The children stood in line, holding out their hands for Gwen’s inspection. At her nod, the fourth oldest made a beeline for the table, but an abashed Christopher drudged back to the wash sink. To his amazement, the other children waited patiently by their chairs, and told her younger brother washed his hands.
They all saw him at once, simultaneously shouting. “Michaels here.” Instantly his stare was drawn to Gwen. She was dressed simply, the flower dusts apron hiding most of Jeanette’s green dress, but to Michael, she’d never looked lovelier. Glancing up to a smile at him, she neared took his breath away.
“Jude and I have fried some fish,” she said, gesturing at the table. “Won’t you join us?”
It all got tangled up–the dinner smells, the children’s laughter, the excitement in the air–translating into his need for hit this woman.
“Don’t trust it,” a tiny voice caution. Maybe she hadn’t really changed; maybe his wanting her so badly made him far too ready to believe. This was Gwen, he shouldn’t forget, the woman who made an art form of teasing him out of his shell, only to leave him time and again, feeling foolish, and empty, and all alone.
With a nod, he broke their gaze and join Christopher at the wash sink. Their arrangement was temporary anyway. Once she fulfilled her commitment, once she provided herself to everyone’s satisfaction, Gwen had set herself, she would be moving on.
Yet, as he sat at the table and watched her with the children, her smiles at their not always successful attempts to show off their manners, he found it more and more difficult to resist her magic. Like Jude’s Merlin, Gwen was weaving a spell around him, and enchantment he found hard to resist. Watching her, wanting her more now than he ever could have imagined, he decided he must find some way to win an keep her. If you play the perfect gentleman, if he wooed her softly and gently, somehow he–with the help of the children–must eventually convince her to stay.
In his heart, he knew he was dreaming, and this particular dream when not come cheap. Long accustomed to luxury and pampering, Gwen couldn’t endure hardship forever. He might win her with courtship, but keep her, he’d have to have money. And right now, for him, money was in short supply.
Which made it all that more imperative to get that harvest in on time.
Throughout the rest of the meal, and even after reading the book to the children while Gwen it did up the dishes, he struggled to find a way to explain why he couldn’t be here tomorrow. Maybe he should tell Gwen instead and let her break the news to the children gently.
Not that telling her would be any easier.
Finishing his reading, he closed up the book. The children protested, begging for more, but Michael insisted. He was going out back to wash up, and then he had to leave.
“Besides,” Gwen said, coming up from behind, “tomorrow is a special day. If you hope to win the tournament, you children will want all the sleep you can get.”
They stopped grumbling, rising obediently, if reluctantly. About to mention the change in plans, Michael was distracted by the glint of metal at Jude’s neck when the girl rose to her feet.
Not again, he thought, seeing her quickly talk the necklace back into her shirt. “Is that Gwen’s locket around your neck?” He said, wondering what fascination it could hold that the girl kept feeling the need to swipe it.
“She did not take it.” Patrick blurted out from the doorway. “I gave it to her.”
“And I gave it to Patrick,” Gwen said, sliding closer. As Jude pulled the chain up and over her head, Gwen turned to stop her. “No, it is all right. Please, I want you to keep it. I think my mother would want that.”
As Jude smiled up at her, Michael was stuck by how pretty the girl would be, how soon she would be breaking hearts of her own. It hit him then how rarely he had seen Jude smile.
More magic, he thought with a sigh. When was weaving her spell around all of them.
He stood back as he shooed the children off to bed, impressed by how quickly they all went. When the children were off, she flashed a tentative grin. “I guess I should have told you earlier. After the fuss I made about the locket, I can’t blame you for doubting that I gave it away.”
“I do find myself wondering why you did.”
“I gave it to Patrick, in return for a favor, and you know how they are with each other. He knew how much that locket meant to his sister. How she associated it with her own mother.”
“I thought it meant a lot to you.”
“It does.” She went into the kitchen to finished drying the dishes. “But I realized Jude needs it more than me right now. She is going through a difficult time, and she needs some link with her past. She calls it her talisman and wears it everywhere. She won’t sleep, or even bathe without it.”
He took the plate from her and put it away. “You have been remarkably patient with her. She can be a difficult child.”
“Not difficult. Just confused.” Giving him the last dish, she set down the towel. “It is not easy to lose your mother, when you are just learning to be a woman.”
He leaned up against the cover, arms folded across his chest. “Are you talking about Jude or yourself?”
For a moment, she seemed startled. “I guess Jude and I have a lot more in common than we bargained on. A fact that sometimes helps in understanding each other, yet often hinders. We can both be quite bullheaded.”
He grinned down at her. “Yes, I have found that, too,”
“Go ahead and laugh, but if you only knew what I have had to go through this past week, planning that tournament-“she froze, searching his face. “What is it?”
It all came rushing back, the pressure of the harvest, how much you killed him to disappoint them. “Something has come up.”
Looking away, she slowly and deliberately untied the strings to remove the apron from her waist. “I see. You’re not coming.”
“Gwen-“
“There is no need to explain.” The words were as wooden as her posture as she brushed past him. “I understand, truly.”
He reached out and spun her to face him. “No, you don’t, dammit. I have no choice but to be out there working. I owe money. It was a short-term loan that I hoped to pay off by now…” He paused, seeing no sense in telling her that the debt would have been paid had her uncle given him the amount he owed him. “Well, let’s just say that I have less than a month among to come up with the money, or the firm of Barclay and Tibbs will just about kill any hopes I might have for the future.”
“Can’t you request an extension? Daddy always did.”
“Your father’s name carries a lot more weight than mine,” he said bitterly. “Can’t evening get past the clerk to plead my case. He says the owners are too busy to bother with my kind.”
She winced, and looking down, he saw how tightly he gripped her. So much for wooing her tenderly. Angry with himself, he removed his hands gently. He cannot, however, bring himself to move away.
“But it is so unfair,” she said. “How can they decide what kind of man you are, without even meeting you?”
Though her anger touched him, and made him realize how little she truly knew about him. “Mine is what they called a checkered history,” he felt compelled to explain. “I have been moving around since I was 14, and bankers tend to like folks that stick in one place. I am not the kind of risk they are fond of taking.”
“Then they are fools. Blind ones, if they cannot see that you are well worth risking a few measly dollars.”
She spoke so vehemently, he felt like taking a gamble of his own. “Am I?” He asked. “How much would you risk, my lady?”
He stared into her eyes, making it clear that his question had nothing to do with financial loss, that it was her emotions he wanted her to put on the line. Gazing at her lovely face, hoping became wanting, one great aching need to possess her, to convince her in the age old fashion that she belonged at his side.
But in his heart, he knew she must make the decision, so he stood there holding his br
eath, knowing so much could depend on what she said or did next.
What she did was turn away, making great business of hanging her apron on a peg on the wall. “If I had the money,” she said, so softly he nearly did not hear, “you would never again need to go begging to bankers.”
It was less than he had wanted, yet more than he could reasonably hope for, and a cautious man would quit and cut his losses. But Michael was at heart a gambler, and he had yet to play out his hand. “I was not asking for cash,” he said quietly. She didn’t move, just kept holding on to that apron. With a shrug, he went to the door, offering a parting shot. “It was never a matter of money, my lady. All I wanted was you.”
He went outside and then, before he can make a bigger fool of himself, and headed straight for the tub. Ripping off his shirt, he cursed himself for getting carried away. He knew it would be sometime yet before he could offer heard the life she was used to, and until he could, there was no sense issuing any invitations. Not even a hopeless romantic could expect Queen Gwen to bed down with a common dirt farmer.
As he unbuttoned and kicked free of his pants, he thought longingly of cold, mountain streams, needing something to chill down his yearnings. The water from the barrel still held the warmth from the sun, and though he scrubbed himself fiercely under the shower, it did little to cool him off. Stepping out of the tub to dry off, he kept thinking of the night she’d come to him here, how tightly he held her, how close he’d been to making her his own.
So strong was the memory, that at first, he couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw her. It was easy to blame his imagination, for she seemed almost ghostly as she glided toward him through the moonlight, a piece of long, white material draped on her arm.
With the tightening in his groin, he saw that she wore only her underwear. Her smooth white lambs, her luscious breasts-all so touchable, kissable, yet so completely unreal. Pale and solemn, stopped before him to search his face, waiting for him to say something, it how could he talk to a dream? One word and she’d evaporated, vanish on the breeze.
It was Gwen who spoke, breaking the spell. “I, er, thought you might need this,” she said with a half-smile, holding out a long, white towel.
She was either incredibly naïve, or boldly manipulative, both of which played havoc with his emotions. “Are you out of your mind, coming out here to me like this?” He asked, reaching for her arm. “What are you up to now?”
“We didn’t quite get it right the last time.”
He noticed her voice trembled, but he was too angry to care. “No, we didn’t, and I warned you what would happen, if you try to something like that again.”
“I know.”
“You know? I’m two seconds away from taking you right here on the bare ground! If you had any sense, you would run as fast and far as you can.”
She bit her lip, but resolutely spread the towel out beside them.
“Now it is not bare ground.” Her entire body trembled.
“Dammit, Gwen,” Michael ground out. “Do you know what you are doing?”
With a quick, nervous nod, she moved nearer still, until he could feel her soft, peaking breasts beneath her bra. “I am well aware of the risk,” she told him huskily. “And I imperfectly willing to take it. How about you?”
With every inch of him yearning for her, but he held himself in check, too afraid to trust what his eyes and ears and heart were telling him. He had dreamed his dream too long for it to be true. Gwen, coming to him it offering her trust on a silver platter?
She reached up suddenly, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Quick, Michael, kiss me, “she whispered. “Don’t let me change my mind.”
Suddenly, it no longer mattered if it were real or not. All that existed was Gwen’s hot body, pressed up against him, her breath soft and warm on his face. Sliding his hands through her hair to cradle her head, he leaned down to take the lips so miraculously offered.
He felt a surge of longing as their lips met, of power as her lips parted beneath his. Though he knew the importance of gentling her, of taking time to do this right, the taste of her, her sweet, salty taste, scent of fresh soap on her skin, the soft, silky texture of her hair. He had to have her, all over, and he had to have her now.
He forced himself away from her mouth, his lips clinging to hers until the very last moment. “Last chance,” he forced himself to grind out, his bombs tracing the moist corners of her mouth. “Still sure you want this?”
“I want you,” she told him in a seducing whisper.
Staring at each other, communicating their mutual need, their knees gave way in unison as they sank together to the soft ground. Kissing her, cradling her, he lowered her down to the towel. “I am your vassal,” he whispered back. “I live to serve you, my lady.”
And as it had when they were children, the phrase opened up a magical world, only this time, it was his world. Earthly and sweet, the aroma of soil and vegetation jointed, scenting the air with its rich and fertile perfume. All around in the Bayou played its night music, a symphony of sultry sounds. The chirping of tree frogs and insects matching the beat of his heart as he kissed her arched neck; the breeze whispering through Spanish moss echoed her sighs.
His lips move down, down, tracing the swell of her breasts. His mouth dipped lower, his tongue teasing her nipples through the cotton of her bra, and her moans mingled with the low, distant cry of a bird.
Lifting up his head to slide the bra from her shoulders, he kneeled between her legs, watching her face. Moonlight danced over features, lending a special glow as she smiled up at him. Sheer gold and silver, she was more than a shimmering vision; she was his treasure.
“You are so damn beautiful,” he said deeply, drawn back to her mouth. Kissing her, devouring her, his lips wandered to the valley between her breasts, bare now and waiting for his touch. Tracing a line up to a shivering nipple, he took it whole in his mouth, twirling his tongue around it, sucking deeply. Her hands dug into his hair, holding onto him as if her life depended on it. “Oh Michael,” she kept moaning.
His hands slid down, sliding up what remained of her underwear so is naked flesh could touch hers. Stroking her thighs, suckling her breast, he could feel himself expanding, growing hard with need. Her skin felt hot to the touch, so hot and moist against him, he went a little wild. He had to have her, now, or surely he would explode.
He tried to prepare her, sliding his fingers inside to ease the way, but she groaned so in his ear, and wiggled so intensely against him, he could wait no longer. He raised up to look into her eyes. “Help me, my lady,” he begged. “I have got to be inside of you.”
As her fingers closed around his engorged flesh, a jolt of sheer lust shot through him. He would have lost control, had her eyes not gone instantly wide, warning that she needed reassurance. “I will go easy,” he told her, praying he had the willpower. “Trust me.”
Her smile reached down into his soul, turning him inside out. And no a fire raged its war inside him, he held tight to the image of that smile as he eased slowly, gently inside her. Alternately withdrawing, then pushing against her resistance, he Hearing the word trust, reverberating in his brain. She felt so good, so tight and warm, every push became overwhelming temptation, every withdrawal, sheer torture.
As it did test them, Gwen wrapped her legs around his thighs, arching her back to move against him, urging him deeper, harder, until with eight thrust of her hips, she helped break the barrier.
“Don’t stop,” she cried out when he hesitated. “Oh, Michael, not now.”
Nor could he. Alive with the sweet, impossible miracle of her eager and hot in his arms, he kissed her hungrily. Their bodies began to move as one, Gwen meeting him thrust for thrust, her hands seeming to touch them everywhere at once. She’s mine now, his brain sang in victory, and he drove deep inside her. Spiraling upward, he could feel her gather around him, tightening, until he thought he would go insane.
“Oh, oh Michael!” She cried out, shuddering benea
th him. “Oh.”
At her release, he felt himself pour into her in a swift powerful flood of relief, filling her with every ounce of his being. She’s mine, he thought again, the miracle of no less sweet as his thrust tapered into a dying rhythm, and he sank, happy and replete, to the towel beside her.
Too overwhelmed to speak, to think, he lay on his back for a few moments, looking up at the sky. How many nights has he stared at the night, yearning for this? He rolled over to gaze at her, still finding it incredible that she was here, that he hadn’t imagined her coming to him. She turned at the same time, facing him with a gentle, content smile.
His hand went up to trace her cheek. “Are you real? I find it hard to believe this happened.”
“I know.” She leaned into his touch. “I don’t know what came over me, but standing in that kitchen, I knew I couldn’t let you go away like that. It suddenly seemed to be the right thing to do, the only thing to do.”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He wanted to talk about tomorrow, and the day after that, but perhaps it was too soon to press for a commitment. She would need more time-and a whole lot more loving-to get used to the idea of staying.
And he had a long way to go before he could take care of her properly.
Reminded of all he had to do, he rose with a weary sigh. He reached for his close, jamming his legs into the trousers, stuffing his arms in his shirt.
“I see.” She sat up, hastily grabbing for her bra. “It seems I had made a mistake.”
He froze, waiting to have his worst fears confirmed. Once again, she was merely toying with him. “Another mistake?”
“Obviously, you got better things to do than waste your time with me.”
“Oh God, Gwen, no.” He reached down for her, point her against him. That’s what this was about? She was feeling slighted?
“I did not command here to manipulate you, you know. I’m not after a favor or some trinket, or even to lure you to the tournament. I understand about your dream, Michael, and I’d never do anything to stop you from realizing it.” Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. “If anything, come yet here to you was my way of telling you that.”
The Willows Page 31
