Twice Loved (copy2) (24 page)

His eyes, as blue as the skies behind him, lingered on her every feature while hers traversed his face with its skin lit to nut-brown by the afternoon sunshine, his hair with its new sideburns making him seem partly stranger. Curiously, Laura’s fingers still cupped her own breast. She could feel her hastened heartbeat there and wondered if he, too, detected it as he leaned slowly, knuckle slipping away to be replaced by his warm, open lips. Lightly, he touched the satiny skin of her collarbone, pushing the ribbon aside.

An ecstasy of emotions flooded Laura as her eyelids drifted shut and she touched his face for the first time. “Oh, Rye,” she breathed, cupping his jaw, resting her lips against his hair. The scent of him was as she remembered, a mixture of cedar and his father’s pipe tobacco and the flavor she thought of as sea breeze, knowing no other name for it.

He raised his head, seemingly unhurried, though within, he, too, knew great impatience. But it was too good to hurry, too fine, with Laura, to plunge through the luxury they’d been afforded in this golden afternoon.

“Turn around,” he ordered gently, still having touched no more than that tantalizing bit of skin at her collarbone.

“But ...” His lips were too inviting, his touch too enticing.

“Turn around,” he said more softly, putting his wide brown hands on her tiny waist. She covered them with her own, turned away from him very slowly, scarcely able to breathe. His hands slipped from under hers and she felt the tug of the brass pin leaving her hat while he asked, “What am I wearing?”

“A white muslin shirt, the tan summer breeches you wore the day we ate oranges in the market, new black boots I’ve never seen before, and a whale’s tooth on a silver chain in the open collar of your shirt.”

“Ahh ... very good. You get a reward.” The hat was pulled from her head and rustled onto the grass at her side. His hands, spread wide, came back to span her ribs, as if she were a ballerina he was guiding in a spin. Then his lips touched the side of her neck above the scooped back neckline. She tilted her head to one side, luxuriating in the touch of his mouth on her skin.

“You’re very stingy with your rewards, Mr. Dalton,” she murmured, feeling as if her body would rebel if it couldn’t soon know more of him than he chose to dole out in tantalizing deliberation.

“I seem to remember y’ liked it lingery ... or have y’ changed? Do y’ want it all at once?”

She laughed throatily, for her head was thrown back, the sun warm on her jaw as he bit the side of her neck and wet it with his tongue.

“Mmm, y’ taste good.”

“Like what?”

“Lilacs.”

“Aye, lilac water.” She moved sensuously. “You, too, get a reward.” She knew he was smiling, though his face was buried in her neck and hers turned toward the Nantucket sky. She covered his hands with her own. For a moment neither of them moved but for his driving breaths against her shoulder and hers that raised their joined hands on her ribs. The backs of his hands were wider than hers, the fingers longer, the skin harder. She guided them slowly, slowly upward while the smile dissolved from her lips, which parted as she held his palms cupped tightly against both of her breasts. For a moment his breath stilled beside her ear and she pictured him with eyes closed as hers were, sunspots dancing in crazy, exhilarating patterns against her lids.

“Laura-love,” he said gruffly as his hands started moving, caressing, relearning, while hers lingered on them, absorbing the very feel of his touch. “Am I dreaming or are y’ really here at last?”

“I’m here, Rye, I’m here.”

As they shared this first caress, the faraway notes of the bell in the church tower drifted across the meadow, chiming out the musical prelude to the hour, then the hour itself. ... one! ... two! They had grown up to the chiming of that bell, had often gauged their waning time to it, and knew its message well.

“Two o’clock. How much time do we have?”

“Until four.”

One hand left her breast and tipped her chin up. Twisting half-around, she met his lips at last over her shoulder. And as they kissed, each wished the bell had not rung. He dropped his hands to her waist and spun her around almost viciously. She looped one of her arms around his neck, the other around his ribs, while he held her so demandingly, the whalebones bit' into her skin. His mouth blended with hers as their tongues possessed one another, thrusting and tasting, hungry for full intimacy. He grasped the sides of her head and slanted his mouth across hers in one direction, then another, low sounds coming from his throat, as if he were in pain. All pretense of nonchalance had disappeared with the ringing of the church bell, but it had left its reverberations within their bodies, which moved rhythmically against each other when he pulled the length of her against him.

He dropped to the earth, taking her with him, and fell across her lap in a billow of white dimity. Reaching an arm up, he hooked the back of her neck and bent her to him while she pressed kisses on his closed eyelids, his temple, the hollow beneath his nose, the corner of his mouth, and his throat. “Oh, Rye, I would know the smell of you if I were blindfolded. I could pick you out from all the men of this world with my nose alone.” Without opening his eyes, he chuckled, letting her go on nuzzling and kissing her way around his face and hair.

“Mmm ...” She made a humming sound of delight with her nose buried in the soft waves above his ear.

“What do I smell like?” he asked.

“Like cedar and smoke and salt.”

He laughed again, then returned his mouth to hers for a long, ardent intermingling of tongues. She ran her hands along the firm muscles of his chest while he pressed his palm along the side of her breast, exploring with a long thumb until the nipple ached sweetly for release from its tight restraints.

She slipped her hand within his shirt. The chain was warm, the hairs silken, his nipple tiny-hard as her fingertips fluttered across it. His chest muscles tensed beneath her hand, then with a groan he turned his face toward her breasts, opening his mouth greedily against the dress front, forcing his warm breath through it before catching the fabric between his teeth and tugging it as he made inarticulate sounds deep in his throat.

“Are y’ wearin’ it?” He backed away, freeing his lips from the white dimity.

Their eyes met as with a single fingertip she traced the outline of a swooping sideburn, from the pulsebeat that rapped at his temple to the curve beneath his firm cheekbone. “Yes, I’m wearing it.”

“I thought so. I could feel it.”

“I’ve worn it every day since you gave it to me.”

“Let me see.” But he remained across her lap for a minute, studying her delicately pink cheeks and the brown eyes, heavy-lidded with anticipation. He braced up, resting a palm beside her hip, his eyes now on a level with hers. “Turn around,” he ordered gently.

He moved back off her skirts to kneel behind her as the fabric rustled and puffed high, totally covering his thighs. Her hair was gathered in a cascade of ringlets, which she moved aside, presenting the nape of her neck. He touched it with his fingertips, sending shivers preceding his touch along the line of hooks down her vertebrae. She pictured his hands, tough and capable, hands that knew well how to control both oak and a woman’s flesh. The contrasting pictures unleashed a rush of sensuality within Laura while he parted the dress down to her waist, then beyond.

The dress fell forward and she pushed it past her wrists, then, still sitting, reached for the button at the waistband of her petticoat. Watching, he pressed a hand to her shoulder blade, just above the corset, and stroked the soft hollow up the center of her back with his thumb. Dress and petticoats lay now like a newly blossomed lily, with Laura its pistil. Like a bee gathering nectar, he dipped his head to kiss her soft shoulder before straightening once more to free the laces along her back. Inch by inch they separated, revealing a wrinkled chemise. With a touch he urged her to stand, and she rose on shaky knees, resting a hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she stepped out of the cylinder of whalebone and buckram.

Rye raised his eyes, but she stood partially turned away from him, clad now in pantaloons and chemise. Strong, tan hands squeezed her hipbones, turning her slowly to face him while he gazed up, then reached for the ribbon between her breasts. But his hands stopped, then captured the backs of hers as he spoke into her eyes.

“You take it off. I want to watch y’. Out at sea, the picture of you undressing was the thing I remembered best.” He turned one soft palm upward, then the other, leaving a lingering kiss in each before placing them at her laces. Then he sat back on his haunches, watching, remembering first times with her.

Slowly, Laura loosened the ribbons, and along with them a series of ricocheting feelings that made her feel wanton and shy, sinful and glorified, while his gaze remained steadily on her. She grasped the hem of the waist-length garment and worked it over her head, then dropped her arms to her sides, leaving the chemise dangling, forgotten, from her fingertips.

His eyes scanned her bare breasts, their dusky nipples exposed to the sun, then the criss-cross tracery of red lines on her skin. She watched, standing perfectly still, as his Adam’s apple glided up and down before he rose to his knees, placing warm palms gently over her ribs to pull her near and kiss the imprint made by the busk along the center of her stomach and chest. Other impressions had been left by the whalebone stays on either side, and he treated them likewise, tracing each with the tip of his tongue, starting at the warm hollow beneath her breast, gliding down to her waist. His palms caressed her warm back, gathering her close against him as his lips at last covered a dark, sweet nipple.

Laura closed her eyes, adrift upon a liquid rush of desire, one hand seeking his hair, the other his shoulder, taking a fistful of shirt and twisting it tightly as he moved to her other breast, where he tugged and sucked, sending spasms of desire knifing through her limbs.

Rye clamped a strong arm about her hips, pulling her against his chest as he took his fill of this woman he’d wanted for five yearning years. Long, delighted minutes later, he leaned away to look up at Laura. She dropped her gaze to see him framed by her naked breasts, and smiled at the sight of his dark fingers stroking her white, soft flesh, shaping and reshaping it, a wonderous expression on his face. Unashamed, she watched and thrilled, letting the tide of emotions build.

“I thought I remembered perfectly, but y’ were never this good in my memories. Aw, love, your skin is so soft.” His tongue circled the outer circumference of one orb, then its crest, wetting a wide circle of skin. Then he sat back and watched as, the air touching it, evaporating, cooling, the nipple drew up tightly into a ripe, ready berry of arousal, which he again teased with tongue and teeth.

She reached over his shoulder to tug his shirttail free of his pants, needing to touch more than just his clothing. He sat back and obediently raised his arms while the shirt skimmed past ribs and wrists. Holding the garment, she plunged her face into the soft cloth to breathe deeply of his scent, which lingered there.

An impatient hand stole the shirt and flung it aside.

“Sit down,” he ordered, the words rough-textured.

Immediately, Laura complied, dropping back onto ruffled pantaloons, bracing her palms on the grass behind. She watched in fascination while he lifted one foot and started removing her shoe. Over his shoulder it went before he peeled away her stocking and reached for her other foot.

He managed the second shoe without taking his eyes from her face, while she watched every movement of the arousing process, each shifting muscle of his hands undressing her. The second shoe and stocking joined their mates, then he held her foot in both hands, running a thumb over the sensitive instep. While he fondled the foot, his eyes traveled her disheveled hair, bare breasts, and pantaloons.

“Y’re beautiful.”

“I have wrinkles on my belly.”

“Even y’r wrinkles are beautiful. I love every one of ’em.”

Sitting back on his haunches with knees widespread, he lifted her foot and kissed its arch, then the small hollow beneath her anklebone, while he watched her beguiling mouth drift open and her tongue catch between her teeth. He pressed the sole of her foot against the high, hard center of his chest, moving it in small circles while her eyes followed ... silky-soft hair, hard muscle, the chain, and whale’s tooth trailing on her bare toes.

Senses that had lain dormant for five years sprang to life in Laura while Rye gradually lowered her foot down the center of his chest to his hard belly, then to his waistline, settling it finally against the hot, hard hills of his tumescence. A shuddering breath fell from him and his eyes closed. She pressed her heel against him and he rocked forward on his knees while her fingers clutched handfuls of grass behind her. When he opened his eyes again, they were fraught with passion.

“I want y’ more right now than I did in Hardesty’s loft when we were sixteen.” The heat of his body burned through his breeches while he soothed a hand over her ankle.

Elbows locked, she let her head drop backward, and her eyes drifted shut as she said chokily, “I thought I’d never feel your hands on me again. I’ve wanted this since ... since the day you sailed away from me. What’s happening inside me now has never happened since that day ... only with you.”

“Tell me what’s happening.” He moved sharply up beside her, bracing one hand on the grass, the other at last cupping the ripe readiness between her legs as he leaned over her, kissing her exposed throat.

But her only answer was an impassioned sound more expressive than any words she might have chosen as, with head slung back, palms braced firmly on the earth, she thrust her hips upward in invitation. He explored her through cotton pantaloons as he’d first done years ago, dipping his head to kiss the tip of her chin while she moved rhythmically against his hand.

“Let me see the rest of you,” he begged against her throat.

She drew her heavy head up. “In a minute.” She pressed 
a 
palm against his breast until he went backward onto the grass, catching himself on his elbows, Laura’s and his positions now reversed. “Your boots.”