Part 16 (1/2)

”Yes.” She smiled against his chest and kissed it gently, the damp hairs tickling her nose. He was trembling faintly from the exertion, just as she was. ”It's different, every time,” she said.

”It's supposed to be. After the baby comes, and you've recovered, I'll teach you some other ways to do this.” His hands caressed her smooth, bare back. ”A few of them are pretty rough and demanding, so we'll save those until you aren't in this sweet condition.”

She lifted her head and looked into his pale, loving eyes. ”Pa.s.sion can be violent, they say. That's what I was always afraid of. But now it isn't scary anymore.” She smiled and he relaxed, as if he'd been holding his breath. ”I love loving you,” she whispered. ”Can we do it again?”

He smiled slowly, wickedly. ”I don't know. Can we?”

She was learning things already. Secrets. She moved very delicately, first one way, then the other. Then she bent her head and bit him gently. Seconds later, his breath expelled in a rush and she smiled.

”Yes,” she whispered back, her eyes bright with feminine triumph. ”Oh, yes, we can...!”

The baby came a little over seven months later, and he wasn't twins, but as Ryder remarked, he sounded like them. They brought him home from the hospital and were immediately pounced upon by a radiant new grandmother who stared down at him in her arms and spent several long minutes trying to decide who he favored.

”She'll come to the conclusion that he looks like her,” Ryder whispered as they watched Jean with little Clellan Donald Calaway.

”Yes, I know,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. ”We're rather superfluous, you know. We only had him for Mama.”

”I see what you mean.” He looked down at her, searching her weary eyes. ”I'll carry you up in a minute and put you to bed. It's been a long three days.”

”A wonderful three days,” she replied, her heart in the eyes that adored him. ”Are you really happy with me?”

He touched her face with a hand that very nearly trembled. ”You're everything,” he said huskily. ”The world.”

Love like that was a responsibility, she thought, watching him. But one she was willing to a.s.sume. She felt the same way about him. It wasn't until she'd seen his bedroom for the first time that she'd known how he felt. Once they were married, all the photographs of her came out of hiding. Those, and the painting that now hung over the mantel.

Her eyes went past him to the fireplace, up to the beautiful oil painting of a young girl in a flowing pink dress, sitting in a patch of wildflowers, her long black hair windblown, her black eyes, like her pink mouth, smiling sweetly. He'd had it done secretly when she was eighteen, and if she needed any proof of how he felt about her, seeing that painting gave it to her. It was still overwhelming when she realized just how deeply, how desperately, he loved her.

”It was my solace all those years we were apart,” he said, following her gaze to the painting. ”A very private memory of a day I took you and Eve walking, and you wore that dress. I fell in love with you then.”