Griffin W.E.B. - Honor Bound 01 - Honor Bound

"I understand completely," his father said, and winked at him, man-to-man. "Get one young, and train her right."

Somehow—he wasn't sure how—he would take the Virgin Princess aside for a few minutes and talk to her. He wasn't sure yet what exactly he would say, but the gist of his words would be that there was a great difference in their ages, that she was really too young to know her own emotions, that while he held her in the highest possible regard, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

He would at least have a chance to be with her one last time before he left. That was very important to him.

He was considering that the real, as opposed to the wishful thinking, chances were that somewhere down the pike.. .If I even come back to Argentina at all, if I survive the war, if she doesn't just dismiss me from her mind when I'm away from Argentina, I might be able tell her how I really feel about her—

Christ, ask her to marry me! . . .when he heard the whine of the elevator motor, and then the sound of the door sliding open.

He didn't even turn to see who it was. The bad guys stood little chance of getting past Enrico, who had stationed himself and his Remington in an armchair in the foyer. And in any event, bad guys would not take the elevator. It was either Enrico checking on him, or one of the maids, here to clean the bath, make the bed, or do something else useful.

It was much more pleasant to fantasize about the Virgin Princess in a white dress in a church somewhere smiling at him as he lifted her veil and the priest saying, “You may now kiss the bride."

"You bah-stud!" the Virgin Princess said loudly, indignantly, and quite clearly, in perfect Oxford English.

He jerked his head toward the elevator. The Virgin Princess was walking angrily across the room toward him. She was rain-soaked. Her hair hung wetly down her cheeks. Her blouse and skirt were plastered to her body.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in! Been out in the rain, have you, Princess?"

"You despicable bah-stud! I utterly loathe you!"

Clete laughed.

"I have been out of my mind with worry about you!"

And then she was on him. He quickly put his hand up to thwart her obvious intention, which was to slap him. He missed her wrist, and she punched him in the face.

Or, precisely, she connected with his nose.

"Hey, Jesus Christ! Take it easy! That hurt!"

She then slapped him, open-handed, on the head. The blow landed on his ear. It hurt even more than the punch in the nose. When he put his hand to his ear, she punched him in the face again.

He grabbed her. It took much more effort than he expected to hold her hands, then pin her to the bed. During this defensive tactic, she managed to kick his legs, his ankles, and his lower abdomen. She missed the symbol of his gender by no more than an inch.

But finally she was immobile under him.

"You didn't even call me to tell me you weren't dead!" the Virgin Princess said, and tears started down her cheeks. "On Christmas Eve, goddamn you!"

And then he was kissing her.

A minute later, when he felt her go limp, he rolled off her onto his back, breathing very heavily. After a moment he looked at her. Her nipples were clearly visible, standing erect against her rain-sodden blouse and thin brassiere.

He raised his eyes to hers. She was also breathing heavily. Eyes locked with his, she put her hand to her blouse, tore the buttons open, then freed her breasts from the confinement of the brassiere.

He put his mouth on the one closest to him.

"Cletus!" she said. "Oh, Cletus!"

"You were a virgin," he said.

"I wasn't aware it was a sin to be a virgin."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Princess."

" 'Oh, for Christ's sake, Princess,' " she mocked him, then rolled over on top of him.

"Princess!"

"I wanted to kill you," she said. "I have never been so furious with anyone in my life."

"Princess..."

"I thought the first time would be dreadful," she said. "It was actually rather nice."

" 'Rather nice'?"

"Was it nice for you too?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ!"

"Was it?"

"What do you think?" he asked. His hand seemed to find her breast as if it had a mind of its own.

"I don't know what to think, having no experience in this sort of thing to speak of."

He kissed the top of her head and said, "It was very nice, Princess."

"I'm glad," she said.

And then he was kissing her forehead and her eyes and then her mouth again.

The elevator whined.

"Somebody pushed the elevator button."

"So?" she asked, pulling his face to hers again.

"That means somebody is coming up here."

"Don't let them! Not now, Cletus!"

He freed himself, stepped out of the bed, and walked naked to the elevator.

Christ, I didn't even take my boots off!

He looked back at the bed. She was propped up on one elbow.

That has to be the most beautiful female in the world.

"Pull the sheet over you," he ordered.

"Oh, my!" she said, and reached for the sheet.

It was Enrico.

"I didn't think the lady posed a threat, mi Teniente," Enrico said, his eyes carefully raised to the ceiling, "so I let her up."

"What the hell do you want?"

"There is a Norteamericano downstairs, mi Teniente. A coronel."

"A colonel?"

“S?, mi Teniente."

Who the hell can that be? ANorteamericano colonel?

"I'll be right down, Enrico."

He walked to the bed. She was prone under a sheet.

"I have to go downstairs a minute."

"I heard. Damn!"

"I'll be right back. We have to talk."

She sat up. The sheet was dislodged.

He kissed her forehead, then walked to the wardrobe, took out his bathrobe and put it on, and walked to the elevator.

"Cletus, if you're wearing that, what am I to wear? My clothing is soaked!" the no-longer-Virgin Princess demanded indignantly from the bed.

"Take one of my shirts," Clete said. "They're in the wardrobe."

He stepped into the elevator beside Enrico. As it started to descend, she was walking naked to the wardrobe.

When he opened the elevator door, he saw the Norteamericano coronel sitting in one of the armchairs in the foyer. He was in civilian clothing. He rose and smiled at Clete.

"Merry Christmas, Tex," Colonel A. F. Graham said, then asked, "Did you really threaten to punch Nestor into next week?"

"What are you doing here?" Clete asked coldly.

"Right now, I'm hoping that you will tell your friend to point that shotgun in another direction."

"I should tell him to blow your ass away with it," Clete said. "You sent me down here hoping that I'd be killed."

Graham stopped smiling.

"That was one of the scenarios, Clete," he said. "But it wasn't mine."

"Bullshit!"

"If were I in your shoes, I suppose I wouldn't believe me either."

"Why the hell should I?"

"Because it happens to be the truth, Clete," Graham said.

Why do I believe him?

"What are you doing down here?" Clete asked.

"Despite the reports to the contrary I've been getting, when I heard the Germans tried to kill you, I decided you must be doing something right, so I decided to come see for myself what's going on down here. I mentioned this at lunch to Newton-Haddle, and he somewhat—"

"Newton-Haddle?" Clete interrupted.

"Colonel Baxter F. Newton-Haddle. That's right. You never met him, did you? He's the Army Colonel who ran the Country Club."

"I don't know him," Clete said coldly.

"Anyway, when I told Newton-Haddle I was coming down here, he told me, in the strictest confidence, that that would interfere with the scenario he and General Donovan were running. And he more or less politely told me to butt out. I went to Donovan to find out what that scenario was. And he had never heard of it, Clete. It was a solo operation cooked up by Newton-Haddle and Nestor."