Every Move She Makes

by Beverly Barton

  “I’m not defending him,” Ella replied. “I’m simply pointing out the facts, which y’all seem perfectly willing to overlook.”

  “There’s circumstantial evidence.” Webb stomped across the room to the liquor cabinet, flung it open, and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. “As a good lawyer and now a judge, you should know that sometimes circumstantial evidence is enough to convict.”

  “Only when the person’s guilt has been proven beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  Carolyn clapped her hands together. “Enough. Enough. I hate it when the two of you argue.” She looked beseechingly at Ella. “Dear, you mustn’t be fooled by any sob stories you hear about that young man from either his mother or his sister. Is that it, Ella? Have you been listening to Judy or Regina professing Reed’s innocence?”

  “No, Mother, I haven’t been listening to anyone,” Ella said. “And I didn’t mean to argue with Daddy. I was simply pointing out what Frank Nelson had already explained—that he cannot arrest a man without evidence, and there is none in this case.”

  “Oh, dear me. All this talk of guilt and innocence is wearing me to a frazzle.” Carolyn sighed dramatically. “Ella, call Viola to come take me upstairs. Then I want you and your father to kiss and make up. Do it for me.”

  Ella leaned down, placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  Carolyn patted Ella’s hand. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you? You’ve always been so considerate of my feelings.”

  Carolyn gave Webb a meaningful glance and Ella understood that look. She’d seen it before, more times that she could count. When she’d been younger, that forlorn, melancholy look her mother often gave her father had puzzled Ella. But in her late teens, she had finally figured out the meaning. It was Carolyn’s subtle, nonverbal way of chastising her husband, of letting him know that he was not being considerate, understanding, or attentive enough to suit her.

  Ignoring his wife’s silent reprimand, Webb poured himself a glass of bourbon. Ella released the catch on her mother’s wheelchair, grabbed the handles, and pivoted her mother around toward the door.

  “I’ll call Viola for you,” Ella said. “Of course, if you’d like, I can come up with you and help you.”

  “No, dear, you stay and see if you can improve your father’s mood. He’s been a real bear ever since he heard about the break-in. He’s terribly worried about you.” Carolyn choked back her tears. “And so am I. If anything ever happened to you…”

  “Nothing is going to happen to me.”

  Before Ella had the chance to say more or to give her mother a hug, Viola appeared at the top of the stairs. “Are you ready to come up for the night, Miss Carolyn?”

  “Yes, please, Viola. I’m weary after that long drive from the Gulf.”

  Viola descended the stairs with quick, heavy footsteps. Ella stood aside and watched while Viola lifted Carolyn from the wheelchair and placed her in the chairlift that had been built into the stairs shortly after Carolyn’s accident.

  As the lift began moving, Carolyn waved and smiled, then called out, “Go talk to your father.”

  Ella released a heavy breath. Now, to face Webb Porter’s displeasure.

  Just as she started to reenter the den, she met her father coming out the door. “Let’s take a walk, princess,” Webb said. “I haven’t looked in on Beau and Stonewall and Lee since I got home. I want to take them some treats.”

  Ella nodded, a sense of relief inching its way through her body. Webb had given her a reprieve, perhaps deciding that Reed Conway wasn’t worth continuing the argument with her. Whatever the reason that her father had decided to cease and desist, she was grateful. She never seemed to win a battle with him.

  “There’s rain in the air.” Webb took a deep breath upon entering the back porch, then reached down to a sack of dog treats he kept there, removed two handfuls, and stuffed them in his pockets.

  Ella sighed contentedly when her father took her arm and draped it through his as they went down the steps that led to the patio. The aroma of honeysuckle wafted about them, mixing with the heady scent of roses from the garden.

  “Did you and Mother enjoy your vacation?” Ella asked.

  “We had a pleasant time,” Webb said. “Your mother always enjoys having my undivided attention.”

  “You two should get away together more often. I know Mother would like that.”

  “Hm.”

  “Daddy, is something wrong—other than concern about me and the break-in? You seem distracted.”

  He caressed her arm. “Nothing for you to worry about. Just some old business that won’t go away.”

  Ella loved these moments alone with her father. Throughout her childhood, he had taken time for her. To talk. To listen. Showing a genuine interest in her life. She did so adore her father and had always strived to please him.

  He certainly wouldn’t be very pleased if he knew you’d had sex with Reed Conway.

  Twilight shadows fell across the backyard. The hum of nighttime insects began to stir to life. During the daylight hours, sleepy Southern towns often looked old, tired, and sometimes shabby. Hybrid creatures, a blend of a bygone era with touches of progress here and there. But come sundown and towns like Spring Creek took on a magical quality. Like faded beauties, faded towns appeared their best by candlelight or moonlight. Behind the closed doors of the stately old mansions, the modern houses in new neighborhoods, and the rundown homes in need of repair, people lived and loved and died. Some with dignity. Some with passion. Others with cruel intentions.

  “The boys are quiet tonight,” Webb said as they approached the kennels. “They’re usually boisterous when they hear me coming.”

  Ella flipped the switch that turned on the lights surrounding the kennel area. All three dogs seemed to be asleep. They were stretched out on the ground just inside the fence. An oddly unnerving feeling rippled along Ella’s nerve endings.

  Webb whistled and then called out, “Get up, you lazy hounds.” He pulled out a handful of treats. “I’ve got some goodies for you. Come on, Lee. Get up, Beau. Stonewall—”

  Webb broke into a run, unlatched the gate, and hurried inside the enclosure. He tossed aside the treats he’d brought with him.

  “Daddy, what’s wrong?” Ella cried out as she raced after him.

  Webb knelt down and ran his hand over the unmoving Stonewall. When Ella approached, she knew before her father said a word. Knew that her daddy’s hunting dogs—animals he dearly loved—were dead.

  Chapter 20

  Regina helped Mark fill the dishwasher and clean up the kitchen after their meal. Her boss had a lovely old house that had belonged to his parents. Odd, she thought, how much at home she felt here, in this house with Mark. But then she supposed she’d feel the same way no matter where she was, as long as she was with the man she loved. He had been kind and caring since the moment she rushed into his arms after fleeing from the Carlisle home hours ago. He had listened to her rant and rave and cry. But not once had he been judgmental of her mother or Webb Porter. After she’d vented her initial frustration, she had calmed down enough to enjoy the meal with Mark, and it was while they were eating orange sherbet that he’d told her he had telephoned her mother earlier, so that she wouldn’t worry.

  “Would you like to sit outside in the swing for a while?” Mark asked. “Since the sun has set, it should be a lot cooler.”

  She nodded and gave him a fragile smile. He took her hand in his and led her from the kitchen, through the house, and onto the side porch, which was secluded from the street and the neighboring house by a tall, white fence. They sat side by side, letting the warm night air caress their skin. Mark lifted his arm and draped it across the back of the swing. Regina scooted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder.

  “I think it’s going to rain,” he said, then leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. “Feeling better?”

  Regina sighed. “Yes, some
. Thank you.”

  “Are you ready to go home and talk to your mother?”

  She shook her head. “Not tonight.” She glanced at him in the semidarkness, the moonlight and streetlight creating the only illumination in the dark night except for an occasional burst of heat lighting off in the distance. “Could I stay here with you tonight?”

  After clearing his throat, Mark swallowed hard. “I know you aren’t telling me that you want to sleep with me, but if you stay the night, people are bound to talk. Will you mind if my neighbors think we’re having an affair?”

  “I wish we were having an affair,” Regina said. “I wish we could make love tonight and every night. You can’t imagine how inadequate I feel not being able to give myself to you the way any other woman could.”

  Mark kissed her again, softly, nondemanding. He didn’t touch her, and his gentle approach allowed Regina to respond without feeling threatened. She knew she was safe with Mark. He would never ask more of her than she was willing to give. She opened up to him, allowing him to ease his tongue inside her mouth and explore with leisurely tenderness. A shiver of sexual longing fluttered inside her stomach, and of their own accord, her arms lifted and her hands flattened against his chest. He deepened the kiss. She loved the feelings bursting inside her. A tightening sensation. A tingling awareness. Then suddenly Mark cupped the nape of her neck. No, don’t, she cried silently. Junior had held her neck, forcing her to lie still so that he could kiss her. His breath had smelled of beer and cigarettes. He had trapped her beneath him, pinning her to the ground. And while he’d ravaged her mouth, he had rammed his hand inside her panties and…

  Regina jerked free, jumped up, and gulped in deep, nervous breaths. Mark rose to his feet, but didn’t touch her.

  “I’m sorry, honey. What did I do that upset you?”

  “My neck,” she said, between quick, harsh breaths. “Junior held my neck and…and…Oh, Mark!” She swerved around and flung herself at him. “Hold me. Please hold me.”

  He engulfed her in his big, strong arms and pressed comforting kisses along the side of her face. “It’s all right, Regina. Oh, honey, it’s all right.”

  Burying her face against his chest, she clung to him, shivering, but not crying. Regina wasn’t sure how long he held her like that, but she was fully aware of his erection pressing against her. And strangely enough, the feel of his arousal didn’t frighten her.

  Because you trust Mark totally.

  Mark released her, then grasped her shoulders and said, “Let’s try something that will give you complete control over the situation.”

  She stared at him, puzzled by his suggestion. “What do you mean?”

  “We care about each other, and I think you want me as much as I want you, but you’re not ready for us to make love. I understand and I accept the fact that I’ll have to be patient with you.”

  “I’m not worth—”

  He pressed his index finger over her lips. “Shush. Don’t ever say you’re not worth the wait. You, my sweet Regina, are well worth the wait.” He took her hands in his and laid them on his chest. “Why don’t you touch me, kiss me, do whatever you want to me, and I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

  “What?”

  “We can start out here, in the swing, or we can go inside. It’s your call. You’re the one in charge.”

  “Mark?”

  “What, honey?”

  Regina’s voice trembled. “What if I don’t…can’t—”

  “Hey, kiss me, touch me, tickle me, strip me naked. Whatever you want. I’m putty in your hands.”

  She eyed the swing. The porch was totally secluded. Here they had complete privacy. Even though she wasn’t sure why, somehow she felt safer outside than she would in the house.

  Did she have the courage to do as Mark had requested? To take charge, be in control, do with him as she wished?

  With trembling hands, she undid the buttons on his shirt, all the way to his waist. He stood perfectly still, his arms hanging limp and his hands curled into loose fists. Regina spread apart Mark’s shirt. Her breath caught in her throat. He was stocky built, with a broad, thick chest, but she’d never realized how muscular he was. She touched him, tentatively at first, smoothing only her fingertips over his hard, masculine flesh. However, that wasn’t enough for her. She curled a lock of chest hair around an index finger, then sought out his small male nipples. When she circled one and then the other with the tip of her finger, Mark drew in a deep breath.

  Regina glanced up, looking directly into his eyes. He smiled. She returned the smile. And without thinking, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth. He didn’t move a muscle. She kissed him again and when he responded, she inched her tongue inside his mouth and was rewarded with a sensual moan erupting from his throat.

  Her lips moved down his neck and over his exposed shoulder blades. Mark shivered. She painted damp kisses over his chest, stopping to lave each nipple. He blew out a shuddering breath.

  “Would you let me see you naked?” she asked. “Even if I leave on my clothes?”

  “If that’s what you want, yes.”

  “Maybe we should go inside now…to your bedroom.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As long as I’m in charge.”

  “You’re in charge. I promise.”

  She took his hand and led him inside, where he indicated with a nod of his head in which direction they should go. Mark’s bedroom was magnificently masculine, but decorated with the flair and style that Regina associated with the man himself. Honey-toned paneling graced the walls of the large room, and various shades of tan, beige, brown, and gold dominated the area. Bookshelves flanked the fireplace, and a trio of oil paintings of thoroughbred horses hung above the mantel.

  Tugging on his hand, she drew him across the room and over to the king-size bed with a woven straw headboard. The tan-and-brown striped spread had been turned down to reveal crisp beige linens. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows that spread across one wall.

  Regina unbuckled Mark’s belt, then undid his slacks and unzipped them. “Would you…please…take off your clothes?”

  Casually, as if he had all the time in the world and undressing before her was an everyday occurrence, Mark removed his shirt and tossed it on the five-foot square tufted ottoman at the foot of the bed. While Regina looked on, her gaze glued to his body, he bent down, took off his shoes and socks, and then slid his slacks down and off, placing them alongside his discarded shirt. He stood before her wearing only his navy blue boxer shorts. The bulge of his erection strained against the fly front.

  “Do you want me to leave these on”—he tweaked the elastic waistband of his shorts—“or take them off?”

  She wanted to see all of him, every rock hard inch of his thick, stocky body. She longed to run her hands over his hair-roughened chest and arms and legs. And he would let her do whatever she wanted to do and ask nothing in return.

  “Please…” She hesitated, frightened by her own bold thoughts. “Take them off.”

  He obeyed her request, turned his back, bent at the waist and pulled down his shorts, then kicked them aside. Regina sucked in her breath at the sight of his tight buttocks and the glimpse of his scrotum. When he straightened to his full height, he didn’t turn and face her, so she rushed to him and wrapped her arms around his naked waist. Hurriedly, as if her lips were on fire and his bare back provided the only cooling balm, she spread kisses from his shoulders to his spine. He trembled.

  Inch by slow, torturous inch, she crept her fingers over his belly and downward until she encountered his penis, which stood at full alert.

  For a split second, unbidden memories of Junior taking her hand and forcing her to touch him ceased her exploration of Mark’s body. This isn’t Junior, she reminded herself. You would never have willingly touched him. This is Mark. The man you love. The man who loves you.

  She circled his penis with her hand. He groaned. She released her hold on him.
Grasping his shoulder, she turned him around, but kept her gaze on his face as she marched him backward toward the bed. With a heady feeling of power, she gave him a shove and toppled him onto the bed. He lay there, spread out, waiting for whatever she chose to do next. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word. But he gazed at her with such undeniable passion that Regina swayed toward him, drawn by the sexual undercurrent passing between them.

  Still fully clothed, she crawled into bed with him, straddling him. She covered his body with kisses, stopping only when she reached his bulging sex. She wanted to put her mouth on him, to taste, to lick, to suck.

  “I want to…” she couldn’t bring herself to say the words aloud.

  “Do it,” he said, his voice hoarse with desire.

  She nuzzled him with her nose first. The musky scent of him excited her, but she was unable to go further, to actually touch him with her mouth. She lifted her head, sat up, and scooted away from him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t.”

  “It’s all right,” he told her.

  “I don’t know why you want me.” She shook her head as tears gathered in her eyes. “I’m of no use to you. Not the way a woman should be to a man.”

  Lying there, flat on his back, Mark held out his hand to her. When she placed her hand in his, he drew her toward him, then laid her hand over his penis. She sighed. Her fingers curled around him. He encompassed her hand with his and began moving her hand up and down. Within seconds she relaxed and became one with the rhythm he set, so that when he removed his hand, she continued the caress.

  “I’m fixing to come, honey,” he groaned the admission.

  Nodding her understanding, she accelerated the rhythm.

  Clutching the bedding tightly on either side of his hips, Mark groaned and jerked spasmodically as his semen jetted out, covering Regina’s hand. She watched his face, the expression akin to pain. But it wasn’t pain, it was ecstasy. Suddenly she realized that she had given him this wonderful pleasure. He lay there for quite some time, but she continued to hold on to his penis, although she could feel his erection subsiding. Still breathing raggedly, he sat up, circled her wrist and removed her hand. He scooted off the bed and took her with him, then guided her into the adjoining bathroom, where he washed her hands before cleaning himself.