Part 34 (1/2)

”Greta,” he crooned softly. ”You did not call me yesterday. Nor today. I have been waiting, but could wait no longer. I thought Matthew may have come home early, so I sat nearby and watched for a while. I know he is not here. Let me in, Greta.”

The thought of Jean-Pierre sitting in his bedroom, or just outside the gate, watching for signs of Matthew being home made her feel suddenly roguish and s.e.xy. Desired.

”Jean-Pierre, it's been so awful staying here. I wanted to come see you, but I could not bring myself to do it.”

”I am here. I brought you something. Now let me in,” he commanded, his voice much louder.

”Yes,” she said and unlatched the door.

He stepped inside the room and gripped her shoulders. Night air and animal and maleness flooded her senses. She gasped all of it in, then her breath was cut off by his lips. He kissed her, hard, and snapped his head away. ”Matthew. When?”

”He won't be back until tomorrow.”

”Good.”

”Yes.” She looked past his shoulder, outside the doors, and began to cry softly.

He frowned and pulled her down beside him on the bed. ”Greta, what is it?” He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs.

”I've been so upset and confused by everything. This is so hard for me.” She closed her eyes and dropped her forehead against his shoulder. Her mind flashed with images of the first time he had kissed her, in the horse stall.

”You mustn't cry.” He kissed her again. His hands touched just inside her soft robe. Lightly, down to her belly. Gooseflesh p.r.i.c.kled her forearms, spread to her stomach, her loins. Her nipples felt pinched and hard, needed pinching.

”Wait,” she said, squeezing his strong forearms. ”I've been in bed for two days. I really must take a shower.”

”Mmm,” he hummed. ”Never mind that.” In one quick motion he slid the robe from her shoulders and undid the belt, parting the garment at her waist. Pus.h.i.+ng her down, he crouched over her, facing her, supporting his weight on either side with his knees.

His jeans-clad thighs rubbed lightly against her own. She had imagined and wanted this moment for so long. However she could not be with him here like this until she had a quick shower.

”Please,” she said, squirming from beneath him. ”I'll just be a few minutes,” she said, and darted from his lunging grasp to the bathroom.

There, she looked at herself in the mirror. With horror, she remembered that her hands were ungloved. She let her eyes go first to her right hand, then the left. She forced her vision to stay there until she could breathe again. Yes, she would have to tell him. And show him.

A few minutes later she emerged from the bathroom wearing a towel around her midsection. Jean-Pierre was lying on the bed propped on one elbow, naked. Timidly, she proceeded to the bedside. He raised himself to his knees and placed his hands on her hips.

Before she could take in the shape and size of his nakedness, he had her on the bed in one quick movement, the towel discarded with a flick of his wrist.

He breathed a l.u.s.ty sigh and lowered his lips to hers. She felt his hard, blazing length along her entire body. She wanted to look at him next to her like this, but before she could take in their togetherness, he kissed her again, gently this time, teasingly. She expected that in any second he would enter her, have her.

But instead he gently clasped her hands in his own. ”Your hands, Greta, this is the first time I have felt them.”

”Feel them. Both of them. Go on.”

It took him a moment to register. ”Oh, Greta. Is this why you have been afraid?”

She began to cry again. ”It's so horrible. I was once a hand model, and then that happened. And everything ended.”

He said nothing. He kissed her, told her softly to cry and let it out. ”What happened, Greta? You must tell me. There is nothing bad about it to me.”

When she stopped crying she wiped her eyes and sat up, allowing his hands to remain on hers through the entire story, which she recounted in a quiet monotone.

”We were on a yacht anch.o.r.ed in a windy lagoon, celebrating a new soda of Matthew's that was a huge success. I'd had a lot to drink. At one point I was standing off to the side all by myself.

I was poking my ring finger in the little hole of an empty can, thinking about how Matthew and I were going to start a family.