said at long last, his voice low and smoky. “I came to remind you of the things we used to do on rainy Sunday afternoons. Like the picnics we had in the hayloft, just the two of us. And the times we played cards until the lanterns burned out . . .”
Emmeline remembered those times with bittersweet clarity. She had been so happy then, so impossibly happy. Perhaps, she reflected, turning away again to add wood to the fire, they’d tempted fate, taking such joy from so little. “We’re not the same people now,” she said shakily. “So much has happened since we were together.”
She heard him push back his chair and rise, and her body went as taut as the strings on a violin when she realized he was moving toward her, then went slack again when he laid his hands on her shoulders.
“Emmeline,” he whispered, and as she felt the warmth of his breath on her nape a shiver went through her that had nothing whatever to do with the clammy wetness of her dress. He turned her into his embrace, his arms lying loosely around her waist. “Whatever else you’re thinking, you mustn’t believe for a moment that I ever meant to leave you.”
She blinked, and sniffled once, inelegantly. “You said you wrote letters, but I never got any,” she said, and felt silly for the way she’d framed the words.
Gil sighed. “I sent half a dozen, Emmeline, but the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal.”
Emmeline simply looked at him for a long time. She wanted to believe, wanted to trust, but she knew the painwould be terrible beyond bearing if that trust turned out to be misplaced. She felt tired, used up, and very confused, for while her mind warned her to be cautious, her body yearned to submit to his in the old, uninhibited way. “You said you’d make love to me when I asked,” she said, as thunder crashed directly over the roof of the house, like a reprimand from God, rattling the dishes in the cupboards and causing the unlighted lamp over the table to sway a little. “Will you do it now?”
“No,” Gil said, his expression solemn, his thumbs making light circles on the indentations beneath Miss Emmeline’s collarbone.
She felt her eyes widen. “Why not?”
“Because it’s comforting you want, not lovemaking.”
“They’re not the same?”
“Not the way I intend to have you, they’re not.”
Emmeline knew a delicious shiver of anticipation, followed by a surge of profound irritation. “You are taunting me, sir, and I do not appreciate it.”
He took her chin into his hand, and although his grasp was not hurtful, neither was it gentle. “When I have you, Emmeline,” Gil said clearly, “there will be no petting and stroking and no pretty words. I’ve waited a long time, and when you offer yourself to me, and mean it, I’m likely to pull down your drawers and have you over a table or a sawhorse instead of a bed. And make no mistake, my love—practically everything I say and everything I do is calculated to make you want me as desperately as I want you.”
She swallowed, overwhelmed. “You say shocking things, Mr. Hartwell,” she gasped. She did not add that she liked hearing them, though she hadn’t any modesty left. He’d made short work of that, just as he always had.
“Yes,” Gil answered, so close to kissing her that she was already responding, already straining forward for his touch.Instead, he clasped her hand and pulled her out of the kitchen, away from the rear stairway, through the dining room, and onto the screened porch where she sometimes slept when the heat was unbearable. It was a private place, sheltered by trellises of climbing flowers and by the gray gloom of the rain.
Dimly, through the darkened screens, Emmeline glimpsed the colorful ghosts of her Chinese lanterns, dangling sodden and bright over the backyard like the stars of some strange planet.
Between the two cots she and Izannah used, Gil pulled Emmeline into his arms and kissed her so deeply, so thoroughly, that she
Emmeline remembered those times with bittersweet clarity. She had been so happy then, so impossibly happy. Perhaps, she reflected, turning away again to add wood to the fire, they’d tempted fate, taking such joy from so little. “We’re not the same people now,” she said shakily. “So much has happened since we were together.”
She heard him push back his chair and rise, and her body went as taut as the strings on a violin when she realized he was moving toward her, then went slack again when he laid his hands on her shoulders.
“Emmeline,” he whispered, and as she felt the warmth of his breath on her nape a shiver went through her that had nothing whatever to do with the clammy wetness of her dress. He turned her into his embrace, his arms lying loosely around her waist. “Whatever else you’re thinking, you mustn’t believe for a moment that I ever meant to leave you.”
She blinked, and sniffled once, inelegantly. “You said you wrote letters, but I never got any,” she said, and felt silly for the way she’d framed the words.
Gil sighed. “I sent half a dozen, Emmeline, but the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal.”
Emmeline simply looked at him for a long time. She wanted to believe, wanted to trust, but she knew the painwould be terrible beyond bearing if that trust turned out to be misplaced. She felt tired, used up, and very confused, for while her mind warned her to be cautious, her body yearned to submit to his in the old, uninhibited way. “You said you’d make love to me when I asked,” she said, as thunder crashed directly over the roof of the house, like a reprimand from God, rattling the dishes in the cupboards and causing the unlighted lamp over the table to sway a little. “Will you do it now?”
“No,” Gil said, his expression solemn, his thumbs making light circles on the indentations beneath Miss Emmeline’s collarbone.
She felt her eyes widen. “Why not?”
“Because it’s comforting you want, not lovemaking.”
“They’re not the same?”
“Not the way I intend to have you, they’re not.”
Emmeline knew a delicious shiver of anticipation, followed by a surge of profound irritation. “You are taunting me, sir, and I do not appreciate it.”
He took her chin into his hand, and although his grasp was not hurtful, neither was it gentle. “When I have you, Emmeline,” Gil said clearly, “there will be no petting and stroking and no pretty words. I’ve waited a long time, and when you offer yourself to me, and mean it, I’m likely to pull down your drawers and have you over a table or a sawhorse instead of a bed. And make no mistake, my love—practically everything I say and everything I do is calculated to make you want me as desperately as I want you.”
She swallowed, overwhelmed. “You say shocking things, Mr. Hartwell,” she gasped. She did not add that she liked hearing them, though she hadn’t any modesty left. He’d made short work of that, just as he always had.
“Yes,” Gil answered, so close to kissing her that she was already responding, already straining forward for his touch.Instead, he clasped her hand and pulled her out of the kitchen, away from the rear stairway, through the dining room, and onto the screened porch where she sometimes slept when the heat was unbearable. It was a private place, sheltered by trellises of climbing flowers and by the gray gloom of the rain.
Dimly, through the darkened screens, Emmeline glimpsed the colorful ghosts of her Chinese lanterns, dangling sodden and bright over the backyard like the stars of some strange planet.
Between the two cots she and Izannah used, Gil pulled Emmeline into his arms and kissed her so deeply, so thoroughly, that she
Similar Books
