When Jesse read the last sentence of the last page of the primer, he closed the book with a snap and turned to smile triumphantly at Amy, who was seated beside him at the kitchen table.
Amy let out a squeal. “You did it! I knew you could!”
Without thinking, she leaned across the few inches that separated them and hugged him enthusiastically. Jesse froze for an instant, and then his arms clamped around her like steel bands and his mouth came down, seeking hers.
His kiss startled Amy, and she let out a little squeak of surprise. But then the feel of Jesse’s mouth against hers drove out all other thoughts and feelings. His lips were pliant, but insistent and determined, pressing deeper and deeper into hers. Their velvet pressure threw Amy’s insides into turmoil, opening her up to wild, chaotic yet delightful sensations.
Jesse’s tongue slid delicately along the joining line of her lips, and Amy drew in a startled breath. He seized the opportunity, thrusting his tongue between her lips and into her mouth, his own lips pressing hers open for him. Amy remembered that Charles Whitaker had tried to do the same thing, but it felt incredibly different when Jesse did it. It wasn’t scary, it was exciting. Amy shivered and leaned into him, giving herself up to the delightful exploration of his tongue.
With a groan, Jesse pulled Amy out of her chair and into his lap, cradling her tightly against his chest. One of his arms was around her shoulders, pressing her to him, and the other drifted lower, his hand sliding down her back and over the curve of her buttock. Heat blossomed between Amy’s legs, growing as Jesse kissed her again and again. His skin was feverishly warm and his breath came out in a hot shudder against her cheek. The evidence of his response to her excited her almost as much as his mouth on hers. Amy had never experienced this sort of heat within herself before, this odd feeling of ripeness, as though she were loosening and opening to him. Her breasts seemed swollen and heavy, aching, and she wanted Jesse to touch them. It was a scandalous thought, she supposed, but at the moment she didn’t care. She wanted to stretch and purr on his lap like a cat and have him stroke her all over.
She shifted on his lap, bracing her hands on his shoulders, and Jesse went still. He lifted his head, and his hands fell away from her. Amy looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise and confusion. Why was he stopping?
“Jesse?” she began uneasily.
“Oh, God.” He looked appalled. “No. No. I’m sorry. Oh, Amy, I didn’t mean to—”
He jumped to his feet, setting her away from him hastily. “Please, Amy, I—I don’t know what happened. But I swear, I’ll be more careful next time. I won’t let it happen again.”
She gazed at him blankly, seeing disgust, even horror, in his eyes. What had she done wrong? Panic-stricken, she couldn’t think what to say or do.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, stiffly. “I—I’ll leave you alone now.”
He turned on his heel and strode quickly out the door. Amy stood for a long moment, gazing at the blank door. Everything had happened so fast that it left her stunned. She turned and walked blindly into the bedroom area, seeking the illusive protection of the cloth walls. She sat down on the bed and thought about what had happened. Why had Jesse stopped kissing her so abruptly? Why had he left?
Obviously he didn’t want any passion between them. When he had made her that promise, she had thought that he was doing it for her sake, so that she would feel at ease until she got to know him better. Now she began to wonder if he had not meant it for his sake, as well. Perhaps Jesse had no interest in making love to her, now or ever. Maybe he found her uninteresting. Unattractive.
But if that was true, Amy couldn’t understand why he had kissed her. She had leaned over to hug him in her enthusiasm, but Jesse had kissed her. He had pulled her right out of her chair and onto his lap. She remembered the sound of his labored breathing, the searing touch of his skin. Surely those things betokened desire, not indifference. He had wanted her. She didn’t think she could be that wrong about what had transpired.
She tried to remember exactly when he had broken off their kiss. It had been when she squirmed in his lap, restlessly seeking satisfaction for the fiery ache within her, and her hands clamped onto his shoulders.
Amy frowned, thinking. Jesse had stopped when she responded to him, not just letting him take her lips, but actively urging him on with her body. She remembered her mother talking once about Mabel Holloway and how she was always chasing the boys. “Men don’t like an aggressive female,” Mrs. McAlister had declared, casting an admonishing eye toward Corinne. “You mark my words. She’ll have trouble ever getting a husband. I heard she went out in the garden alone with Henry Smithson at the Patterson dance last month—and was gone for ten minutes. Well, she’ll get a reputation acting that way, I can tell you.”
And even Corinne, who had grimaced at her mother’s remark, had once said something similar to her. “Men like a chase,” Corinne had told her, explaining why she had turned down Geoffrey Ames for a dance, even though she had one open on her dance card. “You can’t let a fellow know that you like him, or he loses interest.”
It had sounded rather strange to Amy at the time, for it seemed to her that a man ought to be pleased and reassured to know that a woman he was interested in was interested in him, too. But now, thinking about the way Jesse had just acted, she wondered if Corinne and her mother were right. Maybe men didn’t want a woman to be too eager.
It was obviously terribly important to a man that a woman be pure; that was why her driving out with Charles that night had ruined her. Perhaps a man even wanted his wife to be so pure-minded that she did not want to touch him or to rub herself against him as Amy had just done.
Jesse must have been appalled at her wantonness. That was why there had been disgust in his eyes. He had thought her too bold, too forward. Maybe he even thought she would respond like that to any man. After all, only a few weeks ago, she had driven out with Charles Whitaker at night, which no lady should have done. Jesse might think that she had acted the same way with Charles as she had with him. He wouldn’t know that she had never felt for Charles Whitaker the kind of passion she felt for him. Jesse couldn’t know how much she loved him.
Amy sat bolt upright. Where had that thought come from? She loved Jesse Tyler?
But of course, she realized, a tiny smile playing at her lips. It was obvious: she loved him. She had probably loved him for a long time and not realized it. Love was not the silly infatuation she had had for Charles Whitaker for a time. That had simply been her overactive imagination. Love was the emotion inside her now, this sweet, aching yearning. Love was wanting to be around Jesse all the time. It was enjoying talking to him and laughing with him. It was the quiet, certain knowledge of Jesse and what he would do, the faith and trust she had in him.
She wasn’t sure when it had happened, if love for Jesse had grown from being married to him or if it had been inside her earlier, hidden and waiting to reveal itself. The important thing was that she did love him.
Amy slid off the bed, about to run out and find Jesse and tell him. She would explain that she loved him, that she wanted to be a real wife to him, that she had never really loved Charles Whitaker.
But she stopped herself before she reached the front door. There was that boldness again, that impulsiveness that always got her into trouble. She seemed to have difficulty acting in a proper, maidenly way. However, this time she had to make herself do what she should. Jesse and her marriage were too important for her to make a mistake.
Amy turned and walked back into the bedroom and sat down once again on her bed to think. She realized that she should not boldly announce her love and her intention to have a real marriage. For one thing, Jesse would no doubt be appalled at this further demonstration of her forwardness. Secondly, he did not return her love. He had married her merely to pay back the debt of gratitude that he owed her and her father. Therefore, Amy realized, she must conceal her own feelings, while at the same time getting Jesse to fall in lov
e with her. For him to feel right about it, he must pursue her.
She almost started crying at that thought. It seemed hopeless. She had never been the kind of girl men fell in love with. Jesse probably thought of her as a sort of sister.
Well, perhaps not exactly as a sister. A wicked grin touched her lips. He hadn’t kissed her as if she were his sister tonight. He did feel desire for her. She could not be mistaken about that. What she needed to do was to entice and attract him, to encourage that passion, so that he would start to kiss her again and want to share her bed. Then, surely, when they were truly husband and wife, he would grow to love her.
The trick, she knew, would be in enticing him without appearing bold or sluttish. Her actions must appear entirely innocent. It seemed impossible. But Amy was a smart girl with a fertile imagination, and as she got undressed and crawled into bed to go to sleep, her brain was buzzing with schemes.
She embarked on her plan first thing the next morning. First, she knew, she must follow her sister’s advice and look as alluring as she could. She spent much more time than usual over her hair, finally getting it pinned into a full, soft style that flattered her face. Next she pulled out one of the new dresses that Corinne had insisted enhanced her coloring. The final touch was a spot of rose water behind her ears and on her wrists. Then she walked out of the little bedroom to face Jesse, her color high with excitement.
Jesse was putting wood in the new stove, and he swiveled around at the sound of her approach. His expression was uncertain, and he wiped his hands down his trouser legs nervously. “Amy.”
Amy smiled brilliantly at him. “Hello, Jesse.”
Jesse blinked in surprise, but he smiled back and returned to laying the fire. Amy walked over to the stove and bent down beside him to peer into the firebox. He glanced at her, his eyes traveling over her body, then hastily turned back to finish his job.
Over the next few days, Amy did her best to subtly entice her husband. Every evening as they worked together on Jesse’s reading, she leaned close to him on the pretext of looking at his book. When she refilled his glass at dinner, she made sure her hand or arm brushed his. Once, in the evening, she came out of the bedroom pretending to remember that she had to tell Jesse something. She was careful to forget her dressing gown, so that she was clad only in her lace-trimmed white nightgown. Of course, it was hardly revealing, being high-necked and long-sleeved and made of cotton, but at least it flowed down along the lines of her body, without all the petticoats and undergarments that a lady wore under her dresses.
Seeing the way Jesse’s eyes flickered down her body and the way he rose from his bed on the floor, almost as if drawn up by force, Amy was certain that her attire had had the effect she desired. She deliberately walked up to him, gazing into his face. He reached out to touch her hair, which was flowing loosely over her shoulders, then snatched his hand back and clasped his hands behind his back. Amy could almost feel the heat from his body, and she could see the tension in his face, the involuntary slackening of his lips, and a triumphant satisfaction rose up in her. Her doubts were resolved. She had been right; he did want her, no matter how much he tried to hide or deny it.
After that night, she had the courage to take her sensual teasing to a new level. In the past she had waited modestly each evening for Jesse to make his nightly trip around the yard before she went into her bedroom area and undressed. But the next night, instead of waiting for him to leave, she bid him a pleasant good-night, picked up her kerosene lamp and sailed into the bedroom, leaving Jesse gazing after her.
She set the lamp down on the night table and began to unpin her hair. Though the sheets hung around the room ostensibly gave her privacy, Amy was aware that with the light of her lamp behind them, the sheets were almost transparent. Though the image would not be clear, Jesse would be able to see her every move. She brushed out her hair and began to undress, her ears cocked for the sound of the front door opening and closing. It didn’t come, and Amy smiled to herself, knowing that Jesse must be watching her.
It was embarrassing to know that he could see her pull off her skirt and blouse, then her undergarments, until finally she was completely nude, and she blushed as she did it. But it was exciting at the same time, and she felt a delicious thrill at the thought of Jesse watching her.
However, much to her disappointment, it seemed as though all her efforts were doomed to failure. Jesse did not try to kiss her, did not even make a move toward her. If anything, he began to avoid her company. Amy suspected that if not for their lessons, she would hardly have seen him at all. Sadly she began to wonder if, instead of luring him into loving her, she was actually driving him away!
She would give it a few more days, she thought, and then, if Jesse still had made no move toward her, she would give up and let things return to the way they had been.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JESSE DUNKED HIS HEAD and chest under the pump spout outside. The water was bitterly cold, and he shivered, but he grimly continued to wash off. It helped to cool him down, which, heaven knew, he needed before he went into the house and saw Amy. The pain seemed an apt punishment for the sins he usually contemplated when he was with her.
Jesse wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. It seemed as if nowadays all he could think about was making love to Amy. He knew it would be disastrous if he did, that he would be breaking every vow he had made to her, that he would be letting his lust destroy their marriage. But it was reaching the point where the need was so strong in him that he almost didn’t care about the consequences, as long as he could finally satisfy the craving that was rampant in him.
Ever since that night when he had kissed her, his life had been a living hell of desire. He had managed to pull himself together then and get out, to quell the hunger that was raging in him, and he had sworn that after that he would keep a firmer hold over his passions. But no matter how hard he tried, the yearning in him only grew worse. Amy seemed prettier and more desirable every day. He knew it must be only his hunger that made it appear so, but everything Amy did now seemed full of sexual allure. Now it seemed as if she accidentally brushed against him frequently, as if she leaned in closer to look at his schoolwork, tantalizingly warm and smelling of roses, as if when she smiled at him her eyes were warm with sensual promise.
Worst of all had been the one night she had gone into her bedroom to undress before he left the house. He had been surprised, but he supposed he must have been late in going, and she had gotten tired of waiting. He knew that she did not realize how her lamp turned the barrier of the white sheets translucent, making all her movements visible to him. She had undressed and put on her nightgown, and he had stood and watched. He had known guiltily that he should go, that he was invading her privacy, that he was only making his own situation more untenable. But he had been unable to tear himself away. Every night now he waited for her to go into the bedroom and innocently undress before his gaze. He hated himself for doing it, yet he could not make himself leave. Every night he vowed that this night would be different, but it never was. No matter how much he reviled himself for it inwardly, he could not walk out the door.
Shivering, Jesse blotted his chest and arms dry with a towel and pulled his shirt back on. He buttoned it quickly and grabbed his jacket from the hitching post, where he had hung it while he washed up. He cast a last look toward the barn. They had finished it days ago, and now the horses were safe inside its shelter. Every time Jesse looked at it, he was filled with pride.
He strode across the yard and into the house, bracing himself mentally against the desire that always flooded him when he saw his wife. Amy turned and smiled at him as he stepped inside. She was prettily flushed from the heat of the stove, and little tendrils of hair had escaped her bun and were curling softly around her face. Even knowing how he always reacted to her, Jesse was amazed by the desire that slammed into his gut.
They ate supper. Though Amy’s meals were much improved since the arrival of the stove, Jesse hardly ta
sted his food. He was too aware of Amy’s presence, desire already tightening his loins just from looking at her and listening to her voice.
Afterward they got out the books and worked at the table. Jesse tried to lose himself in the work, but he found it almost impossible to concentrate with the scent of Amy’s perfume tickling his nostrils. She laid her hand on his arm while she explained a word to him, and his skin burned where she had touched it.
Finally they finished their lesson and Jesse put away the books. Amy picked up the kerosene lamp and turned to go into the bedroom area. Jesse watched her, knowing that he should leave. He stood up, but he did not move toward the door. His breathing accelerated, and his flesh tingled in anticipation. He gripped the back of his chair, his eyes remaining on Amy’s form, visible through the sheets.
She set the lamp down on the nightstand and began to unpin her hair. Jesse’s loins tightened. He knew what was coming, and that made it somehow even more exciting. Her hair tumbled down slowly. Then she picked up her brush and began to brush through it in long, even strokes. Watching her dark form, he could almost feel her hair sliding through the brush, could almost hear the crackle of electricity.
When she finally set down the brush, her fingers went to the buttons of her bodice, and she undid them slowly, then peeled the bodice off. She folded it neatly, put it away, and began on her skirt. Soon it drifted down over her hips and along her petticoats, pooling at last at her feet. Jesse watched as she bent to pick it up. He wished he could see her in detail, not just this dark figure against the sheets. He wanted to see the tones of her skin, each individual feature of her face and body.
The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories Page 19