by Rachel Lee
“Are you warm enough?” she asked, genuinely concerned.
He laughed. “I have more clothes if I want to put them on. And when I look at you, I get hot, anyway.”
She felt her cheeks flush. They’d been intimate, but she didn’t know if she was ready to be so open about it. Gil evidently didn’t have any such qualms. He was grinning at her, a totally cloudless expression, and appeared to be enjoying her blush.
“Um...I’m trying to decide what to make for us. Is it too late for you to want a heavy meal?”
“Three squares got left in my distant past. Like I said, I can eat at any time. My stomach lost all faith in the clock a long time ago.”
“Okay then. Unless you don’t like red beans and rice...”
“Say no more. That’s a favorite of mine.”
“Well, it won’t be restaurant fancy. Straight out of a box with some ham added.”
He leaned on his cane and crossed the few steps between them to touch her arm. “Stop apologizing. I’ve eaten more freeze-dried meals out of boxes and vacuum packs, and cooked over a small paraffin flame, than you can possibly imagine. I’ve also been at forward operating bases where we took turns doing the cooking with whatever we had, and I can tell you I didn’t run into too many French chefs. Whatever you make will be delicious, okay?”
She nodded and felt her blush deepen a little. What was with her? She didn’t usually care about such things. She wasn’t much of a cook. So what? Was she falling into a stereotype because she was interested in a man? God help her if that was the case. No Donna Reed in this house.
Not that Gil seemed to expect one.
Letting go of her apprehensions, all of which seemed to be pointless, she pulled the rice cooker out of the lower cabinet. A few minutes later, she had added the rice and water, and cubed ham to make a double batch. If Gil was hungry he’d get enough. If not, it reheated well.
She flicked the switch that turned on the rice cooker, then asked if he wanted something to drink.
“Water. I’d really like some water. Where do I get a glass?”
She pointed and let him get it for himself while she poured herself ginger ale. Sitting at the table, she watched him down two full glasses of water from the tap before he brought another glassful to the table with him.
“Man, you were thirsty,” she remarked.
“Guess so.” He fell silent, staring at the rice cooker, which had just started to billow steam.
She sat with both hands wrapped around her glass, beginning to feel nervous. Was he regretting their lovemaking? Wondering how to extricate himself just as soon as the storm was over? Oh, man, she hoped he didn’t think he’d just made a disastrous mistake.
Because for her it hadn’t been a mistake at all. No way. Even if he left tomorrow, she would never regret the experience they’d shared.
Closing her eyes, she tried to cement every moment in her mind, etching it so that she’d never forget that this man had showed her pleasures she’d never dreamed of. How or why, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she’d never had sex before, although not very often. But Gil...he’d touched her in places that felt as if they’d never been touched before. Took her to heights she’d never reached. No, she wasn’t ever going to regret this.
Then an errant thought crossed her mind, and suddenly Al was there with her, saying, “Told you so.”
She caught her breath as she remembered. All the times he’d talked to her about Gil. How many times he said she should to fly out to visit him when he was stateside so he could introduce the two of them.
How she’d laughed, told him not to be silly, and that if Gil wanted to meet the family he could come to Conard County.
The time his crazy grin had vanished and he’d said, “I was talking about you, not the family.”
She’d let it pass, but then there were other times he’d said, “You’ve got to meet Gil. I think you’d get along like a house on fire.”
“Sure,” she’d answered, and then forgotten about it. But now she remembered all those times, so many over the years.
I told you so. She heard him as clearly as if he stood beside her.
“Oh, Al,” she whispered almost inaudibly. He’d been right. She and Gil got on well. But his point had been what? Why did she feel Al was laughing at her right then?
At that moment she remembered another time, when he’d practically twisted her arm to fly back with him when he returned to his station. “You’ll like him, Miri. A whole lot.”
“What are you? A matchmaker?” she’d demanded, starting to feel pressured and annoyed.
“No,” he’d answered frankly. “I just want nature to have a chance to take its course.”
That had been his last visit. She’d shoved all that far from her mind from the instant she’d learned that Gil was bringing Al home. Whatever the point behind Al’s teasing all those years, it no longer mattered. And she’d believed that she’d never see Gil as anything but the man who had accompanied her cousin’s remains home for the last time. A link too painful to be anything else.
Apparently not. Al had tried to tell her. Exactly what, she couldn’t know, but he’d been right about her liking Gil. She liked him a whole lot. And right now a little more than that.
“Miri?”
She opened her eyes reluctantly.
Gil eyed her with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. I just remembered something.” And now she remembered the few video calls and all the emails she had exchanged so casually with Gil since the funeral. It had seemed light, friendly, not terribly important except that she had wanted to keep in touch with Al’s best friend.
But had it been more? She’d learned a little about him. He’d probably learned a lot more about her. Look at them now. There was no way she could think this was light and casual even if she never saw him again. He’d never struck her as a man to do things lightly or casually, and, as she had discovered tonight, she wasn’t able to do it, either.
But that was okay, she assured herself. At least she’d have this fantastic memory.
The rice cooker clicked, startling her. It had moved from steaming to spending the next ten or fifteen minutes getting rid of excess water.
Gil still watched her. His attention wasn’t unnerving or too intense, however. She rather got the feeling that he enjoyed looking at her more than looking at the walls. That wasn’t hard to believe and it wasn’t even particularly flattering. A snort of laughter escaped her.
“What’s so funny?”
She smiled. “The way you were looking at me. I figured I was easier on the eyes than the walls, but that wasn’t especially flattering. I mean, look at the comparison.”
A chuckle escaped him, but he shook his head and reached across the table for her hand. “The Mona Lisa wouldn’t hold my attention as much as you do.”
Her heart skipped, but she stuck out her tongue, anyway. “I don’t think she’s an especially beautiful woman. Wasn’t she a self-portrait of Leonardo as a woman?”
“I don’t know about that.” But his smile was widening. “Okay then, refuse my compliments. I think you’re gorgeous, no comparison.”
“Now you’re over the top.” Rising, she got some bowls from the cupboard and soup spoons from the drawer. “Another few minutes. I wish I had some andouille sausage instead of the ham for this, though.”
“The ham will be great. I’d eat it without any meat at all.” He reached for the bowls and took them from her hands, setting them on the table. “Tell me about teaching music.”
“What about it?”
“Well, I gather you love music or you wouldn’t teach it. How is it you can survive all the out-of-tune and missed notes of little kids?”
She laughed. “They’re learning. And when you watch them try so hard to get it right, how can you not love it? The
y also learn incredibly fast. Playing an instrument has an advantage over a lot of other things they try to learn, too. Music gives them instant feedback. They hear when they hit the wrong note and want to correct it. Tone deafness is extremely rare. Most kids are capable of pitch matching, and they’re good at it. Many just need a little training.”
“The patience of a saint?”
“Not really. I teach all the grades and work with the band and choir.”
“Busy, huh?”
“Very. I have aides to help, but not a lot of free time during the school week, or on weekends when there are home games or competitions. But anyway, back to the learning music thing. I had one young woman in tenth grade who got up with her guitar and sang in a talent contest. Gil, she sounded like an angel, and I asked her why she’d never joined the choir. Her answer? ‘I can’t sing.’”
“Couldn’t she hear herself?”
“It wasn’t that. When I could get her for a couple of minutes of conversation, it turned out that she’d been hearing all her life that she couldn’t carry a tune. I asked her what she thought had happened to change that.”
“And?”
“She said she got a guitar and taught herself to play. In the process of doing that, she gained all the mastery of her voice that had been missing before. And she wound up sounding like an angel.”
He nodded slowly. “I never thought of singing as being something that could be learned. But I don’t sing much.”
“This girl was amazing. She could pick out melodies on the piano or guitar without music, and when it came to listening, she had perfect pitch. But pitch matching... That had to be learned. Syncing her voice with the notes she could hear in her head, or around her. She got to be pretty good at it, and she was by no means the exception. Given that learning is part of the process of music, because not everyone is a Mozart, I enjoy what I do even more. I watch kids blossom.”
A smile seemed to dance around the corners of his eyes, crinkling them attractively. “I like your passion.” Then he winked. “All of it.”
Pleasure rippled through her. She’d have liked to pursue that right now, but she’d promised something to eat, it was ready now and her stomach again offered a plea, quieter this time.
Time to put red beans and rice into the bowls.
Then maybe later... Ah, yes. She hoped there’d be a later.
* * *
The pain in Gil’s hip eased enough that he enjoyed the supper she’d made and enjoyed helping her clean up. Then he wanted to enjoy something more.
Carefully, he caught her hand and turned her toward him. He heard her catch her breath, then saw her face reflecting the same eager hope he felt.
After slipping his arm around her shoulder, he limped with her down the hallway to her bedroom, anticipating the pleasure to come. The passion. Because she elicited a strong, deep passion in him, one that drove away common sense and resistance and reason.
He wanted Miri. Beginning and end of it. If there were to be any regrets, they’d just have to come later.
The only light in her bedroom was a small bedside lamp. It had been burning the first time they had come in here, and she’d never turned it off.
For just a moment, he took in the room, really saw it for the first time, and noted that it was bare of girlie frills. Instead it seemed to reflect her straightforward approach to life. Her strength. The bedspread, rumpled from when she had tried to sleep earlier, was a deep blue plaid that matched some scatter rugs. The furniture looked older, probably from her childhood home. The dresser, plain wood, showed numerous dings. A hand-crocheted doily topped it. A chair in the corner was straight-backed and undecorated. Even the curtains were sensible, matching the spread, looking thick with insulation. No pictures on the walls...
Here, at least, she lived like a monk. The rest of her house showed more personality, maybe because she had her friends come over, but back here—her bedroom and her office, which he was using—she’d wasted no money or real time on either one.
But none of that really mattered. The thoughts skittered quickly through his mind and were just as quickly dismissed as he dropped his cane and reached for the belt of her robe.
Miri was all that mattered. He felt like a kid about to open a present on Christmas morning...a time and place so far away that he was surprised he could recollect the feeling.
But that was what this woman did to him. As easy as it was to slip her robe off and let it fall to the floor, he still swallowed hard, his heart hammering with renewed excitement. Had he ever wanted anything this much?
She was exquisitely formed, at least to his perception. Gently sloping shoulders, a pulse beating in the hollow of her throat like an invitation. Full but not large breasts, enough to fill his hands with their smooth weight. Narrow waist, but not too narrow. A tummy that wasn’t perfectly flat, a sign of her womanliness. Then lower to legs that were strong, and knees... When had he ever noticed a woman’s knees before? Dancers would have died for these.
He reached out at last, listening to her rapid, shallow breaths as he traced her loveliness from her throat to her hips, and to the secret place between them.
At last she whispered raggedly, “Gil...”
He lifted his hands to lightly touch her engorged pink nipples, and smiled as he saw a shudder of delight pass through her.
But it seemed that his exploration had gone on too long for her. She reached out, gripping the hem of his T-shirt and pulling it upward. He raised his arms, aiding her until she pulled it off and tossed it aside.
Then she reached for his boxers, his last claim to modesty, because he knew exactly how engorged he was. Almost out of his mind with desire. As she pulled them down, they caught on his flesh, then fell to his ankles.
She took his breath away by wrapping her hand around his erection and squeezing gently, then stroking lightly.
“So smooth,” she whispered. “So big...”
Had she just said that? Fireworks went off in his head as he mumbled, “You keep that up and we’ll be done so fast.”
A quiet little giggle escaped her, one that conveyed satisfaction and delight. She liked her control over him, and truth be known, he didn’t mind it one bit.
Then, hesitantly, she touched the collection of scars and dips in his hip. He held his breath, afraid she would find it repugnant despite her earlier response. He was such a mess now...
But she proved that her earlier actions has been honest as she once again bent to scatter kisses on that severely punished flesh.
The last of his self-control fled. Whatever damage his body had taken, he hadn’t lost much of his strength.
Bending, ignoring the screech from his hip, he scooped the woman up and managed to keep his footing as he carried her around to the side of the bed and lowered her to the messy comforter. Then he straightened, hoping the industrial-sized pain that drilled him didn’t show on his face.
He pulled the comforter from beneath her, mindful that the room was a bit chilly, and drew it up over her. He hated covering that beauty, but he didn’t want her to grow cold and distracted. Although at that moment, she didn’t look as if anything could distract her.
He rounded the bed, gritting his teeth, refusing to use his cane at this juncture. It would have poked into this incredible moment like an arrow from the past. No reminders, not unless he couldn’t avoid them.
He was a little less than graceful getting into the bed, rolling onto his uninjured side. An instant later all the rest ceased to matter because Miri turned onto her side and reached for him.
Flesh met flesh, igniting an instant conflagration. Skin on skin, the most precious and wonderful sensation in the world. Two bodies coming together to join in a single mission of oneness.
His hands roamed her, soon to be followed by his mouth. She wasn’t shy, either, her hands searching and touching, and then her m
outh found one of his small nipples and he jerked from the unaccustomed sensation.
Oh, man, him too? he wondered. How had he ever missed this?
The pulsing in his body deepened until it reached every cell inside him. He felt her writhing as if she were with him. Musky scents filled the room, adding to the exquisite minutes.
He cupped her rump to draw her closer. Then he ran his hand down the cleft between her cheeks, and it was like setting off a flare.
Suddenly he was on his back and she straddled him, wide open, his for the taking. She rubbed against him, back and forth, and her eyes opened narrowly, looking down at him, as a smile danced around the edges of her mouth. A wide-open invitation.
* * *
Miri felt almost as if she were outside of herself as strong sensations pounded through her blood. Want and need had become the same thing, driving her, pushing her, demanding. Her very center grew so heavy and achy that it cried out for a strong firm touch. Yet his hands kept dancing away, teasing her until she felt she would go out of her mind. She buzzed with sensation, feeling as if she had never been this awake in her entire life.
One moment of sanity touched her. Earlier, before they showered, she’d watched him toss a couple familiar square packets on her night table. She reached for one desperately now, which brought her flat down on his chest.
Oh, it felt so good, so good to feel his power beneath her, the heat of his skin, the unmistakable movement of his pelvis, trying to claim her. Surely she didn’t need to... Her head aswim, she might have let the moment go.
Except that Gil wouldn’t let her. He breathed heavily, his eyes almost closed, but he pushed her up and back just enough. When he opened the packet, she snatched it from him and reserved for herself the pleasure of slipping the protection on him, watching his erection dance at the touches, enjoying the way his entire body jerked.
She couldn’t wait any longer. Not one minute. Swept away on a tide of tingling, aching, pounding need, she lifted herself a little and he entered her.
It had been so long that she gasped as she felt her soft tissues stretch, but an instant later it felt so good to be filled by him. As if she’d been yearning for this forever.