LOVE'S FUNNY THAT WAY

by Pamela Burford

  Grinning, she said, "If you 'let' me, it wouldn't be ravishment, would it?" With a burst of strength she pushed him onto the bed and leaped on top of him, pressing his shoulders to the ecru crocheted bedspread. His legs hung over the edge.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. "I suppose it will do me no good to beg for mercy."

  "None at all. My mind's made up." She bent lower until her breasts just grazed his chest. She kissed his throat, his collarbone, gradually moving lower, teasing them both with sinuous movements of her body.

  Hunter's chest rose and fell faster. His hands moved restlessly over her, everywhere he could reach. Raven rejoiced in his broken sighs, his heated murmurs. She kissed her way down his torso, over his corrugated abdomen. Sliding down to kneel on the braided rug, she brushed her cheek against his rigid penis.

  "Raven!" His fingers tangled in her hair as he half rose. His voice was hoarse with strain. "Angel, don't. I won't last if you do that."

  She pushed him down, forcefully, and he fell back with a defeated little laugh. She trailed her fingertips down his hips and powerful legs, stroking up his inner thighs on the return movement, briefly touching the potent fullness there. She repeated the caress over and over until Hunter was writhing. His color was high; veins stood out in his neck.

  His arousal was spectacular to behold. A dewdrop glistened on the tip, and she touched it, gently spread it. His hips jerked and his breath snagged. Bolting upright, he seized her wrist and held her away from him.

  "That's enough," he rasped.

  "It's not nearly enough."

  "You know what I mean, you witch." Hunter's eyes glittered with amusement and steely determination as he pulled her up and tossed her onto the bed.

  "I thought it was my turn to ravish," she said as he pinned her down.

  "There's a fine line between ravishment and torture, and you crossed it, angel. Now you'll have to pay the price."

  This was going to be anything but a boring marriage, Raven reflected as she took note of her lover's devilish smile. He lifted her right knee and began working the sheer black stocking down her leg.

  "I thought you liked me in these," she said.

  "I have other plans for them."

  Raven's pulse jumped. "Are you going to tie me up?"

  He regarded the four tall bedposts with interest. "Not this time."

  Hunter lifted her lower leg and pulled the toe of the stocking, which slid off her calf with a whisper of sound. He studied the filmy fabric, drew it through his fingers. "This is real silk, isn't it?"

  She nodded. "My one extravagance. Urn, what are you going to do?" she asked as he stripped the other stocking off her.

  "To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure myself. I could pull it over my head and we could play cops and robbers. No? Just an idea."

  She shivered with sensual anticipation as he sat next to her and looked her over from head to toe, as if pondering his next move. Finally he said, "Turn over."

  After a moment's hesitation, she rolled onto her stomach. The rough crocheted bedspread excited her sensitized nipples. He lifted her arms and arranged them comfortably over her head, before reclining on his side next to her. She watched him double the stocking, forming a loop.

  He said, "Close your eyes."

  She looked at him, and at the stocking.

  "Go on," he said. "Close your eyes."

  She did.

  "Relax…" he whispered.

  She laughed. "That's usually my line."

  A few seconds later, a butterfly alighted on her big toe. "Oh…!" Her eyes flashed open; she craned her neck and saw Hunter dangling the silk stocking over her foot.

  "No peeking," he said, and kissed her eyes closed. The butterfly flitted up her calf and lingered on the inside of her knee before continuing its upward path, stopping at the top of her thigh.

  "Let's get rid of these." Hunter hooked his fingers over the edge of her panties. Raven was unprepared for the startling feeling of exposure when he pulled them off her. "That's better," he said, and added warmly, "much better."

  She dragged in an unsteady breath. "Hunter—"

  "Shh." The butterfly touched down on her waist. It played over her back, flirted with the sides of her breasts. With an effort, Raven managed not to move. The stocking danced down her spine to her buttocks, where it skittered over the twin globes and between them, sending shafts of pleasure through her.

  He dragged the stocking down her legs and up them, concentrating on her tender inner thighs, returning to her bottom again and again. Urgent little sighs escaped Raven and she lost the battle to lie still. Her intimate flesh felt heavy, moisture-laden; her hips rocked under the silky caress. Every instinct screamed at her to turn over and pull Hunter down on top of her.

  As if he'd read her mind, he said, "Turn over."

  She did. Again he raised her arms. "Can I open my eyes now?" she asked.

  "No."

  Raven bit back a gasp when the butterfly landed on her navel. It sketched figure eights on her quivering belly before changing course and fluttering up her rib cage. All sensation converged on the point of contact as it circled her left breast and proceeded up her sensitive armpit and the underside of her arm.

  The silk trailed up her hand and glanced off her fingertips. Then nothing. Eyes closed, she held her breath, wondering what part of her would receive attention next.

  A tingling current shot through her right nipple. She arched half off the bed. Hunter tickled her breasts with the silk, dragging it from tip to tip, lightly stroking, varying the pressure and the speed.

  "Hunter, it's … ohh…" she moaned, squirming. "Let me open my eyes," she pleaded.

  His voice was a sensual rumble. "Not yet."

  "I can't take any more!"

  She heard his smile when he replied, "Oh, sure you can."

  He abandoned her breasts at last, to slowly drag the stocking down her torso. It dallied with her hips, her thighs, the triangle of curls, skipping from one spot to the next until Raven was panting softly, clutching fistfuls of the bedspread. Her hips twitched restlessly.

  At last he knelt between her legs, pushing them wide, and she failed to restrain a whimper of longing. Eyes still closed, she felt more exposed than ever, open and vulnerable and racked by a clawing hunger that robbed her of all self-control.

  Please, she silently begged. Please, oh please, oh please. Damn it, now!

  She waited, listening to her own rasping breaths, her rushing pulse. Without warning, a thrill of sensation flared between her legs. Her eyes snapped open. She cried out, bucking off the bed, only to have Hunter's palm come down hard on her waist as he repeatedly drew the delicate stocking over her most sensitive parts. She fought his restraining hand, struggled in vain to close her legs, a reflexive response to pleasure so acute it was nearly unendurable.

  Raw, blinding need coiled tighter and tighter, until she knew she was going to come, felt it gathering swift and sharp within her, tugging at her insides, rearing up like a beast of prey—

  Hunter raised her hips and plunged into her in one long, slow, searing stroke. Raven's orgasm ripped through her, blossoming like a fireball, consuming her. He stoked it with short, fierce thrusts until she collapsed, limp, under him.

  He was still hard, gorging her, nudging the womanly depths of her. She pushed up against him, and he pressed her into the mattress, holding her still.

  "Do me a favor, angel," he growled into her ear. "Don't move."

  Even in her dazed state she was aware of the tension in his body, the sheer will he exerted to delay his own climax. He pressed soft kisses to her temple, her throat and shoulder. After a minute he began moving once more.

  She was transfixed by Hunter's eyes, the burning intensity of his expression as he loved her slowly, advancing, receding, kindling her desire anew. She found herself enchanted by the sweet, shining oneness of it, and knew he felt it, too. It was more than sex, more than the culmination of two months of bittersweet longing. It
was right and proper, their love; it was meant to be.

  They moved as one, a fluid dance punctuated by sighs and whispered intimacies. They reached the peak as one, clinging to each other afterward in breathless, boneless repletion.

  Raven lay in Hunter's arms, listening to the muted sounds of the busy inn. A door slamming downstairs. A pair of young girls laughing and running in the hallway. A car pulling up in the gravel drive outside.

  Hunter stroked her arm. "Are you cold?"

  "Mmm-hmm." She wasn't, really, but the thought of snuggling between the sheets with Hunter was too delicious to resist.

  He pulled the covers down and over them both. Raven indulged herself in a voluptuous, full-body stretch.

  Hunter propped himself on an elbow. He wore the sweetest, sexiest smile. "You look very pleased with yourself."

  "I feel very pleased with myself."

  "Well, I am quite the catch, it's true."

  "And the soul of modesty."

  He lifted one of her stockings from the bedspread and dragged it across her breasts. "Did you enjoy this?"

  "I hated it. Couldn't you tell?"

  "Mmm, yes, all that groaning and carrying on. I should've known."

  Raven snatched the stocking from him. He arched am eyebrow. "What are you up to?"

  "Does the phrase 'a taste of your own medicine' mean anything to you?"

  "Gee, I'm not sure." He gave her a roguish smile and scooped her into his arms. "You'd better demonstrate."

  "Oh, my goodness," she said, when they were belly to belly.

  "What?"

  "You're already … ready. Again."

  He shrugged as if to say, What did you expect?

  Raven reflected that there were certain unforeseen advantages to marrying a younger man.

  "Very well, I'll demonstrate." She tickled his chest with the silk stocking. "But pay attention."

  * * *

  Epilogue

  «^

  It was awfully sweet of Hunter and Raven to invite her parents and grandmother to their spring bash, Charli thought as she sealed her family at a table near the aisle that had been cleared in the middle of Stitches. They were among the last to arrive; the place was already filled with a couple of hundred partygoers. Hunter and Raven must have invited nearly everyone they knew! Sunny and Amanda and their folks were seated nearby.

  It was the first of April, and the club had been decorated in a sunny springtime motif, with yellow gingham tablecloths, cheerful hand-painted dishes—everything matching for a change—pairs of gold taper candles, and baskets brimming with bright green mint and yellow flowers: orchids, roses, Solomon's seal and honeysuckle. Even the stage was festooned with flowers.

  "What kind of music is that?" Grandma Rossi asked, as Charli pushed in her chair and placed her cane within reach. A deejay had set up in a corner of the room, near a portable wooden dance floor.

  "I think it's called jazz fusion," Charli said.

  Grandma said, "I thought it was R and B."

  "I hope it doesn't get louder," Papa groused.

  Mama said, "It's not loud!"

  "I didn't say it was loud! I said I hoped it didn't get louder, Betty. Get your hearing checked!"

  "Basta!" Grandma scolded. "Listen to you two old fools, fussing like children!"

  "I'm hungry," Papa said. "Aren't they going to feed us?"

  "Joey!" Grandma tossed up her hand. "You just ate lunch!"

  "I'm hungry!"

  "Look, Joe." Mama pointed out a waitress with a laden tray. "They're coming around with nibble food. You won't starve."

  "I have to ask Sunny … something," Charli lied, eager for a few minutes' respite from her contentious family. "I'll be right back."

  The music stopped. "At this time everyone will kindly find their seats," the deejay announced.

  Charli sank into her chair. Escape would have to wait. Hunter and Raven probably wanted to officially greet their guests.

  Sure enough, Hunter emerged from behind the stage, looking dapper in a dark gray, double-breasted suit—but where was Raven? His brother, Brent, joined him, along with Raven's sister, Lenore, and a round middle-aged woman with a dramatic shock of white in her chestnut hair. She was wearing a black robe that almost looked like a—

  It was. A clerical robe! A murmur rose among the assembled guests, swiftly turning to stunned gasps as the deejay started playing the wedding march. The crowd turned in unison toward the back of the room, where Raven stood, flanked by her parents. They must have slipped in from the nearby kitchen.

  Mama and Papa gaped at the bride. Sunny let out a delighted squeal that carried throughout the room. From her table nearby, Amanda stage-whispered to Charli, "Did you know?"

  Grinning, giggling, feeling her eyes fill with tears of joy, Charli shook her head. "I had no idea. I thought this was just a party!"

  "This wedding better be the real thing," Amanda hissed. "If it's their idea of an April Fool's joke, I'll kill them!"

  "Ha!" With a gleeful cackle, Grandma slapped the table. "My little bird got herself a husband!"

  "This is no place to get married!" Mama glanced around, bug-eyed. "They should be in a church!"

  Charli shushed her family and turned her attention to Raven as she and her parents began the slow procession down the aisle to her waiting groom. Her calf-length gown—a sheer, straight, short-sleeved sheath layered over an opaque slip dress in the same warm champagne hue—evoked the 1920s.

  The bodice and fluttery hem were trimmed in antique-looking lace. Her hair was swept up in a soft French twist, with strands left loose to wave around her face. She carried a small clutch of yellow pansies and a look of such serene happiness, she practically glowed.

  As did Hunter. His eyes never once left his bride during her long trek down the aisle. A small set of steps had been placed in front of the stage. Raven paused there to exchange warm hugs with her mother and father, who took their places at a table in front with Hunter's parents. Hunter extended his hand to escort Raven onto the stage, and twined her fingers with his as they faced the minister.

  Lenore, Raven's matron of honor, by all appearances, beamed from ear to ear. Brent, too, appeared genuinely happy in his role as best man—no surprise to Charli, who knew he had long ago given Hunter and Raven his blessing, and was deeply smitten with his own fiancée, Marina.

  The minister spoke up. "I've been on this stage before, so I know the drill. If that traffic light in the back starts flashing the one-minute warning, this is going to be the fastest wedding in history."

  The actual wedding service, once it began, was as reverent and touching as any Charli had witnessed—although she knew her parents considered anything short of High Mass in a church blasphemy.

  Grandma Rossi, on the other hand, hauled out her hand-tatted hankie and dabbed away happy tears. As Lenore read aloud a lengthy poem she'd composed for the couple, Grandma leaned closer to Charli and whispered, "It's your turn now, Carlotta."

  "Nonni!" Charli looked around to make sure no one had overheard.

  "You turn thirty this week. Now your friends, they find you a husband. It's your turn."

  Charli's palms sweated. My turn, she thought. How could it be her turn when she was a thirty-year-old virgin who would never be pretty enough or outgoing enough or intriguing enough to hold a man's interest? Any matchmaking attempt on her behalf was destined to be an exercise in humiliation.

  She didn't say that. What she said was, "I don't want a husband, Nonni. Who would take care of you and Mama and Papa if I left to get married?"

  "Always you think about duty, never about yourself. You're a good girl, Carlotta, but sometimes you gotta think about yourself." She paused meaningfully. "Even when it's a lot less scary to think about duty."

  The wedding service resumed then and Charli was left to ponder her grandmother's words as Hunter and Raven exchanged vows that would bind them for the rest of their lives. Watching them, seeing the way they looked at each other, Charli didn't doub
t they would indeed be together the rest of their lives.

  What must it be like, she wondered, to have a man look at you like that, want you like that? Would she ever find out? Was she brave enough to try? Or was it, as Grandma Rossi had hinted, easier, safer, to cling to duty and live out her life as her parents' mousy, obedient youngest daughter?

  The instant they were pronounced husband and wife, Hunter claimed the traditional kiss, which turned decidedly untraditional as he lifted Raven in his arms, still locked mouth to mouth. The guests surged to their feet, clapping and cheering wildly.

  Everyone settled down as servers distributed glasses of champagne. A series of impromptu toasts ensued, none more moving than Brent's. He talked about how, when he was twelve and Hunter still a toddler, he'd showed him how to catch fireflies in a mayonnaise jar. Two years later, Hunter surprised their parents by demonstrating his skill at tying his red canvas sneakers, thanks to Brent. In the ensuing years, Brent taught his little brother how to throw a curve ball, change a flat and keep from losing his shirt at the craps table.

  "I mean, there I was," Brent continued, "eight years older. The expert. But somewhere along the line, while I was teaching him how to get into R-rated movies and chug a beer in under half a minute, Hunter was figuring out the really important stuff on his own. Like how to know when you're in love—when it's the real McCoy." Brent's voice cracked with emotion. "He didn't get that from me. The truth is, my baby brother here has managed to pound a thing or two into my thick skull."

  He gave Hunter a huge hug. He hugged his new sister-in-law, too, kissed her cheek and whispered something that made her smile.

  "This is the dog that strayed?" Grandma Rossi asked, regarding Brent with a critical eye.

  "That's him," Charli said.

  "Eh! This one will keep a leash on him," she predicted, nodding toward a gorgeous willowy, black-haired woman who commandeered Brent the instant he was off the stage. She could only be Marina.

  Charli didn't ask how her grandmother could foretell such a thing just from looking at the couple. Perhaps it was body language. Perhaps a look in the eye. No matter. If Luisa Rossi said this was the woman who could put an end to Brent Radley's alley-catting, then by God, this was the woman.