Danielle Steel - Zoya

The sun set over the garden as she toasted them, and a little while later, she quietly took her glass and left the room, with a discreet look at Simon. Her own quarters were at the back of the house, and when she had important guests, she let them use the parlor as well as the upstairs bedrooms. There were two, with a large Victorian bath connecting them, and beautiful canopied beds she had had sent over from England.

“Come and look.” Simon was telling Zoya all about it, and Zoya looked hesitant.

“Won't she mind, Simon?” She was still trying to figure out where Mrs. Whitman had gone. She had been gone for ages, but it was so cozy sitting in the cheerful living room drinking sherry with him that Zoya didn't mind. But she felt strange going upstairs without an invitation.

“Don't be silly. I know this place like my own home.” He took her hand, and led her upstairs to the pretty bedrooms, and Zoya smiled when she saw them. The lights were turned on, and the beds were turned down, as though she were expecting guests at any moment. But the rooms were obviously unoccupied, and as Zoya turned to go back downstairs, Simon pulled her into his arms with a deep laugh, and kissed her full on the lips. She was breathless when he let go of her, and her hair looked sexy and disheveled. And then, with a teasing look, he pulled her onto the bed with him, and Zoya gave a gasp as she tried to escape his caresses.

“Simon! What will Mrs. Whitman think! Stop that! … we'll get the bed all messed up! … Simon! …”

But he was laughing at her as he sat back under the huge canopy and laughed. “I certainly hope so.”

“Simon! Will you get up?” She was laughing at him too. He looked perfectly comfortable as he sat fully dressed on the bed in one of Mrs. Whitman's two guest rooms.

“I will not”

“You're drunk!” But he'd hardly had a thing to drink all day, except for her very proper little sherry, and he hadn't had enough to make him drunk. But it was obvious that he was enjoying himself immensely. And then with a long arm, he reached out and pulled Zoya toward him.

“I'm not drunk. But you were right this morning, when you said you'd been abducted. I thought it might do you good to get away for a day or two, my love. So here we are, safely tucked into my secret hideaway.” He planted a kiss on her open lips and then smiled at her as she stared at him. “Consider yourself abducted.” He looked immensely pleased with himself as Zoya stared at him in amazement.

“Are you serious? We're staying here?”

“I am, and we are. In fact,” he looked faintly embarrassed for the first time, “I took the liberty of bringing a few things I thought you might need.” He looked sheepish and Zoya grinned at him in wonder.

“Simon, you are extraordinary!” She bounced onto the bed next to him like a child and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. As it turned out, he had bought her a beautiful satin nightgown and peignoir, matching slippers, and had bought all sorts of creams and lotions and bath oils that he had thought might please her, along with two shades of lipstick, a new toothbrush, and the brand of toothpaste he had previously observed in her bathroom. He had packed it all in a small suitcase, which he brought upstairs to her a few moments later, and set it down in the bedroom next door to his own, as she proceeded to go through it with little gurgles of delight, and then she suddenly turned to him. “What will Mrs. Whitman think of our staying here, Simon? She knows we're not married.” And she had seemed so terribly proper, although Simon knew she was far less stuffy than she looked, and had a terrific sense of humor. Besides which, it was difficult to resist two people as obviously in love as they were.

“What can she possibly think, Zoya? We have separate bedrooms.” Zoya nodded, and went back to unpacking the treasures Simon had bought her, and was touched to discover a huge bottle of her favorite perfume.

“Good lord, Simon, is there anything you didn't think of?”

“I certainly hope not.” He put his arms around her again, and then went to bring the rest of their sandwiches upstairs to their rooms with another glass of sherry. He had offered to take her out to dinner, but Zoya had insisted that she wasn't hungry.

“I'd love that.” He lit a fire in his room, and they sat cozily in front of it, eating watercress sandwiches and Mrs. Whitman's delicate little English biscuits, which she said were exactly like the ones her grandmother used to have for her when she was a child in Russia. “This is perfect, darling, isn't it?” She leaned over and kissed him again, and he looked at her contentedly. She was everything he had always wanted.

She left him around nine o'clock, and went to her own room to get ready for bed. They were both tired, and Simon sensed that she was nervous. He heard her running a bath, and it was a long time before he heard sounds in her room again. He wondered what she was doing and how she looked in the ivory satin nightgown. It was something to wear on a wedding night, which was precisely how he had pictured their secret weekend. He walked slowly to the door, and knocked softly, and when the door opened, his breath caught as he saw her. The satin gown molded her perfectly and her red hair flowed softly over her shoulders, as the creamy flesh of her neck beckoned him to touch her.

“My God … you look incredible …”

“This is beautiful, Simon … thank you …” She looked shy as she took a step back into the room and looked at him. He had never seen anyone lovelier. She managed to look both regal and inviting and it was all he could do to force himself not to reach out and grab her. But he didn't dare, she looked like fine porcelain as she stood there, like one of Mrs. Whitman's delicate English treasures in her parlor.

“Zoya …”

She smiled slowly at him, not a girl anymore, but a woman, a woman who had come to love him deeply, with all his gentleness, and his thoughtful gestures and kindness to her. She knew as she looked at him that she had been blessed the day she met him.

“Why don't you come in for a little while.” She stepped aside, and her voice was husky as she invited him in. He stepped over the threshold feeling like a boy again, and then feeling the force of his manhood push aside his reserve, he took her in his arms, and the gown slipped slowly from her shoulders as he held her. It took the merest touch to drop it to her waist and then past her slim hips, and within moments she stood naked before him.

“I love you so much.” He could barely speak as he kissed her lips and her neck, and her breasts, and then let his lips drift over her body, and then with a single powerful gesture he swept her into his arms and onto the bed, and a moment later, he lay there beside her. He made love to her as he had longed to since the day they met, and the room was quiet when they lay beside each other at last, sated, and happy and bonded for a lifetime. She was everything he had wanted her to be. She was more than he had ever dreamed of.

“I love you, Simon.” And she knew as she said the words that she loved him as she had no other man before him. She was a woman now, and she was his woman, as she always would be. The present and the future were theirs, and the past was only a dim memory, as they went back to his room and turned off the lights, and lay in his bed, watching the fire turn to embers. And after they made love again, they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, their dreams complete, their bodies one, their lives joined as surely as if they had been married that night at Mrs. Whitman's. It was the perfect wedding night, and the next morning, their breakfast appeared mysteriously on trays in Mrs. Whitman's parlor, as Zoya donned the ivory satin peignoir over her bare flesh and followed Simon downstairs with a happy giggle.