SIX
"You look wonderful," Gabe said.
"It's the gown that's wonderful." She gently touched the skirt of the exquisite gown, a simple drift of ivory silk that framed her bare shoulders with fine Valenciennes lace.
"It's not the gown."
"Are you sure it's okay?" She gestured to the white rose headdress that held her veil in place. "It makes me look more like an old-time Gibson girl than ever."
"There's nothing wrong with Gibson girls." He stepped forward, reached into his jacket, and brought out a small jeweler's box. "I have something for you."
"What is it? The ring?"
"No, Dan has the ring. I chose a simple band. This is a bride's gift. It's a tradition."
"I know you said you believed in tradition, but this isn't a traditional wedding." She opened the box. Earrings. Exquisite pearl drops cascading from small studs channel-set with sapphires and rubies. "Red, white, and blue," she murmured huskily.
"Every wedding should have something blue, and I thought the theme was fitting for a Star-Spangled Bride. I'll give you the matching necklace when you become a citizen."
"I wish I was as confident as you. Thank you." She moved to the mirror and started to put them on. "They're lovely." Her voice was tremulous. "I'm sure they'll photograph beautifully."
He stood behind her, so close she could feel the heat from his body. The scent of his spicy after-shave drifted to her. "I'm sure they will too."
She met his gaze in the mirror. He was staring at her with an intentness that made her breathless. "I suppose we should leave."
"Yes." He didn't move.
She reached up and pulled down the veil to cover her face. "Another veil," she said shakily. "A man probably thought this one up too."
"I don't agree," he said. "At this point in a relationship, a man has no use for barriers."
She was glad of the veil. She felt naked, helpless, completely vulnerable, and more womanly than she had ever felt in her life. She searched desperately for something to say that would permit her to regain her equilibrium. "At least it hides the bruise."
His expression changed, became shuttered. "Yes, that's one use for it." He took a step back. "We'd better get going. Our friends in the press will be getting restless."
"More questions?"
He shook his head. "I told them pictures would be permitted, but if anyone tried for an impromptu interview with you, he'd be thrown out."
"They'll try anyway."
"Dan will run interference." He took her hand and led her toward the door. "Don't worry, we'll take care of everything."
Again she felt that overwhelming sense of womanliness. It was strange to yield, to be protected and treasured. Such treatment in large doses would probably annoy her to madness, but for once it felt infinitely precious.
Her hand tightened on his as he led her out of the suite..
The ceremony took place in the beautiful little chapel on the grounds of the palace and was like a strange poignant dream for Ronnie. She was only vaguely aware of banks of flowers— purple hyacinths, scarlet poinsettias, and white roses—the dark-skinned clergyman in his sober black attire and crisp white collar, Gabe standing next to her, straight and strong. She wondered sadly how she would have felt at this moment if she knew Gabe was marrying her because he loved her.
"Ronnie?" Gabe was frowning with concern, his gaze fixed intently on her face. He reached out and took her hand.
She cast a quick glance at the clergyman before she whispered, "It's not time for you to take my hand yet."
"Ask me if I care," he said gruffly. His hand tightened in possession and affection as it had when he had led her from the suite.
He had sensed her sadness and had acted to dispel it with his usual forcefulness. He did care about her. He might not love her, but he did care. She smiled tremulously as she nodded at Gabe and then looked back at the clergyman.
A few minutes later the ceremony was over, and the kiss he gave her was so tender, it might even have been called loving.
Then he was turning, leading her down the ribbon-lined aisle and out of the chapel across the rose garden to the reception in the palace.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of impressions. The long white damask-covered table with its array of fine foods, the ice swan rising in crystal beauty in the middle of the table. Her meeting with His Majesty, Sheikh Ben Raschid, and his lovely red-haired wife, Sabrina. Either Gabe or Dan was always at her elbow and she only had to smile, nod, and drink champagne.
"A lovely wedding, Mrs. Falkner."
Mrs. Falkner. The words had been said so many times in the last hour that she had almost become accustomed to them. She turned and smiled automatically at the short balding man in a blue suit who had uttered them. She didn't recognized him. "You're very kind."
Dan glanced at Gabe, who was across the room, and then took a protective step nearer Ronnie. "Good of you to come, Pilsner."
"I wouldn't have missed it."
"Ronnie, this is Herb Pilsner," Dan said. "He's a very big man in Immigration."
Ronnie stiffened as she looked into Pilsner's cool green eyes. "How do you do."
"Actually, not too well." His lips thinned. "I'm tired and jet-lagged and a little annoyed. I was rousted out of bed in the middle of the night by Senator Koras and told to expedite your paperwork so that Falkner could bring you back into the country with him."
"Why don't we go out on the terrace?" Dan quickly ushered them out the French doors.
"That isn't necessary, Bredlowe," Pilsner said. "I don't have much more to say and I'll be making a statement to the press anyway." He turned to Ronnie. "I don't give a damn about Koras and his friends on Capitol Hill or this media blitz Falkner has instigated to get you citizenship. This wedding is as phony as a three-dollar bill and I don't like phonies. To me you're no better than a Haitian boat person or an Italian factory worker. It's my job to see that the laws regarding immigration are obeyed, to protect the citizens of the United States, and there's no reason why I should give you preferential treatment. It's not right and it's not fair."
Ronnie felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She hadn't realized how high she had permitted her hopes to rise until Pilsner had crushed them.
"There are extenuating circumstances," Dan said. "I don't think you can judge—"
"Don't argue with him, Dan," Ronnie interrupted quietly. "You're not going to change his mind. Besides, can't you see the man is right?" Her gaze met Pilsner's. "I respect your position. I didn't think there was any chance, but Gabe—" She had to stop to steady her voice. "Gabe doesn't give up easily."
For an instant Pilsner's expression softened. "It was the charge in El Salvador. I can't overlook that, Mrs. Falkner. It would be totally irresponsible of me." His expression hardened. "And the fact that you've been traveling unlawfully for years on a forged passport. That can't be tolerated. It sets a bad example and extradition proceedings may have to be—"
"The hell they will." Gabe stood in the doorway and slammed the French doors shut behind him. "You can't take her as long as she stays in Sedikhan. Sedikhan is an absolute monarchy and has no extradition treaty with the U.S."
"Quite true," Pilsner said. "But the minute she steps across the border, the situation changes." His glance shifted to Ronnie. "Your chosen profession demands a good deal of travel and you're not going to be satisfied staying here. When you make that mistake, we'll have you."
"For God's sake, she's not a criminal," Gabe said violently.
"She is to the U.S. government," Pilsner said. He inclined his head to Ronnie. "Good day, Mrs. Falkner. I regret not being able to help you." He moved toward the French doors. "As I said, it was a lovely wedding."
"Bastard," Gabe muttered as the doors closed behind Pilsner.
"What do we do?" Dan asked uneasily. "He's going to make a statement to the press."
"Go deal with them," Gabe said. "Paint Ronnie as a helpless victim of bureaucracy. Spread
it on thick." He took Ronnie's elbow and propelled her across the terrace toward the steps leading to the garden. "Tell them we'll issue another statement after we return from our honeymoon."
"Where are you going?" Dan asked.
"Tanadahl. It's isolated enough to keep everyone off our backs until we can regroup."
Dan nodded and disappeared back into the palace.
"Where's Tanadahl?" Ronnie asked dully.
"It's a house I own in the desert. I stay there when I spend long periods here in Sedikhan." He glanced at her. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."
"I'm all right." She shrugged. "I knew it was too good to be true. You're the one who was sure you could pull off a happy ending." She looked straight ahead. "Do I have time to change out of this gown before we go to this hideout of yours?"
"No, you'd get waylaid. We're going straight to the helicopter. I'll have Dan bring some clothes for you tomorrow night and your camera is already in the helicopter. That's all that's important, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's all that's important." It had been true before this all started. She doubted if it would ever be true again. She tossed the bouquet she was still carrying onto a marble bench they were passing and brusquely picked up her skirts as they approached the helicopter. "I can do without anything else if I have my camera."
Tanadahl was not a palace, not even a very large house, but a charming residence of white stucco and red tile that looked as though it could have been transported from Mexico or southern California. From the air its lovely landscaped terrace and garden looked less impressive than comfortable. The place radiated an atmosphere of... Ronnie mentally searched for the right word. Intimacy.
"Well?" Gabe asked as he waved at Dave and the pilot lifted the helicopter off the ground and headed back toward Marasef.
"I like it," Ronnie said. "It's much better than the palace. I'm not into all that grandeur."
"Neither am I." He led her across the courtyard to the front door. "That's why I bought this place. Sedikhan is a very enlightened and progressive country, and whenever I have to be anywhere in this part of the world, I stay here."
She took off the veil and headpiece she still wore. "I need a bath." She looked at him. "And then we need to talk."
He nodded. "Pilsner threw a rod in the works. We have to find a way to get around it."
He was not giving up, she realized in despair. He would not admit it was hopeless. He would never give up.
He took her elbow and escorted her into the oak-tiled foyer that opened into a huge sunken living room. The interior of the house appeared to be as charming as the exterior, featuring high ceilings, book-lined walls, and a stone fireplace. Pearl-gray cushioned couches and chairs repeated the color of the lush carpet and offered a striking contrast to the deep burgundy of the miniblinds shading the long windows on the south wall and the occasional pillows tossed on the couch. Though the decor was of no particular period, the emphasis was clearly on comfort and offered only a few touches of Mediterranean opulence in the mother-of-pearl inlaid screen and a wonderfully crafted gold camel on the coffee table.
"We're on our own here," Gabe said. "There are no permanent servants. A crew comes from a nearby village twice a week to clean and garden. We shouldn't starve. I never know when I'll have to make a trip over here, so I give orders that the kitchen be always stocked."
"That's good."
"Your bedroom is second on the right." He gestured down the hall to the left of the foyer. "Take your time. Relax. I'll come and get you in an hour or so and we'll see what we can round up in the way of food. If you need anything, call me."
"I will." She turned and walked toward the bedroom he had indicated.
"Ronnie."
She turned to look at him.
He frowned, troubled. "It's going to be fine. I know you're upset by this Pilsner mess, but this is only a setback."
She smiled wearily and nodded. "See you."
He didn't understand. He had been an American all his life and couldn't comprehend what it was like to want something so much that it was an ache inside you, to want to belong. He wanted to help her, intended to sacrifice and work, do everything he could to make her dream come true, but even he didn't realize how deep this disappointment went.
' Good heavens, why was she feeling so sorry for herself? she thought in self-disgust. It was her own fault for allowing her hopes to be raised when she knew the odds. She would just have to adjust to this dilemma and make sure her defeat didn't hurt Gabe.
But she didn't have to worry about that right now.
She was here with Gabe and she would do what she had done all her life to survive and make life worth living.
She would seize the moment she had been given.
• • •
She hesitated for a moment outside Gabe's door. Good grief, she felt foolish. He would probably hoot with laughter when he saw her. Well, she couldn't stay here all night. Seize the moment, dammit. She threw open the door and stepped into the room. After all her mental preparations she was immediately deflated by the sound of the shower running in the adjoining bathroom. Not yet. She drew a deep breath and silently shut the door. She should welcome the postponement, not be disappointed. It gave her a few more minutes to prepare herself.
The shower was turned off and she could hear movement. He would be here in a moment.
The bathroom door opened and she braced herself.
He was naked; his tousled dark hair had been hastily dried, but it still gleamed with moisture.
She swallowed. "Hello."
He stopped in the doorway, stiffening as he saw her standing there draped in nothing but the wedding veil she was using as a shawl. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"At the moment I'm shivering. I didn't have anything else to wear and I knew you liked veils, so I—"
He cut her off. "I suppose you have a reason for this."
She tried to shrug carelessly. "I thought I was making it pretty clear."
"Not to me. I told you I didn't need sex to relax me."
It hadn't occurred to her that he would assume she was here for that purpose. The scene in her suite last night seemed a thousand years ago. "That's not why I came."
"Go on," he said curtly.
She hadn't expected him to be this wary or herself to be this uncertain. She searched wildly for an answer that would make her feel less vulnerable. She tried to make her tone flippant. "It's been a bad day. I need to take the edge off."
"Then get the hell out of here," he said harshly.
She gazed at him helplessly. "I can't," she whispered. "I have to have you."
His gaze narrowed on her face. "Me or anyone?"
"You." She moved to stand before him and slowly let the veil fall open to reveal her breasts.
Her voice was uneven. "I lied. It has to be you, Gabe."
"You're damn right it does."
He picked her up and carried her to the bed.
She could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin veiling, the strength of his arms as he placed her on the bed and followed her down.
The veil was ripped away and thrown ... somewhere.
He stared down at her, his breath coming harshly. "Damn, you're ..." His hand reached out and closed around her breast. It instantly responded; her entire body was responding. Heat seemed to travel from his grasp to every part of her. "Lovely..." He watched the flush come to her cheeks, her nipples grow taut. "This is lovely."
His head slowly lowered and his mouth touched one hard nipple. Her chest was lifting and falling as his tongue followed, caressed and teased. Then his whole mouth enveloped her and he began sucking strongly as his other hand kneaded and plumped her other breast.
She bit her lip to keep from screaming at the incredible sensation.
He was making sounds himself, deep, groaning sounds of need that were as exciting as his mouth on her breast. He was over her, straddling her. He began rubbing against her, flesh on flesh, hair on hair,
in a frantic sexual rhythm.
He lifted his head. "I can't—it's been too long." A shudder went through Gabe. "I'm sorry. It's got to be quick."
"That's all right." Her arms clutched him tightly. "It doesn't matter." Nothing mattered but that she was close to him, closer than she had ever been before, and would soon be even closer.
He drew a deep breath and said, "No, it's not fair. I'll try to . . ." He parted her thighs and began rubbing, petting her, tugging at the tight curls. "I wanted to spend more time here. . . ." Two fingers moved down and entered.
She arched upward with a little cry.
"Tight," he murmured. "So tight." He began to stroke in and out slowly as he reached up with his other hand and searched for the nub. When he found it, she cried out again.
He began to rotate the nub while he stroked her, gradually increasing both tempos until she received a sensual jolt with every movement.
She could hear the animallike cries coming from her throat, but they seemed to have no connection with her. The only awareness she had was of that part of her his fingers were caressing, stimulating.
"You like it?" he asked fiercely. Another finger joined the others within her. "More?"
"More." Her head was thrashing back and forth on the pillow. "Gabe, it's—"
"Shh ..." His hands were gone and he was nudging against her. "I have to be careful. You're so narrow."
She was agonizingly empty and he was too slow. Her hands grabbed his hips and tugged him forward. "To hell with careful," she said. "More."
He sat up, looking down at her. "Ronnie, I don't want to let go." He laughed desperately. "That's a lie, but I'm afraid—"
"More."
He plunged forward to the hilt.
Pain and then an exquisite fullness, a joining.
"Lord!" He went still, deep within her.
Fullness but still a hunger.
"Don't pay any attention," she gasped as her fingers dug into his hips. "It doesn't hurt. Get on with it."
"It's a difficult thing to ignore." An expression of desire so intense it was almost pain crossed his face. "Lord ... it feels good."
He liked the tightness, she realized hazily. She instinctively tried to give him more.