“Yes, I do. Justine would probably be embarrassed if she knew what a hold she had on me.”
She smiled and glanced away. “I’m not so sure about that. She adored you, Damon. You seem to charm the drawers off every woman you smile at.”
“So why isn’t my technique working on you?” he whispered with a boyish grin. Then his expression mellowed, and he pulled her closer. “I love you very much, Celesta. I hope you’ll tell me if there’s more I can do to ease your sadness, or tell me if I’ve inadvertently offended you. I miss making love to you, sweetheart. Very much.”
Celesta felt her cheeks tingling beneath his earnest scrutiny. It wasn’t as though she ever had to fight him off: he was far too understanding, too concerned, to force himself on her.
“Have you told Katherine we’re engaged?”
“No. There hasn’t been a good time.”
Damon studied her ivory face for a moment, hesitating. “Do you regret accepting my proposal?”
A vision of Justine at the top of the dark stairway made her pause, but that frightening scene held no threat for her now. “No, no regrets. Justine knew we made love that night, though.”
Where was the impetuous, bewitching woman who’d ridden him beyond ecstasy in the gazebo? He took her face in his hands, longing for the uninhibited passion he’d once seen there, wondering what kept her from claiming the intimate comfort he so wanted to give her. “Do you think I had something to do with her death, Celesta? Answer me honestly, or your doubts will stand between us forever.”
She didn’t dare blink or lower her eyes. He’d asked the question she couldn’t ignore, and he deserved a truthful reply no matter what the consequences. And the longer she wavered, the more obvious her answer became.
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed distant, but I know now that you’d never betray my aunt’s trust. She wasn’t herself when she threw you out, and God love her, Justine was never the same after you left, either.”
Her answer would have to do, because now that she was crying against his shoulder he couldn’t press her further. Damon pulled her onto his lap and rocked her like the heartbroken child she was, until she stopped blotting her nose on his shirt. “Perhaps we should start getting out,” he murmured. “Choose somewhere we can meet tomorrow. Maybe Katherine has some errands, and she can join us afterward for dinner in town. It’ll do us all good.”
She smiled against his rough, virile neck as an impudent idea sprang to mind. “How about the library? I need some information for a story.”
He rolled his eyes. “Sounds terribly romantic.”
For the first time since Justine’s funeral, Celesta laughed. “We should cultivate other common interests, you know,” she murmured, and then she ran a teasing finger along the length of his fly. ‘Tm sure you’ll rise to the challenge somehow.”
From his vantage point on Fifth Street, Damon watched his intended approach the library and had to loosen his collar. Indian Summer had arrived with a vengeance, and after a brief shower, steam was rising in waves from the brick streets. Celesta had escorted her aunt to her Ladies Aid meeting and was now walking toward him, anticipation in her step as she looked around for him.
Even with his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbow he was sweating. He could only imagine how the afternoon’s mugginess was affecting Celesta under all her layers of lingerie and the dark, long-sleeved dress she wore. She stopped to pat her brow with her handkerchief, and then extended her lovely neck to caress it with the lacy linen—a gesture he found excruciatingly seductive. He longed to nibble her upper lip and inhale her intoxicating essence, made more pungent with the heat, and free her from her restrictive clothing.
Was he too obsessed with her? Was he letting important details on the Cruikshank mansion slide because his mind so often wandered to Celesta? All Damon knew as she entered the brick building was that he’d never felt so intimately attuned to another person, and that it was time to tell her that. She deserved his honesty along with his affection.
As he strolled through the library door he reached into his pocket for the dozenth time today. It was still there, solid and warm, and he prayed it would erase any doubts she might have about his love for her.
Frye glanced around at the rectangular tables where silent patrons read their papers and leafed through their books. The scent of human heat mingled with the pleasant mustiness he always associated with libraries, and his own temperature rose when he found Celesta in a secluded corner behind the tall shelves. She was perusing an oversized volume, her profile inviting in the dimness. She’d undone the top buttons of her bodice and was absently fanning her neck with it as she studied.
Damon came up behind her and encircled her with his arms, stifling her gasp with a kiss. “Mmmmm,” he murmured as he nuzzled her damp neck, “this is even better sport than when we were in school.”
Celesta’s eyes widened. “I never did any such thing in a library when—”
“Had you been a few years older, I’d have tutored you in the fine art of public seduction,” he said with a chuckle, He slipped a finger inside her open placket to tease her collarbone. “Why do you think so many students came here after class?’’
She was tingling from his dangerous closeness, trying not to moan when his hand closed around her breast. “Why, they came here to learn!” she whispered, feigning shock.
“And learn we did. Anatomy, stimulation technique, how to improve one’s circulation by ... oh, Celesta,” he mumbled as his other hand closed around a breast. “It seems libraries aren’t the only places with stacks, sweetheart.”
Laughing quietly, she escaped to a nearby table, just as Miss Lizzie Lingle, the librarian, peered sternly between the rows of books at them. Celesta seated herself and propped her book open against the edge of the table. “Behave yourself,” she warned, “or you’ll get us kicked out.”
“Hot as it is in here, that would be no great punishment.” He strolled over to the newspaper display and picked up the most recent Courier Post, nodding suavely at Miss Lingle. Celesta had a point: he couldn’t present her with the gift in his pocket, the way he’d been planning all day, if they were shown to the door. His companion’s adorable flush told him she, too, was enjoying the game—even though her gaze was glued to the page in front of her—so he would continue it more discreetly.
Frye sat down across from her and slipped a shoe off. Then he opened his paper, holding it up so that Celesta couldn’t see his face. She’d chosen the solitary little table well, and after he pretended to read for a few minutes, he slid his foot stealthily across the floor until it found hers.
Celesta cleared her throat to keep from laughing—and then nipped her lip. Damon’s sock-covered toes was slithering up under her skirt, lightly skimming her calf. Surely he didn’t intend to ... yet the table between them was narrow enough so that . . . and his legs were long enough to—
She sucked in her breath when his foot reached her knees. “Mr. Frye, you’re shameless!” she hissed.
He took advantage of her whispered outburst to wedge his instep between her thighs. “Shhh! This is a library,” he replied hoarsely.
“And this wanton act is a sacrilege! You may as well be making love to me in church.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, come Sunday.”
Still hiding behind the paper, Damon inched his foot higher, chuckling when she stopped resisting and parted her legs. His toe found its goal, and when he began to knead her, he heard her breathing become more labored.
He peeked over the top of his paper. Celesta was staring at her book in glazed rapture, until her eyes closed and she slid her hips forward to rub against his inquisitive toe. She was surging toward satisfaction, panting audibly, when Damon withdrew his foot and raised his paper to hide his smile. Miss Lingle was approaching, her footsteps ominous and heavy on the wooden floor.
She stopped at the end of their table, staring imperiously. “Must I remind you about proper library conduct?
” she demanded, and her whisper seemed to echo around the entire reading room.
Celesta sat wide-eyed, mortified.
“Miss Montgomery suffers from a respiratory ailment,” Damon said smoothly, “and this oppressive heat has triggered an attack. Surely by now you’ve heard she’s an author of some renown?”
Miss Lingle looked doubtfully at Celesta. “I’ve heard rumors that she writes those—”
“Then, you wouldn’t want it to get out that she couldn’t complete research for her next story because she was banished by an unsympathetic librarian,” he finished quickly. He held her gaze until she muttered something and stalked off toward the front of the room.
“You’re incorrigible,” Celesta whispered, chuckling in spite of her embarrassment.
“And you, my love, are a delectable shade of pink I’d like to research further.” His foot rested between hers again, tapping with anticipation. “Shall I continue? We were interrupted at an inopportune time, I fear.”
“I—I think you’ve gone far enough, Damon.”
“Not quite.”
Celesta’s pulse had nearly returned to normal, but now it quickened again. The man across from her replaced his shoe and then started digging in his pants pocket, smiling devilishly, his chestnut hair falling over one sly brown eye. Curiosity made her lean forward to see what he was retrieving.
“Give me your hand, Celesta,” he whispered.
She glanced around, and then reached across the table.
“Your left one.”
Her heart shot into her throat. Slowly she obeyed, swallowing a cry of delight when he slipped a ring onto her fourth finger. The glistening gold band supported a large, pear-shaped ruby, and as he caressed it over her knuckle she was too stunned to speak.
It was the reaction he’d prayed for. Celesta’s hand trembled in his large one, and his heart spilled over with emotion as he watched her wide green eyes fill with mist. “It was my mother’s,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I—I didn’t offer it to Lucy because she wouldn’t have—I never felt this strongly about her, Celesta. I’m glad we found each other when I was older and knew what really mattered in life.”
She gazed from his shining brown eyes to the crimson gem on her finger, and then back to his face. Suddenly she was out of her chair, surging toward him like a magnet to steel, and Damon was there, meeting her in an exuberant kiss above the table. His mouth opened and shut hungrily, plumbing the sweet depths of hers, until they heard a startled gasp and rapid, purposeful footsteps.
Frye looked the stalwart librarian in the eye, knowing his fate and grinning in spite of it. “Would you like to be the first to congratulate me, Miss Lingle? Celesta has agreed to be my wife!”
“Don’t be impertinent, Mr. Frye!” she rasped, shaking a finger at him. “This is by no means the only time I’ve had to remove you from the premises for—one would think you’d have matured since—”
“Oh, I have, ma’am,” he said as he clasped Celesta’s hand. “And instead of denying my crimes like I used to, I’m inviting you to our wedding.”
“And I’m telling you to—”
“We were just leaving,” Celesta whispered quickly, and as they hurried past the agitated Miss Lingle it was all she could do not to laugh. The shade felt wonderfully refreshing when they stepped outside, and she giggled when Damon caught her up in a kiss. “I doubt poor Lizzie knows what she’s missing.”
“No fault but her own, for being such a battleaxe,” he replied lightly. He held her against him, his eyes hooded with desire as he gazed down at her. “I know what I’ve been missing, though, and I want it. Tonight. Downstairs. After Katherine’s gone to bed.”
Celesta felt her heart hammering against his, and as she got lost in the depths of his spellbinding eyes, she knew she would never say no to this magical man again.
Chapter 24
Katherine, in her excitement, stayed up hours longer than usual. “This is the most wonderful thing!” she gushed, alternating between Damon’s embrace and Celesta’s. “If only Justine could see this ring! If only your mother were here to share this moment.”
Celesta sobered a bit. “That just means all of our happiness is heaped upon you,” she said quietly.
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer person, either,” Frye added, and when the little woman asked them to play the piano he tried not to grit his teeth. He was eager to have his fiancée to himself, to make love to her all night long, yet he couldn’t deny Katherine a little pleasure. God knew she’d suffered horribly from two losses, and he felt as responsible for her well-being now as he did for Celesta’s.
A rousing rendition of “The Maple Leaf Rag” sharpened his desire for her. She was challenging him with her highstepping bass beat, flirting openly with green eyes that made him smolder. Tonight would be nothing short of extraordinary, if her music was any indication of her excitement.
After an encore, Katherine coyly excused herself to bed. Frye wasted not a moment: by the time her aunt had reached the second-floor landing he was deep into a probing kiss, cradling Celesta’s head in his hands. Her ebony hair fell loose, cascading around his face as he brushed his lips along the slender column of her neck. “We’d better go downstairs while I can still walk,” he moaned.
He was being funny, yet she didn’t laugh. The passion she felt rising from deep inside her was reflected in the coffee-colored eyes that now commanded her, silently, to follow him. As he led her past the dining room table, Damon plucked a rose from the bouquet he’d brought home in celebration. Celesta descended to the cellar ahead of him, her heartbeat echoing in the cool, impenetrable darkness.
A match flared, and then the lamplight glowed around the eclectic boudoir he’d fashioned in early summer. Nothing had changed. Justine had apparently forgotten about this room—or was too fascinated by the arrangement of the bed, the chairs, and the three cheval mirrors to move them. The fears that once lurked in these shadowy corners were now replaced by a dusky sensuality that teased at her mercilessly. The dark danger she once associated with Damon Frye drew her into his embrace, a willing victim of his mystical allure.
He stood behind her, facing the center mirror, and slowly unbuttoned her dress. Celesta watched in the glass, enthralled by the sight of his hand baring her skin. “Sometimes the least amount of light reveals the most startling beauty,” he whispered. “You’re a dream come true for me, Celesta, and tonight we’ll make love that’s more powerful than we ever thought possible. Do you feel the forces gathering, as I do?”
She nodded, mute with awe. He held the rose between his teeth and finished undressing her with an urgency he couldn’t disguise. Then she turned in his arms and repeated the process, reveling in the warmth of his skin, the hint of cherry tobacco that always lingered about him, the fresh sweetness of the scarlet rose he held for her to inhale.
“How do you do this to me, Damon?” she breathed, running her fingers lightly through the dark down on his chest. “How do you transform me from a mere mortal into a heart with wings?”
He laughed low in his throat. “I suspect that power’s been hiding inside you all along, just waiting to be released. But I’ll certainly take credit for whatever else happens to you tonight.”
As she watched in the glass, he began to stroke her with the rose. From her temple, he drew the dewy velvet petals along her neck with a lightness that made her shimmer inside. Celesta held her breath when the crimson flower circled her breast once . . . twice, enticing her nipple into a tingling peak. The utter elegance of his gesture, tripled in the mirrors, went beyond her previous comprehension of what lovemaking was all about.
Damon watched her body bloom beneath his tender touch. Her skin quivered as he teased at the curve of her stomach, circling the mound of raven curls without parting them. The sight of a red rose following her ivory thigh around the dark door to her womanhood only intensified the aching in his loins.
The sheer glory of his caress enthralled her. He moved more quickly no
w, as eager as she, stroking down one leg and then up the back of her calf. Celesta giggled when he circled behind her knee.
“Ticklish?” he asked.
“I’d be in deep trouble if I admitted it,” she whispered, and then she sucked in her breath as the delicate flower flickered around one half of her behind and then the other. Such exquisite torture—and then he stood gracefully as he ran the rose up her spine, raising her hair so she could enjoy its caress to the fullest.
“A ruby, and a rose,” Celesta murmured as she admired her ring. “What other tricks do you have to captivate me with, Damon? What splendid gifts can I give you in return?’’
He tossed the flower onto the bed. “I’m already master of all I survey,” he replied softly, meeting her eyes in the mirror, “and your heart was mine long ago—a present all the more precious because you didn’t know I’d give mine as well. What more could I possibly want, my love?”
Celesta watched her face light up with a sly smile as she led one of his hands to her breast and guided the other to the top of her thighs. “How about these, for starters?”
Frye let out a tigerlike growl and pulled her back against his rigid body, his lips and hands in constant motion. She was his, without reservations, and as he considered the completeness Celesta brought him he was even more determined to please her this way forever.
With his hand causing such a frenzy from the front and his manhood pressing her backside, she felt herself escalating toward the fiery madness that always made her beg shamelessly for more. Her breath was coming in whimpers now. She leaned back against her lover and gave in to the spasms that spiraled through her, her gaze riveted to the mirror. Damon’s dark arm supported her, cradling her breasts, while his hand moved in a steady rhythm that drove her over the edge.
“Reach for it,” he whispered. “Succumb to my fingers, sweetheart, and—”
Celesta’s cry echoed around the cavernous cellar, and when she collapsed against him he carried her to the bed. He laid her gently across it, murmuring his love words until he could see she understood him again.
Missouri Magic Page 25
