Morning Song

by Karen Robards

  "What's funny?" There was a gruffness to his voice. Jessie's eyes slid from that fascinating chest to his face.

  "Your heart's pounding."

  "Is it?"

  "Umm-hmm."

  "And that's funny?"

  "Umm-hmm."

  "Do you mind telling me why?" "It's a secret."

  "Is it, now?" He was looking at her as if he did not quite like the sound of that.

  Jessie's fingers spread out, burrowing through the thick mat of hair. Her eyes flickered down again to the object of her attention.

  "You have the most magnificent chest."

  "Thank you. Though I don't think you've seen enough of it to make a truly informed judgment." "Oh." The hint worked. Jessie finally remembered what she had been about when the attraction of his chest had diverted her, and slid the remaining shirt buttons from their holes. When she finished, his shirt hung open, laying bare a wide expanse from his neck to the waistband of his breeches. Taking a deep breath, Jessie ogled the exposed swath of hard-muscled, hair-roughened chest. Before she had quite recovered from the sight enough to touch 241

  the flesh she had revealed, he shrugged out of both shirt and waistcoat and tossed them aside.

  Which left Jessie sitting on his lap, faced with the first barechested man she had ever seen. At extremely close quarters, yet. Her lips parted, and she stared.

  He was beautiful. Were all men that beautiful? Jessie was sure they couldn't be. Like his face, Stuart's shoulders and arms and chest and belly must be extraordinary. Of course, she had known that his shoulders were wide. That was obvious even when he was clothed. But what she had not known was that they would be sleek, and bronzed, and solid as a stone wall. She'd seen his strength demonstrated a thousand times, doing everything from yanking Mr. Brantley from his horse to slinging sacks of grain onto a wagon. But she had never guessed that his arms would bulge with muscle. She'd been held against that chest and never suspected that it was covered with a wedge-shaped pelt of hair as black and thick as the hair on his head. Neither had she imagined that his belly would be as hard as a board and ridged with muscle—or that he would have two hard male nipples, their aureola more brown than pink.

  When Jessie just sat there, unmoving, her eyes fastened on his chest, Stuart caught her hands and lifted them so that they were pressed against the flesh she had revealed. She felt the heat of his skin against her palms, the fine texture of his chest hair as it curled around her fingertips, and her breath caught. The thrill that surged through her as she touched him was totally unexpected. Her breasts swelled, and the remembered sweet clamoring between her thighs began anew.

  Impossibly, her body seemed to have forgotten the pain that followed such stirrings. Her bedazzled mind soon forgot it, too. 242

  Sliding her hands along the breadth of his shoulders to stroke over his muscled arms, Jessie marveled at the hardness of his muscles. Then her hands returned to slide down his chest, sensuously exploring the hard, flat planes that were rendered even more seductively masculine by their liberal covering of hair. Her fingers trailed over his belly and traced along the waistband of his breeches, thrilling to the board-solidness of the muscles there. Stuart sat motionless as one questing finger dived inside his belly button, part of which was just visible above the breeches he had not quite managed to return to their proper position. His eyes flickered as that finger made a slow rotation before being withdrawn, but his hands continued to rest without pressure on Jessie's waist, letting her learn about his body as she would. But when her fingers at last found their way to his nipples and rubbed lightly across them, his control finally slipped, though just a little. His hands tightened perceptibly on her waist, and he sucked in his breath.

  The small sound drew Jessie's attention. She glanced quickly up at him, only to find herself mesmerized by the hot glitter in his eyes. Incredible as it seemed, though he made no move to do anything about it, he was clearly wild with wanting her. Jessie realized then just how tight was the rein he'd been holding himself on as she touched and caressed him. But still he'd done nothing to hurt or frighten her, leaving it to her to learn only what she would of lovemaking. She knew suddenly that what she wanted to learn was what excited him. Then an idea so daring that it shocked her occurred to her.

  When he had kissed her in the orchard, he had put his mouth on her nipple. The resulting conflagration had turned her bones to water.

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  Would her mouth on his nipple affect him the same way?

  Jessie bent her head and tried it.

  "Christ, Jess!"

  To her disappointment, Stuart's hands rose to cup her face and push it away from him. Frowning, she looked from the distended nipple she had just licked to his face. Had she hurt him? Or did females not perform such intimacies on gentlemen?

  "Don't men like that?"

  He laughed. At least Jessie thought it was a laugh, although the unsteady sound could just as easily have been a groan.

  "Too much, darling. I think you'd better forget that for the present. Unless you want to end up flat on your back right quickly."

  "Oh."

  "Yes, 'oh.' "

  The warning was enough to dissuade her from repeating that particular experiment. Instead Jessie confined herself to running her hands along the width of his shoulders, over his hairroughened chest and muscled back, along the strong column of his neck until the glitter in his eyes had exploded into pure flame and his heart was pounding beneath her palm as if he'd run for miles.

  It was good to have that to judge just how her touch was affecting him. Except for the conflagration in his eyes, his face gave her no clue. Only the thudding of his heart revealed just how hungry for her he was. A slight, satisfied smile curled Jessie's lips as she pressed her hand against the telltale part of his chest. He would never again be able to completely hide from her what he was feeling.

  "I do have more buttons, you know."

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  Stuart's voice was hoarse. With Jessie's attention thoroughly taken up with the state of his heart, it was a moment or two before that comment filtered through.

  "More . . . ?" Jessie's voice trailed off as she looked up, puzzled. Then her frown cleared. Of course she knew what he meant.

  Did he really expect her to unbutton his breeches? Did she want to? Jessie thought about it for an instant. Oh, yes, she did!

  Reaching down to where his belly button peeped coyly over his waistband, she sought and found the first button. It was much larger than the bone buttons that had closed his shirt, and thus should have been easier to manipulate. But her fingers fumbled and slipped, and what should have been a simple task became endlessly complicated by the feel of his ridged abdomen as her fingers worked beneath the cloth. Finally Stuart brushed her hands aside and did the job himself.

  The sides of his breeches parted to reveal more hard male flesh. The wedge of hair on his chest narrowed to a dark arrow that led past his belly button, over his abdomen, to disappear where the breeches again cut off her vision. Tantalized, her eyes followed the trail, only to widen as she caught a glimpse of something that swelled turgidly against the black cloth just beyond the opening. His man-thing, of course. Shuddering, Jessie shut her eyes.

  "Coward," Stuart chided in her ear. Jessie's eyes stayed tightly shut. He made a sound of half-exasperated amusement, his hands tightening around her waist as he lifted her off his lap. Jessie's eyes opened as she was abruptly deposited on the littered floor.

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  "If we are to continue this interesting experiment, I need to take off my boots," he answered her inquiring look. Then, while Jessie watched speechless, he proceeded to do just that. When his feet were bare, he stood up, and his hands went to the waistband of his breeches. Jessie's eyes clamped shut. But the rustle of cloth told her that he was shucking his breeches as well.

  "Open your eyes, Jessie." There was an undertone of laughter to the words.

  Jessie shook her head.

  "Just looking won't hurt
you, will it?"

  Probably not. But she just couldn't bring herself to.

  "Come on, Jess." Despite the gentleness of his tone, it was clear he did not mean to take no for an answer. He caught her upper arms and hauled her up to stand before him. In the process, as he had no doubt intended, Jessie's eyes flew open.

  She kept them fixed firmly on his face.

  He was smiling at her, closer to the window now, so that the moonlight pouring in over that handsome face highlighted every feature. His eyes glowed with their own light, burning bright as they moved over her. His mouth was crooked, twisted into something that was not quite a smile.

  Of its own accord her hand came to rest on his chest, just over his heart. It was pounding like a kettledrum.

  She should have dropped her hand, of course, once she had determined that. But instead her fingers lingered, seduced by the feel of his flesh. His skin was so hot, the muscles beneath it so hard. . . .

  His hand rose to catch her wrist, draw her hand down the center of his chest, over his belly. Jessie's fingers tingled at the feel of him. A shiver raced along her spine.

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  "Touch me, Jessie," he whispered. Even as her eyes closed in protest, his handled hers to the man-thing that had caused her pain.

  Her fingers found it, recoiled. He would not release her wrist.

  "Please, Jess."

  Jessie's fingers shook, but she responded to that husky whisper in the only way she could. She allowed his hand to guide hers again—and this time, at his unspoken direction, her hand closed over him.

  He sucked in his breath. She opened her eyes.

  His face was set, his lips slightly parted as he breathed through his teeth, his eyes narrow slivers more silver than blue as they blazed down at her. Jessie looked up into those eyes for a long, shuddering moment, and then her gaze moved down the length of his body slowly, so slowly, to the enormous pulsing thing she held in her hand.

  Against the whiteness of her skin it looked very dark. Her eyes ran along the length of it, more fascinated now than afraid. It had felt huge when he had plunged it inside her, but she saw that it was not as horribly enormous as she had thought. It reared up from a thick nest of wiry black hair to which the arrow that trailed past his belly button had led. It was so hot it burned her palm, but its skin was smooth and velvety and just slightly damp. When she squeezed it, just to see what would happen, Stuart flinched and grimaced. Jessie's eyes flew to his face. Sweat had broken out along his brow, although the tack room was cool. Despite his extreme physical reaction, he watched her steadily, his eyes glittering like diamonds in the moonlight.

  "See? There's nothing so fearsome." The words came unsteadily through his teeth. As Jessie's eyes moved back down 247

  over the broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped body to the thing she held, she saw that his fists were clenched at his sides. It occurred to her then that perhaps it was hard for him to have her touch him and nothing more. Maybe gentlemen had need to do that hurtful thing to females, or hurt themselves. Maybe that was why the man-thing was so large and swollen. Maybe, if it did not disgorge its juice, it ached.

  Curiously, the longer she held the man-thing in her hand, the more her fear of it receded.

  "No," Jessie agreed, and tightened her hand again. This time she saw the muscles of his thighs tighten as if to brace themselves against her. When she sneaked a quick glance at him, she saw that his eyes were half closed, his mouth compressed.

  "Does it hurt you when I do that?" she asked, curious. He shook his head. "It pleases me." His voice was thick. His eyes closed. Then they opened again, and his hand moved to catch hers. To Jessie's surprise, he pulled her hand away from him.

  "If it pleases you, why may I not do it?"

  "It pleases me too much."

  That guttural explanation made no sense to Jessie. She was about to demand elucidation when his hands moved up her arms to her shoulders, where they slid beneath the edges of her wrapper.

  "Will you let me take this off?" There was still that oddly hoarse note to his voice.

  Jessie looked up at him, uncertain. But this was Stuart, her Stuart, whom she loved with all her heart and soul. What he wanted her to do, she would do.

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  "Yes," she whispered. His eyes crinkled at her encouragingly, and then he was easing the wrapper from her shoulders. It fell unheeded to the floor.

  Jessie stood before him in the thin cotton of her high-necked, long-sleeved nightdress and knew what was coming next.

  "You're not afraid of me, Jess?"

  "No." They were both whispering. Jessie was mesmerized by the hot, tender glow of his eyes.

  "Let me take off your nightdress."

  His fingers were already at her neck, undoing the tiny buttons there.

  "Stuart . . ."

  "I won't do anything you don't want me to. I just want to look at you. All right?" Jessie could no more have denied that husky coaxing than she could have stopped breathing. The very hoarseness of his voice was awakening shivers inside her. Despite her knowledge of where this dangerous game must end, her body was coming to life again, her nerve endings atremble with anticipation, her breasts swelling, her nipples tightening. The ache between her thighs had changed in character, becoming more pleasurable than painful.

  Was it woman's lot to want the very thing that hurt her?

  "All right, Stuart," she whispered, and bowed her head. A laugh shook him. "Don't look so scared, Jess. I won't hurt you," he breathed, and then he was pulling her nightgown up and over her head. It joined her wrapper on the floor.

  Jessie stood there, bathed in moonlight, feeling more hideously vulnerable than she had ever felt in her life. No one save her maid had ever seen her completely without clothes, and having Stuart's eyes on her was very different from being tended to by 249

  Tudi or Sissie. Instinctively her hands moved to shield her body in the age-old gesture of woman. Stuart caught her hands, held them wide. His eyes ran over her body. Too embarrassed by her own nakedness to look down at herself, she watched his face instead.

  That expressionless face remained expressionless, save for the narrowing of his eyes and the tiny muscle that tightened at the corner of his mouth.

  "Christ, Jessie, you stop my breath."

  His eyes were fastened on her breasts.

  XXXIV

  Naked, she was the most beautiful creature Clive had ever seen. Awash in luminescence, her skin was an unearthly glowing white, so pale and pure that he felt that to touch it would almost be a sacrilege. Her shoulders with their delicate bones were stiffly held, both proud and shy at the same time. Her breasts were even more glorious than he'd imagined, firm round globes that thrust wantonly away from her chest, the shape and color of her nipples reminding him of fresh, ripe strawberries. Her rib cage was narrow, her waist small and supple, her hips softly rounded. There was the slightest feminine curve to her stomach, where her navel nestled, a small, perfect circle. The sweet center of her womanhood was veiled by a modest triangle of reddish curls. Her thighs were pressed tightly together, as if she sought to keep herself from him. Her legs were long and lissome, with dimpled knees and small feet.

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  He might love her for her mind and soul, but her body was certainly a wonderful bonus.

  It was all he could do to keep from reaching out and fondling a ripe breast, then tossing her on her backside and easing the burning tumescence between his legs in the quickest, most basic manner possible.

  But because this was Jessie, sweet, sweet Jessie, he most nobly refrained. Indeed, he had already exercised more restraint with her than he had ever had occasion to show to a woman and he was like to burst from it.

  But because she was his, and shy of him, he would take the time to gentle her. Her first time had been fueled by whiskey, anger, and long-denied lust. Her second would be the stuff of rapturous female dreams. He meant to bend all his considerable experience to making sure of it.

  But at the moment
she was blushing furiously, her eyes averted from his in what looked very much like an agony of

  embarrassment. If he had not been holding her hands, he knew she would be using them to cover herself.

  "Don't be shy, Jess," he murmured coaxingly. When she still wouldn't meet his eyes, he dropped one hand to catch her chin. That worked. Her eyes as they rose to his were wide, their walnut depths glowing with a combination of newly awakened passion and, he feared, fear. With a mental kick to the seat of his own pants, he castigated himself for hurting her before. But, of course, she'd been a virgin, and pain the first time was a virgin's unavoidable lot. With the best will in the world, he couldn't have saved her that.

  "I can't help it," she whispered, sounding every bit as nervous as she looked. Clive smiled down at her tenderly. What a child 251

  she was still! It would be his pleasure to teach her to be fully a woman.

  "You're beautiful, Jessie."

  "Thank you."

  She sounded like a well-mannered schoolgirl, and looked like one, too, except for her mouth-watering nakedness and the scarlet blush suffusing her cheeks.

  "Your breasts are the most gorgeous things I've ever seen in my life." "Stuart!"

  That "Stuart" was beginning to grate on his nerves. With every fiber of his being he wanted to hear her call him Clive. But of course he never would, and he mentally swatted the notion aside like a bothersome gnat.

  "I want to kiss them."

  "Stuart!"

  She sounded truly horrified. Her eyes were wide and shocked. A smile tugged at the corners of Clive's mouth even as his hand slid down from her chin to caress the satiny skin of her neck. His palm itched to cup her breast, but he knew better than to rush his fences. What Jessie needed was wooing.