Part 24 (1/2)
Luke's hand trembled on the k.n.o.b. 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 s.h.i.+mmering 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 rush 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. G.o.d, 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 sprung 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 suns.h.i.+ne to an already blindingly 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s crushed 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 mult.i.tude 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 embarra.s.sment 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 b.u.t.tons 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 s.h.i.+vered 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 b.u.t.tons 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 a.s.sailed 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 a.s.sistance.
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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 run from an adventure, Annie slid her hands across his shoulders, an audible rush 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 crushed 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 b.u.t.tons of her chemise, so she hastily tugged it off over her head.
Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 b.u.t.ton.
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.
But when she met his kisses so eagerly, ran her hands over his chest and pressed herself against him as though she couldn't get close enough, urgency sprang up anew. He sat on the edge of the mattress and peeled first one stocking down her thigh, calf, ankle...then the other. She didn't help him quite as fluidly with the right as she had the left, and he remembered to be more accommodating.
His hesitation seemed to cause her distraction, and she rose on one elbow, the fear returning to her features.
”Annie, I told you I don't care. You believe me.”
”What if I can't really do this?” she asked, self-conscious now, as if she'd just remembered her limitations.
”Can't make love?”
Her fair skin flushed from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s all the way to her cheeks. ”I'm not made like other women,” she whispered. ”I'm afraid I can't be a true wife to you.”
Doubly frustrated, not only with physical tension, but with her obvious skepticism, he sat up and thrust a hand through his hair. ”Do you have a regular monthly flow?” he asked bluntly.
Crimson, she nodded.
”Then frankly I don't see the problem. You have all the parts you need to make love.”
She blinked and he saw the confusion behind her eyes. ”But what if it's not good for you? What if I can't-give you pleasure?”
”Annie,” he said on an exhale. ”Where did that come from?”
She shrugged.
”Why you would worry about not giving me pleasure is beyond me. That would be impossible. If you would be quiet for five minutes, you'd see that this-ungrounded worry of yours is the only thing keepin' me from pleasure at the moment.”
”I'm sorry.”