Summer Moon by Jill Marie Landis Page B

and found Reed awake, struggling to sit up, she nearly dropped the lamp. Even now, as she stood there dumbstruck, her hand shook so hard that the flame threatened to go out.
    The glow of lamplight spread before her into the room, far enough for her to see into his eyes. Reed stretched out his arm, beckoned her closer.
    Her breath caught. Her knees began to tremble as hard as her hand. She hastily set the lamp down on the washstand. In half a dozen steps she crossed to his bedside.
    With one hand pressed against the bodice of her nightgown, she watched him reach for her free hand. Slowly their palms met. A rush of heat shot through her, hard and hot as lightning.
    He gently tugged until she sat on the narrow space between him and the edge of the mattress.
    When the corner of his lips lifted into a half-smile, she almost dropped to her knees to offer a prayer to Saint Perpetua for interceding. His hand was too warm, his skin still radiated the last vestiges of fever, but he was conscious. He would recover. She knew her prayers had been answered.
    No words came when he tried to speak, only a croaking sound. Kate reached for a glass of water on the bedside table, slid her arm beneath his head, cradling him so that he could take a sip. He swallowed half the contents before he raised his head again. When she lowered him to the pillow, he closed his eyes and sighed.
    “Is . . . is the boy asleep?”
    Hearing him speak startled her so that she nearly dropped the glass of water, but she smiled. It was fitting that his first inquiry be about the child, and that pleased her.
    “He’s sound asleep.”
    “Good. Good.” Reed’s lashes moved. His eyes slowly opened. “I dreamed he ran away.”
    “No. He’s still here.”
    “I’ve been waiting for you.”
    Her heart swelled.
    “I didn’t know you were awake or I would have been here beside you.”
    “Your hair—”
    Suddenly uncertain, she reached up and touched the part down the center of her hair.
    “Let it loose,” he whispered.
    Reaching for the thin ribbon tied around the end of her braid, she tugged it and the bow unraveled. Staring into Reed’s eyes, Kate ignored the scrap of ribbon as it sailed to the floor. She finger-combed her hair until it fell around her shoulders.
    Reed reached up, wrapped his hand in her hair and with a gentle but persistent tug, drew her close, so close she was leaning against his chest. Her breasts flattened against him. He was surprisingly hard, unyielding where she was soft.
    He urged her closer until she gazed into his eyes. Their lips met. His were surprisingly soft, warm and dry from fever. The kiss was a gentle meeting, an introduction, a chance to taste, to touch, to discover each other more intimately.
    Her first kiss.
    Something deep inside her slowly melted. Something she had guarded all her life, something she had once feared melted away. She loved him. She wanted him—wanted this night to go on forever.
    “I waited so long,” he whispered.
    The past months of correspondence, the proxy marriage, the long trip west and anxious past few hours— she, too, had waited so long.
    “I know,” she whispered back. “I know, Reed. So very long.”
    Their lips touched again, then parted.
    “Stay with me.” His lips moved against her mouth.
    “Yes. Of course.”
    She started to rise, to move the rocker close so that she could spend the night beside him.
    “No.” He protested the instant she began to pull away. His hand, still tangled in her hair, dropped to her shoulder. His thumb grazed her collarbone. He rubbed it back and forth. “Lie down. Here, beside me.”
    Stay with me.
    She had mistaken his meaning. When her cheeks began to burn, she was thankful for the shadows.
    So soon.
    Her heart was pounding. His thumb continued to trace her collarbone. His fingers slipped across her skin. She shivered when they explored beneath the fabric.
    She could not calm her racing heart. She thought that caring for him today would have helped