Patricia Rice

by Wayward Angel

  The sudden sharp rush of desire when he rubbed his thumb against her nipple caught her entirely by surprise, but she adapted quickly. The pleasure of this caress became something a little more urgent, more demanding. She didn't know how to react, but she trusted Pace to show her. She just pulled his mouth back to hers again and rejoiced in the plunge of his tongue while his marauding fingers teased her into mindlessness.

  Then his mouth covered her breast and she gave a scream of sheer joy as life poured through her and her body responded. She clung to his shoulders as he pried his knee between her legs, and the thundering tide found a direction.

  "God, Dora, you're making me crazy," he muttered as he pressed kisses along her jaw. "I won’t be able to stop without your help."

  "Don't stop," she whispered. "You're bringing me to life. I want to live, Pace. Help me."

  He wasn't in any condition to hesitate, but a fragment of conscience nagged him. In defense, Pace caught her hand and pressed it to the place in his trousers that strained for release. "This is what you're doing to me, Dora. Do you have any understanding of what I'll do to you if we continue?"

  "No, not yet, but I want to learn." She arched instinctively for the place in him that ached. Her fingers curled tentatively around his hardness, and he groaned, bending his forehead to rest against hers.

  "Just touch me, Dora. I'll try not to..." He couldn't complete the sentence when her eager fingers instantly sought his buttons.

  He used his good arm to prop himself over her and his right hand to help her to unfasten his trousers. He was ready to explode. He'd been in the army three years now. He knew how to release his frustrations into the ground. That would be the best solution all the way around. But the act felt much sweeter with Dora lying beneath him, her lovely breasts exposed to his view. This was a thousand times better.

  When her inexperienced fingers finally curled around him, he knew he couldn't do it any other way. With her intimate, exploring touch, Pace felt the hot rush of desire to his loins. The only alternative to using the ground was pulling up her skirts and plunging in right... now.

  Pace groaned and rolled over, spilling his seed into the grass beneath them. Dora's frightened fingers started to release him, but he caught her hand and held it there until the shuddering convulsions slowed. Then he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

  "I haven't had a woman in so long, I've forgotten how to behave," he apologized, brushing a silver tendril from her cheek. "You deserve better than to be taken by a panting bull."

  Wide blue eyes stared up at him with concern and bewilderment. "Is that all thou wanted? I didn't know..." She didn't have the language to explain what she didn't know.

  Pace smiled tenderly and brushed a kiss against her cheek. "That's not all I want. I want you. But this is your chance to escape unscathed. If we lie here like this any longer, I'm going to make love to you, and this time I'll wait until I'm where I want to be. Do you understand?"

  He could tell from the bewilderment in her eyes that she didn't. It made him feel old and jaded. But when Pace kissed her, and she responded eagerly, her innocent wantonness almost undid him. He didn't know if women could feel the ache of unrequited passion as forcefully as men, but Dora seemed ready to continue her lesson. He feared he couldn't satisfy her this first time. She had no experience, and he wasn't in the habit of deflowering virgins. In this, they had something to learn together.

  Dora didn't protest when he untied her skirt and bodice and pushed the wealth of material away. He helped her out of the long-sleeved top and then laid her chemise-clad body on the pile of skirts and petticoats. For the moment, he left her in her plain cotton undergarments.

  Her skin had the translucency of fine porcelain. The only white women he'd taken to bed were expensive whores in the brothels of Lexington. They'd been older women with flabby flesh and coarse skin. Dora was as enchanting and fresh as a summer's day. Pace feared he would leave marks on her fair skin if he touched her too hard.

  "You're perfect, Dora. I've never seen anyone so perfect." He leaned on his good arm and skimmed his other hand over the hills and valleys given to him alone to touch.

  "I'm skinny and small," she pointed out prosaically.

  "You're young and beautiful." He kissed her again, and the blood pulsed to his loins again. "You're enchanting and lovely. I don't want to ruin you."

  The look she gave him had nothing shy in it as she rubbed her palm against his partially open shirt. "You can only do that by destroying yourself."

  Her words were enigmatic, as they so often were. Pace disregarded them. He knew she lived in a fantasy world sometimes. What they did now had nothing to do with their minds.

  He pulled his shirt off, rolling it up under her head for a pillow. He liked the way she studied him. He liked it even better knowing no other man had seen her like this. When her exploratory fingers found his nipples, he more than liked what she did. In return, he pushed the bodice of her chemise open and took her breast with his mouth.

  Her eager cries drew him to the brink again. Hastily, Pace discarded her cotton top and pulled her against him, teaching her the texture of flesh against flesh. Her kisses soon found his shoulders, and he shuddered with the flood of desire sweeping through him. She was so young and sweet, and he felt a million years old.

  That didn't stop him from running his hand over the curve of her buttocks and pulling her against the aching hardness at his hips. His buttons were still unfastened, and he rubbed himself between her thighs. He hadn't divested her of her pantalets yet, but he knew she could feel his arousal. Her fingers dug into the skin of his back.

  He fitted his hand to the moist juncture of her legs, against the open seam. "Now do you understand what I would do to you, Dora?"

  She bit her lip and nodded as his finger parted the seam and rubbed at a part of her she had scarcely known existed. She might explode in flames or boil away into steam from just this touch. The thought of what else he meant to do terrified her. But she knew. She had caught glimpses of that male part of him. Instinct gave her some notion of what happened next. She finally felt the first twinges of fear, but it was far too late for that. She meant to keep Pace here until he was safe. If that meant somehow taking his male parts inside herself, she would pay the price.

  She loved his kisses. Dora returned them eagerly, letting Pace blind her with their provocativeness. His tongue explored between her lips, and she shuddered, understanding its subtle meaning now.

  He caressed her breast into shivering anticipation, but he didn't move his kisses there. He kept her mouth occupied instead, making her breathless with need for more. She felt him unfastening her pantalets, but that wasn't any more intimate than his earlier touch. When he pulled the wisp of cotton off her legs and the breeze played against her bare flesh, she finally understood what she had done.

  She had become part of the earth. Her body was one with the grass and the wind and the leaves up above. Completely bare and unmasked for the first time in her life, she offered her naked self to the one man who knew her from the inside out. Freedom and joy blossomed in that knowledge. She tugged Pace more completely over her.

  What he did to her now was of little significance to what had already occurred. She invited him in with her mouth and her hands and her legs. He accepted the offer with alacrity. He touched her in her most private place until he knew her better than herself, until she moistened and opened to him, and then he spread her a little farther, and accepted her invitation with a thrust that left her gasping.

  She hadn't understood it all then. This business of being alive and part of the earth had previously hidden facets. Layers upon layers of learning lay ahead. Pace's body thrusting hot and hard inside of her told her that.

  The sensation of being filled by him overwhelmed her in its variety. It hurt. But the pain brought incredible pleasure. And then the pain disappeared and something else replaced it, something she needed but didn't know how to obtain. Dora rose to meet th
e pleasure/pain of his sex, adjusted her hips to accommodate him, and knew the wonder of Pace's moan of pleasure as he sank deeper until he reached her womb.

  She felt the perspiring heat, the cooling breeze, saw shades of sunshine and shadow, and marveled at the total immersion of their bodies into the living world. The thunder rumbled inside her now, marvelous, miraculous, beyond her powers of understanding. And then Pace touched her where they joined, and it all came together in an explosion that drove them apart and into one at the same time.

  As his hot seed poured into her, Dora closed her eyes and clasped Pace's back as if he were her only anchor to the world.

  Chapter 15

  Our doubts are traitors

  And make us lose the good we oft might win

  By fearing to attempt.

  ~ Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

  Pace didn't want to move. Nothing had felt more perfect in his life. Even the tormenting throb in his arm and the nagging protests of his conscience slipped into oblivion while he was positioned like this, buried in Dora's welcoming warmth, breathing her sweet scent. She was like satin beneath him. Such luxury came to him seldom.

  But he was heavy and she was slight. As much as he would like believing he had died and gone to heaven in her arms, reality eventually intruded. With a groan. Pace rolled to one side. He didn't even have the strength to pull her with him.

  He lay staring up at the tree leaves, listening to their rustle, trying to absorb some sense of what he had just done. He could feel Dora beside him, still and warm, her naked flesh a temptation to touch. If he looked down, he would see the evidence of her innocence smeared upon his loins. He'd never felt more of a bastard in his entire life.

  When he didn't say anything, she started to rise, and he let her. He didn't know what else to do, what else to say. They had nothing in common. He could stay a few days more to appease her, he supposed, but no more than that. They had no future. He couldn't offer lies of love to Dora. He had no difficulty lying when the occasion warranted, but he didn't like lying to Dora. It would be akin to lying to God, he imagined.

  He heard her splashing in the dribble that remained of a creek. He tried to remember the drought killing her crops, but he could only think of how she must look naked and flushed with his lovemaking. Damn, but he was a selfish bastard.

  When she knelt beside him with a wet cloth to cool his perspiring flesh, Pace allowed himself to look at her. She was all that he had imagined and more. Delicate dewdrops dampened the valley between pert, pink-tipped breasts. Moist silver curls clung to cheeks flushed with heat or embarrassment, he couldn't tell which. His gaze dropped to the narrow curve of her waist and the wide swell of her hips, finding the nest of pale brown between her thighs. His shaft hardened at the sight, and the deepening flush of her cheeks told him she had noticed.

  "Aren't you wanted back at the house?" he asked bitterly. No one had ever offered him sympathy or affection before, and he didn't believe the offer now. She had her own motives for this seduction. He would send her back where she wanted to be. He didn't need her tender ministrations.

  She did her frozen deer imitation, her hand stopping just above him, her wide eyes watching warily to see where he would strike next. "I thought I was wanted here," she answered, when he said nothing else.

  "My arm is almost healed. It doesn't need your tender care anymore."

  He had removed the bandages. Angry red scars inflamed the wasted flesh. He held the arm at an awkward angle to prevent the tearing pain in damaged muscle. Her fingers unconsciously traced the damage.

  She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. "Thou wilt stay now?"

  Damn, but he couldn't resist the appeal of those sky-blue eyes. Pace felt something twisting in his gut, and he pounded his conscience into submission. "You'll come to me tonight?"

  She nodded shyly, the color flooding her cheeks again. "If thou wish."

  He gave a sigh of relief and felt the knots of tension ease from his neck as he relaxed against the sprawl of their clothes. "I'll come get you. You shouldn't walk around after dark by yourself."

  She smiled. She actually smiled. It was like watching the sun come out at dawn. Pace felt it all the way to his groin. Had he the strength, he would roll her over and take her again. Considering the damage he had already inflicted, she should be grateful for his weakness.

  "Didst thou think the fairies lit my way all these weeks?" she inquired teasingly.

  This wasn't at all right. Dora knelt beside him, naked. He wore nothing more than she did. She should be ashamed, intimidated, embarrassed, anything but smiling and teasing. Pace felt a wild rush of something intoxicating in the freedom she allowed him, but he didn't know what to do with it. She defied the world as he knew it. He felt like a caged bird with its door suddenly flung open.

  Pace pushed up on one elbow and a lock of hair fell down in his face. He needed to get it cut. He rubbed his hand over his stubbly jaw. He hadn't even shaved this morning. He could see the abrasions on her tender breasts. Once his eyes focused there, he had difficulty raising them to meet her gaze. He should have known she would be so perfectly, delicately formed.

  Pace didn't want to know what she saw when she looked at him. He was too aware of the damaged mess of his arm, the ragged scar against his ribs, his hairy crudeness next to her smooth perfection. And his randy body made the evidence of his desire all too clear.

  "I won't force you," he said stiffly. "You've already sacrificed enough for no good reason."

  Her wariness turned thoughtful as she caressed his jaw. "Is it so difficult to believe that this is what I wanted?"

  "Yes," he answered curtly. "It is. I don't know what you think to accomplish, but I'm desperate enough to accept whatever you offer. Now get out of here before someone comes looking for you."

  She drew away then, leaving her dampened chemise for his use, drawing on her stiff cotton gown and petticoat without its protection. Pace tried not to watch her, but he had difficulty tearing his gaze away knowing he might never have the opportunity again.

  He hoped she hadn't caught the significance of what he'd just said. He could lie beneath these trees for the rest of the week and no one would come looking for him.

  * * *

  Dora nearly dropped the soup tureen when Pace entered the dining room that evening. Garbed in evening dress as if this were a formal occasion, he wore his waistcoat buttoned, his frilled shirt starched, and his narrow black tie tucked beneath his turned-down collar. He had apparently abandoned his uniform in deference to his father's opinions.

  He had shaved and had his hair cut. Something wary lingered behind the green of his eyes as he regarded the tableau in front of him, but Dora couldn't tear her gaze away. In frock coat and trousers, he looked every bit as magnificent as he did in uniform. The awkward angle of his damaged arm in no way detracted from his athletic frame. She had difficulty believing such a man had ever looked at her.

  Carlson Nicholls grunted and took the tureen from Dora's hands. "Suppose this means you're marching back to war."

  "I thought I would go over to the Andrewses' place tomorrow and bring Amy and Delia back, if I might borrow the carriage." Pace spoke stiffly, not looking at Dora.

  "Good idea. Don't know why the fool woman took them away in the first place. They belong here. So does that damned wife of Charlie's. Tell them I said so." He looked up from his soup in irritation. "Why in hell you still standing there? Forgotten how to sit down?"

  This time, Pace's gaze turned to Dora. She was horribly conscious of her soiled apron and baggy gown, and she lifted the tureen to keep from looking at him.

  "I'm waiting for Miss Smythe to take a seat," he answered with the same stiff arrogance as before.

  Carlson snorted. "Then you'll wait until the mountains crumble unless you want to go whip some sense into those darkies' heads."

  Dora found her tongue when the awkward silence grew. "Have a seat, Pace. I'll set an extra place for thee. The chicken is almost done. I'
ll take a tray up to thy mother and have Annie come down to serve thee in just a minute."

  She knew Pace had no awareness of the deterioration of authority around here. He simply struggled to prove his identity as a gentleman, in her eyes as well as his own. She didn't know how to tell him that proof wasn't necessary. For all she knew, gentlemen were extinct creatures and probably useless in their own time. She gestured at a chair and went to the sideboard to fetch the china and silver.

  Noiselessly, he startled her with his nearness as he reached for the plates. She was altogether too aware of the man who had held her naked in his arms just hours ago. She knew his physical form intimately, the strength rippling beneath the elegant coat. His arm barely missed brushing her breast, and she held her breath as their fingers touched when he took the plate away.

  "I can set my own place and one for you. Go fetch Annie. Tell my mother if she wants to eat, she can come down and do so. I'll be happy to help her with the stairs if she needs it."

  Dora didn't know why he went this far. With Pace, there was never an easy answer. She let him have the plates. She wouldn't surrender more.

  "I'm sure thou and thy father have much to discuss," she murmured. "I will eat with thy mother as usual." She tore away from him, wrapping her hands in her apron as she started for the door.

  "You will damned well eat down here where you belong," Pace yelled after her. "It's time this damned family acted like one!"

  Carlson gave his son a raised-eyebrow look and continued eating his soup. He'd abrogated his responsibilities as a family man a long time ago.

  Dora could agree with Pace's sentiment, but she couldn't imagine how he would put his words into action. Silently, she left in the direction of his mother's room. It wouldn't hurt to try.