Desire. Oh, yes, she was awash in it, on fire with it. Her body pulsed with it. She wanted him. She could taste him on her tongue. He was in the air she breathed. Her legs felt like melted wax.
And now… he was going to say good-night?
Cold, confused, and wobbly with uncertainty, she picked up Amy’s carrier and watched him while he locked up and turned off lights. She offered no objection when he took the carrier from her, but moved ahead of him to the stairs, feeling his hand like a knifepoint at the small of her back. She climbed slowly, breathlessly, wondering if her legs would support her to the top.
“This is my room,” he said softly, opening a door at the top of the stairs. He turned on the light, then stood back out of the way so she could see.
It’s nice, she thought. Tidy, like the sleeper in his truck; wholly masculine, but with touches of gentleness and beauty, too, in the shelves full of books and Indian pottery, the Navajo rugs that covered the floor, and in the magnificent, hand-carved four-poster bed.
“What a beautiful bed,” she murmured, meaning nothing more than that.
Jimmy Joe glanced at her and nodded. “Bought it from a man up in North Carolina. He told me he carved it from the wood of four-hundred-year-old walnut trees.” He waited while she admired it, then said quietly, “It’s too big for a man alone. I’d like to share it with you… when you’re ready.”
But I am ready! She wanted to shout it at him. Why couldn’t he see that? Why couldn’t she tell him? She suddenly felt as though she were enclosed in glass, walled up inside herself; that there was a door between them that hadn’t been opened yet. He held the key-she knew he did. But for some reason, whatever it was, he hadn’t used it; not yet. Please, Jimmy Joe. Please say the words that will make it right.
He touched her elbow and smiled, just the faintest shadow of his sweet, Jimmy Joe smile. “The guest room’s this way,” he said.
Jimmy Joe lay awake on the living room sofa listening to his house creak and groan in the stillness of night. It sounded to him like the wind was picking up outside; the rain he’d driven through from Texas to Pensacola would be here by tomorrow. He thought about that, about the rain and the trip and his truck, and all the little things he had to do now that he was home. He thought about them hard, as if they were big problems he had to solve, trying every way he could to keep his mind off the woman sleeping upstairs.
It occurred to him that some of those creaks and groans had taken on the rhythm of footsteps. He thought it might be J.J. looking for him, or getting up to use the bathroom or get himself a drink of water. He waited for the boy to come down the stairs. When he didn’t, he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and went to investigate.
The door to his bedroom was open. When he looked inside he saw Mirabella standing beside his bed, framed in a rectangle of light from the yard lamp outside. She was wearing her nightgown-something long and slim and white-and he thought she looked a little like a candle standing there, with her hair the gleaming flame.
“I was looking for you,” she said, her voice soft and faraway sounding. She threw a bewildered glance toward the quilt that covered his bed, still smooth and undisturbed. “You haven’t been to bed?”
He moved toward her, feeling his heartbeat grow stronger with every step he took. He made a gesture, a small throwaway with his hand. “I don’t sleep here much. Told you, it’s too big for one person. Just makes me feel lonely. Usually I sleep in the guest room. Tonight-” he smiled and shrugged “-I’m on the couch downstairs.”
She shivered when he came up behind her. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her and brought her warm and snug against him. “You said you were lookin’ for me,” he murmured into her hair. “How come?”
He felt her soften in his arms as she let out the breath she’d been holding. He could barely hear her whisper, “I wanted…to tell you I’m ready. I want…you to make love to me. I want to share this bed with you.”
“For tonight?” he asked, holding himself still, “Or from now on?”
She didn’t answer. His heart knocked heavily against her back.
He shifted his arms, nestling her more securely against him, and drew a breath. “I have to tell you about this bed,” he said. “I told you I bought it up in North Carolina, in the Smoky Mountains, from an old man who’d carved it from the wood of four-hundred-year-old walnut trees. He told me about it, told me it was something special, not just for sleeping in. A marriage bed, he called it. Said it was a bed to last a lifetime, and that I probably wouldn’t understand that then, but I would someday.
“Well, I remember thinking, who is this old coot, and who does he think I am-a kid, or something? Shoot, I knew what a marriage bed was for-didn’t I already have a child of my own? I thought he was talkin’ about sex, of course. But he wasn’t. I understand that now.
“See, I always thought I had marriage figured out. When I was a kid, I saw my parents-Daddy always away workin’, Mama takin’ care of the house, runnin’ everything including us kids-and I thought that’s what it was-kind of a division of labor, I guess you could call it. Then I got to be in my teens, and the hormones kicked in, and all I could think about was gettin’ some girl into bed. And of course there was everybody tellin’ me that was wrong, that was supposed to wait for marriage, right? Big revelation-now I knew what marriage was really all about. Marriage was so you could have sex without goin’ to hell.”
He rocked her gently, as they laughed and trembled together. “Then… I got Patti into trouble, and we got married, and I found out there was a whole lot more to it than just sex. Hoo boy, was there ever! All of a sudden, marriage was about responsibility, and providing, and taking care of somebody, and when it’s your child, that means forever.”
“I know,” Mirabella whispered. “I know.”
“After Patti…well, I dated some, went to bed with a few. I was looking, I guess. But there was always something missing. I was lonely-sometimes even when I was with somebody. Usually, in fact. And I never knew exactly what it was I was lookin’ for. Until you.”
He was shaking harder now, so he held her tighter, too, and laid his cheek against her hair. “That’s when I knew that what I’d been lookin’ for was my mate-you know, like half of a pair. And that the reason I’d been so lonely was, half of me was missing. And then I found you, and all of a sudden I wasn’t lonely anymore, because now I was…whole.”
He turned her suddenly, his hands on her shoulders holding her away from him so he could look into her eyes. Through the blur of her own tears Mirabella saw his face-not just its beauty and sweetness, but also its intelligence and strength, and she thought she was seeing him clearly for the first time.
“And it doesn’t matter if we’re different,” he said in a voice gone hoarse with passion. “Night and day, black and white-it doesn’t matter, you understand? It’s like this rug we’re standin’ on. Black and white can make one real beautiful whole, when you weave ’em together right.”
She could only nod; tears rolled freely down her cheeks, and she made no move to wipe them away. His hands slipped from her shoulders and down her arms, and he took her hands and held them clasped tightly between both of his.
“Marybell…Mirabella, I know I’m not a sophisticated man, or very exciting, and I’m sure never gonna be rich. But I will promise you this-that I will love you and that little girl in there with all my heart and soul until the day I die, and spend every day of my life makin’ sure you know it. And I will tell you so again with my last breath. I told you, I’m not good with words-”
“You didn’t need many!” It burst from her on the crest of the sob she could no longer contain. “Just those three would have done it!”
“Just-” He looked bewildered for just an instant, and then his smile blossomed. “‘I love you,’ you mean?”
“Yes! I kept waiting for you to say it…dammit.” She snatched her hand from him and swiped furiously at her nose, and when that proved futile, sniffed loudly instead. “
I love you too,” she said soggily.
“Oh, I know that.” He took her wet face in his hands and turned it up to his.
“How could you?” She sniffed again. “I didn’t know myself. I thought it was just another stupid crush-you know, because there you were, riding to my rescue on your big blue charger, scooping me out of a snowbank and sweeping me up in your arms and saving my life-how could I not fall in love with you? And then I thought it must be chemistry, or hormones, or something. I never dared believe-”
“Believe,” he growled, and lowered his mouth to hers.
And suddenly she did. Believed in him absolutely, knew with utter certainty that her heart would be safe forever in his keeping, and that she could grow old with him and never have to fear that he would love her less, even when she looked like Granny Calhoun.
“I’m sorry about this virginity thing,” she gasped, when his mouth had left hers to travel by slow, melting degrees down the side of her throat. It seemed to her the only relevant issue still unresolved, and it loomed like a mountain in her consciousness. “Of course, technically-”
“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured. “Not a problem…”
All at once, she believed that, too. Of course, she thought, weak-kneed with relief and desire. For some men it would have been, but not Jimmy Joe.
And it wasn’t.
She, who had always been envious of the tall and the slim, and secretly ashamed of her own body’s voluptuous curves, now stood dazed and compliant while for the first time in her life the man she adored slowly drew her nightgown over her head. She watched his eyes feast hungrily on the sight of her, and when he told her she was beautiful, for the first time in her life she believed it.
He laughed, and chided her gently for her embarrassment at the predictible response of her nursing breasts to his touch, and lightly, tenderly, lovingly covered them with a towel. “We’ll save that for later,” he promised huskily. “We have all the time in the world. A lifetime…”
But her legs gave way when his lips brushed her stomach. The melted-wax thing again…
So he drew back the quilt and the blankets and laid her down on the marriage bed that had been carved from the wood of four-hundred-year-old walnut trees, and stretched himself out carefully beside her. He kissed her mouth, deeply and thoroughly, until he felt her body begin to squirm and yearn unconsciously toward him, searching for him in its own natural way. And then he kissed her belly and her thighs and, parting them with gentle stroking, the damp and silky places between.
He heard her gasp, “I…can’t,” just once, and breathed a smile against her skin. Then he told her with his hands and mouth and tongue that she could.
She, who had never believed in anyone but herself, believed now in him. With complete confidence and trust, she gave herself into his hands. How easy it was, then. Like dying, she thought. And shattering…overwhelming…wrenching, too. Like being born.
Contractions, small cataclysms rocked her, then slowly receded. Jimmy Joe held her and murmured to her, telling her how wonderful she was, how sweet and beautiful. And yes, she believed him.
She stroked her hand over his tight, flat belly, pausing when she came to the drawstring of his sweats. He held her hand there for a moment, and asked huskily, “Are you sure you’re ready? It’s only been three weeks.”
“I’m ready,” she said firmly. It’s been a lifetime.
“I’ll be careful.”
“I know.” She found one end of a drawstring tie and pulled it.
He smiled at her, lazy and sure. “You know what you’re doin’?”
“I’m a virgin,” she replied, “not an idiot.” The ties slid through her fingers. Breathless, she lowered her mouth to his belly and slowly drew the sweats over his hips.
“Marybell,” he gasped, “what is this?”
“Dessert,” she whispered. And then there was silence., He stood about a minute of it, then grasped her wrists and rolled her over with one swift twist. “If you want me to be gentle,” he murmured, pinning her with his legs, “you’re gonna have to stop that, right now.”
She didn’t answer, just gazed at him, her eyes all sleepy and soft. Then she closed them and smiled. Her legs came around him. He whispered her name once more. “Bella…” He lowered his head and kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. And while he was kissing her he slipped into her body like a cat burglar and stole her virginity away.
“There, now,” he said tenderly. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Shaken and relieved, she laughed. And deep inside her he felt it, and with her felt all the newness, wonder and excitement of the very first time. Her first time. His, he would always remember as a Christmas night in the sleeper of his snow-bound truck. Shaken himself, he thought of miracles; frightened, he thought of his life if he’d never found her, and with his heart pounding, bowed his head and sought her mouth and kissed her until his world had righted itself again.
He rocked her gently, so gently. Her tender body enfolded and caressed him and he felt every muscle and tremor, every pulse beat, the tiniest flinch and spasm. He knew when she tensed and tightened, and when she relaxed and softened, and when her body began to swell and throb to its own rhythms; when it was time to take them over and make them his…and then theirs. And when he could take them both to the limit-and beyond. And finally…finally, he knew when to let them both go, so that they spun wildly, deliriously out of control, overwhelmed and laughing with the sheer joy of living, and of making and being in love.
Quietness and peace came slowly, like twilight settling down after the sun has set in a blaze of glory. In the stillness between sighs, Mirabella heard it-the snuffling, snorting sounds of a baby waking.
“Oh, boy,” she murmured, laughing. “Perfect timing.”
“I’ll get her,” Jimmy Joe said. He was already pulling on his sweats, padding across the room in his bare feet.
A few minutes later he was back with Amy tucked expertly in the crook of his arm, a fresh diaper and dry blankets in his other hand. Her heart turned over as she watched him spread out the blankets and change her daughter’s diaper while she stretched and gurgled and made faces at him in the soft light of the bedside lamp. When he finished, he scooped Amy up and placed her gently in her waiting arms, then quickly piled up pillows, climbed back into bed and drew Mirabella against him and pulled the blankets around them all.
“I think,” said Mirabella drowsily, “I know what the old man meant. About this bed being a marriage bed-a bed for a lifetime. It’s this, isn’t it? For being together…”
He nodded. “For making love, and just talking…”
“For making plans…”
“Reading out loud to your kids…and grandkids…”
“Cuddling on Sunday mornings…”
“Reading the paper…”
“Making love…”
“Making babies.”
“Making babies?” she asked, craning to look at him. “Are you sure?”
“Well,” he said, “of course, Amy Jo’s mine already, but I wouldn’t mind makin’ a couple more-long as we do it the old-fashioned way.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said slowly, “You do realize, don’t you, that if I hadn’t done what I did, I’d never have met you? If it hadn’t been for that idiotic thing I did, I wouldn’t have been out there on that interstate, pregnant, in labor, stranded. Then you couldn’t have rescued me, and then where would we be?” She shivered suddenly, and his arms tightened around her.
“I don’t know,” he said, dazed. “I guess you might be right.”
Mirabella laughed softly. “Of course I am,” she said triumphantly. “I’m always right.”
“Okay, eastbound, I’m headin’ for the barn.”
“Happy trails, westbound. Ten-four…”
KATHLEEN CREIGHTON
KATHLEEN CREIGHTON has roots deep in the California soil but has relocated to South Carolina. As a child, she enjoyed listening to old-timers’
tales, and her fascination with the past only deepened as she grew older. Today, she says she is interested in everything-art, music, gardening, zoology, anthropology and history, but people are at the top of her list. She also has a lifelong passion for writing, and now combines her two loves in romance novels.
***
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-5f46b7-4fa6-8b4d-bfa1-1a63-5cfd-e21371
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 04.07.2012
Created using: Fiction Book Designer software
Document authors :
Source URLs :
About
This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.
(This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)
Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.
(Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)
http://www.fb2epub.net
https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/
One Christmas Knight Page 25