by Gayle Callen
“We shouldn’t do this,” he murmured against the hollow at the base of her throat. “We’ll regret it by the light of day.”
“Maybe you will,” she breathed, dangling in his grasp, clasping his head to her chest, “but I won’t.”
And it was true. She desperately wanted him to need her as she needed him. Using each other was not a term that even made sense between them.
She put her hands between their bodies and began to unbutton her shirt. His mouth followed the open path, kissing, licking. After the last button, she pulled the shirt over her head and let him look at the white cloth which wound its way around her body and hid her from him. He met her eyes as he plucked the end of the binding. They stared at each other as he slowly unwound her, pulling the piece from behind her back each time around.
She could barely breathe as she watched her unveiling. Burying the last of doubts about her womanliness, she craved the passion that burned in his eyes for her. Just for her. She’d spent her life regretting that she would never see him like this, and now she wanted to treasure every moment, every sensation, as if it might be her last.
As the bindings seemed to go on forever, he suddenly yanked the rest down to her waist, and she thrilled at his impatience as he pulled it off her and flung it to the floor. Now she was as naked from the waist up as he was.
He breathed her name with a reverence that made her moan. “Such beauty,” he murmured, then pulled her backward, deeper between the ferns. The leaves trailed along her sensitive skin like fingers.
They reached a bench she’d long forgotten was hidden here. He sat back and pulled her onto his lap, straddling him. She hugged him to her, felt his mouth between her breasts, his hands slide up over her rib cage to cup her gently. His palms teased her nipples to hardness, then his fingers followed, pulling, flicking, rubbing. Her head fell back as she surrendered to the feelings that swamped her, that made her shiver, that made her full and hot where she straddled him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and though she pressed hard against him, it only made her ache for what she knew would happen.
And then his mouth covered one breast, taking it all inside with a suction that had her squirming against him, gasping.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she whispered, pressing kisses to his hair.
He didn’t answer; instead he licked her nipple in a slow circular motion, then moved from one breast to the other until she was breathless, mindless, unaware of anything but him.
She found herself on her back on the bench, with Sam hovering over her with urgency and a single-minded determination. His hands were trembling as he tried to undo her trouser buttons, and she laughed softly and started to help. Then she felt his fingers against her belly, feathering soft caresses lower, lower…she arched her back off the bench, wanting more—
“Who’s there?” a woman’s voice called from across the conservatory.
Sam froze, his hand inside Julia’s trousers, close to the heaven he’d always imagined. His wide eyes met hers for the briefest instant before she sat up and pulled away from him.
Damn.
“I know someone’s here. Harold? Florence?”
It was Frances. Was she tracking stray lovers in the middle of the night? As Sam searched for his shirt, he realized the sky outside the tall windows was beginning to look less black. Damn.
Julia just stared at him, making no attempt to cover her perfect body. “Send her away,” she whispered.
He stopped his search behind a fern and gaped at her. “What?”
“I said—”
“Never mind. Of course. Damn, I can’t find my shirt. Wait right here.”
Wearing a secret smile that did strange things to his body, Julia leaned back on the bench. Her nipples were hard, the color of pale pink sunsets. She kicked her legs gently, and something about her in trousers and boots seemed terribly erotic.
Damn his sister!
“Blast the shirt. I’ll be right back.” He picked up his coat and held it strategically in front of him.
He pushed past the ferns back onto the path and came around a curve to find Frances coming toward him, carrying a candle. She stopped, her face astonished, and put her hand on her hip.
“Sam! I thought I was chasing Florence.” She looked at his bare chest suspiciously.
“Wherever Florence is, she’s not here. You’ve interrupted my boxing.”
“Boxing! You mean prizefighting? You compete in such a barbaric sport?”
“I only use it for training, to keep myself ready to fight.”
Again she looked about suspiciously. “How are you practicing boxing in a conservatory? I can barely see anything.”
“I have a candle back there for light. Years ago, Lewis hung a sack stuffed with grain from the ceiling.” With his thumb, he gestured randomly over his shoulder, hoping she didn’t want to investigate. “It’s hard to see, with all the ivy climbing up it. I couldn’t sleep, so I came to exercise.”
For several minutes, she didn’t say anything, staring at him with eyes very like his mother’s. Eyes that usually saw guilt.
“Sam Sherryngton, I’ve no time to figure out what you’re up to. I have to save Florence and Harold from losing their positions here. But I spoke to Henry, and we’re both worried about you and Miss Reed.”
He opened his mouth, but she simply held up her hand.
“I don’t want to hear it! And you’re not a man I can say I truly know and understand anymore. But don’t confuse the past with the present. Just be careful where Miss Reed is concerned.”
He smiled. “You’re a good sister, Frances. You have been incredible and brave through all of this.”
She only harrumphed. “We’ll see what Harold and Florence think about me when I’m done with them. Now get going.”
“I have to put away my equipment first. Good night.” He started back down the path, glancing over his shoulder until he was certain Frances had left the conservatory. He slowed down as he thought about Julia, how she’d probably be dressed by now and would soon be hurrying after Frances. And she’d be smart to flee him, with this crazy wildness lurking inside him. He might hurt her with his passion.
He pushed his way through the ferns and stopped dead. Julia reclined on the bench, wearing only an inviting smile. One long leg was bent slightly, and her head rested on her arm. Her skin was warm cream by candlelight, and between her thighs her hair was the palest blond. His mouth went dry; his every rational thought fled with her knowing smile.
She held out a hand to him, and for just a moment he remembered his sister’s warning to be careful. But he pushed that thought away, unable to refuse what Julia offered. He stripped off the rest of his clothing, watched her smile deepen with relief. Then he touched her, letting his hands do what his eyes had only done, learning every part of her body. Those long thighs, lean and muscled from her days spent riding; the curve of her buttocks pressed flat to the bench; her rib cage with her breasts perched atop like delicate fruit ripe for his taking.
And he wanted to take her, to enter her swiftly, to claim her if only for this one night. His blood pounded in his ears, his chest heaved with the effort of restraint.
But this was Julia, lost in her few relationships with men, believing herself unworthy of true love and happiness. And he couldn’t tell her he loved her, though he did, though he always had. It would only hurt her in the end. He didn’t want her pitying him when they had to part.
So he showed her what he felt with his mouth, with his hands. His tongue memorized the taste of her skin; his fingers worshipped its silky softness. She responded to everything he did with delicate sighs, delightful gasps, and quiet moans. When he parted her thighs, she let him do as he wished, with no maidenly shyness when he stroked her and delved deeper. She was wet for him, and the satisfaction he felt was primal, older than time. He parted her thighs farther, letting one rest on his shoulder so he could get even closer. When he kissed her inner thigh, he felt her languidness
revert to tension.
Julia had thought herself experienced, earthy, aware of the sensual relationship between men and women. But with Sam’s mouth so high up her thigh, she was suddenly aware that maybe she didn’t know everything. She wanted to stop him—and she wickedly wished he would do whatever he wanted.
He stroked her again with his fingers, parting her flesh, making her back arch with renewed, mounting excitement.
And then he kissed her there, and she covered her mouth before her cries could echo through the room. His tongue probed and circled and teased, until her every sense was consumed and exploded, shaking her, shattering her.
He lifted her up, sitting on the bench himself, and once again spread her legs so that she straddled him. But this time they were naked, and his erection was hard between her thighs and his belly. She rocked against him, feeling the length of his penis, watching his face as he shuddered with control.
And then he was kissing her hard, his tongue tasting like her, his breath a whisper of her name. She let her hands explore him, feeling the trembling of his muscles when she kneaded his chest, caressed his nipples, and then took his penis in her hands to absorb its heat and strength.
“Inside me,” she said against his mouth. “I want to be part of you.”
She lifted herself up and positioned him, and their joining was a final fulfillment. He made her whole in a way she’d never been before, with a sense of destiny. And then he moved and she was riding him, his every undulation touching deep inside her. His hands cupped her backside, his fingers brushing against the cleft between. He lifted her after each thrust, bringing her down faster and faster. She caressed his face, his shoulders, his chest, circling and teasing his nipples until his climax overtook him, his every muscle shuddering beneath her.
She folded him within her arms, waiting for their breathing to ease, their hearts to slow, her mind to function.
Kissing his brow, she held his head against her shoulder, feeling his sighing breath float across her skin and raise gooseflesh.
He looked up and stared at her. She couldn’t read his eyes, didn’t know whether he was full of regrets or satisfaction. On her part, there was only peace and contentment with the present. The future was not a part of this moment they’d shared.
“We have to hurry.” He patted her backside, then set her on her feet. “The staff will be awake soon.”
She went down on her hands and knees to look for his shirt, then turned to look back at him when he choked.
“Put some clothes on first,” he said hoarsely.
She grinned, but there was no time to disobey him. She brought him his shirt and received a grateful kiss. Soon they were dressed, and the boxing sack tied back against the wall, hidden by foliage.
“You go first,” she said, “just in case Frances is still about. You can distract her.”
“Good thinking.”
He kissed her, softer this time, protectively. She wanted to stay in the safety of his embrace, but she knew she could never recapture the peace. She watched him go, taking the candle with him, then turned away and leaned her head against a tree trunk. She didn’t think about their enemy outside. Through the dense foliage, dawn was being heralded by a pale gray sky, signaling a new day.
And with it, another chance to make everything right.
Chapter 17
After just an hour’s sleep, they took breakfast with the staff, and Julia noticed that Sam managed to put Harold between them on the bench. She didn’t mind, because she preferred to think he was worried that his feelings for her might show. But as the day progressed, she couldn’t help wondering. Sam avoided talking about what they’d shared together in the shadowy jungle of the conservatory.
They rode out to tour the rest of the estate, the list of tenants tucked in his pocket. Riding astride a horse showed her that she was tender from her exertions with Sam, so her mind was on their lovemaking whether she wanted to be reminded or not. But always she scanned the grounds, reassured to see farmers in their fields. Their assailant wouldn’t dare attack with so many witnesses.
As she’d assumed, the tenants had rarely seen Lewis or her, and some didn’t even know they’d returned home. The only good thing about the day was getting the chance to see how much had changed in ten years. Sometimes the countryside seemed foreign to her, after time spent steaming upriver through jungles in India, or on long rides across desert plains. Yet there was a quiet familiarity to the long dirt lanes lined with hedgerows.
In the afternoon, they stopped to eat their picnic luncheon on a hilltop overlooking much of the estate. In the distance, the sun winked off the windows of the man or, as if it were a jewel on display. She remembered solitary walks up this hill during her lonely girlhood. Now there was a new dirt road cut just below the hilltop, a shortcut between two small villages. Occasional travelers passed them, and she felt safe from harm.
She and Sam sat on the bench, this food between them—along with a tension she didn’t know how to breach. The sun slid behind approaching clouds, and her mood along with it. She had to say something.
After swallowing a bite of her fried chicken, she cleared her throat. “Your brother Henry had this bench built here for me.”
Sam sipped his beer. “Why?”
“I used to walk here a lot, after…after everyone had gone.”
“It’s a long walk.”
“I didn’t have much else to do. Then I’d sit here and look out over Hopewell Manor, and see all the things I had, but which weren’t really mine. Everything is Lewis’s—everything but my body and my mind. Those I only give to whom I choose.”
He slowly set the bottle back on the bench, and dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh. “But I played with your feelings,” he said softly.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I lost control,” he continued, as if he hadn’t even heard her words.
“I seem to recall actively participating—in fact, initiating.”
“I made unspoken promises to you.”
She drew in a sharp breath, confused.
“It makes me no better than those men who seduced you.”
Rising anger consumed her. “Do you think I let men have their way with me without my having any say in the matter? That I’m some sort of fragile innocent, guilty of no sin?”
“That’s not what I—”
“It’s what you implied, therefore it must be what you think. Yes, my brother has betrayed me, but some of my foolish choices made that betrayal possible.” She put her hand on his arm, turning him to look at her. “I live by my choices, Sam. And last night we chose each other for a brief moment of happiness.”
“But it’s not the beginning of something,” he said quietly.
Those words hurt, but they weren’t unexpected. He had spent his life keeping away from her, and one night wouldn’t change that. “But it’s not an ending, either.”
“Maybe not now,” he said, gripping her hand between his, “but you know it will be, Julia. When you’re back to your rightful place, and when I am, too, things will have to be different between us.”
“Things are already different. Why must you believe it will make things worse? Can’t you enjoy what we have together, here and now?”
“I feel like I’m using you for a brief pleasure that will only cause you pain when I’m gone.”
“I don’t think we’re using each other, not when we’re open about the truth. We’re not trying to take something away from each other—we’re trying to give.”
He let go of her and stood up. “And the truth is, you’re still seeing me as the boy you used to know. I’ve changed—Afghanistan changed me.”
“Then why go back there?”
Sam couldn’t look at her. Spread out around them was everything her family owned—including the little plot of land he’d once called home. Except for the people here, it no longer felt like home. Home was back in Asia, in the countries where his best skills could be of some value. Here, wha
t could he do with these feelings of justice denied, this need to take the law into his own hands and create the result he wanted?
He was frightened of himself. How would he feel, what would he do, when he could no longer have her? When she was back on the other side of a line no society woman could cross? No common soldier could cross, either.
But she was waiting patiently for an answer, and all he could say was, “I have to return. I have a duty to my country—and I belong there, not here.”
Her eyes were large with hurt, and it was like a knife to his chest to know he had made her feel this way. But then she pressed her lips together and stood up to face him.
“Sam, for whatever reason, you’re holding something back from me.”
He kept his face impassive and said nothing.
“I accept that. But right now, we exist together outside normal law, outside respectability. You make me feel…alive, and full of hope that together we can uncover the truth, and prove ourselves to the rest of society. I don’t want your guilt, and it’s too soon for regret. Just promise me to take things as they happen, and to know that I am willing to live by that.”
She was trying to absolve him of guilt, and she didn’t understand how deeply she would have to go. But he couldn’t keep turning her away, hurting her even more than he already had. He loved her too much for that.
“I promise.”
By the end of the day, they’d finished interviewing the tenants, and discovered nothing new. Sam hadn’t expected much, but he still felt depressed. Dinner with the staff was unpleasant. The steward Mr. Rutherford asked when they would leave, now that their interviews were finished. Sam had been forced to explain in front of everyone that the interviews were only part of their investigation. He wasn’t about to tell them he was searching the house next, just in case someone decided to get rid of clues. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide their activities for long. His little sister Lucy had tried to brighten the room by saying she was glad the two constables could attend the harvest dance the next evening. Sam forced himself not to look at Julia, who would surely be blushing at the thought of finding herself trapped between competing girls.