made no protest. The sensation of his body pressed to mine thrilled me.
“This is better than any dream,” he said, smoothing his hand down my back. “Thanks for coming down to keep me company.”
I rested my head on his chest and closed my eyes. His heart beat strong and rapid as a military tattoo. “Do you often have trouble sleeping?” I asked.
“Often enough.”
I put my hand over the bandages that covered his wound. “Are you in much pain?”
“It’s not the pain in my chest that bothers me so much as the pain in my heart.”
I rose up to study him, trying to fathom his meaning from the look in his eyes. But the darkness swallowed up his features. “I don’t understand,” I said. “What pain?”
“When I left home to ride with the bushwhackers, I never thought about the danger,” he said. “I wanted adventure and glory, and for folks to be proud of me.”
“We are proud of you,” I said. “All of us.”
He patted my shoulder. “That means a lot. We had a lot of scary times, but we believed in the cause, in fighting for the South. We believed we could make a difference and that made it worth it. Even if it meant doing things I never thought I’d do.” His hand traced a path along my side, up and down. “Brutal, bloody things. Things I can’t begin to tell you.”
“Is it those memories that keep you awake?” I asked.
“Some, but it’s not so much what I did as what was done to me.” His hand stilled. “I left home a boy, believing nothing bad could ever happen to me, and I came home near a dead man. Knowing I almost died shook me to the core. It makes me wonder how much time any of us have left.”
“But you didn’t die. And you won’t. Not for a long time.”
“How can any of us say?”
The desolation in his voice distressed me. I searched for some way to comfort him. “At Lucy’s wedding, you told me your destiny was to fight for the South,” I reminded him. “Doesn’t the fact that you survived prove God has more great things in store for you?”
“All I know is, I feel the need not to waste any time. I want to take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way—whether it’s to right a wrong or to enjoy what time I can with you.”
He pulled me to him and his mouth found mine. I responded as ardently as I knew how, pressing my lips to his with heated fervor, arching my body to him without shame. His hand on my hip steadied me, as his tongue urged my lips apart.
His kisses grew bolder, and I grew bolder still in my response. I opened my mouth to him and twined my tongue with his, reveling in the taste and feel of him. All my hours of fantasy were nothing compared to the reality of this moment. To have him here with me, solid flesh and blood, when he had so nearly died, was reason enough to abandon caution and enjoy these new sensations without thought to consequences.
He massaged my hip and I writhed against him shamelessly, feeling the hard length of him pressed against the juncture of my thighs. He clutched me fiercely and gave a muffled groan, then stilled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I felt a warm wetness on the front of my gown and drew back in surprise.
“It’s all right,” he soothed, stroking my shoulder. “Being so near you was too much for me. I couldn’t wait.”
The realization of what had happened made me blush, but I had little time to ponder the situation. Jessie had pulled up the hem of my gown and gently parted my legs with his hand. His gentle caresses and skillful fondling sent a flood of sensations through me—heat and tension and longing. I wanted to pull away from his touch, yet at the same time I never wanted the contact to stop.
“Wh . . . what are you doing?” I whispered.
“I’m making you feel as good as you’ve made me feel.” He bent his head and began to nuzzle at my breast. His tongue traced a circle around the tip, wetting the cloth, flicking back and forth against my painfully erect nipple. He moved to
“This is better than any dream,” he said, smoothing his hand down my back. “Thanks for coming down to keep me company.”
I rested my head on his chest and closed my eyes. His heart beat strong and rapid as a military tattoo. “Do you often have trouble sleeping?” I asked.
“Often enough.”
I put my hand over the bandages that covered his wound. “Are you in much pain?”
“It’s not the pain in my chest that bothers me so much as the pain in my heart.”
I rose up to study him, trying to fathom his meaning from the look in his eyes. But the darkness swallowed up his features. “I don’t understand,” I said. “What pain?”
“When I left home to ride with the bushwhackers, I never thought about the danger,” he said. “I wanted adventure and glory, and for folks to be proud of me.”
“We are proud of you,” I said. “All of us.”
He patted my shoulder. “That means a lot. We had a lot of scary times, but we believed in the cause, in fighting for the South. We believed we could make a difference and that made it worth it. Even if it meant doing things I never thought I’d do.” His hand traced a path along my side, up and down. “Brutal, bloody things. Things I can’t begin to tell you.”
“Is it those memories that keep you awake?” I asked.
“Some, but it’s not so much what I did as what was done to me.” His hand stilled. “I left home a boy, believing nothing bad could ever happen to me, and I came home near a dead man. Knowing I almost died shook me to the core. It makes me wonder how much time any of us have left.”
“But you didn’t die. And you won’t. Not for a long time.”
“How can any of us say?”
The desolation in his voice distressed me. I searched for some way to comfort him. “At Lucy’s wedding, you told me your destiny was to fight for the South,” I reminded him. “Doesn’t the fact that you survived prove God has more great things in store for you?”
“All I know is, I feel the need not to waste any time. I want to take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way—whether it’s to right a wrong or to enjoy what time I can with you.”
He pulled me to him and his mouth found mine. I responded as ardently as I knew how, pressing my lips to his with heated fervor, arching my body to him without shame. His hand on my hip steadied me, as his tongue urged my lips apart.
His kisses grew bolder, and I grew bolder still in my response. I opened my mouth to him and twined my tongue with his, reveling in the taste and feel of him. All my hours of fantasy were nothing compared to the reality of this moment. To have him here with me, solid flesh and blood, when he had so nearly died, was reason enough to abandon caution and enjoy these new sensations without thought to consequences.
He massaged my hip and I writhed against him shamelessly, feeling the hard length of him pressed against the juncture of my thighs. He clutched me fiercely and gave a muffled groan, then stilled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I felt a warm wetness on the front of my gown and drew back in surprise.
“It’s all right,” he soothed, stroking my shoulder. “Being so near you was too much for me. I couldn’t wait.”
The realization of what had happened made me blush, but I had little time to ponder the situation. Jessie had pulled up the hem of my gown and gently parted my legs with his hand. His gentle caresses and skillful fondling sent a flood of sensations through me—heat and tension and longing. I wanted to pull away from his touch, yet at the same time I never wanted the contact to stop.
“Wh . . . what are you doing?” I whispered.
“I’m making you feel as good as you’ve made me feel.” He bent his head and began to nuzzle at my breast. His tongue traced a circle around the tip, wetting the cloth, flicking back and forth against my painfully erect nipple. He moved to
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