by Mimi Barbour
Of course, knowing his mother wouldn’t be home helped her come to the decision, but more importantly, he needed to hear from her that they weren’t related. She had to tell him the truth, that she did remember every minute they’d been together, and then share the wonderful news with him that her real parents had come to claim her. And they were everything a girl could hope for in a family.
Giddy at the thought of how he’d react to her news, she let herself fantasize about the rest of their evening. And her fantasies were all x-rated.
Like any young girl of her acquaintance, her experiences with boys and fumbling around in darkened places had occurred, and those memories made her feel rather cheered. Despite the fact that the Sisters had taught abstinence and filled the youngsters full of guilt for even thinking about sex, she and the other girls at the orphanage hadn’t been completely sheltered. They’d had interaction with boys, and often the laws of nature had taken over.
In her case, though, unlike the others, she’d never gone all the way with anyone. Something had always held her back from giving in to the carnal cravings of the fellows who whispered of their love and their needs. Whose hands moved more quickly than expected, and whose lips begged.
But, as much as the urge had overtaken her at times, something had always held her back. Now she knew exactly why. Never before had she felt about anyone the way she did about Marcus. Being near him woke every sex-related nerve in her body. He filled her with the joy of being alive and of being born a woman. And, best of all, he made her laugh. What more could any girl want in a man?
Except to belong to him.
Now her plan took clearer shape. Not only did she want to tell him her news and about how they were free to share their future, she also wanted to show him, in a physical way, that she cared more for him than for anyone else. Tonight, she fully intended to make love with him and to learn what put stars into the eyes of her married friends. Checking her watch for the hundredth time, wishing it would speed up, she knew the day had come for her to discover this marvel for herself.
Just thinking about sex made certain places in her body twitch and constrict. I shouldn’t go there, she determined. Ever since her last visitors had gone and she woke from her nap, she’d imagined the coming night, and her body had gotten totally involved. Some areas had reacted in ways that left her feeling needy and wanton and a whole lot naughty.
Her breasts had engorged to the point of tingling discomfort, and her stomach had clenched and unclenched, which had forced her mind to focus in that particular area. Then the muscles lower down had sporadically tightened, and all kinds of sensations spiralled to where she’d had to fight the temptation to touch.
Stop it! she scolded herself. Think of something else. Think of the next time you get to see and hold Cece and Nicholas.
It hadn’t been long after her parents and Madeline left that it dawned on her she wouldn’t have to leave Bury. Or Nicholas and Cece. Her heart soared at the thought of being with them again in person and being able to cuddle them close like she’d always done. Her little blonde-haired angel would be delighted to see her friend; she knew that as much as she knew that Nicholas would greet her with that quirky grin he saved only for his Abbie.
When her favourite young nurse popped in to say good-night, Abbie coerced her for help in obtaining some feminine supplies. To help pass the time, she had a lovely bath, washed her hair and prettied herself. Now she felt ready to be with Marcus.
Finally, the evening nurses had finished their rounds, and the time had arrived to put her plan into action. Taking her clothes from the closet, the rather plain articles she’d worn the night Marcus had brought her to the hospital, she shrugged and laid them on the bed. As much as she wished for a pretty dress and fancy shoes to wear, it wasn’t to be.
Someone, probably one of the Sisters, had washed her leotards and pressed her miniskirt. She surveyed them and decided, since they were all she had, there really was no choice. Thank goodness she’d chosen one of her best sweaters the day of the incident. The blue mohair made her eyes stand out even more than usual, and it fit nicely. The navy duffle coat she’d worn had been recently bought for its style and warmth, so there should be no worries of her freezing to death on her coming trek.
Her boots were the problem. The night she’d been brought to the hospital, she’d taken an old rubber pair from the closet of the vicarage, as she went out to bundle up the roses, because she’d been too lazy to tie on her own high-heeled pair. These belonged to the vicar and were rather sloppy and hard to walk in. But they’d have to do.
With a last look in the mirror, a check to see that she’d tied her blue scarf in the most fetching way and to make sure her fluffed-up hair looked as shiny and soft as it felt, she opened the door to the hallway and stuck her head out. The ward, different from the daytime, now rested quietly. Visitors had come and gone, and the nurses were huddled behind the desk, going over patient charts. Seeing the empty hallway in front of her, she snuck past the many doors and made it safely to the stairs.
Oh, no! Two nurses were heading up the stairs, coming directly toward her. They could recognize her—but they were busy gossiping and not paying any attention to anyone else. Since it was too late to turn back, Abbie pretended an interest in the back of her stocking so as to hide her face as she waited for them to pass. All clear. They hadn’t paid any attention whatsoever.
I’d better scram before someone else comes. Careful not to fall and break her neck in the sloppy rubbers, she made her way to the bottom floor, then pushed at the exit door and stepped into a world of white.
Bless my soul, it’s a winter wonderland out here. Snow is such fun. She laughed, pulled her mittens from her pocket, turned up her collar, and started off.
Huge flakes blew all around her and continued to build on the snowbanks already too high to negotiate. The lamps, spaced far apart along the street, highlighted the thickness of the downfall and radiated intimate circles of light around each pole, but only for the immediate area. After that, the light dissipated, and darkness swallowed the path.
Hesitating only long enough to get her bearings, she skidded and slid from the entranceway and along the parking lot. Oops! She soon realized she’d lost the light. Night made things more difficult, and so did the blowing conditions, but she knew her directions well and, without stopping to think, she hunched down into the warmth of her jacket and cut across the high mounds.
Well, drat! After a few yards, she decided the scarf would be better suited at tying her hair down and stopping it from impeding her vision. So much for the hour it took to get the waves set just right. Now, as long as she stayed to the left of the hospital and angled herself between the high roofs of the terraced houses, she’d come to his street, and only a few feet away from his front door.
Gusts of wind, roaring all around her, blew snow into her face, which made it difficult to keep her eyes open. She held one mittened hand over her mouth, while the other kept the ends of the scarf from blowing every which way.
Each step became more difficult now that she’d left the pathway, and ploughing through the heavy mass took a lot of concentration just to stay upright. In some places, the snow came well over the top of her boots, and very quickly her feet and legs were soaking wet and freezing cold.
Bother! Down she went. Blasted stuff! With the snow well past her knees, any uneven ground was invisible. Okay, she chided. You must be more careful. No telling what lies under these drifts.
Forgetting her earlier enthusiasm for the pretty scene, she grumbled and groaned with each faltering, plunging step. The actual bitching didn’t start until a big black lab pounced at her from out of nowhere. Great ruddy creature scared the dickens out of her. “Holy hell!” She stopped where she stood and waited to see what he had in mind. He looked at her with his head angled to the side as if awaiting instructions.
“Do us a favour then, pet, will ya?” Thanking her lucky stars that he seemed friendly enough, she decided to
grab onto his collar to help her retain her footing. Obviously, he thought she wanted to play and acted accordingly. He lunged upward, trying to shower her with affection, and drove her over onto her back.
“Ya big lummox.” After a few quick licks, with her batting at him and laughing uncontrollably, he decided to behave and moved to the side.
“You are a terrible nuisance, aren’t you? Knocked the stuffing right out of me.” She tried to stand on her own, but every time she put her hand down to lever herself upward, it sank so deep into the snow that she fell backward again. Meanwhile, the dog sat nearby, his tail wagging and his tongue hanging from the side of his open, smiling jaws.
“Now, listen here. If you really want to lend a paw, come closer and pull me out of this hole. Since it’s your fault I’m in this predicament, don’t you think you should help? And no pushing—you hear me?”
He was more than big, he was smart, too. Like a perfect gentleman, he stepped up and stood rooted to the ground while she used him to regain her feet. “Now, boy, how about a walk?” Convinced that no legitimate female would have acted quite so silly, she smirked and felt quite free to refer to him as a male.
With his help, she made her way to the street. The distance to Marcus’ front door took little time. She gained the steps and, before climbing them, stopped to brush off the snow from her shivering body. The big dog had come only as far as the gate, whined as if to say good-bye, and then faded into the night. In his absence, shyness attacked with a suddenness that stole her breath.
What if Marcus had changed his mind? Decided he’d had a close call and a lucky break? How would she handle rejection from the only man she’d ever loved? All her life, she’d believed her mother hadn’t wanted her. Had dumped her in a basket and left her for the nuns. Even though she knew better now, it was hard to change what that action had garnered. How it had affected her self image. Oh, my! What if he didn’t want her, either?
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. What made her think she was any man’s catch? She remembered his words on the night she’d questioned him about why he hadn’t married. He’d answered that women who chased him were an embarrassment. How she’d hate to be lumped with them. Considering she had almost no experience with men, what gave her the gall to think he’d want a girl who had…what? Fallen in love with him. Adored every minute she’d existed inside him. Her mind cleared, and she had a little talk with herself.
Don’t be daft. You felt everything he did. You know he loves you. Have faith in him and in his emotions. She stepped up to the window and looked into the front parlour. He sat ensconced in his big chair with a bottle of Drambuie nearby on the table and a half-full glass hanging from his limp hand. What in the world? Had something happened to him? From the way he slouched in the chair, arms hanging over each side while his long legs were spread out in front, he looked as if he’d been shot.
Her banging on the door didn’t stir him and neither did the ringing of the bell. Knocking repeatedly on the window near where he sat did the trick and had him shooting out of his chair with such force that he knocked over his stool. When he leaned over to set it right, he upended and rolled to the floor.
Well, bless my soul—he’s plastered. She giggled at nature’s joke and then laughed loudly at the look on his face when he saw her through the window. It reminded her a bit of how the black dog had cocked his head to the side when she’d talked to him. “It’s me, Marcus,” she yelled. “Let me in.”
First he waggled his head as if to clear his sight. When her apparition remained, he stumbled to the window, and squashing his face up against the glass, he peered out. “Abbie?”
“Yes, it’s me, Marcus. I’m freezing here. Please let me in.” She yelled to him, hoping her words could be heard over the noise of the hostile wind. Wavering unsteadily, he stared but didn’t move, until she sternly beckoned for him to go to the door.
Obviously unsure but willing to go along, he made his way to the front door, and, after a few crashes and cuss words, the foyer lights came on before he swung the door wide. Shaking his pointed index finger at her, he shouted, “Look here,” then stopped, squinted, and said, “It is you. Am I dreaming?” He stepped forward and put his face within inches of hers. She saw his bleary eyes cross while he made his inspection.
Laughing, she said, “Yes, my darling man, it’s me, and guess what?” She pointed toward her chest. “I’m sober.”
“Are you referring that I’m drunk? You, a spirit, have the unmitigated gall to chide me on my drinking habits? Bollocks!”
She leaned in and kissed him on the lips. A small peck due to shyness, but a kiss nonetheless. Then she angled back, watched his gaze clear, and saw his usual keen glower take over. “I did indeed infer that you were drunk, because you are, aren’t you?” She emphasized his blunder and grinned when he cocked his head once more, proving by his actions that he obviously had no idea what she was up to.
Angelically, he smiled back, looking as pleased as punch, but his next words proved he hadn’t heard a word she said, because only her actions had caught his attention. “That kiss tasted real, but I’d need another to be absolutely certain.” So saying, he leaned in and took her lips again. This time he drew out the kiss until they were both breathing hard. The vicious wind and gusting snow finally registered, bringing him to his senses. Hence he grabbed her arm, hauled her into the house, and slammed the door.
“What in blazes do you think you’re doing? We can’t kiss. You’re my flaming sister. It isn’t done. You’re Satan’s spook, is what you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re not Satan’s spook?”
“No. And I’m not your sister.”
Stunned, he stepped back, caught the back of his knees on a chair, and plunked down on the seat. He looked as if his bones had been liquefied. “Abbie? You’re real?”
Whilst she divested herself of her wet outer garments and hung them over the banister, she began her tale, and by the time she stood in front of him, she knew she’d have to slow down. From the stunned look on his face, it was obvious that little had penetrated his inebriated brain. “Marcus, point me in the direction of the kitchen, and the coffee makings. We need to get you sober. What I have to explain is too important for you to miss.” So saying, she helped him stand, albeit unsteadily, and they moved to the closest room, where the tree lights glowed and the fire shared its wonderful warmth.
He wavered toward his chair, and she followed. Once seated, he wouldn’t let her go and, instead, imprisoned her hands in his and forced her to kneel in front of him. “How can you not be my sister? You heard my mother. She told us her guilty secret, and she doesn’t lie. At least I don’t think she does.”
“She didn’t lie, Marcus. We just didn’t listen. You see, she never did say she was my mother; she only alluded to her guilt. But her guilt came from encouraging my real mother to give me up to the nuns.”
“You’re not my half-sister?” The idea seemed to have been branded in his brain, and trying to dislodge it took some doing.
“Precisely! We’re not related in any way whatsoever.” She shook her head for emphasis.
“Then you can be my wife. I need one, you know. Desperately.” From the way he spoke, Abbie still wasn’t sure if he knew what had been said. But she decided to go along.
“Yes, I can be your wife, Marcus, if you really want me.”
“Well, you see, I have no choice. I want the baby, and I can’t have him unless I’m married.” Pain hit hard once she’d filtered his words. He didn’t want her; all he wanted was a—a baby. She bowed her head onto their entwined hands to let the desolation recede. If she looked up now, she’d either slap him or kiss him, and neither one was a good option. Before she could do anything, he started to speak.
“All I know is Abbie loves Nicholas, and I love Abbie. I can’t let anyone else take him away from her, now, can I? But they won’t let me have him without a wife, so if I marry you, then Nicholas will be o
urs. Do you see?”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but she trusted that in some strange, befuddled way he had only her and Nicholas’ concerns in mind. He’d said he loved her, and her heart lifted out of its nest and flipped over a few times, creating a whole new rhythm. Reaching up, she placed her hands on both sides of his face and kissed him once again. Before she knew it, he had her in his lap, his arms snug around her body.
Their lips met again, and the sweet kiss changed in an instant. Heat flooded her rioting senses, while passion—beautiful, unrivalled passion—invaded her limbs. How could a kiss be so sweet and so sexy at the same time? As his mouth devoured hers, it felt as if every sensitive nerve inside her had woken up and was paying strict attention. I knew being with him would be wonderful, but not once did I ever expect wonderful to be so…so beautiful. The notion surfaced for only a second before delight overwhelmed her thought processes. Of their own accord, her arms tightened around his body in order for her tingling breasts to find relief by snuggling in closer to his hard chest.
Whimpering, an instinctive sound of arousal, emerged unexpectedly, but she could no more stop the noise than to stop breathing. His moans harmonized, and their lovemaking included more than just touch, taste and feel. To actually hear their passion added another dimension for her and made everything more intense. Knowing she excited a man such as Marcus added to her security and overrode her timidity.
Meanwhile, his physical reactions were obvious. Sitting on his lap, feeling the rigid part of his body over which he had no control, let her know how much she affected him. Wriggling, she pushed downward and heard him groan in response.
