“Thank you. I often have to move boxes of wine. I guess that’s why.”
When they had the bales stacked it was noticeably warmer in the tight square of space.
“Get comfortable,” he said. “I’m going to go see if I can hide our tire tracks. Brushing them out will leave a trail as well, but up by the road at least, perhaps it won’t be noted. Right now, anyone hunting us would easily find us.
“I’ll help.”
“No, you rest. It won’t take long,” he said. Not only did he want to spare her the labor, but he needed the space to think.
Grace watched him button his heavy coat back up and go out into the breaking day. He carried a hatchet and a look of determination.
She shut the door, and the first thing that popped into her head in the silence was about Dix.
He hadn’t laughed at her.
As she spread the blankets over the hay, she realized it was important. He hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t denied or fobbed off the idea of a destiny, or the magic the jewel possessed.
And he’d gotten the diary for her.
Pulling her knees up to her chest, Grace rocked in place. The world was going to hell in a handcart, and she was destined to marry a Nazi, a proponent of an ideology she utterly despised. Her time with Hitler’s generals, and with the man himself, had added to her revulsion. Their passionate belief that people born with differences--a little slow, a hand or foot that hadn’t fully formed—-were somehow unworthy to live? How could that be?
And the sheer hypocrisy of it appalled. Joseph Goebbels, one of Hitler’s supreme Gauleiters, was himself, in fact, deformed. Yet he was the master of twisting the words, and making the unthinkable not only plausible, but probable.
She shuddered as she remembered Goebbels eyes on her. His hands holding hers around the books had been clammy, his fingernails untrimmed.
At least he was not the one. He was too short.
“Stop thinking about it,” she remonstrated with herself. Needing to do something, anything constructive, she laid out the provisions from the large knapsack Dix had brought in from the truck. She arranged the cheese, dried figs, dry sausage and bread on a large napkin and found a metal cup for the wine.
Dix returned from his labors fairly quickly. “I brushed out the obvious tracks, but there is traffic on this road. I didn’t want to be seen.”
“Good idea,” she said, patting the blanket. “Come and sit. It isn’t Le Navire in Paris,” she added, “but it will do.”
“Le Navire, is that a favorite?”
“Yes, the chef there does amazing things with seafood.”
“Hence its name.”
“Yes, The Ship.” She smiled at him. “The restaurant itself is said to have been constructed from broken parts of a ship wrecked in a battle on the Seine.”
“Intriguing,” Dix said, with a laugh. He picked up the metal cup, into which she’d poured wine, and lifted it in a toast. “May we someday get to sit and enjoy a meal in Le Navire, in more peaceful times.”
He passed her the cup, and she lifted it to her lips.
“Amen,” she breathed into the cup, sipping and swallowing around the lump in her throat, and passed it back.
They made quick work of the meal, sharing the lone cup back and forth until they’d finished most of the bottle. The wine helped fight the chill, as did having food in her belly.
“We need to get some sleep. I’d suggest keeping watch, but I know that I can’t, and you probably can’t either. We’ve been up too long.”
“I think we would hear anyone driving up,” she said, unfolding the extra blankets so they could wrap themselves in them and snuggle into the hay.
“But if they find us, there’s nowhere to run.”
“Then we’ll hope for the best.”
“Indeed.”
To her surprise, Grace was able to drop off to sleep right away. And the dreams didn’t torment her, at least not right away. She and Dix slept back to back, and the heat of his body warmed her through.
When she did wake, it was because of Dix.
“No, no,” he muttered, beginning to thrash, still asleep. “Don’t shut it.” He spoke more, but it was in a quick, accented language she didn’t recognize. The words had a musical lilt, but it was obvious from his distress that this was more nightmare than dreams.
“Dix,” she dodged his flailing arm and shook him, hard. “Dix! Wake up!”
Her brain couldn’t process the speed with which he moved.
One moment she was shaking his shoulder, the next she was pinned underneath him, a knife at her throat. The wild fear in his gaze was that of the dreamer.
Fear threatened to paralyze her, but she managed to speak, slowly, carefully. “Dix,” she said. “It’s me. It’s Grace.”
When the wildness in his gaze didn’t ebb, and he didn’t speak, she slid her hands up, palms open. Infusing a sharper note into her voice, she took a different tack. “Lt. Robert Dixon. Soldier,” she snapped. “Report!”
Sense came back to his eyes, and the tightly clenched jaw relaxed. Confusion came next.
“Grace?”
“Dix.” Relief nearly undid her control. “You had a nightmare.” She kept her voice steady, and her hands open. “You reacted when I shook you awake.”
He looked down, seeing the knife. Color flooded into his face.
“Oh, my God.” He rolled off of her and to his feet in one fluid motion. He stood like a bewildered bull, staring at the knife in his hand. “What did I do?”
“Nothing. You didn’t do anything.” She rose, carefully. “You didn’t hurt me.”
“I could have,’ he said bleakly, staring at the knife. He sheathed it at last, turning his back to her. His breath was long and uneven. “I could have.”
“Dix?” she said, softly. “Come here.”
“No. I need to sleep in the truck. I can’t risk hurting you.”
Grace shook her head but he didn’t see it, of course. “No, it’s too cold. It’s warm in here, inside our hay fort,” she said smiling, finally, as her heart rate returned to normal. “You have nothing to apologize for, and I won’t hear of you going to the truck. Now, come back to bed.”
He pivoted then, eyeing her. “I told you I’d sleep in the truck.”
“And I told you to come to bed,” she said, hands on her hips. “And I mean it.”
“So do I.”
The argument was so ridiculous, his face so thunderous, that she felt a laugh bubble its way into her throat.
“No,” she said, fighting the grin. “It’s warm here. It’s cold there.”
“I’ll sleep outside.”
She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “You’ll turn into an icicle.”
His face was thunderous with temper, but somehow, she wasn’t afraid. This was anger, yes, but embarrassment too. And it wasn’t that blank, unreasoning stranger looking out of Dix’s eyes. It was Dix.
“Why are you laughing?” he demanded.
“Because I can, I guess,” she said, still grinning. “I’m free. I’m warm. And I just ordered a man to my bed,” she giggled. “Oh, my God, I think that’s a first.”
Sitting down, she let the giggles come at the look on his face, his reluctant smile. Despite his embarrassment, he’d gotten the double meaning.
He made a sort of growling noise, but she could hear the laughter trying to find its way out.
“Oh, to your bed is it, Lady Grace? You English can’t order us Colonials around anymore you know.” His mock-anger was countered by the laughter in his eyes.
“Ah, but we can.” Standing, she put on her most haughty air. “Mr. Dixon, I have given you a distinct request,” she said, pretending to peer through a pince nez. She pantomimed sweeping aside a voluminous train and sat, her back sternly erect. “As the hostess of this fine establishment, I order you to return to bed.”
“Mademoiselle,” he said, bowing with courtly grace, playacting on his own merit. “I thank you for your invitation, b
ut...” he lifted his hands in a truly Gallic gesture of surrender. “I fear I am no fit company for a young lady of your quality.”
Her heart stuttered. When had they gone from playacting to reality? He had meant that. He didn’t feel worthy of her. That had been the utter and most sincere truth.
“I beg to differ,” she said softly, making her decision. “Most sincerely.”
She unbuttoned her coat, and laid it aside. Her boots were by the knapsack, as were his. She removed the scarf next, folding it neatly on her coat before unbuttoning and pulling off the heavy skirt.
He watched her like one of the big African cats watched a gazelle, but he didn’t move.
“I’m a woman, Dix. And my fate is uncertain.”
“War’s coming,” he grated. “All of our fates are uncertain.”
She nodded, glad he’d admitted that. It would make this easier.
“If my fate is sealed by this jewel I wear,” she said, unbuttoning the topmost shirt, then the one underneath so she could pull out the diary and set it on top of her skirt. “Then I want to share myself now with someone I like, someone I trust.” She smiled now, unbuttoning the first button of her trousers. “Someone I find attractive.”
“Grace,” he growled, striding to her, stilling her hands on the buttons. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” she said, looking up into his dark, dark eyes. “That’s the point, Dix. I don’t have to. I get to choose. In this at least,” she said fiercely, “I get to choose.”
“Grace,” he said softly, lifting a hand to cup her cheek, then bringing the other hand up, to tangle in her hair. “We’ll get you away. I promise you.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, standing on tiptoe to brush her lips over his. “But we could lose this time. We very nearly lost the last one. Germany could win. The man I’ve seen could be responsible for the life or death of my family. I would marry Satan himself to save my family, so would you.”
He nodded, then slid both hands into her hair. Pulling her mouth to his, she nearly drowned in his deep, powerful kiss. It rocked her, heart, mind and body. Every nerve seemed to be afire, every sense heightened as he drew her closer.
She would have pulled him to the straw, taken him without another word or thought, but he stopped, panting. He moved back, made a little bit of room between them.
“Grace,” he began.
“Shhh,” she said. Whatever he had to say, she’d probably thought of it and discarded it. Except one thing. That might be what was worrying him. “I’m not inexperienced, Dix. Not totally. I was engaged.”
He tipped her chin up so that they were looking at one another in the clear, but dim light coming into the barn. “And?”
“We were friends at university, and briefly, lovers. But he wasn’t for me. He recognized it before I did and we broke it off. I wanted it to be him,” she said softly, with remembered sadness. “But my Aunt Grace was right, there were no dreams, no omens or signs. Just a good man who realized that I didn’t love him.”
She leaned in, setting her cheek to his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“I want you, Dix, for who you are right here, right now.” She tilted her head, met his gaze with all the courage she could muster. “And yes, I know that I’m using you. And I hope you’ll forgive me.”
She looked away and fought back the tears. She didn’t want this to be about sorrow. She wanted it to be about triumph.
“If I’m to be shackled to destiny’s choice, then now, here, I choose to experience joy, unbridled and unfettered by whatever power lies over me because of the jewel. Give me this, Dix. Please.”
He watched her, giving her time to compose herself, but not so much that her nerves got the better of her.
“My Lady Corvedale,” he said softly, “your wish is my command.”
Unbearably relieved, she closed her eyes, squeezed them shut until she was sure she wouldn’t cry.
“Why thank you, Mr. Dixon. It is to be my pleasure, I assure you,” she added impishly, trying to lighten the mood.
“I will contrive for it to be so,” he said, sliding his hands inside her shirt to caress the satiny skin of her back. He watched her carefully, keen for any sign that he was pleasing her. He understood what she wanted. She was certain.
If this was to be her memory of freedom, he would make it as wonderful as possible, given the circumstances.
“I’m sure you’re up to the task,” she murmured as his lips met hers. Slowly, nibbling little kisses over her lips and cheek, he peeled away her shirt. She stood, in trousers and her brassiere, like a conquering goddess in a field of golden hay. Her fingers quickly worked the buttons of his shirt, but she wasn’t quite tall enough to push it off his shoulders.
Lips locked to hers, he tugged it away. She pulled his undershirt from his pants, to run her hands up his back. She smoothed the long scar there, and pulled him closer.
“Touch me, Dix,” she implored, and his mind, which had locked in place as she explored, began to work again.
He unhooked her brassiere and let it slide to the hay. He left her enticing mouth long enough to taste the curve of her neck, then knelt in front of her so that he could lavish attention on the beautiful breasts he’d exposed. Their tightly budded points were enticing and he drew one into his mouth, warming it and teasing it with his tongue.
She moaned, fisting her hands in his hair. “Dix,” she whispered. “Dix.”
“Yes, Grace, I’m right here. Tell me how to touch you, how to pleasure you.”
“Kiss me again,” she said, tipping his face up to hers as she bent to kiss him where he knelt. Her strong hands kneaded his shoulders, bared now under her searching fingers.
She slid down to kneel as well, dragging her pebbled nipples over his chest, enticing him with her mouth and tongue as she moved along his body.
Her glorious hair was loose and he used it to pull her close again, feast on her mouth, lavish her with kisses.
Her hands were busy at his waist and when she loosened his trousers and freed him to her touch, he nearly died on the spot. Her soft hands shivered up and down the shaft of his erection, and he quivered in her grip.
“Grace,” he growled, striving to hold on to the shredding bonds of his control. She bent her head and licked at his nipple, nipping it gently. He nearly came in her hands.
“Grace,” he said again, pulling her hands away, trapping them in one of his, behind her back. “Two can play at that game of tender torture,” he murmured, suckling her until she moaned.
He released her hands so that he could caress her backside, the sweet, soft globes of her bottom called to his hands and he used that grip to pull her to him, pressing himself to her center.
That too, nearly made him lose control for she was wet, and hot.
“Dix,” she whispered, her hands tight on his hips, holding him in place. “Oh, that feels so good. You aren’t inside me and already, I feel so good,” she moaned, tugging at him, pulling him down to the hay. “Come inside me, make me feel...”
“What, Grace?” he murmured. “What do you want to feel?”
“Alive,” she said, her gaze boring into his. “Safe. Whole.”
“Cherished,” he said, softly, laying her down, and shifting to lie beside her, his hands gliding down her body, over her legs, and up between them. “Needed,” he said, as she opened for him, tried to pull him over her and into her.
“Not yet, Grace,” he said with a smile. “Let me do this.”
“Dix,” she said, “I need...”
“Yes, you do,” he said, sliding a hand between her soft thighs. There, as her father had said, was the crown, the birthmark. He bent to kiss it. “You are my queen, with your crown.”
He slid a long finger gently into the curves of her body, the wet folds parted and she rose to meet him as he dipped two fingers into the heat of her, the tight, firm power of her response nearly sent him as well. She cried out as a powerful orgasm overcame her
. She rode his hand, bucking into his palm, giving him everything she had.
“Dix,” she gasped, her hands pulling urgently at him. “Dix, I need you, I need...”
“Shh,” he soothed. “I’m here.”
“Dix,” she implored, and relief flooded her face as he rose over her, slid into her with a groan of near-painful pleasure.
“Ohhhhhh,” she exhaled the word, rising to meet his thrust. “Ohhh, yes.”
“Grace.” Her name flowed out with his breath. She was around him, and in him, their breath streamed together as he bent to kiss her. Deeply and powerfully they kissed, but her restless hips drove them apart as she arched back, driving herself onto him with a groan.
“Dix, Dix,” she cried out, fighting the second orgasm.
He lifted her hips and slid forward, and she gasped in pleasure.
“Now, my love,” he said, “together.”
With long sure strokes, they built the pleasure to its peak. Her hands were like a vise on his hips, pulling him back in, harder, tighter, each time they moved.
“Look at me, Grace,” he said, barely able to think, barely able to hold on to his control. “Look at me.”
“Dix,” she breathed. “Ahhhh, Diiiiix.”
“Yes,” he cried out as his body could take no more of the intensity of the pleasure they’d wrought together. She pulled him close and he exploded like a thousand suns.
Light, heat, a blinding sense of rightness, of fitness and perfection, rolled through him as he released everything to her. Nothing he’d ever felt before compared to that incredible blast of release.
Together they roared to completion. Quaking in the aftermath, hearts pounding, bodies slicked with sweat, they collapsed into the blankets, panting.
A bird called outside the barn. There was a faint rustle as the wind teased the few cracks in the walls. Time continued to move, but Dix didn’t care.
“Dear God in heaven.” Grace was the first to speak. Her voice was breathy, and faint, and he immediately shifted so he lay at her side. “Don’t go,” she murmured.
“No, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, pulling a lock of hair out of her eyes so he could smile down into her face. “I was crushing you though.”
A Jewel In Time; A Sultry Sisters Anthology Page 21