She half sat to free her arms and he kissed the rise of her breasts, tossing the blouse on the floor. He undid her skirt and it followed the blouse as he removed her clothes slowly, careful not to alarm her. When only her underwear remained he got up and undressed himself.
Carrie watched as he stripped off the fancy shirt, working rapidly, his fingers flying over the buttons, the cuffs, his technique the opposite of the one he had used on her. His torso gleamed in the shadowy room, supple, powerful, the white scar tissue contrasting with the light bronze of his fading summer tan. When he reached for his pants she looked away, her mouth going dry. It was really going to happen. Now.
She felt his weight depress the bed and then the shock of his bare skin as he embraced her. As she came into his arms he unhooked her bra and removed it. He ran his hands over the smooth skin of her naked back, pressing her breasts against his chest. Carrie sighed brokenly, feeling small and protected by the solid warmth of his body. Her thin briefs were the only barrier between his flesh and hers, and she shuddered delicately as he shifted his weight and she felt the full force of his arousal. He turned her onto her back and pulled off her pants with one smooth motion. She resisted slightly, an instinctive reaction that he noticed immediately. He stopped, lying next to her and pulling her toward him again.
“All right,” he soothed her. “Take it easy; you’re doing fine.”
His arms were trembling, and Carrie realized what it was costing him to hold back for her sake. He gentled her, touching, caressing, until she went limp with pleasure, her eyes closing, her breath escaping in a soundless exhalation.
“I remembered how beautiful you were,” he murmured, “but I thought I had exaggerated it in my mind. I see now that I was wrong.” He bent over her as she reclined on the pillows, kissing her at a lingering, luxurious, maddening pace until she was clinging to him eagerly, almost frantic. Her tongue met his and she surged against him involuntarily. With a sound deep in his throat Jason sat bolt upright, breathing heavily, his hands clenching on the chenille spread.
“Carrie,” he gasped. “I don’t want to rush you, but it’s...been a long time for me. I don’t know if I can handle this the right way for you. I want you so much.”
“I’m not afraid anymore, Jason,” she said, reaching for him. “You couldn’t do anything wrong if you tried.”
He enfolded her again. His body was slick with perspiration, both from excitement and from the strain of exerting self-control. “I don’t deserve you,” he said hoarsely.
“Yes, you do.”
“When I think of how I treated you on the night of the storm I can’t imagine why you stuck with me at all.” His grip tightened. “It will be better with me tonight, I promise.”
“It was wonderful then, Jason. It just…well, ended badly.”
“Not this time,” he said quietly. “Not this time.” He let her slip into the curve of one muscular arm and caressed her breasts with his free hand, stroking with the tips of his fingers until the nipples rose, pebble hard. He bent and sucked gently, first one, then the other. Carrie went rigid, hissing softly. When he saw her response he rasped her with his teeth and she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his hair.
“What do you want?” he coaxed her, trailing his lips to her belly. She arched toward him, fearful that he would break contact, almost unable to speak.
“More,” she answered, and that said it all.
He gave her more, mouthing her navel, slipping his hands beneath her hips, lifting her. She moaned as he kissed the soft skin of her inner thighs, moving back and forth, teasing her, goading her, until she was writhing, wild. He pressed his cheek to the soft plane of her stomach and she gasped out loud. His skin was hot, on fire against the cool skin of her abdomen. When he moved to sit up she clutched at his hand, and in a moment of abandon he placed it on himself. Eager now, lost in passion, she encircled him and he groaned, finally putting her hand away.
He had to restrain himself, to wait until she was as ready as he was. Soon she would be. He paused for a moment, then slipped his hand between her thighs. She sighed with satisfaction, pressing against him as he stroked her. When he removed his hand her eyes flew open.
“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Please don’t stop.”
But he was merely changing one sensation for another. Before she could react he bent and put his mouth on her, caressing her intimately with his lips and tongue. She groaned at the resumption of the pleasurable contact, raising her arms above her head and grasping the pillow as if to ground herself in reality. He glanced up at her and saw that her head was turned to one side, her eyes shut tight, as if she couldn’t allow anything to distract her from the exquisite torment she was experiencing.
Jason could delay no longer. He moved up on the bed, grasping her shoulders and turning her toward him. She wrapped herself around him, caressing him everywhere she could reach. Her hands moved over him—over the smooth, strong column of his neck and his broad chest with its thatch of brown hair. Below it she found the flat belly and the mysterious but alluring pulse of his manhood. Jason lay still and let her explore him. His breath was coming in short bursts, and when she curled her legs around his hips, demanding his entry without words, he knew that it was time. He positioned himself above her, guiding her under him, and looked into her face.
He had never seen her at the fever pitch of sexual arousal. She was glowing, her skin misty, her eyes slitted and catlike with desire. She exuded a musky scent that inflamed him, and her dark hair was spread around her head like a sable halo. She was the loveliest creature he had ever seen.
“Jason,” she moaned, her hands clutching at his waist, his hips.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he answered hoarsely. “Now.”
He entered her, just a little, resisting the powerful impulse to thrust fully. She tensed and he felt her fingers dig into the base of his spine.
“Okay?” he asked, pressing his lips together and easing off her. He was heavy, and he was big. She was such a little thing and he would rather deny himself than hurt her.
“Yes,” she answered, her voice muffled against the side of his neck, but she didn’t sound sure.
He lifted his head and hers fell back. He sought her mouth, grazing his lips across hers, speaking against them.
“Relax, Carrie,” he murmured, supporting his weight on his hands. He kissed the tip of her nose, the feathery brush of her lashes. “We have all the time in the world. This is going to be good. Trust me. You do trust me, don’t you?”
“I do,” she answered as he felt the tension leaving her slight body. He slipped to his elbows and pushed farther into her. He met resistance and halted.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, his forehead beading with sweat. The instinct to take her quickly, roughly, fought for ascendancy over two thousand years of civilization, and civilization was losing. He bit his lip and concentrated on the pain to divert himself.
“Stings,” she muttered, her voice strange, slurred and throaty. Then, “No, doesn’t hurt.” Her fingers opened and slid over the slick skin of his lower back, seeking purchase. “Deeper,” she said, and he needed no further encouragement. He pulled back and plunged into her, tasting the salt and copper mixture of blood in his mouth.
Carrie groaned, tightening her arms around him and rising to meet him. He lifted her also and they came together in a convulsive motion that left both of them gasping.
“Oh, Jason,” Carrie whispered when she could talk. “I didn’t know.”
He couldn’t answer, overcome with emotion. He moved gently within her, beginning to catch her in his rhythm.
“Remember this,” she said, reaching up to touch his face, his hair. “Promise me.”
“Always,” he answered, letting go now, confident that she would be with him on the journey.
And she was.
* * * *
“Jason?” Carrie said drowsily, comfortably nestled against his side. He had pulled the bedspread over both of them and one
side of it was draped across her naked shoulder like a sash.
He opened one green eye. “Mmm?”
“Are you awake?”
“I am now.”
“I feel sorry for that girl you told me about, the baby-sitter.”
He opened the other eye.
“She had the boy and I have the man.”
“Have is the operative word,” he said, and she nudged him.
“I think the expression is ‘had,’” she replied archly, “as in ‘I had him last night.’ Right?”
His lips curved upward. “Watch your step, young lady, or I’ll call up the PTA and tell them what a firecracker sedate Miss Maxwell turned out to be.”
Carrie giggled. “Just as long as you don’t tell Johnny.” Then she sat up. “Johnny! I forgot all about him.”
“I didn’t,” Jason said, pushing her back down again. “Rose was with him. I called her before I left the club and asked her to stay overnight. He’s okay.”
Carrie rubbed her cheek on his chest. She should have known better than to think he would neglect his son. She glanced up at him and saw that he had added a new wound to his collection.
“Your lip is bleeding,” she said, propping herself up on an elbow and touching the tiny scab, still moist.
“That’s it,” he said, sighing mournfully. “You bit me.”
“I did not!” she protested, searching his face. “Did I?” she added uncertainly. During the height of their passion she had done some unexpected things and that might have been one of them.
He grinned.
“I didn’t,” she repeated, punching his thigh.
“Ow. I bit myself.”
“What?” Her brow furrowed in concern.
“An accident,” he said dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.” He smoothed her tumbled hair back from her brow and added, “So, Miss Maxwell, it seems you’ve had an interesting morning.”
“Oh, I don’t know. The social studies lesson I had planned on the products of Brazil might have been more fun.” She nipped his hand.
“What do you think your students would say if they could see you in bed with Johnny McClain’s father?” he asked, tugging on a lock of her hair.
“They would probably say they wanted another trip out to your ranch. Their mothers, on the other hand, would probably say they would like to be in bed with Johnny McClain’s father.”
He threw back his head and laughed.
“Miss Maxwell, you’re human after all!” he said, chuckling.
“Didn’t you just prove that?”
“We proved it together. I wanted you the first time I saw you, sitting at your desk surrounded by all of your teacher toys. Did you know that?”
She traced the outline of his collarbone with her forefinger. “I knew how / felt. You shook me up, all right.”
He stilled the action of her hand and raised it to his mouth. “The feeling was mutual.”
Carrie inserted a finger between his lips and he met it with his tongue. “You know a lot about women, don’t you?” she mused softly.
Jason coughed. “You couldn’t prove it by my history with Louise,” he responded cynically.
“I’m serious,” Carrie persisted.
“I wish I had a cigarette.” He sighed.
“You’ve had too many cigarettes. They’re not good for you.”
“You’re good for me,” he answered, reaching for her.
She resisted. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He fell back on the bed in exaggerated collapse. “What question was that?”
“You know. Are you an expert lover? You were so patient with me. I could feel how much you wanted to run away with it but you held back, made sure I was okay. You seemed very... experienced.”
“Why are you asking me this?” he demanded, studying her.
She looked down, defeated. “I’m jealous, I guess.”
He pulled her into his arms and cradled her in his lap. “Carrie, Carrie, listen to me. I’ve never been that patient before; I’ve never cared so much about the woman that I made her pleasure more important than mine. It’s you, don’t you see that?” He looked over her head into the recesses of the half lit room. “I haven’t made love with anyone in years until today. I wouldn’t touch Louise after I found out about her extracurricular activities, and since the accident my, uh, disfigurement would have been too bothersome to explain.” His voice became lower, more distant. “I didn’t trust anybody enough anyway.”
“You’re not disfigured,” she said fervently, planting kisses on his shoulders, his chest. “You bought Johnny’s life with these scars. To me, they are a badge of honor, a medal of valor.” She laid her cheek against his naked flank. “That first time I saw you in the barn I thought you were beautiful and I still do.”
She felt his hands combing through her hair. With her last sentence they stopped their motion and she looked up at him.
“You are too good to be true,” he said huskily, his throat working. “I can’t even believe the things you say sometimes. Nobody else thinks like you do. How can you be so smart and so innocent all at once?”
“Make love to me again,” she said.
He lifted her into his arms and obeyed her.
* * * *
When Carrie awoke she was alone in the bed. Cooking smells drifted up the stairwell. She had just risen and was about to put on a robe when a knock came at the bedroom door, which was ajar.
“Who is it?” she called, playing along.
“Robert Redford.”
“Oh, Bob, come on in.”
Jason entered bearing a tray. “Lunch,” he announced.
“What is it?”
“Scrambled eggs.”
She smiled. “Didn’t we have that for breakfast?”
He shrugged. “The cook is limited.” He was wearing the tuxedo pants, barefoot, with nothing else. As he presented the tray for her inspection he resembled an exotic dancer at a “ladies only” club.
“Looks good,” she commented.
“Not bad for one semester of home ec,” he replied.
“You took home ec?” she said, laughing, biting into a piece of toast.
“Certainly. Don’t be a chauvinist. It was the only elective I could fit in with the schedule for football practice.”
“What did you learn?” she asked.
“How to scramble eggs. And how to break dishes. I was the klutz king of home ec students.”
“You’re getting a lot of service out of those pants,” she observed, smiling impishly.
He kissed her cheek as he passed her to get a chair. “Good thing I bought the tux. When I tried to rent one for the evening it took me ten minutes to revive the clerk. It seems if you’re six foot three you can’t order up a tux like a pizza.”
“You must have had formal clothes before,” Carrie said, sitting on the edge of the bed as he poured coffee for both of them.
“I got rid of them all when Louise died,” he answered shortly. He sat in the chair he had drawn up across from her and picked up his plate.
“Yours were better,” he said, passing judgment on his effort. “These are too dry.” He got up to open the drapes again and Carrie caught her breath.
“Jason, your back,” she said.
He turned to look at her. “What about it?”
“It’s all scratched.”
He winked.
“Oh,” she added, catching on. “From my nails.” It looked as if a ferret wearing ice skates had tromped all over his back, providing a fresh counterpoint to the old scarring.
“Don’t blush,” he said to her, returning to his seat. “I like feeling them there. Reminds me that I’m alive. I was dead for too long.”
Carrie didn’t answer, concentrating on her coffee.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” he asked suddenly.
“I’m supposed to go out to my brother’s in California,” Carrie told him.
“California?” Jason said, loo
king up from his plate.
“He’s sending me the plane ticket.”
Jason didn’t say anything for a few moments and then asked, “Why don’t you stay here and have dinner with John and me? Rose is with her family on holidays and we were going to bach it.”
Carrie looked at him.
He toyed with his fork. “I’d really like it if you came to our house. I’m sure John would, too.”
Carrie surrendered without a struggle. “I’ll call Jim and tell him. I’m going to see him at Christmas anyway.”
Jason got up and joined her on the bed, taking her cup out of her hand and replacing it on the tray. Then he pulled her backward on top of him.
“What are you doing?” she asked as a formality. She knew what he was doing and she wanted him to do it.
“What do you think?” he replied, untying the sash of her robe.
“Don’t you have to get home?” Carrie asked, closing her eyes as he peeled the robe from her shoulders and kissed the middle of her back.
“Rose will be there until four,” he answered, his mouth trailing lower, tracing the curve of her spine.
“Good,” Carrie said, and turned into his arms.
Chapter 9
Thanksgiving was the happiest holiday Carrie could remember. Gloria had visited a few days earlier. She was scheduled to appear in The Nutcracker through the holiday season and would not see Carrie until the new year, so she had left Carrie’s Christmas present. The gift was a cherry red cashmere sweater, as soft as heated butter. When Carrie wore it to Jason’s house with a white wool skirt, he said she looked like a winter sprite. He gave her a kiss and Johnny gave her his drumstick, which Jason said was higher tribute than she realized.
November passed into December as the year drew to a close. John’s cast was removed and he began to hobble around on crutches, announcing his presence as they tapped against the wood floors of his house. He was full of stories about his new tutor, Mrs. Stock, a middle aged grandmother who sucked on peppermints constantly and wore her gray hair in Prince Valiant bangs. He declared that she was a poor substitute for Carrie, but tolerated her because Carrie now had more time for card games. He became a shark, beating the adults often. Carrie now owed him money, which he kept track of on a little notepad, totaling up her losses with a felt tip pen. She was reminded of his days as hall monitor and felt that he had a future in the stock market.
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