A Season for Love (27 page)

"I'll bear that in mind!" Ronnie promised gravely, ruining the effect entirely by bursting into a fit of giggles. She couldn't imagine Drake, who went into self-torture for control, horsewhipping anyone—not even a horse.

"Laugh at me, woman, would you?" he challenged sternly, adding a threatening "You will get yours."

Ronnie smiled mischievously and raised a doubting brow. "I guess we had better meet Pieter." His last statement, had she retorted, could have become very leading. They could have explored the potential meanings of his words for hours.

Pieter himself was magnificent in his own way that night. Slender and gaunt, he nevertheless made a handsome picture in his brocade jacket. Pride soared in Ronnie's heart for him, and she deserted an understanding Drake to slip her arm through Pieter's and plant a loving kiss upon his cheek.

His eyes were more alive that night than she had seen them in years. He smiled at her and squeezed her arm, but directed his comment to Drake. "You see, O'Hara, I told you she wasn't entirely unreasonable."

"I'm not quite convinced of that, Von Hurst," Drake replied, the curl of his lips obliterating his attempted frown. "But she has consented to marry me."

"Who needed my consent?" Ronnie charged with an indignant sniff, her chin tilting but her eyes sparkling. "It seems I'm the only one who hasn't known what's been going on. You two have obviously been conniving. I suppose I should consider myself lucky you brought me in on everything tonight!"

Drake met Pieter's eyes over her head. "Maybe we should feed her," he said innocently. "Is she always this cranky when hungry?"

"Hmmm . . ." Pieter replied absently. "Even when she isn't hungry. But dinner might cause an improvement. Let us go. I have a taxi waiting outside."

Dinner was Pieter's choice; it was his birthday, and a very real celebration of life. He had discovered a wonderful French restaurant near D.C. that he swore was "almost tike dining on the Champs-filysees."

He was right. The meal was authentically French, from the champagne to the delicate fruit dessert. The decor was intimate and pleasant, the room dimly lit, and a strolling violinist added just the right touch as he moved unobtrusively through the trellised vines that gave the lush wicker-and-velvet room a hint of the feel of a true terrace.

Drake and Pieter did most of the talking, and as she listened Ronnie marveled that her life could have held two such wonderful men, who both loved her deeply in their own special ways. Such a short time ago she could never have imagined such a scene, her relationship with Pieter turned to a binding friendship, her love for Drake turned to a commitment that would last forever. And Pieter and Drake, her two magnificent men, fast, sure friends.

It was a fairy-tale romance. She had her prince, but there were no evil warlocks. Only a magnanimous and benign king.

"Is that all right with you, Ronnie?"

"Pardon?" she realized guiltily that her mind had drifted from the conversation.

Drake smiled tolerantly. "You accuse us of not involving you," he complained teasingly, "but when we do, you don't pay any attention! Pieter and I were discussing the wedding taking place in three days. Pieter has made all the arrangements. It will be in the little chapel down the street from the hotel."

Ronnie's eyes flitted from Drake's to Pieter's. Pieter was grinning like a very smug Dutch cat. Ronnie felt tears coming to her eyes again, tears she couldn't dare show. Impulsively she jumped to her feet, threw her arms around Pieter's neck, and kissed both his cheeks.

A crimson blush filled his cheeks and he admonished her gruffly through the grin he couldn't force to fade. "Really, Veronica, such behavior is most undignified."

"Oh, I know!" she agreed with wide eyes. "Don't you just love it?"

"Yes," he mumbled into his demitasse cup, "yes, I do."

By the time Drake walked Ronnie back to her room that night, the future she had worried about had been settled. She and Drake would spend a few days in Chicago after the wedding, then fly back to Charleston to arrange for the transport of Pieter's marble sculptures. They were not going to be sold but dispersed to various museums. Von Hurst had taken his place with the masters.

As soon as Drake made the shipping arrangements Ronnie and he would leave for their honeymoon, and Pieter would shortly leave for his new life in Paris.

Henri and Gretel would be going with Pieter. Drake and Ronnie would take the horses and dogs. And Dave would care for the pleasure boats Drake kept on the Great Lakes.

Dreams could come true, Ronnie realized, her head spinning with the details the men conscientiously considered, with all ends tied up nicely.

Ronnie wasn't surprised when Drake followed her into the suite, but she was somewhat startled when he comfortably removed his jacket, vest, and tie and slung them casually over the arm of the love seat before seating himself to remove highly polished shoes.

He caught the consternation in her eyes and smiled with wicked amusement, answering her unvoiced question. "Yes, I am staying the night. This is not Pieter's house, and I can't stand one more minute of propriety. I'm not that much of a gentleman. And besides"—he moved toward her with slow deliberation, his feet soundless on the carpeted floor as he gapped the distance between them—"there is one thing I learned from Pieter that far surpasses any wisdom he gave me pertaining to sculpture." He took her face gently between his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. "Life is a very precious gift, not to be wasted. Love is even more precious. I am a very lucky man. I have them both. I don't intend to lose another second of either."

"Oh, Drake." Ronnie trembled as she circled her arms around his neck.

He smothered her against him, his hands raking the silklike hair down to her spine and beyond, to the two shadowed dimples he knew he would find at its base. "Ronnie," he groaned, the sound a thundering from deep within his chest. "You're crazy if you think I could leave you tonight. I haven't slept nights, dreaming of you the way I left you, your hair splayed across the fur, your provocative, beguiling shape so visible beneath that misty garment. In my dreams your eyes invited me, they were sparkling with liquid, sensuous beseechment. . . ."

She pulled away from him and asked wistfully, "Like they are now? Can the reality live up to the fantasy?"

"Reality," Drake said, pulling her back to his chest, where the beating of his heart combined with hers, "outshines the most fervent imagination in your case, my love." His kisses fell to the eyes that held such enchantment, they covered her face, and grazed the long slender column of her throat. A very familiar heat filled him, one only she could create, one only she could satisfy.

Ronnie felt as if her body melted to his like mercury. She could feel his rising desire, and her own spiraled to meet it. Her hips formed to his tauntingly while she arched to work at the buttons of his shirt. Her face tilted to his; her eyes became those of a cat, gleaming, exotically narrowed, seducing subtly with the hint of wild abandon. "Tell me more about your fantasies," she urged him, pulling his shirt from his waistband and allowing her fingers to provocatively run along the newly exposed flesh.

His satanic smile came into play as he caught her hands deftly and reversed the aggression, finding the zipper of her dress, releasing it, and allowing the fabric to fall to her feet like an ocean wave.

Indeed, he could well imagine she was Venus rising. Breasts of alabaster cream rose proudly over the lace of a teal-blue bra, her deep rose nipples peeking through the lace. He bent to remove the matching slip from her, allowing his hands to glide along her smooth midriff, over her hips, and down the velvet of her shapely legs as the slip too joined the dress on the floor. He heard her soft moan as his hands grasped her hips firmly, and his lips followed the course they had so recently taken. The sound of her pleasure sent his pulses racing to a fiery speed, and an urgent, fundamental, totally masculine, wildly primitive need to hold and conquer the exquisite feminine beauty that was his gripped him with shattering intensity. The dark depths of his passion showed in the taut lines of his face as he rose to meet his Venus, wordlessly sweeping her into his arms, leaving behind the discarded clothing as he swiftly walked her into the next room and lay her upon the bed. His eyes continued to hold hers as he impatiently doffed his clothes.

Ronnie watched him with unabashed longing, the warmth in her body growing as she anticipated the rough touch of the hair upon his chest against her breasts, which tingled and peaked in expectation. A quiver began to ripple through her. The extent of his desire was unmistakable, the sight of his long sinewed legs intoxicating.

His kisses ravaged her breasts as he hovered over her, even as he lifted her to him and sought the snaps to release the bra. Ronnie moaned and shuddered as he moved on to remove her last remaining garment, gossamer panties that slid sensuously down her legs. The heat in her was intensifying, but Drake found the core of her longing and stroked it languorously with knowing fingers that found in return complete reception. His eyes found hers again as he gave pleasure and sweet torment, and with a strangled cry she gripped her fingers in his hair to bring his face to hers. Her tongue traced the line of his mouth, then jutted into the demanding warmth. She felt as if she were going mad with

her own desire, whirling into endless space with a burst of sensation. Her mouth left his to bite lightly into a bronze shoulder, her body undulating to his, speaking a plea of its own as she beseeched him with barely comprehensible whispers to make her his.

"Fantasy, my love, or reality?" he whispered hoarsely.

"A little bit of both," she sighed. "Drake . . ."

He moved from her for a brief moment, one well used. His kisses covered her body moistly, feverishly, seeking all the places his hands had discovered and reawakening them even further into a flame run so rampant, it threatened to consume her. Each of Ronnie's pleasure-filled responses drove Drake to heightened desire, and he lowered himself over her, spreading thighs that wound to his own sinewed ones with the sweetest of welcomes.

"Forever, Ronnie," he groaned, shuddering fiercely with the wonderful release of taking her, becoming one with her in a volatile entry. "All this forever, my love."

Her answer was a moan, inaudible, but heard by him. "Forever." It was forever. Stroking, gliding, sailing into the stars. Drake's passion and desire were such that he was rough, but his aching love guided even that ardor, and he took her with him every step of the way. Their rhythm was mutually combustible, wild as the wind they both adored, as natural and primitive as the inevitable predestiny that had brought them together as man and woman.

The tempo increased, madly, sweetly, aided and abetted by the fact that neither could keep their hands still. Their lips would cling and part, their tongues touch, duel. The end, the beginning of heavenly oblivion, came upon them together as a crescendo of tenderly violent impact that left them both in trembling awe, satiated, saturated with wonder. They did not part but held tight together, waiting in languorous pleasure for their breath to return and the quivering of their limbs to subside.

The satisfaction of their union, tenfold sweet with the admission of a binding love, had exhausted Ronnie. Her eyes began to close in a rest that was overwhelming with the release of all the tensions she had suffered—pain, worry, denial. She had cast them all upon Drake's broad shoulders, and in the wild and chaotic beauty of their union she had found peace.

She blinked, realizing she had dozed off, to find Drake seated Indian-style on the bed, drawing idle patterns around her navel. A very slow smile crept into her lips as she watched him through lazy, half-closed eyes. A smug thrill of feminine satisfaction invaded her; there was something boyish about his pose as he sat vulnerably naked, yet there was nothing boyish about his sinewed physique, taut over his bone structure even as he leaned forward.

He knew intuitively that she had wakened, asking without glancing at her face, "Are you happy, Ronnie?"

She nodded and caught the hand caressing her skin to kiss it. "So happy, and scared. Can this really last?"