She wished she knew how to seduce him. “Shall we drink to it?” she asked him.
“Baby, drink is the farthest thought from my mind. This thing is beautiful, but I want to take it off you.”
She traced her fingers over his taunt abdomen and across his prominent pectorals. “Who’s stopping you?”
He wanted her badly. Looking him in the eye to see the effect, she cupped his genitals, squeezed and gloried in his shout as he picked her up, and pressed her to his full arousal. She put his left hand into the bodice of her caftan, and he released her breast, pulled the nipple into his mouth and sucked it. She locked her legs around his hips and rocked against his arousal, anticipating her pleasure in it.
“Sweetheart, be still unless you want this to be over before it starts.” Easing her to her feet, he unzipped the caftan and dropped it to the floor. She fell across the bed and after staring at the treasure spread before him, he dropped to his knees, pulled her body to the edge of the bed, hooked her knees over his shoulder, and bent his head to feast on the honey that was for him alone. She raised her hips to him and he plunged his tongue into her. She thought she’d go mad from the fire that he sent streaking to her belly, her womb and every one of her limbs.
When she could stand it no longer, he kissed his way up her body, entered her slowly and took her on a lightning-fast ride to oblivion. An hour later, sitting up in bed sipping wine, she said, “I’d give anything if I could put this glass down, snuggle up in your arms and go to sleep. These little crumbs are getting to me.”
“Tell me about it. No one wants that more than I do.”
But even though she knew that no one would know if she spent the night in his room, she was playing for high stakes, and if he wanted her to spend the night in his arms badly enough, he knew the solution. She drained her glass, pulled on the caftan and got up. “What time do you want breakfast?”
“Andy will be hungry by eight,” he said, “so whenever you like.” She kissed him, went to her room, got into bed, slept soundly and dreamed beautiful and erotic dreams.
Byron had never been so nonplussed. Andy ignored him all morning, trailed behind Tyra, claiming that he was helping her, and managed to develop a relationship with Maggie. After much difficulty, he held the boy’s attention for about ten minutes and then the doorbell rang. Andy dashed to it.
“Well now, who are you, young man?” Byron heard a male voice ask.
“I’m Andrew Whitley, and I’m having Thanksgiving Day dinner with Miss Tyra and Miss Maggie.” Not a word about his father who, until he found a mother substitute, had been his whole world.
“My goodness, Andy, you must grow like wildfire. You’re supposed to be four,” he heard Darlene say.
“That’s what my Aunt Jonie says. And I am four. How do you know my name?”
“I’m Darlene, Tyra’s sister, and she talks about you all the time.”
“She does? Gee.”
Byron headed toward the conversation and greeted Darlene and Edward, whom he’d met at the trial. “Hmm,” he said. “This is nice. I hadn’t realized that you two are an item.”
“When you met me, we weren’t,” Edward said, shaking Byron’s hand, “but I figured out that something was going on between you and Tyra. Great to see you again.”
“You, too, man. Something was indeed going on.” The group walked toward the living room, with Andy holding Tyra’s hand and chattering as if he’d known everyone all of his life. When the doorbell rang again, Andy pulled Tyra along with him to the door and squealed in delight when he saw his grandfather, who came in along with Clark and his date.
After the introductions were made, Byron joined the group in the family room. He loved the hominess of the fire in the big marble-faced fireplace and the colorful glow that seemed so appropriate to that gathering. When he would have enjoyed relaxing there with his son on his knee, he looked around for him and didn’t see Andy.
After searching upstairs, he went into the kitchen and asked Maggie, “Have you seen Andy?”
“He’s in the game room downstairs with Clark. Before that, he was in here giving me his Aunt Jonie’s recipe for noels. That’s a smart little boy. I’d make some for him, but I don’t have time right now. Maybe tomorrow.”
When he saw Clark giving Andy lessons in ping pong, he went back to the adults. Maybe Andy needed a wider circle of adults in his life. Tyra joined the group, stunning in a burnt orange jersey sheath that stopped at the knee and gave him a heart-stopping view of her flawless legs. In his mind’s eye he saw her as she’d been the night before with those legs wrapped around his hips as she thrashed beneath him before exploding in ecstasy, her face shifting from a thunderous cloud to a sky with a thousand shooting stars.
Tyra’s gazed locked on him, and demon libido began to stir in him. She moved toward him, in slow motion it seemed, exciting him almost to the point of torture. Suddenly, he could hear a pin drop. The chatter had ceased. He glanced toward his father, whose face bore an expression of fear, and told himself to shove it aside and remember that he and Tyra were not alone.
She dropped down on the arm of the overstuffed leather chair in which he sat, leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Honey, that was close.”
His long breath expelled pent-up energy. “Woman, you’re dynamite.”
They sat down at a table laden with a twenty-pound turkey, cornbread stuffing, wild rice, turnip greens, spiced peaches, cracklin’ bread, corn pudding and cranberry relish. Maggie said grace, and each guest offered a toast. Pumpkin pie à la mode completed the meal, and they gathered in the family room around the blazing fireplace for coffee and tall tales.
Byron focused on the people around him who, if he were blessed, would soon constitute his family and smiled at the thought. He didn’t know when he’d last had such a feel of rightness, a feeling that at last the wind had caught his sails.
After lunch the next day, Tyra asked Byron if they could take Andy fishing. “He’s been exceptionally good, Byron, and he begged me to ask you if we could catch some fish.”
Her pleading tone amused him. Andy had already learned how to get to her. “I suggest we go to the Monacacy River, since it’s reasonably close.”
“Can you wait till Andy’s noels come out of the oven?” Maggie asked. “He wants to taste them.”
His brow arched, Byron observed Tyra with mild amusement. “Looks to me as if Andy appropriated your home and your family. I’d better get him back to Baltimore before his head swells to twice its size.” To Maggie, he said, “Let us know when the cookies are ready.”
“I’m taking them out now,” she said. “I’ll put a few in a bag for him.”
Byron packed the fishing gear in the trunk of his car and drove them the four miles to the river. He baited the hooks for Andy and Tyra and said to Andy, “Sit right here on this plank, and do not stand up for any reason. If you get a fish, I’ll help you pull him in. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He walked back to her. “You’re just as sexy in these jeans as you were in that dress you wore yesterday.”
“Byron, please, Andy isn’t six feet away.”
“He’s looking for fish,” Byron said, gripped her to him and plunged his tongue into her eager mouth. Her nipples hardened, and she sucked him deeper into her. Lord, if she could only get at him the way she wanted to and do whatever she pleased with him. Frustrated and bristling with heat, she backed away from him.
“I wish you’d pick a better place to start a fire, mister.”
“Aw, come on, sweetheart. If this is what rocks our boat, let’s rock it. All day, I’ve been dying to get you to my—”
Splash! She looked toward the river, didn’t see Andy, raced to the bank and dived in. Luckily, she surfaced beside him, held his head above the water and headed to the shore burdened by Andy and the weight of her winter clothing. Byron pulled them in, removed their coats, got the blankets that he always kept in the trunk and, though the blankets needed cle
aning, he wrapped them around Andy and Tyra.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. The fish pulled me in. He musta been real big. Do you think we could go back and get him?”
“Not today, son. There are fish aplenty in that river, but I have to get you and Tyra out of your wet clothes before you both become sick.”
“If she gets sick, Daddy, she can come stay at our house and Aunt Jonie can take care of her and me.”
“Andy, this is not fun. You could have drowned.”
“No, I wouldn’t, Daddy. You know I can swim.”
She imagined that her teeth chattered partly from the chill and partly from the fact that though she’d had swimming lessons, she’d never before dived or actually swum on her own. “I’m glad t-to h-have evi-d-dence that I can, too,” she said, tightening the blanket to her body.
Immediately after reaching Tyra’s house Byron put Andy in a tub of hot water, dried him and put him to bed. “Andy’s in bed,” he said to Tyra. “You should warm up in a tub of hot water.”
“I got a hot shower. I’m fine.”
He put an arm around her, walked with her into his room and closed the door. “Are you sure that’s the only time you ever swam? You looked to me like an expert.”
“It’s true. And as soon as you began to pull us up, I realized it and nearly panicked.”
With both arms tight around her, he closed his eyes and said a word of prayer. She’d thought of his child before she thought of herself. “If you’re willing to risk your life for Andy, you should be willing to help me raise him. Will you marry me, Tyra? I love you, I’ll always be there for you and I’ll be a good father to our children.”
Her heartbeat began thudding at the pace of a spooked thoroughbred. “How many? I’m not good for more than three.”
“I’ll love and care for as many as you give me. Will you be my wife? In my heart, I have belonged to you since our first night on that cruise ship.”
“I gave you my heart the first time I saw your face. Yes. I want to marry you.”
Byron looked toward the door and, uncertain that he’d closed it, reached over and locked it. Minutes later he leaned over her as she lay on his bed with her arms outstretched. “You’re more than I dreamed I would find, Tyra. You’re my life.”
“I never thought I could love a man so much that just looking at him makes me giddy.” Her hands stroked his hips. “I don’t need your finesse or your expertise right now, love. Make love to me the way you did the night before last, till I’m so besotted, so drunk on you that I don’t know who I am.”
He bent to the nipple that he loved so much, sucked it into his mouth, eased his hand down to check for her readiness, and went into her. She pushed him to the limit, and he lost himself in her as soon as she sucked him into her hot, swirling, quicksand orgasm.
When he could find sufficient strength, he said, “I want us to begin looking for a house tomorrow. I don’t expect you to live in a home that another woman chose. Okay?” She kissed his cheek and shifted beneath him. “And I want us to get married within the next three months.”
“Make it two. What’s Andy going to say to this?”
“Sweetheart, Andy’s getting his wish.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3805-7
FINDING MR. RIGHT
Copyright © 2009 by Gwendolyn Johnson-Acsadi
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Finding Mr. Right Page 21