by Deborah Camp
“You’d be faithful to a wife, would you?”
“As faithful as she to me.” He waded toward her, his muscles bunching and flexing as he fought against the river’s flow.
Sensing his approach, Lily couldn’t suppress a moment of alarm. It sent her sliding off the barge and splashing near the shore where heavy-headed blossoms bowed their heads as if taking an afternoon nap.
“Look,” she said, bending over to pick one. “It’s a tiger lily. I don’t know which is prettiest—these or water lilies.”
“I prefer these.” He stood behind her and reached around to pluck the reddish orange flower from between her unresisting fingers.
“But water lilies are so delicate, so serene floating upon the surface,” she said, only managing a whisper. She closed her eyes as her conscience did battle with her desire. She wanted Griffon to sweep her off her feet and decide her fate for her, but she knew he wouldn’t. The path she took would be of her own choosing, and she couldn’t stand at the crossroads the rest of the afternoon and discuss flowers!
“My grandmother called these fire lilies.” He smoothed the petals down the side of her face. “They grow in great numbers along riverbanks, and from a distance they make the banks look as if they are covered in orange flames, especially when the wind blows and sets the flowers in motion. ‘Look, chavo, look,’ my yaya would say. ‘Even the mighty river cannot tame the fire lilies. Still they burn along the wet banks, chavo. Still they burn!’ ” His voice had grown low and foggy. The flower teased her skin, floating down her neck. “Do you burn, Lily? Do you burn?”
Like a firestorm, her passion raced through her, and she whirled to face him. “Yes,” she said, flinging her arms around his neck. “Yes. Oh, yes!”
The next minutes seemed to pass in a blur. Griffon’s kisses consumed her, blotting out rational thought. She floated on surface feelings, governed only by Griffon, for she had no will of her own. He picked her up and carried her to the barge, his eyes smoldering, his muscles tightening under his teak-colored skin. On the barge again, she reclined on the blankets, content to watch him stand over her like a great beast who had run his prey to ground, his chest lifting and falling from the exertion of the chase. Droplets of water licked paths down his arms and chest. A few fell to splash on her upturned face.
He shook his head, flinging fat droplets that burst into tiny rainbows, then he drove his fingers through his hair. He’d removed the bandage, insisting that the wound would heal faster if exposed to air, and she noticed that his hand skimmed lightly over that place. His eyes glowed with embers of desire as he continued to gaze at her. “You are the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, smiling when she gasped. “Why does that surprise you?”
“I … I was thinking the same thing about you,” she admitted, then boldly raised one hand, beckoning him to join her instead of keeping himself apart from her. “Will you be patient with me? I’m quite ignorant of this part of life.”
“I will be your guide.” He came down beside her on one knee. “And I’m in no hurry, gula devla.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Sweet goddess.” He cupped her chin in one hand and swooped to claim her waiting lips.
His mouth sealed over hers, and his tongue explored her in a way she wasn’t sure any kind of lady would allow, but she had wanted this, and having chosen this pathway, she yearned to explore it fully. Unfurling her tongue, she touched the tip against his slick teeth and then crept tentatively inside his mouth. He tasted like cherry wine, but twice as potent as what had been in the bottle. He was intoxicating, especially when he moaned appreciatively and the sound reverberated in her head.
His body weighted hers. She ran her hands wantonly over his smooth, sun-warmed shoulders and explored the indentation of his spine. Her wet clothes tangled with his, impeding them until they became such a nuisance that it was only right that they shed them.
Lily’s hands began to tremble, and she was tempted to yank at her clothes and send buttons flying, fabric tearing. But Griffon sensed her frustration and her uneasiness. His hands gentled her, pushing hers aside to unbutton her skirt and blouse, to unlace her chemise, to work the damp clothing off her quivering body. She glanced around, nervous as a fox with the hounds baying in the distance.
“Perhaps this isn’t the place … if someone comes along and finds me like this, I’ll just …”
“Shhh.” His mouth silenced her, and she didn’t feel so exposed with his body shielding hers again. He set her hair free and lifted a handful to his nose. He nuzzled it as if her auburn hair was a nosegay. “I am a lucky man today. The stars have blessed me. Good fortune has showered me with moments that most men only dream of.”
“I’ve never known a man like you … a man so full of poetry and so willing to share it.” She felt him unfastening his wet trousers, but she couldn’t find the courage to glance any lower than his breastbone. He buried his face in the side of her neck, moistening her skin with his tongue, nipping playfully at her tender skin.
She was so caught up in him removing his own clothes that for a moment she paid no attention to his deft release of her breasts from her chemise. Suddenly, cool air bathed her breasts, and she looked down to see them peeking at her like rose-tipped globes. The chemise lay open, freeing her breasts to Griffon’s feverish eyes. Without the slightest hesitation, he fastened his mouth to one like a hungry babe.
“Grif-fon!” An intake of breath divided his name. She found that she’d buried her hands in his hair and some shred of reason made her loosen her grip for fear she might harm his wound. Her trembling hands wafted over his inky locks, and she could barely breathe as he suckled gently on her breast. Pleasure radiated from her nipple and throughout her chest. She felt her other nipple pucker as if begging for his attention. And then his mouth relieved it, his tongue scraped its sensitive surface, and Lily closed her eyes tightly as the world began to spin out of control.
Slowly, her hands traveled down his body to encounter his muscled hips. His body texture was so different from hers, all jutting bones and knotting muscle, his skin tougher and covered with fine hair, which teased her own sensitive bare skin. His fingers hooked on the loosened waistband of her petticoats and pulled. She thought for a moment to resist this final stripping, but then his tongue whorled around her nipple, and all thought was lost in that tiny whirlpool. The air touched her virgin skin, and again she was glad for his blanketing body, which shielded her abject nakedness.
“Griffon, I’m afraid,” she admitted, and he kissed her mouth until her lips throbbed and her belly ached with a sensation she’d never known.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered in her ear. “This isn’t just happening to you. It’s happening to us.”
Somehow she took comfort from that, no longer feeling like a stranger in a strange land. She acquainted herself with the territory by way of touch, for she couldn’t bring herself to look at that part of his body that seemed to possess a life of its own. It branded her inner thigh, and she would have sworn she could feel it move, twitch, pulse of its own volition. It felt much larger than she’d imagined it to be, and that made her doubly afraid to look at it. She was already apprehensive enough.
Snatches of an overheard conversation burst unbidden into her mind. She’d been in the general store a couple of years back when she’d heard two women whispering. She’d never forgotten their words, for they had creating a stumbling block for her.
“… and when I saw it, well I nearly fainted!” one woman had confessed.
“Me, too. On my wedding night, I screamed when my bridegroom stood before me in his altogether,” the other had confided.
“Why, I told him, ‘You ain’t putting that enormous thing in me! It’ll kill me!’ But he just laughed. I swear to you, it nearly did slay me. I was afraid it’d made me cross-eyed!”
Then they had laughed, and Lily had trembled with fear. So that’s what it’s like, she’d thought, then wondered why women subm
itted to such torture. Love must be a strong force, she’d figured. So strong that you’d risk your good health just so your mate could derive a moment’s pleasure from your pain.
That memory swam in her mind, and her body stiffened. Griffon must have felt her tension, because his kisses slackened, and he made her look him in the eyes.
“Don’t fold your petals, sweet Lily.” His lips caressed her nose and cheekbones. “I won’t hurt you.”
Lily felt the flat of his hand smooth over her belly and then his fingertips delved into the delta of her femininity. Again, she gasped and tension radiated from her.
“Ah, now,” Griffon scolded softly. “Go on the journey with me, Lily. Give me a moment and you’ll bloom under my care.”
He breathed into her ear, and warmth seeped into her. Her muscles unknotted a fraction. His fingertips explored and then found their treasure. A different kind of tension began to build within her, and she cried out in sublime pleasure. It came in waves of exultation and in rivers of long shudders. She heard herself chanting, “Oh … oh … oh!” But the rest burned away like morning fog, leaving only the heat, only the shimmering light of a new dawning.
“What I take from you, I’ll press between the pages of my memory forever,” Griffon suddenly whispered in her ear, and his voice sounded tight, as if he spoke from strain. “I’ll store it inside me. I’ll keep it like the rare flower you are.”
And then he took it … took her … transformed her from a girl of trembling anxiety to a woman of raging passion. He tore through her virginity swiftly, and she knew only a moment of discomfort before emotion—white-hot and conquering—ruled her. He hooked his hands under her knees and brought her legs up to embrace his hips, then he drove deeper into her.
Griffon flung his head back and shut his eyes tight. Veins stood out in his neck and ropes of muscles ran down his chest and upper arms. He pulled her to him, then angled back, pull, push, pull, push, rocking and sending flash after blinding flash of desire bolting through Lily. A band of sunlight fell across his face and made his gold earring twinkle. In that instant he looked incredibly beautiful, and tears of joy pricked her eyes.
“Griffon,” Lily whispered, her heart overflowing with words. “Griffon, I lov—” Her feelings crested and shook her voice to pieces. Griffon groaned, and she felt his hips buck against hers, then he enfolded her in a tight embrace and his body melted against her.
It wasn’t until a few moments later that she realized he hadn’t spent himself inside of her. She marveled that he could remember his vow to leave her without child.
She didn’t know how long it was before she heard her own panting breath and opened her eyes to stare at leaves and clouds. The barge beneath her rocked gently on lapping waves. The man sprawled over her spoke her name as if it were part of a prayer. Her body throbbed in a thousand secret places. She’d never felt more alive in her life.
Griffon bent over and kissed her navel, then rained light kisses across her stomach. He looked at her beneath lowered brows and through thick lashes, and his eyes held sparkles like sunlight dancing upon the flowing river.
“I have dreamed of you so long,” he said, his voice hoarse. “And I have known you all my life.” He smiled. “Thank you, Lily. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”
She released a sob of longing and reached for him, bringing his mouth to hers. He made love to her again, and in his arms she was beautiful, she was wild, she was an exotic Gypsy flower blossoming along the riverbank. In his arms she burned.
Chapter 13
Fastening the last button on her blouse, Lily glanced over her shoulder at Griffon. He tugged on his boot and caught her eyeing him.
“It’s getting late,” he noted. “I guess we should start back.” But instead of leaping to his feet, he leaned on stiff arms and tipped his head back to admire the blue canopy of sky. “I’d like to save this day and call it back whenever I wished.”
“Me, too.” Lily leaned against him, and he wrapped an arm about her. She rested her head on his shoulder. “I feel so wanted. Like I really belong.”
He rubbed his face in her hair. “I do want you. Now more than ever. That’s a feeling you’ve craved ever since your father turned you over to his brother to raise, yes?”
She fell silent, wishing he hadn’t mentioned her father. It spoiled her good mood. She wriggled from his embrace and sat up to begin taming her hair into a bun.
“I said something wrong?” he asked.
“We should be leaving for Van Buren.”
“Lily,” he said, his voice honeyed, his hand solicitous on her shoulder. “After this afternoon, I should think you and I could share our thoughts, our feelings, our fears and disappointments. You were hurt by your father’s indifference, weren’t you?”
“I’ll have you know that my father loves me.” Unable to wrestle her hair into a bun, she began braiding it instead. “Just because I live with my aunt and uncle doesn’t mean that Father deserted me. After Mother died, he simply thought my childhood would be happier spent in Fort Smith than in the stuffy confines of a college setting. Father’s teaching keeps him very busy.”
“Not so busy that he couldn’t find time to court and wed another woman.”
She sent a barbed glare over her shoulder. “Why are you so intent on maligning my father? What has he ever done to you?”
“What has he done to you? That’s what I’m interested in.” He sat up, looping his arms around his bent knees. “You didn’t feel the tiniest bit abandoned when he brought you to live with the Meekers?”
Abandoned, yes, she thought as the memories swarmed and darkened the landscape of her mood. She remembered the unhappy child she’d been, having lost her mother and then her father when he walked out of her life. Oh, he’d visited, he’d sent presents and letters, but he hadn’t been around to see her grow and change, to listen to her problems or to help her over the rough spots in life. Lily felt the intensity of Griffon’s gaze, and she was surprised to see the glimmer of emotion in his eyes.
“What is it?” she asked, concerned. “You look so sad.”
“Such loneliness, such confusion,” he whispered. “You should have told him, Lily. You should have expressed your feelings to him. He might have listened and let you back into his life again if he’d known how much you missed him, how much you needed him.”
She dropped the heavy curtain over her mind. “Griffon, my thoughts and memories are mine—and mine to share if I wish. Stay out of my head, if you please.”
“I’m sorry.” He looked away from her. “It’s habit—as natural as breathing.”
Flinging her braid back over her shoulder, she stood unsteadily and hopped off the barge before Griffon could offer a helping hand.
“You’d feel differently if I could crowd into your head and poke around. It’s as if … as if I’m transparent!”
“As a matter of fact”—he leaped over the side of the barge to land nimbly in front of her—“you can read me pretty well. You’d be better able to do so if you’d harness your abilities instead of letting them stampede at will.”
“Griffon, let’s not spoil the day by discussing this. You know how it upsets me.” She laid a hand on his chest. “Please?”
He shrugged, giving in but not liking it. His gaze strayed, and he pulled his brows together. Kneeling, he picked up something from the grass. “If only we could shed our problems as easily as this,” he said, holding up a discarded snake’s skin for her inspection.
The skin, silvery white in the slanting sunlight, drew her for a reason Lily could not fathom. Her hand lifted, as if it had a will of its own, and her fingers trembled, straining for a touch. The moment the pad of her middle finger touched the skin, the daylight dimmed to gray, then black. She heard Griffon speak her name, but she was lost to him as her consciousness sent her back to another day along another river.
She saw herself as a child, skipping among field flowers, scaring up butterflies and honeybees. Her father,
so young she hardly recognized him, knelt and opened his arms to her.
“Come on, baby,” he said, beaming, and she raced across the field to him. His arms felt like home, and he smelled wonderful—like the woods after a spring rain. “That’s my pretty baby,” he cooed in her ear. Then louder, “Sweetheart, she’s the spitting image of you. Every day, she reminds me of you more and more.”
Laughter, melodic and oh, so angelic, floated to Lily. Hearing it, her heart surged and she trapped a sob in her chest. Mother! She turned slowly, still held by her father, and stared with liquid-filled eyes at the woman who personified love itself to her. Mother!
I do look like her, Lily thought, her vision clearing so that she could see the dark red luster of her mother’s hair and the copper color of her eyes. Her mother was of a more delicate build, barely reaching five feet in height and weighing no more than one hundred pounds. She moved with a dancer’s grace. Her voice was more than sound to Lily—it was love.
“Want to take a walk with Mommy while your father catches us some fish for supper?”
Father fishing? Lily couldn’t believe it, but then she saw her father with a cane pole. He worked a wiggly worm onto a hook and cast it into the river. In his rolled-up shirtsleeves, his beard showing no gray, Lily studied him, amazed that he could be so relaxed and youthful.
“Lily? Want to come with Mommy?”
Lily felt herself nod and start toward her mother. Oh, yes! She wanted to walk hand in hand with her more than anything she could imagine. She’d often wished she could see her mother one more time. Lily reached out from her child’s perspective, her chubby hand lifting toward her mother’s delicate one.
“Let’s go over there by that big old oak and pick primroses. I’ll show you how to make a flower necklace.” Her mother’s hand felt cool and gentle. “Won’t that be fun?”
Lily nodded, entranced. She looked from her mother’s lovely face to the split trunk of the oak. Its heavy lower limbs nearly touched the ground. Beneath it stretched a carpet of pink and coral primroses. For a moment the place exuded peace and tranquility, but then Lily remembered walking near it earlier. Something bad had risen up like a black cloud. She had shied away, pulling her mother and father from it and toward the riverbank, where it felt safe. Her mother had started to veer toward the flowers, and Lily had hugged her around the legs to stop her.
