Whispers at Midnight

by Parnell, Andrea

  The rock and safety were only a few feet away but the water had quickly transformed her light summer dress and petticoats into a heavy weight that kept trying to drag her back under the dark, swirling water. She lunged for the rock, having managed to get a little closer, and tried to gain a hold, hoping to pull herself out. At last she got a handhold but found the rock too slippery to hang on to. Her breath coming raggedly, Amanda managed to stay afloat only by clawing at the rock.

  While she was struggling in the water, she had forgotten Ryne. When she felt his arms around her shoulders she experienced another round of panic. She gasped. His arm wrapped tightly around her neck, and suddenly she was horribly conscious that he was pulling her back, away from the rock. Her mind went racing in a blind fear. Why was he pulling her into deeper water?

  She struggled and fought frantically to make him let her go. Water washed over her face. She tried to scream but only wound up swallowing mouthfuls of water as they both went under for a moment.

  Ryne gripped her tighter and somehow managed to pin her flailing arms to her sides. Terrified, she continued to fight him, thinking at any moment she would surely drown and go floating away with the debris in the treacherous current of the river. But her panic was short-lived. Soon she could feel the safe, sandy riverbed beneath her feet. She stopped her struggles as Ryne’s arms slipped from her shoulders to her waist and he slowly turned her around to face him.

  “Why did you fight me?” he demanded. “You nearly drowned us both.” His eyes glowed so wild that the pupils had nearly blacked out the irises. His nostrils flared angrily. She could see the tautness of the muscles in his shoulders.

  Amanda’s lips quivered uncontrollably. She had thought herself infinitely near to death and she had never ever been more afraid. She hadn’t trusted Ryne for that moment, and yet hadn’t she known he would not let her drown? Hadn’t she known? Suddenly overwrought again, she began to sob and threw her arms around his neck.

  “Hold me,” she whispered as all the sadness of the ages seemed to descend on her heart. She felt a great emptiness and longing, and the strength she felt as he obeyed her request was like a restorative life force. His arms crisscrossed her back and he pulled her close against him as the river lapped at their legs. “Closer, please,” she pleaded, burying her head against his chest and feeling the soft, damp crinkle of hair against her cheek. “I was so afraid, Ryne. Hold me just a little while.”

  “Yes,” he answered softly, petting the long, wet tangle of curls that tumbled down her back.

  He held her, his breathing deep. He had swum hard to reach her, knowing from the desperate look on her face when she fell that she could not swim. She had fought him so hard that for an instant before he felt the riverbed beneath him he had wondered if they would make it. He felt a measure of hurt with himself that she had not trusted him when she was in danger. He felt it more so because he had at times given her reason not to.

  “Shush,” he whispered as her sobbing continued to shake her. “You are safe, Amanda, safe with me.” His fingers grazed the line of her chin and smoothed a tear from her cheek. He pressed her face closer against his skin, enjoying the cool satin feel of her against his own heated flesh.

  Amanda’s arms slipped slowly down from his shoulders to wrap around his waist. She felt the fear draining from her and being replaced by a storm of another sort. Slowly she lifted her face to his.

  “I might have drowned,” she said, her tone a little breathless.

  “I would not have let you,” he answered in his deep caressing voice. “Because then I would have missed holding you this way, and it feels too very good to have missed.” He lowered his head as he spoke, until his lips were poised only a few inches above hers. His hands rested on her shoulders, fingers fanned across the back of her neck. He bent her head back ever so slightly.

  Ryne shifted his weight a little and Amanda could feel the movement in the firm muscles of his thighs. She felt the ache of longing grow inside her.

  “Oh, Ryne,” she murmured.

  His mouth took hers then, lips joining gently and starting a disturbance that traveled to the centermost part of her body. She relaxed against him, feeling her soft curves melt into the firm, sinewy muscles of his frame. She sighed with disappointment when he broke the embrace and led her out of the shallow water. Her dress dragged and dripped, and more than once Ryne had to catch her when she stumbled. But when they reached the grassy edge of the riverbank, he stopped and once more his arms went around her.

  “Sweet Amanda,” he whispered as he slowly reclaimed her lips.

  Amanda shivered with cold, but as he increased the pressure of his kiss she felt a flickering of warmth all over. She returned his kiss. It felt suddenly right and wonderful. In the spell of his embrace she did not question her feelings but lent herself in all completeness to the pleasure of his lips on her mouth.

  It was beyond ecstasy the way his tongue stroked the sensitive, soft curves, caressing and teasing until she opened for him and he began the same delicate strokes on the inner surface of her mouth.

  Hesitantly she followed his lead and probed the sensuous line of his lips with her tongue, tasting and enjoying the sweetness of his mouth with a strange new hunger that could not be sated. His kiss seared her lips and burned the drifting thoughts from her mind until she thought and felt nothing but the white-hot heat of his nearness.

  Ryne, hands plying the soft flesh of her back, trailed kisses to her throat and to the gentle curve of her shoulder. Her still-damp skin was intoxicatingly fragrant and silky smooth beneath his mobile fingers. An involuntary moan escaping his lips, he pushed the crumpled wet sleeves of her gown from her shoulders and covered the newly exposed flesh with warm kisses.

  Amanda whispered his name as his nimble fingers loosened the laces at the back of her bodice. Within moments he had unfastened the garment and slipped her arms free of it.

  The setting sun cast an amber glow on her pale, smooth skin and gave a golden sheen to the soft orbs of her breasts. Ryne drew his breath in raggedly at the delectable sight he had uncovered. Wantonly his hands found and loosened the ties that held the waistband of her skirts. The garments dropped to a tousled mound around her feet and in one quick movement she stepped free of them.

  “Let me see you,” he whispered, his voice harsh with passion.

  Her gauze chemise was thin and light as air and rippled against her body like a soft silken web fanned by the gentle breeze along the river. But to Ryne even that vaporous garment was an offense to his eyes. He wanted her in his arms with no barrier, no matter how flimsy, between them. Whispering her name, he peeled the chemise from her body, drawing it over her head as she slowly lifted her arms to aid him.

  There on the grassy edge of the riverbank the magical last rays of sunset framed her with red-gold light and lit dancing sparks of red in the hair that tumbled below her shoulders. Ryne stepped hurriedly out of his breeches while she watched, unashamed of her nakedness and entranced by the sight of him.

  She thought him beautiful, shoulders gleaming like polished copper catching the red rays of the sun, the straight black hair swinging loose and giving almost a savage look to the strong, handsome features of his face.

  Bewitched, each by the other, they came together, flesh to flesh, spirit to spirit, in the ageless wizardry of desire. Ryne heard her swift intake of breath and his own groan as their loins made contact and she knew the heat of his full ardor.

  He could not believe she was so willing in his arms nor that he was so overwhelmed by his yearning for her. It was not what he had planned, not to lose his head like a boy with his first woman. But his arousal was a flame that burned him from head to foot with a wanting that was madness.

  He looped his fingers in her hair, drawing her head back for his kisses. Her lips seared to his wildly, longingly, each kiss building the hunger that demanded a deeper satisfaction.

  Amanda’s exploring fingers found the contours of his back and felt the tensing
of each band of muscles beneath his smooth flesh. She dropped her hands to his buttocks, massaging her fingertips into the softer flesh there and feeling the quiver she caused run through his thighs.

  Ryne slid his hands down her body, mocking her actions and starting a tremble all through her warm, silken flesh. He cupped her small buttocks with his hands and lifted her slowly along the length of his body.

  “I’ve wanted you,” he whispered, sweeping her into his arms. “Wanted you from the first moment, and I’ve tried like the devil’s pawn not to. But now there’s no help for it. I must have you, Amanda.” He carried her to a place where the grass was green and thick and they were shielded by a growth of brush.

  “Yes,” she answered, her voice faint and faraway. So bewitched was she by the rhythm of his voice and the hypnotic blue of his eyes that she would have responded the same to any words he uttered.

  He knelt, lowering her to the grass. The crushed green blades smelled sweet as a spring meadow and felt cool and soft beneath her heated skin. She caught his arms and pulled him down to her, not wanting to relinquish the feel of him against her.

  Ryne stretched his length out beside her, turning her body gently to him, but only for a moment before his mouth was at her breast, his tongue warm and wet on the crescent peak that he teased and nibbled until she thought she could bear it no more. She felt the flush of heat just beneath her skin, the warm, radiating heat between her thighs where his hand rested from its plundering.

  “Ryne, please,” she cried. “You must—”

  “No, no, Amanda, my sweet. I must not rush.” He rolled her to her back and knelt between her thighs, his hands running over her body like hot, licking flames, driving her into a warring frenzy of agony and ecstasy. “It must be the best for you, my little love,” he whispered, lowering himself upon her so that she could feel his rigid manhood thrusting gently against her maidenhead. “I want to make you forget him and all the others.” His breath was a warm torment at her ear. He had drawn away from her and his knees were pushing her legs wide apart. Then his hands were beneath her, lifting her hips for his entry.

  “Ryne,” she whispered, not knowing whether she spoke the words or merely thought them, “there have been no others.”

  She cried out. The pain was like the quick thrust of a blade. She felt the jolt of surprise in Ryne’s body, felt him hesitate for a moment, but he had used all his self-control and now could not stop the madness that drove him. The pain was brief, and as she felt him move within her, she forgot it as the bloom of rapture started to grow. Slowly at first, she moved her body to meet his, finding and learning the rhythm that made them one.

  He whispered her name, a pleading apology where none was needed. She had wanted him, wanted this uniting, glorious pleasure he was giving her. She gripped his shoulders and half-lifted herself from the grass, her small tight breasts grazing his chest as the turbulence raged.

  Deep in her heart she felt the bloom of another emotion and wondered if he knew the same sweet budding within himself. And yet as she felt his power and strength she could see a tenderness and wonder in his eyes that she knew sprang from a seed newly planted in his heart.

  She called his name, a silken cry of joy. Her eyes widened at the blending then bursting flare of triumph surging through her. He rose above her one last time and the crescendo was complete, his body joining hers in a sweet infusion of energy.

  Still, like the lacey green-leaved branches of the willow trees above them, they lay wrapped as if asleep in each other’s arms.

  Ryne, his breathing deep and slow, could not remember such a contented, rapturous feeling after making love. He had no wish to move or to probe his consciousness for the thoughts waiting to end this feeling of ecstasy. It had been too sweet. It had reached too deep. Indeed, knowing the intimate bounds of her body had made him vulnerable and he felt as if a hand had latched hold of something lost deep inside him. He did not want to explore the meaning of what had changed. Not yet.

  He held his eyes closed against the moonlight, feeling the soft nymph-like creature half-captured beneath him. Ryne nuzzled her cheek and buried his face in the soft, fragrant hair spread across the grass.

  Amanda moaned lightly and pressed her lips against his neck. He had done more than take her virginity. He had penetrated her spirit and broken down the barrier she had wrapped herself in. Never had she meant to give herself so completely to a man. And now here she lay, sated and satisfied, in the arms of a man who had shown her more contempt than caring.

  What could she expect from him now? Stronger contempt? Or would he find, as she had, that his feelings had changed entirely? Even now she felt herself reliving the memory of his kisses, those deep, probing kisses that had demanded all of her.

  “Ryne,” she murmured, and felt his lips touch her throat like a whisper. “I want to know . . .” His hands skimmed over her hips and rose to tease her taut, dusky nipples.

  “Let it wait, my sweet. Let it wait.” He gathered her in his arms and rolled to his back. “Kiss me now.”

  She pressed her lips to his, caressing his mouth first and then deepening her kiss as new currents of desire heated her blood. He caught her waist and pulled her forward, his mouth fondling the small globes now within his reach and bringing the nipples to tight, pink peaks.

  “You are divine,” he whispered. “So small and perfect, like a little porcelain doll.”

  His hands were as gentle as his voice, searching and finding all the pleasure points on her body. She found herself again a willing victim of his lovemaking, totally and blissfully bewitched by the sound of his voice and the play of his hands on her skin. Ryne pulled her close, and when she slipped her hands to his thighs, she felt the lusty hardness of his manhood beneath her.

  He quickly brought her up astride him, and as his hands explored the soft lines of her back, she massaged the strong tendons of his chest and shoulders. The peaks of her breasts, hard as pebbles, seared his hair-roughened chest when she bent to kiss him.

  Ryne struggled to stay in control. But her writhing above him was more torment than he could take. With a groan he gripped her by the waist and lifted her a few inches. Passion pounded the fiery blood through his veins as her hand sought his manhood and positioned him. Their eyes met, the blue of his mirroring the green glow of passion in hers.

  He needed this second time to prove he was not bewitched. He eased her down, penetrating her satin warmth and shattering his will into a thousand burning fragments. As her body melted around his, he forgot his purpose and knew only the pure, explosive pleasure of her warm, soft flesh. He was swept over by a blinding wave of passion and no longer cared for anything but to make her pleasure match his.

  “Amanda, love,” he whispered thickly, roughly. “What charm, what spell gives you this power over me?”

  She smiled and shook her head. Her fingers made slow circular strokes on his throat. If there was a spell, then he had cast it. She was helpless, consumed by her desire for him, her whole being flamed with it.

  As they rocked together, his hands helping to lift and lower her, she felt the wildest, hottest of fires rising inside her. Her nails clamped into his shoulders. She saw his eyes flash, felt the tremors in his body and the spasmodic grasp of his fingers on her flesh.

  A moan of ecstasy tumbled from her lips. Her world went spiraling as she rode the flaming tide of passion that raged through them both.

  ***

  The moon rose high, a luminous mother-of-pearl disk in the deep blue sky. Crickets and frogs made music of their night calls. Amanda stirred first, feeling the coolness of the night on her bare flesh. She lifted her head from Ryne’s chest, thinking he still slept.

  “Have you rested enough?” he asked.

  Her eyes opened wide and questioning. She thought his voice as cool as the night air. Could her tender, passionate lover have cooled so quickly?

  “I need my clothes.” She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed at the gooseflesh that appeare
d on her skin.

  Ryne got to his feet and helped her up. Holding her hand, he led her to the spot where they had disrobed. Her clothes lay in a rumpled heap by the riverbank, wet and wrinkled, and she knew from the sight of them that they would feel no better than they looked. While she got her chemise and turned it right-side-out, Ryne found his breeches and donned them. He left her to dress alone while he fetched his boots and bridled the team of grays.

  He led the horses to the river’s edge for a drink and after checking the harnesses and buggy, rehitched the team and drove them back to the road. What the devil had happened to his reason? The last bloody thing he wanted was to fall under the spell of this lovely little witch. How had it happened? No woman had ever made him feel this way. It was dangerous. It was an interference. He couldn’t let it happen.

  Barefoot and disheveled in her soiled dress, Amanda accepted his assistance into the buggy. In the pale moonlight she could see the tense line of Ryne’s jaw and the tightly clenched hand which held the reins. He did not look at her and he did not speak.

  She felt his silence like a biting, icy wind. He despised her. She had given herself to him and he despised her for it. What could she say to him now? Where were the words that might make him feel differently? An ache started in her heart that made her think it would break. Could she have been so wrong?

  There were to be no answers to her questions. She made one attempt at conversation, and getting only a shrug from Ryne, decided to keep quiet. His face was set like stone, and the deep lines in his brow gave him a look of anger. His single attention to her was to pull a blanket from beneath the buggy seat and wrap it around her shoulders.

  But there was no easing of his mood.

  “Drink this,” he said gruffly, seeing how she shivered in her damp dress. He opened a silver flask and thrust it into her hand. “It’ll keep you warm on the ride home.”