Sins of Omission (8 page)

Mickey stepped between the two of them and linked arms. They literally danced the next few yards. When they stopped, on the crest of a hill above a small village, they could hear shouting and singing.

“
Mon Dieu,
what in the world is that racket?” Mickey cried.

“Looks like there's a parade, or else they are having a party,” Daniel said, laughing.

The three of them looked at one another in wonder. Could it be? Finally?

“Hurry, darlings, we must see what this is all about.”

Daniel and Reuben took Mickey's hands and ran down the hill, watching and listening to the Frenchmen as they waved their arms about, speaking rapidly. Some were singing while others laughed and slapped one another on the back.

It was November 11, 1918, and the Armistice had just been signed.

“We must celebrate!” Mickey exclaimed.

“It's over, Daniel,” Reuben said quietly. “Our men made the difference. I feel kind of proud, don't you?”

“Damn right.” He wiped his eyes, and Reuben realized his own were misty. “We were the lucky ones, Reuben.”

“Yes,” Reuben said, touching his friend's shoulder. Then he grinned. “I agree with Mickey! We need a celebration!”

The threesome spent the next few hours drinking several bottles of the finest champagne Mickey's wine cellar afforded. The celebration lasted through dinner and into the early evening.

Mickey felt like a young girl, sharing secrets of her youth while the young men listened and spoke of theirs. The conversation inevitably brought them through myriad experiences that elicited both laughter and sometimes tears; their glasses were never empty. When she had listened to Daniel, tipsy and rambling, a lopsided grin on his face and hope in his eyes, tell again of his dream of becoming a lawyer, Mickey decided to begin now to help him realize his goal. Mentally she calculated what it would take over the next few months to put this person into action and determined to make arrangements immediately.

When she watched and listened to Reuben, she was aware that no matter how much he drank, or talked, or listened, a part of him was sitting beside her, tasting her, wanting her.

The atmosphere in the room was jubilant and warmly familial as they finished the last bottle of champagne. Mickey was the first to rise. Hugging them, and kissing them both on each cheek, she wished them a good night's sleep, first Daniel, and then Reuben. Daniel's kisses were wet and childlike and made her smile. Reuben's sent a shiver down her spine. It was difficult not to remain face-to-face with him and say, Yes. I want you now—more than ever. I want to taste you until I have my fill and then taste you again. His eyes burned into her even as she ascended the staircase. She knew he had followed deliberately for just that purpose. But when she looked back at him, she couldn't fathom what was behind that smoldering gaze.

It was odd—she'd been having the strangest feelings the past few days. One minute she wanted to drag the young American upstairs to her bed and the next she wanted to curl up next to him with her head on his shoulder. It was unbearable when he was out of her sight. And she hadn't been joking when she'd referred to the three of them as the Three Musketeers.
Amour.
Was it possible she was falling in love with the virile, handsome young American? How could she be sure, never having been in love before, not with her husband and certainly not with any of her
amants.

Perhaps she
was
beginning to fall in love. In matters of the heart, when one partner loved more than the other, that one, she knew, would eventually hurt to the soul. Did she want that? Did she want to experience that kind of pain?

And what about Reuben? All she had to do was crook her finger and he'd come like a lamb. A niggling voice within urged her to send both young men back to America.
Before it's too late,
the voice warned. “No!” she cried fiercely.
But what if the young man becomes so enamored of you he, too, falls in love? You will grow old before him. Do you wish to tie yourself to a gigolo? That's what he'll become if you keep him here. You'll never know if he truly loves you or merely the easy life your money can provide
.
Send him home!
“He's young,” Mickey whispered, “but old enough to make his own decisions. If he wanted to go home, he'd have said something.”

Mickey turned off the lamps. The near darkness felt good. One could hide in the darkness of a room or in the darkness of one's mind. One could hide from the world in any number of ways, and that world would pass by.

Now she was feeling sorry for herself. In the whole of her life she'd never felt this way.
Go after him, take what you want. Give what you want, but never give all of yourself.
One of her many lovers had told her that once: Never give all of yourself, for when it's time to walk away, there will be no reserve to carry you through. She smiled wickedly. All right, Reuben Tarz, you shall have 90 percent of me. Right now!

Her room was softly lit, the bed turned down, her silky white nightgown folded neatly on her pillow.

Fingers moving feverishly in their haste, she ripped at her clothes. The silky nightgown rustled softly as it fell about her. With lightning-quick motions she removed what little makeup remained, washed her face, and applied a light dusting of powder. She washed her mouth as well as her hands to rid herself of the smell of nicotine and wine. A light spritz of her favorite perfume and she was finished.

The moonlight streamed through the windows, creating silver shadows everywhere. The room looked exquisite, she decided, perfect for making love. Impatiently she waited until all was quiet outside her door. Then, feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl, she stepped down the hall to Reuben's room. Softly she opened the door. His room was also bathed in moonlight; it fell across his bed in a giant beam. It seemed to Mickey that the young American glowed in the near darkness. Fleetingly she wondered if it was a sign of something. In the end she simply didn't care.

Kneeling by his bed, she whispered in his ear, her fingers trailing gently the length of his cheek and down his neck. The coverlet had slipped from his neck. How broad his chest was, how muscular his arms. How very, very young.

“Come,
chéri,
” she whispered.

Reuben woke, instantly aware of her presence. He lay quietly, giving himself up to her touch and her scent. He shuddered and felt her smile in the moonlight.

“Come with me now, to my room.”

Reuben swung his legs over the side of the bed, his hands clutching the edge of the plump mattress. Mickey dropped her head into his lap, and he shuddered. She was whispering again as her tongue did strange things to him, things he never wanted to stop. He drew in his breath, expelling it in a loud hiss. With all the force he could muster, he grasped her shoulders and pushed her backward. Heedless now, he stood in his nakedness, staring down at her. At last he reached for her and drew her up and close. With one fluid motion he enfolded her into his arms and in seconds they were both in bed.

Eager to be close to him, Mickey knew no shame. Her fingers tore at her gown as she urged him with her hushed whispers and moist kisses to remove it. Oh, to be finally naked against him, to teach him her special secrets!

His mouth sought hers, his arms locked her in a hard embrace. Wave after wave of desire coursed through her as she answered his kisses and inspired his caresses. Her tongue darted into the warm recesses of his mouth; her arms wound around him, making him her prisoner. Soft hands caressed and stroked her back, smoothing along the curve of her waist to the fullness of her hips and bottom, pressing her close to her desire. Her breasts were taut and full beneath his hands. Soft moans escaped her parted lips as he aroused her to the heights of her passion. He devoured her with his eyes, covered her with his lips, igniting her sensuality with teasing touches of his tongue against her fiery skin. His fingertips grazed the sleekness of her inner thighs, and, helpless, she felt her body arch against his hand with a will of its own, to aid in his explorations.

His mouth became part of her own, and she heard her heart beat in wild and rapid rhythms. They strained toward each other, imprisoned by the designs of yearning, caught in an embrace that ascended the obstacles of the flesh and strove to join breath and blood, body and spirit.

Gently, in the darkened room, he laid her back against the pillows, leaning over her, nuzzling her neck, inhaling the heady fragrance that was hers alone. Blazing a trail from her throat, his lips covered her unguarded breast, and she shivered with exquisite anticipation. Gradually she became unaware of her surroundings, oblivious to time and place; she knew only that her body was reacting to this man, pleasure radiating outward from some hidden depth within her. She allowed herself to be transported by it, incapable of stopping the forward thrust of his desires, spinning out of time and space into the soft consuming mists of her sensuality.

Her emotions careened and clashed, grew confused and wild, her perceptions thrumming and beating wherever he touched her. And when he moved away from her she felt alone. When he returned she was whole again, wanting and needing, wanting to be needed in return. The feverish heat of his skin seemed to singe her fingers as she traced inquisitive patterns over his arms and back and down over his sleek, muscular thighs.

Reuben had never touched a woman this way, but somehow he knew he could touch a thousand women and none would feel the same to him as this one. None could have the unexpectedly smooth skin that tantalized his fingers and tempted him to seek more secret places.

Suddenly the room grew dark, jealously veiling the sight of him from her eyes. She wanted to see him, to know him, behold the places her fingers yearned to find and her lips hungered to kiss. “The lamp,” she whispered, hardly daring to make a sound, afraid to break the spell. She barely recognized her voice; it sounded husky, throaty, sensuous, even to her own ears. “I want to see you,” she whispered brazenly. “I want to know you, like this…naked. All of you.” It was a plea, a demand, exciting him with its fervor, arousing his desires for her to a fever pitch.

Soft, golden light flooded the room, and he stood there before her, just out of reach. Her gaze covered him, sizzling and searing, lingering at the swell of his manhood and grazing over his flat, hard stomach. Dark patterns of lustrous curling hair molded his form into planes and valleys, covering his chest and narrowing to a thin, elongated arrow that pointed below. Thighs thick with muscle supported him, the scars of his wound breaking her heart. His torso tapered and broadened again for the width of his chest. Her arms stretched out for him, beckoning him to her.

He was filled with an exhilarating power…the power that only a woman can give a man when she reveals her desire for him, welcoming him into her embrace, giving as well as taking, trusting him to carry her to the highest star, where passion is food for the gods and satisfaction is its own reward.

In the lamplight he gazed down at her, possessing her, held in the spell of the moment, watching her eyes travel the length of his body. Her lips parted, full and ripe, revealing the pink tip of her tongue as she moistened them. She was leaning back against the pillows, one knee bent, hiding her most secret place from his sight. Breasts proud, their coral tips erect, invited his hands and his lips. When he reached out to touch her, an answering voluptuous stretch revealed her womanhood where a fine feathering of downy hair caught the light, gilding her body in a soft, shimmering glow. She was beautiful, this lioness with the hungry eyes, beautiful and desirable, setting his pulses pounding anew, unleashing a driving need in him to satiate himself in her charms, to quell this hunger she created in him and to salve an appetite for her that was ravenous, voracious.

He moved into her embrace, felt her arms surround his hips, aware that she rested her cheek sweetly against the flat of his stomach, rubbing against his soft, curling hairs. His hands found the pins in her hair, pulling them impatiently, removing them, eager to see its dark wealth tumble about her shoulders and curl around her breasts. Silky chestnut strands, scented and shining, rippled through his fingers, cascading from his hands down the smooth length of her back and onto the pillows. She lifted her head, looking at him, her eyes heavy with passion. He had been right in likening her to a lion, a wildcat of the jungle. Dark lashes created shadows on her high cheekbones; upward-winging brows delineated her features. The full, ripe body, tinged with gilt, tempted his hands and invited his lips.

Her teasing touches grazed his buttocks and the backs of his thighs, slipping between them and rising higher and higher. She took in with her eyes all she touched with her fingers, the masculine hardness of him, feeling it pulsate with anticipation of her touch; and when her hand closed over him, a deep rumbling sounded in his chest, issuing from his lips in a barely audible moan.

He lay down beside her, reaching for her, covering her breasts with his hands, seeking them with his lips. But her appetite for him had not been satisfied, and she lifted herself onto her elbow, leaning over him, her hair draping over her shoulder to create a curtain between them. Again she touched him, running the tips of her fingers down his chest, hearing his small gasp of pleasure. The flat of her palm grazed his belly, and her lips followed her hand's downward slope.

The swell of her hips and the rounded fullness of her bottom filled him with a throbbing urgency. Nothing short of having her, of losing himself in her, would satisfy. He was afraid the touch of her lips would drive him over the edge, past the point of no return. Impatiently he drew her upward, pushing her back against the pillows, trapping her with his weight. He wanted to plunder her, drive himself into her, slake his thirst, knowing his needs could be met only in her.

Her mouth was swollen, passion-bruised, and tasting of himself. Her arms wound around him, holding him close as she pressed against him. His hand caressed her breast, just skimming the rosy tip, and his lips followed hungrily, tasting and teasing until a golden warmth spread through her veins, quickening her already erratic pulse. Her hair became entangled round his neck, and he brushed it aside before resuming his sensual exploration. His lips lingered now in the place where her arm joined her body, then traced a patternless path back to her full, heaving breasts. She clung to the hard, sinewy muscles of his arms, afraid she would fall into a yawning abyss where flames were fed by passion.