A Winter Heart, Sexy Amish Historical Novella
Page 6
“I don’t need false compliments, Caleb.”
“I never lie, er, except to marry the woman I love.”
Hannah bit her lip. “I should not smile at a lie.”
“We will make it true, starting now, yes?”
“Yes, please.”
“Then, it’s off with the nightclothes for us.” He rose to straddle her and remove her hands from the tie at her neck. “Let me.”
She rose on her elbows. “You will let me remove your nightshirt?”
His body rose to attention. “I thought you would never ask.”
He could barely keep up with his bride’s eagerness. “Your breasts, Hannah, they are so beautiful, rosy, tight, and standing as if calling to my hands.” He demonstrated how that would work.
She raised her chin, her whole body, so his sex touched her center, and she closed her eyes in ecstasy. If she were half as ready as he, nothing they did tonight would take long, not the first few times, anyway. “I want your breasts against my bare chest,” he said, and that fast, skin against skin they were, her breasts crushed gloriously against him, her bare foot stroking his bare legs.
He kissed his way to her nipples, while she held her breath. When he closed his mouth around one, she gasped and let her hands learn him, everywhere.
She shocked him when she took his length in her hand, and he knew that not only did he have the bride God intended for him, but a life mate, the kind every man dreams of but rarely gets.
“I never knew,” she whispered against his ear. “You do wonderful, good things to me, Caleb. Outside and deep in. But maybe I should not talk of such things.”
“With me, your husband who loves you, sweet Hannah, you will speak of these things. In our marriage bed, we will be wonderful good, naked and frisky as spring lambs. Flighty and full of life, we can talk and laugh, close as honeybees in spring. No words barred. Everything said, even the most intimate, like the growing length of my rod in your hand, and the warm, wet center of you, we will speak. Because such is good between a husband and wife, yes?”
She hid her face for a warm blushing minute, then she moved her body so as to accommodate his length at her center.
Caleb pulled her into his arms, opening his mouth over hers like a man starved. This kissing with the mouth open was new to her, too, but Hannah followed Caleb’s lead to learn what he liked.
And learn she did.
She learned his hard muscle against her eager lips caused them both shuddering pleasure. She learned to make him shout with need, while he begged her to stop, and go, and more, and, “Again, Hannah. Do it again!”
She learned to feel more than she thought she could and that he would let her rest and make her ready again.
She acquired a taste for his flesh against her tongue.
Caleb groaned. “I do not know for certain who gentled who this night.”
“Either way,” she admitted. “We both win.”
Her husband laughed. A blessed beginning to their life together.
Closing her eyes, Hannah savored every touch. With hands and heart and body, she memorized Caleb. Here, his sun-rough face, his silky-soft beard, a warm mouth that knew how to smile and laugh, cool lips, all pleasure-pulling and dear.
She stroked his neck and downward, and he shuddered as she parted chest hairs and budded a hidden nipple.
He whispered love words while she made her downward descent, one hand testing, stroking, pleasuring. At the same time, she held his manhood, moved it to his bidding, tried a few moves of her own. Rigid inside, soft silk outside. She learned sinew and bone and hard-throbbing man. She found in Caleb a shelter from storms, a mate made of flesh and caring, eager and ready.
Her husband. Hers, to cherish. To . . . love. Did she dare?
He took a breast in his mouth, suckled her, as he found her center, and unfolded her like petals coming to flower. Soft. Wet. Ready. She should be embarrassed but she was not. He brought her to life, burst pleasure inside her. Waves and waves of it.
Thunder roared. Hot. Loud. In her head. In her heart. Instead of hiding, she looked straight at him and saw the fire in his eyes. The caring. Hunger, too. A manly hunger that would be sated. “I am as hungry for you,” she admitted.
He groaned. “I planned to love you slowly and tenderly,” he said. “Your body is ready, but if you are not, for whatever reason, you will stop me, please, and be frank, brutally frank, loud even, because I am losing myself in you, I do not quibble to admit.”
She raised her arms in welcome and sighed in utter, unapologetic contentment as her bridegroom slid inside her. No pain, she felt, no bruising, no worry, no need to pretend.
Pleasure bright and alive she welcomed. A wonder of pressure, like a volcano, built inside her, though she fought the eruption.
“Ich liebe dich,” Caleb said against her lips. “I love you. Let it happen. Let yourself go. Feel the pleasure. It will come again and again if you let it. Give me the gift of your release. I will give you mine.”
He seemed, indeed, to be loving her, Hannah thought. Sweet, heart-whole, love-making this was, the way it was meant to be.
God help her, she loved this new husband of hers the way he said he loved her, though she dare not believe his words—she was not a lovable person—and she dare not tell him of her feelings; it hurt so much to have a tender heart trampled. Not yet. It was too soon, too easy to fall when you teetered on the frightening edge of happy.
With each thrust, each riotous stroke and bliss-making kiss, and with each vow to cherish, Caleb loved her, and in doing so, he brought her higher than the moon in a place brighter than the sun.
Heaven on earth, with nothing to mourn, and everything to celebrate.
Afterward, he lowered himself to her side and pulled her against him. No moment had ever seemed so ordained. Or so frightening.
Chapter Thirteen
Nine months later, a veneer of snow blanketing the earth, his love made true the lie they told her father.
With Anyah at her side and Ida Hershberger to help, Hannah gave birth to not one baby, but two, twins like her and Anyah, with one difference. Boys, the both of them, squeaking and squirming and looking around like they’d been waiting forever to see all this.
“They are so loved,” Caleb said, kissing Hannah’s lips, stroking her hair. “I ache with it. With love for Susie, and for these two miracles, and especially for their mother.”
“Shush, not in front of Ida.”
“But he can speak in front of your Datt?” she heard from the door, beyond her vision.
Hannah squeaked as her father appeared and bent toward her. For what, she wondered. But she knew soon enough. He kissed each baby boy in her arms on the head.
Yes, well, boys. He would.
Then he did something wonderful rare. He kissed her brow, too. “Thank you,” he said. “For my grandbabies.”
She had lost her voice, but her tears remained at the ready.
Caleb gave one baby each to Ida and to their grossdaudy, then he wrapped Hannah in the quilt, and he lifted her into his arms.
“Caleb, what are you doing? Where are you taking me?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
“What? Outside? It is winter, yet.”
“Spring. I watched you planting bulbs a year ago today.”
He kicked open the kitchen door and took her to the porch. “Look, across the way, at the grabhoff.”
Life had not only been stirring inside Hannah, but forgiveness had stirred to life as well. “I think every bulb you ever planted grew a hundred blossoms,” Caleb said. “What a sight.”
“Jonquils, Caleb? They are everywhere.”
“As far as the eye can see,” Caleb said. “The neighbors have been driving by since you went into labor just to see the blossoms. Never so many have they seen in one place, and so early in the season. And maybe they want the first word on the new arrival. Wait until they hear we have two.”
“Oh,” Hannah said her eyes bright
.
Anyah appeared at the base of the steps then, with that glow she got when she wanted Hannah to see her. This time, she carried baby Grace, raising the babe to show Hannah. Gracie wiggled as if with a farewell wave.
“Oh,” his wife said again. “Oh.” Words, it seemed, failed her today.
With a nod, Anyah Peachy, sister, best friend, aunt . . . matchmaker . . . smiled and skipped down the road to disappear slowly into the morning mist.
“We will never stop loving them,” Caleb said, referring to Anyah and Gracie, sensing, perhaps as Hannah did, that they would not be back.
Nodding, tears trailing down her cheeks, Hannah cupped his face. “Ich liebe dich,” she said for the first time. “I love you, Caleb.”
“It is about time.”
“You knew,” she said, as he wiped her tears with a corner of the quilt.
“Aye, I did. You show me your love all the time. Still, it is nice to hear the words.”
She winced. “Maybe I learned to protect myself with silence in the past. Sorry. I guess we are both growing into this marriage of ours, though. Opening to each other.”
“Shh,” Caleb said. “Your father will hear you.”
She blushed then surprised them both with a giggle. “My father, he likes the babies, Caleb. You know if we have two at a time, with Susie, we might get that baker’s dozen.”
Laughter overtook him. The kind of wife every man wants but hardly ever gets.
THE END
Awards and Accolades:
For Annette’s Sensual Amish Historical Romances
JACOB’S RETURN
(Formerly Thee, I Love)
2011 #1 Kindle Bestseller, Amish Historical Fiction
2011 #1 Lachesis Bestseller, Fictionwise
2011 A Kindle Top 100 Bestseller US
2011 A Kindle Top 100 Bestseller UK
2011 An Amazon US Bestseller
2011 An Amazon UK Bestseller
2000 Blue Boa Award of Excellence Winner, Peninsular RWA
1999 Bookaholics highest Pick: “A Keeper”
1999 The Romance Journal Francis Awards Triple Nominee:
1. Best American Historical
2. Best New Author
3. Story You Need the Most Tissues to Get Through
1999 Reviewers Choice Award Double Nominee, Romance Communications
1999 Winter Wish List of Favorite Authors, the Regency Lover's Cafe
1999 Readers All Time Favorite, Most Hanky Read, AAR
1998 RWA Golden Heart Finalist
1996 Heart to Heart Contest Award Winner as Thee, I Love
BUTTERFLY GARDEN
2011 All Romance E-Books, Top 20 (#16) American Historicals
2007 Predators & Editors Readers' Poll Nominee for Best Book of 2006
2006 The Laurel Wreath Award Winner for Excellence in Published Romance Fiction, VCRW
2006 The Lories Winner, FTHRW
2006 HOLT Medallion Award Finalist, VRW
2006 Beacon Award of Excellence Winner, FCRW
2006 More Than Magic Winner, Romance Writers Ink
2006 Anne-Bonney Readers' Choice Award Winner
2006 Affaire de Coeur Reviewers Top Pick
1999 Heart of the West Winner, Utah RWA
EXCERPTS
JACOB’S RETURN
(Formerly: Thee, I Love)
A Sensual Amish Historical Romance
“This story has all the warmth and beauty of an Amish quilt. It's a tale of love, commitment, and family ties, told with tenderness and sensitivity.” —Susan Wiggs, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author
“What a beautiful and heart-warming love story!” —Penelope Williamson, New York Times Bestselling Author of THE OUTSIDER, book and movie.
“This is one of the best romances I have ever read—the writing is so good that I understood what it felt like to be Amish, almost even wanted to be Amish! And Jacob is so sexy. There's a great second romance. Lots of funny lines too. This is a keeper!” —Eloisa James, New York Times Bestselling Author
Excerpt
Chapter One
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, June 1885
Jacob Sauder drove his buggy toward the home he left four years before, never intending to return. Same old dirt lanesbisected greening patchwork fields and plain Amish farms, untarnished by time. But despite the landscape, time had passed. Life had changed. And unlike the panorama that quickened his heart, Jacob Sauder had been tarnished.
Uncertainty had dogged him since his decision to return, but this sense of anticipation — this was a surprise.
Jacob stopped the buggy at the top of Hickory Hill and scanned the valley. Lancaster looked the same, yet different, trees taller maybe, grass greener surely.
Home. He had come home after all.
But would they let him stay?
He flicked the reins setting Caliope to a trot. Right before he left this place — at his mother’s funeral, no less — he told everyone, God and the Bishop included, to go to hell. Then he’d turned from Mom’s open casket, and the dirt hole waiting to swallow her, climbed into his buggy, and never looked back.
He’d tried to become English, which his people called anyone not Amish, and broke every rule he’d been taught, some as slight as wearing buttons on his coats … others, much, much worse. And he might have gone on that way, if fate had not taken a hand.
Anticipation skittered his heart.
Dread weighed him down.
How would his father feel about his unexpected return? How would Rachel feel? She who’d filled his empty soul when his twin sister, Anna, had died. Rachel who became, somehow, his missing half. Rachel Zook. Mudpie – he called her. His brother’s wife.
How were Datt and Rachel? Had they changed?
Jacob slowed when he spotted thirty or so Amish buggies outside the Yoder barn. His heart skipped as he turned into the drive. A good sight, these buggies. “You are home, they said, and welcome.”
If only he believed it.
“You are not welcome here!” came a familiar voice.
Well, his brother, Simon, had not changed, not in looks, certainly not in disposition. Jacob shook his head. “Missed you, too.”
“Go back to where you belong,” Simon said, approaching with an angry stride.
Jacob climbed from his buggy. “This is where I belong.” It tickled him to skin Simon’s knuckles, especially with faulty sentiment.
Simon’s thin lips firmed, his eyes narrowed. “You would come on Church Sunday, especially this one.” He straightened his frock coat and raised his chin. “I am to be ordained Deacon this morning.”
Jacob was taken aback by the news, but it explained Simon’s solitude; he was waiting to make an entrance.
His brother would be a stern, humorless deacon, but some people needed that, Jacob supposed. “You must be pleased.”
“I am pleased to do God’s will. Unlike you.” Simon walked away. “Just go,” he said, and disappeared into the barn.
Very unlike me, Jacob thought, as he made his way around his buggy, raised the back flap … and grinned. After all these weeks, he still could not get over the sight of them, his two-year-old twins, now snuggled in sleep like newborn pups. “Come, Pumpkins,” he said. “Up we go.” What a surprise they’d been. What a joy, despite the fact that he deserved no joy. He held them, one in each arm. He was getting good at this, he thought, considering he’d only had them a short time. Two sleepyheads, one kapped, the other hatless, nuzzled his neck.
Good. They felt good there.
When Jacob walked into the Yoder house after four silent years and carrying two small children, whispers grew, then, “Shh, Shh, Shh.”
Suddenly, not a sound could be heard save the chafing of his new black broadfall pants rubbing one leg against the other. Rough they were and itchy, not smooth and comfortable like the buckskins he’d worn when he pretended to be English.
He stopped and stood in the middle of the group, the sight familiar yet foreign. Row
upon row of men sat ramrod straight on simple backless benches. In the opposite room, facing the men, sat rows of women, on matching benches, the folding doors between the two rooms open for this purpose. The women were whitekapped, the men bearded, marking them Amish.
Jacob’s own beard had been shaved daily during his sojourn into the English world, with only three weeks growth now to show for his decision to return. This marked him a rebel. And a liar. Only married men let their beards grow.
He saw old friends, nodded at a few. Some smiled back, but not many. This should not anger or surprise him, but it did. Emma sighed in her sleep, reminding him of his plan to raise his babies here. Knowing that a bad attitude could make for a bad beginning, Jacob swallowed his urge to declare that he was not sorry he left.
His father was not to be seen, but Ruben Miller, fellow rebel, grinned a true welcome. Jacob grinned back.
Where should he sit? He belonged in the men’s section. The babies belonged in the women’s. Unheard of, this, a man raising his babies alone. He would be expected to court a mother for his children soon. But how could he, when the woman he loved....
He saw her watching him and was jolted.
Rachel was more beautiful than he remembered, but she looked....
She buried her anger — he saw the effort it took — and came to him. “They’re yours?” she asked.
Drinking in the sight of her, he could only nod.
“Their mother?” she asked.
Gave them life with her last breath, he thought, but he shook his head, his remorse too great for words.
“What are their names?”
Jacob swallowed his yearning, and his regret, and found his voice. “Emma and Aaron.”
Rachel opened her arms. “I’ll take them.”
“I can’t ask you—”
“Oh, please,” she said, her maple-syrup eyes wide and pleading – revealing a different kind of anguish.