I do, I do, I do

by Maggie Osborne

  "But why did you come to the Yukon?"

  "It was time to start living again," he said simply. "I wanted something outside the day-to-day routine, something physically demanding. I wanted an event to mark the end of one life and the beginning of another."

  "Has that happened?" she asked, laying a hand on his arm.

  "Oh, yes," he said, looking into her eyes. When she blushed bright pink, he released her hand and reached for his sherry. "Why did you come to the Yukon? You've never said."

  This question would be difficult to answer truthfully. "I began the journey looking for someone. Now I know I don't want to find that person," she said in a whisper. Quickly she rushed past the enigmatic statement. "I was just… swept into this." She shook her head. "Clara first mentioned the Yukon," she explained carefully, "and Zoe insisted that we come."

  "Are they looking for someone, too?"

  "I'm truly sorry, Ben, but I can't explain further."

  Curiosity curved along his raised eyebrow, but he nodded. "Someday I hope you'll feel comfortable enough with me to share your secrets."

  A wobbly smile curved her mouth. "I wish I could confide in you, but other people are involved."

  They finished their sherry in silence. Juliette imagined that Ben struggled with his disappointment in secretiveness while she fought to stamp down attitudes she had vowed to set aside for tonight. She absolutely would not think about Jean Jacques Villette—or the morality or propriety of being with Ben.

  When he spoke again, Juliette understood with relief that she hadn't spoiled their evening. He wouldn't press about her secret, nor would he hold it against her.

  "I considered asking one of Tom's Chilkats to serve tonight, but decided I didn't want anyone present but you and me. I hope you don't mind that we'll dine more casually than formally—I'll be setting the table and serving."

  How considerate he was. The cabin was far enough from Main Street that no one had seen her enter and no one would see her depart. There would be no one present to gossip later about what they had said to each other.

  "I'm willing to help. I'd be happy to set the table."

  They both rose at the same moment and froze, aware they stood too close. Juliette inhaled the tangy scent of men's cologne and laundry starch and the sweetness of sherry on his breath. She sensed his strength and masculinity.

  At the instant she thought the intensity of his gaze would make her swoon, he bent his head and kissed her again, as lightly as before, testing her response. And as before, his kiss set her mouth on fire and flashed a searing heat through her body. This time she experienced a pang of frustration. Suddenly she wanted him to really kiss her, hard and passionately.

  He drew a finger down her cheek, trailing warmth. "You're my guest. I don't want you to do anything except enjoy the evening."

  When she was certain her legs would perform without wobbling, she followed him to a round table separated from the kitchen by a counter and watched him shake out a snowy damask tablecloth. She loved damask, the elegant look, the sensual feel of it. He smoothed the cloth on the table and adjusted the overhang to precisely eighteen inches, exactly correct. When she raised her gaze, she discovered he was watching her eyes widen, aware that the cloth and its fit would please her.

  Smiling, he placed a vase containing an arrangement of dried lupin, iris, and columbines in the center of the table and framed it between two tall white candles.

  Juliette pressed a hand over her heart. The dried flower arrangement was low enough that they would see each other above it. Attention to these small details made the difference between a delightful dining experience and disappointment. Not to mention that she had not seen a centerpiece during the course of this journey. Inhaling a deep breath that was almost a sigh, she edged closer to the table.

  "It must be beautiful up here in the spring and summer," he remarked, indicating the dried flowers.

  "What? Oh, yes, I suppose it is," she murmured, surprised to discover that she sounded a little breathless.

  But good heavens, a long time had passed since she had dressed for dinner and sat down to a properly clad table with candles and a centerpiece. The excitement of it trembled at the corners of her lips.

  Watching her, Ben snapped open a napkin—and she knew at once that it was exactly 121 inches square. Oh, the joy of a proper napkin, the thrill of it. And then—then, in a move that made her stomach tighten in a shudder of bliss, he folded the napkins and placed them on the table to the left of where the forks would go. With the fold of the napkin facing out. Oh, my Lord.

  Juliette drew a rapturous breath. "There's nothing as soul-satisfying as a properly laid table," she whispered. And nothing as incredibly seductive as watching a handsome man demonstrate his firm command of etiquette. It was utterly erotic. And who could help feeling aroused? The cloth overhang was exactly right. So was the size of the napkins. And he had placed them with the fold facing out.

  Half swooning with emotion, she snapped open her fan and waved it at the heat pulsing in her face. For a full minute she and Ben gazed at each other across the centerpiece and candles, noting flushed faces and parted lips, quickened breath and the mounting tension of awareness.

  "Would you be offended if I loosened my tie?" he asked in a husky voice.

  "Please do." Her own voice had ripened with invitation.

  Narrowing his eyes in a way that made her think of crumpled sheets and warm musky scents, he tossed aside his tie, reached behind, and brought forth two pewter service plates.

  "Service plates!" Juliette gripped the edge of the table in the throes of near ecstasy. She hadn't seen service plates since the hotel in Seattle. A damp shine appeared in her eyes as she observed the sensual manner in which his long fingers slid across the pewter rims before he set down the plates. A shiver rippled down her spine.

  "You have the most beautiful eyes," Ben said after he'd positioned the service plates on the table. "Occasionally the color reminds me of a stormy sky. Other times, like now, it's like gazing into a shimmer of silver."

  "You look very handsome without the beard," she whispered. His smooth cheeks and square jaw invited exploration. She longed to stroke his face with her fingertips, wanted to press her nose to his skin and sniff the manly scent of his cologne.

  The room suddenly felt so hot that she could have believed they dined in Linda Vista at the height of August. His eyes traveled over her face like twin suns, setting fire to her skin and igniting her heart. A trickle of moisture slipped between her breasts. Discreetly, she directed the fan toward her cleavage while trying desperately to steady herself. She wet her lips. "What comes next?" she murmured. Lord, she sounded like she was strangling.

  "Crystal."

  "Crystal? Oh!" Heaven help her and keep her on her feet. Not tin mugs, not thick everyday glass—crystal. She stared at his mouth, thinking of crystal touching his lips. Thinking about her touching his lips. And him touching hers. Crystal. The very word was carnal and evocative of lips and sliding fingertips. A tingle began at the base of her throat and spread throughout her body.

  Teasing, shamelessly toying with her emotions, he held a water goblet in front of his chest and lightly tapped the rim. The clear ring of crystal sang between them, reverberating across Juliette's skin, electric and thrilling. No symphony had ever aroused her so. Gasping, she swayed and furiously fanned the sheen of perspiration appearing on her forehead. She noticed Ben's temples were also damp.

  Not taking his eyes off her, he placed the water goblets above the service plates. After pinging the wineglasses and observing her sharp intake of breath, he carefully positioned them to the right of the water crystal.

  "Forgive me, but may I remove my jacket?" He paused to blot his forehead and throat.

  "Yes. Yes." She wished she could remove something, too. She was burning with an intensity of sensation. And her nerves burst into flame when he stood across the table in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. In the world she usually inhabited, women seldom
saw men without their jackets. Seeing him as he stood before her now was scandalously, excitingly, erotically intimate.

  "Do the silver next," she whispered, her lips trembling.

  He drew the moment out, sending a shiver of anticipation through her body. He slid his thumb and forefinger along the handle of a knife, extending the drama. This was where so many failed, placing the knife incorrectly. Finally, his eyes smoldering, he leaned forward and firmly positioned the knife with the sharp edge facing the service plate.

  Juliette's heart gave a leap in her chest, and she thought she might faint. It was perfect. Moisture flooded her secret places with liquid longing. He knew the language of the table. She could hardly stand it. By observing the knives, she read his signal that there would be a meat and a fish course. But his triumph lay in placing the sharp edge toward the service plate! She thought her heart would pound through her chest.

  And now he was turning a soup spoon between his fingers. Knots ran up his jawline when he looked at her. His speculative gaze had grown bold, skimming her cleavage, searing her to the toes. And, my lord, this man had the most sensual mouth of any man she had ever met. Her heart raced, and her knees dissolved to the consistency of pudding. She didn't know if she could remain standing through the placement of the forks.

  "The salad will come after the entree," she murmured ecstatically as he positioned the soup spoon and finally the forks. They would not adopt the new style of serving the salad before the entree. It was more than any woman could bear. She wanted him with a passion that steamed and boiled inside her mind and body.

  When he saw her expression, his muscles hardened. "Juliette…" The tone of ragged desire undid her.

  They flew around the table and into each other's arms. Locked in a passionate embrace, they kissed again and again, their hands flying, touching, stroking, caressing. Hot, fevered kisses rained over Juliette's eyes, lips, throat. And a sound like a sob choked her. "Yes, yes, yes," she whispered mindlessly. "Yes. Ben. Oh, yes, yes."

  Scooping her into his arms, he carried her into the bedroom and gently stood her on her feet. "Are you very sure?" he asked in a voice rough with desire.

  In answer she turned her back to him and lifted the weight of curls off her neck so he could unbutton her gown. "Hurry."

  His fingers were sure and swift, familiar with the tabs and hooks and ties of feminine attire. In seconds, she stood before him, an hourglass clad in lace-edged shimmy and corset. He kissed her breasts, then tore off his shirt, sending jet studs skittering across the floor. He threw off his waistcoat and pushed away his trousers, kicked out of his shoes.

  "Wait! Blow out the lantern!"

  But it was too late. She stared at his body in awe, never having seen a naked man in the light before. How splendid he was. Tall and lean and wedge-shaped. He might have been one of the statues she had seen in a book on Greek sculpture. The absence of a fig leaf drew her attention, and her cheeks blazed. "Oh, my goodness!"

  Drawing her to him, he kissed her hard, leaving her gasping, then sat her on the edge of the bed. Kneeling, he removed her evening slippers, then her garters, and he peeled down her stockings, his fingers hot on the curve of her legs. Rising to sit next to her, he turned her gently, and then his nimble fingers opened her laces, and her corset slid to the floor.

  Her instinct was to beg him to extinguish the lantern. Then she remembered he had already seen her naked. And he wanted to see her again. After he smoothed down the short sleeves of her shimmy, she stood on shaking legs and let him lower the shimmy over her breasts, to her waist, and over her hips. The silky garment pooled at her feet, and she stood before him, eyes closed and cheeks on fire, listening to his ragged intake of breath. Every instinct demanded that she cover herself, but she made herself stand still.

  "You are so beautiful! So small and perfect and beautiful!"

  She didn't remember him pulling down the quilt and blankets, didn't recall climbing onto the bed. One minute she stood before him, the next minute they were wrapped in each other's arms, kissing and touching with building urgency. Not until she thought she would shake apart with longing did he rise above her.

  And then it was so good. He was gentle and tender kissing her as he moved, caressing her, whispering endearments. Because she was reckless and uninhibited, a woman willing to dare anything tonight, she let her fingers slide down his back, and she touched his bare buttocks, hoping the brazen move didn't shock him too badly.

  If he was startled, he didn't reveal it, but continued kissing her, continued his gentle lovemaking. Emboldened, she opened her eyes a tiny bit and snatched a quick glance at him. He was watching her. Oh, my. She'd assumed that he, too, would have his eyes closed.

  "Is something wrong?" he whispered when she stopped moving.

  The light was dim but clear enough that she could see his tousled hair and the perspiration shining on his forehead. "Is it decent to have our eyes open?" she asked, also whispering.

  "Dearest Juliette. Whatever gives two people pleasure is decent." Lifting on his elbows, he looked down at her and then kissed her in a way she had never been kissed before. His tongue parted her lips and tasted her mouth. Her eyes widened, then snapped shut, and she gave herself to the sensation.

  "Do that again," she whispered. "If you're sure it's decent." It felt too exotic and too arousing to be proper, but she didn't give a damn. "Do it again."

  The new way of kissing made her feel wild inside, strange and hot and urgent and then, and then, and then her body shuddered and the heavens exploded inside her mind. When the moment faded, she found herself shaking and drenched in perspiration.

  "I don't know what happened," she said, peering up at him, "but it was wonderful. Did you make that happen?"

  "I hope so," he said with a smile, brushing a damp tendril off her cheek.

  "Did you?… What I mean is, I know that I… but, did you?…"

  "It doesn't matter."

  Oh, she loved him so much. "If you'd like to go on a bit longer, I wouldn't mind."

  "Then I believe I will," he said, kissing her. She had an idea that he struggled not to laugh, but she couldn't imagine why he would laugh. She must be wrong.

  Afterward, Ben pulled on his trousers, and she stepped back into her shimmy, and he insisted on serving the first course in bed. They sat shoulder to shoulder sipping dried mushroom soup, watching the lamplight reflect in the block of ice at the window. It was the most intimate moment of Juliette's life. And then she noticed that he was dipping the soup spoon away from him. And he didn't make a sound when he swallowed.

  "Ben?…"

  He recognized her expression at once, set aside their soup bowls, and reached for her. The second time was even more amazing than the first. This time he positioned her on top of him where she just sat, feeling confused, until he placed his hands on her hips and rocked her back and forth, up and down. At once she grasped what was expected, then discovered the delicious thrill of being in control. Best of all, she could peek at his face and read how much he liked this movement or that.

  When they came together again between the fish course and the meat, Ben curved her fingers around him, and Juliette thought she would faint from the velvety feel of him and from her own bold daring.

  Between the meat dish and salad, he bathed her in the tub, then toweled her dry, placed her back in bed, and kissed her all over. All over. She screamed in shock, then screamed with pleasure.

  After wine and dessert, they made love lazily and slowly as if they were longtime lovers, then they wrapped themselves in blankets and ran outside to see the strange greenish blue lights flickering across the northern sky. Still wrapped in blankets, they warmed themselves before the living-room fire and sipped from snifters of brandy.

  "I couldn't have imagined a night this amazing and remarkable," Juliette said, gazing at him with soft sated eyes. After her marriage, she had considered herself an experienced woman, uninhibited even. Now she knew her experience had barely scratched the surf
ace of what was possible, and she hadn't had an inkling of what uninhibited really meant. Tonight had been astounding, splendid, unbelievable.

  "I've imagined you a hundred times looking as you look now," Ben said with a smile.

  Her hair streamed down her back, her face was rosy and happily drowsy, and the blanket revealed her pale shoulders and a small valley of cleavage.

  "I love you, Juliette. You belong to me now."

  Leaning forward, she kissed him and then covered a yawn, and he laughed.

  "When we finish our brandies, I'll tuck you in bed, then I'll leave."

  "You'll leave?"

  He nodded. "Remember what you said about wanting privacy and solitude? The next two days are yours, my Christmas gift. Luc or Henry will come by several times a day. If you need anything, place your snowshoes outside the door, and they'll knock."

  She clapped her hands. "The cabin is mine for two whole days?"

  "Miss Klaus and Miss Wilder are aware of the surprise. They packed a bag for you. It's under the bed."

  She threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly. "Ben, that's the nicest gift I've ever had! Thank you so much!" They kissed again at the door when he was ready to leave. "I don't know what to say about this evening," she said, pushing her face into the fur of the hood surrounding his face.

  "You have the rest of our lives to think of something," he said, grinning.

  The words stabbed her like an icicle. She was still standing stricken in the doorway when he turned on the road to wave good-bye.

  Instead of going back to bed, she returned to the dying fire and blinked hard at the low flames. Ben was so perfect for her in every way. And she flattered herself that she could be so perfect for him.

  Now she knew why Zoe cried into her pillow every night.

  Her desire for solitude and privacy lasted as long as it took to sleep for a few hours and treat herself to another tub bath. Then the chaos of her thoughts against a backdrop of quiet began to scrape at her nerves. She kept thinking how much Clara and Zoe would enjoy a real tub and being warm and sitting down to a meal at a table. Sighing deeply, she set out her snowshoes and when Luc appeared, she asked him to fetch Clara and Zoe.