Remember (14 page)

He understood something else, he wanted to possess her completely, and be possessed by her. And yet he was unable to make a move in her direction, was momentarily paralyzed, his breath felt strangled in his throat.

She spoke first, at last breaking the silence. She said, “Clee .

. . Oh, Clee … ” And then she paused as though she were afraid to finish her thought.

Long afterward he would remember the inflection in her voice quite precisely, would recall the way she had said his name at that exact moment, for it was the inflection that had told him everything.

Longing had been implicit in her tone.

“Nicky darling,” he said in a voice thickened by desire, and he moved swiftly toward her, even as she rushed forward into his arms.

He wrapped his arms around her, held her tightly. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest, in time with his own. He kissed her deeply, passionately, almost roughly, the way he wanted to kiss her, and she responded with ardor, her lips pliable, yielding, as he moved his tongue against them. Instantly they parted slightly, and he slid his tongue inside her mouth, and their tongues touched, lay still, touched again.

Her hands were on the nape of his neck and in his hair, then moved onto his shoulders and his back. He loved the feel of her fingers, so strong and supple, on his skin. Pulling her even closer, he slid his hands down her back, molding her body to his body, fitting her into him.

Nicky pressed herself closer, as filled with desire for Clee as he was for her. She was dizzy, her legs were weak, and her whole body trembled as she leaned against him, clinging to him. Clee was tremendously aroused. He brought his mouth to the hollow in her neck, kissed it tenderly, slipped the beach towel off her shoulder, let his mouth linger there, covering her with tender kisses.

Eventually he relaxed his hold on her, took her face between his hands and looked down into her eyes. In the dusky light he saw a look of intense yearning reflected on her face, longing for him.

He knew then that she felt the same as he did, and this inflamed him more.

Taking her by the hand, he led her to the chaise. Gently he eased her down onto it and then sat on the edge. Leaning over her, he covered her mouth with his, all the while fumbling with the towel and then the top of her bikini. Suddenly the fastening on the back came loose and he pulled the top away so that her breasts broke free. Cupping them between his hands, he kissed first one and then the other.

“Clee .” Immediately he stopped what he was doing and looked at her.

“Nicky?”

“I’m afraid,” she said in a voice so low he could hardly hear it.

“Of me?”

“No .”

“Of yourself?” he asked, speaking as softly as she had, and reaching out he gently touched her cheek with his fingertips.

“I’m afraid of—of—of making love. It’s been so long,” she whispered.

“It’ll be all right.” As he spoke he took her in his arms. “Trust me,” he said against her hair. “Trust me.”

Releasing her, Clee stood up and offered her both his hands.

Taking hold of them, she looked up at him questioningly as he pulled her to her feet.

“Over there,” he said, and he nodded toward the copse.

Clee spread the towels on the grass and they slipped out of their swimsuits and lay down together under the trees.

Nicky was shaking inside, filled with desire for him, but a desire tinged with fear—fear of disappointing him, of failing him, she realized that now. She wished she were not so tense, and she

endeavored to relax her taut body. She turned her head to look at him, touching his face with one hand, her eyes focused on his.

Clee smiled, again hoping to put her at ease. It was the same lopsided boyish smile he had smiled at her the first time they had met, in the bar of the Commodore in West Beirut, and one she knew so well by now, but tonight it tugged at her heart. A rush of desire for him rose up in her. A curious thought struck her.

Had she been emotionally involved with Clee for the past two years without knowing it? Was he the reason no other man had interested her in all that time?

Clee was pushing himself up on one elbow, bending over her body, fondling her breasts. He brought his mouth to one of them, kissing the nipple, and instantly it came erect under his lips.

He moved his mouth to the other one, kissing it in exactly the same way. A small moan came from deep in Nicky’s throat, and she put her arms loosely around him, her fingers slowly trailing down over his shoulder blades until they came to rest in the small of his back.

After a few seconds Clee raised his head, kissed her passionately on the lips, devouring her with his mouth and his tongue, and all the while he continued to caress her breasts. Eventually his hands wandered down onto her flat stomach and her thighs, touching and stroking her silky skin until the tension in her dissipated.

Soon her body was limp, pliable to his touch. He moved his own body so that his head rested on her stomach, and he kissed it as his hands fluttered down onto her inner thighs. Lightly, gently, his fingers caressed, explored, probed, until she opened herself up to his hands and his mouth as a flower opens under warming sunlight. As he savored the velvet texture of her he was consumed by a raging desire. It took all his self-control not to take her immediately.

Nicky looked down at Clee and put her hands on his shoulders, she closed her eyes again, luxuriating in the feel of his strong yet sensitive hands on her body. Her senses were reeling. They had tumbled into each other’s arms so unexpectedly, so suddenly she was still shaken. And yet she knew their coming together was right, she felt this deep within herself. He was arousing her fully now, bringing her to the edge of ecstasy, his tongue and his fingers centered on the core of her. Overwhelmed by their mutual sensuality, the erotic feelings he engendered in her, she gave herself up to him completely.

She was transported, floating, as he continued to touch and kiss her.

And he did so with such sureness and expertise, he might have been making love to her in this way for aeons.

He moved her legs, pushing her knees into a bent position, and then, slipping his hands under her buttocks, brought his mouth to her again, touching her so lightly she could scarcely feel it. An exquisite sensation shot through her and she began to quiver.

“Oh, Clee, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” she whispered.

Looking up, he bent over her again and his mouth and hands went on loving her with sensitivity and delicacy, and consummate skill.

Clee was so inflamed by Nicky’s mounting excitement he thought he would explode, and he ached to be inside her with every fiber of his being.

But she had made it clear to him that she had been celibate for a long time, and he wanted to give her pleasure, to ensure she was totally relaxed and ready for him by bringing her to fulfillment first.

She cried his name again, and her quivering increased, and she gripped his shoulders harder. Her desire for him was acting as an extraordinary aphrodisiac, and he had to bring her to a climax quickly now so that he could take her to him, possess her finally and give himself to her.

The very moment her quivering reached a deep spasm he lifted

himself onto her and went into her with a power and force that made both of them gasp.

Nicky clung to him, wrapping her legs around his back, and cried out, “Clee, oh Clee, oh my God,” and he brought his mouth down hard on hers and they began to move in unison, instantly finding their own rhythm.

Their passion mounted. He moved against her harder, more urgently, thrust himself deeper inside her, and Nicky was as unrestrained as he, her body arching up to his. And she cleaved to him.

Suddenly Clee stopped abruptly, pushed himself up on his hands and gazed down at her.

Nicky opened her eyes, and returned his gaze. Her look was questioning.

“You’re beautiful, Nicky.”

“Oh, Clee …”

He held her with his eyes, staring deeply into hers, and just as they had been mesmerized by each other a short while earlier, so they were again. Their eyes locked, held fast, they looked deeper and deeper, as if peering into each other’s heart and mind and soul.

Clee thought, This isn’t only sexual desire, though God knows it’s stronger with her than I’ve ever known it to be with anyone else. I love her. That’s what this is all about. I love Nicky.

I’ve loved her since Beijing.

As Nicky looked up into Clee’s dark and brilliant eyes, her scrutiny fixed, intense and probing, Nicky began to understanding something, she had been waiting for him to come to her as a lover for months, even though she had not realized it until this moment. With a little spurt of surprise, she thought, I’m free of Charles at last. Perhaps I’ll be able to love again—perhaps I’ll fall in love with Cleeland Donovan.

Clee began to move again, slowly at first, loving her with his eyes.

She opened her arms to him, and he devoured her mouth and tongue with his own once more, and she moved against him, picked up his rhythm. He increased his speed, and so did she, matching him all the way.

A sudden intense heat flooded up from her thighs to suffuse her whole being, and she clung to him tighter, her hands digging into his shoulders, his name on her lips. Clee felt her warmth enveloping him, and he plunged deeper into her, moving faster and faster. He murmured, “Come to me, my love, become part of me.”

And she did, and as he flowed into her they were truly joined, became one.

He called her name, heard her shouting his, and they soared upward together, higher and higher, until he was weightless and floating in a bright blue sky the color of her eyes. Floating into infinity, holding her in his arms as if to never let her go.

He never would. She was his love. His only love. There had never been anyone like her before, there would never be again. She was meant for him, just as he was meant for her, just as this was meant to be.

He opened his eyes at last and looked down at her.

In this bosky corner of the garden the light was dim. But several small spotlights were hidden in the leafy bower above their heads, and so he could see her face. It was flushed and filled with happiness.

Her eyes were wide, and very, very blue as they looked back at him unblinkingly, and he noticed they held an expression he had never seen in them before. Was it adoration?

Did she feel the same way he did? She had to—this joining had not been onesided.

“Nicky,” he began, but before he could say another word she reached up and put her fingertips on his mouth.

“Don’t say anything, Clee.”

“But, Nicky, I—” “Sssh,” she said and pulled his face down to hers.

She kissed him softly, wrapped her arms around him and held him close to her. And she felt a little more at peace with herself—for the first time since Charles Devereaux had vacated her life.

Eh, voila, mademoiselle! Your American picnic,” Clee said, placing the large wooden tray on the coffee table in the middle of the library.

With a wry smile, he added, “I’m afraid this was the best I could do.”

Nicky jumped up off the sofa, went over to the low table and sat down on the large cushions Clee had arranged on the floor earlier. She scanned the food he had prepared and began to laugh.

“Oh, Clee, how marvelous! You’ve managed to find some of my real favorites. Chunky peanut butter, Skippy, no less. I love that brand.

And grape jelly to go with it. Tuna-salad sandwiches, and bacon, lettuce and tomato on rye. Pickled cucumbers. Hellmann’s mayonnaise.

Where did you get all this? Especially the rye bread?”

Clee’s mouth twitched with laughter. “The rye came out of the freezer earlier this evening. My sisters bring it when they come to

stay.

They also bring loads of other American things for me, stuff I can’t always find in France. Amelie puts some of it in the freezer, such as the rye bread and the bags of bagels, and the rest goes in the pantry.

Now”—he picked up a can of Diet Coke, pulled the tab, and went on—“how about one of these to wash it all down?”

“I’d love it, and come and sit over here with me,” she said, patting the cushion next to her.

“I will in a minute. Let me put the video in first.” Stepping over to the bookcase, he continued, “Which movie did you choose in the end?”

“It’s called Somewhere I’ll Find you with Clark Gable and Lana Turner playing foreign correspondents who … get involved with each other on a foreign assignment.”

“Aha!” he exclaimed. A wide grin spread across his face. “How appropriate. I couldn’t have chosen better myself.”

The minute the film started rolling, Clee sat down on the cushions, leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose, then picked up a tuna-salad sandwich and settled back to watch.

They laughed a lot during the film. It had been made in 1942 and was somewhat unrealistic. It had a sweetness, an innocence about it, and this made it seem dated to the two tough news veterans accustomed to difficult, often harrowing foreign assignments.

“Hey, Nick, this is really sappy,” Clee muttered at one moment, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

“I know. A lot of old movies are.”

“Not Casablanca, that’s held up pretty well.”

“You’re right, but occasionally this one does have a ring of truth to it, especially when Gable’s on the screen.” The legendary star was Nicky’s favorite, and a few seconds later, when Gable said, “I don’t print anything until I’ve heard it twice and seen it three times,” Nicky said, “That’s going to be my motto from now on!”

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling in mock horror.

“Wait a minute,” Nicky said swiftly, “you’ve got to admit Gable plays a terrific newspaperman, with just the right amount of dash and panache.

And he is gorgeous.”

“True, true.” Clee turned her face to his and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “And so are you,” he said softly.

When the movie was over, Clee began stacking the plates and glasses on the tray. “Do you want to watch another film, or shall we go downstairs and have coffee on the terrace?”