Lazlo’s Last Stand

Chapter 9

The point of no return…

Ordinarily, those words had an ominous ring. Today, Lucia couldn’t think of any more beautiful. A lovely quietness settled over her, carrying with it the knowledge that there was no more urgency, that she had time to say to him all she wanted to say, ask all she wanted to ask. This was the man she would love for the rest of her life. Be with for the rest of her life. They would have all the time in the world.

She was happy. So it didn’t occur to her, not then, that she might be wrong.

She murmured a gentle protest, and when he withdrew enough, she let her lips curve against his. “Then let’s go in,” she whispered, loving the way their mouths touched. “I want to have a look at your ribs. I hope we didn’t-”

“I want to have a look at your ribs, as well,” he said in a husky growl. “Among other things.”

And she gave a gasp of sheer delight at the playfulness of it. She’d never experienced Corbett’s sense of humor personally. How many times had she listened from a distance while he exchanged droll banter with other people-Adam, for instance-wishing with all her heart he could relax and be himself with her? And now…Laughing, she rested her head for a moment against his shoulder, then slipped an arm around his waist.

“You’ve lost your hat,” she said, gazing up at him. “And one of your gloves.”

“And you have snow in your hair,” he countered, brushing at it tenderly. He paused, looking around. “I know where the glove is, I think. Ah, yes-here it is.” He bent down to retrieve the glove from the snow, brushed it off and stuffed it into the pocket of his coat. “I don’t feel much like climbing back up that mountain to look for a hat, though, do you?”

Holding his eyes with hers, she shook her head. “I think there are more important things we should be doing.”

“Such as?”

She bit down on her lower lip to stop the shivers of anticipation already coursing through her body and said somberly, “We’re both chilled through to the bone. I think we should both take a bath so we don’t catch cold. A nice…hot…bath.”

He gave her a startled look, then laughed out loud. “God,” he said, as he snaked an arm around her and pulled her close to his side, “how I do love a smart woman.”

They separated at the cottage’s front gate, Corbett to return the sled to Josef’s woodshed, Lucia to brush as much snow and mud from her clothes as she could, then tiptoe alone through the empty house like a cat burglar. She was glad not to have to greet Josef and Kati, certain her newfound happiness must be written all over her in neon lights.

In the passageway between the cottage and the cave house, she stopped to take off her boots and unzip her jacket, shook the last of the snow out of it and pulled the cap from her head. Then she opened the door and slipped into the kitchen.

And found it warm and bright and dense with a multitude of cooking smells, and Kati bustling between the sink and the table, where Josef sat placidly smoking an old-fashioned curved and handpainted pipe. Both greeted Lucia with a cheerful Magyar duet in soprano and baritone, Kati waving a soup ladle, Josef his pipe, to which Lucia responded with a breathless smile, hoping her dismay didn’t show.

Kati clucked and scolded over Lucia’s wet hair and clothes and refused to understand her clumsy efforts to explain how they’d gotten that way, while Josef watched with bright, shrewd eyes from behind a wreath of smoke. A moment later when Corbett came in, red-cheeked and grinning, with his clothes in much the same shape, both lobbed a barrage of questions at him, Kati’s staccato rising over Josef’s steady bass accompaniment.

Corbett rattled off a reply, then looked over at Lucia…and winked. She didn’t have to know the exact translation; heat rose in her cheeks as two pairs of inquisitive eyes darted her way, and the duet rose once more in knowing “oohs” and “ahhs” and delighted laughter. She was about to flee to her room with as much dignity as she could manage, when Corbett took her gently by the arms.

“You might as well get used to it, édesem,” he said softly as he guided her to a chair, pulled it out and sat her down. “The cat’s out of the bag, and no great surprise to them, either. Kati’s been after me to ‘find someone and settle down’ for years. Evidently, she decided the minute she laid eyes on you that you were the one.”

“Smart woman,” Lucia murmured shakily, smiling across the table at Kati, who beamed back at her.

“I seem to be surrounded with them,” Corbett said cheerfully. “Quite outnumbered, in fact.”

“Oh, please, what’s that song?” Lucia nodded toward Kati, who was now busily stirring something on the stove, both the stirring and the bobbing of her ample behind keeping time with the happy little tune she was singing. “She was singing the same song the first morning we were here. I heard it when I woke up. It stuck in my head, and I meant to ask you-”

“Ah-just a minute. I’ll ask. Kérem szépen…”

At Corbett’s query, Kati turned from the stove expectantly. There was a brief but spirited exchange between them, then she and Josef began to sing together with great enthusiasm:

“Kis kút kerekes kút van az udvarunkba

Egy szép barna kislány van a szomszédunkba

Csalfa szemeimet rá sem merem vetni

Fiatal az édesanyja azt is kell szeretni.”

Lucia listened avidly and thought it interesting that, while neither of them could be said to have particularly good voices, together they sounded wonderful.

“Okay,” Corbett said when they’d finished, while Lucia was still applauding, “I think I’ve got most of it. It’s quite an old song. Kati says her mother used to sing it to my father when she was his nanny. It goes, ‘There is a small well in our yard…There is a pretty brown girl in our neighborhood. I don’t dare to give her the eye…’ Dah dah dah dah-Fiatal az édesanyja-something about her having a young mother who needs love, too.”

“That darn age thing-it’ll get you every time,” Lucia said solemnly.

His eyes smiled deeply into hers. She’d never seen them so blue and bright. “Yes, well, I think where Kati’s concerned, the pertinent phrase is, ‘Pretty little brown girl.’ I must say, I find it appropriate, myself, if a bit inadequate.”

And just that easily the room and everything in it disappeared-everything but him…his voice…his eyes. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. She didn’t care who knew, or what anyone might see in her eyes, her face. Just that quickly her world, her existence had come down to this: this man and the miracle that he loved her at last, the way she had always loved him.

And at that moment she was so happy, she hadn’t the sense to be terrified.

The midday meal went on and on, as it always did, while Corbett clung to his legendary self-control like a drowning man to a bit of flotsam. It did no good whatsoever to tell himself how absurd it was for a man his age to be in such a state. Neither did it help to remind himself that in the room next door to this one a very sophisticated communications system sat waiting to connect him at the click of a mouse to the agency he’d built and the responsibilities he’d abdicated. That people he cared about might at this very moment be wounded or dying, that one of those people had betrayed him and that the son he hadn’t known existed was lying paralyzed in a hospital.

All it did was make him feel guilty. Guilty because all he wanted to do at this moment was get to a quiet place where he could be alone with Lucia. Where he could explore bit by tantalizing bit the miracle that this woman who had loved him for so very long had reached so far into his heart that he was able to truly love her the same way. Where he could discover the mysteries of her body and her heart at the same time she was discovering his.

He’d waited long enough. Too long, but that was the past.

This was now. And since he had no way of knowing whether they would have a future, he meant to make the most of it.

Eventually, the last morsel of pastry had been offered and regretfully refused, the last cup of coffee poured and drunk, the last tiny glass of sweet tokai wine lifted in toast and swiftly downed. When Josef seemed about to relight his pipe and settle in for more conversation, his wife, with silent scoldings and meaningful looks toward the two younger people at the table, nudged him toward the door.

And suddenly they were alone.

In the silence, Corbett looked at Lucia and smiled-he thought a bit crookedly. She returned his gaze steadily, though a sweet pink blush rose to her cheeks as he watched. And his heart turned over.

“Still feel like that bath?” he asked, the huskiness in his voice the only outward sign of the strange new vulnerability that had come over him.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she murmured in reply. She pushed back her chair and reached for his hand.

He took it and held it for a moment, fighting the urge to pull her into his lap, weighing the immediacy of the pleasures that activity promised, versus the delay it would cause to his ultimate goal. As a compromise, he rose to his feet, drew her close and folded his arms around her. She nestled against him with a sigh and her arms came carefully to circle his waist.

“Are you sure?” she whispered, tilting her head back to look at him. “What about your ribs?”

He kissed her forehead. “Hmm. Sweet of you to ask. It may require some creativity on both our parts, but with your brains and my…shall we say…motivation, I’m sure we’ll manage.”

“Your motivation? What about mine? Do you know how long I’ve wanted-”

“My fault entirely. As I believe you pointed out to me the other day, I have been a complete idiot. I believe I may be cured of that malady, but if I should ever begin to show signs of relapse, please feel free to pummel me soundly about the-”

At that point, mercifully, she muttered, “Oh, do shut up,” hooked one hand around the back of his neck, pulled his head down and kissed him. Soundly.

When she released him some time later, he lifted his head, managed to pull her face into focus and said sternly, “Is that any way to speak to your-”

So she kissed him again.

This time when he’d recovered his senses somewhat, he had presence of mind to place a restraining finger across her lips before he attempted to speak. “As enjoyable as this is, my love, I have to ask…are you stalling? Because if you are-”

Above his hand her eyes grew wide and bright, and her head moved rapidly back and forth.

“In that case,” he said, kissing her on the tip of her nose, “go and fetch us some towels and whatever else you need. And don’t dawdle.” He took her firmly by the shoulders and turned her toward her bedroom.

She went but paused in the doorway to give him a look over one shoulder. “Hmm. I can see there are one or two old habits in this relationship that will have to be dealt with,” she said thoughtfully.

With the memory of Corbett’s chuckle filling her whole being with happiness, Lucia quickly gathered an armful of towels, clean clothes, soap, lotion and shampoo. But, when she returned to the kitchen, she found him standing in the doorway of his study. He had his back to her, and something about the set of his shoulders-as if he bore the weight of a hundred sorrows on them-made her heart drop sickeningly into the pit of her stomach.

He didn’t turn when she went to him, but silently reached an arm around her to pull her close.

“Corbett,” she said softly, “if you want to check in first…”

He shook his head. A smile flickered briefly as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “No, love. It will all be here when I get to it. There’s nothing I can do anyway, is there?”

He pulled the door closed, and they turned together to the one next to it.

Corbett took the lantern from its hook on the wall of the storage room, lit it, then turned off the overhead lights. The absolute darkness of the cave moved closer, but instead of seeming mysterious and even creepy, it seemed to embrace them in quiet intimacy. He led the way, lifting the lantern high so Lucia could see to pick her way through the maze of rock formations, and as she followed him deeper into the cave she seemed to slip deeper and deeper into a sense of unreality.

This is Corbett Lazlo.

Whenever she could, she studied the man walking ahead of her, watched the way he moved, as he always did, with confidence and grace, his head held high, and everything about him-his height, the breadth of his shoulders, his aristocratic bearing-bespeaking power and authority. He seemed larger than life, which she supposed was only natural for a man who had become a legend in his field.

The legendary Corbett Lazlo.

Funny, she thought, that in all the years she’d worked for him, and for all that time secretly been in love with him, she’d never once felt he might be beyond her reach. Infuriating, yes, for refusing to recognize she was a grown woman, intelligent and independent and capable of making her own choices, and not just his very young student and protégée, but never unattainable. Why now, when she’d finally won from him the things she’d longed for-both recognition and love-did she feel such overwhelming awe?

Corbett Lazlo, this amazing man, loves me.

Was that it? Was it the mere fact of being loved back by the man she’d chosen that filled her with such a profound sense of wonder? Would this moment be as magical, would this feeling of being in a dream be the same if we were about to make love in his bed, or mine?

“Wait here, love.” Corbett’s voice broke into her thoughts without scattering them.

She waited, leaning against the same stalactite-or stalagmite?-from which she’d startled him the day before, and watched him skirt the edge of the thermal pool. Watched him through a mist of wonder, rocking slightly from the pulsing of her heartbeat against the barrier of solid rock.

He placed the lantern on the ledge where it had sat that day, then came back to take her hand. “Watch your step-it can be slippery.” He guided her around the edge of the pool to a wider spot where the rocks had formed a natural bench. “We can put our things here,” he said, taking the armful of towels and toiletries from her and placing them on the bench. “Our clothes, too…if you like.”

She nodded. And then, to her dismay, she shivered.

“Oops, sorry,” she said, giving him a rueful smile, “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

He took her hands, enfolded them in both of his and lifted them to his lips. “Believe it or not,” he said huskily, “so am I.”

She stared at him, studying the planes and hollows of his face as if she’d never seen them before as she said slowly, “I’ve seen you in nothing but a pair of shorts. You’ve seen me in my workout clothes. But this…it’s different, isn’t it?”

He kissed the backs of her fingers and gravely nodded. “It’s different.”

“I want you to see me, and I want to see you, but I…” She closed her eyes and caught a breath that felt sharp inside. “This is going to sound funny, since I’ve made such a point of telling you you’re not my teacher, but-” she opened her eyes and tried again to smile “-I’d really like it if right now you’d tell me what to do.”

“Hmm, okay…” He cocked his head and gave her one of his endearingly crooked smiles. “We may need to have a discussion at some point in the near future about the inference to be taken from that, but for the moment, glad to oblige. So here’s what you do. Take these lovely hands, here, which, by the way, I believe are almost as cold as mine-”

“Oh-sorry!”

“Never mind,” he said, tightening his hold when she tried to pull them away, “I fully intend to warm them soon enough. Anyway, as I was saying, you take these hands and place them here.” He guided her hands to his waist as he spoke, and she uncurled them and felt the muscles of his torso grow taut against her palms. “Yes, that’s lovely. Cold, but lovely. Now-”

But she was already gathering in the fabric of his pullover and tugging it free, lifting it and laying her hands on the smooth warm skin beneath. He caught a breath, then let it go in a sigh. “Ah, yes…that’s it. How I do love a woman with a brilliant-” His breath hissed sharply between his teeth as she lifted the shirt higher and ducked her head to brush her mouth across his newly bared chest. She didn’t flinch or gasp at the rainbow of colors spreading across the injured side of his chest, or the way his ribcage moved slightly out of sync when he breathed. It was only a part of him, of the man who was now a part of her, and perhaps a reminder to them both to go gently.

After that he may have spoken, but she didn’t hear him, having lost herself in exploring the wonders of his body. His beautiful body, that she’d seen before-this part, at least-and imagined so often. But she could never have imagined the way it would make her feel to touch it like this…touch with her lips the textures of it, somehow both silky-smooth yet altogether masculine…taste with her tongue the salty tang of his skin, and know for the first time the raw, blood-stirring scent of a clean, healthy man’s passion. She couldn’t have imagined, as she touched him this way, that her own body would swell and tingle and lose all track of its own boundaries, as if she’d already began the process of ceasing to be one individual and becoming part of another. Becoming part of him-this man.

She couldn’t have known how frightening it would be.

But then she felt his hands on her neck…her shoulders. Felt the power in them, and the gentleness. Fear fled. Though she couldn’t have put any of it into words-either the reasons for the fear or the conquering of it-she somehow knew it was right, this coming together, this oneness. It was right because he was right. Right for her. Her heart had always known it, and now her soul and body knew it, too.

This is Corbett Lazlo, my love. Mine.

Joy and pride surged through her as his hands gathered her sweater and drew it over her head. She lifted her head and smiled at him as she pulled her arms free and he tossed the sweater onto the ledge. A moment later his pullover followed. She rested her fingertips on the uninjured side of his chest and gazed into his eyes. His eyes smiled back into hers as his searching fingers found the fastening on her bra. She gave a little hiccup of laughter as he drew the straps over her shoulders, then added the lacy scrap to the pile on the rock ledge.

Her nipples were already hard, so hard they hurt. Anticipating his touch made her tremble. His fingers, his mouth…either would be too intense. How would she stand it? Her legs were so weak already…

Then his hands were warm on her shoulders, stroking so lightly down her back, as if she were a wildcat to be gentled, guiding her toward him, bringing her against him so delicately, so softly she felt him first as a warm breath on her nipples, then a feather’s touch, then the soft tickle of his hair. From there her sensitized nerves spread tingling heat throughout her body, making every part of her swell, and yearn…and she gasped out a sob of sheer relief when he brought her at last, oh, so gently, against him.

He folded his arms around her and her head came to snuggle into the hollow of his shoulder. He let his cheek rest on the soft, fragrant pillow of her curls and whispered brokenly, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that. How good you feel.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” she replied with a shaken sigh. “Because if it’s any better than I feel right now I don’t think I could stand it.”

There were any number of thoughts that flashed through his mind, then. Things he might say in reply to that, things a confident, even arrogant man might have said. He’d been called both those things and probably deservedly, but he doubted anyone would believe him or understand if he tried to explain the way he felt right now. He didn’t understand it himself. This strange vulnerability that came over him at odd moments-sometimes the worst possible moments-contrasted with a fierce protectiveness, the feeling he would find himself possessed of the strength of Hercules if that was what was needed to keep her safe. Intense pride that this woman-so young and bright and beautiful-was his, but also a humbling sense of awe that she should have chosen to be.

One thing he did know. He meant to spend the rest of his life trying very hard to see that she never regretted her choice.

All this went through his mind in the second or two it took him to reconnect with the fact that Lucia was shivering. He doubted it was entirely due to nerves, although she must have thought it was, since she seemed to be trying hard not to. It wasn’t freezing cold in the cave, but it wasn’t all that warm, either.

“Édesem,” he said gently, “as lovely as this feels, the fact is, it’s much warmer in the water. Do you mind if we proceed?”

She drew back, her hands slipping once more to his waist, and looked at him gravely. “No. I’d like it very much. What comes next?”

“Shoes,” he said, after a moment’s consideration. “Definitely. Otherwise removing one’s trousers can quite easily become an exercise in low comedy.”

She gave a snuffle of laughter, stifled it, then glared sternly at him long enough to say, “Yes, we certainly wouldn’t want comedy intruding upon something as serious as sex.” Then she gave in to the laughter once more. “Oh, dear,” she said contritely when the giggles had subsided, “I am sorry. But I just realized how silly I’m being. As if we were the first two people ever to do this…”

“No, but it is the first time for us ever to do this. I think that warrants a certain degree of solemnity. Here-sit down and let’s have a go at those boots. I am a patient man, my dear, but I’m discovering limits I didn’t know I had.” In the process of easing himself carefully onto one knee, he glanced up to see her gazing at him with widened eyes. “Oh, good heavens, don’t look so alarmed. It’s not so bad that I’m in danger of ravishing you-not just yet, anyway.”

“Who said I was alarmed?” she said demurely, biting down on her lower lip in a way that made his mouth water.

Swiftly disposing of her ski boots, he hooked one hand around her neck, gathered a handful of her hair and brought her mouth to his. “I can see it’s been entirely too long since I kissed you,” he said, and did so, thoroughly, pulling her away from him only when his head began to swim and his heart to pound at a truly astonishing pace.

“Stand up,” he growled, and she did without hesitation. He wondered if she felt the same urgency he did. Silently, she gripped his shoulders while he unzipped her pants and shucked them off of her, and when he wrapped his arms around her hips and lay his cheek against her belly, she only whimpered softly and cradled him closer, trembling a little. He turned his face to her and kissed her tight, satiny skin, and felt it quiver against his tongue.

Wishing he had more time…more patience…more willpower, he rose slowly, kissed his way upward over her stomach, held her slender waist between his two hands and measured the urgency in her breathing, traced the sweet under-curve of each breast, and, in pausing to taste each tender tip, made her gasp sharply as if she’d felt pain. He straightened all the way, cradling her neck in one hand and trapping her leaping pulse in his mouth, with the other hand rapidly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. He felt her hands touch his, then, and gratefully left the rest to her.

And there was nothing even remotely comedic in the graceful way she divested him of both pants and shoes.

Before rising, she did to him as he’d done to her-whether out of feminine mischief or innocent passion he would never know and never ask-wrapped her arms around his hips and lay her face against his belly. She briefly cradled the hot, hard length of him next to her body, then sweetly kissed him there, making him inhale sharply with something akin to pain. Then she rose swiftly, sliding her body the entire length of his until she joined her mouth with his in a hot, deep, drugging kiss.

He wondered-much later, when he could think again-if that was the precise moment when he, Corbett Lazlo, knew beyond any shadow of doubt that in Lucia Cordez he had more than met his match.