Duplicity (16 page)

He bent down and buried his face in her fragrant hair. The silken curls caressed his lips as his hands traveled down her legs, taking the last scrap of clothing that stood between them.

Lifting himself over her, he looked deep into her eyes. "I want you more than I ever dreamed possible," he whispered.

Her head moved restlessly from side to side. "Love me . . . love me. Dirk."

The world tipped sideways as his heavy tumescence slipped into her. He was velvet and she was satin as they began the age-old dance of love. With a tantalizing slowness they moved together in the dappled shadows of the late afternoon sun until the ancient rhythm became a frenzied beat. The sun shot from the sky and melted inside Ellen as

Dirk became jagged lightning and rolling thunder. Her shoulders pushed into the grass as she met the fury of his storm with an abandon that matched his.

 His hoarse cry filled the bower as they rode out the storm together. She arched high for his powerful thrusts, her hands clenched on his tense back and her head thrown back in the fragrant grass. Her body shuddered with completion as he drenched her with the final fury of his love.

 Their limp legs tangled together as he lay on top of her, spent. His cheek rested in her hair and his damp chest pressed against her breasts.

 "Ellen?" His voice was muffled by her hair.

 "Hmm?"

 "I'm already wishing the summer would last forever."

 "So am I."

 They stayed locked together, not speaking, until the lowering sun began to pink the western horizon, and he slipped, unbidden, from her. He rolled off her and raised himself to his knees, pulling her up with him.

 "Follow me, love." He held out his hand.

 As she reached out she teased, "You're always saying that."

 He pulled her to her feet. "I've always wanted to have a beautiful woman do my bidding."

 "Just any woman?"

 "No. Only the red-haired ones."

 "Which red-haired ones?"

 "The ones who live on Beech Mountain and teach gorillas to talk." Without warning he scooped her into his arms. Looking down into her face, he spoke earnestly. "Only the one whose hair smells like wild flowers and whose body makes a man forget."

"Forget what?" Her green eyes searched his black ones for answers.

As the sun sank lower and the scent of wild roses became more pronounced on the still evening air. Dirk lowered one more barrier. "The evil that men do," he said. "The reasons for prisons and wars." His eyes became blacker than night as he added one last bit of truth to the revelation. "The reason for my loneliness."

She reached up and gently touched the tiny scar on his jaw. "I'm glad I could make you forget."

He shrugged his shoulders as if the motion could cast off the real world. Suddenly he laughed, startling a pair of cardinals into flight. "Time's a-wastin'." He strode swiftly to the pond.

"You sound like Aunt Lollie," she said.

"Where do you think I learned that expression? That woman has a way with words."

As he put his foot into the water she realized his intent. "Dirk! I’ll be cold. Even in summer these mountain ponds are chilly."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" He waded farther into the water until he was standing thigh- deep. He lowered his arms briefly, dipping her backside into the cold water.

"Dirk Smith Caldwell the Third! Put me down."

"Benedict," he said calmly as he dumped her into the water.

She came up sputtering and gasping, but the shock of the cool water was nothing compared to the shock of hearing his name. Tossing her wet hair out of her eyes, she stared at him. "Benedict? For real?"

He nodded. "Benedict." Turning from her, he arched his body and dived cleanly into the water. With strong strokes he swam toward the middle of the lake.

"Come back here," she yelled. "You can't just leave it at that."

"Come and get me," he shouted. Grinning wickedly, he went underwater again.

With the blood thrumming in her ears with this new knowledge and her body still ablaze with recent lovemaking, Ellen decided that the pond was not too cold after all. She jackknifed expertly into the water and swam after him.

Suddenly she felt her left foot being tugged. Even under the water Dirk's hand sent shivers up her leg. She took a deep breath before she was pulled under. His hands slid up her body, inch by inch, until he was clasping her around the waist.

The water distorted his features and played with his thick, dark hair. With his hands guiding her she floated closer until their bodies were touching, length to length. He lowered his head for an aquatic kiss, a brief skimming of lip across lip, and then, holding her tight, he shot to the surface.

Ellen shook her hair from her eyes. "So. You like to play games, do you?" She reached out and ducked him.

Instead of coming back up, he grabbed her ankle again and pulled her under. Reflections from the sunset sky turned their bodies to gold as they cavorted like two of nature's children. Their combined laughter rang out in the still air, and its happy sound was so right, so much a part of nature, that the two deer who had come to the edge of the pond for a quiet evening drink simply lifted their heads for a moment and, finding nothing to alarm, continued their drinking.

Refreshed from the swim and invigorated by laughter, Ellen and Dirk joined hands and of one accord waded to the shallow edge of the pond. He stopped when they were knee-deep and looked down at her. Lifting one finger he traced the edge of her cheekbone and the line of her jaw.

"So beautiful," he murmured. "You are so beautiful." Bending down, he followed the path of his hands with his tongue, licking away the droplets of water on her face. His lips found the hollow of her throat and paused there, pressed against the soft skin that fluttered from the sudden wild thumping of her heart.

Joy flooded her as he lifted her from the water and carried her ashore. Their private bower was now shadowed with purple and redolent with the scent of roses.

He stood, looking into her face. "I love these mountains," he said. What he wanted to say was /
love you
.

"I will always remember the smell of wild roses," she murmured. What she wanted to say was
I will always remember you
.

He lowered her to the grass, letting her wet body slide against his. By the time her feet touched the ground, she was aware of his pulsing shaft and her own growing passion. Their arms locked, and they held each other fiercely, not kissing but letting their bodies communicate their mutual need.

The grass welcomed them as they sank to the ground, and they rolled over and over, feeling, bumping, touching, not wanting to let go. Not ever wanting to let go.

At last they stopped, and Dirk lay on top of Ellen, breathing harshly. He slipped to her side and gently brushed away the bits of grass that clung to her still-wet body. His touch sent shivers skittering along her spine, and she arched toward his hand.

Without speaking, he let his fingers trail across her breasts. His face filled with pleasure at the instant response. Lowering his head, he took the ripe tips between his teeth and tugged gently. Ellen buried her face in his hair and knew the return of splendor.

His mouth and tongue feasted on the heavy, love-filled treasures until she was writhing beneath his touch. He parted her legs and moved his questing mouth downward. His tongue left a path of liquid fire in its wake. He explored the indentation of her navel, the soft downy fuzz on her stomach, the satin of her inner thighs. And when his tongue nudged its way into the dark triangle between her legs, spasms of ecstasy ripped through her.

When she became limp under his expert lovemaking, he rolled to his back and pulled her on top of him, fitting her over his hard shaft. The world seemed to explode as she was once more caught up in the frenzy of passion.

Time stood still for Ellen and Dirk as their bodies spoke love on top of Beech Mountain. They both told themselves that this was a grand beginning of a summer affair, but deep inside they knew better. Theirs was a joining that claimed the heart as surely as any vows ever spoken. Theirs was a coming together of two lonely people, the bonding of two brilliant deceivers who experienced love while denying its existence.

 o0o

The moon was riding high when they left the bower, replete. Clutching their rumpled clothes in their hands, they walked through the moonlight to Anthony's cabin.

Dirk held open the door for her. "There's no need to return to the compound tonight," he said.

"No need," she agreed.

"The car might disturb them."

"They're probably already asleep."

"Do you want the light?" he asked. The cabin was flooded with the light of a full moon that poured through the enormous skylight in the center of the room.

"How can you improve on nature?" she said.

His eyes sparkled as his gaze raked her body. "Impossible," he agreed. "Nature outdid herself." He took a step toward her.

She lifted her hands, laughing. "Dirk! Don't you ever get hungry?"

"Only for you." He leaned over and nipped her neck.

Pretending impatience with him, she crossed her arms on her bare breasts. "Are you going to feed me or do I have to steal Rocinante and make my escape down the mountain?"

"You distract the cook." He walked to a closet and pulled out a blue denim shirt. "Here," he said, tossing it to her. "Put this on or well never get around to food."

She caught the shirt deftly and headed for the shower. Anthony's cabin was almost as familiar to her as her own. He had been her friend and confidant since she had moved to Beech Mountain. "Don't fix eggs," she called over her shoulder. "I hate eggs."

Dirk fixed them anyway. He had many skills, but cooking was not one of them. His hale and hearty body was not a tribute to his cooking, but rather to his habits of exercising and eating natural foods.

When Ellen returned from the shower, Dirk's shirt buttoned low, exposing the tops of her breasts, she saw the table was set with a platter of fresh fruits—peeled oranges, sliced apples, bananas, and bunches of grapes—a loaf of whole wheat bread, and a platter of eggs.

Dirk, dressed in a clean pair of faded cutoff jeans, pulled back her chair. "Welcome to this humble repast," he said. He captured her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist before sitting down at the other side of the table.

"Eggs!" she said.

"My specialty." He dished up a generous helping. "What's yours?" He grinned wickedly at her. "Cooking, I mean."

"I'm a scientist. I don't cook," she said serenely as she helped herself to the fruit. "Why do you think God invented Betty Crocker and Sara Lee?"

He chuckled. "It's a good thing we don't plan a permanent liaison. We'd starve to death."

"A very good thing," she said, but the words had the hollow ring of falsehood and the fruit in her mouth turned to sawdust.

She propped her elbows on Anthony's glass-top table. It was best not to talk about things like permanence and commitment, she decided. They were mutually exclusive with brief affairs.

"How do you know Tony?" she asked. A nice, safe topic, she thought. One guaranteed not to cause racing pulses and crazy thoughts.

"Tony and I met in Spain—on the Costa del Sol." Dirk laughed, remembering. "His yacht was moored in a harbor at Malaga. We had both come in from a day's fishing. He was empty-handed and I had a catch big enough to feed half the population of Spain. I shared my fish, and we've been fast friends ever since. He's a remarkable man. "

"So he is. Not many men can make their first million before the age of thirty and retire at forty- five." She glanced around the cabin. Its rustic exterior was deceiving. Modern chrome-and-glass furniture, plush white throw rugs, Chinese porcelain, and carved jade accessories all reflected the expensive tastes of its owner.

Ellen turned her attention back to Dirk. She knew why Tony had been in Spain: He went where whim carried him.

 But what about Dirk? Would she learn one more tidbit to fit into the jigsaw puzzle of his life? "Why were you in Spain?" she asked.

"Would you believe me if I told you I was living in another convent, posing as a nun?"

"No."

"I thought not." He looked out the window into the darkened woods. His hands paused in the act of breaking a piece of brown bread, and he seemed to be struggling to come to a decision. Abruptly he turned back to her. "I was there on business."

Ellen had not even been aware that she was holding her breath. It came out in a relieved whoosh. First his real name and now his work, she exulted. It seemed that tonight she had hit the jackpot.

"And what kind of business is that, Dirk Benedict?" she asked softly.

His black-as-doom eyes sparkled as he slowly put down his bread and reached across the table. He captured both her hands and turned them over, letting his thumbs trace the pale network of blue veins on the inside of her wrists.

"I have a confession to make," he said.