Walk in Beauty (16 page)

He gave a hoarse cry when her hands at last circled and freed the buttons on his jeans, setting him free, and he heard a sharp sound of pleasure escape her as he kissed her hard, feeling their teeth click and lips bruise. She stroked him restlessly until there was a fever he could not contain, no more.

Luke made a small, victorious sound as he pressed his face into the velvety texture of her skin—ah, the warmth and silk and shivery tremblings. His passion, leashed for endless days, exploded.

He kissed the hollow of her throat and her chin, suckled the rosy, eager tips of her breasts, tugged up her skirt to stroke the quivering flesh of her inner thighs. A dampness met his questing fingers and impatiently he tugged away her panties to touch her, to make sure she was as impatient as he. At his caress, her breath caught high in her throat and she grabbed his shoulders to pull him up to her.

He went willingly, groaning over the erotic brush of her breasts against his chest, and the eager work of her hands, which freed him from the prison of his jeans. He found the buttons to her skirt and nearly tore it in his haste to get it out of his way.

But then, ah, then they were flesh to flesh. Thighs and bellies and chests, arms and lips and tongues. He kissed her, reckless and uncontrolled and unafraid. Jessie met him with eagerness, making small pleased and hungry noises as her hands moved on his back, on his arms, in his hair. Each time he heard her voice or touched her breast or felt her hair tangling in his fingers, he felt a small explosion of disbelief and joy—it was
Jessie
moving sinuously against him, Jessie who fiercely kissed him and stroked him and urged him to touch her.

He could wait no longer, nor could she. With one fierce thrust, they were joined and cried out in unison at the brilliant shock of it. They went utterly still, as if stunned.

Then together they began to move, and within Luke there was a sense of wholeness and perfection that had little to do with lust and everything to do with spirit. As completion neared, he gathered her as tightly as he was able, tangled them close and prayed wordlessly for things he couldn’t name.

* * *

Jessie clutched Luke close to her, the rippling aftermath shuddering between them. The polished sleekness of his shoulders rested against the underside of her arms, and his black hair fell over her hands. His lips moved on her neck, against her shoulder, and as their breathing slowed, he began to shift his weight.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, tightening her hold. “Not yet.”

He lifted his head and there was a gleam of amusement in the darkness of his eyes. “I liked that,” he said in a low, sexy voice, moving his hips against her. “Let’s do it again.”

Jessie smiled at the old password. “And again.”

“And again.” He kissed her quickly, then shifted, holding her close as he rolled to his side. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, “I just don’t want to crush you.”

He reached for the blanket and tossed it over them. Jessie closed her eyes, absorbing the feel of him so close, so dear after such a long time, and breathed deeply the scent of him. Then, afraid somehow it was an illusion, she opened her eyes.

His face was only inches from her own, harsh and beautiful. “A woman saw the painting of you,” she said. “She told me there was no way you were real.” With her fingers, she touched the sweep of his intelligent brow, the high brown angle of his cheekbone. “She thought I made you up.” He didn’t move, just watched her with those rich, dark eyes.

Unwilling to think, wanting only to feel, she moved closer and pressed her mouth to the same path her fingers had taken, feeling the fragility of skin over sharp bone and the brush of his lashes and the strength of his unstubbled jaw.

She had dreamed this so many times, dreamed of just touching his beloved face as she looked at it. He held her loosely, and she bent to kiss his shoulder and the column of his throat and the hard, flat nipples, her hands eagerly absorbing the plane of his belly and the curve of his ribs.

He caught her arms and pulled her up the length of him. She lay on top of him, their legs tangled. With a deeply serious expression, he stroked her face. “Don’t hide, Jessie. There’s nothing we have to do or say, not about the past or the future.” His voice roughened. “I’ve been waiting too long to let you hide now.”

He pulled her face down to his and she kissed him, her lost Luke. If she did not have to think of another time or place, she was free to love him now. Just for tonight.

J
essie had no idea how long they stayed there, curled together, not sleeping but speaking little. A long time. His body felt right next to hers, dipping where hers swelled, swelling where hers dipped, so no matter how they moved, their bodies settled into a comfortable fit.

Words were too dangerous. Their hands spoke for them. Jessie wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted to explore his chest and the crook of his elbow and the edge of his ear. She touched his hair and his thighs and his mouth, sometimes using a palm, sometimes her mouth or simply her eyes.

And he spoke in return, learning again the circumference of her wrists and the new shape of her belly, the curve of her hip and the length of her hair.

They kissed, over and over, and Jessie wondered that she never tired of his mouth, his tongue, the click of his teeth against hers, the tickling spray of his hair as it fell forward to brush her cheek.

And at last she again grew aware of the pointed, growing weight of him against her thigh, and his hands began to linger on her breasts. His kiss grew more urgent, and Jessie felt the answering rise of desire in her belly. She moved against him, letting her fingers walk the length of his arousal to let him know she would not mind a second round.

This time, they made love very gently, as if it were the most sacred of rituals. Luke moved with reverence and skill, his mouth and hands plying her most secret places, all the places he had learned in his years with her.

He moved to enter her slowly. When they were joined once again, he paused and grasped her hair in his hands. “Look at me, Jessie,” he said in a raw voice.

She opened her eyes to find his dark gaze fixed upon her face. Slowly, he dipped to kiss her and lifted his head again, his hands almost painfully tight in her hair. As he began to move, his gaze did not waver, and Jessie trembled with the intimacy of him moving and staring together. She blinked, and he tightened his hands. “Look at me,” he said again.

Her body quivered in warning around him, but his expression didn’t change as he paused to kiss her, drawing out the moment as long as he could. She clutched his shoulders, struggling to look at him, and then both of them were out of control, their gazes locked in fierce acknowledgment of the power this joining wrought. Jessie gripped his shoulders and cried out a little, but she rose to his challenge.

She tumbled over the edge, coming apart in his arms. Time and breath paused as he let himself go. Sweaty and exhausted, Luke dropped his head to her shoulder. Jessie held him close, feeling his heart pound against hers, heard their breath tangling.

He kissed her again deeply, so hungrily and desperately Jessie wanted to weep with it, weep for all the beautiful days now lost forever. She gasped, her heart breaking, and touched his hair and his face and found herself trying to draw him closer and closer.

Abruptly, he broke away. Jessie cried out in surprise, feeling suddenly bereft as he grabbed his jeans from the floor and tugged them on in haste.

“Luke,” she whispered.

He didn’t look at her. “I can’t do this.”

Jessie clutched the rough wool blanket to her breasts and sat up, shoving her tousled hair away from her face with one hand. “You said till dawn.” She gestured toward the window. “It’s a long time till then.”

He winced, as if some insult had been uttered. “No. It’s not me you want.” He stabbed a finger toward the painting. “That’s the man you want, over there. Alessandro. Some romantic Indian to sweep you away.” He lifted a bare, brown shoulder. “You want me now, tonight, but in the morning, you’ll push me away because you can’t deal with the real McCoy. I thought I could handle it. I can’t.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I don’t give a damn about fair, Jessie. You’ve blown a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in my life.” His eyes narrowed, his mouth set. “I can’t pretend with you. I never could.”

“I didn’t start this tonight, Luke. You did.”

He nodded slowly, hands on his hips, staring at the painting.

Jessie stared at him, aching in every cell in her body. It would probably be best for both of them if this ended here and now, with no lingering tenderness tomorrow. But the truth was, she didn’t want him to go. Tugging the blanket around herself, she stood and reached out to touch his face. “Please don’t go, Luke.”

He stared at her for a long moment. All at once, a low cry came from his throat and he grabbed her roughly. “This is gonna kill me, Jessie,” he whispered in her ear. “I can’t be in some middle place with you.”

She embraced him. Her body trembled with the two prongs of knowledge flooding through her. No man would ever take his place. And yet, she knew she would wish in the morning that this night had never happened. “Just hold me,” she whispered, and her trembling grew. She buried her face against his neck. “Please, Luke, just hold me.”

He swore, but she felt his resistance give way, felt his arms circle her, felt his hands pull her into the heart of him. Together they curled on the mattress. Only then, held tight against the heat and center of him, did Jessie stop trembling. Tucked into Luke’s embrace, she fell asleep.

* * *

Dawn crept into the room, still and pale. Luke had not slept, not all night, and he felt the lack in his weary shoulders and grainy eyes.

Against his chest was Jessie, soundly sleeping. He bent his head to the nape of her neck and pressed a kiss to a sliver of bare skin he could find through her hair. It was a light kiss, not meant to disturb, but she shifted ever so slightly, nestling closer. An ache of hunger rose in him, and he found he could not resist combing a handful of hair away from her neck to kiss the vulnerable place below her ear. Again she stirred, just a little.

There wasn’t a woman on earth harder to awaken than Jessie. She clung to sleep in the mornings like a baby with a blanket. And he’d always loved the challenge.

This morning, his need to touch her was more than the playful challenge of stirring her awake to her passion, to the sleepy smile she would wear when she finally realized his hands were not her dream. This morning, as dawn crept ever brighter into the room, his touching her was a prayer.

As a child, filled with the stories told beside winter fires, Luke had been terrified of nighttime, when Sun and Changing Woman were out of touch, and the world was no longer in balance.

And so he had welcomed dawn as harmony restored. Sun and earth joined once more, as man and woman were joined, creating balance.

This dawn, he touched the soft breast of his woman. He kissed her shoulder and stroked her long thighs until she moved and turned toward him, open and vulnerable the way she would not be in an hour. He joined with her and felt them blend and balance as Sun crept into the embrace of Changing Woman, the mother from whom they’d all sprung.

When they were finished, he held her close, not speaking, then slowly released her and left her in the bed alone, hoping she would feel the chill of his absence.

* * *

In the quiet of the flower-bright kitchen, Luke made coffee. As it brewed, he fed Tasha, checked the fluids in the truck and examined the sky. Clouds to the west, which was the direction they were traveling. He checked the store of matches.

By the time he went back inside, Giselle was up, making herself a bowl of cereal. “How come my mom is sleeping in her study?”

“Maybe she wanted to.” He got a bowl out for himself and sat down. “Feeling better this morning?”

“I was very tired last night. Sometimes it makes me grouchy.”

He chuckled and touched her hair. “Me, too.” From the other room, Luke heard the shower rattle to life. “There’s your mom. Good. We need to leave pretty soon.”

“Hmm.” Giselle stared at her cornflakes for a minute, then looked at Luke. “You know, my mom doesn’t usually sleep without any clothes on.”

Luke struggled with his expression, wondering what in the world Jessie would want him to say. “Is that right?” he said at last.

“Yeah. She likes to wear these very pretty gowns with lace all over them, which she says I can wear when I get bigger. But she doesn’t sleep without them.”

Luke concentrated on his food, hoping this line of conversation would just burn itself out.

“You know what I think?” Giselle asked with a coy smile playing around her mischievous mouth.

“What do you think, my little elf?”

“I think you and my mommy were kissing like they do on TV. Without any clothes.”

“What are you doing watching stuff like that on TV?” She widened her eyes. “It’s not my fault. It’s on commercials all the time.”

“I guess it is.”

“So, were you?”

“Was I what?”

She sighed. “Kissing my mommy like they do on TV?”

“Giselle,” he said, putting down his spoon. “Some things adults do are private.”

A grin, filled with teeth of mismatched sizes, blazed across her face. “You were! I knew it.”

Jessie came into the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a heavy cotton sweater. “Were what?” she asked.

Luke gave her a warning glance and held up a hand. “Don’t ask. This child is a bit too precocious for my taste, if you know what I mean.”

“Are you asking about kisses again?” Jessie said, sipping her coffee. “Didn’t I tell you it isn’t polite to ask people about personal things?”

Giselle looked at her bowl. “Not even my own dad?”

“Nope,” Jessie returned. “If people want you to know personal things, they’ll tell you.”

“Grown-ups are so weird,” Giselle said with a sigh. She carried her bowl to the sink. “How are kids supposed to learn anything if nobody tells them anything?”