A Lasting Love (12 page)

The alternate solution to his leaving was far from
reasonable to Loren. Thoughts of uprooting her entire life,
everything she had worked for, everyone she knew, the career she
had built, everything that was familiar, were certainly less than
appealing. Worse yet, it was something she had vowed to herself
never to do. She wouldn't break that vow six years ago and couldn't
break it now.

But, suppose . . . just suppose, there was
another solution. Strange thoughts milled around in her mind, but
even they were unsettling. It was not the kind of life she would
ever,
ever
choose. Or was it?

No. She just couldn't.

And yet, was it so different from what she was doing
now? From her past relationship with Reid? Oh, no. She had a
different purpose then. She had hope. And now? Was there no hope
for them? Was this alternative life-style one she could live with?
Possibly, if it were the only way she could have him, the only way
she would ever see him. Occasionally.

Oh, dear God. Am I crazy? What am I thinking?

Loren walked the floor and raked loose strands of
unruly tawny hair back from her face. Agonizing images wracked her
brain as she tried to sort them out and reach an equitable
settlement. At least attain a solution she could live with. And yet
the singular idea kept approaching her from all sides. The only way
to have Reid, on both their terms, was to be his mistress.

Could she live like that? Live with herself? Be
happy? Would she be satisfied to have him whenever he came to
Washington? Was her love that strong? To reserve it just for him?
At his whims? Or at hers? Maybe . . . maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
She would have plenty of time to pursue her career, her own
particular life-style. And still she would have his love, if only
occasionally. Perhaps . . . perhaps it would work. Conceivably she
would have no choice.

Loren trudged into the bathroom and adjusted the
faucet. She dropped her clothes and gazed down at her slim form.
She was proud of her ability to remain slender. But, then she had
always taken good care of her body, almost as if she were saving
herself. For what? Motherhood? Seemed unlikely after the last
disaster. For whom? Reid? Possibly ... in her heart.

And she had done just that. Except with Mark. And
that was usually a disastrous night of intimacy. Loren kept her
secret that Reid was the only man with whom she could achieve
complete fulfillment. She was so concerned, that she had postponed
her marriage to Mark. . . indefinitely. And now she knew that she
would never marry Mark. With a ragged sigh Loren acknowledged that
she would have to settle for being Reid's mistress.

She stepped inside the shower stall, letting the
water rain on her head, her well-shaped shoulders, her full
breasts, the slim hips and straight, firm legs. And her tears
joined the spray that trailed her cheeks and body to wash away down
the impartial drain.

During the next few days Loren vacillated between
jubilance and anguish in anticipation of seeing Reid again. She
couldn't seem to keep her feet on the ground, and she felt
ridiculously like a young girl in love. Wild, giddy,
inebriated.

Then Loren contemplated her bizarre solution to
their love, and wondered if she should tell Reid. It was so unlike
her, even in opposition to what she would recommend for her
clients. And yet it was the idea of a solution—albeit
a bizarre one—that kept her eagerly looking forward to
a
continued relationship with Reid. That and the fact
that
she couldn't help herself.

Whenever she was with Mark, Loren couldn't
resist
comparing Reid's rugged virility with Mark's
suave so
phistication, Reid's sincerity against Mark's
sarcasm,
Reid's sensuous kisses to Mark's perfunctory
efforts.

The man who met her at the door on Sunday was
rak
ishly western. Loren couldn't deny his appearance
was
very anti-Washington, but she delighted in the way
he
looked. Reid was himself—different, special. And
she
loved him, loved the sight of
him
_,
the masculine
fragrance
he emitted, the virility of his touch. All
of her femininity
melted in his presence, and Loren
desired him with deep
aching the moment she saw him.
She longed to throw
herself wantonly against his
rock-hard body.

Looking at
him now, she wasn't
sure she could ever let him leave her
again. But she
held herself in check and reveled in his
splendid
appearance. His finely tailored gray jacket
squared
broadly across his shoulders but tapered narrowly
to
fit his waist. It fell casually open to reveal a luxurious
slate-blue silk shirt, caught at the neck with an elaborately
etched silver Concho western tie. The navy slacks hugged his slim
hips and topped gray lizard boots. The old, scurfy
boots were gone. These were impeccable and gorgeous.
In
fact, his total look was expensive and
marvelous.

"Well, howdy partner," she drawled with a grin.

Wordlessly Reid stepped inside her small
historic town
house, his ebony eyes never leaving
hers. Within another
breathless moment she was in his
arms, inhaling every
thing that was Reid Mecina,
drowning in his flood of
kisses. It felt so good, so
right to be with him, in his arms,
absorbing his
essence. Loren wanted to press him into
every cell,
into her very soul. Whatever the solution to
their
dilemma, she knew she had to have him. Even if it was occasionally,
she wanted him in her arms.

"I've missed you this week, baby," he murmured. "I
can't tell you how good it is to see you. To be with you. You fill
a deep void in my life."

"Somehow you managed very completely for six years
without me," she answered wryly.

"There was always an emptiness without you, and your
sweet love, Loren. I didn't realize just how bare my life was
without you." He sighed, his hand moving possessively over her soft
breasts and up to her face.

She turned her face away. “Honestly Reid, why do you
think you can step back into my life and just pick up that love
again?"

"Oh, baby, I don't. I just—"

"Want me, I know," she finished.

He folded his arms across the expanse of his chest.
"No. That's not so. Not totally. Do you want me to prove it?"

She glanced around at him, curiously amused.
"How?"

"We'll spend the day together... and I won't lay a
hand on you. I won't touch you again until you suggest it."

She laughed aloud at his droll suggestion. "I don't
think you can."

"Of course I can, woman. Don't you think I have any
willpower at all?" He stood defiantly, arms akimbo, legs spread
apart.

Damn, he looked good to her. Loren wondered if she
had the willpower to resist him. "Of course you do, Reid." She
giggled, delighted with his new approach. So, he would try to drive
her crazy? Well, she could play the game too. "We'll see how you
manage today, Mr. Mecina. This is a test."

He crooked an eyebrow. "A test? For me—or for
you?"

"For you, silly."

"And the prize for the winner?"

"Just your own personal satisfaction." Loren propped
her hands on her hips.

“
Not enough.” Reid's hands slipped through her
arms to lock around the back and pull her close. "There's only one
thing that will give me complete satisfaction. You."

"Now, Reid, you promised." She grabbed his hands and
brought them around to the front.

"Well, then, get ready. If I can't have you totally
and completely, we certainly aren't going to hang around here." He
swatted her on the rear as she scurried upstairs to finish
dressing. Giggling like a schoolgirl, Loren realized that she was
as bad as he. She had been prepared for his intense lovemaking and
her own unequivocal reception this afternoon. But Reid had turned
the tables on her. Just what in hell was he trying to prove?

Angel sat on the edge of the bed, watching Loren
fluff her hair and finish her makeup. Maybe out of guilt, Loren
stopped to give her a pat before hurrying out of the room.
Disappointed, Angel curled on the food of the bed and dozed.

Reid was engrossed in the newspaper when she
returned, wearing a navy and white silk sundress. It was one of her
summer favorites. The jacket was slung casually over one
spaghetti-strapped shoulder and her hair was brushed back, tucked
behind one ear with a silver clip.

Reid whistled admiringly. "You look fantastic! Maybe
I'll rescind my promise, gorgeous."

She wagged a finger teasingly. "Oh, no, you don't.
It's too late now. The vow is made. Anyway, I'm all dressed,
makeup, hair, everything."

He stood up, expelling his breath slowly. "You
certainly are. There is only one vow I want to make to you,
mi amor.
..."

But Loren laughingly handed him the key before
preceding him out the door. "Where to, Jeeves?"

"Hmmm? Oh, I don't know. What sounds nice?"

She smiled enthusiastically. "The country. Let's go
out to the country."

He opened the car door.
"A sus órdenes, mi señorita
bonita."

They drove along the beautiful George Washington
Memorial Parkway, stopping first to walk across the bridge to the
tiny island that served to commemorate Theodore Roosevelt. Here was
the privacy they sought on the small, elusive island with its thick
green growth of trees and underbrush. However, the steady stream of
treetop-skimming jets approaching the airport drove them away,
probably along with all the wildlife that was supposed to find
refuge there.

Continuing along the turnpike that followed the
Potomac, they ended up at Great Falls, Virginia. They shared a cold
drink, then walked along the tree-shaded paths. This place, where
the Potomac crashed and rushed among giant boulders, was like a
different river from the one that lapped lazily along the wharfs of
old Alexandria. They talked and teased, enjoying the warm summer
day and each other to the utmost.

Loren found that Reid had not changed so much after
all. He worked hard for what was important to him—his family,
property, and homeland in Arizona. She couldn't fault anyone for
that. She felt the same way.

Reid was impressed with how much change had taken
place in Loren. She had a remarkable amount of drive, her
accomplishments were amazing, and yet, she was still beautiful
woman. Oh, so beautiful. They could have talked forever, but for
the Navajo Code Talkers' reception.

They drove back into town in silence, each
savoring the day and their precious little time together. A large
gathering milled around the formal rose garden. Some of the
Navajos
looked
uncomfortable but others were smiling,
shaking hands,
making an effort to meet everyone there. Obviously it was a typical
Washington reception and a
politician's field
day.

"I recognize the Arizona senators. And there's
a repre
sentative from New Mexico," Loren
whispered.

"Oh, yes," Reid agreed quietly. "Since the
Navajo
reservation lies in both states, they wouldn't
dare miss this
occasion. There's Arizona's governor,
the mayor of Phoe
nix, and the governor of New Mexico."
He pointed out the
public officials until he spied a
friend. "There's Fred Tepa
ca. Fred was a code talker
in Bougainville. Come on,
Loren. I want you to meet
him. Interesting man."

Loren accompanied Reid as he introduced her to
sever
al friends from Arizona. There was a tremendous
sense of
patriotic respect among all who attended.
Realistically
Loren knew that the occasion was merely
symbolic, yet it
was also significant, as attested by
the array of television
cameras gathered near the
podium.

The ceremony was very poignant. There were
speeches and awards. Loren was particularly touched by an elderly
woman who hobbled forward to accept a Silver Star
post
humously for her son's valor.

Glancing about the crowd of somber faces, Loren
noted
tears in the eyes of many. Suddenly the impact
of what
Reid had said about the importance of this
day, at least
for these Native Americans, struck her.
Yes, as he sai
d, this ceremony was delayed too long.
Everyone should know about these heroes of the war.

With a final honor guard twenty-one-gun salute
and
singing of "The Star-Spangled Banner," the
ceremony end
ed. There were a few brief moments of
uneasy silence as everyone wrestled with memories of war and
suffering and losing loved ones. Then the band struck up
some refreshing popular music and the subdued group
began to socialize and line up for punch and finger
sandwiches.

While Reid conversed with local officials about his
work on the water project, Loren strolled around the elegantly
landscaped grounds. She spotted an elderly lady sitting alone
beside a magnificent yellow rosebush. Her brown skin and dark hair
drawn back severely into a bun contrasted with the vivid summer
garden about her. There was a certain sadness in the lonely stare
of the ebony-dark eyes, and Loren was drawn to her. Walking closer,
Loren recognized the woman as the one who had received a posthumous
award for her son.