Winter Garden

by Adele Ashworth

  “And that’s when you became involved with Grenier,” he finally interjected, wanting to keep her on track by returning to the point of his original question.

  She nodded and looked back into his eyes. Hers were weary, but, as Madeleine always did, she remained regal in her beauty, poised even as she remembered a tumultuous time in her young life. Thomas fought the overpowering urge to rise to his feet and take her in his arms.

  “Yes, I met him during a very boisterous musical production in Cannes. He played a singing traveling salesman, and I was his costumer. I dressed him for the part and eventually I began undressing him as well. But I did not become his lover so that he would teach me the language,” she clarified. “He was my willing tutor for almost two years before we became involved.”

  “You were still a child.”

  “Yes, and terribly naive.”

  Thomas stirred and closed his hands together over his stomach. “Were you in love with him?” he asked in a lowered voice, heart thumping, trying not to betray his concern through his demeanor.

  The clock on the mantel chimed ten, and she smiled again, eyes sparkling as she attempted to lighten the mood. “All these personal questions during one game of chess? I think you are trying to distract me because it’s late and I’m finally beating you.”

  “Your imagination is profoundly vivid, madam,” he replied with feigned shock.

  She tipped her head back and laughed faintly, closing her arms across her middle so that she unknowingly lifted her breasts up, the full, golden curves pushing over the top of her gown.

  Thomas’s gaze naturally dropped to the sight and lingered. When he raised it back to her face, she was watching him intently.

  The corners of her lips turned up shrewdly, and she leaned forward to intentionally offer him more—a spectacular view down her magnificent cleavage.

  “It’s your move, Thomas.”

  His body went hard with those suggestive, silkily spoken words; perspiration beaded on his upper lip and across his neck. But he refused to let her know how just the thought of her affected him. For now.

  He pushed his rook forward six squares to block her. “Answer my question.”

  She chuckled again then dropped her voice to a soft purr. “What is love, Thomas? I cared for Jacques, but I was very young, and he was twenty-eight years my senior. We had little in common beyond the theater, good poetry, and reading, speaking, and writing English. It would probably be more accurate to say we were there for each other at the time. Like most relationships, don’t you think?”

  He knew what she was implying, what she wanted from their relationship while she was in England, or at least what she thought she wanted. Fortunately for both of them he had no intention of ever being there for her for just the moment.

  “Have you ever been in love, Madeleine?” he pressed, his voice caressing as his gaze penetrated hers. “I don’t mean a passing, short-term love affair, or a strictly sexual love, but one that burns deep. One that is passionately real and immeasurably powerful.” He leaned toward her so that the length of the chessboard was the distance between them. “A love that captures your imagination and takes your breath away.”

  The air between them thickened. He could sense that the question unsettled her, because her face flushed and she licked her parted lips as her smile faded.

  Suddenly her eyes betrayed her wariness, and she dropped her lashes, reaching forward to caress the marble king at her fingertips. “Have you?” she asked in a tone barely heard.

  Without the slightest hesitation, he whispered, “Yes.”

  The seriousness and finality exposed in his very forthright answer caught her off guard, and she fidgeted. Their discussion had become deeply personal, and she wasn’t sure how to acknowledge his admission. He’d made her nervous, although she was doing her best to hide it. She just didn’t know how intimately he knew her and how easily he could read her.

  After several seconds she asked, “With your wife?”

  And at that moment Thomas knew that he had her. The lightness was gone from the conversation, and she wanted to know. The attraction had instantly intensified at her demand, and he could hardly contain his grin of jubilance.

  Huskily he replied, “With someone I met years ago, Maddie.”

  Very slowly she raised her eyes to his once more, and he immersed himself in those beautiful liquid pools of unsureness, the heat between them palpable, her breathing uneven as she tightened her grip on her king.

  Then the corners of his lips turned up, his lids narrowed, and without so much as a glance to the board, he pushed his queen forward nine squares, confiscated her queen, then closed his palm over her knuckles.

  “Mate.”

  She didn’t move.

  Her hand felt warm, the skin smooth, and he ran his thumb over her knuckles just once.

  “I didn’t see that coming,” she said shakily.

  “I know,” he returned, conveying a far-reaching certainty. “Some of the greatest surprises in life happen when we least expect them.”

  She blinked, momentarily confused by his rather vague comment. Then she did the unexpected.

  Regaining her poise, she straightened and turned her king on its side. “I am tired of the games, Thomas,” she announced thoughtfully, her expression determined. “I think it is time for me to win.”

  Her eyes, brimming with confidence, shimmered in firelight, and his heart beat faster. She pulled her hand out from beneath his and gracefully raised her body from the sofa, taking two steps around the chessboard so that she stood directly in front of him.

  “Madeleine,” he drawled.

  “Maddie,” she corrected with a cunning smile, grasping the arms of his chair with both hands. Then, leaning over him, she placed her lips on his.

  Thomas didn’t immediately respond to her boldness or the sudden fullness of her warm mouth against his. Part of him wanted to wait to experience the physical between them, but that part was very rapidly losing the battle. He raised his hands and grasped her upper arms, but he neither pushed her away, nor pulled her in. He simply allowed her to stay in control.

  She knew what to do. Expertly she began to kiss him, tilting her head and caressing his mouth with her own, applying more pressure as he began to reciprocate.

  His breathing quickly grew shallow, and that made her eager. She pressed into him, though still keeping her body from touching his. Her hot, wet tongue traced the outline of his upper lip then drove past it, searching. Suddenly she was breathing as fast as he, and very slowly he began to draw her against him.

  She wouldn’t allow herself to close the distance completely. He remained in his chair, and she remained standing over him, off to the side of his thighs. Her tongue darted freely into his mouth, playing intimately with his, and when she finally raised a palm and placed it on his chest, he quietly moaned in pleasure and she sighed in understanding.

  This kiss was better than the first, but he was also better prepared. She smelled of rose perfume; tasted of sweet wine and woman—a pleasure so long denied. He felt the heat from her hand through his fine linen shirt as she very slowly began to caress his chest in wispy circles. And then, indicative of her desire, she started to skillfully unbutton it.

  This time he would let her have her way. At least for a few precious minutes.

  Reaching in, she stroked his skin through thick curls as her lips continued to burn his with a marvelous torment. He responded in kind by gently massaging her arms, running his thumbs along the delicate underskin. That made her whimper faintly.

  “Make love to me, Thomas,” she pleaded in a whisper against his mouth.

  His heart thudded soundly. Only in his dreams had he heard her asking for him to love her totally, and now, after long last, it was real.

  She was real.

  In desperation he couldn’t begin to put into words, he finally did what he’d ached to do for years. With measured slowness, he lowered one hand to her breast, covering it complete
ly as it burned his palm through thin layers of muslin.

  She moaned, kissing him deeply as she pushed into his caress, giving him all, silently asking for more, allowing him the greatest physical fulfillment he’d experienced in recent memory. His breathing grew harsh, and his throat tightened as he glided his thumb across her still-clothed nipple, feeling it harden to a point in response to his touch.

  She moved her hand lower until she ran her fingers over the waistband of his pants. He was erect to the tip, hard with an ageless need, and she certainly felt it. Boldly, her lips and tongue still teasing his, she closed her hand over the length of him, rubbed him once with her slender palm, and he nearly lost control.

  In fear of embarrassing himself, he quickly grabbed her wrists, encircling them with his fingers and thumbs as he gently pushed her back.

  A heady, dark arousal glazed her eyes as she looked into his. They were exquisite eyes expressing hope, passion, and the loveliness inside that she seldom revealed to anyone. He saw it all now, rousing the bittersweet memory of the first time he’d seen them, and he knew without question that he would never disappoint her when she looked at him like that.

  Swiftly he was on his feet, taking control at last as he shifted her once again toward the sofa. She didn’t say a word or glance away, but her moist, full lips pulled up in a knowing smile.

  She sat upon the cushion and lifted her feet to stretch out across it, her head resting on a pillow at the armrest. Thomas released her wrists, extinguished the lamp next to them, then stood above her, watching firelight reflect off her golden skin and her thick, silky lashes create soft crescents on her glowing cheeks and brows. She stared at him, reached for him with an open hand, her raw hunger exposed. It took all that was in him as a man not to lift her skirts, climb above her, and enter her sweetness. It’s what she wanted, probably expected, and that in itself was all the pleasure he needed for now.

  “My gown,” she said breathlessly.

  He shook his head. He was desperate but not ready for total exposure. That would come at a later time when he had much more to reveal. Yet like this he could still give her what she needed.

  With a pounding heart, he awkwardly lowered himself to his knees between the sofa and the tea table, leaned into the cushion, rested a hand upon her forehead, and placed his lips on hers again.

  Madeleine, for a very brief moment, thought she was dreaming. The man didn’t take, he gave. She hadn’t been prepared for that, or for the intensity she witnessed in his longing. She had seen it in his eyes all evening, and now she felt it in his extraordinary touch.

  His lips lingered on hers, and she raised her arms, clasping them about his neck, entwining her fingers in the soft hair at his nape. The heat radiated from every pore, from her skin to his, even through clothing that she hoped he would soon remove, piece by piece, layer by layer, until nothing remained in the way of their joining.

  She inhaled sharply when she realized he had taken her breast in his palm again and rubbed her nipple to a peak, wishing through this marvelous dream that he would take it in his mouth, that he would take all of her in his mouth.

  “Thomas…” she whispered through an aching breath.

  He remained silent as he began to kiss a trail across her cheek, stopping at her ear, stroking it with his tongue, causing her to tremble. He moved to her neck, down her throat and chest, until he reached the tops of her breasts, his hot, moist breath coming in uneven waves and setting her skin on fire.

  Madeleine raked her fingers through his hair, clasping the back of his head as he kissed the top curve of both breasts then gently ran his cheek across them, his rough whiskers causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms.

  “Maddie…” she heard him whisper.

  “Don’t stop, Thomas.”

  With that, his passion became fierce. He captured her mouth again with his own, his tongue thrusting inside until he found hers and began to tease, flick, suck, his palm on her breast, kneading the fullness with his large, warrior-like hand.

  She whimpered and reached for him, but this time he grabbed her arms, forcing them above her head. Her fingers struck the chess pieces, knocking several of them over onto the marble board, but he didn’t appear to notice the noisy intrusion. Instead he clasped both of her wrists together with his free hand and held them there.

  Squirming, she tried to raise her skirts with her legs without much success, and he took to the task and finished it for her. She lay there exposed to him, only sheer linen drawers between them, and desperately she wanted him inside of her.

  As if sensing her need, he suddenly released her wrists and mouth, and lowered his head to her breasts where he began to rub his cheeks, then his lips and teeth, across the tips of them, over her gown, striking her with the dull ache of pleasure as her nipples tightened against his ruthless caress. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of want, his hand took over at her breasts, and she felt him move farther down her body until his head rested on her belly at her hips.

  She pushed up against him, her still-covered mound dusting his cheek, and she heard him inhale deeply, then moan and mumble something she could not understand.

  With shaky fingers, he reached between her legs, urgently now, and she sensed the intensity in him rising. He fumbled with the soft material until he found the slit and parted it. At long last she felt his fingers touch her where she desired him most, at first timidly, then intimately as he began to stroke the wet, slick heat.

  She gasped his name again, lifting her body just enough to meet his tender probing, but he didn’t raise himself, or turn to face her, or kiss her again as she so anxiously wanted him to do. He made no move to enter her, but continued to stroke her breasts with one hand and her cleft with the other while he kneeled on the floor and leaned against the sofa.

  Madeleine closed her eyes tightly, fingers in his hair, holding his head as she realized he wanted her to climax like this. And she was nearing it. It was so fast, so erotic to her, this man with his face in her feminine curls, inhaling and moaning and kissing her there while his fingers explored her at first cautiously, then bravely as he slowly pushed one of them deeply inside.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, jumping involuntarily when his thumb touched that delicate center nub, but his pursuit was perfect. He didn’t stop. He pushed his left hand down and inside the top of her gown to grasp what he could of her breast, massaging it while he continued to torment her below, his finger within, his thumb stroking her faster and harder, taking her to her crest.

  She whimpered again, over and over, clutching him with firm hands when she felt the steady rise to that blissful point of no return.

  He recognized it.

  “Come to me, Maddie….”

  She obeyed the command.

  Her belly tightened; her legs stiffened. And then the climax burst forth from the inside, tearing a cry from her lips as she clenched her fists in his hair and her hips jerked against his hand and cheek, and she in turn stroked his finger with internal spasms of pleasure.

  “Oh, God.” She heard him groan from deep in his chest.

  Suddenly his palm gripped her breast, and his embrace became rigid as she arched into him. She felt his quick breath on her inner thighs, his enormous body shudder against her at her completion, and she held to him tightly until it subsided.

  Gradually she quieted, and he calmed his movements. Neither of them spoke or moved for a minute or two as their breathing became regular and her body relaxed. At last he pulled his finger from her and turned his face so that his forehead rested on her hipbone. She caressed his silky hair and glided her palm along his neck.

  “I want you inside of me, Thomas,” she said very softly.

  He inhaled with finality and stroked her intimately one last time. Then drawing back, he lifted his arms and hands from her body and awkwardly stood.

  Without a word, or even a glance to her face, he walked away, his limp pronounced with every step of his boots on the wooden stairs that led
to his room above the cottage.

  Chapter 10

  When she awakened to an empty house, Madeleine knew she would find him by the lake. It was Thomas’s favorite spot for thinking things through in peaceful silence, and it was quickly becoming hers as well. She would talk to him there.

  Stepping onto the porch and into the clear morning, she breathed deeply of the frigid air and took a moment to close her eyes to the rising sun, just peeking above the thin layer of clouds on the horizon. Then she donned her gloves, clasped the neck of her cloak together tightly, and turned toward the path that led to the back of the cottage.

  The night had passed slowly, and she had slept little. The wind had died down without so much as a drop of rain. What had kept her awake was the memory of Thomas’s hands on her body, the look in his passion-filled eyes when they stared into hers, and the troubling memory of him leaving her—without taking what she wanted to give, without a single word.

  She just didn’t understand his actions. No man had ever left her like that before, and although her experience with the larger sex wasn’t exactly limited, she wasn’t so thoroughly seasoned that she could say she understood male sexuality to any degree of perfection. No man had ever made love to her and then not received his own satisfaction at her request, although it was true that Thomas was like few men she had ever known. Still, at base level he was a man, and a man who desired her—so blatantly, in fact, that it was almost charmingly humorous.

  At first thought in the late night hours, as she’d lain awake in bed staring at the ceiling, she’d decided he was simply insecure. If his leg injuries were more severe than she had earlier assumed, it was possible he was reluctant to let her see them. Yet this didn’t entirely explain his silent departure. He could have had her without removing his clothing, and although his legs might be mangled to some degree, he should know her well enough by now to realize this would never repulse her.