Change of Heart (5 page)

“Yes,” Gil replied directly. “Cecelia was frantic about you. How did you ever do something as stupid as allowing your coverage to lapse?”

“I have had coverage for over twenty years,” Ricardo replied a little bitterly, “and never used it. I put out a lot of money in December on a horse for Cecelia, and when the Blue Cross bill came in I didn’t have the cash. I did not intend to drop it permanently, but before I could pay it up—this happened.”

Gil remembered the big chestnut in the barn at Hilltop Farm and Cecelia’s comment that he was her new jumper. “I see,” he said noncommittally.

Ricardo was regarding him very gravely, his brown eyes unwavering on Gil’s face. “Under the circumstances, Mr. Archer,” he said soberly, “I must ask you what your intentions are in regard to my daughter.”

It was a question straight out of the nineteenth century, and coming from this man Gil found it not at all strange. His answer was equally old-fashioned. “I would like to marry her, Señor Vargas,” he said formally. “Do I have your permission?”

There was a long silence as two pairs of eyes, dark and light, assessed each other. “Cecelia is not as other girls her age,” Ricardo said finally.

“I realize that. I will take good care of her, I promise you.”

Very, very slowly Ricardo nodded. “Yes. You are a man. Too many
norteamericanos
are boys—and a boy would not do for Cecelia. I think you will make her happy.”

“I will certainly do my best,” Gil said. “I may speak to her, then?”

“Yes,” replied Ricardo Vargas. “You may speak to her.”

Gil smiled a little. “Thank you, Señor Vargas.”

Money was not mentioned between them then or at any time in the future. Both knew that Gil would pay all the hospital bills. But both knew also that if Ricardo had not approved of Gil, he would never have allowed him to address Cecelia. Money was not something that weighed heavily with a man like Ricardo Vargas.

* * * *

In the minds of both Ricardo and Gil, Cecelia’s response was a foregone conclusion. Gil knew she liked him, trusted him, was indebted to him. Ricardo knew the same. Of course Cecelia would say yes.

She didn’t say yes immediately. She was too stunned. “You want to marry
me?”
she asked, incredulity in her rising voice.

“I want to marry you,” he returned gravely, looking down into her upturned face. They were both standing in her kitchen; he had come in with her after driving her home from the hospital.

She put her hand on the back of one of the kitchen chairs for support and said, bewilderedly, “But why? You—why, you could marry anyone you wanted to. Why me? I don’t understand.”

He smiled a little crookedly. “Cecelia,” he said on a breath of laughter, “you are just too good to be true.” And then he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him. With unhurried leisure he bent his head and began to kiss her.

Cecelia had been kissed before—kissed far more often than her father had ever dreamed—but this time the kissing was being done by an expert. It made quite a difference. She swayed against him, and after a minute her arms went up to circle his neck. When the pressure of his mouth on hers increased she parted her lips for him and felt his arms tighten to hold her even closer. It was a shock when he let her go and she stood for a minute in the circle of his arm, blinking up at him out of enormous dark eyes.

He reached a hand up and gently touched her rose-flushed cheek. “That is why I want to marry you,” he said a trifle unsteadily.

“Oh,” breathed Cecelia.

“Well?” he asked, and his voice had regained its normal tone. It held once again the hint of amusement that was so familiar to her now. “What do you say?”

It still didn’t seem possible to her that this was happening. That this man, this godlike being, should be asking to marry
her.
As she still stared at him in incredulous wonder he said, “I have your father’s permission, if that means something.”

“You asked Daddy?” she queried in astonishment.

“Yes.” He looked down into her perfect oval face with its beautifully planed cheekbones, delicate nose, and large luminous eyes. His own eyes began to take on a smoky hue. “This afternoon, when you left us alone,” he added.

“I see.” Her eyes were caught now in his. His lashes were much darker than his hair, she noticed inconsequentially. “I’d like to marry you very much, Gil,” she finally said in a small voice to the daunting creature in front of her.

He smiled. “That makes me very happy, baby. And Jennifer will be happy, too,” he added, because he thought she’d like to hear that.

“I hope so,” said Cecelia a little wistfully.

“How about fixing us some coffee and we can plot the future?” he suggested.

“Okay,” replied Cecelia and obediently moved to the stove.

It was not until quite a while after he had left that Cecelia’s amazement wore off and a little unease began to creep in. Gil, she reflected a little sadly, had never once said he loved her.

Ricardo Vargas left the hospital two weeks after he was operated on and went to a very exclusive convalescent home in Arizona where he was to stay for a month. The morning of his departure Gil and Cecelia were married.

Everything had happened to her so quickly that Cecelia felt events to be quite beyond her control. Gil said he had been neglecting his work shamefully, that he could take a week off for a honeymoon if they were married at the beginning of June, but once they got into the summer he would be tied up. Ricardo seemed to feel that a quick marriage was a good idea as well; he did not like the idea of leaving her alone.

So on a sunny morning in early June they were married. They saw Ricardo safely off on a plane to Arizona and then they themselves boarded a plane for Nassau. A friend of Gil’s was lending them his home on Paradise Island for their honeymoon.

The house was fabulous and fully staffed with servants. It was set on the water with its own private beach, a boat, and a beautiful pool as well. Gil had visited it many times and he undertook to show her around.

Cecelia felt rather as if she were living in a dream. They had dinner in the beautiful glass-enclosed, air-conditioned dining room, served by silent-footed and efficient servants. Cecelia was not aware of what it was she ate. Her mind was on Gil and what was to come afterward, upstairs in their bedroom.

She was afraid. Not for herself—she was not so Victorian as all that. She was afraid that she would disappoint him. It seemed to her, from all the sex manuals she had seen crowding the shelves of bookstores, that to be good at making love was quite a complicated business. If entire books had been written about the procedure, it obviously was far from simple. Gil was a man of the world. She was afraid he was going to expect more from her than he was likely to get.

When they went upstairs together to the bedroom after dinner she tried to tell him something of what she was feeling. It had grown dark outside and he went over to the window to draw the drapes. She stood in the center of the large yellow and green room watching his tall figure silhouetted against the grass-green drapes. He turned to look at her and she said, hesitantly, “Gil ...”

“Yes?” He smiled encouragingly and began to cross the room toward her. She had put on a turquoise sundress for dinner and his eyes were on her bare throat and shoulders. He seemed so tall to her, so gleaming in his blondness.

“I think I ought to explain that I’ve never done this before,” she said in a low voice. She couldn’t meet his eyes and looked instead at his tie. It was a very attractive tie, navy blue with a discreet stripe. It matched the navy blazer he had worn for dinner. The blazer now reposed on a yellow chair, where Gil had tossed it when they entered the room. He had opened the top button of his collar as well and loosened the tie she was regarding with such fascination.

“Is that so?” he asked, and she could hear the laughter in his voice. “I would never have guessed.”

At that she did look up at him. There was laughter in his eyes as well. Her lips curled a little at the corners. “I’m dreadfully ignorant,” she confessed. “I hope you’re not going to be disappointed.”

The laughter abruptly left his eyes and they narrowed. “You couldn’t possibly disappoint me, baby,” he murmured, and putting his hands on her shoulders, he gently drew her closer. Then he bent his head and kissed her.

He had kissed her during the last two weeks, but never again as he had done when he asked her to marry him. And never like this. He held her so tightly that she could feel the whole length of his hard lean body pressed against hers. His mouth moved on hers and she answered his demand, her own lips parting. His hold on her loosened and she could feel one of his hands sliding up the smooth length of her arm to caress her bare shoulder. The feel of his hand was exquisite and she felt herself melting under his touch, her mouth now moving in response to his own. He brushed the strap of her sundress aside and his hand slid under the bodice and touched her breast. Cecelia was swamped with the sensations he aroused.

His mouth moved away from hers and across her cheek. Her hair was swept back into a chignon and he kissed her exposed ear. “Baby,” he whispered, “you don’t need to know a thing. I’ll teach you.”

His hand was still on her breast, moving caressingly, setting fire to all her insides. “Gil,” she whispered raggedly.

His other hand was in her hair, pulling out pins and scattering them all over the floor. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmured, and she could hear the thickness in his voice. “So long. My beautiful Cecelia.” Her hair was down now and his hand moved to the zipper on her dress. He had it down in a minute and slid it off her so that it fell to the floor, leaving her clad only in her panties and half-slip, her long dark hair streaming over her naked shoulders and halfway down her back. She shivered under his gaze and he bent, without touching her, and kissed her again. Cecelia’s lips parted immediately and his tongue traced a delicate circle inside her mouth, as all the while he was unbuttoning his own shirt. When he finished he raised his head and said in a husky voice, “Let’s go to bed.”

By this time Cecelia would have done anything he suggested. “All right,” she whispered and he picked her up and carried her over to the big king-size bed. The maid had already turned the covers back and the sheets felt smooth and cool under her as he laid her down. When he slid her remaining clothes off her, her breath caught in her throat, but not from fear. She stared at him in wonder as he shed his own clothes, and as he came to her on the bed she thought that he was indeed like the god she had thought him: strong and lean and beautiful.

Making love proved to be a far less complicated process than Cecelia had imagined. In fact, nothing had ever come to her more naturally than knowing how to respond to Gil. As he touched and caressed her, as he kissed her all over and whispered love words to her, she lost all sense of her own separate identity. As he took her to where she had never been before and as the wonder of it shook her body with shuddering waves of pleasure, the whole world receded, leaving only this one man. He filled the universe and whatever he wanted from her he could have.

It was a very long time before she opened her eyes again. When finally she did she found him looking down into her face. He looked very grave. She looked back at him, her own eyes soft and very very dark. “Cecelia,” he said, and lightly touched her mouth with his forefinger. There was a note almost of wonder in his voice.

There was only one thing she could say to him now. “I love you.”

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth but his eyes remained grave. “My love,” he said. “I certainly hope so.” At that she smiled at him, radiant, her face framed on the pillow by the spilled mass of her hair. His mouth quirked a little and then he reached down to pull the blankets up over them. The air conditioning was beginning to feel cool on their heated bodies. “Let’s get some sleep,” he said softly. “You must be tired. You’ve had a long day.”

“It was a lovely day, though,” she replied and then, obediently, settled down into her pillow and closed her eyes. He watched her for a moment longer before he turned off the light.

* * * *

She awoke early the following morning and lay perfectly still beside him in the bed, savoring the feel of her own happiness. He was sleeping on his side with his back toward her and the sight of that well-muscled brown back did strange things to her insides. For all his leanness, she thought, he was whipcord strong. The thought struck her that she had met him for the first time only two months ago. Whoever would have dreamed, when she had first looked over to see him standing in the doorway of her arena, that they would end up like this?

Suddenly, his large frame twitched, and she watched the play of muscles as he turned toward her. “What’s so funny?” inquired a deep voice somewhere next to her right ear. She turned her head on the pillow to look up at his face.

“I was just thinking about the first time I met you,” she explained, her lips still curved in a smile.

“Oh? And what did you think of me when you first met me?”

“I thought you were very handsome,” she confessed a little mischievously. “I had seen pictures of you in the paper but the reality was much more impressive.”

He grinned at her. “I’m glad to hear that. And here I was thinking I had to rely on Jennifer to get you to go out with me.”

She looked surprised. “Oh. Do you mean you
wanted
to take me out that first time?”

“Cecelia, you are too innocent and modest to be let out alone,” he said humorously. “It’s a damn good thing you’ve got yourself a husband to keep an eye on you.”

Her brow was furrowed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He regarded her for some seconds in silence. She was so unaware of her own beauty, so undemanding of attention; he had always found it difficult to account for. He said now, curiously, “Didn’t all the boys you knew pursue you for dates?”

“Of course not,” she said promptly. “I don’t mean I was a wallflower,” she added, “but, much as I hate to shatter your highly flattering assumption, neither was I the belle of the ball.”