Authors: Iris Johansen
Kelly was silent for an instant as she struggled to free herself from the velvet cloud of intimacy that he had created about her. “I’m glad you agree,” she finally managed huskily. “You
certainly know how to raise a girl’s morale, Nick O’Brien.”
“I didn’t mention that curvy little body, which could bring a mummy back to life,” he said softly. “That’s certainly not exceptional either.”
She laughed. “Okay! I surrender. I’m gorgeous, too!”
“Then shall we two gorgeous people go find Father Miguel and be joined in holy wedlock?” Nick asked. “I’m sure he’s waiting anxiously to see if I’m going to make an honest woman of you.”
She tucked her arm in his and said softly, “By all means, let’s not disappoint the padre.”
The first impression she had when she met Father Juan Miguel was that he looked more like Friar Tuck from Robin Hood’s merry band than the old-fashioned, narrow-minded clergyman of O’Brien’s description. In his early sixties, his short, rotund body and kind, laughing dark eyes were warmly appealing. He had only a sparse circle of gray hair bordering his head. His handshake was firm and hearty when O’Brien introduced them, and though the priest could
speak no English, he managed somehow to convey both his pleasure and enthusiasm in performing their nuptials. With him was a middle-aged Mexican couple, who smiled and bobbed their heads in pleasure when the priest introduced them in Spanish. The witnesses, Kelly thought, as they walked to the altar.
Kelly felt strangely remote as she stood at the altar and let the incomprehensible Spanish words flow over her, responding dazedly when Nick urged her and otherwise mentally floating above the simple ritual. The whole scene was incredibly dreamlike, she thought: the austere interior of the chapel with its stark white walls and ancient pews; the golden rays of the setting sun pouring through the narrow windows and forming checked patterns of brilliant light and shadowy darkness on the ornate crimson and gold altar cloth; and the crucifix, beautifully wrought of ivory and bronze.
Nick’s face was as bewilderingly bizarre as the rest of their surroundings. Perhaps it was that hazy golden twilight dimness that caused his expression to appear so set and stern as he answered
the priest with ringing firmness. She was so absorbed in her fascinated appraisal of the lean, strong planes of O’Brien’s face that it startled her when he turned and bent down to gently kiss her lips.
“Is it over?” she whispered, her jade eyes wide and childlike in her pale face. The delicate white lace mantilla floated over her shining curls with a graceful purity that reminded Nick more of a child at her first communion than of a bride.
He shook his head gravely, and his expression still had that puzzling element of sternness. “No,” he said simply. “Most people consider this just the beginning.”
Then, before Kelly could question this puzzling statement, Father Miguel was extending his hand in enthusiastic congratulations while he delivered a long discourse in Spanish that might have included advice, benediction, and general good wishes. She must ask Nick what he had said later, Kelly thought. The couple also smiled and spoke to them in Spanish. After signing papers, Kelly and Nick said goodbye to the
couple and turned to Father Miguel, who gestured for them to follow him.
“Are we leaving now?” Kelly asked, startled. “I’ve got to go back to the cantina and change my clothes and return these to Carmen.”
Nick had his arm firmly at her waist and was propelling her steadily after Father Miguel’s plump, hurrying figure. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “There’ll be plenty of time to do that tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning?” Kelly asked, bewildered. “But aren’t we leaving for Acapulco this evening?”
Nick shook his head. “We’ll leave Matzalea a little before noon tomorrow.” His lips curved in a smile. “Do you think anyone with a code as rigid as Father Miguel’s would sanction a newlywed couple starting out on their wedding night?”
“Then where are we going?” Kelly asked. They had left the chapel and were hurrying down the dusty main street of the village, trying to keep pace with the padre.
“Father Miguel said he had a wedding present for us,” Nick answered.
“We can’t take a present from him,” Kelly protested. “He’s been far too generous already.”
“To refuse his gift would be an insult,” Nick said. “We’ll accept it graciously, and I’ll arrange to send something of equal value as a thank-you present, once we get back to San Francisco.”
“I guess that would be best,” Kelly agreed a trifle breathlessly, as she took a skip to keep up. “But where is he taking us?”
“I think we’re there,” Nick said, as Father Miguel paused at the stoop of a small, shabby adobe house. He fumbled in his habit, drew out an old-fashioned brass key, unlocked the door, and threw it open before turning to Nick and handing him the key. The priest had a beaming smile on his cherubic face. He proceeded to issue another long-winded discourse, and then he made the sign of the cross and turned and walked quickly away in the direction of the chapel.
More confused than ever, Kelly stared after him. She was barely aware of the gentle pressure of Nick’s arm as he urged her into the adobe house and shut the door. It was almost completely
dark outside now, and it was so dim inside the adobe hut that very little of the interior was discernible.
Nick left her side, strode a few feet away to what possibly could have been a table, and fumbled for a moment. Then there was a flare illuminating the darkness as he lit the white candle in its cheap black wrought-iron holder and replaced it on the table.
“What is this all about, Nick?” Kelly asked, frowning uncertainly. “Where are we?”
“We are now standing in the middle of Father Miguel’s wedding present,” Nick said wryly. “He arranged to have this house put at our disposal by one of his flock for our wedding night. Welcome to honeymoon hotel, Goldilocks!”
“Y
OU’VE GOT TO
be kidding!” Kelly said in disbelief, shaking her head as if to clear it. Recalling the little ceremony at the door when Father Miguel handed Nick the key and blessed them, she had a sinking sensation that he wasn’t. “Couldn’t you talk him out of it?”
Nick shook his head. “We discussed that, remember? This wedding night is the padre’s gift to us.” He smiled. “I suppose I’d better scratch the idea of sending the padre a similar gift from San Francisco.”
“Very funny,” Kelly said caustically. “But that doesn’t solve the problem of us having to spend
the night in this blasted nuptial chamber. What are we going to do?”
Nick stretched, then strolled slowly over to where she stood by the door. His expression was tender as he gazed down at her troubled face. “I think you know the answer to that, Kelly,” he said quietly. “We’re going to make full use of Father Miguel’s little gift. I’m going to take you to bed and love you all through the night. If you’ll be honest with yourself, you’ll admit that it’s what we both want.”
She inhaled sharply and experienced an odd sensation of profound relief that was dizzyingly bewildering. Why should she feel relief when she’d been fighting this sensual takeover since she had first met Nick O’Brien?
She pulled her own gaze away from Nick’s tenderly seductive one. “Physically, perhaps,” she said nervously, moistening her lips. “But we both agree that we want nothing to do with an emotional commitment, and how can we keep the two from overlapping?”
Her eyes fastened on the pulse in his throat. “It would be crazy to begin an affair. It would be the
ultimate no-win situation, and you warned me about that, remember?”
She could feel her own heart pounding as if it were trying to leap out of her body. He was not even touching her, but she could feel that honeycomb of breathless intimacy enfold them. Every nerve and muscle in her body was keyed up and waiting for him. She could hear her own voice arguing and protesting, but it was like those moments at the church when everything was curiously dreamlike. And all the time there was the waiting. Waiting for the words to be said. Waiting for the ritual of protest and rejection to be over. Waiting for the first chords of the music to start and the dance to begin.
“But then we’ve already established that you’re addicted to that very thing,” Nick said thickly. “And God knows I want you so much that I don’t give a damn about possible fallout from our coming together tonight. Look at me, sweetheart.”
Her eyes lifted slowly to meet his, and she knew that the waiting was almost over. That odd feeling of inevitable “rightness” was with her
again, and it brought with it a curious serenity. In the flickering candlelight, his face looked both powerful and sensual, but there was the same gravity and subtle tension in his expression that she had noticed at the church.
“I don’t want to seduce you,” he said hoarsely, the words coming out jerkily. “Though Lord knows I may give up and do it anyway if you don’t give in soon. I want you to come to me as freely and joyously as I come to you. Let me pleasure you, love.”
Those last, beautifully old-fashioned words had such a graceful Edwardian dignity, Kelly thought. She could feel the last vestige of resistance flow out of her.
She smiled tremulously. “I don’t know much about this,” she said faintly. “I’ve read all the books, of course, but you could probably have written one on the subject. I may disappoint you.”
Nick exhaled almost explosively, his body’s tenseness relaxing infinitesimally. “No chance of that. Judging by the few samples I’ve had, your potential is out of sight, Goldilocks.” A warm
smile illuminated his face. “Lord, I’m glad, Kelly!”
“So am I,” she said simply. It was true. Now that the decision was made, the excitement and anticipation she was experiencing were mixed with a wild, singing happiness. There were no doubts and no regrets, only serene contentment. She wanted to give and receive all the gifts of physical pleasure that he had promised her. She wouldn’t worry about the pain of possible parting tomorrow. Tonight she was going to let Nick lead her into the realm of passion that before him she had never even wanted to experience.
He reached out and pushed the white lace mantilla from her hair so that it fell about her shoulders. “I’m almost afraid to touch you,” he said ruefully. “I want you so much that I’m tempted to reach out and grab, and you’re a virgin, damn it!” He suddenly stepped back and drew a deep breath. “I’ve got to get out of here.” He shifted her gently aside and opened the door.
“Where are you going?” Kelly cried, her eyes widening with shock and distress.
He looked over his shoulder, his expression
grim. “We were married tonight. I may not know a hell of a lot about virgins, but I do know that brides are supposed to be allowed a time of preparation while the husband takes the traditional smoke. I intend to make sure that you get everything that you’re entitled to.” He smiled wryly. “It’ll also give me a chance to cool off.”
“But you don’t smoke!” Kelly wailed. She was feeling nervous and shy enough already without Nick leaving her to her own devices. “I don’t want you to go.”
“So I’ll take a walk,” he said stubbornly. “We’re going to do this right, Kelly. Fifteen minutes.” The door closed behind him.
Kelly stared at the closed door in exasperation. Who would have dreamed that suave, sophisticated Nick O’Brien would pull something as Victorian as this, for heaven’s sake? Now what was she supposed to do until he deigned to return after giving her “time”? She glanced restlessly about the room. It was really rather sweet. It evidently combined both dining and sleeping facilities. Besides the oak table there were four wooden chairs, the backs hand-carved
decoratively in floral designs. Perhaps the owner of the cottage was a carpenter, she mused. The other finely carved furniture in the room seemed to bear out that premise. There was a chest by the white chenille-covered double bed that was really a work of art, and the bedposts were also carved with the same flowering petal and leaves design that was on the chairs. That carpenter had been really enamored of flowers, she thought. There was even a crudely painted picture of a lovely poinsettia painted on dried bark canvas on the wall over the bed.
She wandered over to take a better look at it. It was then that she noticed the white nightgown laying on the bed. She hadn’t seen it before because it was the same white as the chenille spread. It had obviously been laid out for her use, and she felt her throat tighten a little at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. A white nightgown for the bride. What a touching thing to do. She wondered if the woman who had been their witness was also their generous hostess.
It took only a moment to slip out of Carmen’s clothes and into the nightgown. The thin cotton
gauze was simple, with a boat neck and no sleeves at all. It fell from her shoulders in a loose, graceful line to the floor. It was too large for her, but it didn’t take away from the allure. The gauze was really shockingly thin. Kelly frowned uncertainly as she noticed that the pink of her nipples showed clearly through the material. She wondered how much more of her was revealed in that flickering candlelight. Well, she refused to worry about it. This was her wedding night, wasn’t it? She carefully folded Carmen’s clothes, then padded barefoot across the rough wooden floor to place them neatly on a chair by the table. She returned to sit on the side of the bed, her hands folded before her, to wait for Nick.
It would probably be at least another five minutes before he came back, she thought crossly. Who had ever conceived the idiotic idea that a bride needed time to steel herself for an experience that she was utterly wild for? She was surprised that Nick would pay any attention to such an outmoded custom; he was probably the most eccentric, unconventional man she had ever met, she thought. So why had he insisted on
this very proper and conventional ritual? He had wanted her as much as she had wanted him in that moment when he had walked out the door. The physical signs had been blatantly obvious, yet he had subdued them and walked away. Was it a sort of quixotic gift that he was giving her to show that he respected and cared about her feelings? There was no other explanation. A surge of happiness flooded through her at the realization. Oh, God, what a beautifully stupid thing to do! Would she ever know all the intricate facets behind that brilliant facade?