Sam sat atop the box, his white hair shining in the summer moonlight.
He saw the children approaching the carriage, gave them a wide, toothless grin. Then, when they stood directly below, he thoughtfully turned his head, looked away.
Clay and Mary Ellen smiled. They knew the faithful Preble driver had turned his head so they could steal a good-night kiss.
“Bless his dear old heart,” said Mary Ellen, turning to face Clay.
“He’s one in a million,” said Clay, and wrapped his arms her.
They kissed there in the moonlight beside the waiting carriage. Once, twice, three times they kissed, until finally Clay tore his burning lips from Mary Ellen’s and said raggedly, “I better go.”
“I don’t want you to go.” She sighed, pressing her slender body against his tall, slim frame. “I wish you never had to leave me.”
Inhaling deeply, he felt his senses reel, assailed by the faint perfume of her golden-white hair. “Me too, me too,” he whispered as his hands glided down her back to settle on her hips.
“You’ll come see me tomorrow?” she asked, and laid her head on his shoulder, her face turned in.
“You know I will.”
“I’ll have the cooks pack a hamper with party leftovers. We’ll go for a picnic.”
Clay’s heart started to pound. “And a swim?”
“And a swim,” she said, and pressed her lips to his tanned throat.
Clay Knight shuddered.
7
T HE PICNIC HAMPER SAT untouched on the grassy riverbank. A protective red-and-white cloth remained tucked neatly over the specially prepared lunch. The varied delicacies filling the heavy wicker basket held no interest for the young pair, whose only real hunger was for each other.
The minute they left Longwood behind, hurriedly descended the bluffs, and reached their secret concealed cove on the river, Clay dropped the hamper to the grassy bank. He turned to Mary Ellen. His eyes a warm smoky gray, he reached out, curled his tanned fingers around the back of her neck, and drew her to him.
He stepped in closer.
He lowered his head, and his dark face descended slowly to hers. He paused, his mouth hovering a scant inch above her own. Softly, seriously, he said, “From the minute I left you last night I have waited for this minute. Kiss me, Mary. Kiss me and make me know you love me as much as I love you.”
Mary Ellen’s hands lifted, clasped his rib cage. She put out the tip of her tongue and wet her lips. Then she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him. Clay sighed with pleasure when her warm, soft lips settled sweetly on his. His hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, he held her securely to him as she kissed him.
The tip of Mary Ellen’s tongue slid slowly, tantalizingly, along the seam of his full lips. He sighed deeply, shifted his weight slightly, and opened his mouth to her. Her tongue penetrated and did all the wonderful teasing, tempting things to the sensitive insides of his mouth he’d taught her.
Clay’s heart pounded. His pulse raced. He pulled her closer, bent a-knee, and wedged it between her legs. Through the barrier of their clothes, Mary Ellen instinctively rubbed herself against the hardness of his lean thigh.
Clay’s hands moved, went to her buttocks. He cupped her bottom, lifted her a little to fit more fully against him, and felt her pelvis immediately start to grind insistently up and down against his leg.
By the time that first long, openmouthed kiss finally ended, both of them were as hot as the blistering June sun.
Out of breath, trembling with emotion, Clay tore his heated lips from hers. His heavy-lidded silver eyes were glazed with passion. His chest was rising and falling rapidly with the forceful pounding of his heart. His tanned throat glistened with perspiration in his open-collared white shirt.
Mary Ellen was just as affected. Her breath was short, her legs were weak. She sagged against Clay, her hands gripping his biceps, her forehead resting against his chin.
When he could speak, Clay said,
He saw the children approaching the carriage, gave them a wide, toothless grin. Then, when they stood directly below, he thoughtfully turned his head, looked away.
Clay and Mary Ellen smiled. They knew the faithful Preble driver had turned his head so they could steal a good-night kiss.
“Bless his dear old heart,” said Mary Ellen, turning to face Clay.
“He’s one in a million,” said Clay, and wrapped his arms her.
They kissed there in the moonlight beside the waiting carriage. Once, twice, three times they kissed, until finally Clay tore his burning lips from Mary Ellen’s and said raggedly, “I better go.”
“I don’t want you to go.” She sighed, pressing her slender body against his tall, slim frame. “I wish you never had to leave me.”
Inhaling deeply, he felt his senses reel, assailed by the faint perfume of her golden-white hair. “Me too, me too,” he whispered as his hands glided down her back to settle on her hips.
“You’ll come see me tomorrow?” she asked, and laid her head on his shoulder, her face turned in.
“You know I will.”
“I’ll have the cooks pack a hamper with party leftovers. We’ll go for a picnic.”
Clay’s heart started to pound. “And a swim?”
“And a swim,” she said, and pressed her lips to his tanned throat.
Clay Knight shuddered.
7
T HE PICNIC HAMPER SAT untouched on the grassy riverbank. A protective red-and-white cloth remained tucked neatly over the specially prepared lunch. The varied delicacies filling the heavy wicker basket held no interest for the young pair, whose only real hunger was for each other.
The minute they left Longwood behind, hurriedly descended the bluffs, and reached their secret concealed cove on the river, Clay dropped the hamper to the grassy bank. He turned to Mary Ellen. His eyes a warm smoky gray, he reached out, curled his tanned fingers around the back of her neck, and drew her to him.
He stepped in closer.
He lowered his head, and his dark face descended slowly to hers. He paused, his mouth hovering a scant inch above her own. Softly, seriously, he said, “From the minute I left you last night I have waited for this minute. Kiss me, Mary. Kiss me and make me know you love me as much as I love you.”
Mary Ellen’s hands lifted, clasped his rib cage. She put out the tip of her tongue and wet her lips. Then she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him. Clay sighed with pleasure when her warm, soft lips settled sweetly on his. His hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, he held her securely to him as she kissed him.
The tip of Mary Ellen’s tongue slid slowly, tantalizingly, along the seam of his full lips. He sighed deeply, shifted his weight slightly, and opened his mouth to her. Her tongue penetrated and did all the wonderful teasing, tempting things to the sensitive insides of his mouth he’d taught her.
Clay’s heart pounded. His pulse raced. He pulled her closer, bent a-knee, and wedged it between her legs. Through the barrier of their clothes, Mary Ellen instinctively rubbed herself against the hardness of his lean thigh.
Clay’s hands moved, went to her buttocks. He cupped her bottom, lifted her a little to fit more fully against him, and felt her pelvis immediately start to grind insistently up and down against his leg.
By the time that first long, openmouthed kiss finally ended, both of them were as hot as the blistering June sun.
Out of breath, trembling with emotion, Clay tore his heated lips from hers. His heavy-lidded silver eyes were glazed with passion. His chest was rising and falling rapidly with the forceful pounding of his heart. His tanned throat glistened with perspiration in his open-collared white shirt.
Mary Ellen was just as affected. Her breath was short, her legs were weak. She sagged against Clay, her hands gripping his biceps, her forehead resting against his chin.
When he could speak, Clay said,
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