolton Gray Wolf is not under my skin. I
barely know the man, for one thing.”

“It only takes a moment,” Jane said, quoting
from a song they had both sung in the chorus of the community
theater’s spring production of
Hello, Dolly.

“Plagiarism doesn’t become you.”

“He’s awfully young, though.” Jane picked up
her menu and studied her friend over the top.

“Thirty-five, to be precise,” Virginia said,
and Jane arched her eyebrows. “You don’t think I’d let him come
near me without investigating him first, do you?”

“He’s exactly what you need.”

“Not
my needs
again.”

Virginia threw up her hands, and Jane
grinned.

“I feel reckless. I’m having fried catfish,
fried hush puppies, and corn bread made with lots of grease.” Jane
shoved her menu aside. “I guess you’re having broiled, as
usual.”

“Yes.” Virginia’s mind was not on food; it
was on the man just around the corner, a man she couldn’t even
see.

“That’s just what I mean. You need to take a
chance, Virginia. Look, you’ve paid your dues. You don’t have to be
the independent woman showing everybody you can make it without
Roger or his puny child support check. You’ve made it, kid, big
time.”

Jane waited until the waitress had taken
their orders before she finished her diatribe.

“Everybody knows that women reach their
sexual peak later than men. Take that gorgeous young hunk to bed,
then send him on his merry way. Both of you will still be grinning
come Christmas.”

The trouble was, if she ever took him to bed,
she wouldn’t want to let him go. Virginia understood that on some
deep primeval level. But it was not information that she cared to
share, even with her nearest and dearest friend.

Virginia shoved the appetizer plate toward
her friend.

“Eat your dill pickles and shut up.”

“You wouldn’t like me if I did. You’d be
bored.”

Jane was right, of course. Virginia thrived
on challenge, and she adored going against convention. But wouldn’t
it be lovely sometime to sit back and let somebody else fight the
battles, to lie on Egyptian cotton sheets and let somebody kiss
away her worries and soothe away her aches?

Not just somebody. Bolton Gray Wolf.

o0o

He couldn’t get her off his mind, not even
when he saw her empty table. As he walked out of the restaurant,
Bolton studied every nook and cranny, looked twice at every woman
with honey-blond hair, hoping for a glimpse of Virginia.

She stayed with him on the drive back to his
motel and all the while he surfed through the channels. He was not
one to watch television, but, cooped up in his room, there was
nothing else to do. Each image on the screen brought to mind some
small detail of Virginia. The female reporter on the ten o’clock
news had lips nearly as ripe and rosy as hers. The first guest on
the late show had her long, slender legs; the next, her throaty
chuckle.

He closed his eyes and saw Virginia galloping
across the fields on her white Arabian, saw the autumn leaves and
dust swirling around her so that she approached him like someone in
a dream, half hidden by mists.

When the late show was over, he began to
undress for bed. The ring box fell out of his pocket. Guilty, he
picked it up. He had promised to call Janice when he got to
Mississippi.

He glanced at the clock, hoping it was too
late. Almost midnight. He could tell himself that she’d already be
asleep, that there was no need to wake her, but he’d never been one
to lie, not even to himself. Janice would be waiting up for him,
anxious, maybe even crying.

He picked up the phone, and she answered on
the first ring.

“Bolton. Where in the world are you?”

“Northeast Mississippi, home of Elvis Presley
and Virginia Haven.”

“That woman you’ve gone to interview.”

“Yes, that woman.”

He could hear her soft sniffle, then the
forced cheer in her voice.

“I don’t want you to think I’ve been hanging
around the phone waiting, Bolton. I know you’re perfectly capable
of taking care of yourself. I’m not the least bit worried.”

“That’s great, Janice.”

“Bolton...” Again that small sniffle. “I
don’t have anything to worry about, do I?”

He fingered the ring box he’d laid on the
bedside table.

“Not a thing, Janice.”

Except a woman called Virginia Haven, a woman
who had galloped her white Arabian through the golden leaves of
autumn and straight into his heart.

The first thing Virginia did when she woke up
was reach for the phone. She’d call Bolton to do the interview and
get it over with. Then he could go back to Apache land and she
could go back to her safe and trusty computer.

As she reached for the receiver she caught
sight of her face in the three-way mirror over her dressing table.
Without a speck of makeup she looked every bit of forty-eight, if
not more. She’d bathe and repair the damage and
then
she’d
call Bolton.

She’d been in one of her reckless moods when
she designed her bathroom. It had floor-to-ceiling windows that
faced a private courtyard and skylights that she could open in
summertime to let the morning sun pour down on banks of ferns.
Virginia could never get enough light in her house. As if all that
natural light weren’t enough, one full wall of mirrors was
surrounded by incandescent bulbs.

It was a bathroom made for lovers, with space
for tumbling naked on the floor together, a tub big enough for
frolic, and plenty of mirrors to view the fun.

As she leaned over the tub and turned on the
water, Virginia thought again of Bolton.

“When I come to your bed, you won’t be a
conquest. You will be an equal.” Her mind replayed Bolton’s soft,
seductive promise. Not
if,
but
when.

She closed her eyes and imagined being in his
bed, in his arms. Passion long repressed came boiling to the
surface. With her gift for fantasy, she imagined a Bolton so real
she reached out and caressed his fine, hard body with her left
hand. With her other she brought herself to a trembling climax.

The sound of cascading water drew her back to
reality. Her bath was threatening to overflow and flood her floor.
Sunlight, relentless and unmerciful, poured through the windows and
illuminated a middle-aged woman with cellulite and a belly that
would never be flat again.

She’d always been one of those people who
blithely said that age was all in the mind, but today she felt the
mantle of her years. Today she wished for a windowless bathroom.
Today she wished for dark clouds over the sun and shades drawn over
all the windows.

What could Bolton possibly see in a woman her
age?

Virginia climbed quickly into the tub so she
could shut out the view of all the damage done by years of wear and
tear, by an appendectomy and a hysterectomy, by giving birth and
giving too much of herself to her career, by anxiety about the past
and worry over the future.

What kind of fool was she, anyhow? Dreaming
of a man thirteen years her junior?

Angry, she sloshed water haphazardly over
herself, then stalked to her bedroom, dripping all over the floor.
She found Bolton’s card on the antique table beside her bed.

“Be there,” she said to herself as she
dialed.

“Bolton Gray Wolf.”

She was held momentarily speechless by the
sound of his voice.

“Oh, shoot,” she whispered.

“I beg your pardon? Virginia?”

“I dropped the phone.”

“I see.”

There was laughter in his voice. Was he
laughing at her?

“Be here in one hour sharp,” she snapped.
“Let’s get this interview over with.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Good.”

There was laughter in his voice again. Ready?
Lord, was she ever
ready
... A hot flush came over her as
she remembered what she’d done in the bathroom. She hung up without
saying good-bye, then sat heavily on the edge of her bed and stared
at the telephone.

“Mother?” Candace poked her head around the
bedroom door. “Aren’t you coming down to breakfast? I’m leaving in
half an hour to go back to school.”

“Sorry, honey. I forgot.”

How could she forget something as important
to Candace as the Sigma Chi fraternity dance? Virginia threw on her
pink terry cloth robe and raked a brush through her hair.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart.” She put her
arm around her daughter’s waist and together they went down the
stairs to the breakfast room. “You’re going to knock Walford’s eyes
out.”

“Wexford.”

“Wexford. Beaufort, is it?”

“Yeah. From Shreveport. Every woman on campus
is going to be pea-green with envy.” Candace cast a disapproving
eye on Virginia’s plate.

“Mother, is that all you’re eating?”

“Fruit and cereal. It’s a perfect
breakfast.”

“Four little sections of grapefruit and half
a cup of cereal? Yeah. Perfect, if you’re a bird.”

“When you get to be my age, honey, you have
to count fat grams.”

Candace’s laughter was affectionate. “How
many more years do you think I have to eat banana splits with
mountains of whipped cream and popcorn dripping with real
butter?”

“Plenty. Make the most of them, honey.”

“I plan to.” Candace stood up and kissed
Virginia on the cheek. “I’ve had a good example to follow.”

Virginia escorted her daughter to the car,
then stood in the driveway waving as the sky-blue Thunderbird
convertible disappeared down the winding driveway.

As she watched, another car came up the
driveway, a red Mustang with Bolton Gray Wolf at the wheel. How
appropriate that even the car he rented was named after a horse,
she thought.

“I’m early,” he said. He looked fresh and
delicious standing in the morning sunlight with his cameras slung
over his shoulders, his face just shaved, and his hair untamed. She
could imagine how he had looked standing in front of the small
bathroom mirror in his motel room, trying to subdue that mane of
wild black hair.

She wished she’d been there to help him. The
thought made her smile.

Bolton aimed, and the shutter clicked.

“I look awful.” Virginia held a hand over her
face.

“Don’t.” Gently Bolton moved her hand, then
tipped her face upward. Her breath caught in her throat. Something
magical bloomed between them, and for a moment she thought he was
going to kiss her. She
wanted
him to kiss her.

“You’re soft and beautiful in the morning
sun.” He stepped backward, his camera clicking and whirring. “Pink
becomes you.”