highly
improper, but would you mind holding my hand, so I can move over there and sit
beside you on the glider?"
"That
would be my pleasure," he replied.
She took his hand for
support, and using it and the arm of her chair, pushed herself up. Then, with
only a few awkward steps, she made it to the padded glider and sat.
Luke lowered his weight to the seat next to her,
unwilling to release her hand. She smelled wonderful, an enticing combination
of vanilla and lilacs and starched cotton. Her voluminous skirts draped across
his knee. He closed his eyes and joyfully inhaled her presence.
"I've thought a lot about the night of the
wedding," she said softly.
Thoughts
of her kisses had driven him crazy every night since. Even today, he'd found
himself staring off into the forge, letting a piece of iron cool, and having to
heat it over again. "Me, too."
"Good thoughts?"
she asked.
He
smiled at her delightful frankness. "Very good thoughts. Was that a
delicate enough compliment?"
She
smiled and nodded. "Would you mind—kissing me again?"
The
question was laughable. "Let me think about it. Hmm. No." He pulled
her hand, which brought her face to his, and leaned toward her. She met his
lips with hers, a sweet, eager union that immediately had his blood pounding.
He
released her hand, and she placed it tentatively on his shoulder. He'd never
known she returned his feelings; he'd only hoped, maybe just dreamed. Finding
out like this that she was drawn to him, too, gave him so much pleasure, his
heart swelled to bursting.
Their
lips parted and Luke remembered to draw a breath.
"You taste like
cinnamon," she said.
"You smell like
lilacs," he replied.
She leaned closer, placing
her nose against his neck. A wispy curl grazed his cheek. A shudder passed
through his body. "You smell like..." she said, her breath against
his neck exquisite torture, "...I don't know...heaven. You smell like heaven."
He
turned his face, so that his lips and nose were a scant breath from her ear. “You
think there are horses in heaven?"
She
moved as though to see his eyes, though it was dark and she couldn't possibly
read his expression. "You don't smell like a horse."
"I must. I even sleep
in the livery."
"Well,
you don't. You smell like...like you shaved."
"Mm-hmm,"
he agreed. He had shaved before he'd come to see her. "And how would you
know what that smells like?"
"My
father shaves. But he doesn't smell nearly as good as you do."
"Your mother probably
thinks so."
Annie
sat up straight and her eyes widened in the moonlight. "What a thought!
Don't you ever place another thought like that in my mind! Goodness, if I
imagine my mother sniffing my father, I'll die of laughter and you'll never get
to kiss me again."
"Well,
we can't have that, so forget all thoughts of your parents. They probably don't
even sleep in the same room."
"Luke
Carpenter, you're incorrigible!" She laughed out loud that time, however.
Lord, she was fun.
He
wrapped his arm around her shoulders, felt her delicate bones beneath the
fabric of her dress, and pulled her toward him. She came willingly, eagerly,
all softness and sighs.
Luke
nuzzled the springy curls at her temple, the delicate skin behind her ear, and
placed a kiss there. She leaned more fully into him, pressing her breasts
against his chest, and he tried to feel and taste and smell every vivid
sensation and press it into his mind for later.
Their
lips met again, this time more forcefully, and when he touched her lip with his
tongue, she intuitively allowed him access. Her whole body stilled and her
breathing grew shallow, as though she were concentrating fully on this
exploratory kiss.
Luke
had to bracket her face with his palms and end the torture before he allowed
himself more liberties. Because she was willing. And he was weak.
"I'm going to leave,
Annie," he whispered hoarsely.
"But we still have
time."
"That's what I'm
afraid of."
"What are you afraid
of?"
"If
I don't go, I might do somethin'
improper, but would you mind holding my hand, so I can move over there and sit
beside you on the glider?"
"That
would be my pleasure," he replied.
She took his hand for
support, and using it and the arm of her chair, pushed herself up. Then, with
only a few awkward steps, she made it to the padded glider and sat.
Luke lowered his weight to the seat next to her,
unwilling to release her hand. She smelled wonderful, an enticing combination
of vanilla and lilacs and starched cotton. Her voluminous skirts draped across
his knee. He closed his eyes and joyfully inhaled her presence.
"I've thought a lot about the night of the
wedding," she said softly.
Thoughts
of her kisses had driven him crazy every night since. Even today, he'd found
himself staring off into the forge, letting a piece of iron cool, and having to
heat it over again. "Me, too."
"Good thoughts?"
she asked.
He
smiled at her delightful frankness. "Very good thoughts. Was that a
delicate enough compliment?"
She
smiled and nodded. "Would you mind—kissing me again?"
The
question was laughable. "Let me think about it. Hmm. No." He pulled
her hand, which brought her face to his, and leaned toward her. She met his
lips with hers, a sweet, eager union that immediately had his blood pounding.
He
released her hand, and she placed it tentatively on his shoulder. He'd never
known she returned his feelings; he'd only hoped, maybe just dreamed. Finding
out like this that she was drawn to him, too, gave him so much pleasure, his
heart swelled to bursting.
Their
lips parted and Luke remembered to draw a breath.
"You taste like
cinnamon," she said.
"You smell like
lilacs," he replied.
She leaned closer, placing
her nose against his neck. A wispy curl grazed his cheek. A shudder passed
through his body. "You smell like..." she said, her breath against
his neck exquisite torture, "...I don't know...heaven. You smell like heaven."
He
turned his face, so that his lips and nose were a scant breath from her ear. “You
think there are horses in heaven?"
She
moved as though to see his eyes, though it was dark and she couldn't possibly
read his expression. "You don't smell like a horse."
"I must. I even sleep
in the livery."
"Well,
you don't. You smell like...like you shaved."
"Mm-hmm,"
he agreed. He had shaved before he'd come to see her. "And how would you
know what that smells like?"
"My
father shaves. But he doesn't smell nearly as good as you do."
"Your mother probably
thinks so."
Annie
sat up straight and her eyes widened in the moonlight. "What a thought!
Don't you ever place another thought like that in my mind! Goodness, if I
imagine my mother sniffing my father, I'll die of laughter and you'll never get
to kiss me again."
"Well,
we can't have that, so forget all thoughts of your parents. They probably don't
even sleep in the same room."
"Luke
Carpenter, you're incorrigible!" She laughed out loud that time, however.
Lord, she was fun.
He
wrapped his arm around her shoulders, felt her delicate bones beneath the
fabric of her dress, and pulled her toward him. She came willingly, eagerly,
all softness and sighs.
Luke
nuzzled the springy curls at her temple, the delicate skin behind her ear, and
placed a kiss there. She leaned more fully into him, pressing her breasts
against his chest, and he tried to feel and taste and smell every vivid
sensation and press it into his mind for later.
Their
lips met again, this time more forcefully, and when he touched her lip with his
tongue, she intuitively allowed him access. Her whole body stilled and her
breathing grew shallow, as though she were concentrating fully on this
exploratory kiss.
Luke
had to bracket her face with his palms and end the torture before he allowed
himself more liberties. Because she was willing. And he was weak.
"I'm going to leave,
Annie," he whispered hoarsely.
"But we still have
time."
"That's what I'm
afraid of."
"What are you afraid
of?"
"If
I don't go, I might do somethin'
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