Turner's Rainbow 2 - The Rainbow Promise

by Lisa Gregory

  Sarah sat back on her heels, smiling like a cat that got in the cream. "Maybe I want you to."

  Luke caressed her cheek, leaving a trail of dampness on her skin. He knew an overwhelming desire to lick it off with his tongue. "Maybe I do, too. But Sarah..."

  "Yes. I know. Old Dr. Banks said ..." Sarah sighed and stood up. She started walking away, then turned and grinned impishly. "Do you think we ought to ask the new Dr. Banks?"

  Luke snorted. "He'd say the same thing. Now, stop teasing me." He scowled, thinking of her talking to Jimmy Banks about such intimacies. "And if I ever hear of you talking to that man about our bedroom matters, I'll..."

  "You'll what?" She seemed overwhelmingly unafraid.

  "I'll beat you."

  "Uh-huh." Sarah gazed at him with patent disbelief. "Like you always do."

  "I'll keep you in bed for a week."

  The curve of her lips was intentionally provocative. "Then I'll ask him tomorrow."

  Luke slowly rubbed his forefinger back and forth across his lips, watching her. He enjoyed their sexual banter, the way she teased him into hardness from clear across the room. Talking to Sarah could be sexier than the naked bodies of the women he had known before. He wanted to continue the talk until he couldn't take it anymore and then come out of the tub and kiss the teasing smile off her face. But if he did that, he was sure to wind up pulling her down to the kitchen floor and taking her right there.

  Luke silently picked up the rag and began to wash off. But even though there was no more teasing, the heat didn't leave his blood.

  When he was through, he dried off, wrapped the towel around his waist, and sat down to wait for Sarah. He wasn't about to forgo the pleasure of watching her undress and bathe, no matter how tempting and frustrating it was.

  Sarah poured another steaming kettle of water into the tub to warm it, then sat down and bent over to unfasten her shoes. It was getting more and more awkward for her to perform that task, the way her abdomen was growing. Luke smiled and went down on one knee in front of her, playfully pushing her hand away.

  "Here. I'll do that."

  "You don't have to."

  "I want to."

  Sarah straightened and leaned back in the chair with a little sigh. Luke unlaced the ties efficiently and pulled off her shoe. He set the shoe down on the floor, but he continued to hold her foot. Gently his fingers massaged her foot, and Sarah went limp all over. "Oh, Luke, that feels so good."

  "Like it?"

  "Yes. It's heavenly. I didn't realize how my feet hurt. They must be swelling again like they did with Emily."

  His thumbs slid along the sole of her foot, rubbing away the ache. He hated to think of anything causing her pain or discomfort. "You better start resting more. I'll tell Julia to make sure you sit down with your feet up several times a day."

  "But Luke..."

  "No buts. You'll do as I say." He removed her other shoe and repeated the slow, gentle massage on that foot, too.

  Sarah smiled down at him. She loved Luke's concern for her. Sometimes her love for him was so great that she thought she would burst from it. His head was bent, his thick silver and gold hair falling forward to hide his face. His hair was drying in the warmth of the kitchen, turning into fine, silky strands. Sarah knew just how it would feel against her fingers, slipping, curling.

  She reached out and skimmed her fingers lightly across his hair. Luke looked up at her. Sarah knew the look—his mouth widening, the skin across his cheekbones stretching tautly, his eyes suddenly a blue flame. He wanted her.

  His hands slid up her stockinged leg to the garter. He pulled it off and slowly rolled down her stocking, his fingers lingering over her skin. Sarah saw the sheen of moisture along his upper lip and felt the faint tremor of his fingers.

  Luke watched her face for the subtle signs of passions that he knew so well. She wanted him just as much.

  He pulled the stocking off her foot, crumpling it in his hand, and sat staring down at the floor, struggling within himself.

  "I'm sorry," Sarah whispered, knowing full well the ache and the temptation inside him.

  "Oh, Sarah," Luke moved up and forward, wrapping his arms around her waist. His body curved over the mound of her belly, and he buried his face in her breasts. "You're so beautiful. I feel like a devil sometimes, wanting you like this and knowing that it would hurt you. How could I want it so much when it would hurt you?"

  Sarah hugged him to her, and her hands moved soothingly over his hair and back. "You're not a devil!" Her usually soft voice was fierce. "Don't you say that! Don't even think it. You aren't the only one who wants to make love. I want it, too."

  Luke rubbed his cheek against her like a cat. "I can't get enough of you. I never have been able to. I lie awake at night thinking about making love to you, remembering how your skin feels under my hands, how you moan that soft little way."

  "Luke..." Sarah's cheeks flushed, and her loins turned to liquid.

  "I always know when we make love that you love me. That you belong to me and I belong to you."

  "Of course, we belong to each other . And I always love you."

  "I know, but..." Luke paused, unable to articulate exactly what he felt when they made love—the piercing sweetness of coming home, the joy so fierce it shattered him, the complete joining and utter closeness. Making love to Sarah was more than just pleasure; it was a need as great as the one to eat or to drink or to fight for his life. "Sometimes it tears me apart to stay away from you."

  Sarah kissed his bright head. "Then make love to me."

  "No." He pulled away. "I can't. It could hurt you."

  "Could. That means only a possibility."

  "Even a possibility is too much."

  "But just once. . . and I'm not terribly far along. The baby's not due for over two months."

  Luke's face contorted with frustration. "Sarah, please don't tempt me."

  Sarah worried at her lower lip. She didn't fear any hurt to herself, and because the baby was so much a part of her, she had less fear than Luke of hurting it. She had felt no pain the last time Luke had made love to her. How could it hurt her or the baby when there was no pain, only pleasure?

  Luke stood up and moved away, leaving Sarah to take off the other stocking by herself. He leaned against the kitchen counter, and watched her undress, unable to keep his eyes off her. She took off her clothes without any conscious attempt to entice him. If it had been her choice alone, she would choose to make love with him now. But she knew Luke and his intense sense of responsibility, his fear of harming her in any way. She wouldn't try to tease him into doing something he thought wrong, for she knew the burden of guilt Luke would feel if he did.

  Sarah eased down into the tub with the exaggerated caution of a pregnant woman. She took up the bar of soap and began to wash. Luke gazed at her. Her breasts had grown, as they had when she was pregnant with Emily. Her wet nipples tightened in the coolness of the air. Luke's tongue stole out to moisten his lips, and his fingers curled around the edge of the countertop.

  Sarah rested her heel on the edge of the tub and began to wash her extended leg. Her legs were still slim and lovely, unaffected by the weight of her pregnancy. Luke thought of them wrapped around his back, tight and strong. He crossed his arms across his chest, clamping his hands under his arms. His breath came faster in his throat. Even the mound of Sarah's belly was beautiful to him. He wanted to trail kisses across it.

  Luke swallowed. He ought to turn away and not look at her. He ought to go upstairs. But he couldn't. He thought of the time when they were first married, when he had wanted her so passionately, yet had stayed out of her bed. He had managed it then; surely he could now. But then he had not made love to her. Then he had only dreamed of her body. He hadn't known her inch by inch as he did now. He hadn't felt the utter softness of her skin or the eagerness of her response. He hadn't known how glorious it was to explode within her. Now he knew all those things, and it made it twice as hard to stay away from
her.

  Sarah took the pins from her hair and shook it loose. It tumbled down over her white shoulders and chest, parting over her breasts so that the pinkish brown nipples peeped through. Her hair turned wet quickly in the water and clung to her skin. Luke couldn't take his eyes off her breasts, couldn't stop remembering the smell and texture of her hair. How often he had pulled it like a dark curtain across his face, burying himself in its softness. How often he had felt it trailing across his skin as Sarah moved over his body, kissing him.

  He swallowed. His entire body was rigid with desire. His blood was on fire, his loins heavy and aching. He had to have her. He knew he couldn't.

  Sarah washed her hair and rinsed it. Then she rose and stepped out of the tub, picking up her towel to dry off. Her hair hung, dark and wet, all the way to her hips. When it was dry, it would float around her shoulders and back like a cloud. Sometimes after they bathed, they would sit in front of the fire together and Luke would brush her hair dry, watching the play of the firelight over her face and body.

  Luke broke away and went upstairs. He took his time dressing, and by the time he came back down, Sarah was dry, dressed, and sitting by the heat of the stove brushing out her hair. She smiled at him, and he managed a tight smile in return. He pulled the tub out and emptied it in the yard. Normally he would have returned to the house, but tonight he couldn't. He strolled to the corral and stood watching the horses. He walked through the barn, breathing in the familiar rich, acrid odor of animals and grain. Usually it soothed him, but not tonight.

  Dark, insidious thoughts plagued his mind—images of Sarah naked and hot beneath him; memories of her breasts in his hands, infinitely soft and tantalizing; a whispering voice that told him that one time wouldn't hurt, that Dr. Banks was an old biddy without any understanding of a young man's hunger, that Sarah would welcome him. She would welcome him. He knew it. She never denied him anything; she gave him her love unstintingly, with no thought of herself. That was what made it so hard. He was the one who must be responsible for both of them. He had to take care of her.

  It didn't matter that he imagined the feel of her lips on his body so strongly it was as if they were moving down him right now. It didn't matter that his blood pumped hot and thick through his veins, pounding in his head. He had to be strong.

  He checked out the tack. It was all in good shape, supple and clean. There was nothing to do with it to keep his hands occupied. He went inside and took the shotgun and rifle out of the gun rack. He broke them down on the kitchen table and cleaned them. That wasn't necessary, either, but he had to do something. He couldn't go upstairs to Sarah yet. He thrust the long-handled brush into each barrel, turning it to clean them. He oiled the parts and fitted them back together. He smoothed a cloth over the polished wood stock and barrel. His hand glided slowly over the gun. He glanced down at his hands, and with a snort of exasperation, he threw down the cloth. He replaced the guns in the rack, washed his hands, and went upstairs.

  Their room was dark. Sarah lay on her side in the bed. Luke slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him, and undressed in the dark. Thank Heaven she was asleep. He climbed into bed.

  Sarah rolled over. "Luke."

  She wasn't asleep. His heartbeat picked up. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"

  "No."

  "Good night."

  "Good night."

  Luke had kissed Sarah good night before they went to sleep for three years, but he hesitated now. A good night kiss, a mere brushing of their lips. It was a gesture, that was all. It couldn't hurt. That wasn't passion, that was love, and, oh God, he loved her, too.

  Luke leaned over to press his lips to hers briefly, sexlessly. His mouth touched hers. And he was lost.

  Chapter 6

  Her mouth was soft and wet and warm. His tongue found its home in the familiar, delightful cave. Sarah's arms went around his neck, and his arms slid under her, crushing her to him. Her breasts pressed into his chest through the thin cloth of her gown. He could feel her nipples hardening against him. His mouth widened over hers, grinding into her. His manhood was like red-hot steel He could think of nothing except burying himself in her

  Luke kissed her again and again, knowing it was wrong, but unable to stop himself. He told himself that he would do as he had done the other time, savoring her sweetness and pleasuring her without coming into her. He kissed her wildly all over her face and neck, nibbling, licking, sucking, murmuring a litany of words of love, sex, and heat.

  Sarah responded without hesitation. She, too, was restless and yearning, aching for his touch. She wanted his hands all over her; she wanted his fullness inside her. She wanted to feel every inch of his male strength. She murmured his name, digging her hands into his hair, and arched up against him.

  Luke sat up and unfastened Sarah's gown, impatiently jerking off two buttons that defied his clumsy fingers. He whipped it off over her head and threw it on the floor. He braced himself on his arms and looked down at her. His eyes were pale in the darkness, fierce and wild. Sarah stared back at him, her breath coming rapidly in her throat. He seemed so strange in the pale wash of the moonlight, ferocious and untamed, like a wild beast. It should have been frightening, and it was, a little, but in a way that excited her. It stirred her to think that desire for her could drive Luke to the edges of control, could unleash the primitive man hidden deep within him, but at the same time she knew, with a deep, abiding mist, that Luke would never hurt her.

  His eyes moved down her face to the narrow column of her throat and lower still, over the plain of her chest to her breasts. They were full and pink tipped, the nipples pebbling. He cupped one in his brown, hard hand. Her flesh was pale against his, velvet soft to his roughness. He kneaded the lush flesh. His thumb rasped over her nipple, and it tightened in response. He took it between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed gently, his eyes darkening as he watched the nipple harden and elongate.

  Luke lowered his head to her breast. His lips skimmed over the luscious mound, exploring its exquisite softness. He brushed across her nipple, then back. Once. Twice. Again. His tongue came out and circled the button of flesh, then lashed across it. Sarah strained upward, seeking the pleasure with which he teased her. He groaned and pulled her nipple fully into his mouth.

  Sarah gasped. Her fingers dug into Luke's shoulders. Her nails scratched him, but he didn't feel it, too lost in his passion. His mouth left her breasts and trailed down her body, lovingly caressing her swollen abdomen. His hand glided up the inside of her smooth thigh. His breath was hot and rapid, his muscles trembling under the force of his need.

  Luke's fingers tangled in the curls between her legs and found the eager dampness there. He sucked in his breath as he moved across the satiny, layered flesh, seeking the center of her heat. His head moved lower, and his hand went beneath her buttocks, lifting her up to his questing mouth. Sarah moaned as his tongue found the tender morsel of flesh it sought and be loved her gently, tenderly.

  "Luke, Luke," Sarah's voice was ragged and uneven. She reached for him blindly.

  Luke felt her muscles tightening, and he knew what would follow. He thought of being inside her when the waves of pleasure struck her, of feeling her clamp tightly around him. Pure, driving lust swept through him. He could not live without possessing her.

  There was no conscious thought in him, only instinct and desire. He moved between her legs and slid into her. She was damp and tight around him. He groaned, Sarah circled her hips beneath him, luxuriating in the way he filled her so completely. It had been so long, so achingly long. He began to thrust within her, long, hard strokes that shook her, filled her, turned her into fire. Sarah moved with him, lost in the sensations he evoked in her. The heat built inside her, gathering into a hot, hard knot that tightened with each movement of Luke's body. It was almost unbearable, always just out of her reach, and she sobbed his name, straining up against him.

  At last the sweet, piercing pleasure burst within her. Sarah cried out, arching up ag
ainst him, and her movements hurled Luke into a world of new, unbelievable pleasure. He bucked against her, spilling out his hot seed.

  Luke collapsed, shuddering under the intensity of his storm. His hair was damp with sweat, and Sarah combed her fingers through it lovingly. She kissed the top of his head.

  "Oh, God." He rolled from her "I'm sorry"

  Sarah smiled. "I'm not." She took his hand and raised it to her lips. "I love you."

  He pulled her into his arms, squeezing her tightly against him. "And I love you. Oh, Lord, I love you."

  ❧

  Sarah could see the guilt in Luke's eyes the next morning, but she had no regrets. His tension was gone, the taut lines around his mouth and eyes smoothed out. He was happier and more at peace than he had been in weeks. So was she. They were able to smile at each other or hold hands or kiss without being racked by desire.

  Sunday was a lazy day. Sarah and Luke sat in the swing on the porch half the afternoon, gently rocking and watching the breeze play among the blossoms of the fruit trees. Julia was quiet all day, and Sarah detected a certain sadness in Julia's blue eyes. Sarah wondered if Julia was still sorrowing over her husband's death or if something else had disturbed her—such as seeing James Banks the day before. But Julia was a private person, like Luke, one who did not easily open up and talk, so Sarah didn't pry.

  On Monday, Luke and Micah worked on the west forty, carrying their lunch with them. Sarah and Julia tackled the housecleaning, sweeping, dusting, and hanging out the rag rugs to be beaten. They worked all morning, and about twelve-thirty they went inside to fix lunch.

  Suddenly, as they stepped inside the kitchen, Sarah felt something warm and liquid gush down her legs. Her stomach turned to ice, and she stopped dead still. "Julia?"

  Julia turned inquiringly and saw Sarah's pale face. She started toward her "Sarah! What is it?"

  Sarah gazed down at her skirt as if the lower half of her body didn't belong to her. "I—don't know." She raised her skirts above her ankles. The insides of her stockings were stained bright red, and there was blood on the floor.