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Zack escorted her upstairs after the Mitchells retired to their own apartment over the garage. He opened the door of his bedroom and stood aside for her to enter. To her surprise he didn’t follow her in. Instead he said, “I’ll be back shortly,” and turned away to go back down the stairs.
The room was masculine, the furniture massive. Camille was pleased to see a large fireplace in one wall with a cheerful fire burning in the grate. It must be connected to the same chimney as the fireplace in the parlor, she surmised, remembering the placement of the rooms. There was the pervading scent of Zack’s cologne in the air despite the fragrant flowers that had been delivered by the wedding caterer and arranged attractively around the room.
The king size bed dominated one wall. Rather than having a standard headboard, the bed was flanked by book shelves. Between the loaded and somewhat cluttered shelves were hung stunning graphics, each framed in a narrow brass frame. The bedspread, which was already turned down, was an austere stripe in shades of brown, beige, and blue. Zack had good taste.
Crossing to the closet and opening it, she saw that all of her clothes were hanging with Zack’s. Several cowboy hats were standing side by side on the shelves of the closet. On another shelf, boots and shoes were arranged in rows. All the clothes were hung in groups—dress slacks, dress shirts, sport coats, suit coats, jeans, and so on. No one can accuse Zack of being sloppy, she mused.
She had found her lingerie arranged neatly in drawers after pulling out several full of socks, handkerchiefs, and masculine underwear.
She went through the door leading into the bathroom and saw that it was large and modern and masculine in decor, having brown and beige striped towels hanging on the brass racks. Dark blue was the accent color in the rug, tiles, and other appointments in the room. She recognized several pieces of Zack’s gold jewelry in a glass dish near the marble basin. A tortoise shell comb, a brush, several bottles of cologne and after-shave lotion were all poignant reminders that the room belonged to Zack.
She found her own toiletries on the other side of the dressing table and soon had the long, deep, chocolate brown tub filled with warm, bubbly water. She took a leisurely bath, hoping that the warm, caressing water would dispel some of her anxiety over the immediate future.
She noticed the gift-wrapped box on the bed as she came out of the bathroom after brushing her hair and cleaning her teeth. The negligee was nestled in crackling tissue paper along with a loving note from her mother.
Now she stood before the mirror, the sheer, silky green fabric swirling around her as she tried to tie the bows that held the gown on either shoulder. It hung loose and open except for another pair of satin ribbons that tied the front and back panels together at the waist. She was dismayed at her reflection. The negligee was so chaste from the front and back, but alarmingly alluring from the sides, and the fabric was much more sheer than she had first thought. Should she put it back in the box and choose another nightgown, one more tailored? No, her mother would surely ask her if she had liked it, and she hated to pile other lies on top of the lie she was living. Besides, why was she so nervous? She had no idea what Zack was going to do. Would he expect her to share this bed with him tonight, or would he move her into the room on the other side of the bathroom?
Before she could speculate any further, she heard the door open and she whirled around to see Zack framed in the jamb. The firelight picked up the blond streaks in his hair and gave his skin a golden glow. He looked exactly the way he had in Utah. She moaned softly at the thought, but it came out sounding more like a whimper. They stood for several moments looking at each other across the space of the room, then Zack asked softly, “Are you finished in the bathroom?”
She couldn’t answer around the nervous lump in her throat, so she merely nodded. He crossed to the closet and took off his sport coat and hung it up neatly. His belt came off next, and he hung it on a metal rack on the inside of the door. He leaned down and pulled a boot jack from the closet floor, then, placing his heels against it one at a time, tugged off his boots. These he placed on the top shelf and returned the boot jack to its accustomed position. Every movement was unhurried, meticulous, and practiced. Camille watched warily as he went to a bureau and took something out of a drawer before going into the bathroom and closing the door.
She listened to the water splashing, the opening and closing of drawers, the rustle of clothing, and wondered what she was going to say when Zack came back into the bedroom. This marriage was a travesty, a mockery. They had both been forced into it. Neither wanted it. For though she loved Zack with all her heart and soul, she knew that he didn’t love her, and she wasn’t going to submit to his lovemaking when love wasn’t the motivating force. Sex should be a personal and intimate commitment between two people who loved each other. What had happened in Utah had been a mistake she had regretted ever since. She refused to fall into the trap again. She had disdained her physical weakness for two years now, and she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life acting out a farce.
She would reason with Zack that they could stay married—without being intimate—until Rayburn was well and could take the disappointment of them separating. She was certain that Zack would go along with her plan. After all, he would be
eager to get back to Erica, wouldn’t he? The dress shop owner’s assumption that Zack’s new wife was Erica Hazelett must mean that there had been rumors of a pending marriage between them. She would reiterate these facts when he came to her.
But what if he had other ideas? Suppose he forced his connubial rights on her? What if he ravished her? No, not Zack. That was not his style. He was a reasonable man, and she would play to his pragmatic nature. They could continue being good friends, companions making the best of a bad situation, and nothing more.
She felt much better after having decided what course of action she would take. She crossed the room and stood facing the fireplace, not knowing that her figure was silhouetted against its flames. That was the first thing Zack saw as he came out of the bathroom and switched off the light behind him.
Camille knew that he was in the room with her, and all of her recent resolves vanished into vapor. They were replaced by trembling anticipation as she heard him come up behind her.
What was wrong with her? Why didn’t she turn around and face him and have the big showdown she had plotted so carefully? Instead, every muscle of her body had turned to water as she caught the scent of his soap and cologne along with the male muskiness that he exuded.
“I like you in that color, Camille. It complements your unusual complexion.” Did she imagine that feather-light kiss on her bare shoulder? “You should only stand in sunlight or firelight because they burnish your hair with beautiful highlights.” He gathered her thick, curly hair in a gentle fist, lifted it off her neck, and pressed a kiss into her nape. She sighed in spite of herself, against her will, and swayed against him, the solid wall of his chest supporting her back. He clasped her waist with both hands and stirred the soft fabric of the nightgown against her skin as his face nuzzled her hair, her neck, behind her ears.
“Camille, Camille,” he breathed as he moved one hand to her abdomen and drew her against him so she could feel the strength of his desire. He cupped one breast in his warm hand and moaned huskily in her ear as he explored its soft curve.
He turned her gently to face him, and she was startled to see that his chest was bare. He was wearing pajama bottoms tied carelessly below his navel. The hair that spread like a fan on the upper part of his chest tapered to a silky golden line that disappeared into the waistband of the pajamas. His mother’s cross, suspended from the gold chain, lay on the crisp curls. His masculine appeal was heart-stopping.
She met his eyes and read the desire that fired them. Desire, nothing else. Surely not love. But she was powerless to obey her instinctive common sense and push away from him. Even as she opened her mouth to speak what she knew should be said, he closed his lips over it and sealed her words inside. His mouth was delicious, tasting of the toothpaste he had just used, and she drank of its nectar. His tongue met hers and moved against her lips, her teeth, and searched her mouth in a tantalizing quest.
“I’ve waited so long to have you again, Camille. Don’t make me wait any longer,” he pleaded as he buried his face in the hollow of her throat. She felt his hands working with the ribbons on her shoulders. The gown fell to her feet, forming a pool of silk on the carpet. He cupped her face with both his hands and gazed into the amber lights of her eyes. His eyes devoured her body, his hands following, touching everywhere his eyes roamed.
Her mind screamed no, but her body was beyond the limits of restraint. She was quivering with desire for him, for the fulfillment his body promised hers. Every nerve cell was singing, harmonizing with his, building to a crescendo of emotion. Not this way! Not without his love, her conscience told her, but even as it did, unwillingly, her arms went of their own accord and locked behind his head.
He clutched her to him. She met his fiery kisses with an internal flame of her own. Her breasts were flattened against the hardness of his chest, the soft golden down that covered it teasing her nipples to peaks of desire. When Zack’s stroking fingers failed to assuage them, he used his mouth. His tongue eagerly traced the pattern of their arousal. But there was no appeasement. They cried out with the rest of her body for more… more.
He raised his head and groaned into her hair, “Oh, Camille, I hurt. Heal me.”
She kicked away the forsaken nightgown as he lifted her and carried her to the bed, depositing her gently on the pillows before stepping out of the pajamas that hugged his loins.
His body covered hers. His gentle hands and seeking lips brought her to a fevered pitch of longing. She welcomed his weight, was thrilled by the contrasts of their bodies.
It all came back to her. All that she had tried to forget, forced herself to negate as a dream, a fantasy, came flooding back now in the glory of Zack’s body fusing with hers. It was a homecoming, a recognition of fulfillment, of belonging, a meeting of kindred spirits. This recognition had frightened a younger, more innocent girl two years ago, and she had run from it. This time there was no running away. This time Camille surrendered to it. Now she grasped it, embraced it. Now, now! even as their bodies exploded with the intense heat of passion and melted together in absolute gratification.
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