“Oh, yes, you’d love it,” John smiled earnestly. “I wish you could see how fine most of the people I’ve met are. Really genuine, good people. Very different on the surface, but once you make the effort to understand and adapt to them and their customs, and if you respect them, there’s nothing they wouldn’t do for you.” He paused for a moment, and his voice softened.
“Someday, I’d like to go back, you know, spend some time really making a difference.” He warmed to his topic. “Geneva, wouldn’t you just love to go to a place like that and do something that would improve the quality of people’s lives a thousand percent?”
The Absolutely not, leaped into Geneva’s mouth, but she managed to swallow it before it made its way to her lips.
“I bet you’d be wonderful there,” he continued, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. “You’re so strong and vital. You’ve got so much to give. You’d be amazed at what you could do.” His eyes brimmed with passion.
“As a matter of fact, I wish you’d go with me next week. I’m going to New Orleans. But then that wouldn’t be the same. Not much you could do there.”
Her ears pricked up. “New Orleans?” Of course! There was plenty she could do there! There was this darling little jewelry store on Royal Street that had the most exquisite estate jewelry. “Why are you going to New Orleans?”
“There’s a conference there on world hunger, and I’m serving on a panel. Ways to increase the productivity of milk cows in drought stricken areas. That sort of thing.” He leaned back, hands laced behind his head. “I’m working with a breeding program; we’ve done some experiments and have been able to increase milk production by as much as half a percent by breeding cows that can use all the available moisture in what most people would consider dry grass. That may not sound like much, but when you multiply that over hundreds of thousands of cattle that’s pretty significant.”
This conversation had degraded substantially since she had initiated it, and Geneva wondered when, or if, she could turn it back toward, say… Switzerland and luxury ski resorts where they might loll around naked on bearskin rugs in front of a marble fireplace. The idea of honeymoons seemed far from John’s mind, but in spite of her disappointment, she found herself admiring his altruism and his enthusiasm.
“You’re a pretty special guy yourself,” she said softly, and in her mind she added, I wish you would kiss me. His mouth seemed so ripe for kissing, she thought as she looked at his lips hungrily. After a very still moment, he took the hint. Leaning over carefully, his body inches from her, he kissed her softly, then let it linger. Okay, he had made the first move. My turn. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in close, feeling his hesitation, then his surrender. Warmth spread through her, and as with their first kiss so many weeks ago, she felt herself floating in a dizzy spiral. She was falling into the sun, warm, melting. She let the palm of her hand wander softly over his chest and tasted his mouth. Yes, she hadn’t imagined it earlier. He was delicious. And he was hers.
She felt his sigh, deep, and painful-sounding as he drew his face far enough away to look at her. There it was, that look of longing. It made her want to kiss his eyes and tell him that she would give him all the love he ever needed. But, sighing again, he averted his face, and when he returned his eyes to hers, they were altered, gentled in a way she had not seen before, and yet troubled.
Her heart was pounding. She was surprised at the intensity of her feeling for him, at how much she wanted him, at her powerful desire to yield herself completely to him, and the words were out of her mouth before she realized their meaning. “Would you like to make love with me?”
Damn! Not now, you dummy she silently cried to herself. You weren’t supposed to say that! That’s for next month! But she was shaking inside, and she wanted very much for him to say “yes.” She flushed and lowered her eyes.
He looked up and exhaled quickly with a little chuckle that sounded like a sob. Geneva waited, hurting in the knowledge that everything was at stake. Taking her face in his hands, he looked deep into her eyes, and once again, the longing was there. It made her feel like a puddle of warm, gold liquid, as if she had just drunk a stiff shot of scotch. She felt shy, but nevertheless willed herself to return his gaze steadily. At last he spoke with quiet intensity.
“Yes. I would like to make love with you. I would love to make love with you. I could bury myself in you and stay there forever, and I want to make you love me.” He kissed each of her eyes, the palm of her hand, the hollow in her throat. “I want to make you quiver.” he said, his voice low and husky, resonant with desire. He lifted his hands and looked at them intently. “With these hands I want to cherish you. With these arms, I want to hold you and protect you.” His eyes burned into hers. He seemed to be transported into a different sphere. I want to give you pleasure like you’ve never known or dreamed of.” He rolled on top of her, gathering her close in his arms beneath him, and kissed her eyes again, her lips, her throat, and he murmured, “With this body I want to worship you.”
Geneva had never heard such pretty talk before, and it did things to her insides that felt unbearably sweet, a sweetness mingled with yearning, like the heartbreaking scent of jasmine. And with the words that washed over her like stunning white water, she felt the strength in his arms, the essential maleness traversing the length of his body. Just in time, she caught herself drooling. Already she was quivering, her breath coming in quick gasps, and then she felt herself spiraling downward again, as she had at their first kiss, as she felt the fabric of her shirt and flimsy bra somehow melt away, and John’s warm hand was on her breast. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth for his next kiss.
It did not come. Dimly, she perceived that his warmth had detached itself from her. She tried to nuzzle closer, but her grasp fell to empty air. Not until she opened her eyes did she discover that he had moved several inches away, and was leaning on his elbow, smiling at her. His face was unreadable.
“What is it?” she asked, dizzy and disoriented. “What’s the matter?”
John’s smile remained, but his eyes looked sad. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to seduce you. I had promised myself I would behave.” His eyes dropped to her bare breasts, lingered, then looked away. “It isn’t exactly the honorable thing to do, get you up here and ply you with wine on an empty stomach. I guess I drank a little too much, too.”
Geneva felt even more confused. How could he possibly think he was misbehaving when he was doing exactly what she wanted? Okay, so things were happening a little fast. But she could deal with that. What a time for him to suddenly decide to be a gentleman! Damn it all! This man was not playing fair!
“It’s okay, John,” she said softly, wishing he would kiss her eyes again, wishing he would tear off her clothes and bury his face in her willing flesh.
“No,” he shook his head. “Geneva, I’ve told you I want something permanent. I don’t want anything to do with casual love. I want marriage and children, and real…” he groped for the word, “terminal love.” He looked at her pleadingly for a long moment, then pulled his eyes away from hers. Very carefully, he said, “I’m hoping you’ll love me like that, but I’m not going to rush you or do anything that might make you resent me.” He spoke softly to the bumblebees droning lazily among the myrtle. “I know you may find it hard to trust me, considering what’s happened between us, and I understand that you don’t really know me well enough to accept me like I want you to. But you will. I hope you will. I certainly intend to do whatever it takes to win you.” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry, Geneva. I lost sight of how vulnerable you are.” Laughing ruefully, he pulled his eyes back to hers. “I guess I thought you’d slap my face. I promise to behave myself from now on.”
Geneva felt as though she was the one who had been slapped. This was not going at all the way she wanted. Yet, somewhere inside her, a small part of herself was pleased, although most of her was miserably disappointed at the rejection. Honor had its place, but at
the moment it didn’t warm her insides and ease the yearning she felt. Besides, if he was telling her he loved her, then why the hell didn’t he get down on his knees and ask her to marry him? Damn! She looked up at him, her forehead furrowed with confusion and frustration, and suddenly she was embarrassed at her dishevelment.
She had thrown herself at him! She had begged him to love her and not only had he rejected her, but, in his way, had chastised her for her forwardness. Did he really think she should have slapped him? She hooked her bra together and buttoned her shirt with trembling hands.
He became cool, almost a stranger. “Come on,” he said, standing up, offering her his hand. “It’s starting to cloud up, and I don’t think I should keep you out if it’s going to rain.” Stung, Geneva did not care if it rained torrents, and she resented more than a little his macho, protective attitude. She stood in a huff, running her hand through her hair, and ignoring John’s offer of help, clambered up on Fairhope, determined to show him that she was not a dandified toy, something to “win” as he had so ungenerously put it.
The tension between them grew and thickened until they had reached the meadow by Raven Creek. Geneva had managed to keep slightly ahead of him on the mountain trail, but as the woodland fell away and the land opened up onto the pasture, John drew up beside her, pulled at Fairhope’s reins, and forced her to a stop. She turned to him, but her eyes hugged the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know how to do this, and I know I’ve behaved like a fool.” He reached across to her face and, taking her chin in his hand, said, “Geneva, look at me.” He said it softly but with authority. Geneva looked at him, face burning. “You’re a beautiful, very desirable woman, Geneva. I love everything about you, the gold in your skin and hair, I love the way your eyes light up when you see something beautiful. I love the way you look at my mouth and the way you glow when I touch you. I love your eyes, your lips, your graceful neck. I even love your teeth! And the way you hold the reins, and the way you seem to be in love with everything you see. You don’t know how many times I have dreamed about making love to you, but I want to be very careful.” He smiled. “I don’t know whether to kick myself around the block for missing a golden opportunity or congratulate myself on my superhuman restraint. It all depends on how you feel about it.”
Despite her lingering embarrassment, Geneva had to smile, lifting her eyes and letting the good words burn into her very center. This was working out all right after all, Let him woo me, she decided. This could turn out to be very nice, even nicer, perhaps, than she had expected.
Fighting the urge to leap off Fairhope and into John’s arms, she kicked her mare and tore off through the meadow toward the house. She could hear the thunder of Redneck’s hooves behind her, and she knew and hoped that John would soon catch her. But for the moment she was content to let the wind whip her face and hair and to let his words resound in her heart. She felt beautiful, and so full of vitality, so ready to embrace whatever life would hand her that she almost forgot her plans. Still, she had not forgotten Paris.
They crossed the pasture at a dead run, neck and neck, but checked their horses’ speed simultaneously so they could approach the barn at an easy canter. Then, because they had run the horses so hard for the last mile, they slowed to a cooling walk. As they neared the house, Geneva noticed two vehicles that did not belong to the family. One she recognized as Howard Knight’s beat-up old pickup truck; the other was a brand new blue Jaguar convertible she had never seen before. Curious, she pulled Fairhope up and draped the reins loosely around the gatepost.
She dreaded seeing Howard Knight again, remembering her drug-induced behavior, but she trusted him not to make an issue of it. He had called her twice since the night of the accident to report on the status of her car repair and to inform her that he was waiting for parts to arrive, and had never once mentioned her foolish behavior or had said anything to indicate that he even remembered it. So she straightened her back and strode to the house. Turning the corner, her strong legs suddenly faltered, and she would have staggered, except that her momentum had already carried her to the steps where she was able to grasp the porch railing. There, sitting in rocking chairs arranged at perfectly spaced intervals, sat Wayne, Howard Knight, and Howard Whittaker Graves, III, the lover who had callously rejected her.
“Howard!” she gasped. Both Howards turned their faces toward her and smiled. Howard Knight stood slowly, but Howard Graves leaped out of his chair and bounded down the steps, grabbing her up into a hug that took her breath away. When he let her go, she was trembling so violently she had to sit down.
“Howard, what are you doing here?” she asked weakly. Glancing off to her left, she saw John standing quietly, his face closed and inscrutable. Howard Knight smiled down at her, and even at the distance of eight feet she could see the sympathy in Wayne’s eyes. She felt trapped and helpless.
“Geneva, I’ve come to get you, to—” began Howard Graves. But Wayne suddenly broke in.
“Well, Geneva, thanks to you, we’ve got plenty of company today. John, good to see you. Have you met these fellows? That there’s Howard Graves.” He indicated the smooth-looking man who stood with his arm around Geneva’s waist.
John stepped forward politely, but he seemed to have grown taller and broader in the past few seconds.
“Hello,” he said, offering his hand to Howard, who gave him one suspicious glance, his eyes narrowing at John’s bare chest. “Hello,” he said smoothly, “I’m Howard Graves, Geneva’s fiancée.”
Geneva felt as well as heard his arrogance, but even more evident was the general growing level of tension and piqued male competitiveness. Testosterone seemed to be suddenly manufactured by the bucketful by every man there. Geneva swallowed hard, correcting him with an unsteady voice, “Ex-fiancée.”
John’s voice was smooth, too, but Geneva heard the mockery in it as he broke in. “Glad to meet you, Howard. I’m John Smith, Geneva’s ardent admirer.” He gave Howard a handshake that must have been uncomfortably firm. She saw the veins standing out in each of their necks as they gripped hands and glared at each other.
Wayne broke in again. “And this is Howard Knight, the fellow who saved Rachel and Geneva up on the mountain.”
Howard Knight stepped lightly down the stairs. “Hi. Howard Knight.” He said it perfectly, articulating carefully, if self-consciously, then he glanced sideways at Geneva with a little smile and continued, “Geneva’s other ardent admirer.” He grinned at John.
“Well, I’m just her brother-in-law, but I like her a lot, too,” drawled Wayne. “And now that we have so much in common, why don’t we all sit down and have a beer?”
Howard Graves remained cool and aloof, apparently confident of his control. Very calmly, he turned to Wayne and said politely, “I’d like to, Wayne, but I’ve driven a long way to see Geneva, and we have a few things to discuss, if you don’t mind.” He smiled intimately at Geneva. “Geneva, we have a lot of catching up to do. Would you like to go for a ride?”
Geneva wanted to scream or to laugh, but she wasn’t sure which, she felt so dazed by the intensely masculine rivalry around her. She stood alone in the uncomfortable spotlight for a long time, aware that eight eyes were fixed upon her every move, waiting to judge her actions. The testosterone was bubbling up and swirling around her ankles by now; she felt that she must do something fast or soon she might be drowning in it.
At last she sighed and turned to the men on the porch. “Please excuse me, but I do think I should talk to Howard here.” She dared to look at John briefly, pleadingly. She hoped he would forgive her for this.
There was a moment when the tension grew to dizzying heights, and then John Smith leaned against the porch rail, and with an exaggerated drawl, said, “Waaaal, Hard, looks lak we been give the old heave-ho. Reckon the only thang we kin do now is go git drunk and shoot us out a buncha road signs. I got a case of Buds over at the house, and while we’re adrankin ‘em, we kin listen to all
my Wiley Bob and the Bobcats records.”
Howard Knight stepped in nimbly, “Yew got Wiley Bob and the Bobcats records?”
“Ever one of ‘em,” John assured him.
“Well, hell, we’ll have us a good time. I got a jug a shine under the mattress in the truck, and a couple twenty-twos there in the gun rack. I reckon we’ll jist haveta git blind drunk and crazy now that this here woman has throwed us over fer a city slicker.”
John’s face lit up with pleasure. He was warming up. “A twenty-two?” he snorted. “Hell, that’s a sissy gun. I got me a forty-four down by the hog barn.”
Howard Graves smiled tightly, and Geneva could sense the anger rising as Howard and John tried to top one another sounding like hillbillies. “Come on, baby,” he said loudly, not to be outdone. “How do you like the little present I brought you?” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and handed them to her, then gestured to the Jaguar glistening in the drive. “Get your driver’s license, sweetheart, and you can see if you like her.”
The men on the porch did not seem to hear him. Howard Knight was saying, “Naw. A forty-four? Now at’s a gun, by gawd. I had me a sixty-six oncet, but the dang thang blowed up on me. I useta hunt buffalo with it.”
Geneva raced into the house to collect her purse, but on her way out, she hesitated, then stopped to look at John full in the face, trying to read his thoughts. “Will you take care of the horses?” she asked, her eyes begging him to forgive her. She remembered his recent kisses and blushed. But she felt the odd sensation that Howard Graves had some sort of claim on her and that she owed him at least one conversation now that he had driven all this way…
“At yer service, little lady,” John said grandly. “Anythang yer sweet li’l heart wants is all yorn.”
Wayne was boasting, “That’s nothin’. I got a eighty-eight, but Rachel made me put it away after we got married. You know these women. They say they like a man with a big gun, but once they get ahold of you, they never let you show it off to anybody.”
A Sinner in Paradise Page 18