by Sandra Brown
He braced himself above her. She caught handfuls of his now damp hair and twisted it around her fingers as his mouth fused hotly with hers. He enjoyed her mouth as he would a piece of luscious fruit. Then, as softly as the falling raindrops, his lips skidded across her face, paused at her ears. His tongue darted playfully about her earlobe. He kissed her neck, her chest.
The rain fell on her breasts, making them shine wetly. He sipped up the gathering moisture. Against her cool skin, his mouth was hot when it drew a budded nipple inside. “I never forgot the way you taste. Never.”
Restlessly, she shifted beneath him, making a cradle of her femininity to hold his hard maleness. They fit together and their sighs spiraled above them. He rubbed against her suggestively but didn’t claim her. She called his name plaintively.
“Not yet,” he whispered against the quivering flesh of her stomach. “This is for you.”
He moved lower, counting each rib with a kiss. His mouth drifted down to her navel and blessed it with a kiss that made her arch and moan. The tip of his tongue dipped into the shallow dimple repeatedly. Then, employing his teeth and nose and chin, he nudged her panties down over her hips and thighs and legs until she could kick them free.
Caroline felt she would shatter from the pressure building inside her. She didn’t think she could stand any more. But he had only begun. His lips drifted over the tuft of dark hair, disturbing it with his light, rapid breath. His tongue discovered the grooves where her thighs joined her abdomen and followed their slanting decline.
“Rink…” His name stumbled from her trembling lips as she clutched at his hair.
Gently his hands positioned her, parted her, touched her. But nothing could have prepared her for the sweet kiss he pressed there. His lips were loving, his tongue daring, and together they brought her to a pitch of ecstasy that robbed her of thought. He tantalized and tasted until her whole body began to quake. He had kindled a volcano inside her. When he knew it was about to erupt, he rose above her and drove himself deeply inside.
The hands that gripped his hips, the thighs that enclosed his, the ragged words of love she spoke were his encouragement. His body pulsed inside hers, sparing nothing, driving them higher and higher with each thrust until they exploded together in a shower of dazzling light.
When the crisis passed and they returned to the world, the light had faded. They were in a welcome world of shadow and cloud. They were hidden by a silvery fog that whirled as crazily as had their hearts and minds only moments ago. And their entwined bodies were bathed by the softly falling rain.
Chapter 12
The bride wore white. The silk dress was simply cut but exquisitely fashioned for her slender figure. She didn’t look consumed by it as she might have in a traditional wedding dress with yards of fabric and lace. She wore pale stockings and white slippers. The sides of her dark hair were pulled away from her center part and held back by twin white camellias, her favorite flower. She was loveliness personified. Her eyes were glowing, testifying to her happiness. She showed no signs of nervousness.
Her groom did. He fidgeted and constantly cleared his throat and shifted to support himself on his good leg. He tugged at the knot of his necktie, unfamiliar apparel for him. It had been suggested that he not bother dressing up for the occasion, but he had insisted. He wanted this day to be a memorable one for his bride. He wanted everyone to know that this wedding was official and that both of them were well aware of what they were doing and proud of it.
Caroline touched Steve’s arm reassuringly as they stood below waiting for the bride. He smiled at her gratefully. But when the minister’s wife began to play the wedding march on the grand piano in the back parlor, Steve had eyes only for Laura Jane. And she for him. Her huge brown eyes sought him out in the foyer and stayed on him as she descended the curving stairs on her brother’s arm.
Few had been invited to witness the nuptials. Rink and Caroline. The minister, who had so recently officiated at the bride’s father’s funeral, and his wife. Granger. And Haney, who wept through the entire recitation of vows. Fortunately, the ceremony was brief.
Steve pressed a tender kiss on his new wife’s lips and immediately discarded his necktie.
“Steve.” He turned and took Rink’s outstretched hand. “Welcome to the family.”
Steve’s face wrinkled into a broad grin as he pumped his brother-in-law’s hand. “Thanks, Rink. I’m very glad to be a part of it.”
“Congratulations, Steve,” Caroline said and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Laura Jane.” Caroline hugged the young woman tight. “Always be happy.”
“I will, I will,” she said eagerly, bobbing her head. “Let’s have refreshments now. I think Steve needs a cold drink.”
Everyone was laughing as they filed into the dining room, where Haney had outdone herself with a buffet of ham and turkey, innumerable salads, vegetable casseroles, a traditional three-tiered wedding cake and other desserts. There was coffee and a citrus punch. When Rink was seen spiking Steve’s punch glass from a decanter of bourbon, even the minister laughed. It was a festive, light-hearted party, and for Laura Jane’s sake, Caroline was glad.
After everyone had eaten, the photographer grouped them for formal pictures. Steve’s discarded necktie had disappeared and had to be found and replaced. Caroline brushed Laura Jane’s hair and touched up her lip gloss. By the time the photographer was done, no one could see for the spots that danced before their eyes.
The guests departed and the family was left with the ravaged buffet. The bride and groom retired to the upstairs. During the week preceding the wedding, Steve’s things had been moved into Roscoe’s old room. The couple would share it since it was larger than Laura Jane’s bedroom. Caroline planned to redecorate it and make it more appealing and personally theirs.
After they had helped Haney clean up, Rink and Caroline went to a movie in town. When they came in, the house was quiet and dark. They crept up the stairs, hoping not to disturb the newlyweds. They went into Rink’s room. After closing the door behind them, he switched on a dim lamp beside the bed.
“I’m getting tired of all this sneaking around,” he complained. “I hate one of us having to get out of bed and run across the hall at dawn. Why can’t you just move into this room with me, or let me move into yours?”
“Because.”
“That’s a real good reason.” He had already taken off his boots and shirt and was working on his pants. “Maybe I should write it down so I’ll remember it.”
“Please don’t make fun of me. I don’t want anyone to know yet.”
“They already know,” he said. He was down to his underwear. He collapsed into the leather easy chair that was his favorite spot in the house.
Caroline drew her sleeveless cotton sweater over her head and peered at him in astonishment. “Do you think so?”
Speechlessly, he nodded and watched her carefully fold the sweater and drape it over the back of a chair. Her brassiere was flesh-toned. There was a rose woven into the stretchy sheer fabric. Its petals flowered open around her nipple. As though to make up for all the years she had had nothing pretty, she always wore beautiful lingerie.
Finding his voice, Rink said, “Steve and Haney know for sure. They’d be blind not to, Caroline. For twelve years I’ve had to keep it a secret that I love you. I don’t think I’ve been too discreet the last few days. I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life. And it shows, dear heart.”
She blushed as she stepped out of her skirt, revealing a pair of tap pants that matched her brassiere, a lacy garter belt and a pair of silk stockings. His manhood responded significantly.
“I don’t like the sneakiness either, but for my sake let’s not let everyone in on the secret. I’m flouting decency as it is.”
She picked up her hairbrush and lifted it through her hair. The lamplight caught the falling strands and burnished them with red highlights. Her back was to him. It curved with supple grace down either side of her spine. T
he lace border on the tap pants barely concealed the bottom curve of her derriere. Between that lace and the top of her stockings was an expanse of thigh he ached to touch. “How are you flouting decency?” he asked with a thick voice.
Taking a small plastic bottle from her purse, she dropped a dollop of lotion in her palm. She rubbed it into her hands and smoothed it onto her arms. God! She was driving him insane.
“Because legally you’re my stepson.”
“And illegally?”
She turned toward him, saw him sprawled in the chair, saw his body, hard and male. Her smile was both shy and wanton. “Illegally, you’re my lover.”
“Come here.” Quickly he freed himself of the underwear and threw it to the floor.
She went to him and stood docilely as he rid her of the tap pants, leaving the garter belt riding low on her hips and the garters stretching down the columns of her thighs to the top of the stockings. He squeezed his hand into the top of one stocking and gently pinched the tender flesh. Her fingers curved around his ears as he leaned forward to kiss her thighs, her belly, her stomach.
He guided her down to straddle his lap and his hard virility was sheathed by her mystery. Her arms went around his neck and her back arched, bringing her breasts to his seeking lips. He kissed the rose design, probed its center with his tongue until it gave birth to another bud. His lips closed around the hard bead and he massaged it with his tongue. The brassiere finally fell away beneath his deft fingers. He buried his face in the fragrant cleft.
Her thighs tightened around his as she rocked above him with slow rotations of her hips. His hands stroked up the backs of her thighs to her hips, where he caressed the soft flesh and held her fast. Clasping his head tightly to her breasts, she bent low over it and whispered love words in tempo to his upward thrusts. He reached higher and higher, to the very gate of her womb. Then, when she trembled with her fulfillment, he melted her with his fire.
Caroline slumped against him and for long minutes they didn’t move. Finally he ran one hand down the back of her head. He kissed her shoulder. When she still didn’t move, he asked softly, “Is something wrong?”
“In a chair? What have I turned into?”
Smiling, he nuzzled her ear. “A generous, gorgeous, loving woman with all the sexual passion a young man dreamed of.” He hugged her tightly. “I used to sit in this chair and dream of you. This is where I did most of my fantasizing of what it would be like when I made love to you.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “It’s far superior to my fantasies, Caroline.”
She raised her head. Her eyes looked like still, moonlit lakes. “Is it?”
“Yes.” He touched her hair, her mouth, her breasts. “I still can’t believe this is real.”
“I can’t believe this is me, behaving like this. But then you’ve always been a bad influence on me.”
The loving glow in his eyes was replaced by a mischievous gleam. “Aren’t’cha glad?”
“Uh-huh.” Matching his light mood, she rolled her hips forward.
He groaned theatrically. “Good God, Caroline. Are you trying to kill me? Can’t we at least get to the bed first?”
Later, wrapped together under the light covers, Rink found her ear in the darkness and whispered, “You know, if Haney had a bed partner, we could make this into a club.” She yanked several chest hairs and he yelped softly. “I only meant that with Steve and Laura Jane in one bedroom and us—”
“I know what you meant.” Her smile turned into a yawn. “I can imagine how Steve is feeling right now, but I wonder what Laura Jane thinks of marriage.”
They didn’t have to wait long to find out. The next morning the newlyweds joined Caroline and Rink at breakfast. They stood in the kitchen doorway with their arms around each other. Steve was wearing a comically sheepish grin. Laura Jane was absolutely radiant. To them all she enthusiastically declared, “I think everybody in the whole world should get married.”
Reconstruction had already begun on the gin. Caroline was grateful that Rink was around. She wouldn’t have known where to begin the cleanup after the fire. No sooner had that been accomplished than he began to talk about refurbishing. He went over all his plans with her, and she approved them. They included scrapping the old equipment and buying new, replacing the wiring and generally making Lancaster Gin one of the most modern mills in the country.
“We’ve made a tremendous profit this year. The bank is willing to grant us a long-term loan for the improvements at the lowest interest rate possible. We should take advantage of their generosity.”
“I agree.”
They worked long hours in the sultry summer heat, but it was invigorating to them both. Too often they had to control their urges to touch each other. They were watched and they knew it and they didn’t want to give people any more to talk about than they already had. Gossips were speculating as to why Rink hadn’t yet gone back to Atlanta. That worried Caroline, too.
“Rink?” They were taking a short break in the office at the gin.
“Hmmm?” He rubbed a cold soft drink can back and forth over his forehead.
“When are you going back to Atlanta?” She tried to sound casual but knew she had failed when he lowered the can and looked at her sharply.
He took a sip of his drink. “Trying to get rid of me?” he asked teasingly.
Her eyes softened with love. “Of course not,” she spoke quietly. “I just wondered why you’re doing all this for the gin. I’m being paid a salary, but there’s no reason for you to put so much time and energy into it.”
He set the can down on a coffee table piled high with outdated trade magazines. Standing, he stretched and went to the window where he could see workers unloading building supplies from a flatbed truck. “This gin means a lot to me whether Roscoe wanted it to or not. I don’t profit from it financially, thanks to his will, but it’s still of vital interest to me. The gin belonged to my mother’s family before Roscoe took it over and put his name on it. Since it’s part of my heritage and bears my name, I have to care about it. And if those reasons don’t seem valid enough, let’s just say that I’m protecting my sister’s legacy.”
“I love you.”
He turned swiftly to face her. Her pronouncement was unexpected and seemingly out of context. “Why? I mean, what made you say so now?”
“Because any other man would have left long ago, bitter and enraged over the circumstances.”
“That’s what he wanted me to do. Even now I refuse to buckle under to him.”
“Is that the only reason you’re still here, to defy Roscoe?”
He smiled and came to her. Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet and backed her into a corner between the wall and a file cabinet. The narrow space afforded them a modicum of privacy from anyone who might come in. “You have a little to do with my hanging around,” he drawled and began to kiss her.
He tasted salty. He was sweaty. He was thoroughly masculine. She loved the sheer maleness of him. Everything feminine about her responded to it. Inching closer, she pressed her aroused body to his. His lips slid to her neck to nibble and tease. His hand covered her breast and caressed it.
“You can’t take that kind of liberty,” she murmured. “I’m the boss.”
“Not my boss. I don’t officially work here, remember?”
She moaned softly as his fingers idly traced her nipple through her blouse. Bending his head, his teeth pulled free the first button and his mouth savored the warm flesh beneath. “But I still exercise a certain amount of control,” she said breathlessly.
“Not over me you don’t.” Her hand went to the fly of his jeans and pressed the hardness there. “All right. So I lied,” he said roughly. “You exercise a helluva lot of control.”
“I always thought this place was a honky-tonk.” Caroline looked around the dim interior of the tin building.
“It is. But it has the best barbecue east of the Mississippi. An old family recipe imported from Tennessee. What will
you have, baby back pork ribs or sliced beef brisket?”
“Can I lick my fingers?”
“Sure.”
“Then I want the ribs.”
They smiled as the waitress sashayed off with their order. They had to shout over the blaring music coming from the gaudy jukebox in the corner. Couples danced on a sawdust-strewn dance floor, bobbing a two-step or swaying together in a clenching embrace, depending on how romantically involved they were.
A cloud of tobacco smoke hovered just under the ceiling. From the cheaply paneled walls, flashing pink-and-blue neon lights touted various brands of beer. A model with a smile as voluminous as her hairdo and bosom adorned a poster for a radiator shop. Behind the bar, the face of a clock wavered beneath a moving waterfall. That electrically animated marvel made Caroline slightly nauseated if she looked at it too long.
She and Rink were enjoying themselves. They had made a habit of inventing places to go for a few hours every night just to give Steve and Laura Jane time alone in the house. Steve had told them confidentially that he had mentioned a honeymoon to Laura Jane, but the thought of traveling too far afield was frightening to her. She had adjusted to married life beautifully. He didn’t want to make an issue of a honeymoon.
“Did you come here often?” Caroline asked, resting her forearms on the table and leaning toward Rink.
“All the time. When I was in high school and too young to buy beer, all of us guys would pile into one car and come out here. They didn’t have any qualms about selling it to us. Daddy told me—” He broke off suddenly and Caroline knew it was because he had called Roscoe by the familiar form of address.
“Go on,” she prodded gently. “What did he tell you?”
“He told me that during Prohibition this place was a hotbed of bootlegging. More illegal whiskey was run in and out of here than anywhere else in the state.”
He became meditative as he absently toyed with the salt shaker. Caroline covered his hand, bringing his eyes up to hers. “It wasn’t always bad between the two of you, was it? Weren’t there a few good times that you could remember and forget the rest?”