Page 22 of Letters From Victor

She sighed, twisting her delicate fingers together on her lap. “It’s not a very exciting story, I’m afraid. I was at the HollywoodClub, rubbing elbows with the sailors on shore leave. One of my films had just released, and the producer sent the cast out to ‘mingle for morale,’ as he called it. Frank came into the club that evening with a group of his Navy pals.”

I nodded, encouraging her to continue.

She sighed. “I was twenty, and I fell in love with a uniform.”

“And then what happened?” I prodded gently, sensing there was more to the story.

Barbara turned toward the window, watching the passing scenery. Groves of orange trees stretched as far as the eye could see, their waxy green leaves shimmering under the brilliant blue sky.

“Frank got his discharge papers, and I turned twenty-one,” she said softly, still gazing out the window. “We got married because that’s what you did. It’s what my family expected. Find a man, settle down, start a family.” She laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

I glanced at her. Melancholy had settled over her delicate features—her brow furrowed, her lips turned down at the corners. My chest tightened. I wanted to pull over, take her in my arms, and kiss away that sadness—until all she felt was pleasure and the only name on her lips was mine. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, knuckles blanching.

“Frank’s a fool,” I said, my voice low and rough with restrained emotion.

Barbara turned sharply toward me, lips parted in surprise. I met her gaze unflinchingly, willing her to see my sincerity.

“He’s a damn fool if he can’t see what he has in you.”

I looked back at the road and shifted gears as we rounded a bend, the Jaguar hugging the curves like a lover’s caress. The engine hummed, the only sound besides our breathing and my pulse pounding in my ears. I swallowed hard and laid my cards on the table.

“There’s a fire inside you, Barbara. I see it. You’re not content to just be some man’s pretty little trophy. Nor should you be.”

Barbara didn’t say anything. Even through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, I felt her gaze cutting into me.

I pulled the car off to the side of the road and shifted into park. Silence stretched between us, thick and charged, the air crackling with tension. Slowly, she removed her sunglasses and folded them with deliberate care. When her eyes met mine again, they glistened with unshed tears.

“Why are you saying these things to me, Victor?” Her voice wavered, but there was an undercurrent of steel beneath her words.

I held her gaze steadily, unblinking. “Because it’s the truth. And I think you know it too, even if you’re afraid to admit it to yourself.”

A single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. I ached to reach out and brush it away, to feel the satin smoothness of her skin. But she beat me to it, dashing the tear away with a flick of her fingertips. She took a deep, shuddering breath and squared her shoulders, composing herself.

When she spoke again, her voice was steady. “I’m not afraid. I’m…confused.”

“By what?”

“By you. By the way you make me feel.”

My pulse kicked hard. I turned toward her, my knee grazing hers. “Tell me how I make you feel, Barbara.”

Her tongue skimmed over her lips, and heat unfurled low in my abdomen as I tracked the movement.

“You make me feel…alive. Awake. Like I’m finally seeing the world in color after a lifetime of black and white.”

I reached for her then, unable to hold myself back a moment longer. I cradled her face in my hands, my thumbs sweeping over the delicate arches of her cheekbones. Barbara’s eyesfluttered shut as she leaned into my touch, nuzzling her cheek against my palm. Her skin was like warm silk, impossibly soft. The sweet floral scent of her perfume clouded my head, making me dizzy with longing.

“Look at me, Barbara.”

Her lashes lifted, and her gaze locked with mine. Those wide, luminous eyes were deep enough to drown in, flecked with bits of gold that sparkled in the sunlight slanting through the windshield. In their shimmering depths, I saw longing and trepidation—desire tangled with uncertainty. I wanted to erase every doubt, to show her with my words and my body how precious and extraordinary she was.

I had no reason or ability to resist. I leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, she parted her lips on a soft sigh. That was all the invitation I needed. I closed the remaining distance between us and brushed my lips against hers, gently at first—a barely there whisper of a touch—her mouth soft and pliant beneath mine.

I traced the seam of her lips with my tongue—tasting, savoring. Barbara’s lips yielded under the gentle pressure of my mouth. I lingered in the velvet slide of her lips against mine, the heat of her breath mingling with my own. My hands slid into her silken hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss.

A soft moan rose in her throat, and the sound hit me low and deep. Her fingers skimmed over my shoulders, slid up the back of my neck, and tangled in my hair. I groaned against her mouth as her nails lightly scraped my scalp, sending shivers cascading down my spine.

Blood roared in my ears, and my heart hammered in my chest as our kisses turned more urgent, more consuming. The world fell away until there was only Barbara—her ragged breathing, her intoxicating scent.

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