Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
Beloved (64 page)
Her eyelids were heavy with passion, but she was afraid to close her eyes completely, afraid that when she opened them, he
'
d be gone.
"
How far; how far back have you wanted me?
"
she begged to know.
His laugh was bemused, unsure, as he unbuttoned the last of the metal buttons.
"Since ..
. I want to say,
the funeral, but it must be ..
. before that. I suppose, since I was fifteen, and
you spent the summer here ...
. No, even that
'
s not right.
"
He cradled her face in his hands and gave her a look so intense with longing that she felt
his
pain in addition to her own.
"
I
'
ve wanted you as long as memory itself,
"
he said at last, struggling to express his thought.
"
It
'
s a very strange thing.
"
Even more strange was the fact that she felt exactly the same way he did. She didn
'
t understand it, any of it. It was all too much
—
the intoxication of the roses; his sudden, seductive candor; the addictive sound of his voice; and especially, the overwhelming sense that they
'
d been together before. That they
'
d been apart, and that now they were together again.
He lifted her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all.
"
Will you let me make love to you, Jane Drew?
"
he whispered, kissing her, leaving her dizzy with desire for him.
It was so typically endearing of him, this
blend of courteous knight and lusty warrior. It made her drunk with power and crazy with love to know that if she said,
"
Fat chance,
"
Mac McKenzie would put her back down and bite through steel before he
'
d push himself on her. She wondered whether he had any idea how erotic his self-control was.
"
Mr. McKenzie,
"
she said, returning his kiss with a taunting tenderness to match his own,
"
if you
don
'
t
make love to me, and soon, I
'
m going to throw myself off Sankaty bluffs.
"
He gave her a sexy grin and carried her up the stairs, which delighted her. She thought
—
almost with pity
—
of the wife who
'
d divorced him, of what treasure she
'
d left behind on thi
s
enchanted isle. Jane had absolutely no doubt that Mac McKenzie was a perfect lover; she knew it, just as surely as she knew she was the one right woman in the world for him. In her heart, in her soul, it was that simple.
Mac pulled back the green-striped comforter and laid her on the white eyelet sheets of her great-aunt
'
s bed. She didn
'
t expect him to be self-conscious about his physicality, and she was right.
"
We were taught no street clothes on the sheets,
"
he said with a devilish sideways look before he yanked the turtleneck over his head. His jeans and underwear went next, and then he was sitting on the bed alongside her. Just like that, the mystery of Mac McKenzie was revealed to her.
She liked what she saw
—
liked it so much, that she clamped her mouth shut, afraid that she
'
d say something just a little too modern for his old-fashioned taste.
But of course he noticed.
"
What,
"
he said, cocking his head and looking at her through half-lidded eyes.
She shook her head, then touched the four-inch welt of an old scar on the lower part of his thigh.
"
You
'
ve been in a duel,
"
she said with a sympathetic smile, remembering Bing
'
s quip about men and their wounds.
Mac took her hand and traced it across the scar, as if he wanted her to know everything about him, starting with the damaged parts and working her way from there.
"
Billy B. worked for me when he was fourteen. I think it was his Texas-Chainsaw-Massacre period. You know what mimics kids are,
"
he said with his deadpan look.
"
And this?
"
she asked, tracing a triangle-shaped scar on his upper arm.
"
Misdirected tree limb. I
'
m no better than Billy when it comes to chainsaws.
"
She tisked and said,
"
It could
'
ve been an eye,
"
in a maternal kind of way.
"
And
—
this?
"
she asked, touching a small pink scar near the nipple of his left breast. It looked like a stab wound.
"
You really
were
in a duel.
"
"
Ah, that one
'
s newish,
"
he said, looking down at it, his chin doubling with the effort.
"
That
'
s where the arrow went that recently pierced my heart.
"
Startled, she looked up and instantly lost herself in the profound depths of his hazel eyes.
"
Really, Mac?
"
she whispered.
"
Truly,
"
he said, with a look that made her dizzy. He leaned over her and brushed his lips across her mouth.
"
Well, my fair one,
"
he murmured.
"
We
'
ve had the worst. Now, it
'
s my turn.
"
He unfolded both sides of her blouse as gently as he might the petals of a flower. She was wearing a bra that fastened in front; he unsnapped it and drew aside the fabric, leaving it nestled in the folds of the blouse. She
'
d never been undressed quite that way before, with such care and attention. He had the naive curiosity of a youth from a very small town, the experienced touch of a
Paris
rake. It was a breathtaking combination. Jane knew that her breasts were more shapely than earthy, and that h
e
r waist didn
'
t tuck in like, well, like Judith
'
s
—
but he was making her feel like Venus de Milo.
"
You aren
'
t fashionably thin,
"
he said in his droll way.
Jane knew that coming from Mac McKenzie, it was the
highest of compliments. She batted her eyelashes and said,
"
Hauling trees around always gives me an appetite.
"
He smiled, remembering.
"
I wanted you so much that day,
"
he said, leaning on one arm alongside her. He bent his head over her breast, cupping it in his free hand and caressing the pink tip with his tongue.
She closed her eyes and said,
"Just ... hold ..
. that thought,
"
between gasps of pleasure as he played light and magical games with her body. She brought her knee up and pressed the heel of her foot into the soft down of the comforter in a futile attempt to stay earthbound. But it was no use; no matter how she tried, she found herself spiraling upward, upward and outward, and bound for heaven.
His hand slid lower, over her smooth, warm flesh, and stopped at the heavy brass zipper of her jeans. He slid open the zipper, which made a funny little questioning sound, like a sentry surprised at its post:
"
Yes?
"
went the sound.
"
Yes,
"
she whispered in a shudder.
She lifted her hips and he slid away her jeans and panties in one deft movement, and then caught her in his arms so that she could slip out of the rest of her things. She remembered other undressings, groping and awkward. How different this was, how completely without fear. Again she had the uncanny sense that they
'
d been together before, and forever.
With a complex smile he let his gaze wander over her full length and back again. It was like setting her oven temperature to quick preheat. She wound her fingers through his and said,
"
Once you
'
ve opened the wrapper, you can
'
t return it, you know.
"
The sound of his laugh was mixed with pain.
"
I wish you weren
'
t so beautiful,
"
he said in a wistful voice.
"
Beautiful
...
I
'
m not beautiful,
"
she said, surprised. Then she added,
"
Why do you say you wish I wasn
'
t? Which I
'
m not. But if I were.
"
He climbed in bed and lay alongside her and raked his fingers gently through her long hair, fanning it on the pillow.
"
I want you,
not
because you
'
re beautiful,
"
he said, pressing his lips first to one temple, then to the other.
"
I want you because you
'
re real. I love that you enjoy my people. I love that you could get excited about a rusty pickup truck. I love
—
I was amazed
—
that you moved your door and not the hollies.
"
He was lying across her breast, supporting his weight on one elbow, his wide shoulders overshadowing her smaller frame. He lowered his mouth on hers in a kiss of almost unbearable tenderness and said,
"
And I wish now that I hadn
'
t eaten your Napoleon at the church bazaar; I know you wanted it.
"
It was the craziest, most whimsical declaration of
—
of what? Want? Love? She didn
'
t know; all she knew was that she wanted
—
and loved
—
this man. She held his face between her hands and brought his mouth back down on hers and kissed him fiercely, not because she was impatient, but because he was
so
patient. If he wanted to make this last, he was doing a superb job of it.
"
Ah, Jane,
"
he said hoarsely between kisses,
"
I don
'
t want to rush this
...
.
"
"
Mac McKenzie,
"
she said with a giddy laugh as he buried his face in the curve of her neck,
"
you who watch trees grow for a living
—
there
'
s no
way
you could rush this.
"
His voice was both wry and rich with emotion as he said,
"
Trust me; it
'
s been a
while. I think what we need ..
. we need to give you a head start,
"
he murmured, beginning a slow and wicked descent with his tongue across the sometimes uncharted terrain of her body.
Jane had no idea, she hadn
'
t a
clue,
that a man could make a woman feel this way, this long, this well. She sucked in her breath sharply, then sucked it in again, forgetting to let go, until her mind was spinning from lack of oxygen, until some survival reflex let the air out again, in long, shuddering waves, and she began all over in sharp, staccato intakes, her blood pulsing the whole time, her heart ragged from the effort to keep up.
More than once she thought she had died; it seemed inconceivable to her that the human body, the female body, could survive such repeated plunges into near-oblivion and live to dream about it. She felt such incredibly intense, explosive
yearning
for him; she had nothing in her life to compare it to.
But she had her experience of Judith. The image of Judith, once it filtered through her consciousness, became stronger and more pervasive until she understood on some level that
she
was Judith, and Sylvia was Judith, and so was Cissy. All women were Judith, anyone who
'
d ever loved the way a woman can, with all her heart and soul.
And whether the love turned out well, or whether children followed, or long life, almost didn
'
t matter, because the essential thing, the one essential thing, was to have opened oneself to the experience of loving someone without holding back.
She opened her eyes, drugged with love, and saw Mac alongside her again, his chin resting on one hand, a bemused half-smile softening the craggy features of his face.
"
You
are
beautiful,
"
he said softly.
"
More than ever.
"
"
It must be my feelings shining through,
"
she whispered. She touched her fingertips to her lips, then pressed them gently to Mac
'
s full, handsome mouth.
"
I think maybe you gave me too much of a head start,
"
she said dreamily.
"
I seem to have got there before you.
"
"
I can probably still catch up,
"
he said with a sensuous, lazy smile. He had the bedrock confidence of his sex; there wasn
'
t a doubt in her mind that he was right. She wondered what would happen
now
if she said,
"
Fat chance.
"
Fat chance that she
'
d ever say it.
He brought his mouth down over hers in a test-the-waters kiss. Jane knew
—
how could she not?
—
that he would
give her all the time she needed. The waters seemed just fine: not too hot, not too cold. The silvery lightness of his kiss lingered until it became something more liquid and golden, and then something else again, hotter and molten.
And this, too, was new: this heat. She had wanted him before in an almost ineffable way, and he had more than satisfied that desire. But there was something else, an emptiness that needed to be filled, a mating ritual as old as time itself that needed to be consummated.
Her voice was barely a shudder, lost in the tangle of her senses, as she said,
"Come into me ..
. come into me now
...."
And when he did, in a slow slide into the melting recess of her self, she closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of exaltation because now, at last, she was whole.
Mac, who parceled out his words like gold coins, parceled out three more.
"I ..
. won
't ..
. last,
"
he said, his brow beading up from the effort to do just that. He became very still.
She had to smile.
"
The general idea is, you don
'
t have to,
"
she answered, sliding her hands through his wild, sun-streaked hair.
"
Because there
'
s more, you know.
"
His voice was tremulous, almost apologetic.
"
I pace m
yself much better than this ..
. but with you, it
's different. I ... something ..
.
drives me to you. With you ..
. I have no choice.
"
"
It
'
s the roses,
"
she said with a soft, mysterious sigh.
"
We
'
re bound by them.
"
She watched as he closed his eyes, savoring the moment, savoring her.
"
Bound,
"
he repeated softly.
The word hung in the air between them, the simple sum of their destinies. Mac seemed to relax, as if the word had liberated him, freed him from the agony of having to make choices. She, too, felt that way.
Bound:
to the present, to one another, to the act of loving.
Bound:
to the past, to the memory of Judith and Ben Brightman, and all lovers during all ages.
Bound:
to a future together, a man, a woman.
They were bound, and somehow that made them free. Mac quickened his pace, and she opened herself to him, made it easy for him, until he shuddered, and she cried out, "I do love thee!"