By The Sea, Book One: Tess (15 page)

"Enough talk about money, Tess. There are
other things in life," he said in a low voice.

"For those who already have it," she could
not resist saying.

"And now you do. Come here, Tess."

She rose and stood before him. He held her
hands in his. "You're very beautiful. Even half-drowned, you are
very beautiful. I should like to see you in your twilight years,"
he said rather wistfully. "I'm certain you will be a great beauty
still."

And then he was standing eye to eye with
her. As Tess waited for his kiss, the first kiss of her adult life,
she thought,
Is there some other way?

He took her by her shoulders and whispered,
"Never, never look back." His mouth came down on hers, not at all
in the wretched, clumsy manner of the stableboy in Wrexham, but in
a sweet, slow caress, a butterfly's touch. It surprised her; she'd
expected him, despite all the evidence, to grab eagerly at what
he'd paid for.

A murmur of gratitude sounded deep in her
throat. He responded to it, nudging her mouth open with his lips,
taking advantage of her naïveté with his tongue. A tonguing kiss by
a man of the world: it thrilled her. She had nothing to compare it
to, but it seemed stunningly intimate. The warmth of cognac, the
faint taste of cigar, the inviting, coaxing movement of his
tongue—is this how sophisticated adults did it? And what about
unsophisticated ones? Peter Boot, and Enid—and Bridget—and what
about her mother and
father,
dear God? Had they kissed like
this, really?

He drew his mouth away from hers and guided
her arms around his neck. "Your tongue is very sweet, Tess. Where
did you learn to kiss that way?"

"I never learned!" she answered, shocked. "I
never kissed that way—I mean, this is my first, that way."

"Oh my dear Tess," he said with a shaky
laugh. "Then perhaps I'm too old for you, after all." And he
returned to her mouth, nipping her lips gently, testing their
softness, seeming to go more warily now. His trimmed-back mustache
prickled the sensitive area above her mouth; his goatee brushed
against her cheek as he dropped skimming kisses along the line of
her jaw. They were reassuring kisses, attentive and charming, and
she thought,
Even mother and father might have kissed this
way.

But then he was at her ear, tonguing its
curve, his warm breath heating the inner chamber. Gasping, she
reconsidered.
But never like this.
There was something too
dangerous, too irresponsible about lovemaking that tied your
judgment in little knots and tossed it aside like a rag.
Only
reckless people kiss this way. People with leisure and energy and
privacy. Parents don't, nor Catholics, nor anyone else who has to
work for a living. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be
possible.

She listened to the sound of the little
steam launch that had brought her to the
Enchanta,
but it
was really the sound of her own breathing, a series of panting
strokes that was leaving her dizzy. The cognac again; it was worse
than the sherry.

"No, please …." she said aloud, vaguely
convinced that she was on her knees and begging for mercy. He
withdrew his tongue but she kept her arms around him, steadying
herself.

"Perhaps neither one of us is strong enough
for the other," he whispered, and he led her to a settee covered in
supple, tufted leather. She took a place beside him, thinking:
will it be here?

Again he brought his mouth to hers. This
time her lips parted automatically, inviting him in. She was
intensely curious to know why his kisses took her breath away,
intensely thrilled that they did. It didn't seem possible; she
hardly knew him ....

She broke away. "I
do
like this," she
admitted, baffled.

It brought a low chuckle from him. "I
promise not to tell," he murmured, dropping a light kiss on her
nose. "Tess—whisper my name," he said wistfully.

"Aaron?"

"Without the question mark."

"I couldn't! Because you're ... older."

"Oh my God—say it, Tess." He began to
unbutton the top button of her gown.

"Aaron?"

"Try again." Another button.

"Aaron ... no."

"Again." Another.

"Aaron, please …."

Another, and another; and then two or three
embroidered hooks, and the loose-sleeved gown fell away from Tess
as easily as her illusions about the cruelty of the upper
classes.

Because Aaron Gould was gentle, subtle, in a
way she'd never have expected. His hands, finely sculpted and as
soft as her own, were made to caress. Like any artist, he
understood his medium well. The intricacies of her corset fasteners
bothered him not at all; he had traveled the tortuous route through
women's underclothing before.

But he wasn't kissing her as he undid the
hooks of her corset, and that gave Tess time to reflect on it
all—and to falter. "Eh-h—Mr.—Aaron." She searched for something to
say. "The windows—people can see."

"My crew would never walk aft," he explained
patiently. "But never mind; we can do better."

He led her through a door to his sleeping
cabin, a small but richly appointed stateroom quietly aglow with
hand-rubbed mahogany. The bed was a little smaller than full-sized,
but had access from either side and was covered with rich red
velvet—a far cry from the horsehair mattresses in steerage. She
turned to Aaron, suddenly frightened out of her wits, but said in a
brave little voice, "I feel silly, half dressed. I'd rather have on
nothing at all."

He nuzzled the curve of her shoulder. "Are
you expecting an argument from me?"

"No, but—I'll do it myself." Then she
gestured for him not to look.

"Come now, Tess." For the first time there
was a mild displeasure in his voice. But he took a seat in a
handsome side-chair, crossed his legs, and waited.

In retrospect her attempt at independence
did seem ill-conceived. Steeling herself, Tess undid the rest of
her corset and let it drop to the floor. Next came her drawers, her
hose, their supports and finally her tights and silk vest. Each new
skirmish with a garment cost her dearly. Standing in the ruins of
her modesty, not knowing where to put her hands, she tried to make
light of the pain she was feeling. "I thought you promised that
there would be no cruelty involved."

He was stroking the hairs of his chin. "If
there is, it's on your part for having banished me. Step forward,
Tess, to me."

She did, and an expression almost of pain
crossed his brow. "What beauty," he whispered. "What perfect,
exquisite beauty. Venus de Milo, rising from the sea."

Her mouth was slightly parted, her deep
green eyes questioning. Her thick unbound hair felt strange on her
bare back and shoulders. She had no idea what to cover first, so
she let her arms hang naturally at her side. And yet, as the time
ticked by she felt less embarrassment. There was something in his
awestruck face that made embarrassment seem inappropriate. Did the
sun feel self-conscious when it retired in a rainbow of glory, or
the Milky Way, when it splashed across a midnight sky? Aaron Gould
made her feel like those things, awakening Tess to the power of her
beauty. Dizzy with a sense of her own allure, she gave him the
first truly seductive smile of her life.

He rose and came to her, easing the combs
from her hair, tossing them on the little pile of shorn clothing.
Fanning his hands through the thickness of her hair, he said in a
voice low with yearning, "I'll give anything to have you, Tess.
Anything."

She saw his eyes close and his brows draw
together as he slid his hands slowly along either side of the curve
of her spine, over her buttocks, along the sides of her hips and
the curve of her waist. He might have been blind; all of his senses
seemed channeled into one: the sense of touch. He was drawing a
picture for her of the curves of her body, and the picture pleased
her very much.

He kissed her again, a deep kiss that left
her dizzy. "Come with me to bed, Tess. Come with me now."

She stood alongside him as he pulled back
the cover, aware that she had sold herself, aware that there had
been no exchange of love between them. It would be impossible not
to resent him and despise herself, and yet, if the world had ended
then, Tess would have been disappointed. She had come too far.

She lay down and began to draw up the
covers, but Aaron said, "Don't. It would be sacrilegious." He
undressed himself carelessly, apparently unaware that Tess had
never seen a man aroused before. She allowed herself one shy
glance, taking in his slender build and the hairs on his chest.
After that she focused on his attractive face, and then he was
alongside her, stroking her hair.

Taking her hand in his, he whispered, "Touch
me." When her eyes opened wide he smiled and said, "It won't
burn."

So she did, startled by the baby-fine
softness of the skin, so much softer than anything on her body. He
began to kiss her again, and before long she was matching the
rhythm of his tongue with strokes of her hand. His kisses became
more fierce, and Tess responded with a fierceness of her own, until
he tore his mouth from hers and said roughly, "No more, Tess," and
drew her hand away.

"Am I doing it wrong?" she asked
timidly.

"Only too right," he answered with a rueful
look. "Let me cool down. Let me heat
you
up."

"But I am heated up," she protested, not
wanting to seem uncooperative.

That brought a grin from him. "Oh my
darling, how little you know about yourself."

His worldliness distressed her. It was her
first little taste of jealousy, but she didn't know it.

Nor did she have much time to analyze the
emotion, because it was soon replaced by a far more powerful
assault on her senses: with his tongue Aaron began slowly,
methodically, to reduce Tess to cinders as he traced red-hot paths
of fire along the inside curve of her shoulder, then down to the
tips of her breasts. He lingered there, then lingered some more,
until Tess cried for him to stop while at the same time lifting
herself to his kisses.

Aaron went on to discover a dozen other
flashpoints: the hollows under her arms; a small spot, easily
missed, just below her ear; a rambling trail between her breasts
and her belly button. She seemed to herself a pile of tinder,
waiting to go up in flames.

The match was lit when Aaron moved lower.
Tess was waiting for the moment; if all else was kindling, here was
the pyre. But it was much more than she'd both dreaded and hoped
for. The touch of his tongue on her not only destroyed her illusion
of independence, but made him as necessary to her life as the air
she was breathing.

"Oh no, oh yes ...." It was a whisper of
despair. In one night she had gone from merely wanting one man to
absolutely requiring another. And yet after a moment it didn't
matter; nothing mattered—not survival or reputation or
money—nothing except the intensity of the fire. It burned hotter
and higher and she fed it with long, ragged gasps of oxygen until
it consumed her, and her body was convulsed in a series of
shudders, and she became convinced that her soul had fled
forever.

Aaron came back up to her after that and she
opened her eyes. "Why did you do that? That wasn't part of it," she
murmured, exhausted and vaguely resentful.

He looked at her carefully and said softly,
"But it was, Tess. Now you are relaxed."

His entry, in gentle stages, was
surprisingly easy; Tess felt almost no pain. After that he lay
completely still for a moment. Don't move, Tess," he said, near to
a groan. "It will be over if you do."

She did as she was told. Something in her
wanted to say, "It's your money," but she held it back. Odd
snatches of thought floated like dust-bits through her head: just
then was she technically still a virgin? Would it be less of a sin
if she refused the money? Were all laundry maids whores, as popular
wisdom had it? She was feeling more sad than resentful, more
vulnerable than sad.

And he was hurting her, a little. Her face
must have shown it, because he gave her a look of pained sympathy
and soothed her hair as he whispered, "It will be better next time,
my darling."

Tears glazed her eyes as she nodded a silent
assent.

"But for now... oh my dear Tess, for
now—"

He began a slow, easy movement back and
forth inside her while Tess—guilty, sated, angry—did not at first
respond. But the movement became more fluid, and with the end of
pain came pleasure, first subtle, then devouring. Aaron paused,
trying to hold on to the moment, but she clasped his face between
her hands and pulled his mouth down on hers in a searing kiss. His
rhythm quickened then, hurried on by Tess; a hundred rapid
heartbeats later, he collapsed on her breast with a low, protracted
groan of satisfaction.

"No—not yet!" she cried, and tried to keep
the movement going.

His groan dissolved into a hoarse laugh of
pleasure. "I'm sorry, Tess. Ordinarily I have more control than
that. But you made me so ... hot."

"Did I?" A smile of baffled sweetness curled
her lips. She hadn't tried to make him anything, and she couldn't
help wondering: what if she
had?

The question was still on her mind when she
drifted off, still in Aaron's arms, into the sleep of the
emotionally exhausted. It was not a satisfying sleep, but troubled
and dream-ridden. One sequence particularly haunted her: she was
trying to catch up to Aaron, to tell him something of great
importance; but he was either in his coach or on his yacht or,
once, on a sailing ship with neither helm nor helmsman and Tess,
always on foot in her tight new patent leather-tipped shoes, could
never catch him.

Deep in the night she was awakened by the
sound of her own quick breathing; her pillow was wet with tears. A
cabin light burning low oriented her to her new surroundings. Next
to her lay Aaron, still naked, his breathing deep and even. The
wind howled and the rain drummed the decks of the
Enchanta;
the storm was at its peak. The tumult around them frightened Tess.
It was too much like her life.