Authors: Traitorous Hearts
Lightning again. A flash of rich, round, pale breasts, and the
dark, tight disks of her nipples. He bent his head to the unbearable sweetness
of her breast in his mouth.
Nothing in her life had prepared her for this, for the intense
wave of heat as he sucked at her nipple. For the greed, as she was helpless to
do anything but clutch at his head and hold him closer.
She felt tight, ready to burst from her skin as his tongue rasped
across the tip of her breast. She grabbed his jaw, urging him to the other
side. A tug, a stroke, sent her mindlessly tumbling into pleasure.
He stopped, gasping, to stamp kisses along the curve of her neck,
the slope of her shoulder. His hands were fervent and insistent, sweeping over
her back and arms, curving around her waist.
Her lack of sight intensified her other senses. She was
overwhelmed by the pounding of the rain and the harsh sigh of his breathing.
She smelled spring and him, felt every ridge on his fingertips as he skimmed
them over her nipple.
Lord, he thought, how long had it been? How long since he'd been
enchanted by the silkiness of the skin over a woman's collarbone, been driven
to madness by the taste of tender flesh inside an elbow?
Never.
She twisted in his arms, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, tugging
it from his breeches. And then she was touching him, kneading the muscles at
the side of his waist, sliding her palms over his chest.
Heaven? Hell? Who cared?
He'd spent a lifetime being in control. Every time he'd touched a
woman, he'd been cautious, careful, always conscious that his strength could
easily bruise such fragile creatures. Yet here was a woman who met his
strength, encouraged it, answered it with her own, and it destroyed every shred
of control he'd ever owned.
The feel of his hands on the bare flesh of her thighs caused her
to shiver. The brush of his chest against the sensitive tips of her breasts
made heat flash through her body, quick and sharp as the lightning. He lifted
her, turned her, planting her knees on either side of his thighs, then settled
her against him. Her skirts were pushed up around her hips. The heavy pressure
of him against her most intimate flesh made her shake.
There was nothing of romance here, sweet, gentle kisses in a
meadow flushed with spring. This was a storm, unleashed in all its fury.
Desperation, turbulence, greed, a violent need that bordered on insanity.
Rocking against him, she pressed herself closer, and felt his
answering shudder. He had one arm wrapped around her back, and he slid his
other hand between them, down, down, and touched her.
He was deft, sure, wildly exciting. She felt heavy and hot. His
fingers glided easily against her, touching some spot that sent a spasm of pure
pleasure shooting through her. She sucked in her breath, and his fingers
stilled.
"I... hurt you?"
"No!"
"Open wider," he urged, his gentle hands on her thighs
telling her what he meant. She shifted, rising slightly to her knees, and did
as he bade. He slipped one finger into her. The alien sensation made her clench
her muscles.
"Easy," he whispered. "Easy."
The familiar rumble of his voice soothed her even as the smooth
glide of his fingers sent her reeling. Music pulsed through her head. This was
not the fluid, melodic notes of a single violin; this was an orchestra in full
crescendo, clashing, building, a music that surrounded and swelled, lifted and
filled. And all she could do was drop her head to his shoulder and hang on.
She barely managed to keep hold of a thread of reality, a thread
that made her want to see if she could make him tremble too. The buttons on his
breeches nearly defeated her clumsy fingers, but finally she freed him. Her
hands were filled with heat, a thick, hard column spread with smooth, satiny
skin, as solid and strong as the rest of him. Entranced, she closed her hand
around it.
It was too much for him. He grasped her by the hips and lifted
her. Her skirts billowed around his thighs. He probed lightly, but slipped
away. The slide of her moist softness against him was incredible, but it wasn't
what he wanted.
"Help me," he coaxed hoarsely.
Guided only by instinct, she took a firmer grip to hold him
steady, and pushed herself down on his hardness. A bare inch of the tip filled
her, stretching her tender flesh. Was it ecstasy? Agony? No matter; she only
knew she wanted this, needed this, with an intensity that left no room for
fear.
A low growl, and he surged up into her, entering her with a
swiftness that stole her breath. A sharp pain, a spreading burn, and she
collapsed against him.
He wouldn't allow it. Taking her face in his hands, he lifted it,
kissing her with a slow thoroughness that soon had the warmth spreading through
her veins again. He was all things forbidden, fire and thunder and sin.
She leaned back a bit, settling herself more fully, testing.
Lightning flashed again, and she saw his face. Hard, perfect, all shadows and
angles and strength. His eyes were burning, pale, holding their own bolt of
lightning.
Experimentally, he flexed his hips once, and was rewarded with her
gasp. Oh, Lord, he thought, if I have to die, let it be now.
It was too fast. He felt the steady, insistent throb of pleasure,
and knew it would be too fast. There wouldn't be time to bring her with him.
He put his hand down between them, touching the place where his
body joined hers, and felt himself glide even deeper into her. He stroked her,
insistent, demanding.
"Sing, Beth," he urged. "Sing."
And she sang, flying to a place where the music had colors and
textures and taste. "Come with me," she said.
He felt her shudder, felt her body close even more tightly around
him. He thrust deeply, once, twice. Then the music took him too.
He lay on his back on the woolen blanket, Beth sprawled across
him. Her cheek rested against his chest; her wild curls tickled his nose. Idly,
he stroked her back, his fingers drifting over her fine, soft skin.
As much as he knew what he'd just done was wrong, he couldn't
bring himself to regret it. Not yet. Not when her legs still tangled with his
and her breasts were crushed against him. Not when the scent of lavender and
lovemaking clung to his nostrils. Most of all, not when he was still joined
with her.
"Have to go," he said reluctantly.
"I know." She pressed a kiss on him just above his right
nipple.
An incredible languor had seeped through her. Moving didn't sound
terribly appealing. Returning to reality sounded even worse. When he slipped
out of the part of her that still tingled from their pleasure, she groaned in
protest.
"Have to go," he repeated.
Reality came whether she wanted it to or not. She felt him move
beside her, pushing himself to his feet. He was leaving—really leaving, not
just returning to the fort. He was going away to shoot at people, and have them
shoot back.
And she didn't know if she would ever see him again.
It shouldn't be so easy to get dressed again. All she had to do
was slip her blouse back up over her shoulders and pull her skirts back down
over her hips. All he had to do was button up his breeches and tuck in his
shirt.
It made it seem as if it all had been so furtive, a quick, stolen
fumbling in the dark. It had been nothing like that; it had been the most
brilliantly beautiful thing that had ever happened to her.
Because it had made her
feel
beautiful. She'd felt like the
woman she knew she wasn't: feminine, seductive, her emotions close to the
surface. If nothing else, she was glad that just once in her life she'd felt
like that.
"I can't fasten my buttons. Could you help me?"
He groped for her in the darkness, his hands grazing private
places until he found the buttons he sought. He moved slowly, reluctant to
close her blouse, the final symbol that the interlude was over. He couldn't
resist trailing his lips up her spine as he slipped the smooth disks through
their holes.
"Sorry, Beth. Some... gone. Tore off."
"That's all right."
He turned her around, wrapped his arms around her, settled her
close, and held her. fust held her. Outside, the thunder and lightning had
ended, leaving the steady rain that poured rhythmically from the dark skies.
"Didn't want to hurt you, Beth."
"You didn't hurt me." She clutched at his back, holding
him closer. "You could never hurt me."
Finally, they could hold back the world no longer. He let her go
and rose, stepping carefully to the corner where the ladder descended back to
reality. She followed.
"Don't have to come. Can stay here," he said when she
started down after him.
"I'll see you out."
Horses snuffled quietly in their stalls, oblivious to the storm
without and the tension vibrating between the two people who passed. Jon slid
open the door to the stable. Wind gusted through it, bringing the rain, cold,
and darkness.
He paused, laying his palm along her cheek. Softly, tenderly, with
the gentleness she was accustomed to from him. His thumb traced her cheekbone,
delicate strokes that made her feel cherished.
Already, she missed the thunder.
"Too dark. Wish I could see you," he said huskily.
"Me, too." Unable to resist, she reached up, letting her
fingertips see for her. Skimming her fingers over his face, she followed the
familiar contours, memorizing the sharp angle of his jaw, the strong slope of
his nose. Slowly, always slowly, she traced the firm curve of his mouth.
He opened his mouth and brought her fingers inside. Dark, warm,
all too seductive. His tongue curled around her thumb, and she couldn't help
remembering how that tongue felt gliding over her nipple and skating over her
skin. Lord help her, she wanted it again.
"Sorry, Beth. For everything. Sorry."
Her throat threatened to close. "Don't be."
"Still sorry." He lowered his head to kiss her. His lips
clung to hers, sweetly, delicately, a supple connection, his breath sighing
into her mouth.
"Never forget you, Beth."
"I'll never forget you, either."
He brushed her mouth with his once more, then turned quickly and
walked away. Bennie took a step, out into the rain and the wind. Her eyes
strained, hoping for just one final glimpse of that large form walking away
from her in the storm. There was only blackness and rain.
She blinked her eyes to clear them. It didn't matter; there was
nothing to see. The rain had already soaked through her clothes, plastering
them to her. The wind was strong, freezing, seeming to go through her skin as
easily as it did the sodden cloth. She welcomed the cold. At least she could
feel something. She needed to feel
something.
She reached up, wiping the rain from her cheeks, and wondered how
the moisture on her face had gotten so warm.
***
The days dragged by.
Cad prowled the Eel, his impatience to be with his sons clearly evident.
He grabbed on to the tiniest scrap of news as if it were a precious jewel, but
there was little news of any worth to be had. He drilled the alarm company, a
ragged but dedicated group of old men and young boys, until their feet
blistered in their boots.
Mary's serene countenance never seemed to waver, but she rarely
smiled, going through the motions each day with calm detachment. She no longer
seemed to notice Bennie's activities and only came to full awareness whenever
Isaac proposed she should allow him to go off to join the army too. Then,
suddenly alert, she brooked no disagreement. Isaac was staying in New Wexford.
Isaac mumbled and shuffled through his chores. His work was
slapdash, and he complained loudly to all within earshot that a healthy young
man should be fighting beside his fellow countrymen, not slopping the floors of
a tavern. He knew precisely how many days there were to his sixteenth
birthday—173.
Bennie worked. She scrubbed windows and counted barrels, polished
silver and served drinks to the customers who passed through New Wexford on
their way to Cambridge and the army. She took over Henry's responsibilities,
caring for the horses and the stables. Inventory and stocking were George's
duties, and she capably handled them, too.
There was little she could do to keep Brendan's press working, but
at least one day a week she opened up the shop, aired it out, and scrubbed it
from rafters to floor. While she was there, she managed to sell a few patent
medicines and writing implements.
Whatever time she wasn't working she spent with her nephews and
niece. Their mothers were overwhelmed, trying to keep the households going by
themselves at the same time they worried over their husbands. The younger
children couldn't understand why their fathers were gone and their mothers were
always busy, and they welcomed the extra attention from their Aunt Bennie.