Sweet Annie (27 page)

Her
gaze lifted, and the fire wasn't gone, but other emotions were crowding it.
"Luke," she said.

He
tossed his toweling aside and took her by her upper arms. "Yes?"

"Could
you just kiss me? I'm feeling awkward, but everything feels right when you kiss
me."

He
smiled and drew her close. "I'd love to kiss you."

Her
satin dress was cool against his warm skin as he drew her into his arms and
lowered his face to hers. Lace and seed pearls pressed against his aroused
flesh. He recalled the ludicrous admission when she'd told him he'd be the
first. Annie was as pure and innocent as a newborn babe, but a banked fire
glowed deep inside, waiting for fuel and air.

Perhaps it was to his
benefit that she'd never been coached in the ways of "womanhood"—that
her mother had never expected her to become a wife, because she hadn't been
instilled with the foolish ideas of what was ladylike and what wasn't. She'd
been thoroughly engrossed by his body and her indulgence aroused him beyond
belief. He'd learned already just how sensuous and eager and warm-blooded his
new wife could be.

It was his job to show her the beauty and purity of
their love. She stroked his bare shoulders, her fingers trembling on his skin,
skimming down his arms, kneading his neck. She had no idea of the fire she
fueled in him.

Against
his lips she parted hers and he sensed her waiting breathlessly for the play of
his tongue. He teased her by darting it against her lip.

She made a soft cry in the back of her throat.

This time he drew a line across her lower lip.

Annie held his head still and raised on tiptoe.

"You do it, Annie," he whispered.

She hesitated only a brief moment, then swept her
tongue into his mouth, against his teeth, tasting him, drawing him deeper into
the kiss.

Her erotic kisses and the
glide of her hands over his chest had him aching and burning with want.

She separated their lips by
a fraction of an inch to speak. "Can we do it all now?"

His head was a little numb
and he had to rethink to make sure he'd heard right. "All?"

"Take
off my dress. And the part that comes after that."

“Make
love, Annie? You want to make love now?'' She nodded.

As
if he would say no? But he wanted her reassured. "There's something you
should know," he said.

"What's
that?"

"I
am yours Annie. My heart." He placed her hand over his chest and her
fingers curled deliriously. "My body." He made out her pulse beating
rapidly at the base of her throat. “My body is yours. For your pleasure. If
you can understand that, then you won't have to be afraid."

"I'm
not afraid." Her quavering voice belied those words.

“Has
anyone ever told you—that—that it hurts the first time?"

She shook her head.
"No."

“It's normal,'' he offered,
hoping to reassure her.

Her body trembled in his
arms. "Okay."

"Are you cold?"

"No."

"Then
you are afraid."

"Not
of you, Luke."

"What
are you afraid of?"

She lowered her gaze,
encountered his chest, and turned to the window, the picture of innocent beauty
in her pristine gown and veil.

He
imagined all the things she might fear. "You're not afraid I will hurt
you?"

"No."

"You're not afraid to
have a baby?"

She blinked.
"No."

"Tell me, Annie. You
can tell me."

Her
cheeks bloomed with bright color. She lowered her eyes to the floor. "It's
me," she whispered. "I'm not... perfect."

That
word stunned him. As well as the fact that she doubted her perfection. “Is this
about your leg? Your hip?"

Tears gathered on her
lowered lashes.

"It doesn't look the
way you'd like it to?"

"No. It doesn't look
the way it should."

He
raised her face with his knuckle under her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"You think I care about perfection? You think after what we've shared and
the way I've always treated you that a small thing like outward appearance
makes one damn bit of difference to me? You hurt me if that's what you
think."

Tears
spilled over and ran down her pale cheeks. "I think you're the kindest,
most loving person I've ever known."

"Then
you know I don't care about a physical difference. I love you.
You."

With
a sob, she hugged him around the waist and clung.

Luke
rubbed her back until she calmed, then pulled away. "I'll help you with
your dress and then I'll bring fresh water for you to wash if you'd like."

"Here?"

"No. In the other
room. In private."

She
nodded and he led her toward the bedroom. She stepped in ahead of him.

Luke's
hand trembled on the knob. He closed the door behind him, and self-consciously
dropped the betraying hand to his side.

She had moved to stand with
her back to the window, haloed in a shimmering silhouette of white lace and
seed pearls. Reaching up, she found the combs that secured her veil and drew
the headpiece from her hair, then turned to hang the yards of gauzy fabric on a
wall peg. Expression serene, she stepped toward him, an action that spoke of
trust and courage and strength in itself.

"Luke," she breathed on a rash of air.

He smiled a smile of love
that came from a place deep inside, honored beyond belief that she'd taken more
than physical steps for him—humbled that she'd stood up to her parents and
taken steps of trust, of commitment toward him. God, how he loved this brave
woman. He never wanted to hurt her or disappoint her or tarnish the beauty of
what they shared. And he never wanted her to feel less than perfect.

He was in front of her
without consciousness of the steps, raising a hand to her temple, to the
springy curls that shone like red-gold fire in the sunlight streaming through
the windowpane.

The coils sprang back when
he released them, nestled against the ivory skin near her eye. He leaned
toward her and kissed her there, felt that gentle pulse beneath his lips. He
moved his hand to her arm and caressed her through the lace.

She sighed and her warm breath brushed the base of
his throat, provoking an internal tremor. He wanted to be calm and strong for
her. He wanted to take things nice and slow and show her his devotion in gentle
measures. After what had happened in the other room, his body demanded
something entirely different, making him feel like a callow young boy.

"Oh, Annie," he
said against her hair. "I want this to be good for you. I don't want you
afraid."

"I'm not afraid of
you," she said, and she placed a palm along his jaw.

He
took her in his arms again, looking down into those trusting loving eyes. If
love could be seen, then he was looking at it, suddenly overwhelmed by the
devotion she lavished with her entire being. "I love you."

Her
smile added more sunshine to an already blind-ingly bright scene, more pleasure
to a heart already full to bursting. "Maybe you would want to kiss me
again, then," she said.

He loved her playfulness,
appreciated her security to feel at ease with him. "Maybe."

She
touched his lip with her forefinger, traced the scar that caused her so much
concern.

He
leaned forward and kissed her, tasting the familiarity of her lips, the
newness of their bond, sensing her hesitancy and her need, and loving the heady
combination. Her lips were warm and willing, and she leaned into him, her
breasts crashed to his chest.

"Oh,
Annie," he said against her lips, enfolding her and holding her flush
against him and speaking his desire. "I don't want to wait a minute
longer."

A
multitude of tiny hard seed pearls bit into his flesh where they pressed
together, though not nearly enough of a diversion to quell his ardor.

"Do
we have to?" she asked, eyes open wide with concern.

"No,
no, we don't have to wait, I just thought... well, I don't know what I
thought...that you'd be more comfortable if we waited, I guess." He wanted
her to be comfortable, able to enjoy their lovemaking without embarrassment or
distractions.

"I
think I'm more uncomfortable waiting."

Encouraged,
he smiled against her cheek. "Turn around."

She obliged, pulling loose
from his embrace and turning her back. With clumsy fingers that shook, he
worked on the endless row of pearl buttons that ran from her collar to the base
of her spine, revealing creamy flesh and lacy undergarments. He pushed a
corkscrew tress from the back of her neck and pressed a kiss to her smooth
skin.

Annie
shivered and carefully pushed the sleeves down her arms, over her wrists, and
let the bodice fall forward. Pulse pounding through his veins, Luke fumbled
with the last buttons and helped her push the voluminous white skirts down her
hips. He took the dress from her and hung it carefully on a peg beside her
veil.

Moving
to face her, he ran his palms up the velvety length of her bare arms, smoothed
his fingertips across her delicate shoulders to her collarbone, then slid his
palm up her neck to cup her face.

She
rose to meet his kiss, closer this time, without the yards of fabric between
them, without the hard knots of the ornaments on her dress. The fragrance of
lilacs and the erotic scent of her skin assailed Luke's senses. She seemed
smaller in his arms now, more delicate, more vulnerable.

He
found a ribbon at her waist and untied her petticoats. She stepped out of them
with his assistance.

He
urged her to sit. She lowered herself to the edge of the bed, her willingness
an added aphrodisiac he hadn't needed.

He
knelt before her and removed her satin slippers, one at a time. Her feet were
tiny, her legs slim and curvaceous in white pantaloons and stockings. Her
breasts pushed upward over the top of a stiff-looking corset, her nipples
visible through the thin white cotton of the garment she wore against her skin.
Luke swallowed hard and set the slippers aside.

Never one to ran from an
adventure, Annie slid her hands across his shoulders, an audible rash of air escaping
her lungs. His heart thudded so hard, he wondered if she could hear it.

Her
innocent, yet ardent caress of his skin sent a shudder through his body, and he
compressed his lips to hold in a carnal groan. They embraced, his chest in the
V of her thighs, her mouth against his forehead, her petticoats crashed beneath
his knees. He turned his head and nuzzled her neck, her chest, dipped his
tongue out to taste her.

She made a sound of
surprise, of pleasure.

He
cupped her breasts above the corset, rubbed both nipples with his thumbs.
"Oh, Luke," she said breathlessly. "Luke, we don't have to stop
this time. We don't have to stop ever again. Don't stop."

"My
pleasure," he said, and touched his tongue to a hard bud through the
cotton.

She gasped.

He
found the hooks and eyes and unfastened her corset, the popping sounds loud in
the room. He couldn't manage the tiny buttons of her chemise, so she hastily
tugged it off over her head.

Her
breasts came into view, full and plump, her nipples firm and pink. She moved
the garment aside, pausing to untangle a strand of hair from a button.

He
managed to help her, then leaned in close to inhale the scent of her skin. She
brought her palm to his face, guided him upward until he had to raise off the
floor to meet her lips.

They
tumbled back upon the bed, and he kissed her leisurely, seductively, calmed now
by her reminder that they didn't have to stop. And they didn't have to hurry.
She was his now. He had all the time in the world to love her, and nothing and
no one could take her away from him.