APRIL IN ROME
Chapter Seventeen

Rated NC-17 for Content

Jack knew exactly where the study was located downstairs without even being told or shown…strange, that he should somehow know that. There were so many wings in the spacious old manor and yet his feet had guided him straight to this very room for Don Hockley’s ominous summons. He never even realized the fact until he had entered and found that he was actually early for a change. For Jack didn’t dare raise the volatile ire of Rose’s father by his tardiness because he sensed it coming like a dark cloud gathering on a distant horizon. To shake off some of his apprehension and deserved nervousness, he began to peruse the masculine appointed room. Paneled in dark mahogany, the library sent a prickle of recognition to his inner conscience. The desk…something about that massive desk gave him an overwhelming desire to be with Rose—not just to be in her company but in her literally. Taking a deep breath, he knew he had to change where his lustful thoughts were taking him. He had barely been able to avoid an encounter with the little hussy just to make this damnable meeting. His mind was playing dirty tricks on him. And he for once had better get control of it…and fast!

Blue orbs of curiosity flitted about the room and settled upon the room’s focal point above the mantle. A large oil painting hung in a large gilded ornate frame. Stepping closer, he came face to face with a beautiful, young, raven-haired woman wearing an ivory beaded evening gown. She was regally poised for the artist and emitted an aura of purity, grace, and holiness. Her eyes seem to be looking down on him as if to say, so you’re the one. So, this must be Laurel DiStefano-Hockley, Rose’s mother. Rose had certainly inherited her best features from her; however, this woman mirrored an angelic innocence with no room for worldly vices. Then, Jack recognized it…the gown…and hanging around her neck, Rose’s St. Mary’s necklace. That same gown and medallion Rose had worn in Rome that first time he had feasted hungry eyes upon her deliciously tempting body at the opera. Of course, as he remembered it, Rose filled it out a bit more amply in the bodice; thereby prompting Jack to lewdly grin at the stimulating memory.

Shaking his dark blond head, he just couldn’t imagine this ladylike prima donna saucily perched upon a bathroom vanity sexily blowing smoke rings his way. Daring him to…well, he wouldn’t let his mind stray in that direction…yet again. And certainly, he couldn’t even begin to conjure up Laurel giving him, or any one else for that matter, the middle finger. No, those personality traits were definitely her father’s. Rude, crude, and socially unacceptable. And Jack had to grin at the tantalizing memory.

Bawdy giggles and deep masculine laughter invaded the library and Jack swiftly spun on his heels in sudden surprise and curiosity. Finding Don and his mother holding hands and entering the room through the opened French doors, Jack stared in wide-eyed shock.

Abruptly stopping when his glittering emerald eyes came upon Jack staring with jaw agape, Don gruffly observed, "You’re early, Dawson. What…Rose send you packing?"

At that, Emma familiarly nudged Don with her elbow in his ribs and teasingly admonished, "Try to be nice for once, Don."

Gaily waltzing over to her son, Emma placed a motherly kiss on his cheek before biding adieu. "Good night, Jack. Sleep tight tonight…and watch out for those night creatures!"

Giggles met his ears as the sliding double mahogany doors closed shut like a cold, dark tomb, causing Jack’s palms to profusely sweat in earnest this time. Surreptitiously, he wiped them down his sides and inhaled deeply to steel himself for battle.

Don’s devilishly gleaming green eyes bored into Jack as he arrogantly walked over to the library table to pick up a Waterford crystal decanter.

"Care for a brandy or a smoke, Dawson?"

Surprised by Hockley’s solicitous hospitality, Jack hesitantly responded, "Yes, sir, a drink would be nice, however, I’m trying to quit smoking. The second hand smoke isn't healthy for neither Rose nor the babies. However, I’m not promising myself I’ll succeed…I seem to have a problem with willpower."

Jack instantly regretted the blunder and averted his eyes to some inanimate object in the room. Too late to take it back, shit, he wanted to kick himself while cutting out his careless tongue—not a good way to start this off for sure, he grimaced.

Don Hockley merely grunted in derision and poured the amber liquid into two glasses before politely handed one to Jack on a pensive sigh.

Seemingly pushing the blatant comment aside, Don concernedly inquired, "How’s Rose feeling?"

Relieved and somewhat perplexed at Hockley’s apparent gentlemanly calm manner, Jack accepted the brandy and took a long sip before replying. "Better now. She’s resting comfortably."

"And you? You’re not too comfortable, are you Dawson?" Waving off Jack’s response with a flourish of an upheld hand, Don somberly continued, "What are your plans regarding my daughter, Dawson?"

"We plan to be married, sir…and sincerely hope for your approval and acceptance."

"And if I don’t give it?" Letting that notion hang in the air, Don took another sip of his brandy to brace himself for the answers to his next line of questioning.

"Tell me, Dawson, how long did you know my daughter in Rome?"

"Not very long, sir…two weeks." Jack felt it coming…the hackles started rising before he even heard it spoken.

"Two weeks." Don ominously repeated as he walked over to the opened French doors and leaned against the frame staring out into the dark star-filled night. Turning around suddenly, he impaled Jack with cold green chips of ice.

In a clipped chilling tone, Don stabbed, "And how many days did it take before you took her to your bed? And Dawson, don’t even think about lying."

A hard lump formed in the back of Jack’s throat and his stomach began knotting as if invisible hands were wringing the brandy from his churning gut. This was the hardest question he had ever had to answer. He dared not lie…for that would certainly seal his fate.

Swallowing the lump, Jack managed to force out, "Two days, sir."

"Two days." Don echoed albeit too calmly. Pacing the floor, he suddenly halted and shot Jack a murderous, contemptuous glare that pierced through the air and sliced Jack’s conscience to the core.

"And you knew how young she was beforehand?"

And no, this had to be the hardest question of his life. He didn’t think it could get any worse but it had…and very quickly. Of course, Jack knew he deserved this, hell, he had expected it and knew one day he would have to atone for his sins of Rome. In a mere scratch, his mouth opened to truthfully admit.

"Yes, sir. I knew."

Don’s eyes widened with loathing and disgust…he was on the brink of violence and he felt that damnable temper again rising…simmering…boiling…threatening to erupt into a furious deadly rage.

"And it never mattered, Dawson?"

Taking a deep breath, to stall and try to collect his tumultuous thoughts and answers into some form of order, Jack took another sip of brandy and it soured in his mouth. Damn, Hockley was making this unbearably hard.

"Yes, sir, at first. I tried to resist…but I…soon lost control." Jack stammered while closing his guilt-ridden eyes to await the deathblow, certain it was vastly approaching.

Sighing and trying to get control of his warring emotions, Don’s fatal glance never wavered.

"I appreciate your honesty, Dawson. Really, I do…if you would’ve lied just now, I would’ve denied you her hand."

Sensing Jack’s shock, Don refused to let him feel any ease or relief…not yet…he still had a few very important questions to be answered. Don harshly ground out, "And I could keep you apart. I could have you jailed for indecency with a minor! But…I abhor and despise liars and you at least told me the truth. I guess that has to account for something. No?"

Swaggering over to the open doors, Don continued to stare out into the ebony night skies before he whirled around suddenly and asked, "You love her?"

"With all my heart and soul, sir!" Jack solemnly vowed.

Eyebrows raising in evident skepticism, Don hotly challenged, "Then why in the name of hell did you get engaged to someone else and cause my daughter so much grief and torment?"

"You believe everything you read or hear? I thought you of all people, Mr. Hockley…"

Interrupting any further explanation, Don railed, "I heard it from the woman’s own lips, Dawson, in Los Angeles…back stage after the Grammys!"

Perplexed and trying to recall the incident he was referring to, Jack suddenly understood. The conniving bitch that had made so much trouble and hell for him and Rose.

"Gabrielle Astor always claimed to be…but I can assure you…"

"Gabrielle Astor? Fabrizio’s new wife? Well, I’ll be damned!" After a long tension-filled moment of silence, a deep rumble began low in Don Hockley wide massive chest. Philosophically reflecting out into the night again, Don at last reflectively revealed, "Sometimes love seems to come in pairs…two weeks…two days…two hearts…two babies!"

All of a sudden the loud distinct guffaw of Don Hockley echoed throughout the room. "Emma’s right you know…all of our destinies have been colliding since April in Rome. Of course, she’s been right about a lot of things." And he smugly smiled in secretive knowing.

"Sir, how long have you known my mother?" Jack curiously echoed.

"Two weeks."

Jack noticeably paled at the eerily repeated response. Don had declared it in such an arrogant, smug, challenging tone of voice to intentionally elude to…things. Jack wouldn’t ask the next question, because somehow he knew the answer. His mother and Rose’s father…together…shit!

Don keenly observed the embarrassed albeit appalled turmoil of the boy and decided to reap his final revenge.

Strolling over to Jack, he boisterously slapped Jack on the back and bragged, "Feels good, doesn’t it, son?"

And Don Hockley smartly sauntered out of the room, leaving Jack staring in shock, amazement, and something Jack just couldn’t quite put a name to.

*****

"Sweetpea…you awake?" Don softly announced as he opened the door to Rose’s bedroom.

Rose jumped in guilt, hastily drawing the robe closed around the scarlet silk jacquard nightdress she had specifically chosen to "seduce" Jack in an anxiously anticipated midnight rendezvous.

"Yes, Daddy, come in."

Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Don gingerly took his daughter’s slender hand. Fighting for words, he held up hands as if to say something important and let them fall back down in defeat.

"Just wanted to tell you good night and tuck you in is all." Taking a deep breath at her raised doubtful brow, "Sweetheart…do you love him?"

"Oh, yes, Daddy, with all my heart and soul."

Softly laughing and slightly shaking his head, "Seems like I’ve hard that somewhere before…very recently in fact." Still chuckling, he became serious all of a sudden. "Are you sure? I mean…you don’t have to marry him, Rose…just because…"

Placing her fingers across his lips to halt any more words, "Oh, Daddy…don’t even think it. Don’t you really know me by now? Daddy, I gave myself to Jack in love, not out of…simple lust. I promised myself years ago, when Mama gave me this necklace, that I’d save myself for the one man I wanted to share the rest of my life with. And I did, I really did! He’s everything I could ever want…he’s the other half of my soul. Daddy, please give Jack a chance…for me? You’ll grow to love him…I just know it. Trust me for once. It’s what I want. If you could give me just one wish in my life…it would be Jack."

"I trust you, Rose. I always have and always will. And I’ll even give Dawson that chance you and Emma both have been harping on me about. He just better treat you like a queen or else…"

"Thank you, Daddy…I love you. You know…losing that card game was the best thing that has ever happened to me…it brought me to Jack."

Staring off, Don mysteriously grumbled, "Poker games have been getting this family into trouble for generations…remind me someday to relay some of the many intriguing escapades of our ancestors…they’ll certainly raise some eyebrows, that’s for sure."

*****

Four hellish celibate lonely months without Rose had taken its toll on Jack. And to have her here in such close proximity—God, his nerves were raw…on edge. And his throbbing body was craving dark, exotic carnal needs, wants, and desires. Things that had never consumed him before. Not only the urgent need to reacquaint his body with Rose, but uncensored thoughts of the erotic…of dangerous untried, forbidden territory. Shit, this place was enchanting and alluringly encouraging very unconventional methods and cravings in his raging head. It must be the enforced celibacy—just the romantic ambiance of previous love trysts, probably right here in this very garconiere. Well, he and Rose would add to that legacy tonight…beginning at the haunting stroke of midnight.

Jack stripped off his shirt…becoming increasingly hot in the stifling room and bent down to retrieve his cigarettes. Lighting one up, he stepped out through the open doors and stared up at the full moon that bathed his light golden skin to an oil slicked sheen. His eyes soon were attracted by the grand old palatial home and his imagination began to wonder. Pacing like a caged animal, suddenly he felt thrown back in time to another place, another life…yet hot raw passionate stirrings overpowered his already aroused body. God, would midnight ever come? This place was burning him alive—consuming his manhood with his body’s overpowering lustful desires of white-hot passion.

Trying to shake off the tormenting feelings, he snuffed out his cigarette and swaggered back inside to lay back on the inviting bed. Anxiously awaiting the stroke of twelve, he closed his suddenly tired eyes to rest awhile…for somehow he knew he was going to need it. Within the wings of angels, he fell asleep reflecting upon his and Rose’s ever so special binding love…their kind of love that was capable of transcending time and overcoming anything.

Rose stepped onto the outside balcony and dreamily gazed up at a magnificent star-studded night. Her temperature rose despite the wash of cool night air. Reaching up with one hand, she pulled the comb from her hair. As her copper tresses fell, she slowly shook them loose, letting them catch the night wind. Yes, dawn promised so much…sweet relief from quivering needs, wants, and desires and an end to loneliness and enforced separation from the man of her heart. They both needed healing and tonight…fulfillment. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a dove and her heartbeat raced to match the serenades of the east Texas night creatures that were calling. It was time…

Quietly, Rose eased opened the door with steadfast purpose and let her feet swiftly take her to her destiny. As she reached the top of the stairs, anxious orbs of green suddenly clashed with twinkling pools of blue. Emma cast her a slanted knowing grin as she stopped at the doorway of Don Hockley’s suite of rooms with her hand upon the doorknob. With eyes that bespoke of kindred spirits, Emma silently opened the door and closed it behind her. Rose let out her breath and continued her descent…relieved and stunned. But there was no time now for contemplation…Jack beckoned.

As she approached the garconiere, she glimpsed inside and there upon the bed bathed in candlelight was Jack. The sheet was pushed down between his taut waist and hipbone exposing his magnificently muscled bare chest. She couldn’t speak…held in a powerful drug like trance of sexual awakening and anticipation.

Suddenly, something rustled. Startled, Jack raised up on one elbow momentarily blinded by the darkness. As his eyes adjusted to the shadowy light of the burning candles, he saw her—framed at the doorway by the midnight moonbeams—waiting.

All the long repressed sensations assailed her with such intensity, her legs threatened to buckle. Her swollen breasts strained and hardened against her gown—pressing against the constriction of silk—needing release from their entrapment. The sides of her neck pulsed with the throb of her heartbeat. Hot. So unbearably hot. She was on fire. She reached for the ribbons that held her trapped inside her nightdress and untied them—still unable to take her eyes from his.

The candles flared with a rush of wind and his eyes mirrored the leaping flames. He silently beckoned and she was magnetically drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Rose felt giddy—nervous—as if she were standing at the edge of a great precipice.

Jack’s hungry gaze held her suspended, breathless. Time passed—they didn’t know how much. Then slowly, very slowly, he lifted the cover from his body, inviting her to join him. To lie next to him. To touch him. Feel the heady warmth of his bare sweat-slicked body pressed against hers. To hold—to enfold.

Outlined by the glowing aura of amber, Rose emitted an alluring vision in scarlet. Her hair fell in a fiery blaze about her shoulders, flamed by the elusive shadows of dancing candlelight.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Jack could see it in her limpid jade studded eyes. Wide, staring, smoldering with desire. His pulse thundered as his breath locked in his chest. He felt his entire body harden—rock hard. He felt a lifetime of need calling him. Daring him to take her now as, one by one, she let slender, expressive fingers move to her shoulders and slip the narrow straps down. Her lips, full and luscious parted slightly as she let it fall from her gracefully curved body to pool about her feet. His breath caught. Bathed in candlelight, her figure seemed to be sheathed in the shimmer of iridescent pearl. God, she was beautiful—an angel of desire…and his. Her breasts, overly generous—swollen with nourishment for their unborn children, supple reached out to him—wanting. He knew he couldn’t wait much longer. Capturing her yielding eyes with his, he reached for her hand. No hesitation and her fingers tightened around his. He pulled gently and she followed, dropping to her knees above him.

Her hair billowed then cascaded down around them like a fiery waterfall as she straddled him and leaned over to press full quivering lips against his. She inflamed him with a strange excited tenderness—her willingness to come to him notwithstanding great repercussions…if they were caught. Blood rushed to his head in a roar…rushed down engorging him until he thought he might burst. Never before had the felt such a virile need to take a woman, to reclaim and possess—to invade and conquer, to pour himself into her…again and again.

Jack ran a trembling hand up her back with soothing circles while burying his other hand in her long silky hair. Then slowly invaded her lips to ravish. She was hot, moist, tasted of salt and honey. He could smell her need, that musky perfume of sexual desire, as she pressed her leg between his, against his ravenous maleness.

Rose tingled as his mouth seared a path across her brow, down her cheek. When his lips reached her jaw, she tipped her head back, freeing the way down her neck. Reaching down, she ran her hands into his ruffled hair and held him close as he sprinkled moist, tantalizing kisses down her shoulders to the valley between her throbbing breasts.

He could feel her hunger, could feel her begging him to take her. Savoring the precious moment—he continued to tease her with the tip of his tongue until her mouth parted and a husky frustrated moan escaped. At the sound, his heart nearly exploded along with his tightly controlled desire. He couldn’t contain it any longer. Crushing her to him, he rolled with her and braced himself above her while savagely ravaging her mouth. His tongue thrust inside her mouth hungrily, greedily, probing deeper and deeper.

Recklessly, Rose drove her tongue past his, into his mouth, joining him in their lover’s dance until shuddering waves coursed throughout their bodies. Groaning with ecstasy, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tighter against the urgent need in her breasts and within her femininity damp with desire, writhing and twisting with long deprivation.

Slowly, Jack broke the kiss leaving a wet hot trail to her breast. At his touch, her eyes widened and drifted shut and her breath came in loud gulps. She was panting—could hardly breathe. Still hovering over her, he ran his wet tongue over the yearning pink tip watching it peak and harden for him—only him. No one else had ever touched her softly rounded mounds of flesh, claimed them, made them want—just him. He was the first and he would be the last. She was his. He lowered his mouth to taste her, knowing what drove her wild with uncontrollable abandon. He fed the hunger deep inside her until she couldn’t lie still a single second.

She gasped in intense insurmountable pleasure at his continued arousal—begging for him to invade her senses. A piercing sweet pain shot up from her groin. Her hands moved down his powerful body to his thighs and up again. The warm sweaty flesh of this upper arms—exploring in slow motion—her fingers reaching the cord of his neck, curling, clinging in the dampness of his hair. His body arched against them and she knew her touch had given him the same pleasure as his did her. He was heavily panting, trembling in need—for release.

The erotic sound of moans and labored gasps for air caused Rose to sensually writhe against Jack…begging him to come into her. Jack slid his hand down the soft flesh of her abdomen and between her legs and found her cocoon of wet silk and she nearly fainted.

"Jack, please," she rasped between shaky sighs of exquisite tortuous arousal.

"Tell me you that want me…that you need me to come inside you."

"I want you inside me, Jack…I need you…now, please, now!"

With a wicked lop-sided grin, Jack finally thrust hard into her heated depths and stayed there. At last, filling her aching cavern of need…not daring to move…to pull out…not yet…he had to catch his ragged breath. Prolonging the feeling…anticipating the feeling of sweet release and that quick cresting climax of total satiation. Fingers wet with her desire, he softly ran them over her kiss swollen lips and deliciously licked them dry.

Slowly, Rose felt herself wanting him deeper inside her and reached around to grab his back. Her hands gingerly slid over tightly knotted muscles pulling him closer and then down around his hips as she strained to fill him as he filled her. Jack couldn’t be still a second longer. He drove deeper—pulsing. Their tongues matched the same taunting rhythm of their love starved bodes—they were at last—alive. Where they belonged, fulfilling each other—healing each wound of the heart.

He wanted more. She needed more. So much more! Rose arched upward, meeting him again and again taking him deeper and deeper. Her nails dug into his back like tiny sharp knives driving him to the brink of carnal madness. And he reveled in it. Paradise was beckoning…

Abruptly…he stopped and held stock-still. Breathing and gasping for breath like they had both run a marathon, their guttural sighs of passion rent the night air, sending shivers of delight to all.

"Not yet…don’t move, Rose. Hold still."

Rose huskily whimpered in frustration…but she was helpless, powerless to stop it…she couldn’t control her body’s cravings or undulating movements. Her legs came up to curl around his back and she forcefully ground her pelvis hard against him, swirling her tongue inside his mouth while clenching his buttocks with long slender fingers.

Jack’s rigid self-control shattered. Twisting his hand in her hair, his eyes closed and his teeth clenched…his body sweating, Jack worked his hips feverishly. The bed battered hard against the wall…the sheets tore from the mattress. With each forceful thrust, the headboard rammed the wall, bedsprings loudly straining and squeaking in protest. The smell and the erotic banging of mating scented the night air like a rich aphrodisiac. Taking them higher and faster…low guttural grunts foretold of the pending mind searing release of the lovers as two harsh cries rushed from their throats.

With a last deep thrust, Jack shuddered convulsively and spilled himself; each hot pulsing throb inside her washing away the tension that had built inside them for four endless miserable months. After they crested, Jack collapsed on her, his face buried in the crook of her neck that smelled of seduction and midnight passion.

In the next instant, surprisingly, Rose felt him harden and begin to slowly move…yet again. Despite the panting, despite the clamoring of throbbing hearts, he lowly gasped in a husky sensuous growl, "I’m not through with you yet, my hot gypsy Rose. I can’t seem to get enough of you tonight. Not yet…dawn is still a long breath away and I intend on deliciously savoring you…over…and over…and over."

*****

She stood in the dark, tense, peering inside, eyes wide, lips parted, transparent hands clenched into pale fists watching spellbound the goings-on inside the candle lit garconiere. A sheen of moisture dampened her blushing cheeks, inviting a tendril of long copper hair to cling to her translucent skin.

Inside the room, came a masculine groan and a deep blissful whimper as the bumping rhythm of a bed slamming against a wall grew louder with each thrusting movement of the two naked bodies joined upon the bed.

What the hell is she doing here? That all too familiar ache started anew, down low—not that it had ever left him—nor ever would. Her smell and taste had been in his soul since that fateful day in April that he had arrived here at Rosedale Plantation…so many years ago. Growing bolder, hotter, deeper…heaven forbid, even death had failed to stifle their kind of passionate endless love. Easing up behind her, he could hear her breathing, feel the heat of her body rising so it seemed the very air around her steamed. Making him ache—badly. Sliding his hand over her mouth, the other around her waist, silencing her startled cry as he drew her hard against his mutually painfully aroused body. The sudden pressure of her buttocks against his erection felt like the thrust of a thousand knives—stabbing his body all over. He knew well enough without even looking what was going on inside the room.

"Mia, had you been any other woman I might feel shocked over finding you watching lovers in the throes of such passion. But somehow I’m not surprised. As I recall, you have always been quite shameless and uninhibited about lovemaking. Anywhere, anyhow, and anytime you felt like it."

Relaxing against the pressure of large masculine groping hands over her hot mouth and waist, she melted and turned in his arms pressing her curvaceous body into his, huskily murmuring, "Captain! You startled me…scared me nigh to death!"

Raising a doubtful brow, "Mia, we’re ghosts, we’re already dead…so don’t be coy with me. I know your sinful womanly wiles. Besides, nothing has ever scared you, in let’s see…going on a hundred and fifty years now. What in the hell is that damnable banging noise anyway?"

Hungrily feasting eyes of bluish moonstone ogled the two naked bucking bodies inside the garconiere, a wicked, lewd grin spread out across transparent twitching lips.

"Aw, you are shameless, Mia…utterly shameless. So…they’re finally here and obviously taking up where we left off. The new century’s star-crossed lovers of mystical April. Our name’s sakes. That’s good…I thought it about time for us to go—in their lives. They need to know, you know. Come here…let’s make our own magic and leave them their legacy. Are you ready to fulfill their destinies…and ours?"

"Yes, Captain…but first, tell me…where have you been all day?"

"Just finished up a card game with some of my men and that despicable bastard Caledon…"

"And who won or should I even ask?"

"Dear heart of mine…I always win…in one way or another. Come on…time for us to fly…for rebirth!"

Rose felt the sudden blast of cold chilling wind rush across her skin invading her swollen belly…filling her with spiritual awakening forces. Freezing her insides as if it were a winter’s blizzard night in January…instead of a steamy, sweltering hot summer’s night in August.

"Jack! What was that? Did you hear it…did you feel it?"

Staring with eyes wide in shock and disbelief, Jack and Rose shivered in apprehension and a mind boggling irrational fear of a hidden mystery.

Two glowing luminescent entities bathed in the moonlight cast the two lovers a knowing, secretive smile…one blowing a kiss for luck…the other slyly winking in unabashed congratulations and well wishes. Ghosts of the past…welcoming lovers of the present for the future of…Rosedale in April.

Chapter Eighteen
Stories