“Moonshine.”
Gwen blinked, seeing visions of old-time cars rushing through the night with loads of illegal booze. “Really? What’s it taste like?”
Loomis handed her the jar, a wicked gleam in her eye.
Frowning, Gwen studied the liquid. It was as clear as water or vodka. A sniff stung her nose with a godawful stench, somewhat similar to kerosene. “Did they use this stuff to start the bonfire outside?”
“No. But they could have. It’s flammable.”
Gwen took a tiny sip. The alcohol was room temperature, but her mouth exploded with fire as she swallowed it down. “Whoa!” she gasped. “That shit’s strong.”
Despite the cuss word, Loomis laughed. “It usually is.”
Megan had awakened. She shifted in her mother’s arms. “Loomis,” she complained.
“Come on, baby. Let’s lay you down with Delia. My arms are getting tired.” Loomis gathered a blanket she’d brought from camp and wrapped the girl in it, placing her in the space between seats a level beneath Delia. Soon Megan drifted back to sleep, and Loomis leaned back and stretched.
Gwen’s gaze caressed the long form. She took a gulp from the jar, sputtering and coughing from the incendiary results. “Good God.” She wheezed as Loomis patted her on the back.
Having rescued the jar, Loomis laughed. “That’s why I don’t do much more than sip it. It’s the worst rotgut there is, but it’s a never-ending supply. I’ve got a bottle of scotch hidden away at the cabin for emergencies, and we brew our own beer, but nothing beats a bottle of Hart’s.”
“Hart’s,” Gwen repeated, her voice stronger.
“Yeah, Matt Hart’s family brews the stuff.”
Gwen licked her lips, already beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. If it was this potent, what must Loomis be feeling? She’d been drinking the stuff for hours. Gwen leaned her chin back on Loomis’s leg, studying her as she took another drink. Her skin had reddened, but was that from the booze or Gwen’s intimacy? Her eyes seemed a little unfocused, maybe bloodshot, but not too much. “You’re drunk,” she accused.
“Am not.” Loomis handed the jar back to her with a smile.
“You are too.” Gwen stood and took a step up, sitting beside Loomis. She took another drink. Either she was swiftly catching up with Loomis, or the lining of her throat was so burned by the liquor she hardly felt it going down.
“No,” Loomis insisted. “Pleasantly squiffed.”
“Squiffed?” Gwen repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Is that even a word?”
“It is now.”
“We call it blistered. And you, my phat dime piece, are blistered.”
Loomis blinked at her. “I’m fat?”
Gwen laughed. “No! Not like that. Phat.” At Loomis’s dubious expression, she patted the woman’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing, trust me.”
“If you say so.”
The jar was passed to Gwen, and she held it up for a closer look. “If you get me drunk, are you going to take advantage of me?” Silence met her question. She glanced at her companion.
Loomis’s skin was crimson, and her hazel eyes wide. She licked her lips and swallowed. “Why? Do you want me to?”
Gwen leaned close, the huskiness in Loomis’s tone sparking a different fire within. “Yeah.”
They stared at one another for long moments.
Loomis broke the tableau first, pulling away so only their thighs touched. She looked around the gym, rubbing at her face. “I think I need some air. I’ll be back in a minute. Will you stay with the girls?”
Gwen’s smile was rueful. “Yeah. You go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on them.”
She watched Loomis make her careful way down the bleachers and across the floor. Loomis looked back once, just before she exited, standing uncertainly in the doorway. Then she was gone. Sighing, Gwen leaned back against the wall and took another swig from the jar. Had she just ruined everything by being too eager? She watched the dancers and heard the music, but her thoughts were with Loomis in the dark.
Loomis’s rise to wakefulness was a slow and languid process, unlike what it had been in recent weeks. No nightmares had plagued her sleep. The alcohol had done exactly what she’d intended. Relaxed beyond her demons’ abilities to interfere, Loomis had slept hard and long. She noted the lightness against her eyelids, indicating that the sun had risen high enough to illuminate the valley. It had to be as late as ten in the morning, and a decadent smile slid over her face at the thought. Outside the canvas walls of the dragon tent, she heard children playing and several nearby conversations regarding last night’s party. Wood smoke and cooking food tickled her nose. The Baxters had to be the ones roasting lamb chops; her family hadn’t brought any along, preferring to trade for fresh trout when in town. She stretched a little in her sleeping bag and sighed, not wanting to lose the peace of slumber to the realities of wakefulness. Her body was starved for the rest it had been denied and sluggish as a result. Her activity triggered other movement, someone cuddling her close, a feminine murmur echoing in her ear.
Loomis’s eyes shot open. All she saw of Gwen was dark hair where it stuck out of their joined sleeping bags.
When did we put them together?
She wracked her brain for the memory, coming up with the fuzzy recollection of getting the children back to the camp for bed in the wee hours. Focusing on the woman in her arms, she was both relieved and disappointed to realize they were still dressed in their underwear. She swallowed and closed her eyes as she noted the placement of hands and limbs. Gwen’s arm was tucked around her belly, the palm nestled under Loomis’s T-shirt and along the warm skin of her side. Loomis’s right arm wrapped around her roommate, holding her close, her left hand had settled on Gwen’s arm where it crossed her stomach. Their legs were tangled together, and she couldn’t help but shift a bit, liking the feel of Gwen’s thighs against her own.
Gwen muttered again, tightening her hold, her fingers lightly caressing Loomis’s side. Loomis squirmed under her touch, the sudden rush of arousal almost painful in its intensity. Her heart thumped, and she felt breathless. Not knowing what to do, she brought her arm in tight to her side, pinning Gwen’s hand, not stopping the ambiguous desire coursing through her body. The abrupt immobilization woke Gwen. She jerked upward, yanking her hand from its prison, using Loomis’s belly to stabilize herself as she blinked in wariness.
Loomis swallowed thickly, her hand now wrapping around Gwen’s wrist. This wasn’t much better in her opinion. Gwen’s knee barely brushed Loomis’s pubis, sending shivers of desire along her body. The woman’s fingers were a mere hand span from points north and south that screamed in demand for attention.
The wild glaze in Gwen’s eyes faded. She slipped her hand from Loomis’s grasp to brush the hair back from her face, and relaxed. “Morning,” she said, her voice husky with sleep.
“Morning,” Loomis croaked.
Can a person die of feeling like this?
Gwen glanced around the tent. “Looks like we’re the late risers today.” She returned her hand to Loomis’s belly. “Did you have any nightmares?”
Loomis wondered how she could extricate herself from under Gwen’s knee. Another part of her wanted to push upward against the enticing contact. “No.” Gwen’s hand was on top of her T-shirt rather than on her skin, and she felt the same conflicting desire from her touch.
“That’s good.” Gwen focused on her again, taking in their state of undress and Loomis’s discomfiture. She smiled, her hand rubbing a slow circle on Loomis’s belly. “I’m glad. You needed the rest.”
Not able to talk, Loomis merely nodded in agreement.
Gwen seemed to know how her touches affected Loomis, and her grin widened. She sank down and laid her head back on Loomis’s shoulder, removing her knee from its teasing location. “Thanks for humoring me last night.”
Loomis stilled the wandering fingers by taking Gwen’s hand in her own. She wrapped her other arm around her, simultaneously pleased and dismayed at the loss of contact with Gwen’s knee. “How’d I humor you this time?” She smiled at Gwen’s chuckle.
“By putting the sleeping bags together. It’s a lot cozier this way, isn’t it?”
“Mm hmm.” She allowed herself to cuddle Gwen closer. “Very much so.”
They lay in silence for a time, listening to the world outside. More and more people were waking by the sounds of it, and the aroma of frying fish began to fill the tent. They heard Cara and Lucky talking quietly nearby, presumably cooking a late breakfast. Tommy Boy was speaking with Emerita a little way farther on, his voice too low to make out the words. He didn’t sound nearly as angry as he’d seemed yesterday. Loomis hoped his negativity would mellow as he got used to her family. Gwen’s had.
That thought brought her roommate into the forefront of her mind. The longer Gwen lived with them, the harder it was to keep her out. Most of Loomis’s friends as well as everybody else in town had a vague idea what had happened to her and her family that night so long ago. No one but she, Rick and Cara knew the full truth, and none of them talked about it. She knew Gwen was curious. For the first time in her life Loomis found herself wanting to speak of the horror, to explain what happened and have someone understand.
Weasel’s words taunted her. How could she trust Gwen? Did Gwen like her because she thought she held power? If it was power she wanted, she should have stayed in town with Dwayne Walker. Not that it would have done any good. Walker liked to play the field. He’d have strung Gwen along like he did the handful of other girls he slept with. Did Gwen know that already? Was that why she hadn’t remained in town to seduce him? Again Loomis wished she hadn’t spoken to Weasel the night before. It’d been easier to make sense of the woman in her arms when she didn’t have all these conflicting thoughts in her head. All the thinking wasn’t doing her any favors, and Loomis forcibly set her apprehensions aside. “This is nice.”
“It would have been nicer if you’d have taken advantage of me last night,” Gwen said, laughter in her tone.
The memory of their conversation in the gym rushed forward, and Loomis felt something in her chest tighten. They had come mighty close to kissing in the bleachers. Only Loomis’s anxiety had stopped it from occurring. “That wasn’t the moonshine talking?”
Gwen lifted herself up again, though not as high as before. She hovered inches above Loomis’s face. “That was definitely not the moonshine talking,” she murmured. “I told you—you’re a phat dime piece, Marissa Loomis. Anybody with eyes can see it. I’ve wanted a taste of you for some time.”
The word “taste” in conjunction with herself caused another wave of yearning to flow through Loomis. She automatically licked her lips and exhaled at the sensation. Gwen took that as an invitation and bent closer, gently kissing her. Startled at the liberty, Loomis nevertheless responded. Gwen’s hand left hers to entangle itself in Loomis’s hair, her lips soft and undemanding. Loomis realized that the woman in her arms was letting her set the pace, and a wave of gratitude swept through her, followed swiftly by a crash of arousal against her soul. She parted her lips, releasing a soft whimper as Gwen did the same. Then her tongue slipped into Gwen’s mouth, exploring in a way she’d only dreamed about with Annie Faber all those years ago.
Gwen’s body pushed against her, the soft breasts pliant along her ribs. Loomis felt hard points where her nipples had swollen in desire, pressing through the thin cloth of their shirts. She blindly found Gwen’s head, her fingers burying themselves in the mass of chestnut hair, her palm cupping the back of her lithe neck. Gwen shifted, settling more of her weight on Loomis, almost straddling her. Loomis lost herself in the sensations, enjoying Gwen’s tongue twining with hers as they slipped back and forth from one haven to the next. It was nothing like kissing Annie, and emphatically not like the invasion she’d had to endure with—
She broke off the kiss, pushing Gwen off of her so she could sit up. Her heart stampeded in her chest from a combination of want and fear, and she trembled under the onslaught, wondering if she’d be sick.
“Shhh, baby, it’s okay.” Gwen pressed against Loomis’s back, her presence supportive as she rubbed the back of her neck and shoulder. “You’re safe.”
Loomis didn’t know whether to be angry or ashamed at Gwen’s understanding.
Did someone tell her? Who’s been gossiping?
She knew it wouldn’t be her family. Those who knew the truth would never have revealed it to anyone, and the younger children had been kept purposely ignorant of the matter. They all knew that the truth would come out eventually, but it had seemed the safest course of action at the time. Despite the confusion and conflicting emotions, she relaxed with Gwen’s comforting. Her shivers subsided, and she inhaled deeply to quell the rapid beating of her heart. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what happened.”
Gwen kissed her shoulder. “It’s okay.” She brushed Loomis’s hair back and peered at her. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.”
“No?” Loomis peered sidelong at her.
“No.” Gwen smiled. She caressed Loomis’s lips with a finger. “I knew you’d taste nice. I can wait as long as it takes to taste more of you.”
Loomis’s stomach did a flip as she considered the prospect of more kisses, and what they might lead to in the future. As intriguing as that future was, could she trust Gwen to still be there in the years to come? If Weasel was correct, Gwen would leave her for anyone she perceived to have more power. Loomis had no ambition to rule anybody but herself and her family. Getting involved with Gwen could break her heart.
Megan chose that moment to throw open the tent flaps and jump inside. “Loomis! Breakfast is ready, and Cara said you’ve got to get your lazy bones out of bed.” She tumbled forward to be caught by the two women.
Relieved by the distraction, Loomis used her daughter’s sudden appearance to put some emotional distance between her and Gwen. “Lazy bones? And who was the one snoring so loud I almost couldn’t sleep last night?”
“I heard that,” Cara called from outside. “Now get up before the boys eat all the food.”