by Terra Little
“I’m going to let the university have the story. They’ll use some of my shots and credit you with the find, though.”
“That’s good news.” She was too disoriented with pleasure to be excited. Instead, she was on the verge of begging. Except for his busy mouth, he hadn’t yet touched her and the waiting was driving her crazy. When he caged her in at the counter, she thought he was about to put her out of her misery, but he had other ideas.
“Very good news.” His teeth sank into her earlobe and applied gentle, stinging pressure. “You smell almost as good as you taste.”
The mention of his having tasted her activated the honey in her core, warming it to the boiling point. It coated her inner walls slowly, from the inside out, and tapped at the base of her hot button. A gasp shot out of her mouth. “You taste good, too.”
“Taste me now.”
She did. How could she resist? Her mouth was open and on his nipple before she knew she wanted it to be. Her tongue flicked across the hard bud quickly, eliciting a strangled moan from him.
“Touch me, Tressie.” She moved to the other nipple and slid the palms of her hands along his torso while she pleasured him and herself. He shuddered. “It isn’t working, is it?” he whispered into her hair. “I thought after the first time that it would be enough, but it isn’t, is it? Unfasten me, Tressie,” he said without waiting for a response. “Take me out, take me in your hands and see how hard you make me.”
She did. How could she not? Her hands were unzipping his shorts and pushing them down with a will of their own, trembling when they gripped him and squeezed. She pumped him slowly and experienced a moment’s victory when his head fell back and he swore viciously. She took her mouth to the skin in the center of his chest and licked him there once and then twice. Then she reached up, sank her fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers.
Hell, no, it wasn’t working. The more his tongue lapped against hers, the more she wanted of it and of him. And, still, nothing was touching between them, except their hungry mouths. Determined to remedy that, she turned the tables on him and issued a demand of her own. “Touch me, Nate.”
* * *
It wouldn’t last...
The fierce need to plunder and possess, the complete and utter surrender to sexual abandon, and the desire to exist for all time, buried in her tight, slick walls...it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Whatever this was that started happening to him when she was near, whatever this hold was that she seemed to have on him, it was temporary, an exquisite release from reality, meant only to be enjoyed in its season.
That’s what Nate was telling himself when she peeled off her T-shirt and unhooked her bra. Those succulent breasts of hers swung free, and she slanted such an innocently knowing look up him that he couldn’t resist cupping them, stroking the tips of her nipples until they sat up like juicy pieces of ripe fruit, beckoning his tongue. His mouth watered for them, and his penis expanded inside its velvety smooth sheath until his was an almost painful arousal.
No, this couldn’t last. Their work here in Mercy was nearly finished. Their story had been submitted, and now there was nothing left to do but wait. They were almost out of moves to make on behalf of the town and, soon, they would go their separate ways. She would return to New York to try to revive her career, and he would accept one of the many assignment requests that Julia had been holding at bay in his absence. The likelihood that they would speak again, at least anytime soon, was slim to none. What would they have to discuss?
They hadn’t talked about this at any length, what they were doing, and there would be no need to discuss it after it was over. He’d had his share of affairs over the years, some of them meaningful and more than a few of them meaningless, and this one would fall into one of those categories, just like all the rest. She would go back to gossiping for a living, and he would go back to despising what she did from afar. Perhaps every now and again he would slow down long enough to remember odd little details about her, like her infectious giggle and her thick, shiny hair, her slender hands and long fingers, and her nonstop chattering.
Maybe he would remember that he had invited her into his house, into his darkroom to see the pictures he had developed, and that he’d begun thinking about seducing her as soon as she’d walked through the door.
For once, she wasn’t wearing stilettos and a flirty dress, just ordinary canvas sneakers and a T-shirt and shorts. Her face was bare of any makeup, and her skin glowed with health and a fine sheen of perspiration from her walk. He had taken one look at her, at the bright smile on her face, and completely forgotten that he was exhausted.
Maybe he would remember all that.
Maybe.
Reluctantly, Nate admitted to himself that there was so much more about Tressie Valentine that he would never forget.
The way she straddled him and rolled her hips around and around, just the way she was rolling them right now, was indelibly stamped on his brain. The way the muscles in her thighs flexed and bunched in unison with her inner muscles when she sat all the way down on his length was now a preference for him. The way her breasts swayed from side to side in front of his seeking mouth was positively hypnotizing. And the sounds she made while she was sinking down onto him and rising slowly to do it all over again was music to his ears.
His greedy hands gripped her ass, wanting to control her strokes and therefore control her influence over his own climax. But she pushed them away and planted her own hands in the center of his chest, rearing him back in the chair he was sitting in. Relinquishing control, he took his hands to her breasts and left them there as she rode him into blissful oblivion.
A long time later, he carried her over to the futon that he had set up against the far wall in his darkroom for the times that he was too exhausted to find his bed, and he laid her down. Half-asleep already, she curled up in a fetal position on the thick cushion and watched him from under heavy eyelids. A shy smile curved her lips and stole his breath. Wanting to capture and immortalize it, he moved away slowly and dimmed the lights.
Then he picked up his camera.
Chapter 7
After two days of looking from afar for fear of getting in the way, Tressie said to hell with it and ventured onto Moira’s property to take a closer look at what the archaeological students were doing. From what Nate had already told her, she knew that the site had been authenticated not long after the team had arrived a week ago, but other than looking from a distance and speculating on what was happening, she had no clue about how the work was progressing.
He had agreed to allow the university complete control over the project and was giving them a wide berth, but Tressie didn’t share his nonchalant attitude. No doubt he had seen and done all kinds of things during his career, so this was probably just another important event to add to his list of been there–done thats. She, on the other hand, had never experienced anything like it.
The ground over the hidden room near the creek had been excavated, baring the space to the world and allowing Tressie to see as she got closer to the roped-off area that it was larger than she and Nate had originally thought. In the light of day, she could make out the frame of the opening to the underground tunnel that had once led to the main house, and she could see where water had leaked into the room in some places. The artifacts that she and Nate had discovered had been removed and were now lying on a plastic tarp on the ground a few feet away. A student was working with them, and she stopped to watch him.
That’s where she was when Moira found her. She appeared at Tressie’s shoulder suddenly, without warning, leaning heavily on an intricately carved wooden cane and sporting one of the wide-brimmed hats that she was legendary for. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes, but there was no mistaking the warm smile on her face when she turned to Tressie and laid a soft hand on her arm.
“I was wondering when you woul
d come and see for yourself what you started,” Moira said. “It’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it? All these people, all this activity. It’s been years since I’ve had this many people at my house at one time, if ever.”
By Tressie’s count, there had to be at least fifty people milling around the grounds. Factoring in the equipment that they’d brought with them, she had to admit that it did look like a small-scale takeover was in progress. At the other end of the grounds, past the house and the flower gardens, a row of trailers were parked on the grass, and on the end where the digging was going on, a row of portable lavatories had been set up. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what the project was costing the university. “I bet you can’t wait for all this to be over with.”
“Oh, no, on the contrary—it’s just the opposite. I’m having fun.” A soft giggle bubbled out of
Moira’s mouth. “At night, some of the students come out of the trailers, pitch huge tents around the creek and sit out here under the moon, singing and playing the guitar. They sound like they’re having so much fun and, I’ll tell you what, if I were a few years younger, I’d be right out there with them. I’ll be sad to see them go, to tell you the truth.”
“Are they almost done?” Tressie would be sad to see them go, too. Their presence in town had done a lot for morale. Not many residents had actually come in person to see what was happening, but word had quickly spread. The excitement in the air was tangible and, for the first time in a long time, people had something positive to talk about. For the time being, the eminent domain crisis had taken a backseat to the possibility that, as Jasper Holmes had put to Tressie just this morning, Harriet Tubman might have once traveled through Mercy, Georgia. The very idea had put a sparkle in the old man’s eye that Tressie had never seen there or anywhere else before. Sadly, when the students left, the crisis would once again overshadow everything and everyone.
“They have at least another couple of weeks’ worth of work to do here,” Moira guessed. “But everything is happening so fast—time is passing so quickly. It’ll all be over with before we know it.” She fell silent, her attention momentarily caught by a tattered leather-bound book that the student on the ground in front of them was gently dusting off. The bowl that Tressie had almost touched that first night was there, too, as was a bundle of what looked like handkerchiefs or rags. After the bowl had been dusted off, he turned his attention to the bundle and began gently untangling it. Moira leaned closer to Tressie and stage-whispered, “I assume Nathaniel told you that he’s giving the university all rights to the findings from the dig?”
“Yes, he mentioned it.” Still unsure of how she felt about Nate’s decision, Tressie decided not to elaborate any further. If Moira was in favor of the decision, the last thing she wanted to do was put her foot in her mouth.
“You have to respect his generosity,” Moira said, nodding sagely. “But I think, if there was ever a time to be selfish, this is it.” Surprised, Tressie stared at Moira. “What? You think I don’t realize the impact that this could have on Gwinnet County’s final decision? We won’t have another useless town hall meeting for weeks and by then we could really give them something to think about.” She took a deep breath and released it slowly, scanning the view spread out in front of her. “I’m afraid the story the two of you wrote won’t be enough.”
“But this might be,” Tressie put in quietly. “If this and the room in your cellar are true stops along the Underground Railroad, that means that your house and your land are historical landmarks.” Tressie searched Moira’s eyes for confirmation. Finding none, she literally wilted. “Doesn’t it?”
“That awful company—Consolidated Investments, isn’t it?—is already aware of that. They’ve graciously offered to build around my property and allow me to stay. As if I should be grateful to have a home while the rest of town is plowed down and people are scattered to the winds like ashes.”
Tressie thought about the purchase-offer documents that she had been carrying around in her purse for the past two days. Aside from accessing her email, printing them out and tucking them inside her purse, she hadn’t done anything with them. The longer she remained in Mercy, the guiltier she felt about even wanting to accept the offer, let alone actually going through with it.
She hadn’t come back to Mercy to get all tangled up in humanitarian efforts, and now that she was, she desperately wanted to see the town prevail. After everything it had been through, it deserved to win. The thought of selling her land to the opposition made her feel like a traitor and, much like what Nate had said about his late mother, her own grandmother wouldn’t be at all pleased to know what she’d done. Ma’Dear wouldn’t have dreamed of selling out, no matter how much money was on the table for the taking.
But Ma’Dear hadn’t had the responsibilities that Tressie had. Nor had she ever dreamed of a life beyond teaching children the difference between verbs and adverbs. Tressie wanted so much more than the quiet, simple life Ma’Dear had lived. In fact, she didn’t want a quiet, simple life at all. She wanted the freedom to allow Vanessa Valentino to write what she wanted, when she wanted, where she wanted, all while enjoying the stability that a financial nest egg would provide. After everything Vanessa Valentino had been through recently, she deserved to win, too.
Mercy was a nice place to visit, but she never planned to call the place home again. If she didn’t sell to Norman Harper, then she would just sell to someone else. So why shouldn’t she get the highest return on her property? If the town was bulldozed to the ground and wiped off the map, which was exactly what she feared was going to happen anyway, then what difference would it make in the long run?
“At least that’s something,” Tressie told Moira. “You get to keep your house and your land. That’s good news.”
“It’s not about me or even you, Tressie. It’s about right and wrong.” One of the rags that the student unraveled had spots of what Tressie could only assume was dried blood on it. He held it up to the sun, studied it for a long moment and then set it aside to write something in the notebook that was lying open at his side. Moira watched him thoughtfully for several seconds before she spoke again. “Did you know that this town was named Mercy because the freed slaves who first settled here believed that God had finally shown them mercy?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“It stands to reason, though, doesn’t it? And now the state is showing the town no mercy.
“It makes me so angry.” She lifted her hand from Tressie’s arm long enough to slip her sunglasses off. Staring into Tressie’s eyes, she asked, “Have they made you an offer to sell your grandmother’s house and land, Tressie?”
Under the steady glare of Moira’s probing green eyes, Tressie didn’t even consider lying. “Yes, but I...uh...haven’t quite decided yet. I came here planning to, but now...” She shrugged helplessly and looked away. “Now I don’t know.”
Nodding slowly, Moira seemed to accept her answer for what it was. “It would certainly be the easiest way, I guess,” she eventually replied, and suddenly Tressie felt two inches tall and transparent.
Done with the rags for the time being, the student began handling the leather-bound book. When he carefully cracked it open with gloved hands, Tressie saw that it was some sort of children’s storybook, and her heart melted. “Some poor child probably accidentally left that behind,” she speculated.
“More likely, someone was using it to teach others how to read and write,” Moira corrected. “At some stops, runaways were hidden for days, sometimes weeks before moving on to the next stop.”
“Do you think there are more stops here in town?”
“I doubt it. I imagine that this area was mostly foliage back then. There may have been one or two other plantations nearby, but not much else.” She smiled at the student, slipped her sunglasses back over her eyes and took Tressie’s elbow with her free hand. “I think I�
��d better get out of the sun for a while. Come, join me for lunch.”
It wasn’t a request, and Tressie didn’t dare refuse. She helped Moira cross the lawn to the main house and, at Moira’s direction, followed her through the French doors into a large, sunny kitchen. A maid was chopping vegetables at a center island and glancing at a television that was set up on a nearby counter. She looked up when they entered, smiled and went back to her task.
“Lunch is coming right up, Miss Moira,” she sang cheerfully, still chopping. At a commercial break, she tore her eyes away from the television set and focused on Tressie. “Hello, there. I’m Janice.”
“Hi, I’m Tressie,” Tressie said as she pulled a chair away from the kitchen table for Moira. After Moira was seated and Tressie was certain that she wasn’t in danger of slipping and fracturing anything, she returned Janice’s smile. “Whatever that is you’re cooking smells delicious.”
Janice glowed at the compliment. “Oh, it’s just a little pasta salad recipe that I made up.
“The secret,” she declared with a flourish of the knife in her hand, “is in the sauce. It’s a little spicy, a little sweet.” She transferred the celery and carrots that she’d been chopping to a metal strainer, then turned toward the sink behind her. Over the running water, she added, “Have a seat and make yourself comfortable. I’ll get you two something cool to drink in just a second. It must be ninety degrees outside.”
“Closer to a hundred,” Moira said, pulling a neatly folded handkerchief from her bosom and dabbing at her face and neck. Sighing, she looked up at Tressie and waved her into a chair. “Sit down, dear. She says lunch will be ready shortly, but it’ll be at least until Another World goes off before we even see so much as a buttered roll. You might as well relax in the meantime.”
