by Sara Luck
“That’ll have to do.” Christian removed the hood. “I don’t think he’ll let us near him again.”
Christian waited while Phoebe returned the hood to the shed, then they walked back to the house together.
“Would you like to sit in the swing for a few minutes?” Phoebe invited when they reached the porch. “No, wait, I guess that was pretty unthinking of me, as hard as you and July worked today. July was as tired as Will.”
“I’d love to sit with you. That is, if the night doesn’t end the way it did the last time we did this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The gunshot. The night you almost killed me. That evening started out just like this.”
“How long are you going to hold that against me?” Phoebe asked with a little chuckle.
“Phoebe, the only thing I want to hold is you.”
“Oh?” Her voice was inviting more.
Christian moved toward her, the light of the lantern shining in his eyes.
Phoebe knew he was going to kiss her, and when his lips touched hers, she held her breath. She wanted this kiss, but she wasn’t sure of herself enough to take it beyond this gentle brush. She needn’t have worried, because the kiss deepened and caused her stomach to spiral into a wild swirl.
He pulled her to him, and his hand began to knead her back as he pressed her against his chest.
Finally, Christian drew away and stared into her eyes. “Phoebe, this is as far as I go. You’re a grown woman; you’re answerable to no one but yourself. If you want this to go any further, the next step is up to you.” He kissed her one last time, then rose from the swing.
• • •
Phoebe sat there for a long time, dazed by what had just happened. She was as ready for sex as she’d ever been in her life, the dampness between her legs affirming that. But what kind of wanton woman went to a man’s bed? If she did, wouldn’t she be the same as a prostitute?
• • •
With much trepidation Phoebe lay in her bed, her eyes wide open, looking at the moon shadows on her bedroom wall. In the past, after Edwin had chosen to abandon her bed, in frustration she’d found a way to satisfy herself. Moving her hand to the junction of her legs, she felt the moistness. She withdrew her hand quickly as if she’d been burned. She’d not even thought about doing this since Edwin had died, and she wouldn’t do it now. She willed herself to sleep, to forget that an extremely handsome man was in the room above her—a man who’d openly challenged her to come to him.
As she tossed and turned, she heard the hall clock strike twelve and then one. She wondered if Christian was lying in his bed, listening to the same chime. Or had he fallen asleep instantly, just as Edwin always had?
He had told her that if she wanted this to go further, it was up to her.
“Yes, I do want this to go further, Mr. De Wet.” Phoebe got out of bed. She didn’t bother taking her robe—she wouldn’t need it for what she had in mind.
Leaving her bedroom, Phoebe climbed up the stairs, treading quietly, then walked down the hallway to the door that led into Christian’s room.
She reached for the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open slightly, then stopped.
What was she doing? This was so foolish. Without doubt, this could be the most foolish thing she’d ever done in her life.
Closing the door as quietly as she’d opened it, she turned to go back down the hall, then was startled by the door’s being pulled open from within the room. Christian stood in the doorway, visible in the silver moonlight that spilled in through the hall window. He was clad only in his underwear.
“Christian, I . . .” she started quietly, but she was unable to finish because Christian pulled her to him and silenced her by putting his mouth over hers.
• • •
Christian’s first thought was that July or even Will might see them. He pulled her into the room, then closed the door behind her.
He covered her mouth with his, and deep down he knew this was wrong, that he was violating his best intentions by compromising Phoebe while he was staying with her. He hadn’t expected this to develop so quickly, and he was torn between two conflicting emotions: the one to avoid taking unfair advantage of this woman who’d opened her home to him, and the other to explore the parameters of this kiss, to see how far she’d allow him to go before she asked him to stop. Or would she ask him to stop at all? Was she as caught up in this maelstrom of sensations as he was?
But she’d come to his room, he hadn’t gone to hers. With the soft, inviting curves of this beautiful woman pressed against him, he was powerless to resist his own sense of propriety. When he felt her lips part under his and felt her tongue dart into his mouth, he knew there’d be no turning back.
• • •
What was she doing? The thought so filled her mind that Phoebe was sure she’d spoken the words aloud. She had been so adamant that the attraction building between them, bubbling up just beneath the surface, not come to fruition, yet here it was, and she’d been the instigator.
The feel of Christian’s mouth on hers was exquisitely pleasurable, so pleasurable that she felt she’d die if he stopped. But there didn’t seem to be any danger of his stopping, as his kisses grew deeper and more demanding.
Phoebe wanted more, and when his hands lifted her nightgown to caress her bare skin, she let out a trembling sigh that was both relief and surrender.
She ran her own hands over his body, feeling his broad shoulders, the musculature of his arms, and though it thrilled her, it quickly became clear to her that even this wasn’t enough. An aching was within her, a yearning hunger for what she had gone without for so long. She wanted not merely to see and kiss and touch Christian, she wanted to be one with him.
He showered kisses on her throat. She shut her eyes and could feel his hands busily lifting her nightgown over her head. Reciprocating, she began to tug at his underwear, and they came together again, but this time naked flesh was against naked flesh.
Then Christian did something totally unexpected. He literally swept her off her feet, picking her up, then carrying her to his bed. Being physically carried by this man so aroused her that she thought she’d scream with pleasure. And even as he was carrying her, she kissed him again, sending her tongue probing deep into his mouth.
Once he laid her down on the bed, his mouth roamed over her body, sucking at her nipples and driving her wild with pleasure. Then his hand dipped down across her stomach, onto her thighs, and finally to that spot that yearned most for fulfillment. His fingers dipped into the crevice, slickened by the juices of her arousal. His hands and fingers continued to caress and tease her as his lips stayed at her breasts, drawing first one nipple into his mouth to be titillated by his tongue, only to surrender that breast and move to the other.
“Christian,” she moaned. “Oh, Christian!”
Her hand moved down until she found what she was looking for; wrapping her fingers around him, she could feel the heat, and the pulse of it. She guided him to her, and as she gasped with delight, he closed the connection with a long, deep plunge.
Phoebe was engulfed in pleasure as she felt him slide in through her moist cleft. She’d thought she was experienced, but compared to what she was experiencing now, she may as well have been a virgin. She matched her movements to his, lifting her hips to receive each thrust.
As they made love, his tongue dipped in and out of her mouth, matching the thrusts below. Absolutely nothing in her past had prepared her for what she was experiencing now.
As his strokes grew stronger and faster, the sensations grew, heightened, then spun out of control, bursting through her like a bolt of lightning.
Never had she felt anything that compared to this, and even as she was basking in the glory and wonder of it, from somewhere deep, deep inside a new convulsion of sensation arose, sending her into more paroxysms of pleasure. She knew the instant Christian was ready and felt his body tense as he emptied himself inside her.<
br />
For an instant she was frightened. It had taken only one time with Edwin for Will to have been conceived. What would she tell Frank Sloan if this, too, resulted in a child? Closing her eyes, she forced the thought out of her mind. She’d deal with that if and when it occurred. For this one night, this was her pleasure.
• • •
The two lay side by side, allowing the sensual gratification they had each experienced to recede. This room, which during their lovemaking had been their own private world, was now invaded by outside sounds: the lonesome whistle of a distant train, the haunting answer of a coyote, the hooting of an owl, and, more immediate, the two chimes of the clock that echoed from downstairs.
Was it but an hour ago that Phoebe lay in her own bed?
She sat up.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Phoebe swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I should go downstairs.”
“Why?”
“I think it’d be better.”
Phoebe put her nightgown on in the darkness and started toward the door.
“Please don’t leave.”
“I have to.”
Christian closed the distance between them and embraced her, holding her close against his nude body. He nuzzled her hair with his lips as his hands explored the curves of her back. “I want to say thank you, Phoebe. The gift you’ve just given me means more than you can know.” He kissed her gently as he opened the door for her to leave. “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
• • •
When Phoebe reached her own room, she didn’t go to bed but stepped up to the window as she’d done many nights before. She never tired of the beauty of a star-filled night sky. When she saw the tree that guarded Edwin’s grave . . .
“What have I just done?” She spoke barely above a whisper.
She continued to stand at the window for a long time, her mind a jumble of emotions. When she’d allowed Edwin to come to her bed that first time, it was because she’d been miserable and alone. But what was her excuse now? She wanted—no, needed—Christian De Wet. In her mind she’d used him to bring her pleasure. From this night on, her relationship with him would be changed. Christian’s parting words had been “I can’t wait until tomorrow.” Hers should be “I hope tomorrow never comes.” How could she face him after what she’d done?
8
Phoebe was awakened the next morning by the smell of breakfast cooking, and by a tune someone was singing. Dressing quickly, she went into the kitchen, where Christian was standing at the stove. Seeing Phoebe, he turned and, with a smile and an extended arm, improvised the lyrics of the song.
Phoebe, Phoebe, give me your answer do,
I’m half-crazy, all for the love of you.
It won’t be a stylish marriage,
I can’t afford a carriage,
But you’ll look sweet, upon the seat
Of a bicycle built for two.
With a laugh, Phoebe responded:
Christian, Christian, here is my answer true,
You’re half-crazy if you think that that will do.
If you can’t afford a carriage,
There won’t be any marriage
’Cause I’ll be switched if I’ll get hitched
On a bicycle built for two.
“Oh, that was funny, Mama!” Will said, coming into the room. “Sing it again.”
“We can’t sing it again,” Phoebe said. “If we do, Wet will burn the collops, and we don’t want burned collops, do we?”
Then July came into the kitchen. Taking his place at the table, he was unusually quiet.
“Did you hear Mama and Wet singing?” Will asked.
“I did. My people can hear things that others don’t.” He looked pointedly at Christian.
Phoebe lowered her face as she grasped the meaning of his statement.
“It wasn’t his fault,” she said, so low that she wasn’t sure July heard her comment.
“It doesn’t matter. It happened, and I don’t intend to be a party to whatever you two have in mind—that is, until you make it right.” July placed his hand on Will’s head. “Have you given any consideration to this child?”
“A party? We’re going to have a party?” Will smiled up at July.
“Maybe so,” July said, “but now I need you to help me clean out the bunkhouse. Can you do that?”
“Sure. Then when Cornello and Trinidad come home, it’ll be all clean.”
“I’m not sure they’ll ever come back,” Phoebe said, “but it may be best if Wet and July stay out there.”
“No! Don’t make them do that!” Will grabbed hold of July’s leg. “I like it when there are daddies in the house.”
Christian spoke for the first time, looking first at Phoebe and then July. “It won’t happen again.”
July turned to Will. “Come on, let’s go see how Wapi is doing this morning.”
“But you didn’t eat your breakfast,” Will said.
“I’m not hungry.”
When Will and July were gone, Christian turned to Phoebe with a sheepish smile. “I never thought it’d be July who made me get a conscience.”
“Do you think what I did was so terrible?” Phoebe’s eyes glared and her chin jutted out. “If you do, you can just go back to the Prinsens, because I don’t need you. July can take care of us.”
“What will the Sloans say?” Christian asked, confused by her comment.
“No more than what they said when I slept with Edwin.” She threw down a dishcloth and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Christian watched her go, helpless to say or do anything. Last night had been nearly perfect for him—a woman whom he cared for had come to him, a woman who clearly wanted him. He’d told her he was looking forward to this day, and he meant it. After she had left him, he’d lain awake a long time, envisioning what it’d be like to stay in America married to Phoebe. When he had finally drifted off to sleep, he’d convinced himself that he was through with South Africa.
But now that had all changed.
• • •
Cleaning the quarters proved to be quite a chore. The floors hadn’t been swept in a long time, cobwebs were in every corner, the mattresses on the two bunks had to be aired, and the single window was so dirty that it was practically opaque.
When the quarters were clean, Christian and July began moving their personal belongings from the house.
“What will you do when Trinidad and Cornello come back?” Will asked as he followed Christian back and forth from the house.
“We’ll all live together,” Christian said.
“Don’t you like us anymore? Did you forget? You said you loved me.”
Christian knelt down to the child, seeing in his eyes a sadness that was heartbreaking. “I’ll tell you what. When I get all my belongings moved, would you like to go for a ride?”
“Oh, goodie. Wait till I tell Mama.”
As Will ran pell-mell toward the house, Christian looked on with a glum face. He was going to miss this little guy, but he felt he had to leave Phoebe alone after what had happened between them. Setting his bag inside the bunkhouse, he withdrew his Rudyard Kipling book. This would be the time to read to the boy.
• • •
Christian and Will rode for quite a while, going down the lane that separated the ostrich kraals, and Christian smiled. In his mind, he had thought the word for pen that was used at home.
He thought of home and wondered if, perhaps, he should tell Yhomas that he’d decided to go back home right away. That might be the best thing for him and Phoebe, before they let this thing between them get any further. Right now he could see even more problems down the road if they continued, problems that might prove insurmountable. That could only lead to heartache for both of them. Besides, if Yhomas was correct, the water project could take years to complete. The committee didn’t need Christian to explain how they could get private capital when it seemed to be the consensus among the
members that the government should pay for the project.
But then he thought of the Woodsons. It’d be loutish if he wasn’t here when they arrived—especially after the note he’d written to Ina Claire. He didn’t think he’d been too personal in the letter, though he had written it in a way that could be interpreted as suggesting more than he intended.
But that was before he’d gotten to know Phoebe Sloan.
When they got to the Grand Canal, Christian and Will dismounted and, for a while, threw rocks into the water.
“Did you bring a fishing pole?” Will asked.
“No, I didn’t. Is that something you like to do?”
The little boy shook his head. “I don’t like to fish.”
Christian laughed. “Then I’m glad I didn’t bring a pole. Do you like to read?”
Will scrunched up his nose. “Don’t you know I haven’t had my birthday yet? I can’t read.”
“Well, then, let’s go sit under that tree over there and I’ll read to you.” Christian took out The Jungle Book and found a comfortable spot to sit down. Will climbed up on his lap and lay his head on Christian’s shoulder, and he started to read:
Mowgli’s Brothers
It was seven o’clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when Father Wolf woke up from his day’s rest, scratched himself, yawned, and spread out his paws one after the other to get rid of the sleepy feeling in the tips.
“Do you ever get a sleepy feeling in your tips?” Christian asked, but when he looked down, Will’s eyes were already closed. Christian laughed gently as he repositioned the child and held him tight against his chest. “I guess we won’t find out what happened to Mowgli’s brothers today.”
• • •
The two sat for a long while as Christian let his thoughts wander. He was disheartened to see how small the trickle of water was in the canal. It was a shame. The potential for the Salt River Valley was so immense if only the committee would get the reservoir project started immediately.
He thought back to Kimberley, a town in the Karoo; yet, thanks to his power and money, Cecil Rhodes had built the suburb of Kenilworth to the north of the diamond mines. Rhodes had demanded that anyone who lived in the community should plant trees—not just any tree, but those that Rhodes personally approved. Consequently the town had an abundance of orange and lemon groves, as well as orchards containing apricots, peaches, pears, apples, and quinces, and of course grapevines were growing everywhere.
