Taming Mariella (12 page)

“Then I’d better warm you up.” He removed her panties.

She looked at him in surprise. “I thought we weren’t going to…”

“We’re not,” he said then slipped his fingers inside her, stirring up a spiral of ecstasy until she climaxed. He grinned with masculine pride from the joy on her face.

“Next time that will be me,” he promised.

“I thought it was you.”

“Let’s just say you’ll be getting more.”

She reached over and rested her hand on the hard bulge pressing against the front of his trousers. “Perhaps I should see what I’ll be getting.”

He gently seized her wrist and placed her hand back in her lap. “Honey, if you touch me like that, things could get out of hand. You’ll just have to imagine.”

She cocked her head to the side and raised a challenging brow. “I have a big imagination.”

“Then you won’t be disappointed.”

She shook her head in amazement. “Your humility is breathtaking.”

He bowed. “Thank you,” he said then stroked her thigh. “Wait, what’s this?”

He moved the blanket and looked down at a light slightly raised scar.

“Oh that, I usually put makeup on it. A tiger gave it to me.”

“A tiger?”

She told him about the incident and then about another in Florida where a jellyfish stung her and her foot swelled. She was about to tell him about a harrowing incident in Italy, but stopped when she noticed he was getting upset although he was trying to listen without judgment. “But I’m all right now,” she said quickly.

He gave a terse nod.

She wiggled back into her panties and jeans. “Thanks for listening.”

He nodded again.

She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest and after a few moments felt him relax. He held her snugly and she felt all fear dissipate. She could trust him. “Sometimes I do think about that woman.” She gripped his shirt, her voice low and tight. “When she accused me of killing her daughter for a second I thought she was right. I thought that I’d killed her. That I’d made her so unhappy that she didn’t want to live anymore and I wanted to die.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It feels good to say it because it’s true. There are moments when you have to face hard truths. I’m glad I’m doing something new and I’m going to succeed at it.”

“Yes.” He pressed her head to his chest and wrapped the blanket tighter around them. “Now go to sleep.”

She did. He watched morning come in its bright glory. Slowly touching the leaves and the mountains in the distance then stared straight ahead and swore. He didn’t know much, but he knew one thing. When Mariella woke up, she was going to kill him.

H
e felt her awaken and said, “Don’t get angry.”

“Why would I be angry?”

He nodded to the windshield. She looked and stared then burst into laughter.

He sent her an odd look. “You think this is funny?”

“Yes, I love to see what you consider a couple of
miles
up the road.”

The house stood only a few yards away. It was a massive stately mansion, covered in vine with two large columns at the entrance. On the roof you could see at least four chimneys while grandiose windows looked down on them. The shrubbery and plants lining the house reflected hours and hours of meticulous gardening.

“I’m glad you’re taking this so well,” Ian said.

She grinned. “You mean you’re lucky.”

He nodded. “Yes, that too.”

Mariella stepped out into the mud. It covered up to her ankles. She swore as she trudged through, then noticed a fox in the distance. It darted between the trees. “Oh look.” She pointed. “It’s beautiful.”

“It seems to be following us.”

“And having an easier time,” she said lifting her shoe out of the mud, making a sucking noise as she raised it.

They made their way to the front entrance. Then they saw a smaller residence to the side of the house in the distance. With no reply to their knocking at the house, Ian decided to see if anyone was in the cottage. No one answered. Ian walked back to the main house.

“You do realize that it’s freezing?” Mariella asked, somehow managing not to let her teeth chatter.

“At least put your suitcase down.”

“I’m not resting anything down in this mud.”

“Wait a minute.” Ian disappeared around the back of the house and came back holding a key.

“Don’t worry, I made arrangements with the owner that if no one was home, he told me where to find the key.” Ian opened the door then reached for the light switch. Nothing happened.

“It seems the power is out. Mariella, you stay here, I’ll get the rest of our things.”

Mariella started looking around. She was cold and miserable and was not in the mood to spend a day or worse yet another night freezing. Once Ian had finished bringing in all the luggage and photography equipment, he and Mariella went looking for anything to keep them warm.

In the kitchen, they found a note telling them where to find a kerosene heater and the fuel and also where canned food was stored, plus batteries, etc.

“They must regularly lose power,” Ian said.

Mariella rolled her eyes. “That’s a cheery thought.” In the pantry, they noticed a battery-powered radio and took it back with them to the main living room, to listen and find out what was going on with the weather. The news wasn’t good. Due to the unexpected storm, no flights would be going in or out of the airport. In addition, the announcer stated that there would be an early winter snowstorm coming later that night that would likely turn all the rain into dangerous ice.

“Where are you going?” Mariella asked when Ian headed toward the stairs.

“I’m going to call Josh. I’ll see if I can get a signal.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Make yourself useful.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know, start a fire or something.” He disappeared upstairs and managed to call his brother before the battery ran out on his cell phone.

“How are things?” Josh asked.

“Oh, it’s great. We spent the night in the car and now we are in a cold empty house and another storm might hit.”

“We’ll see when we can come in, but you might have to wait a week.”

“A week? Are you kidding?”

“No, they say when that area is corded off it takes time to clear the roads. Nothing is going to happen until everything is deemed safe. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“I’m going to have nightmares of you alone with that woman.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“With
Mariella?
”

“Yes.”

“Duvall?”

“Yes,” he said, impatiently. “I’d better go and see how she’s doing.” He hung up then went into the living room where a roaring fire greeted him. He halted and stared amazed. “What is that?”

Mariella frowned. “What does it look like?”

“But how did it get there?”

“I made it. You told me to start a fire.”

“I know but—”

She folded her arms and sent him a smug look. “You didn’t think I could.”

“No, I didn’t think you
would.
”

“You don’t grow up in upstate New York and not know how to survive the winters there. And I’d never sit in a cold room just to spite you.”

He knelt in front of the fire and warmed his hands. “Good job.”

“Thanks. So what is the status?”

“It seems that we may be stuck here a couple of days.”

“Days?”

“Yes. So I guess we should settle in.”

They spent the rest of the day adjusting to their situation. The first place Ian raided was the kitchen and to his delight the refrigerator was stocked with prepared dishes including a potato salad, bacon/turkey sandwiches, and a fifteen-bean soup. Not wanting to bother heating up the soup, they decided on the salad and sandwiches.

Once they finished eating they agreed to stay in what appeared to be the family room. It was a smaller room than the formal living room and could be heated up quickly with the kerosene heater. Ian was careful to make sure it was positioned away from anything. The room was very comfortable with insulated curtains, thick carpeting and two sleep sofas. It appeared that the family was either large, or used to entertaining a number of guests. Mariella quickly selected the sofa close to the heater. She also found a divider that she borrowed from the living room, to provide some privacy and a place for her to hang up her clothing. She began pulling out the other bed.

“We’re not going to need two beds,” Ian said.

“I always keep my options open.”

“Well, I’m only giving you one.”

Mariella completed making the second bed knowing it best not to reply. Within several minutes the kerosene lamp heated the room. That evening, with the radio playing in the background, they had dinner. This time they had soup with several glasses of red wine, which had also been left for them. Ian had found a cast iron pot, which he used on the fireplace in the living room.

Once dinner was over Mariella sat on her bed and stared at the heater, bored. “What happens next?”

Ian lay back on his sofa bed. “Well, in five minutes I’m going to make love to you, you’re going to enjoy it, then I’ll go to bed.” He raised a mischievous brow. “You can decide what to do with yourself after that.”

“W
hy five minutes?” Mariella asked, intrigued.

“Planning.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m considering my options: the sofa, bed or floor.”

“That covers one minute.”

“I’ll have to wrap my friend.”

Mariella walked over and straddled him. “And then?”

“My approach.”

She unbuttoned his shirt. “And then?”

“I haven’t thought much further.”

“Good.” She kissed his throat.

“Now I remember.”

She stopped and looked at him.

“Nope, I’ve lost it again.”

“You can put your arms around me.”

“Not yet.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re really going to make me wait?”

“I’m making
us
wait.”

“I might change my mind.”

“I’ll change it back for you.”

She moved away. “I don’t think you can.” She slid off the bed and returned to hers.

He clasped his hands behind his head and watched her. “Good. I love a challenge.”

She turned her back to him and picked up a magazine from her suitcase. However, she couldn’t focus on it. She kept waiting for the puma to pounce. The three minutes that lapsed felt like years. Anticipation heightening with every passing second until she thought she couldn’t stand it. Then the three minutes were over. He didn’t move.

She wouldn’t tell him that the minutes had passed. She wouldn’t admit how he’d made her ache for his touch, how he’d left her wanting and waiting. Right now she could take a fire poker and stab him with it.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice warm against her ear.

She jumped. “Don’t do that.”

“I thought you’d like the element of surprise.” He drew her close and kissed away any protest. She didn’t offer him any. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you trembling?”

“Don’t confuse irritation for passion.”

“Why not?” he growled; then he nipped the tip of her ear with his teeth. “You enjoy being irritated with me.” He took down one bra strap. “I’m not making love to the ex-Desire model.” He removed the other strap. “Or the photographer.” He unlatched it. “I’m making love to a woman who is unmatched in courage.” He pressed his lips to her bare shoulder. “In talent.” He kissed the other shoulder. “And intelligence.” He kissed her mouth.

When he pulled away she said, “You forgot to say ‘in beauty.’”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Will you ever tell me I’m beautiful?”

“Does the sun need to be told that it’s hot?”

“But—”

He kissed her, but an uneasiness lingered inside her. He didn’t understand how men’s words of admiration thrilled her, aroused her and gave her power. But when he looked at her tenderly as though she were an ordinary woman—no,
his woman
—it made her feel vulnerable and possessed. That was exactly what he was doing when he soothed the ache between her legs by entering her. He claimed her as his own with every touch and caress. What scared her most was that she didn’t mind. She surrendered to it, then made a claim of her own until their lovemaking became primitive, hot and wild. When they were done, they collapsed, exhausted by their own raw emotions.

Ian rose early the next morning and went outside. He needed the crisp cold air to temper the mixture of emotions warring inside him. The storm had brought four inches of snow, blanketing the scene in white and it was beautiful. It had been a long time before he’d been able to see beauty like this and he could even admit that he was happy. Life was good. Almost perfect. He went to the pile of firewood at the side of the house, whistling. He stopped when he saw a spot of red marring the white surface. He followed the spots and found the mangled body of a fox.

He stumbled back as though he’d been punched in the gut. All his joy vanished. Even in this seemingly peaceful place reality’s cruel grasp had reached him.

“What are you doing out here?” Mariella said, coming up to him.

He spun around. “Go back inside.”

“I was only…what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I told you to go inside.”

“But if something’s wrong—” She stopped and saw it. “Oh no.”

“Go inside.”

She touched his sleeve. “It’s okay. You don’t have to protect me.” She took his hand. “Come on, let’s go have some breakfast.”

He didn’t eat. The sight of the dead fox haunted him like the year after he’d taken pictures of children and one of them disappeared. They’d found his body years later. The carefree photographer of those photos had disappeared too and he’d buried him. That afternoon Ian went back to see the dead fox, he had to face it, but it was gone. There was no blood. Nothing. As though it had never been there. He rushed back inside. “Where is it?”

Mariella looked up from her makeup case where she’d been playing with different lipstick colors. “Where is what?”

“The fox.”

“What fox?”

“The dead fox that was there this morning.”

She lifted her compact and powdered her nose. “I didn’t see a dead fox this morning.”

“Yes, you did. We saw it together.”

She snapped the compact closed. “Saw what together?”

Ian opened his mouth then closed it catching on to her ploy. “Forget it.”

She sent him a significant look. “Yes, I think that’s a good idea.”

But he couldn’t. He tried to shut off his mind. Things die every day. He was stupid to believe the universe was punishing him for his moment of happiness. They spent the rest of the day exploring the house and then each other. They found books and read passages and discussed them—they made each other laugh and shared private thoughts. Ian pushed the fox from his mind, but that night he tossed and turned. He couldn’t allow himself to enjoy the warm body next to him and revel in her beauty. He’d never tell her how much her beauty affected him, she already held enough power over him.

How could he lie beside her taking pleasure in her softness, listening to the silence around him when people were dying and starving? Cathleen always liked to remind him of that. How he’d grown up privileged while others were suffering. He’d been determined to make a difference. But how was he making a difference now? He felt useless and yet that was the man Mariella admired. If he’d been the Ian of before, the cynical photojournalist—the Ian he somehow still was—would they still be together?

As he struggled with his thoughts, Mariella struggled with hers. She could sense his unease, but couldn’t understand it. The death of the beautiful fox saddened her but hadn’t affected her as it did him. She rested her chin on his bare chest.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked.

“No.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

He shook his head then said, “Why did you love my father?”

“Why did you hate him?”

“I didn’t. We just didn’t always get along.”

“I loved him as a friend.”

“And you were willing to do anything for him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you let everyone believe that the drugs were yours?”

She sat up startled. “How did you…?” She pulled the covers close. “They were mine.”

“But you got them for him, didn’t you?”

She was quiet then lowered her gaze. “He was dying and I felt helpless. I wanted to do whatever he wanted to somehow ease his suffering. I didn’t see any harm in it.” She met his gaze. “No one understood our relationship. He said that the herbs would help him, I wanted to help him the way I hadn’t been able to help…” She took a deep breath. “My parents.” She touched his face in a light, fleeting gesture. “I know about ugliness, I know about death and disease. I know about despair and destitution. I know humiliation.”

“Those photographs of the children were taken when I was eighteen.”

“You were very talented then.”

“Yes, and I knew it. From that age to about twenty-three I had an overinflated ego. I knew I was good-looking, talented and rich. You wouldn’t have liked me very much then.”

“Who says I like you now?”

He smiled, sliding his hand to the curve of her hip. “I think you’re warming to me.”

“So what changed you?”

“Two things. One of those kids was murdered.”

“I’m sorry. And two?”

“I met…I met my wife. She wasn’t from my world and wasn’t impressed with my pictures. She told me everything that was wrong. I fell in love with her instantly. She wasn’t worried about her weight or her looks, she was passionate about her work. I learned from her. We traveled all over the world. Then in Gambia. I felt uneasy. I wasn’t sure about the driver, but she went along with everything. We were ambushed. They just shot her. While I was standing there. She was dead before she hit the ground. In the movies you see the wounded linger. I still dream about having a moment with her, having the chance to cradle her in my arms, but that wasn’t how it happened.

“I don’t remember leaving the country or arriving back home. About a year of my life is blank to me, but after that I couldn’t see joy. I envy your ability to see beauty and light.”

She stared at him. “Claiming her darkness as your own won’t keep her alive. Her memory is enough. You don’t have to deny beauty or pain. It just is. You can’t hurt enough to ease someone else’s suffering, you can’t weep enough to stop someone’s pain. You can only do your best to help others and enjoy your life.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he said, his voice hollow.

“Let me help you. I’m going to close my eyes and I want you to tell me what you see in this room.”

“I see the remains of a cobweb and a shadow of a lamp on the wall, buckled hallway and couch that has been sat in too many times. Dark paneled walls and a fire. That’s it.”

“Okay, now you close your eyes.”

“You think you’ll see something different?”

“Just close your eyes.”

He did.

“Okay, what do you see?”

“I see us.”

He opened his eyes. “You can’t see that.”

“Yes, I can.”

“How can you see us?”

She pointed. “That mirror. I always know when there is a mirror in a room. It’s a gift.”

“I didn’t even notice it.”

“I know. For an observer you miss a lot.”

Over the next two days, they settled into a routine. Mariella had found some salmon and had cut it into thin strips and “cooked” it by pouring lemon juice on it. A skill she said she had learned from her father when she had gone on camping trips with him as a child. She also set aside a small jar of olive oil to use as a daily moisturizer, which she dutifully applied. Then there was the unforgettable moment when she applied mayonnaise to her hair as a deep conditioner and soaked her feet in a baking soda and vinegar mixture. They both experimented with dishes over the fire using the cast iron pot. Mariella’s jambalaya went well, but Ian’s attempt at macaroni and cheese did not. They found some old photo albums, several musical instruments and also played board games in the evening.

On the fifth day electricity returned. They celebrated by going for a walk. Mariella took her camera and snapped images of the landscape. Then she turned the camera on Ian.

He moved to the side, his tone accusatory. “What are you doing?”

She positioned her camera until he was in the frame again. “I’m going to take a picture.”

“I don’t like my picture being taken.”

“Why not?” she challenged. “It’s no big deal. I just want to take a picture of—” She stopped.

“Of what?”

The man I love.
She finished the sentence silently but the impact of it nearly made her legs collapse beneath her. She gripped the camera, afraid her trembling fingers might make her drop it. She was wrong, it was just a passing notion. She didn’t love him. She couldn’t love him. She refused to. No matter how his eyes, which she’d once thought so cold and without feeling, could warm her heart. No matter how tenderly he held her in his arms or listened to her fears, she would not succumb to such a dangerous and foolish emotion.

Ian took a step toward her, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

She took a step back and stiffened her spine. “Nothing. I was just thinking.” She smiled tremulously. “I just had a horrible thought.”

Ian folded his arms and feigned a pained look. “That’s comforting. You look at me and then have a horrible thought. What was it about?”

She moved her shoulders in a dismissive gesture. “It was nothing really.” She lifted her camera although her hands were still unsteady. “Now smile.”

He moved out of her view. “No. I told you I don’t like having my picture taken.”

She lowered the camera, sighing with frustration and thankful that his stubborn side pushed away her foolish thoughts. “Come on. I just want to take a picture of a man in the woods on a snowy day.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Please.”

“Okay.” He turned his back to her. “How about this? I’ve been told I have a nice head shape.”

She jumped in front of him. “I want to show your face.”

He walked past her, over to a tree and placed his palm against the trunk, his head held down. In his dark clothes he was a striking contrast to the white snow around him.

“Ian, I just want you to see what I see.”

He sent her a cautious look. “What will you do with the picture?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who will you show it to?”

She could see him weakening and controlled her growing excitement. “Nobody,” she promised. “I’ll keep it in my own private collection.”

He chewed his lower lip. “Is that a promise?”

“Yes.”

He straightened. “A solemn vow?”

“Yes.”

He ambled toward her and looked deep in her eyes.

She pressed her lips against his. “There. Sealed with a kiss.”

His voice deepened into huskiness. “There’s another way to seal a bargain.”

“Well, we’re not doing that here. Now stop stalling. I’m going to take your picture.”

“All right,” he said without enthusiasm. “Just don’t tell me what to do.”

“I won’t.” Of course she couldn’t help herself. Once Mariella was behind the camera, the photographer in her took hold and she told him how to hold his head, and angled him in certain poses. At first he balked, but she made him relax and eventually got him to smile. When she was done she handed the camera to him. “Now it’s your turn.”