Words of Silk

by Sandra Brown

  These snatches of memory had haunted her since the morning almost three months earlier when she had left his apartment building. Like hunters who sensed a weakness in their prey and were closing in for the kill, they revealed themselves more frequently now. They hovered on the outskirts of her mind, popping up from their cover, no longer afraid to be seen. She wouldn’t look. She didn’t want to remember. God, she didn’t want to.

  She pushed open the car door and made her way to the front door. The house was old, quaint and small, but she loved it. A foyer opened onto a sunny living room with wide windows. There was a brick fireplace on the far wall. A tiny dining alcove led into a cozy kitchen. On the other side of the house were two bedrooms with a bath between them.

  Laney had leased the house on sight with the landlady’s permission to make any reasonable changes she wanted to. The first thing she did was hand-wax the hardwood floors, which had been sadly neglected. She painted the rooms bright, cheerful colors and decorated them inexpensively but tastefully.

  The only room that still needed her attention was the second bedroom. Maybe she could paint it that weekend. But she should check with the doctor first. Breathing paint fumes would not be good for the baby.

  Her hand stilled as she was setting her purse on the entry table. The baby. Had she really thought of it as “the baby?” Her baby. Someone to love. Someone to love her.

  Suddenly she was laughing and crying at the same time. She wanted this baby. Her life wouldn’t be so empty then. There would be another person sharing it.

  The school board could be convinced to keep her on. And if they couldn’t, she would move somewhere else. Nothing was going to interfere with her happiness. She was going to have a baby!

  “This is [cough] quite, er, a surprise to say the least, Miss McLeod.”

  “Ms. McLeod,” Laney firmly corrected Mr. Harper. She had asked for a meeting with her principal and the superintendent of schools the morning after she learned of her pregnancy. Best to have the baptism of fire now and get it over with. She was almost three months pregnant. She would begin showing soon. “As I’ve told you, I’m married but legally separated from my husband. I preferred to use my maiden name after my—our—separation.”

  The principal looked at the superintendent of schools. He hadn’t said a word. The principal mopped his sweating brow. He was the one who had hired Laney McLeod and he was afraid he was going to have to take the blame for this mess.

  “And you say now that you’re . . . uh . . . going to have a baby?”

  Laney moistened her lips. This was the tricky part. How to convince them that she had slept with a husband she was about to separate from. “Yes. I . . . it was one of those . . . we were trying to reconcile,” she said with a weak smile. “It didn’t work out, but I became pregnant as a result of that weekend.”

  Now the superintendent began to sweat, too, and he cleared his throat loudly. “I think we understand.” He looked at the principal, who wobbled his head in acknowledgment. “What are you asking of us?”

  “I want to continue teaching,” she said boldly. Better to lay it on the line confidently. “The baby is due in March. That should coincide with the spring break. By that time you will have found a substitute to finish the last eight weeks of school.”

  Mr. Harper said nothing. He wasn’t about to commit himself until the superintendent did.

  The superintendent looked at Laney intimidatingly. “This may be awkward. An unmarried kindergarten teacher who is . . . uh . . .”

  “Pregnant,” Laney supplied. “Yes. I didn’t anticipate it happening, either, but that’s the way it is. I want to stay on here. The school term has only just started, but I have wonderful projects planned for my students. I love them and they know it. I think they all like me. I have excellent credentials from my job in Tulsa. I can always get a job there.” She doubted that but made it sound convincing.

  “If you dismissed me, you’d have to find another teacher on short notice. She might not be all that well qualified if she’s not teaching already. And even if you did find someone good, in the meantime the curriculum will have suffered.” She took a deep breath. “I know this is unorthodox. I understand your position. But I’m a qualified teacher. That should be your first consideration.”

  As it turned out, it was. She left them alone and ten minutes later they came to her room, where she was pinning Space Shuttle posters on the bulletin board. They were wearing broad, effusive smiles.

  “Of course you can stay on, Miss . . . uh, Ms. McLeod,” Mr. Harper said, pumping her hand in a wrenching clasp. “If anyone asks, we’ll simply tell them what you’ve told us. You and your husband are temporarily separated.”

  She was about to correct him on the temporary part but thought better of it. She had gotten this far. If they were optimistically holding out for a nonexistent husband to show up, that was their problem.

  The days were getting markedly shorter. By the time she washed her few dinner dishes and went into the living room to stoke the fire in the fireplace, it was dark outside. The two oak trees in her front yard were being lashed by a blustery wind. The weatherman had said the temperature would drop below freezing by morning.

  Laney lay down on the sofa and propped her feet on the cushion at the opposite end. It felt good to elevate them. She had to stand most of the day at school. She smiled, running a hand over her burgeoning abdomen. Her students were intrigued by the baby. They asked permission to touch it all the time. Some days, by the time she got home, she had been mauled by thirty pairs of sticky, damp hands. But she loved it. She loved her baby.

  There were things she should be doing. A statement from Dr. Taylor had arrived in her mail that day, showing her balance paid in full. That was a mistake that needed straightening out. She still owed him three hundred dollars. But she didn’t want to do it tonight. She would call tomorrow. It felt so good not to move.

  With a contented sigh she turned her eyes sleepily toward the fireplace. For a moment she held her breath. Something about the light it cast was disturbingly familiar. It was soft, diffuse, golden. Her heart began to pound and she shut her eyes, but the picture was all the more brilliant against her eyelids.

  And she remembered it all. The memory came rolling toward her like a giant boulder.

  She remembered getting into the elevator and his getting on two floors down. The blackout was just as terrifying in retrospect as it had been in reality, and she heard herself whimper. His soothing voice reached her again through a tunnel of fear. She felt his hands as they gently helped her off with the jacket of her suit which she had never worn again. She remembered how her buttons had seemed to fall away beneath his dextrous fingers.

  His face came into sharp, clear focus as it had when the lights had come on. He was extremely good-looking, and in retrospect she saw that his eyes revealed both shrewd insight and kindness. She might have gone to bed with a stranger, but she didn’t have to make an apology for the way he looked.

  She saw herself being carried down the hall, saw the room in stark detail. It was decorated in beiges and browns, with the tangerine-colored sofa standing like an island of pleasure in the middle of the room. She saw herself languishing on the incredibly soft cushions, her hair wantonly fanned out behind her, her eyes limpid, her breasts straining against the clinging silk of her blouse.

  She could taste the brandy again. And she could taste his mouth, firm and sure, as it moved over hers. She could smell him. He wore a citrusy cologne that was as clean and masculine as he was. In the fantasy his hands were tender as they explored and aroused. She saw herself following him docilely into the bedroom, saw his eyes devouring her as she stood before him virtually naked. She hadn’t been ashamed or modest about her body, as she had been taught to be. She had wanted him to look at her and think her beautiful.

  The lights went out again and she had reached for him, afraid he would leave her. But he hadn’t. He’d come to her, a strong, hard, comforting, sheltering presence l
ying alongside her, holding her tightly and whispering wonderful things. He kissed her until they were breathless. Her neck and chest were showered with hot random kisses.

  Hesitantly he lowered the straps of her brassiere, and when she didn’t protest he unsnapped the fastener. He moved the garment aside and brushed her warm, satiny flesh with the backs of his fingers. Curving his palm around her ribs, he placed his thumb in the shallow groove that divided her stomach and drew his hand over her belly, over her navel, to the top of her brief bikini panty. Two of his fingers toyed with the lacy elastic.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  His hand slid inside and he touched the lush delta of her femininity. “God, you’re sweet.” His voice had been sandpapery. She lifted her hips to facilitate his taking off the sheer panties. He held her for a long moment close to him, their hearts pulsing together. Then he left the bed only long enough to get out of his clothes. When he drew her close again she uttered a soft moan of pure animal pleasure as his stirring nakedness touched hers.

  “Turn the light back on,” she had whispered.

  “Are you still frightened?”

  “No. I want to see you. To see the way we look together.”

  She could tell that pleased him very much. The lamp bathed them with a magic light that made everything beautiful. Her body was beautiful next to his. He was beautiful, all muscle and sinew and tanned skin dusted with brown hair. Curiously she touched his chest and shoulders and upper arms. “I like the way you look,” she had murmured absently.

  “Do you?” He had taken her hand, brought it to his lips and lightly licked the tips of her fingers. She had gasped at the shocking pleasure that curled around her insides each time his tongue touched her flesh.

  His hands lovingly drifted over her body. They circled her breasts, kneading gently. He cupped her in his palms and rubbed the nipples with his thumbs until she was writhing against him. . . .

  “Oh, Deke.”

  Her eyes flew open. She had spoken his name aloud. Deke. She hadn’t allowed herself to remember his name until now. Deke. Why didn’t she loathe the name? Why didn’t it feel treacherous and hateful and deceitful on her tongue?

  She was panting as if she had just run a mile-long race. She didn’t want to remember any more, but it was too good a dream to leave unfinished. She closed her eyes again. . . .

  “Oh, Deke.”

  “Your breasts are beautiful. Did you know that? Perfect size, shape. Laney, Laney.”

  Then his mouth was on her, possessive and gentle at one time. He kissed her ardently, tenderly, adoringly. He teased her nipples with the tip of his tongue, playing it over them again and again until she was conscious of nothing save for the waves of ecstasy that washed over her.

  “You taste so good.” His lips closed around her and tugged her softly, sweetly, into the heat of his mouth.

  He rolled her onto her back and eased himself on top of her. He separated her thighs with his and nestled against her, hard and throbbing. She wasn’t afraid. She was yearning.

  “I can’t believe someone as beautiful and rare as you fell out of the sky into my arms.” His lips nibbled the length of her throat and she arched it, giving him access. She lightly ground her hips against his hardness and reveled in his growl of approval. He fastened his mouth to hers in a fiery kiss. His tongue thrust deeply into her mouth.

  Laney felt her body opening. Like the moist petals of a flower whose time had come to bloom, her body prepared the way for him. He sensed it. His hand stroked down the outside of her thigh, affectionately squeezed a handful of her fanny, then slipped between her thighs. He caressed her with his fingertips until she was chanting his name and clinging to him with shameless need.

  He touched her intimately, acquainting himself with her readiness. His fingers were provocative and bold, yet tender. So tender.

  He poured words into her ear, silken words, words that were poetic and sensual, suggestive and explicit, words that made her ashamed, exultantly so.

  “Are you sure, Laney? Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

  She flung her head from side to side on the pillow. “No. Love me now, Deke. Just love me. Love me.”

  He introduced his body into hers slowly. He pressed steadily but unhurriedly, as though he wanted to prolong the intense pleasure of total possession.

  And then he encountered the barrier of her virginity and he froze. For ponderous seconds he waited. Then he raised his head and stared down at her until her eyes opened. She read in his face intensity and passion, a little anger, much compassion and great regret.

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Laney?”

  Her arms had folded behind his neck and she urged her body upward, wanting him inside her. “I want to be loved. Now please, Deke.”

  “But—”

  “Deke,” she cried, and arched against his hips.

  She heard his anguished curse. But he couldn’t have restrained himself then. No power on earth could have kept him from taking her then. With a steady, unyielding pressure he delved into her body until he was fully imbedded in her snug warmth.

  “Oh, God.” Anguish and ecstasy went into his soft cry. “Are you in pain, Laney? Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” she sobbed on tears of happiness. “No.”

  “You feel so good, so right,” he whispered into her neck. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

  But he didn’t. Not that time or the time after, when he hadn’t wanted to for fear it would be too much. She had begged him, and when he still refused, she had made it physically impossible for him to say no. He entered her again and again that night, and each time was better than the last, each stroke more delicious than the last. And each time he had brought her to a crashing climax, only to let her glide peacefully back into his loving embrace.

  Now Laney opened her eyes and let go a pent-up sigh. “Good Lord.” She remembered everything, every outrageous thing she had done and every outrageous thing she had said, things she would have never imagined herself capable of saying and doing. The words he had used to describe her, their lovemaking, their bodies, flowed over her again in scalding memories. Her hands covered her face while she tried to eradicate the erotic pictures that flashed through her mind. She felt feverish, and her body was trembling so violently, she could hardly stand.

  She went into the bathroom and let cold water trickle over her wrists. She rinsed her face with handfuls of it. Her mirror reflected the same face she had known for years, but she knew that after that night she would never be the same.

  Now she knew why people were so absorbed by sex. Now she knew what all the joking in the teachers’ lounge was about.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” they had said when she had made her announcement.

  “You mean the jerk got you pregnant just before you split up?”

  She had turned her back to pour a cup of coffee. “It’s not so bad. Really. I always wanted a baby.” They seemed not to hear.

  “Just like a man.”

  “Yeah. He’ll say and do anything to get you in bed with him, but it’s kaput the next day.” This was from one woman who was divorced but constantly looking for a new partner. She had grinned and stretched indolently in the cracked vinyl chair. “Still, it’s good while it lasts, isn’t it?” They had all laughed. Laney had forced a smile.

  Now she had to admit that yes, it had been good while it lasted. Better than good. It had been the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. She had never thought it would. It never would again. She couldn’t feel ashamed about it, because out of that night had come her baby. She placed her hands on her stomach now and patted it. “I’ll love you so much.”

  It occurred to her that she didn’t even know Deke’s last name. He would never know he had a child and it was just as well. He wouldn’t have cared. He had probably forgotten all about that night by now. A man who looked like that, lived in that luxurious apartment, wouldn’t ever be without a woman. She still had no guarantee that he wasn’t married. />
  Laney paled at the thought, but in thinking about it, she doubted that he was. That hadn’t been a couple’s bedroom. The apartment was blatantly masculine, without a trace of femininity. No, he couldn’t have been married.

  She had been unfair to him the following morning. He had taken advantage of her unstable condition. That was indisputable. But he had also been telling the truth. He hadn’t done anything she hadn’t wanted him to do. She had clutched at him, begging him to make love to her.

  Why had she behaved that way? Had he been that seductive? Or had she wanted to be held so badly that anyone would have done? She doubted that too. They said that even under hypnosis a person couldn’t be made to do something he didn’t subconsciously want to do.

  So, by deductive reasoning, this was fact: She had wanted to make love to that man and had used her hysteria and tipsiness as an excuse.

  It meant nothing to either of us, she told herself. A biological transfer. That’s all. It was a means of getting a baby you never expected to have. For that reason you can’t regret it, but you don’t have to dwell on it. Think of the baby as a gift. Accept it and forget the other.

  But she couldn’t.

  Touch me.

  Her fingers had dusted the body hair on his chest. It tapered to a sleek line down his flat, taut stomach.

  Touch me. Oh, God, Laney.

  He was hard and warm and full with life ready to burst free.

  That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it. Don’t ever be afraid to touch me. Touch me, touch me, touch me . . .

  “I want to touch it.”

  “No, me.”

  “It’s moving!”

  “Is not.”

  “Is too. Isn’t it moving, Miss McLeod?”

  Patiently, Laney gently pushed the too-eager hands away from her abdomen. “Yes, it’s moving, and I think it’s had enough of this handling.” The dozen or so children crowding around her and stepping on her black suede boots protested whiningly. “Besides,” she said, raising her voice over the grumblings, “recess is over and we need to get inside. Remember that after lunch we’re going to assemble our Christmas stockings.”