"We were not gambling, and that wasn't a curse word." She tipped her face up to his, her body rigid. "Was it?"
His hands closed over her upper arms. "Close."
"How close?" His hands flexed in an enticing distraction.
"As close as we're standing right now."
"Really?"
His face was clearly defined in the moonlight. Brazenly Jakob pulled her against him and tasted her parted lips. Palms flat on her back, he pressed her body against his. His chest was rock-solid against her breasts.
Lydia's eyes closed, and she leaned into his embrace, welcoming his kiss, a heart-stopping kiss, like the ones they'd shared that lazy Saturday afternoon so long ago. She wondered for a moment why it was tomatoes she smelled and not apples.
Jakob's tongue drew a silky line across her lower lip and tested the satiny inner skin of her upper lip. Unprepared for the erotic assault, she involuntarily withdrew an inch, her thumbs pressing into his biceps. He would have no part of her retreat. One at a time, he placed her hands around his waist, then curled her tighter against the hard length of his body.
Through his shirt, she traced the muscled contours of his lower back. His insatiable mouth slanted over hers. His tongue searched, probed, until the import dawned and she allowed him entrance into her mouth. His satisfied groan told her she pleased him.
The knowledge was heady, and she reveled in it for long, poignant minutes. He ran his hands over her back, up and down her sides, then slid them upward and framed her jaw.
"Let's go home," he whispered hoarsely.
Chapter 17
"Now?" Blinking to orient herself, Lydia gazed into his shining eyes.
"Now." He tugged her hands and led her back the way they'd come, almost at a run. "Wait by the horses while I get my fiddle."
"And my bonnet."
"And your bonnet." As if they were embarking on a long journey, he folded her against his chest and kissed her fervently. "I'll be right back."
She touched her burning lips and watched him lope up the drive. He hadn't kissed her like that before he went away. She stood near the team of black horses and wished she knew how to hook up the wagon traces. Her shoulders trembled, and she crossed her arms over her breasts, feeling an odd sensation there.
Jakob pounded up behind her, and she whirled to face him. He handed her the fiddle case and bonnet, and she pulled her hat on, tying the ribbons loosely under her chin. She delighted in the sounds of him fastening the leather traces and chains to the wagon, his low, familiar voice mellowing the horses, while having an entirely different effect on her.
He grasped her waist and lifted her, his hands lingering on her soft leather belt before he jumped up beside her. The night air cooled her heated face, and the horses pulled them toward home with agonizing slowness.
They didn't speak, but sat side by side, their shoulders rubbing with the lurch and sway of the wagon on the rutted road.
Finally the road became smoother, a sign that their destination was near.
"I have to put the horses up."
"I'll help."
Jakob set the brake and leapt down. Lydia waited, anticipation jangling in every nerve ending. Coming around, he reached for her, catching her about the waist and pulling her full weight against him. She slid, gracelessly, down his body until she dangled, her feet inches from the ground, her green dress bunched between their bodies.
Unmindful of her immodest condition, Jakob made silent promises with a chain of kisses along her jaw and across her lips. A delicious shiver slid down her neck and shoulders and tightened her breasts.
Next to them, the horses stamped and whinnied. Reluctantly Jakob released her and bent to the traces. Lydia smoothed her dress down, then took Carolina's short lead and walked her into the barn. Jakob brought Blaze, and together they wiped and brushed the new team. She assured him she could see to the feed and water while he pulled the wagon into the barn. He left the double doors open and lit a lantern outside the barn to guide the others.
He tugged her toward the house with an urgency that said he wouldn't be denied. She experienced a flash of awkwardness. Everything had seemed spontaneous and natural back at the Karssens', but nearly an hour had passed. She knew what he had in mind to do, and she wanted all of it to feel as natural as his kisses. This time she had to encourage him. This time she must please him.
The lantern Jakob carried bobbed golden light up the staircase. Shadows stretched and shrank, teasing like playful children. The lantern's journey ended at the chiffonier. Lydia fumbled with the ribbons beneath her chin. Jakob tugged at them and then tossed the bonnet carelessly on her trunk.
He claimed her mouth and left no doubt in her mind that he could create the same tumultuous pulse that he had at the dance. Her heart beat energetically, every cell screaming.
His lips trailed across her chin and down her throat, plucking, nibbling, tasting. Lydia's head lolled back, and she stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. Please don't let me disappoint him again. Clumsily he searched for pins in her hair, and when she reached back to loosen the cascade he turned her away and impatiently unbuttoned her dress.
"Do you want this, Lydia?" His breathy voice rasped at her ear. "I don't want to do anything you're not ready for."
She turned back to him and raised her fingertips to the strong line of his tense jaw. "Ja. I am ready for this."
His gaze surveyed her bare shoulders and the hair fallen over them. Almost reluctantly, he reached over to the lantern, plummeting the room into sudden darkness. Unerringly he found her and peeled her dress and underclothes to her waist.
"What's this?" His fingers met soft cotton and eyelet. "You didn't wear this before."
"It's a chemise. Annette said ladies wear them under their clothing."
"And drawers!" He chuckled, dropped to his knees and peeled down the drawers to land wherever the rest of her clothing had gone. He pressed his face against her stomach and breathed deep.
His whisker-rough cheek awakened wonderful sensations against skin wrinkled by the restricting underclothes. Turning his face, he rubbed her belly and breasts with his chin and nose. Lydia almost purred. He stood, his lips finding hers, and backed her toward the bed. She tumbled, heedless of the coverlet.
She pushed his shoulders, gently. "Jakob."
"Lydia?"
"Jakob, your shirt."
He raised himself, impatiently. His belt buckle hit the floor. "Damn!"
Another frustrated curse, and the ropes creaked. His weight left the bed.
The familiar thud of his boots was music to her ears. One hit the floor, followed by another. The rustle of his clothing sent a shiver up her spine, and she scrambled beneath the sheet.
Returning to the bed, he threaded his fingers through her hair, spread it across the pillows and buried his face in the tresses. He rolled to his side, pulling her with him, his eloquent mouth kissing her eyes, her nose and her brows with feather-light reverence. His steel-strong arm beneath her held her close while his free hand stroked her shoulder. His callused palm, buffing her silky skin, sent delightful shivers rippling from shoulder to knees. The contrast between his rough hand and his soft, warm lips sent a deeper tremor pulsating through her.
Jakob cupped her breast, and she stopped breathing. His gentle fingers provoked an involuntary shrinking and tightening of the sensitive skin around her nipple. He kissed her, his mouth coaxing her to breathe again. She yielded to the caress of the fingers that were provoking an exquisite response from her body.
His tongue teased hers, probing her lips and retreating once she parted hers to him. At last she comprehended the inarticulate message and hesitantly returned the bold kiss.
Jakob groaned and pressed himself against her. She reveled in his imposing size and weight, and in the effect she was having on him. He skimmed her flesh with his palm, dragging the sheet down with his wrist. Reaching the silken curve of her hip, he kissed her fiercely.
"Ah, Lydia..." Her name was a sensu
ous lament against her open mouth. "I want to touch you all over... feel you all over me...." Against her ear, his low-pitched murmurs of praise and magic tumbled, spreading a delicious glow through her veins.
"Jakob," she whispered, arching her neck against his mouth. The welcome caress of his hand moved from her breasts, across her belly, down to her thighs. Lydia's eyes closed, and her breathing grew shallow.
"Say it again." Jakob bit her jaw, her chin, hampering her control.
"Jakob," she whispered. He touched her experimentally. She gasped and trembled.
Boldly he pulled her beneath him, flattening her breasts. She welcomed him, and marveled again at how perfectly God had made her body to accommodate him. She wondered if the thought of creating a baby even entered Jakob's mind. How, when they matched so perfectly in all the imperative places, could this be sinful? It couldn't be.
Jakob's mindless excitement was sheer joy to her. Every nerve ending, long denied a loving touch, shrieked for gratification. She dared to run her hands across his back and hips, and the well-toned muscles quivered beneath her palms. His reciprocal movements increased. He arched, groaned against her neck and shuddered convulsively. His energy subsided, and Lydia embraced him, proud that he'd chosen her.
He adjusted their bodies and lay against her side, his head pillowed upon her breast, his thundering heart slowing against her ribs. She gloried in the feel of his thick silky hair under her chin and between her fingers, and allowed herself a weary smile. She hadn't disappointed him. This time she had pleased him, she was sure.
Her body teemed with all-alive exhilaration and inexplicable warmth, still attentive and tender, but not unpleasant. An astonishing realization bloomed within her heart and mind.
"I love you, Jakob," she whispered, fluttering the hair on top of his head. Had she said it in German or English? It didn't matter. He was already asleep.
"It's time to get dressed for church."
For the first time, Lydia had to wake Jakob. His eyelids flickered, and a frown furrowed his brow. He squinted against the sunlight streaming through the open window. Lydia was already dressed and stood brushing her hair at the washstand. She wore festive yellow, as bright as the sun streaming through the window. The dress had a wide white sash tied in a perky bow on her backside.
The thought of the green dress she'd worn the evening before thrust into his memory, and recollection flooded him.
Good heavens, he'd been as randy as—
Lydia patiently worked tangles from her dark hair, tangles he'd no doubt put there with his tumbling and fumbling. She caught up both sides of her hair with the tortoiseshell combs he'd bought her, leaving the back to hang free in loose waves. She turned from the mirror and picked up the small handbag, looking toward him expectantly.
His gaze caught the tip of a gray snakeskin boot lying on its side. He refused to meet her eyes. He'd been in such a hurry. He was what Etham considered him to be—a coarse, worldly man driven by his own lusts.
Lydia glanced over her shoulder at the mirror, and an abraded patch of pink skin under her jaw caught his notice. His stubble had irritated her delicate skin. Had he hurt her in other ways? Had he been rough?
He'd been thoughtless, of that he was certain. After all his careful thinking and planning as to how he would introduce pleasure to her, he had rushed her home to bed. Night after night at the bridge site, he'd considered and imagined, and then he'd taken her selfishly. She deserved better.
Did he have it in him to behave better? Self-disgust filled him at the thought of the impatient desire that boiled within him when he kissed and touched her.
"Is anything wrong?" The worry in her dark eyes touched him. And then he understood. She didn't know any different. Every small bit of knowledge she had about marital relations, she'd learned from him. And in his own ignorance and lust, he'd let her down.
"Nothing is wrong," he assured her. "I've got a headache from sleeping too late."
"I will bring you a powder."
"No. As soon as I eat, I'll feel better." He sat at the bed's edge. He could tell she still needed some reassurance. "Want to pick me out a shirt while I wash up?"
She smiled and hurried to comply.
Downstairs, Anton and Johann were seated at the table, sipping coffee and talking. Emily, wearing a bright lemon-colored dress with a low neckline, swept out of the room, carrying with her a freshly dressed Nikolaus and the heavy floral scent of perfume.
"I saved you some pancakes and bacon," Annette said from the sink.
Franz appeared in the doorway. "We took care of the horses for you this mornin', Jake. Thought you might like a leisurely sleep-in. Hurry, or we'll be late for church."
"Thank you," Jakob said to his retreating back.
Lydia poured him a cup of coffee and sat beside him.
"Want to do something after church?" he asked.
"Ja."
"What would ya like to do?"
She looked up at him. "I would like to ride one of your new horses."
"They're our horses."
"Then I want to ride my horse."
"In that pretty dress?"
He had noticed. She smiled. "Of course not."
Lydia had never changed clothes as fast as she did after church. Wearing a gray day dress, she reached the porch out of breath.
Annette, idly rocking the wooden swing, tossed Lydia her bonnet. "Here, take this."
"Thank you." The family sat in the shade of the porch, Johann and Franz engaged in a checker game.
Jakob cantered down the drive on Blaze, Carolina in tow. He reined in, and dust shrouded the animals' forelegs. "Ready so soon?"
She smiled and tied Annette's bonnet under her chin.
"There's no stopping her when it comes to riding," Emily called from the wicker chair where she lounged. "She's gotten so good, she'll be riding circles around the rest of you!"
Lydia gave her a smile and stepped to the railing. Jakob steadied the prancing beast.
"Why, Jakob—" Emily's voice pierced Lydia's concentration as she secured a foot in the stirrup "—perhaps you'll let her take one of the new horses to go visiting next time."
Jakob's head swiveled, and he looked at Emily, then back at his wife. His eyes narrowed under his hat's brim. "You rode Freida to go visiting?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"To Accord."
Carolina grew restless and sidestepped. Jakob crowded her back into place. "Get on."
At his gruff command, Lydia pulled her weight up and threw her leg over the saddle. His telltale jaw muscle jerked. She accepted the reins from his gloved hand.
Gemlike blue eyes bored into hers. "H'yah!"
She leaned forward and dug her knees in, moving with the horse. The shimmering noonday heat had barely passed, the sun was still high in the sky and the air was dry and windless. Grasshoppers and other insects sailed into the air when the horses' hooves disturbed their feasting. Carolina was harder to manage than the docile Freida, but Lydia accepted the challenge.
Bonnet flung back on her shoulders, she rode hard behind Jakob until he drew up at a summer-dry creek. Jakob dismounted and reached for Lydia, pulling her down in front of him. She steadied herself.
"You deliberately rode to Accord after I told you not to. Were you alone?"
"Ja."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, to Accord I went, and yes, I went alone."
Taking Carolina's reins from her hands, he turned sharply and stalked away.
Lydia ran several steps and caught up with him. "Jakob, I—"
He swung back to face her, his palms flung outward. "I told you we'd go together! I said it wasn't safe!"
"But I practiced like you said, and I was careful. Your papa went over the map with me. He taught me to load and shoot his rifle. He wouldn't have let me go if he thought there was any danger."
"Careful doesn't mean a thing." He slapped the reins against his long thigh. "I didn't want you to go alone."
"Jakob, you frighten me when you're angry. I did everything exactly the way you taught me. Even when I was hot and tired, I took care of the horses first."
Still holding the reins, he allowed the horses to pull him toward a trickle of water they found in the dry, cracked creek bed.
Lydia followed beside him, growing angry herself. Did his horses mean more to him than she did? They must. Feeling as emotionally parched as the hard ground beneath her, Lydia held his gaze. Every time she gained a little ground, she slipped right back. Two steps forward, three steps back.
She stepped in front of him.
He seemed to look uncomfortably toward the horizon. He studied his palm and slapped the reins against it.
Overhead, an eagle soared gracefully, then disappeared. Lydia swallowed.
Her gaze fell to the front of his shirt. Oh, Jakob. Jakob, take me in your arms like you did last night, and everything will be all right.
Last night she'd slept contentedly, his head resting on her breast, his fingers tangled in her hair, believing she'd at last measured up, that she'd responded in a pleasing manner. Now he was angry with her again.
They were both hot and sweaty. His shirtfront had grown damp, and the top of her head burned under the sun. She pulled the bonnet back up on her head.
Jakob relaxed his posture and dropped his gaze. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. If anything had happened to Lydia, he didn't know what he would've done. She had been foolish to take that chance with her safety. She had no idea the type of person who could chance upon an innocent like her.
He studied the cracked earth at her feet, struggling with the reason he feared her taking the horse alone. The odds of such an occurrence happening were slim, but it had happened once, and it could happen again.
"Lydia."
She met his gaze.
"When I was very young, I was engaged to a girl."
She nodded. "I know."
"How?" he frowned.
"Others told me."
"She snuck out of her room on her way to meet me one night. In the dark stable, she chose the wrong stall."
Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01] Page 19