The Way You Make Me Feel (12 page)

“You sat on the bed the first night I came to you for help,” she said quietly. “I was so frightened I didn't want you out of my sight. I've taken up so much of your time.”

He placed a finger over her lips. “Hush. We were lucky. There's not much going on at Nubian Gold that the staff can't handle without me. But even if there had been…We're gearing up for your next album. You mean so much to me, Stevie. I hope I make you know that.”

She nodded. “And you mean even more to me.”

He drew a deep breath. “This time tomorrow we'll be Mr. and Mrs. Damien Steele.”

She smiled then. “Except I'll always have to be Stevana Simms.”

“Yeah, because you're a diva.”

“No. My father wanted a boy. He always said he'd rather have me than any boy, but I was an only child and he wanted me to carry on his name. Do you mind?”

He leaned over and cuddled her. “I don't mind. You're my woman. Just keep that in memory. Listen, babe, I'm punch-proud of the way you got all that stuff with Jake straight tonight. You remember so much now.”

“Not enough. Not the most important thing.”

“All in good time.”

Stevie said slowly, “Dr. Winslow says that we have to respect my resistance to remembering.”

“I think he's right.”

The hair suddenly lifted on the back of her head with fear and anxiety. “Damien, what if I saw something that has to do with Bretta's death?” She had never let herself think of that.

Damien was very still. “That's very possible.” He had long thought of that possibility. “Look, I'm not sure we ought to go into this just before you go to sleep. You'll have nightmares. I want you fresh and beautiful for our wedding.”

“Honi's beautiful, not me.”

“You're my kind of beautiful.” He stroked her body under the sheet, bent and kissed her face. She hadn't wanted him to leave the first night; she didn't want him to leave her now.

“Marriage is a big step,” she said solemnly. “Aren't you a little scared?”

“Hell, I'm very scared, but we move on by going past our comfort zone. We're a good team, baby. Promise me you'll tell me when I do things that bother you or upset you, and I'll do the same. We'll talk things through always. We'll communicate with ourselves and each other. We're going to have a really good marriage and be the greatest parents.”

Her face got dreamy. “Yes. We could make love tonight. Now.”

Her saying it brought him up short. He felt his shaft harden and a pure thrill shot the length of him. “We won't make love until you're out of the woods. I can't stand the feeling of taking advantage of you.”

“You make me sound so sick. I'm not. I remember a lot now.”

“You're still shaken.”

“Not when I'm with you I'm not. Your eyes tell me you want me.”

He swatted her backside playfully. “We save the lovemaking until…”

She looked at him steadily, her body growing hot. “Until what, honey?”

Calling him honey felt good. “Until you're feeling secure. Now listen, you go to sleep. I won't kiss you because I don't want to go up in flames.”

She laughed a little then. “You're going to owe me a honeymoon and I don't think I'll let you back out.”

“We'll cross that bridge…”

He patted her backside again, got up and left saying “Pleasant dreams.” He blew her a kiss from the doorway.

Stevie pulled up the coverlet and settled down. She wouldn't sleep, she just knew it—but she did sleep soundly for a long time before the dream came: She walked to the edge of a woods and, hidden by bushes, saw a group of people dressed in dark clothing. Except there was a big ball of orange-red in the middle. Something bad was going on that she couldn't bear to watch. She turned away in terror and when she could make herself look again, the orange-red ball had dwindled and this time it was spinning and spinning. Then came a high, thin, eerie wail that made her blood run cold. The primeval cry of someone being hurt—or killed.

She came awake to realize that it was her own cry she had heard, then Damien burst through the door to her side. It was l:00 a.m. She was damp with perspiration. He gathered her in his arms and held her as she shook and sobbed helplessly. His big, hard body was a haven of strength and she could not let him go.

He rocked and cuddled her for a long time, smoothed her hair, stroked her back.

“The dream again,” he said grimly.

“I almost saw it,” she whimpered, “but I couldn't look. Then when I did look something had happened. Something bad. Damien, am I ever going to know?”

He kissed her face and her scalp. “I think you will know, baby. Just be patient.”

Gradually she calmed, and he told her, “I'll get you some hot milk or some hyssop tea.”

“No, I…”

She didn't want him to leave her.

“You need something to calm you.”

“You calm me. I don't need anything else.” She put her arms around his neck, drew him close and kissed him full on the mouth. Her tongue moved across his lips, feverishly seeking his open mouth. She explored his hot, slightly salty mouth and probed it relentlessly. Groaning, he bent her back and his own tongue did some exploring of its own. Her flesh was very warm and soft and he was going up in the flames he didn't want to happen just yet.

“Honey, please make love to me.” She sounded desperate.

“We shouldn't,” he groaned.

“Yes, we should. I want you and I need you. And you want and need me. I can't wait any longer. I want you too much.”

Words were not what she wanted now. She wanted him inside her, raging with the same desire that consumed her.

“Okay. I'm going to give you what you're asking for,” he told her, his voice hoarse with wanting. “All of it.”

He stripped the gown from her body and kissed the honeyed flesh of her face and moved toward her breasts where he stopped and suckled hungrily. It seemed a lifetime since he'd known this pleasure and he was ravenous. After a moment, she gently pushed his head away, stripped off his pajamas and held his hard body in her arms. She felt half-crazy, sick with hunger, and her tongue brushed across his broad chest with its rippling pectoral muscles, gripped his biceps and squeezed them. She ran her fingers deeply into the washboard abs and massaged them.

His shaft was rock-hard and throbbing and she was crying for him to be inside her. But he rubbed his erection against her bud, causing her to buck and convulse. He took mercy then and stroked her private parts, enjoying the syrupy wetness of her in his fingers.

She grasped his shaft and slowly guided it in deep, and he moved expertly and rhythmically. A dance of desire.

He lifted her legs and held them in the crooks of his arms and she threw her legs across his back and tightened them, holding him in. There was so much she wanted to do to him, but this was paramount. Heaven itself could be no better.

When he went past her womb, she cried out his name and he crushed her to him. Heat flashed through her body like wildfire and he was going under with thrills that made his body spasm. He had had no time to prepare himself mentally for this and he couldn't hold back. He thought of snow and icy water, but it didn't help. Good thing they were getting married that day, he thought, because the heat from her body would have burned through a condom.

There was so much he wanted to do to her, but there would be all the time in the world later. Now he had this and nothing he had ever known had felt better. He felt his body quake suddenly and violently and felt his hot seed rush into her waiting womb and cling there, anxious to meld and join with the eggs of her body to make the child they both wanted so badly.

And lying beneath him, there were still tears in her eyes, but those tears had changed from frustration and sadness to pure joy. It had been everything she could have hoped for, even if it was over too soon. She held him in to her as he continued to work her and in a minute her own moments of glory came, and she lay gripping and releasing him in perfect rhythm.

He was spent and damp and he held her, smiling fondly. “I wanted to save you until you were fully ready.”

“I was ready. I
am
ready. Couldn't you tell?”

“Believe me, I could tell.”

He stroked her before he shook her lightly. “Listen, love, I've got a world of lovemaking planned for us, but I thought I should wait. Now, well, we couldn't wait. It's plain we're always going to be hot for each other. Thank you, my darling, for making up my mind.”

She grinned. “You're welcome. Told ya. Do you want a repeat?”

“I want a lot of repeats, but since we've started this, why don't we just wait until we're on gorgeous Diamond Point, make love in that powder-soft white sand and in the waterfall.”

“In the waterfall?”

“Yeah. It's been my pipe dream. The fall is low, not too harsh. It's warm there at night and you could heat it up even if it weren't. Stevie, this is going to be heaven for both of us. I'm so glad we finally found each other.”

 

Damien went into his office early before the flight to Diamond Point. In the parking lot, before he could get out of his car, Honi drove up and they both got out.

“Are you following me?” he teased her.

“No, but I'd like to.” She came very close to him and her perfume was heady. She was so intense, but he was full of Stevie's magic.

“Could I go in with you to talk?”

He shook his head no. “I'm on my way out of town for a few days and I'm rushed. When I get back…” He'd be married to Stevie then.

“You're getting awfully close to Stevie Simms, aren't you? Your house. Her house.”

He laughed. “Who's your private investigator?”

Her face was sober. “She's not for you, Damien. You've always liked svelte, glamorous women like me. Stevie's plain, overweight…”

He grinned then. “I think she's beautiful.”

“No, you don't. You want to hurt me the way I hurt you and, God, I'm so sorry.”

“It's said everything happens for the best, Honi. I'm happy now. Stevie and I are getting married.”

“No! You can't!” She wrung her hands. “This is all wrong. I won't
let
you. I'll
make
you change your mind!”

She flung her arms around him and planted wet kisses on his mouth. Her tongue sought entry to search for his, and her body against his was raging as her arms locked around his neck.

Very gently he disengaged her arms and held her away from him. His secretary pulled into the lot and Honi's hands fell to her sides.

“It isn't over, love,” she said heatedly. “It will
never
be over between you and me.”

 

Back home, he told Stevie what had happened and she looked thoughtful and bothered.

“It's still not too late to change your mind.”

He caught her close. “You're mine, baby, and I'm never letting go.”

Diamond Point, the Caribbean

“B
onbini! Our word for welcome!”

One man and two women with leis greeted Stevie and Damien at the airport in Aruba. Stevie was entranced at the quaint beauty of the colorful island. One young girl stepped forward and hung a lei around their necks, kissed their cheeks, smiling all the time.

“The boat that will take us across the bay to Diamond Point is a short distance away,” Damien said and flagged a cab. They handled their medium-sized bags with ease and Damien told the older driver what they wanted. The driver grinned after looking at Stevie's ringless hand. “You come to get married.”

Damien laughed. “We come to get married.”

“It is the way of heaven. Forty years I marry and it is still heaven.”

They both congratulated the man and in a very short while they were at the pier and the boat that waited to take them to Diamond Point. There were only three other passengers on the small boat and all smiled and spoke to them. The island they were headed toward was on the leeward side of Aruba and Stevie thought it shone like a jewel in the afternoon sunlight. Sandy white beaches curved invitingly around the turquoise waters of the Caribbean. Cacti of every type and size sat in prickly glory. Palm, divi-divi and kwihi trees abounded.

Like Aruba, Diamond Point was a place of gaily colored cottages, some of them made of mud and colored in pastel and bright hues. There were the prime minister's palatial white mansion, the state houses, luxurious hotels and a number of “honeymoon estates” of varying colors and charming arrangement.

They took a Jeep and the ebullient driver studied them with sleepy eyes as Damien gave him the address. “May I take you first on a little sightseeing tour of the island?” he asked.

Damien glanced at his watch. “Well, we've got to be at the dressmaker's for your fitting in a little while, but why not? We'll do the sightseeing, drop off the bags and go to the dressmaker's. We're not going to have much time here.”

Stevie found the island beautiful in the extreme. The many shades of green, the flowering trees and cacti and the scent of wild and cultivated roses lay on the air like a blessing. She was comfortable in pale-blue handkerchief linen that flattered her silken skin, and wide-strapped tan sandals. Damien wore a navy linen blazer and white pants. After a few minutes he took off his jacket.

The weather was perfect with fat, white cumulus clouds. It seldom rained on Diamond Point, but there had been rain the night before and soft moisture still clung to the air. The driver pointed out the sites of interest. The old, old stone bridge that rose high in the air and went over a stream. The state houses were the pride of the islanders, the driver said. Goats were everywhere and well tolerated by the islanders. Several times they stopped to let a small herd of goats pass.

The innumerable birds were more brightly colored than any Stevie could remember seeing. Fabulous flocks of giant yellow and green parakeets were so tame they lighted on the Jeep and studied them, then flew away in search of their mates. Cashew trees grew in abundance.

Damien gave directions to a grove of green plants and Damien helped her out. His eyes crinkled with laughter as he told her, “I want you to see something you won't see anywhere else.” Pointing out one lush plant, he said, “This is the bushni plant.” And Stevie had to laugh, because the plant was shaped like both the male and female sexual organs and they met and joined. “Oh, my Lord,” she murmured.

“This is worth coming back for,” Damien said. “If our climate supported it, I'd ask Matt Wolpers, their tourism minister, to let me take a few home.”

“They'd be the talk of the town.”

One bleak section of warehouses depressed Stevie, and a few shabby houses with faded paint stood nearby. “So you see,” Damien said, “even in paradise…”

Taking his binoculars, the driver scanned the horizon, then handed them his lenses and another pair.

“Look carefully,” he said, “and at some point you will see Diamond Point, tip to tip. It's a true wonder.”

They looked and after a while it was as he said, and it was stunning. “That's why I brought you to this point,” the driver said.

After the brief sightseeing trip, Damien and Stevie left their bags at their cottage and were at the dressmaker's a little ahead of time. The buxom young dressmaker greeted them like long-lost friends and offered them something to eat, though neither was hungry.

The dressmaker pursed her lips in a charming smile. “You will fall in love with this dress. It's a prize from my creative womb—I have done no other like it. Five of us worked on this beauty almost day and night. It stands ready and we can quickly make alterations if necessary. But you must have tea or coffee.” They accepted coffee as a hedge against the huge amount of energy they would expend over the rest of that day and night. The coffee brought by a young girl was a superb Turkish blend. They both wanted cream and sugar substitute and they lingered over the delicious brew.

Alterations were not necessary and the dress fitted perfectly. It was off-the-shoulder, layered ivory silk chiffon, it fell in flattering folds almost to the floor. “I have put together all the accessories you need and your fiancé described the lingerie he wanted you to have. Ah, you got a romantic in him. Be grateful.”

Back at their cottage, they rested a while, ate some of the bushni fruit the driver had cut for them—which tasted like strawberries—drank tamarind juice and gazed fondly into each other's eyes.

A knock sounded and, at their invitation, their houseman, Perth, came in. Damien had known the man for a long time. Now Perth wanted Stevie to like him, too.

“I serve at your pleasure, ma'am,” he said. “You are a beautiful bride. Mr. Steele is a lucky man.”

Blushing, Stevie thanked him and he went out.

Damien took Stevie's hand as they sat on the loveseat in the bedroom. “Tired?”

“Not a bit. The air is exhilarating.” She smiled then. “And getting married is even more so. Mrs. Damien Steele. Stevie Steele. What beautiful alliteration. What are you thinking?”

“About the waterfall. I always wondered what it would be like to make love in the waterfall.”

“That's a romantic's dream. The dressmaker said you're a romantic.”

“Guilty as charged. You make a great subject for romanticism. I'm having a hard time holding back from ravishing you now, but we couldn't stop. There'd be no wedding this night.”

“Would that be so bad?” she murmured. “There's always tomorrow.”

He laughed heartily. “You're getting lustful, like me.”

She spoke from the heart. “With you I think I've always been lustful. I just didn't let myself know it.”

“Same here. And unlike you, I did let myself know it.” He kissed the tip of her nose and squeezed her hand. She had an hour and a half to shower and get into her wedding finery. It would have been wonderful to have Bretta attend her wedding but Bretta was no longer here and for a few moments she was incredibly sad.

“You're thinking of Bretta,” Damien said.

“Yes.”

“More than anything, she'd want you to be happy.”

“I know. I've remembered a few more things about my songs and my past and oh, Damien, the last two verses of ‘The Way You Make Me Feel' have come into my head.”

“Hey, that's great!”

“I won't sing it to you until I can play with it more. You're so good for me—and to me.”

“I want to be. I feel like a different man since we got together.”

“I hope I get pregnant soon. I think I'm well enough.”

He studied her. “I'd say after last night, you're plenty well enough. Your womb's crying for a baby. Dr. Winslow approved of your getting married.”

“He did. He said I'm doing wonderfully well and he thinks you had everything to do with it. He knows we were friends before my amnesia so he's not as concerned as he would be if we just met.” Her face clouded then. “What if I never remember the special scene, the hateful scene?”

“You will. We have to have faith.”

 

Stevie stood nervously surveying herself in the full-length mirror of the small room of the white, hillside church. She hugged herself and shivered at the delicious thrill that went through her as she thought of Damien in the next room. He had long ago made friends with the pastor of this church and had made arrangements for them to be married here.

“My dear, you look beautiful,” the pastor's wife, a tan, middle-aged woman with a dreamy smile told her. This woman would be her matron of honor. “You remind me of my wedding day. Now don't be nervous. We've known Mr. Steele for years and you're getting a wonderful man.”

Stevie smiled. “I certainly think so.”

Looking at herself again she loved the layered ivory silk chiffon and the matching wide-brimmed hat. She wore a magnificent string of ivory pearls and matching drop earrings Damien had bought for her. He had also selected the cobwebby sheer lace lingerie she wore, and she blushed as she thought of his lustful eyes that reflected so many other things.

The pastor's wife thrust a bouquet of big white roses and baby's breath into her hands.

“There now. You're all set.” She held up a Bible covered with ivory leather, imprinted with gold lettering. “My husband and I want you to have this to guide you through what has to be a wonderful life. There's certainly enough love between you two. I'll just put it here and give it to you after the ceremony. I'm so happy to be your matron of honor.”

It made Stevie a little sad that this was not a marriage based on love, but on deep bonds of respect and friendship. Nevertheless, she thought, it still felt wonderful.

A small girl of about six came in and smiled. “Oh, you look lovely,” she said shyly. She was dressed in white ruffled organdy with white satin bows in her hair.

“Thank you.” A small stab of pain went through Stevie. She might have had a child like this. Then she relaxed. She
would
have a child like this.

“This is Sheila, your flower girl,” the pastor's wife said, smoothing the little girl's hair.

“I'm honored to have you,” Stevie said, bending to take the child's hand.

“I'll be getting married one day and I hope I'll look just like you.”

Stevie touched the child's cheek. “I'm sure you will be more beautiful, and thank you for the compliment.”

Laughter kept bubbling in Stevie's throat until she thought of Bretta and she sobered, but nothing could stop the joy she felt.

 

In another room Damien stood with the pastor by the window looking out on the beautiful blue waters of the Caribbean Sea. His mind was on Stevie in the next room and his heart filled with rapture. She was so precious to him. His best friend.

“I say to you again, bonbini! Welcome,” the pastor said. “My heart is always glad when you visit and now you have brought a bride who gladdens my heart, too.”

For all his joy, Damien was nervous. He never wanted Stevie to be hurt again. He glanced down at his black business suit and black cravat. A man didn't get married every day and this was his first—and last—time. It was strange when he thought about it. He had never dreamed about a wedding, only of the woman he would marry. In his heart of hearts, he knew he couldn't have chosen a more perfect mate for himself than Stevie. If love never came, perhaps they'd never miss it.

The minister was thoughtful as he said, “I have carefully prepared many little surprises for your bride and I think you will be pleased. We are honored that you chose us to do these things and tears fill our eyes when we think of your generosity to us and our church. Ours is a poor congregation and we wanted to thank you in our own way. So we have further arranged a wedding celebration. I hope you don't mind. And, oh yes, Matt Wolpers wanted me to tell you that he and Mrs. Wolpers will be here tonight.”

Damien was pleased because Matt had called to say there was a special meeting about trouble in the hills with some insurgents and he wasn't sure he could make it. He had thought he would take Stevie downtown to a special dinner, but he was moved by this effort.

Damien smiled at the older man. “Mind? Man, I am overjoyed and Stevie will be, too. That's good news about Matt. Everything's coming up roses.”

A man knocked and came in. Tall, dark-brown and dressed in a black business suit, he smiled and the pastor introduced him as Winston Manning who would serve as best man. Matt had wanted to be his best man but knew he'd be pressed for time.

“It is my pleasure,” Winston said in a deep voice and Damien thanked him.

Stevie and Damien met in the hallway, and his heart raced when he saw her in the gown he had chosen. The hat brim shaded her eyes, but he knew they were sparkling.

The chapel was bedecked with orchids, roses, lilies of the valley and ferns and a blazing sun had begun to set over the Caribbean. Its long red and coral rays, combined with the perfume of the flowers, seemed to send a message that this would be a night like no other.