by Kim Bowman
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t aware of any interest on the twins’ parts. What was he saying ¯ that he preferred I stay behind, be with someone else? Was he actually promoting one of the twins? I moved to stand, put more space between us, but his hand on my back stayed me. “What are you saying¯that you want me to stay with my father? You don’t want me with you anymore?”
“That’s not it, if you come with me there will be hardships. Can you face them without your family? With just me? If you went with me, it might be years before you saw your father, your sisters again. What if your father won’t let us take the child? Tennessee’s most likely been ravaged, I wouldn’t want my child going into that kind of place. Can you be without her? Can she be without you?”
“She’ll have Rachel. If she stays with my father. Maybe he can send her to us once we get settled?” I hedged this idea, not sure where it was coming from. If Tennessee was going to be as bad as he had said, did I really want to risk the child? “Once we know what it will be like down there? I want to be with you, I thought you wanted to be me with me, too. Or have you changed your mind?”
“No. I’ve not changed my mind.” He stood then, walked a few paces toward the door. I stared up at him. His back was toward me, and I found myself counting the flecks of straw that clung to the cotton shirt he’d borrowed. He spun suddenly and I gasped at the movement. “No, dammit. I want you with me!”
He crouched down, resting on the balls of his feet, his hands fisting on my shoulders. So close our noses were almost brushing, I could feel his breath on my face. I shifted, leaning toward him, feeling the straw crinkle beneath my weight. It sounded oddly loud in the sudden stillness. “You do? But what about what you’ve just said?”
My words were a whisper but I knew he’d heard them, as close as my mouth was to his lips.
“Damn what I just said. If the last four years have taught me nothing but this, then I am a fool. You must take every day for the gift it is. Every day could be the day you are called to your Maker.” His hands slipped around my ribs then higher, resting beneath my arms. He lifted me, the deftness of his action pulling the breath from my chest as I was settled against his. “I’m tired of waiting; I’m not doing it any longer. Olivia ¯ will you accompany me to Tennessee? I can’t guarantee a prosperous life ¯ but I can offer you a home, and protection. I’m asking you to leave your family behind. Are you ready to do that? Can you do that?”
“I...” I pulled my head back to look up at him. The evening shadows made the barn seem dim, made his face look younger, his eyes more intense. He covered my lips with his own, cutting off my words. I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling. It seemed like years since he’d last kissed me, rather than the days I knew it to be. He pulled back and I tried again to speak.
“Shh, sweetheart. Don’t answer yet. Once I have your word I’ll expect you to honor it. So please think carefully.” He ran his tongue over my upper lip, dipping in at the corner to taste ¯ tease. My arms found their way up behind his head, his curls brushing against my arms. I stretched my body ¯ upward and inward into his ¯ in a manner I never would have employed a mere week ago. I opened my lips slightly before pressing them more firmly against his.
How was I to convey that it was no longer a choice for me? That while I’d undoubtedly miss my sisters if we separated ¯ I’d miss him so much more?
I pulled one hand down, resting it against the top button of his shirt. I slid it free before moving on to the next ¯ and then the next. His hand caught at mine, tightened as if to check my movements, then released slowly ¯ deliberately. I looked at him again, his face in the growing shadows reminding me of that first night in this very barn. His hand rose, sank into the hair behind my ear, his eyes open and staring into mine.
How did I show him that my choice had been made?
I arched my back, keeping my eyes on him, and pressed my lips against his. I wanted him to feel what I felt, to know what I thought. His eyes narrowed, and then he pulled me even closer, his hands fisting in the material of my dress. I loved it when he held me close to him. I loved feeling the strength of his body pressed against me. He was Grayson, and everything to me.
He took over the kiss, running his tongue over my bottom lip before slipping it in to tease mine. This time I met his eagerly, tightening my own embrace around him. I loved the taste of him ¯ that spicy warmth I associated only with him.
My hands trembled where they rested on his back and I twisted my fingers into his shirt, pulling it from the band of his trousers. I pulled my hands back toward me, suddenly unsure, and I felt him smile against my lips. His hands captured both of mine, pushing them behind me. My back arched in response and my whole front was pressed up against him. I loved feeling him that close to me; he was so tall, so strong and it made me feel tiny and delicate, protected and safe, and so much a woman.
He towered above me, still holding me arched against him, and began walking me backwards; I felt the pile of straw against my legs. The prickly strands poked me through the thin fabric of my skirt and underclothing but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything but the man holding me.
I allowed him to lower me to the soft straw, not even caring when it stuck in my hair and my clothing. He followed me down with his body, resting there beside me, propped up on his elbow. “Please, Grayson?”
“Please what, sweetheart?” His breath tickled my cheek as he leaned in ever closer.
“Take me with you.” I told him what I wanted, wrapping one hand around his neck, trying to bring his mouth back down to mine. He stared down at me for a long moment and I held my breath, waiting for his answer.
“Yes. I’ll take you with me.” His hand rose and sank into the tangled hair spread over the straw and then fisted, keeping my head still for what he was about to do.
I could sense that this was something different, that he didn’t intend to stop at just kisses and a few chaste caresses. And I was ready, I wanted him to, wanted him to know that I would give him everything if he asked.
I waited expectedly for him to kiss me again, certain that that was what came next. He surprised me, though, kissing the base of my neck, running his tongue over the exposed skin there. The combination of his tongue and the bristles on his chin and above his lips sent quakes racing along my spine. He chuckled softly at my reaction, a wickedly masculine sound that caused the shivers to intensify.
He grazed the side of my neck, the underside of my jaw, before resting near my ear. The feel of his breath against the lobe had me twisting slightly ¯ whether to escape him or get closer I didn’t know ¯ and I moaned. He shushed me, but I barely heard him, the sound of my heart beating so strongly drowning nearly everything else out.
“It will be okay, just relax.”
I couldn’t relax, my body was strung so taut. I knew he felt my trembling; I was shaking so hard that I knew he felt every wave. His hand skimmed down my side, causing bumps to rise along my skin, before it came to rest on my stomach. I stared at him, though I couldn’t see him in the darkness of the barn. I closed my eyes when I felt his fingers slip the first hook on my dress free.
He slowly slid one finger under the material, skimmed it over the fabric of my undergarment. He rested his hand there for a moment before working the next hook, and then the next, and the next. Soon he had parted the blue material exposing the thin cotton of my camisole. I was thankful for the darkness ¯ grateful that he couldn’t see my face, my embarrassment at my near nakedness. He pulled back slightly then lifted me to sit. He slid the sleeves of my gown down until the entire bodice rested against my waist. I offered no protest, anxious, even eager to show him that I trusted him, that I wanted to be with him.
He leaned forward to kiss me again and I sat compliant. Soon, though, I felt his hands lift my hips, then pull the blue material over my bottom. Then I sat before him in only my undergarments.
I held no nervousness about my decision to be with him, just apprehension about what we were doing. He must have sens
ed my unstated fears for his kisses gentled a little, retreating to the familiar embraces I was accustomed to.
Soon it was I who wanted more--stronger touches, deeper kisses. I wove the fingers of both hands into the hair at the crown of his head, pulling him closer. He obliged, running his tongue over my lips again before dipping in to toy with mine. I was so caught up in his taste that I almost didn’t notice him removing my camisole until it was being laid on the straw behind me. My corset soon followed and I had to fight the instinctive urge to cover myself. It was dark; he couldn’t see me, so why did it matter?
He whispered something to me, some sort of reassurance. He pulled me ever still closer, tucking my head beneath his chin, as he ran his hands along my spine, pulling the long material of my chemise up; he dipped his fingers into the band of my drawers before pulling the chemise over my head. Then I sat against him clad only in my drawers, the cooling night air chilling my exposed chest. I was suddenly reminded of that day by the stream when he’d caught me bathing. He’d been able to see everything that day, now I was thankful for the barn’s darkness. No one, save my sisters, had ever seen me thus ¯ with the exception of this man and the enormity of that suddenly flooded me.
“It will be fine, sweetheart.” He murmured against my shoulder, before dropping a tickling kiss onto it. “It will be fine. Just relax. We’ve all the time now. We won’t rush.”
“I’m relaxed.” I shivered as I spoke, and we both knew it was a lie.
He laughed at my response, patently disbelieving, and hugged me close for a moment. My breath caught at the feel of his shirt against my chest. They pulled taut, the sensation echoed in my lower belly. I had slipped the first three fastenings of his shirt free and now his fingers went to complete the job.
He pulled the cloth over his arms, and removed it in one quick motion, spreading it and my chemise on the straw. Then he removed his trousers, leaving himself clad only in underwear. I could barely see him as I felt his hands on my upper arms guiding me back onto the newly arranged bedding; he seemed so large as he lay beside and above me.
I squirmed on the straw, the materials I rested on doing little to protect me from the scratchiness of the dried grass. Soon, though, it didn’t matter as he began kissing me and touching me with more fervor until the only thing I was aware of was him and what he was doing to me. I cooperated when he removed my drawers, no thought to protest when his hand trailed along my hip before running lightly up my thigh. It was only when he pulled away to remove his own undergarment that I protested.
He quickly returned, moving more insistent against me, parting my knees and resting between them. It was the most intimate position I had ever been in, something he had never done before ¯ even when we were lying side by side in our hotel room. I felt the roughness of his legs against mine, the muscles hard and firm and sweat-slicked. I tried to pull away, to sink deeper into the waiting straw but he told me no, pulled my hands above my head, causing my back to arch against him. I felt the hairs sprinkled over his chest rub against my skin, tightening it even more. One hand held mine in place as the other touched me, running first over my chest then even lower.
My breath stopped as anticipation filled me. Never had I even thought of a man touching me there before, and that it was to be Grayson filled me with a sense of rightness.
“Please, please, please,” I begged him softly, to stop or to continue I did not know.
He laughed again, that particular little chuckle he only used with me, before whispering in my ear, “Please what, sweetheart? Touch you? Don’t worry, I will. I’m going to.”
“Grayson?” I knew what to expect, I had been raised on a farm, after all. But I had never seen a full-grown man naked. I began to twist even more. He shushed me again, running a gentle fingertip over my lips before leaning down to kiss me.
He pulled his head back slightly, ran his lips over my forehead, my brows, dropping back down against my lips before whispering, “It’s all right, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you ¯ you know that, right?”
I nodded, unable to form a vocal response, the feel of his body against mine the only thing I could think about. His body felt so hot, flaming, against me and I wanted to get closer. I arched into him, lifting my hips up off the straw, aligning our bodies even more perfectly together. He moaned then, and I lifted even higher, liking that I could elicit such a response from him.
Soon his hands were everywhere, stroking, touching, and nothing else mattered to me ¯ not the straw poking me, not the darkness of the barn, not even the possible repercussions of what we were doing¯the only thing that mattered to me was Grayson.
Soon, though, his caresses became more fervent, more intent. He moved even closer and I began to tense, certain that it was going to hurt. Grayson was a tall man, broad of shoulder and chest, so wouldn’t the rest of him be large as well?
He whispered to me again, stroked the damp hair off my forehead, kissed my brow. He pulled his hips back slightly, putting more room between us until I calmed somewhat. He took my hand and placed it on his chest. I fingered the tiny sprigs of hair for a moment, toying with the texture. He covered my hand again and led it downward into another patch of hair. Then I was touching him there and it was both hard and soft, smooth. He kept murmuring to me, telling me it would be fine and not to worry, that he would never hurt me.
It burned a little and I tensed. He paused then ran a soothing hand down my thigh, whispering to me that he’d stop if I wanted him to.
I didn’t want him to, but I didn’t know that it was going to hurt. I told him this and he smiled before kissing me once again.
“It only hurts the first time. And only for a moment.”
His words were true. He stayed there for a moment and I began to relax. Once he felt my body soften he began to move slowly.
As he moved he continued to kiss me, and I kissed him back ¯ trying to explain to him how I felt about him with my body instead of lukewarm words. But as his pace began to increase I began to think of nothing at all, instead all I could do was focus on what he was doing to me and how it made me feel, until it was over and it was all I could do just to breathe.
He wrapped me into his arms, held me against his chest and I lay there for several minutes listening as his heartbeat evened out. I could smell us on his skin and it thrilled me, awed me. I had almost dozed when he moved to sit up.
“Come, we must get back.” His words were low but I had no trouble hearing him.
I made a face, not wanting to leave this haven. “Can’t we wait a few more minutes? There is no hurry, is there?”
“Your father will be looking for you soon. Dinner was over well over an hour before I found you. Do you really want him to find us here like this before I have an opportunity to speak to him?” He sorted my clothing and handed it to me.
I brushed the straw off and dressed as quickly as I could in the darkness. “Grayson?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Are you sorry this happened?” My body was sore, a constant reminder of what I had let him do ¯ not that I would ever forget this night.
“No, Olivia, I’m not sorry. I could never be sorry for this.”
Chapter Nineteen
Grayson held my hand as we walked up the path to Mr. Lofton’s house. I felt so different beside him, sure that nothing else that happened to me would change how I felt about this man beside me ¯ or about myself.
With Grayson I was a mature, responsible woman who had taken control of her life, not a scared child depending upon her father and family to keep her safe and protected. Whatever came now, I could stand on my own. With or without the man by my side, though I hoped he would always be at my side.
I followed him up the steps and into the house, standing behind him in the doorway to the parlor. My father sat in the room talking with our host, the twins, and Matthew. Rachel sat near the fire, staring into its flickering glow. They all looked up as Grayson stepped into the room, pulling me with him.
My father rose to his feet and I was all at once conscious of the straw still clinging to me, to the disarray that was my hair. My father frowned, stepping ever closer and I raised my chin defiantly.
What we had to say to my father was merely a courtesy. I had turned twenty-one this week, an occasion that was forgotten with the funeral and all. I was an adult and my father could not legally affect my future. My decisions were mine, and mine alone to make.
“Papa,” I acknowledged his presence, but did not move from Grayson’s side.
“Sir.” Grayson nodded to my father, pulling me even closer to him, drawing my father’s attention to our clasped hands. I vaguely heard Mr. Lofton suggesting to his sons and Rachel that they should take whatever it was they were doing into the kitchen. We paused a moment while they did that. Mr. Lofton nodded to Grayson as he passed and I wondered briefly if it was a gesture of approval, respect. Hopefully my father would feel the same way.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Manning?” My father’s tone was even and I couldn’t judge what he was thinking.
“It’s Sgt. Manning, sir.” Grayson told him proudly, raising his chin almost imperceptibly. I watched his face a moment then looked at my father to judge his reaction. Sgt. Grayson Manning¯I liked it. It sounded strong and secure and fit the man beside me so well. “Until three weeks ago I was an assistant surgeon with the Army of Tennessee.”
“You a Southerner?” My father’s voice began to rise and I instinctively cringed, fear freezing my spine.
Grayson felt my movement and looked at me, momentarily ignoring my father, and smiled reassuringly. For a moment he focused solely on me, concerned for my welfare and I managed to breathe, regaining control of my fears. This was just my father, after all, a man who had never struck any of his children.