“Am I?” He grabbed the pot and dumped the honey on her throat, trailing gooey threads over the rise of her breasts. Then he released her hands and kissed her again.
Her laughter became a satisfied sigh as she circled his neck with her arms. “Oh, Chance, you are one of a kind,” she said.
Their gazes met, and his eyes filled with uncertainty.
Her insides clenched. What would he think if I told him that I love him? she wondered. Instinctively she knew that it was too soon to tell him how she really felt.
He drew back and looked deeply into her eyes. “There’s only here and now, Rachel. I can’t give you tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll take now,” she whispered.
“You’re certain?”
“I am.” She caressed the taut muscles of his shoulders, savoring the small tremors of pleasure that spilled down her spine. Heady with anticipation, she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and felt his breathing quicken.
He rose and pulled her up after him, then gathered her into his arms. How strong he is, she thought as she wound her arms tightly around his neck. For a brief moment she stared into his luminous eyes and wondered if she would ever regret this moment. Then her senses reeled as Chance slanted his mouth, and she leaned close to meet his searing kiss.
She wrapped her legs around his waist as he half slid, half stumbled down the creek bank and waded into the water. Heat flooded her body as he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, and she moaned softly.
“You don’t need this,” he murmured, tugging at her nightgown. The thin linen caught around her hips, and he ripped it from hem to neckline, leaving her completely unclad in the hot morning sun.
“No more than you need this,” she replied as she began to unbutton his shirt. The warm water lapped delightfully over her buttocks to her waist, covering her but hiding nothing.
“A woman after my own heart.”
Chance slid one hand down her back, running his lean fingers along the hollow of her spine and tracing the curve of one hip.
She closed her eyes and leaned back until her unbound hair trailed in the water. Around her the creek surged with the sounds and smells of pulsing life: the high-pitched kee-kee-kee of an osprey, the chatter of a squirrel, and the wer-ump wer-ump of bullfrogs. The air hung heavy with the rich scents of crushed mint, damp earth, and the bite of brackish water.
“Rachel,” Chance murmured. “Sweet, sweet Rachel.”
She felt him twist beneath her as he pulled off his trousers and tossed them back onto the bank. In seconds she felt the heat of Chance’s naked skin against hers.
Sighing, she ran her fingers through his hair and burst into laughter as she encountered the sticky residue of matted hay and drying egg.
“Save us!” she cried as her eyes widened. “You’re badly in need of a bath, sir.”
“And whose fault is that?” he asked, bending his head to kiss her again.
Still laughing, she twisted out of his embrace and dived into deeper water. He plunged in after her, and she scooped up a handful of sand from the bottom and circled him. When they broke the surface, she came up behind and scrubbed his back and shoulders until he cried out in protest.
“Enough! You’ll …”
She bobbed under again, and this time he was gone when she broke water. “Chance? Where are you?” She waited, treading water, as the seconds passed, anxiously watching for some movement around her.
Then, without warning, she felt strong hands seize her around the waist and thrust her up into the air. “No!” she cried.
“Yes!” Laughing, he claimed her mouth with his, then lowered his head to draw an aching nipple between his lips.
Desire surged through her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and arched her back as sweet sensations spiraled down to the pit of her belly and made her shudder with need.
He raised his head and gazed into her eyes. “Are you certain?” he whispered.
Rachel couldn’t speak. Instead, she took his hand and put it between her legs. Chance groaned, and she felt his shaft thicken and throb against her bare thigh.
Incessant hunger made her bold and she clung to him, sighing as his fingers delved into the sensitive folds below her triangle of dark curls.
No other man but her husband had ever touched her so, had ever made her tremble with wanting him. She had not believed that such smoldering heat burned within this golden man.
“Love me,” she begged him.
Chance pressed his lips into her hair and whispered sweet words as his fingers worked magic. Tension built within her, and she squirmed closer and closer, breath coming in quick, ragged gasps, until she could feel the strong, rapid beat of his heart.
Yet she wanted more.
Her body tensed, muscles straining, pulse racing. “Now!” she cried. “I want you—now.”
Chance caught her waist and held her, and she felt the first hot nudge of his sex against hers. She opened to him as a flower welcomes the summer rain, and he filled her with his ardent power.
She climaxed on his first thrust.
He laughed as a cry of wonder broke from her lips, then drove deep. For an instant they were one. He kissed her again and brought her to a fever pitch with powerful, slow strokes.
This time they reached the summit together, and she felt him shudder and heard his groan of release as they toppled over and tumbled into empty space.
Later he made tender love to her once more in the shallows, shaded by an ancient beech tree. Afterward, she lay content in his arms and listened to the whisper of the creek and the indignant chirping of a Carolina wren.
“There’s not another woman like you, Rachel Irons,” Chance said softly.
She smiled and kept her eyes closed. She was anxious to see if Davy was awake, but she was reluctant to break the spell of this special time.
Chance wound a lock of her hair around his finger. “This is what life should be,” he murmured. “Warm sun, a beautiful woman in my arms, and not the boom of a single cannon.”
“I don’t want to think about the war,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think at all.”
“Nor I, darlin’.” He lifted her hand and kissed the pulse at her wrist.
She chuckled softly as he planted feather-light kisses along her forearm up to her elbow.
“I think I’m sitting on a crab,” he teased.
“I hope not.”
She sighed and looked up at him. Golden sprinkles of stubble covered his chin and cheeks. She touched him lightly, wanting to fix every inch of him forever in her mind, so that she would never lose these precious memories.
“I should have shaved this morning.”
“No. Remember? You’re a hired hand. You’re supposed to look scruffy. It’s much too dangerous for you to remain here looking fit for military service.”
“I’m putting you and Davy at risk.”
“You are, but … Oh, Chance.” She twisted out of his arms and knelt in front of him. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”
“Shhh, don’t talk like that. I’m a soldier. Don’t pin your hopes on me.”
“You don’t have to go back to the war. You could stay here with me. It won’t last forever—you said so yourself.”
His mood sobered. “Before I met you, Rachel, I made a promise to a friend. I have to keep that promise.” His eyes clouded and she thought she saw the hint of a tear. “His name is Travis, and he’s the best friend I ever had. I left him on the beach … that night that I escaped from Pea Patch Island.”
Numbness spread through her body, and she suddenly felt chilled. “You’re going back for him, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“What makes you think he’s alive?” She stood up and tried to cover herself with her hands as she looked for the ruins of her nightgown. “He’s probably dead. You know that.”
Chance nodded, and his features grew taut with concern. “I’ve told myself that, but I can’t be sure.
Travis and I have always had this bond. It’s not something I can put into words, but we’ve been together since we were children. We’ve gotten in and out of scrapes that neither of us should have lived through. I have this feeling that I’d know if he were dead. I can’t live with myself if I don’t go and make certain.”
“They’ll kill you.” She found his shirt and draped it around her. “Lots of men have gotten out of Fort Delaware, but no one has—”
“Been fool enough to go back,” he finished.
A lump rose in her throat. She hadn’t guessed that the thought of losing him would hurt so much. “If it wasn’t for this Travis, could you care about me, Chance?” Her eyes narrowed, and she straightened to her full height. “I want the truth from you. No more lies between us.”
“I wish it were that simple.”
She shook her head. “No excuses. You never tried to make more of this than it is. I’m not the kind of woman a fancy lawyer—”
“Damn it, Rachel, it’s not that and you know it.” He leaped to his feet, and his features hardened. “I took an oath to uphold the Confederacy. So long as the war lasts, I have to fight.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’d rather I was a deserter?”
“Yes,” she shouted. “Hell, yes. I’d rather have you desert a hundred times than end up fodder for some Union cannon.”
“You’re a woman,” he answered gruffly. “You’ve no notion of what honor means to a man.”
“You stupid bastard.” Angry tears welled up in her eyes. “And you’ve no notion what you’re throwing away,” she cried. “It’s a lost cause. You know it, and I know it.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But whatever comes, I’ve got to—”
She didn’t wait to hear the rest. She turned and ran toward the house.
“Rachel! Rachel, wait!” he called.
Halfway to the barn, she stopped and faced him. He came toward her barefoot and pulling up his wet trousers with sections of yellow hair falling over his forehead.
“We said this would be only for here and now,” he reminded her. “You agreed.”
Her chest felt tight; she wanted to lash out at him for his stupidity. “This isn’t a game of checkers,” she said. “It’s my life. Can I help what I feel for you?”
“And I care about you—and about Davy. But I can’t hide here for the rest of the war.”
“Go, then! Go and to hell with you! I don’t need you, Chance Chancellor. I don’t need you at all!”
Chapter 15
“Rachel!” Chance called. “Wait.”
She stalked away, brown eyes spitting fire and her back as straight as an infantryman’s. His wet shirt clung sensually to her full hips and ended halfway down her thighs, exposing long, shapely legs and slim ankles. Her thick, dark hair hung nearly to her waist, and drops of water caught in the strands reflected rays of sunshine like stars in a night sky.
She was one hell of a woman.
“Rachel!”
She vanished around the corner of the barn and he hurried after her, treading carefully to avoid stubble under his bare soles. When he reached the house, she was already upstairs. He heard Davy fussing just before a bedroom door slammed.
Chance shrugged and looked around the kitchen. Bear raised his head and uttered a low growl. “My sentiments exactly,” Chance said.
She’d told him to go. If she didn’t want him here, then he was free to leave … free to return to Pea Patch and settle old scores.
All he had to do was turn his back on the woman he’d come to think of as his own.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered as he located the broom and began to sweep up the mess. Why in hell couldn’t she understand? What kind of man would he be if he allowed himself to hide out the war in safety while his friends died?
He stooped to retrieve the butter dish from the floor. Bear had licked it clean. “At least you’re good for something,” he said to the dog.
It was hard to stay mad at Rachel when memories of their idyll at the creek still made him hard. He knew that if he shut his eyes and concentrated, he could taste Rachel’s mouth and feel the silken texture of her skin.
Damn, he didn’t have to try. The clean woman-scent of her lingered in his nostrils. Just thinking about her lush, rose-tipped breasts was enough to drive him crazy.
She was impossible. Irrational. Yet, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and make love to her again.
It shouldn’t have been that way. He liked women, always had, but once he’d had one, some of the mystery and excitement was lost.
Not this time.
What he felt for Rachel was more than physical. It was dangerous—she was dangerous. He had the awful sinking feeling that he was about to experience something he’d thought would never happen. He suffered from all the symptoms of falling in love.
And he was long past that human failing.
“Absolutely not,” he said.
The massive black dog blinked and lolled a tongue the size of a man’s hand.
“Forget it.” Chance briskly wiped down the table and returned the flour box and salt crock to the cupboard. He was scrubbing the corn-bread pan when he heard footsteps behind him.
“I can do that,” Rachel said. “The cow hasn’t been milked this morning.”
“Yes, she has.” He pumped cold water over the pan.
“Oh.”
He glanced at her. She wore a purplish gingham dress and white apron, and her glorious mane of hair was neatly braided and pinned up on her head. She held the baby in her arms, and her hips swayed slightly as she walked.
It’s a trap, Chance thought. Holy Mother of God, I was safer charging a Union line at Manassas than I am in this kitchen.
Davy was wide awake and cooing contentedly. Chance wiped his hands on a striped towel and reached for him. Putting the baby between them was the only thing that would keep him from claiming that saucy mouth of hers here and now. “How about if I hold him and you finish this?” He motioned to the dirty spoons and bowls heaped in the sink.
“All right.” Her features were smooth and expressionless, but she couldn’t hide the light in her eyes when she looked at him.
She handed him Davy, and Chance carried the squirming infant over to the rocking chair. She’d put the little boy in a long dress, and it was like trying to hold a goat in a bag. “Why does he need all these clothes in this heat?” Chance asked her. He untied the baby’s bonnet and slipped it off so that he could kiss the crown of his head when Rachel wasn’t looking.
“Since when did you become an expert on child raising?”
“Rearing. Child rearing,” he corrected. “You raise cabbages, not babies.”
“Damn few cabbages you’ve ever raised,” Rachel snapped as she began scrubbing a bowl hard enough to take the pattern off.
“No need to get testy on me. I said I’d stay long enough to get your crop in and I will.” Chance bounced Davy on his knee. The baby flashed him a drippy smile. “Hey, he smiled at me.”
“He doesn’t know any better.”
“Rachel, use sense. You can’t expect me to—”
“I don’t expect anything of you but farmwork. This morning was—”
“I won’t hear that kind of talk. We both wanted it.”
She put the clean bowl aside and reached for a wooden spoon. “You’re right. We’ve nothing in common out of bed. Nothing.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.”
She shook the spoon at him. “As if you or your rich lawyer friends would have noticed me if we’d passed each other on the streets of Richmond before the war.”
“I’d have noticed you anywhere,” he replied mildly as he wiped the baby’s chin with a napkin. “And nothing that happened before Sumter means anything now. It’s a different world, and none of us will ever be the same, not even you.”
Davy began to fuss, and Chance shifted him to his shoulder and patted his back until the baby gave a loud burp.
“Be easy with him,” she said. “He’s not a sack of corn.”
“Is he crying? If he didn’t like it, he’d be screaming, wouldn’t he?” Chance replied.
Davy began to gurgle happily.
“There, what did I tell you?” Chance said. “You don’t know anything about my life, my family, my friends. You judge them out of ignorance.”
“So now I’m ignorant?”
He scoffed. “There’s no class war between us, Rachel. You’re as fine a lady as it’s ever been my honor to meet.”
“Exactly the kind of woman you’d bring home to your mother.”
“Hardly. You’re the wrong religion to suit Mother, and your blood isn’t blue enough.” He shrugged. “Is that what you wanted me to say?”
She flushed. “I suppose so.”
“You wouldn’t like Mother very much, Rachel, and I suppose the feeling would be mutual. In all honesty, I’d have to admit that Mother is somewhat of a snob.”
She sank into a chair. “There’s no need to talk of your mother. I didn’t—”
“She’s probably much what you’d expect and more. My mother is a beautiful woman, but very cool in nature, even to her children. Appearances are of the utmost importance, not whether an action is right or wrong, but how it looks to the people who matter.”
“But you said that she was against slavery. That doesn’t sound like a cold person to me.”
“Slavery was one of Mother’s charities. She was always kind to her black servants and her dogs. Mother was very fond of dogs, more so than she was of her children.”
“But surely she loved you. You’re her son.”
“In her way. Aunt Milly was my nursemaid when I was small. She was born in the islands, and her skin was the color of coffee and cream. She used to sing to me in Spanish, and she was never too busy to listen to Travis and me when we came home from school. We adored Aunt Milly, but when I was ten, my little sister made the mistake of calling her Mama. My mother discharged her that day. She had my father put her on a boat headed south to the Caribbean. I never saw her again.”
“You must have missed her terribly,” Rachel answered softly. “But I don’t understand. What does that have to do with us?”
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