“Take off your coat, Win.”
Good God. He could scarcely believe she’d made the demand, although he complied immediately. Seconds later, he was glad he’d done so, when her hands slowly moved up his chest. With a shock, he realized she was unbuttoning his shirt, and he spared a moment to be glad he’d worn one of his new-fangled ones with the attached collars and cuffs. He didn’t want to have to deal with collar buttons or too many articles of clothing. Not tonight. Not now. Not when he was about to achieve his heart’s most fervent desire.
“I haven’t been able to sleep for nights now, thinking about this, Belle.”
“Mmmm?” Her little hand slipped under his shirt and splayed against his chest. He almost died then and there.
“No. You’ve been on my mind day and night. Night and day.”
“I’ve been keeping you up, you mean?”
He knew she didn’t understand the double entendre she’d just spoken, so he only murmured, “Yes.” Her voice was like moonlight and magnolia blossoms and mint juleps and sultry summer nights all rolled into one delicately accented whole. He loved her voice. Thinking he ought not keep such a relevant scrap of information to himself, he gasped, “I love your voice.”
“I thought you hated it.” She laughed softly, and he moaned. Her laugh was like syrup and chocolate and sweet, sweet wine.
Lord, his metaphors were getting out of hand. But he couldn’t stop them. “Not anymore, I don’t. I love it.”
“Thank you.”
Her hands slithered to the back of his head, and he felt her fingers burrow into his hair. Deciding she had a good idea there, he felt around her hat, withdrew the pins holding it in place, and gently removed it, dropping it to the floor and consigning the pins to fend for themselves. He heard them ping and roll and didn’t care. “I love your hair, Belle.”
“I love yours, too.”
Delirious. He was probably delirious, although he couldn’t imagine why he should be. Perhaps he’d contracted some fell disease and this was a hallucination. To hell with it. If it was a hallucination, he was damned well going to enjoy it as it happened. With skill garnered during a career of helping people pose for photographs, he removed the hairpins from her French twist and let them fall to mate with her hat pins if they chose to. When he thrust his fingers into her fine chestnut mane, he murmured, “Your hair is like silk.”
“You’re sweet, Win.” She’d given up on his hair and was running her hands down his body.
Sweet, was he? He didn’t feel sweet. He felt possessed. Lord, what was she doing?
Good God. She was caressing the bulge in his trousers, was what she was doing. Win thought he might die on the spot. With hands that trembled like an old man’s, he reached for the buttons on her shirtwaist, praying she wouldn’t stop him.
She didn’t stop him. Rather, she helped him along. When the garment fell away, revealing a simple lawn chemise and pantaloons, Win thanked all the good fairies and all the gods and everything else that might exist for good in the universe. “You’re gorgeous.”
He knew she had no experience in these things, yet she posed like a vamp on his chaise, gazing at him with those fantastic, serene cinnamon-and-chocolate-brown eyes, as a soft smile curved her lovely lips. Maybe women were all natural seductresses under their stays. Win doubted it. Belle was special. He stared at her for what seemed like forever, afraid to move for fear he’d wake up from his delirium.
After he didn’t know how long, she reached out and took his hand. Thus spurred on, Win drew her against his chest again. He had to lick his lips before he could get them to form words. “Let me untie these things, Belle.” He was referring to her chemise lacings.
She did it for him. As he watched, his gaze eating her up, she slowly unlaced her chemise. Her full breasts, nipples pebbled and taunting him, pressed against the fine lawn and seemed to push the loosened ribbons out of the way, until she was revealed to him in all her glory.
“You’re glorious,” he said, thinking she ought to know it.
“Thank you.” With a soft shove, she pushed the chemise away.
The straps slithered down her shoulders, and Win licked his lips. He wasn’t altogether sure he was going to survive this experience. The only clothing that remained in place was his. And her drawers. Swallowing hard, he started unfastening his belt buckle. Thank God he was still a young man and hadn’t let himself go to fat like George Richmond, because a belt was much more easily dealt with than suspenders. Even with trembling fingers, he got the belt undone. Then he ripped it from the trouser loops and flung it aside.
“Let me, Win,” Belle said softly, reaching for his trouser buttons.
“Gladly,” he croaked, and shut his eyes as Belle’s gentle hands fumbled with his trouser buttons.
“You’re a very attractive man, Win Asher,” she purred in her sweet, drawly Georgian.
Win said, “Aaaaaah,” as she tortured him with her fingers.
When the last button slipped through the last buttonhole, Win stood abruptly and decided he couldn’t stand much more of this. With a sweep of his hands, he pushed his trousers down, taking his drawers with them. As soon as his sex was freed from his prison, it sprang out and saluted Belle, who blinked several times.
“Um . . .”
Before she could lose her nerve, Win stepped out of his trousers, shoved his shoes from his feet, and fell onto the chaise, encircling Belle’s enticing torso as he did so. “Your skin is like heaven, Belle,” he muttered as he pressed his lips to her bosom.
“Um . . .”
Worried lest she get scared and make him stop, Win reluctantly removed his lips from her breasts and kissed her again. It seemed to help. After a moment’s hesitation, Belle seemed to forget her shock at seeing him fully aroused and get lost in the sensuality of the moment.
His hands slid down her back as they kissed. Her skin really was fine and smooth and delicate, more or less like a magnolia blossom. Her skin felt as though it might be as easily bruised as a magnolia blossom, too. Sort of the way Belle herself looked, although Win had begun to doubt her overall fragility. She looked more delicate than she was.
“You look more delicate than you are,” he whispered in her ear, praying fervently that he was right in his assessment.
“Am I?”
Lord, he hoped so. “Yes,” he asserted with more confidence than he felt.
“Mmmm.”
She didn’t sound confident at all, and Win knew he had to take steps or he might end up a dead man, if frustrated lust could kill. “I won’t hurt you, Belle.”
“No?” She didn’t noticeably decrease her attentions to his body, which he appreciated, although she added, “I’ve heard it hurts the first time,” which made his heart hitch.
He hurried to reassure her. “It might hurt a little bit the first time,” he admitted. “But I’ll be careful with you. God, Belle, I’d never hurt you if I could help it. You must know that.”
“Mmmm,” she said again, leading him to believe that she didn’t quite trust him.
Damn it. He wished he hadn’t—misled—her about the pictures. “I swear to you, Belle—I give you my oath—that I’ll be as gentle as a man can be with a woman. For God’s sake, Belle, I—” Good Lord, he’d been about to admit to being in love with her. This would never do. She’d never believe him after all the prevaricating he’d done to her. She might even laugh in his face. “I—I’ll be so gentle. I’ll make it good for you, too.”
“I trust you,” she said softly, adding after a slight pause, “About this.”
If he hadn’t been otherwise occupied, Win might have fallen to his knees in a prayer of thanks. Because he guessed the best way to accomplish his purpose would be to give her enjoyment first, he slid a hand under the waist of her drawers. They were tight, damn it. “Do these things have a tie?” Women’s clothes needed to be altered, he decided then and there. There was some new stuff he’d seen at the Exposition. Elastic. That’s what was needed here. U
nfortunately, Belle’s drawers didn’t have any.
“Yes. I’ll untie them.”
She did, and Win thanked his Maker again. When she slid the drawers down her lovely legs, he couldn’t hold back a moan of pleasure. “You’re perfect, Belle. Perfect.”
Looking up at him, her huge eyes shaded by her long eyelashes, Belle looked as shy as a stark-naked woman who was about to be ravished could look. Win drew her to him and kissed her again. His hands craved the feel of her, so he let them have their way.
“You’ve beguiled me,” he murmured as his hand traced a path from her ankle to her knee and dared go a little higher. “You must be some kind of witch.”
“Not much of one, I fear.”
He heard a trace of humor in her voice, and his heart leapt.
“Oh, yes, you are. You’ve bewitched me. Totally.”
Her arms tightened around his neck. “I’m glad.”
Heartened, Win allowed his hand to roam higher, until he felt the swell of her delicious hip. He squeezed gently. She had a body an artist would die to paint. And he was being allowed to partake of it. He could scarcely understand why he was being rewarded in this way. He knew he didn’t deserve her.
“I swear, I’ll never hurt you, Belle,” he whispered as his he moved his hand over her soft, sweet flesh in search of the treasure between her thighs. “I swear it.”
“I believe you, Win. About this, anyhow.”
The trace of caution in her voice didn’t diminish Win’s excitement, although he made a silent vow to himself that he’d make everything up to her. Eventually. After tonight.
She made a strange, mewing sound when his fingers finally touched the curls between her thigh and gently parted the petals of her sex. He uttered another silent prayer of thanks when he felt the moisture there. Good, good. “This is the way it’s supposed to be, Belle,” he breathed. “This is good. This is right.”
It wasn’t right, and Win could have socked himself when he heard the word leave his lips. A proper southern lady would never do this unless she was married to the man she was doing it with. He hoped Belle wouldn’t notice his slight exaggeration.
“Mmmm,” said she, and said no more.
In order to keep her diverted, Win delved more deeply into her hot wetness, rousing a sigh of pleasure from her. He forgave himself for being inept in speech, and tried to make up for his slip with physical demonstrations of his appreciation of Belle and her overall wonderfulness.
She responded admirably. As he gently massaged the center of her sexual pleasure, her hips arched beneath him. “Oh, Win!” Her breathy whisper was music to his ears.
“That’s the way, Belle. That’s right. Just give yourself up to it. This is the way it’s supposed to be.”
He’d had some experience with this sort of thing, although never before had his heart been involved. The ladies with whom he’d dallied had been experienced and eager. He’d never seduced a virgin before.
That didn’t sound right to his critical conscience, so he revised the phrase. He’d never been involved with a woman for whom he cared as deeply as he cared for Belle. His conscience assuaged, he continued, watching Belle’s reaction to his tender ministrations raptly.
“You’re so beautiful, Belle.” He leaned over to suckle her breasts as he spoke.
She seemed beyond speech at the moment. Her breath came in short gasping respirations, and her body was as taut as a bow. Her bliss came in a split second. One moment, she was moaning softly, and the next, she went stiff. Then she seemed to shatter under his touch. With a cry of pure delight, she shuddered. Win watched her body’s response to his touch with wonder.
“Oh, Win,” she breathed at last, subsiding like a limp rag onto the chaise, her body dewed with perspiration.
He kissed her almost savagely. “That was the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.” He was about to burst, in fact.
Before she could recover, Win thrust into her. She gave a little cry before his mouth covered hers again. He was so keyed up, he couldn’t hold himself back a second longer. It took only a very few thrusts before his body exploded in a rush of pleasure the likes of which he’d never experienced before. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him.
When his last spasm was spent, so was he. With a groan, he collapsed at Belle’s side. A slight touch of conscience made him secure her to his side before his thoughts slipped away and sheer bliss took over.
# # #
They’d lain in each other’s arms for Belle didn’t know how long before her brain resumed functioning. She’d never even dreamed that the act of physical love could create such delights. Her body still thrilled to the unexpected pleasures to which Win had introduced it. Every now and again, the memory of his magical touch caused a shiver of remembered joy to pass through her.
And then realization hit her with a smart whack on the conscience. She sat up so fast, her head swam and Win’s arm, which had been lying limp and warm over her stomach, fell away.
He muttered, “Huh?”
She cried, “My land!”
Her voice, which she’d learned from the cradle to keep at a honeysuckle-sweet drawling purr, hit the air with a clang, making Belle jump. It had the same effect on Win. She felt his body jerk once before he slid off the chaise and landed on the floor with a thud and a louder, more profane utterance.
Belle glanced around wildly, searching for something with which to cover her exposed bosom. Not, she thought bitterly, that it mattered any longer. Win had seen every inch of her. Thoroughly. In fact, he’d studied it in such depth, he could probably write a textbook about it.
Still and all, that was then and this was now, and she’d come to her senses at last. A wee bit late.
Fiddlesticks. Fiercely, Belle battled with her old self as it tried to barge back with its trappings of southern delicacy and her mother’s admonitions ringing in her ears. An avalanche of frenzied telegrams swam in her mind’s eye before she slammed the door on them and her parents and her southern roots. Dad blast it, she was going to be a modern woman or know the reason why! To the devil with her family’s old-fashioned qualms.
Giving up on a bosom-cover, she decided to concentrate on Win who was, after all, as naked as she, although he didn’t seem embarrassed by the fact. She leaned over. “Win? Are you all right.”
“No.” He seemed to be having trouble getting his limbs coordinated. “I fell on my a—bottom.”
Belle took a certain satisfaction from the knowledge that she was, in part, responsible for his fuddled condition. “Do you need help?”
He managed to push himself into a seated position. Twisting his head so that he could look at her, his lips turned up in what Belle could only designate as a silly grin. “No,” he said. “I’m fine.” Leaping to his feet in a bound so sudden it made Belle jerk in alarm, he actually beat his finely-contoured chest with his balled fists, like an African ape. “In fact, I’m wonderful!”
Belle couldn’t help laughing. She also couldn’t help agreeing. He was fine, all right. She’d even agree that he was wonderful. No matter how much she was trying to turn herself into a hardened woman of the world, she couldn’t quite make herself say that. Rather, she shook her head. “You’re silly, Win.”
She wasn’t prepared for his swoop or for the gloriousness of being swept up into his arms. “What are you doing?” she cried as he started prancing around his booth without letting her feet touch the floor.
“I’m dancing with you.”
She laughed again, but not for long. The thought of the Richmonds sobered her. “Oh, dear, Win, I need to get back to the hotel.”
“The hotel?” He lowered her to the chaise again, and feasted his eyes on her nakedness.
Belle noted with some alarm that the longer he stared, the stiffer his masculine member grew. Deciding that once was enough for the nonce—and perhaps forever, depending on how her newly liberated conscience reacted to this shocking breach of everything she’d ever been taught was right an
d proper—she glanced around again, seeking clothes. Ah, there they were.
As Win made another grab for her, she rolled off the chaise in the other direction and pounced on her chemise and shirtwaist. “No, Win. I need to get back home.” She heard his sigh even though layers of lawn and buckram as she drew her chemise and shirtwaist over her head.
He looked so dejected as she tugged and yanked on yards of fabric that she smiled. “I still have a job with the Richmonds, Win. I can’t leave them without so much as giving notice.” Trying not to stare at his heavily aroused sex—had that thing really fit inside her?—she tore her gaze away and searched the booth for her skirt. Ah, there it was. How did it get way over there? Ah, well, it didn’t matter.
With a sigh so huge it ruffled the curtains drawn across the booth’s windows, Win conceded that she was right. “Very well. But you won’t need that job for very long, you know. Soon you’ll be making lots of money without having to work for other people.”
She glanced at him as she shook out her skirt. “I’ll be working for you,” she pointed out.
Win made a grab for his trousers, which had ended up on top of one of the lamp stands. “You won’t be working for me,” he grumbled. “This is a partnership.”
She eyed him as she stepped into her skirt. “Oh? You mean I’ll have a say in how and where the photographs are sold?”
He frowned at her. “Not that much of a say. I know about this business. You don’t.”
“I can learn. I’m quite capable.”
“Huh. You can’t even call a war by its right name.”
Leaning over to snatch up a shoe, she said, “Don’t be absurd. There are two sides to everything, including wars. You damned Yankees can call it a civil war if you wish, but we southerners know better. It was a war of aggression and invasion. By you.”
Scowling at her as he buttoned his trousers Win said, “Not by me. I wasn’t even born yet. I wasn’t even a twinkle in my father’s eye. I wasn’t even—”
Just North of Bliss Page 24
