After the Storm (25 page)

“Let me see all of you,
a stór
,” he whispered against her throat as his lips left sparkles of delight on her skin.

“Yes,” she murmured as she reached for her gown's buttons.

He drew her hand away and turned it palm upward. His mouth's feverish caress on it dissolved her within a fragrant flame. She wanted his mouth on every inch of her. Raising his head, he held her gaze with his emerald one. She became the pulse of his heartbeat, which she could sense with every breath. They were no longer separate, but not yet one. She ached for the consummation of the rapture promised by his smile.

Swiftly, he unbuttoned her gown and let it fall to the floor, forgotten. A soft cry of astonishment burst from her when he whirled her away from the wall and pushed her not ungently onto the bed. He leaned over her, smiling with devilish desire.

She was sure he would speak and waited for his teasing words. Instead he whispered, “Hush,
a stór
. I don't want to share you with anyone tonight, not even the children.”

“Just you and me tonight.”

“And maybe tomorrow night.”

She laughed, but her voice softened to a mew when his hand settled on her knee and crept upward in a slow, undulating path. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and drew him down onto her. Even as his fingers stroked the sensitive skin along her inner thigh, his lips sampled the curves above her chemise's low neckline. It was a dual assault on her senses.

He pulled the strap of her chemise along her arm, lowering it down along her breast. His gaze held hers as his eyes crinkled. She waited for his next jest. When he lifted her right hand and drew her first finger into his mouth, his tongue wet its length. Her breath shuddered through her when he guided her finger to wander his cheek. He held up his own hand.

She pulled his finger into her mouth, letting her tongue learn every rough texture she had only sampled when they made ice cream. When she withdrew it and raised it toward his face, he laughed and caught her finger. He ran it along his finger, dampening his own skin, then swept his finger along her breast, the heat of his touch evaporating the moisture. She shivered as he lifted his hand again. Before she could grasp it, he bent to place his mouth against her breast.

Her pleasure burst from her in a low, throaty gasp. His tongue slid in a meandering journey to its very peak. When he drew it into his mouth, her hands curved down his back to his lean hips, wanting to draw him into this incredible joy within her.

His mouth continued down as he drew her shift lower. Sliding his hands beneath her bottom, he pulled off her shift and tossed it aside. His eyes glistened with the powerful passions she had seen the first time their gazes locked, and he stripped away her stockings, tossing them over the bottom of the bed. Lightly his fingers drifted along her thigh, leaving a dazzling blaze in its wake.

Desperate to explore him before she was utterly consumed by his enchanting touch, she rose to kneel on the bed and, with a laugh, shoved him onto his back. He clasped his hands behind her neck and pulled her down over him. With her breasts against his chest, she fought to breathe. Then his mouth slanted across hers, and she did not care if she ever breathed again. All she could think of was his skin on hers.

Her leg brushed his denims and she lifted her mouth from his. “One of us is improperly dressed,” she whispered against his ear before her tongue curled around its whorls.

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“This.” Her fingers settled on the button at the top of his denims.

A shiver raced along him, and she smiled. Looking down into his eyes, she relished his reaction as she loosened the top button, then the next. Her questing fingers stroked him, sending renewed waves quaking through him, each one caressing her.

Suddenly, with a groan, he pushed her over onto her back. He yanked off his denims and threw them on the floor before pressing her into the soft mattress. His lips demanded exactly what she longed to give him. The length of his body against hers was intoxicating. When he bent to trace his tongue down her abdomen, she gripped his shoulders. His fingers stroked upward along her thighs to seek the source of the fire burning within her. A soft cry of delight burst from her but vanished when his mouth claimed hers.

He drew her beneath him and, as his tongue slid along her lips, he melded them together. Each stroke created a rhythm deep inside her, a rhythm that was of him, yet was of her and the need they could never deny again. Moving to it, becoming a part of it, becoming a part of him, she tasted his straining breath swirling through her. The exquisite sensations soared, taking her with him into an ecstasy made all the sweeter when he gasped her name as he shuddered against her in consummate rapture.

Cailin opened her eyes to a scintillating smile. As her lethargic fingers traced Samuel's lips, he kissed them lightly. Stretching her arm across him, she rested her cheek against the welcoming pillow of his chest. Beneath her ear, his heart beat as rapidly as hers. Even now, they were together, fused within the crucible of their passions until they could be completely separate no longer. She could not imagine any happiness greater than this.

“You are quiet,
a stór
,” he said.

“I don't want to say anything to put an end to this joy.”

“The night has only begun.” He chuckled as his arm curved around her, holding her close. “And you are mine for this whole night.”

“As you are mine.”

He rolled her back into the pillows and gave her a roguish smile. “A most appealing idea when you are a most appealing sight.”

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she said, “I was wrong.”

“Wrong?” His brow tilted, and she laughed.

“I told you poetry wouldn't move me.”

“And now it does?”

She nodded.

When he sat and swung his legs over the bed, she watched in amazement as he stood. He walked toward a shelf set beside a door she suspected led to a closet.

Sitting up, she admired his well-sculptured body, each angle accented by starlight. She wondered if he had been as rugged before he came to work on the farm. While she watched the flow of his muscles with every movement, she quivered, yearning to have them against her again.

He came back to the bed and sat beside her. Putting his arm around her, he handed her a book covered with reddish leather. Gold letters were tooled into the spine and across the cover.

“Open it,” he said.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

She did, then looked at him. “What's this?”

“A very good choice. Listen.” He read:

“Thus can my love excuse the slow offense

Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed;

From where thou art why should I hast me thence
?

Till I return, of posting is no need
.

Oh, what excuse will my poor beast then find
,

When swift extremity can seem but slow
?

Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind
;

In winged speed no motion shall I know:

Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;

Therefore desire, of perfect love being made
,

Shall neigh no dull flesh in his fiery race;

But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade;

Since from thee going he went willful slow
,

Toward thee I'll run, and give him leave to go
.”

She ran her fingers along the words. “That's lovely. What is it?”

“A sonnet. One of Shakespeare's, to be exact.”

“I've heard of Shakespeare, but I thought he wrote plays.”

“And a few sonnets.” He pointed to each word as he read the first line again. “If you want, I'll help you learn to read.”

“This?”

He smiled. “Eventually.”

“I'd like to be able to read to my children before they go to bed.”

He tossed the book onto a table and swept her back into the pillows. “But not tonight,
a stór
. Tonight all your stories are for me.”

“For
you or
with
you?”

His answer was an enthralling kiss, and she gave herself to the passion once more. She knew one night would not be enough.

Fourteen

Would she faint? Would she stumble over her words? Would she even remember any words at all? Would someone notice how, under her apron, there was a patch of a completely different color because she had cut out a piece to fix a section along the side that had torn when Samuel had undressed her last night?

While the children scampered from the wagon and ran up the street toward Emma's house, where Sean and his sisters were waiting for them, Cailin rubbed her icy hands and stared at the Grange Hall. Its whitewash glistened in the bright afternoon sunlight.

Broader fingers covered hers, and Samuel said as he helped her down, “It'll be all right. You've met most of these ladies, and you know the people in Haven are good-hearted. They're only looking for what help you're willing to give.”

She hoped no one could hear her frantic heartbeat, but it seemed loud enough to reach into the Grange Hall. Her head was light, and she knew she should breathe more slowly and deeply. Was it the idea of speaking to these women, or was it because Samuel's hands remained on her waist?

Last night had been a wondrous joy, but she was unsure what would happen now. Everything had seemed so simple when she came west on the train. She would get her children, find a way to take care of them until she could earn the money to take them home to Athair, and then try to remake her life. Then she had opened her eyes to see Samuel, and her world had gone topsy-turvy all over again.

“It'll be all right, Cailin,” he said, drawing her eyes back to his sympathetic smile.

“I-I-I-I hope so.”

He put his hands on either side of her face and tilted it up so she could not look anywhere other than into his eyes. “It will be all right, Cailin. You don't think I'd have brought you into Haven if I thought it wouldn't be all right, do you?”

“Sometimes I think I don't know you very well.”

“Yes, you do.” He gave her a crooked smile. “You just are trying to convince yourself you don't.”

“Why would I do that?” She wondered how long she could keep this conversation going so she did not have to enter the Grange Hall. And so she could gaze up into his eyes, which were as welcoming as the green hills she had left behind.

“So you don't have to admit that I'm not the horrible beast you first thought I was.”

“I never thought that!”

“No?” That single eyebrow rose.

“I didn't think you were a beast.”

“Just horrible?”

She laughed. “Now you're trying to put your words in my mouth.”

His face lowered toward hers as he whispered, “Words aren't what I want to put in your mouth.”

When he brushed her lips with a swift kiss, his tongue slipped between them. A mere suggestion of the delight they had shared, it sent a quiver ricocheting through her.

“A kiss for good luck,” he murmured.

“Is a kiss lucky?”

“It is for me when I'm kissing you.”

“Samuel, I should … I should go. They—they—”

He gently tightened his clasp. “You aren't getting away that easily.”

“They're waiting for me.”

“So they are.” He released her with a sigh worthy of the hero of a melodrama. “Go and have fun.”

“Cleaning the Grange Hall?” She laughed. “You have an odd idea of fun, Samuel.”

He grasped her hand as she was about to turn away. “If you're willing to give us another night, I'll be glad to show you more of my idea of fun.”

“I'd like that.”

“But first you need to go and speak with those ladies.”

Walking with him to the door, she smiled when he laced his fingers through hers. She had not realized how mired she had become in unhappiness and fear until he reminded her of joy.

As they had before, voices surged out of the Grange's door. Today, they were feminine and mixed with laughter.

She paused and smiled at Samuel. “I doubt we'll be long when there are so many hands here to help.”

“Take all the time you need. I can always call on Reverend Faulkner and get his thoughts on Thanington's offer to the library committee.” He gave her a rakish grin. “After all, I missed the meeting last night.”

“Should I meet you there?”

“Why don't you get an idea of how long you'll be here first?”

Nodding, she went to the door. She paused at the steps and walked back to him. “I do want another night with you, Samuel.”

He brought her hand to his lips for a lingering kiss before whispering, “I had hoped you'd say that.”

Cailin wanted to stand there and let herself disappear into his eyes. She gave him a swift smile as she forced her reluctant feet to the steps. Climbing them, she stepped into the Grange Hall. She blinked as she tried to get her eyes to adjust from the brilliant sunshine.

“Surprise!” echoed around her.

Cailin squinted, recognizing several faces. “Surprise what?”

“Surprise!” came the shout again.

She stood there, dumbfounded. When Rachel took her hands and drew her toward the others in the middle of the room, Cailin said, “I don't understand. What surprise?”

“A surprise for you.”

“Me?” She glanced over her shoulder and saw Samuel resting one shoulder against the door. He was smiling as broadly as the children had when he brought them home a bag of candy after his most recent meeting in town. He must know what was going on. “I don't understand.”

Alice stepped forward. Over one arm, she carried light green flowered fabric. A dress, Cailin realized when the schoolteacher lifted it to show it off. Mother-of-pearl buttons closed the front of the flowered bodice, and a pair of ruffles decorated the dark green skirt. When Alice turned it, Cailin could see it had been made to be worn over a small bustle, for more ruffles dropped along the back.