Claiming The Prize (17 page)

Satisfied, she closed her eyes and
soaked until the water began to chill.
She wrapped herself in a
large towel and headed to the bedroom, wondering suddenly what she
would wear.
Upon entering, the closet to her left stood open,
revealing her wardrobe.
Smiling, Grace silently thanked the
kindness and foresight of Aunt Visnja and Ilija in unpacking her
things for her.

She settled at the dressing table and
surprise overtook her at seeing her own things about her.
She had
not noticed them last night in her anxious state, nor had she
noticed the small square box on one of the raised sides of the
vanity.
Opening it, two smooth, silver disks, edged with a narrow,
knotted design, lay on the velvety bottom.
On each, her initials, a
G and E, sat on either side of the larger Z in the center.
Removing
them from the box, Grace Ellen Zadrovec put them into her tiny
earlobes.
Admiring the handsome gift in her mirror, she saw Drago's
reflection as he came up behind her.
Fresh from the shower, he was
clad in only a towel as she was.

“
Do they please you?”
he
asked, reaching to remove the single clasp holding her hair and
watching it spill around her.

“
They're beautiful,” she
beamed, reaching to push a dark lock aside to expose one shining
disk.
“Thank you, Drago.”

“
It is a selfish gesture,
Grace.
I want everyone to know that you share my name.”

His hands ran over and through her
hair, massaging her scalp and neck.
A delicious shiver traveled
under his broad hand's path, and she leaned back into his
solidness.
Drago continued the slow circular motions, watching her
in the mirror, feeling the rise and fall of her breaths.

Why he had been blessed with Grace, he
could not fathom.
In his profession, finding women was not a
problem.
He had encountered more than his share of women willing to
share his bed.
In every city, young, outwardly beautiful women
clamored for his attention – for any fighter's attention.
But it
all rang empty to him once he realized he was a commodity to be
caught.

He had learned that the hard way after
losing a fight in Japan.
The girl he thought loved him, that he
cared for enough to have at his side, never even came to see him
after the fight.
He had stepped wrong and torn the ligaments in his
ankle, leaving him unable to defend his opponent's onslaught of
punishing strikes and kicks, and had been knocked out.
Instead, she
had gone and partied the night away with the victor.

He had watched the same happen to many
other young fighters since.
It had changed him.
He had sworn to
remain single until he found a woman worth loving, and upon meeting
Grace, he had known she was different.
Her quiet, gentle manner had
drawn him to her initially, and after spending time with her, he
discovered an inner beauty that captured his heart.
That she loved
him in return humbled him.

Grace reached for the hand that had
stilled on her and pulled it to her lips, drawing him from his
thoughts.
His face was serious.
Her questioning eyes found his in
the mirror.

“
Drago?”

The powerful need to possess
her flooded him.
He needed her love, her loyalty, the sweetness of
her body.
Scooping her into his arms Drago carried her to their
bed, coming over her protectively, his towel forgotten on the
floor.
The urgency of his mouth over hers stole her breath, the
strength of his want overwhelming her.
Grace felt both powerful and
powerless in his embrace, awed anew at her husband's potency.
She
gave to him all he demanded with joy, her body awakening under his
commanding touch.
His lips left hers full and swollen from his
savage kisses as he trailed down her body.
Sliding the towel open,
Drago claimed her breast with rugged enthusiasm.
His hands stroked
and caressed everywhere, her body responding without fear or
hesitation, his zealousness for her urging her higher.

His mouth continued over her, moving
lower to her hip and down her thigh as his hands shaped her bottom.
Stroking her legs, he pushed her knees open to nip the sensitive
flesh of her inner thighs, wanting to leave no inch of her
unexplored.
Instinctively, Grace tensed, her hands at his shoulders
frantic to halt his progression - without success.
Stretching his
sizable palm over her abdomen, he held her firmly as he eased her
further apart, clasping her lean leg in his grip.
His ragged breath
heated over her.
She stilled, her touch softening to gentle
caresses on his neck, relaxing her body under his sweet heaviness
in loving faith.

Her willingness to trust him, even in
his unconstrained desire, unleashed an unquenchable thirst in him,
and like a man upon on oasis, he drank deeply from her sweetness,
drowning in her love.
Her hands clutched his shoulders as low cries
of enrapture filled his ears.
Knowing she was near her release, he
rose over her, kissing his way to her sensual mouth as he readied
to enter her.

“
I want to be inside you,
moja
ž
ena,
my wife
, to feel your
pleasure around me,” he husked.

Cupping her face in his hands, he
filled her with a feral groan.
Her tightness encapsulated him, and
he loved her with fierce tenderness until their cries and fluids
mingled in the moment of oneness.

* * *

The days of their seclusion passed
quickly, each discovering the other afresh since living under the
same roof.
As they lounged in their morning routine on the fifth
day of the week, talking together in the early hour, Drago
suggested an outing.

“
Let's go out for the day.
There are many shops to visit.
I'll show you some of the city, and
we can purchase some groceries.”

“
Mm-mm..., that sounds like
a good idea.
I want to find a few gifts to send to my father.
And
we definitely need to buy a few groceries,” Grace thought
aloud.

“
We'll find a café for
lunch.
But now, I believe it is time for breakfast.”

And he dragged her across his chest,
nipping playfully at her neck.
Her dark eyes shone with laughter as
she settled on him, silky tresses mussed around her smiling
face.

“
Always thinking of
devouring your next meal, you are.”

“
I have an insatiable
appetite,” Drago countered, the double entendre not lost on his
wife.

* * *

Stepping out into the crisp air and
bright sunshine was altogether pleasing, and the couple walked
briskly along the street.
The sky glowed azure as only an autumn
day could.
Grace studied the homes and shops dotting each block,
curious about the inhabitants within.
Sandy hued walkways lined
their way, old and well trodden, swept neat and clean, and before
many of the abodes and businesses stood urns overflowing with
evergreens or narrow benches to welcome weary
pedestrians.

At each corner and
intersection passed, they moved toward the shopping district,
encountering greater traffic, leaving residential homes behind,
those replaced with small cafés, bakeries, and boutiques.
Eager to
peer in windows and have Drago translate the names above the
storefronts, Grace slackened their pace, and for the next few hours
she wandered in and out of all that caught her interest, carefully
inspecting the wares within.
Drago proudly related little histories
of various buildings and streets along the way, his love of this
city and his country apparent.

The main thoroughfares had the feel of
a modern metropolis, sleek glass windows and minimalistic
exteriors, but upon the off-shooting side streets were simpler
facades exuding old world charm.
On one of these sat a little
bistro called Ivkovic's.
The sign jutted out perpendicular to the
structure, suspended on a curled wrought iron frame, and teak
tables for two lined the frontage.
A sturdy, wooden-horse frame
held rectangular chalk boards, announcing the specials in thickly
drawn letters.

“
Shall we stop for lunch?”
Drago asked.

“
Yes, I'm starving.
And it
smells delicious.”

Drago pulled a chair out for her to
sit as he nodded to the waiter hovering near the doorway.
Momentarily, he arrived with a carafe of water and tableware.
Speaking the native language, the server announced the menu, and
Drago ordered their mid-day meal.

A certain unease encroached on Grace's
mind at the reminder of her complete dependence on her husband.
She
was a foreigner in a strange and confusing new culture.
She had no
fear of being in Drago's hands.
Rather her fear stemmed from the
thought of finding herself without him.
No doubt she would be able
to find an English speaking body should she need to, but her
inability to communicate at will was a disadvantage she found
unacceptable.

“
Drago, I want to learn
Slovakian.
More than the phrases I've picked up – everything.
Will
you teach me?”

“
Gladly.
I had hoped you
would want to learn.
You'll pick it up quickly.”

“
Good.
I don't like feeling
like a dunce.”

His deep laugh infected her, and she
joined him in spite of herself.

“
I can think of many words
to describe you, Gracie, but a dunce is not one of
them.”

Warm sunshine soaked through the
heavy, rose cardigan and matching jersey Grace had paired with
faded jeans that hung loosely over her hips and legs, long enough
to cover the tops of her running shoes.
She preferred comfort over
high fashion, something learned growing up in a gym.
A blue scarf
looped her neck, and tiny, silver threads in its ends glinted in
the sun beneath her long hair.

They feasted on roasted chicken and
mushrooms tossed in a garlic, butter sauce, salad, and warm bread,
planning the remainder of their afternoon.
The table was cleared
and the familiar black tea was served.
Lingering around the table
in lazy appreciation and watching the passersby, Grace noticed a
tall woman with blond hair pulled tightly into a knot behind her
head sporting tight, designer denim and high-heeled boots.
Her
ice-blue eyes, made more striking under the thick, black eyeliner,
fastened on Drago, and recognition flashed across her angular
face.

She halted her progress and without a
glance at Grace gushed, “Drago, darling!
Where have you been hiding
yourself?
We haven't seen you at all since we heard about your
impressive victory in America.
Anika and I have been watching for
you everywhere.”

Grace understood nothing other than
a-m-r-e-e-k-a as the blond kissed Drago's cheeks.

Drago firmly turned the woman toward
his wife.

“
Ranelle, this is my wife,
Grace,” he spoke in English, moving around the table to help Grace
to her feet and placed his army-green jacketed arm around her
waist.

For a moment the blond stood, a
stunned expression on her face.
Recovering a thin smile, her eyes
narrowed slightly as she raked her gaze over the the dark haired
woman at Drago's side.

“
Well, what a surprise.”
The last word whined slightly from her throat.
“Won't I be the
bearer of bad news.
You'll have broken many hearts with your happy
nuptials.
It was a small wedding, I assume.”

“
Yes, it was.
We wanted a
family affair.
I'm surprised Josip hadn't told you; he was there.”
Drago turned to Grace and added, “Grace, Ranelle is Josip Igrec's
sister.”