"Do you dance, Daniel?" She twirled around, moving ahead of him, swaying gracefully in time to the fading music. "I like to dance. I like music. I'd like to dance with you." She would like to feel his arms around her, would like the chance to touch him, to feel his body move against hers. She would like to dance with him until he shared her hunger, until his need was so strong that he forgot who she was, forgot what he thought she was and loved her anyway.
Her cotton shirt was loose, but each swirl flattened the fabric against her, outlining her small breasts, her erect nipples. He watched, wanting to stop her, wanting her to never stop, and he kept his hands clasped tightly together underneath the baby to stop himself from reaching for her.
She spun one last time, coming to a breathless stop beside the truck. Daniel stood in front of her. She told herself that she wouldn't touch him, but her hands came up of their own accord to rest on his broad, strong shoulders. She ordered herself not to caress him, but the action came automatically, one hand gliding down his chest, the other sliding to the back of his neck. She absolutely would not kiss him, she silently scolded, but her mouth was hungry for the taste of him. Even knowing that the sweetness of the kiss would only be followed by pain, she wanted it, needed it.
"No, Sarah," she murmured to herself as she moved a step closer.
Daniel moved Katie to his shoulder, caught a handful of the billowy white shirt and pulled Sarah to him. "Yes, Sarah," he growled, and his mouth covered hers.
Her body went briefly limp against him before it grew taut with hunger, wicked and wild. She kissed him as hungrily, as greedily, as he kissed her, and struggled for more, trying to satisfy a lifetime's need with just one kiss.
It took the sound of an approaching car to penetrate the haze that enveloped Daniel's mind. He broke off the kiss, then rubbed his mouth back and forth over hers, taking one last taste. Looking down, he realized that he was gripping the fabric of her shirt as if it were a lifeline, and he forced his fingers to slowly relax and let go.
"Sarah—"
She quickly laid her fingers over his mouth. "No. Don't say anything, please." She needed to savor the lingering pleasure of his kiss without his rejection, without his regrets.
Was she afraid he would once again lie and tell her that he didn't want her? he wondered as he opened the truck door. Or afraid he might say he did?
She moved around the truck and climbed in as he was fastening Katie's seat belt. Bending, she kissed their daughter's forehead. "Do you think she'll sleep all night?"
"Probably, since she missed both naps. She had a good time."
"Kids love things like this." Sarah settled comfortably in the seat and adjusted her seat belt. She rolled her head to the right so she could see the stars, which were beginning to appear above them. "Did you?"
"Have a good time?" He paused a moment. "Yeah, I did."
"Maybe next time…" She was about to say that they could stay and dance through the night, but her voice faded away. There probably wouldn't be a next time for them, not together. Once everything was settled with Katie, he probably wouldn't want to see Sarah again except when he came to pick up their daughter. After such a lovely day, that thought made her especially sad.
Daniel looked at her and saw her sadness, but he didn't question it. He was feeling a little melancholy himself. Maybe it was knowing that he was going to take her home, then go to his own house. To his own bed. Without her.
When they got to her house, Daniel left Katie, still sleeping, in the truck and went inside with Sarah long enough to build a fire. When he was done, he looked disparagingly at the lumpy sofa and its heavy layer of blankets but offered no criticism. "Do you have enough blankets?"
From her position next to the door, she nodded.
"Are you sure? I told you, my grandparents were married for forty-two years, and my grandmother quilted for all forty-two of them. I can loan you some."
"I'm sure." As if to make a liar of her, a shiver passed through her as he came near. But it wasn't a chill. It was weakness, she thought, that made her desperately want a man who desired her but didn't want her. Or maybe it was less complicated than that. Maybe it was love.
He stopped in front of her. "We'll see you tomorrow?"
Again she nodded.
"Lock the door as soon as I leave."
She bobbed her head once more, and he muttered a vicious curse, yanked her to him and kissed her hard and fast and more than a little desperately. As quickly as it had started, it ended, and he was gone, the screen door banging behind him. "Good night, Daniel," she whispered, watching him go.
October 21
Sarah lay on her back, her eyes closed, listening, smelling, feeling her surroundings. Below her the ground's hardness was padded with a quilt of muslin and calico, lovingly handmade more than forty years ago by Daniel's grandmother. Above her, individual rays of afternoon sunshine, breaking through the leaves, touched her face, bringing a few degrees' warmth to her skin. There was a breeze so light she barely felt it, its passage through the trees marked by a soft, rustling whisper.
On one side there was a distant rush, like wind, but steady, constant. The creek that Daniel had told her about, that appeared out of nowhere and tumbled over the smooth, rounded rocks down the mountainside. It tasted cold, he'd told her, and sweet—hence the name, Sweetwater. Very original, she had teased, and he'd laughed.
On her left there was a louder rustle, this one crashing, starting, stopping, scuffing. Katie, she knew, exploring everything she could find in this quiet, shadowed clearing, watched by Daniel like the sharp-eyed bird that had fled the tree above her when they'd intruded.
She took a deep breath, held it, let it out, then breathed in again. The single big scent that she had labeled as "the woods" was made up of a myriad different scents: the dampness of the forest floor; the sweet, piney aroma of the trees; the woody smell of broken branches and fallen trees; the moist flavor of water; the heady, memory-filled smell of crackling brown leaves; the fresh, pungent aroma of… Her forehead wrinkled into a frown as she searched for the right words. Green. That was it. The smell came from the weeds, the pines, the few sprigs of grass that grew in the rich soil. It was the smell of the color green.
There was a faint tickling above her upper lip, and she concentrated on it. It was soft, green, sweet. "A pine needle."
Opening her eyes, she saw the slender green needle in Daniel's hand and smiled triumphantly. "You were right," she said as he drew the needle over her cheek to her jaw. "If you concentrate, you can hear and feel and see so much." See with your eyes shut—that was what he'd told her. If she wanted to appreciate the woods, she should see them with her eyes shut.
He was lying beside her, his head supported on one big hand. While she had been concentrating, so had he—on her. He had studied her face and the lines of her body. He had watched the movement of her eyes beneath their lids, the smile, the frown, the triumph. Someday he would like to do the same exercise with her, but instead of awareness of her surroundings, he would like to teach her awareness of her body. He would like to remove her clothes and lie beside her and touch her, tease her, caress her, while she concentrated on each touch, each response, each need.
His own response, quick, hard, thick, prompted him to roll onto his stomach, his head pillowed on his arm. Since he'd decided to marry her, since he'd given himself respectable intentions toward her, his desire was intruding more frequently, stronger, harder to control, impossible to hide. He had progressed from wanting and needing to craving, yearning, aching. It hurt to look at her, to touch her, but it was a good pain. A pleasing one. An erotic one.
He laid his arm over her chest, his elbow on her stomach, his hand on her chin. On each side of his arm were her breasts, small, firm, their peaked tips visible through the cotton shirt. As much as he craved contact with them, he made no effort to touch them. That would come later, when Katie was asleep. When nothing could disturb them, when nothing could draw him away from rediscovering t
he pleasures of Sarah's body.
Her eyes closed again, Sarah felt Daniel's finger, rough and blunt edged, rubbing across her lips. She opened her mouth to him, capturing his fingertip between the tiny sharp edges of her teeth, bathing it with her tongue. He pulled away and clasped her chin in his hand, then leaned over her. "Open your mouth," he demanded, giving her only an instant to obey before his was on hers, his tongue stabbing inside, his lips bruising, his teeth hard.
She drew his tongue deeper, until there was no more, until they had joined as thoroughly as they could. Her hands clenched into tight fists around the muslin-and-calico quilt, as if it could save her from the madness that swirled through her, but her head knew that nothing could save her but Daniel. He had taken her into the madness, and only he could bring her safely out.
Questions rushed through his mind. Would the ground be too hard for Sarah's slim, fragile body? Would Katie take her nap early today? Could he make it back to the house in the condition he was in? Could he wait that long?
Her breathing was fast, his ragged, when he rolled away from her. His blood was pulsing and his heart thundering, while hers fluttered erratically. The only visible evidence of her arousal, her hardened nipples, subsided, while the painfully swollen bulge that tightened his jeans seemed a permanent condition.
Sarah was the first to speak. Staring at the autumn-colored canopy of leaves above her, she gave a soft sigh and murmured, "Oh, my."
Oh, my, indeed, Daniel thought with a grimace as he adjusted his jeans. Soon he would satisfy his cravings—the one in his body, and the one in his soul. Very soon.
When they made their way out of the woods by the last rays of daylight, Daniel insisted that Sarah stay for supper. The stew was already cooked, and afterward she could bathe Katie, read her a bedtime story and tuck her into bed. Sarah wondered if he knew how much the mother in her missed doing those little things for their daughter. She also wondered if he understood the significance of what he was saying. If she stayed long enough to put Katie to bed, she would have to spend the night. It would be too dark to walk home alone—not, she knew, that he would ever let her—and he wouldn't leave Katie in the house alone long enough to take her home.
He understood, all right. It was too difficult for him to say flatly, openly, "Stay with me." He trusted that Sarah knew him well enough to find the second, more intimate invitation hidden behind the innocence of the supper invitation. He also trusted that she wanted him enough to accept.
He was right.
After dinner they played with Katie; then Sarah took her upstairs for her bath, while Daniel did the dishes. She had forgotten how much fun bath time with a toddler could be, and how messy. After Katie was bathed, shampooed and dressed in pajamas, Sarah spent another five minutes cleaning the bathroom.
"Put your clothes in the hamper," she said, handing Katie her dirty clothes rolled in a manageable ball.
The child accepted the bundle, then looked blankly at her mother. Laughing, Sarah crossed the room to the wooden box. "This is a hamper. See, you lift the lid and put the clothes inside, then shut it."
After the demonstration, Katie lifted the lid, threw her clothes in and shut it. A moment later, she opened it, threw in a wet towel and let the lid bang down again. The loud noise pleased her, so she picked up the soft gray rug from the floor.
"No," Sarah scolded gently, replacing the rug and removing the towel, then hanging it over the shower rod. "No rugs, no wet towels." She saw her daughter's sly blue eyes spy her discarded tennis shoes and shook her head. "No shoes, either, Katie. Just clothes. Come on, let's go read."
It was a new experience for Katie, being readied for bed by her mother, but when it came time for the actual tucking in, it was her father she turned to. Sarah didn't feel even a twinge of dismay. She hoped that there would always be certain times and certain rituals that Katie preferred to share with her father.
"Good night, sweetheart." Sarah gave her a kiss, then began gathering the storybooks, while Daniel took the baby upstairs. She stacked the books in a neat pile and added them to one of the bookcases, then returned to the sofa, stretching out along its length.
When Daniel came down a few minutes later, he found her there, a pillow beneath her head, her eyes closed, her breathing steady, her arms at her side. He wondered briefly if she'd fallen asleep, then saw the movement of her eyes behind closed lids.
"Can you hear the hissing of the logs?" she asked, playing the game once more. "And there's water dripping somewhere."
Without a word, without a sound, he knelt beside the sofa, facing her. She was still for a moment, feeling, listening for the even sounds of his breathing; then, slowly, she moved her hand upward, making contact with his chest, then still higher, until it cupped the beard-roughened skin of his jaw.
Without speaking he returned her hand to the cushion, then leaned forward, his movements agonizingly slow. She could sense his motion, could see the shadow that fell over her, could soon feel the heat from his body. Then his mouth touched hers. His lips were hard but gentle, coaxing, teasing. His tongue, when it probed between her teeth, was insistent, demanding entry, thrusting inside her. He tasted like heat, smoky and dark, simmering, building, like a fever starting to climb. There were other flavors, too—hunger too strong to ignore; desire, thick and unmanageable; and need, strong, razor edged, painful.
She breathed in, filling her lungs with his scent. He smelled like welcoming bright sunshine and enticing dark shadows, like sweet pine and fragrant wood smoke. She smelled the baby scents of their daughter and the tang of need, every bit as intoxicating, as sharp, as it tasted.
Daniel ended the kiss, teased her lips with his tongue, then began another kiss. This time he gave her even more, adding sweet, gentle-rough caresses. His fingers stroked her face, her hair, her throat. They slid underneath the rolled-up sleeves and the open-necked collar of her shirt, their tough, callused surfaces gliding smoothly over her flesh. She was so soft, he marveled, so satiny, silky soft. It seemed sinful for hands as rough as his to touch skin as fine as hers, but he did it anyway and savored every second.
Sarah had had enough of the game. Her arms left the sofa to wrap around his neck, tugging, pulling him until there wasn't so much as a breath between them. She took her own chance to explore, to thrust her tongue hungrily into the warm dark wetness of his mouth.
Gently he freed his mouth and sat back, his solemn dark blue eyes studying her flushed face, her parted lips, her dazed eyes. She wanted him. He could see it in her face, in the rapid pulse at the base of her throat, in the swollen tips of her breasts. It made him feel powerful … and incredibly tender. If he disappointed her, if he hurt her…
She raised one hand to his chest, feeling the thudding of his heart through the flannel. Still holding his gaze, she unfastened the first button of his shirt, then the second and the third, all the way down to the cool brass of his belt buckle; then she slid her hand underneath the fabric. His chest was smooth, without a single curl to hide the sculpted perfection of well-defined muscles. She found his nipple, round, flat, responsive, and drew one blunt fingernail over it until it was as hard and no doubt as achy as her own. With a sly, lazy smile she located the other one and treated it to the same teasing strokes. Still smiling, she let her hand glide lower, over his stomach, flat and rock solid, across his belt and the rough denim of his jeans, and she found something else rock solid.
Her smile disappeared, only to reappear on the smooth, sensuous lines of Daniel's mouth. "Have you forgotten? I'm a big man," he murmured.
She traced the denim-clad outline of his arousal—long, heated, hard, thick. "Yes," she agreed, her voice less than a murmur. "You are."
Reaching out, he cupped her chin in his hand. "I won't hurt you, Sarah."
She knew that. He had such strength that he could crush her, could literally break her, but that strength was tempered with gentleness, tenderness, goodness. He would never use it against her.
She continued to stroke
him, her fingers gentle and erotic, increasing his need and, curiously, her own. Each time she touched him, her own desire grew, her own ache grew. She needed him against her, over her, inside her, filling her. "Make love to me, Daniel," she whispered. Pleaded.
He almost smiled, but the action was lost before it was completed. He lifted her hand and pressed it to his mouth, biting the soft flesh of her palm, leaving the dampness of his tongue on her skin. Then he stood quickly and easily and lifted her effortlessly in his arms.
She had never been carried to bed before. Sarah laced her fingers around his neck and left a trail of kisses down his throat all the way up the stairs. This was a lovely benefit of his size and incredible strength, she thought as he laid her on his bed; then she thought once again of his arousal and silently repeated the appropriate word. Incredible.
Daniel left her on the bed and made his way across the dark room to the fireplace. Kindling and logs were already laid; all they needed was a match. He found the box of matches, struck one and held the flame to the dried wood. For a moment, as the fire caught and grew, he stood there, thinking of Sarah in the bed behind him, of the awkwardly swollen ache in his groin, of the bigger ache in his heart. She could soothe them both, could satisfy them both—the first again and again, the second for the rest of his life.
The wood was burning brightly now, giving heat, painting the room with its golden light. Daniel turned his back on it while he removed his boots and socks, the braided rug muffling their fall. His shirt was already open. It took just a tug and the unfastening of one button to free it, and then it fell, too. His hands hesitated at the belt buckle; then, with a shrug, he began undoing it. She had seen him naked before, and only moments ago she had caressed him so thoroughly that there couldn't be anything left to surprise her.
SOMEBODY'S BABY Page 15
