Warrior's Embrace (7 page)

She was
his,
only his, and he would
never let her go. Never.

He understood her needs, knew exactly how to
please her, how to please himself.

The door to her bath was open, and the
floor-length mirrors reflected their joining, the way they fit
together, the way they moved, the way they loved.

He couldn’t get enough of her, nor she of
him. In their lovemaking there was no thought of past or future.
Only here. Only now. Only the certainty that the kind of magic they
had came once in a lifetime, and the desperate need to hang on and
never let go.

Sweat slicked their backs, their chests,
their thighs. It dampened her hair and dripped off his face onto
hers. And still they loved.

“I’ve never had anyone like you, Bolton.
Never.”

And she knew she never would again. When he
gave his cry of completion, she crushed him to her and hid her face
against his chest.

“I don’t want you to go, Bolton,” she
whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He raised himself
on elbows, and with gentle fingers wiped her tears away. “Don’t
cry. I’m not going, Virginia.”

“Candace is coming... In all the years I’ve
been alone, I’ve never had a man in my bedroom while she’s in the
house.”

“I understand. I’ll pack my things and move
back to the motel while she’s here.”

“You can stay in the guest house.”

“It’ll give me a chance to get my notes
together for that article.” His smile was like quicksilver.

She curled her fingers in his hair, and held
him there, smiling up at him.

“Bolton... I want you to meet Candace’s
friends.”

“As what? The photojournalist who is doing a
piece about you or as your lover?”

“I’ll think about that when the time
comes.”

o0o

The time came far sooner than Virginia
imagined.

Candace and Marge Rutland arrived late in the
afternoon, and Bolton stayed in the guest house, giving Virginia
and the girls time alone. He and Virginia had a carefully planned
strategy.

“You mean you’re consulting me?” he’d said,
teasing her. “That’s a first.”

“I’m afraid of the punishment you mete out
when I don’t.”

“Afraid?” His hand was on the back of her
neck, big and warm and solid. “Come here.” He kissed her softly on
the lips. “Afraid, Virginia?”

“Hungry is a better word, Bolton. I’m hungry
for everything you give me.”

Standing on tiptoe in the kitchen, she kissed
him until both of them felt the hot stirring of passion. Virginia
disentangled herself and made two tall glasses of lemonade.

“To cool us off. Otherwise Candace will find
us on the kitchen floor, and then I’ll have a different sort of
explaining to do.”

Over lemonade they’d planned for Bolton to
join them for dinner, then afterward they would all go dancing.

It sounded like a safe plan, one that would
not invite questions. Neither of them had counted on Marge’s
reaction to Bolton.

The minute he walked in the door the
vivacious redhead was smitten. Virginia could see it in the
dazzling smile she turned on him, the body language, the not so
subtle jockeying to sit beside him at the dinner table.

She wasn’t surprised. Any woman in her right
mind would be dazzled by Bolton Gray Wolf. What surprised Virginia
were her own feelings. She was jealous, pure and simple, and of a
young woman she’d always treated like a second daughter.

“I’ve never met a
real
photojournalism,” Marge said, batting her big brown eyes at Bolton.
“Candace tells me you’ve done layouts in all the major magazines
and that you’ve traveled all over the
world.
That must be
so exciting!”

Any residual maternal feelings she’d had for
Marge flew out the window.

“My, my, that sounds so
wonderful,”
Marge said, leaning toward Bolton, all but drooling.

Virginia actually wanted to slap her face.
What in the world was happening to her?

“I’ve always wanted to travel around the
world,” Marge added.

Virginia had to bite her tongue to keep from
saying, “Why don’t you start right now?” Instead she picked up a
bowl of potatoes and thrust them at Marge.

“I know how you love these, Marge. Why don’t
you have a second helping?”

“I’m watching my figure.” Marge preened in a
way that assured her Bolton was watching it too. “But thank you,
anyway,
Mrs. Haven.”

Mrs. Haven,
indeed. The way Marge
said it made Virginia feel a hundred years old. Next thing she knew
Marge would be offering to lead her to a rocking chair and cover
her with a shawl.

“Well,” she said, hoping her false smile
didn’t crack and fall off her face, “why don’t we all get our
sweaters and pile into the car? I don’t know about you girls, but
I’m eager to dance the light fantastic.”

“Dance the light fantastic?” Marge wrinkled
her forehead. “Is that an expression from the twenties or
something?”

Virginia was so mad, she was beyond words.
Candace came to her rescue.

“That’s the way writers talk, Marge. You
ought to live here. Sometimes I think I’m in the middle of a grade
B movie... or outer space.” Looking at Virginia, Candace wrinkled
her nose in the way she did when she was puzzled. “Mother, could I
borrow one of your sweaters? I didn’t pack anything except that
scruffy old red cotton thing I wear around the barn.”

“Sure, baby. In the closet. Help
yourself.”

“Could you help me? I could spend the next
two hours searching your closet and never find anything.”

Virginia was almost panicky at the thought of
leaving Marge and her raging hormones alone with Bolton. As if he’d
read Virginia’s mind, he smiled reassuringly.

“We’ll be fine, Virginia. If Marge doesn’t
mind boring stories, I think I have enough travel tales to keep her
entertained.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Virginia
said.

“Not at all. But hurry back. I don’t have
your knack for being the most exciting person in a room.”

“Mother, what in the world is going on?”
Candace said as soon as they were upstairs with the bedroom door
closed.

Virginia had always been open with her
daughter. She debated briefly about revealing her affair, then
decided that what she did in the privacy of her own bedroom was
none of her daughter’s business. Besides, in a few days Bolton
would be gone, and that would be the end of it.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Nothing? That’s not how you looked at the
dinner table.”

“How did I look at the dinner table?”

“Like you’d received a rotten review or had
one of those
creative differences
with your editor. Are
you sure nothing is wrong?”

“I’m sure.” Virginia felt as if she’d
betrayed the two people she loved most—Bolton and Candace. She
quickly turned her back and rummaged through her closet until she
could pull herself together. “How about this blue one? I think it
looks good with your eyes.”

“Fine. I really don’t care what kind of
sweater I wear. Anything looks all right with jeans.” She shrugged
into her mother’s sweater. “Marge is bowled over by the
journalist.”

“Bolton?” Virginia tried for nonchalant and
failed miserably.

“Who else? He’s the only journalist here.”
Candace laughed. “Wouldn’t that be great? My very best friend
falling in love with somebody we introduced her to?”

“Don’t you think he’s a little too... mature
for her?”

“She likes older men. Besides, he can’t be
more than thirty.”

“Thirty-five.” Virginia smoothed the covers
where she’d lain with him, then walked to her dressing table and
started fiddling with her hair. She was so nervous, she dropped the
brush.

“Mother, you’re a basket case tonight. Do you
have another book idea running around in your head or
something?”

“Or something. Hey, are we going to stay up
here talking all night, or are we going to the Bullpen?”

“Why don’t you lie down and rest awhile. You
look kind of tired to me.”

“Stop treating me as if I need a cane and
shawl.”

“You don’t have to be so snappish. Look, if
you’re worried about our guest, we’ll show him a good time.
Especially Marge.”

Virginia reached into her closet and grabbed
the first sweater she put her hands on. “That’s what I’m afraid
of,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

As she walked to the door she saw herself in
the mirror, a woman who still looked good in jeans but whose
flushed cheeks and too-bright eyes betrayed her anger. She was
going to have to do better than that. And she would, she promised
herself. As soon as they got to the dance club.

The Bullpen was a barn that had been
converted into a dance hall specializing in western dancing. It was
a favorite gathering spot for the college crowd, and a large group
of Candace’s friends was there. She and Marge were caught up in a
line dance, while Bolton and Virginia sat at the table nursing two
lukewarm soft drinks.

“You’re a good dancer,” Bolton said.
Underneath the table, he found Virginia’s leg and caressed her
inner thigh through the denim.

“How could you tell? We’ve only had one dance
together and that was practically at opposite ends of the
room.”

Bolton lifted one eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Virginia
said.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Ahh, Virginia.“ He took both her hands in
his. “Don’t you know I want to dance every dance with you? Don’t
you know I want to get out on that floor and hold you close and let
the whole world know you’re mine?”

Suddenly she was too choked up to speak. She
clung to his hand, begging him without words to lead her through
this horrible dilemma.

“I never wanted to pretend this evening,” he
added. “I only agreed because I want to make things easy for
you.”

“This is not easy,” she whispered.

“No, it’s not.”

The line dance ended, and as the dancers
gathered around the bar to order cold drinks, the band segued into
a haunting country-western ballad.

“Come, Virginia. Let’s be bold and dance the
way we were meant to dance.”

He led her onto the floor, and underneath the
spinning silver lights he pulled her close. Sighing, she put her
head on his shoulder.

“This is more like it,” he said.

His breath stirred her hair, and his voice
fell like music on her ears. Content, Virginia forgot everything
except the man who held her in his arms. They danced as if they
were made for each other, their steps in perfect rhythm, their
bodies in perfect harmony.

He slid one hand underneath her hair and
gently massaged her neck. She closed her eyes.

“Hmmm. Nice. I needed that.”

“What else do you need, Virginia?”

“What a wicked question for such a public
place.”

“I’m a wicked man.” His hands were insistent,
his touch sensual. “Tell me, Virginia, what else do you need?”

“Something that only you can give me,
Bolton.”

“I like the sound of that. I’ll slip away and
climb in your window later tonight.”

“No. Not in the house with the girls...” The
thought of a night without him was unbearable. “I’ll come to
you.”

He spoke to her then in the tongue of his
people, and the words mesmerized her. Even after he had finished,
the silence was so beautiful, she was reluctant to break it.

“That was incredibly lovely,” she whispered.
“Interpret, please.”

“When the moon bends down and touches Mother
Earth, come softly to me, and we will lie in paths of silver, our
bodies gilded vessels of love,” he said.

“Apache poetry. My heart hurts with the
beauty of it. Who is the author?”

“Me.”

“You? Is it published?”

“No. Then it would belong to the world. Now
it belongs to me, and I can give it as I choose.”

“I’m so glad you chose me.”

“Not only chose you, but wrote it for
you.”

“When?”

“This evening while I was banished to the
guest cottage.”

She smiled. “I thought you were working on
that article.”

“That too.”

“You’re a remarkable man, Bolton Gray
Wolf.”

“And you’re a remarkable woman.”

They were so entranced with each other that
neither noticed when the band stopped playing.

“I’m in love with you, Virginia.”

“Let’s not talk about that tonight,
Bolton.”

“All right. But the time will come when we
have to talk.”

“Bolton... the music has stopped.”

“Not for me.” He grinned.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re blushing.” He kissed her flushed
cheeks. “On you it looks like roses.”

Bolton led her back to the table where
Candace and Marge were waiting. Virginia didn’t turn away from
their stares.

“That’s a great band,” she said, trying to
look casual.

Her daughter glared at their joined hands and
Virginia’s flushed face. Marge took an avid interest in her
cola.

“The band took a break five minutes ago,”
Candace said.

“We didn’t notice,” Virginia said.

“Obviously.” Candace grabbed for her drink
and overturned it. Lukewarm cola spilled into her lap. She stared
at Virginia as if it were her fault, and then dashed for the
bathroom.

“Candace... wait.” Virginia turned helplessly
toward Bolton.

“Go after her,” he said.

“How could you?” Candace stormed out as soon
as Virginia walked into the bathroom.

“I did nothing to you, Candace.”

“Nothing! You call pawing all over Bolton
Gray Wolf in public nothing.”

“I wasn’t pawing; I was dancing.”

“Spare me.” Candace backed up against the
sink, wadding wet paper towels in her hands.