by Mallory Rush
"And what might that be?"
"Read my mind."
"Believe me, I'd love nothing better." If she could have read his, what would she think of his calculated reason for what he was about to do?
Dipping a fingertip into the elastic neck of her peasant blouse, Sol was rewarded with the sensual droop of her eyelids. Lower and lower he urged the elastic, brushing her skin with a finger that moved back and forth. He paused to stroke her nipples, until she gripped his wrist and tugged the blouse down beneath the weight of her breasts.
"The fence?" he prompted.
Mariah turned and secured both hands to the weathered wood. "Did you help build this?"
"I did. Just before my sophomore year in college." When I was just about your age, little lady, he thought. "Why do you ask?"
"Because it feels strong, solid. Like you." Her breath caught sharply when he grabbed her skirt and gathered it in his fist until it hiked up to her waist. Pulling the fabric through the space between two posts, he wrapped it around twice, then secured a double knot.
Mariah looked at the skirt that locked her to the fence, then at him. Sol surveyed his handiwork before meeting her gaze in silent challenge. Mariah had a few things to learn about him and their relationship; he was eager to get this lesson under way.
She wet her lips uncertainly, then asked, "Why did you do that?"
"Why did you let me?"
"Because... I don't know."
"Curiosity?" he suggested. "The sort that inquiring minds are compelled to satisfy?"
"Maybe." Her eyes narrowed. "Maybe it's more, such as trying to understand your purpose. You do have a purpose in everything you do, don't you, Sol? This conversation, the fence..."
"Very good, Mariah. You're extremely astute, and you already know me better than most." He flicked open the button on his jeans and slid the zipper down. "You're not afraid?"
"Of course not. Why should I be?"
"Since we're still getting to know each other, how do you know I'm not displaying some deviant behavior, now that I have you alone in the middle of nowhere and no one can hear you scream? Or that I won't leave you tied up while I go off alone? By the time you freed yourself, I'd be out of sight. You could wander around lost until it was dark, and end up sleeping outside, with wild animals and no shelter."
"That's ridiculous. You'd never do anything like that."
"But how do you know?"
"Because... because I trust you."
Sol nodded in approval. "Now you have your answer as to why I did this, and you've given me yours—the one I'd hoped for, no less."
Comprehension dawned in her eyes, eyes that followed the jeans he was slowly taking off. Mariah reached to touch him. Sol caught her hand and firmly replaced it on the fence.
"You just broke a rule, love."
"A rule? Since when did we have rules?"
"Since I decided we need to play a little game." Edging behind her, he wound her hair around his hand and gently tugged until her head rested against his shoulder, "It's a grown-up game for two players—you and me. The object is trust. You have to give it, and I have to promise not to abuse it. If either of us breaks that rule, the game is forfeited and we both lose. Understand?"
Sol watched closely for her reaction. Her eyes were wary, her uneven voice cautious. "First I want to know the rest of the rules."
"They're simple. I'm going to make love to you while we talk. And as we talk, you won't try to untie yourself from the fence."
"Why?"
"Because you trust me. Second rule—"
"I'm not sure that I like this game. It's a head game, Sol."
"Exactly." He pressed his lips to her head. "And this game isn't over until I get into yours."
Chapter 9
She had the look of a cornered animal, frantic to get away but stunned into immobility. He could feel a fine tremble slither from her back to his chest, and hastened to reassure her.
"Don't worry, I'll be careful. Remember, I can't violate your trust. Now give me enough of it to let me do all the touching. Lay your head against the knot on the fence, Mariah."
When she hesitated, he gently urged her forehead to do his bidding, then stroked her hair away from her neck and trailed his lips against her nape. He covered her left hand with his.
"Comfy?" he whispered. When she stiffly nodded, he softly clucked his tongue. "Mariah, my idea of talking isn't a one-way conversation."
"Yes," she said hesitantly. "Yes, I'm comfortable."
"Ah, that's good. Are your eyes shut?"
"No."
"Then close them for me. In fact, close everything out but my voice and my hands on your skin."
"What do you want to... talk about?" she said anxiously.
Damn, he thought. She was wound as tight as a yo-yo, and unless she relaxed, he wasn't going to accomplish a thing.
Seeking to heat her up enough to melt those infuriating defenses, Sol nuzzled her neck while his right hand did enough exploring for two. He roamed from her throat to her breasts to her cleft. Once he felt the melting moisture and her boneless slump against the fence, he secured himself between her, then pressed her legs closed. Mariah inhaled sharply, and he increased the teasing pressure.
"What I want to talk about is us," he said, smooth as worn leather.
"What about... us?"
Sol felt the clench of her hand beneath his, the slight movement of her hips working to get closer.
"The way we fit, when we come from such different backgrounds. I've come to realize how little I really know about yours, though I gather it's a far cry from mine. Isn't it?" When she made a muffled sound of assent, he pressed on. "Mariah? I asked you an important question. Please answer."
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes. You have so much here that... that I want. That I need."
"And I want you to have it." Sol groaned when she reached between her legs. Unless he was careful, she would beat him at his own seductive game of trust. He quickly yanked her hand away and curved it over the post. "Don't forget the rule. I do all the touching."
"Your rule isn't fair," she moaned.
He tightened his grip. All's fair in love and war, babe, and I think we're dealing with a little of both here. He kept the thought to himself, as well as the knowledge that he had no intentions of fighting fair at all. Ignoring her accusation, Sol went for the jugular.
"Today was very special for me, Mariah. The truth is, I never appreciated what I had here, until you did." He could feel her immediate softening, the gentle lull that heralded trust. "And it is a haven, isn't it?"
"I do love this place," she said haltingly. "How could anyone not? And... and—ah!"
"Easy," he said, heightening her want by entering her. "It's easy not to love this farm if you want more from life than rising before dawn and being tied to a rigid schedule. It's easy if you're a boy dreaming of adventure and exotic people and places." He was moving inside her fast, then slowly, his thrusts deep, then shallow. "But you've been to such places, haven't you, love? Europe. Asia. Pat Pong's."
"Why do you... keep bringing that up?" She was moving her forehead back and forth against the knot, and he wondered if she was wiping away the sweat of good sex or bad nerves. "Don't you believe me? Don't you—oh God!"
Sol replied with a hard thrust. Oh yeah, he believed her, the same way he believed if she was twenty-four he was still a plebe in the Marines. He believed her, just as he swallowed all her tales of travel after she'd visited the library last week. The woman had become a walking, talking travelogue.
Mariah was wrong if she thought for a minute he wasn't on to her, but she had been right about one thing: This was a head game. And guilt trips were trump cards.
"Why, of course I believe you, baby," he said, sincerity oozing from every word. "After all, we're straight with each other, right?" Sol smiled grimly when he heard her low groan. "I trust you implicitly. And I expect you to do the same for me. You're doing it beautifully now, by the way. Hands spread,
legs and heart and mind open to me—me, your husband, who would never deceive you or compromise our trust, because that means more to me than appearances, personal insecurities, or our past lives. And I know you must feel the same way too."
Through his narrowed vision he saw her shudder, and as he toyed with her nipples, he imagined himself suckling them, just like a newborn infant. Their baby, to make up for the one he'd lost.
Figuring he'd heaped sufficient guilt on her, Sol decided to show a little mercy.
"Aren't you loving this, Mariah? Getting to know each other better every day is the most exciting adventure of my life. And I have had more than a few."
Just as he'd expected, she was quick to seize the out he offered.
"You've had enough adventures to be content now?"
"More content than I ever believed possible." He nudged her to the fence and pressed against her womanhood. Once she cried out and he was assured of her sustained pleasure, Sol grabbed on to the rail for support. He could feel himself weakening. Beads of sweat bathed his forehead, which he rested next to hers.
"Now that we're assured that I've seen enough of the world to appease my appetites for a lifetime, let's talk about you." Their breaths mingled hotly; his roughened cheek rubbed against the softness of hers. "You like this, don't you?"
"Yes. Yes! What are you doing? What game are you really playing with me?"
"Hide-and-seek, it seems." Sol eased up on his thrusting. "Or maybe Twenty-One Questions. First off, have you seen enough of the world to settle on the likes of me?"
"Yes," she cried. "Are you blind? Can't you see how much you mean to me?"
"I'd be a fool not to, and I've been a fool too long. Next question: Why are you willing to be with me when you've never been with another man?"
"Because you see me, the real me, as no else ever has, ever could. Or ever will." The gyration of her torso, the internal clench of her muscles and cry of his name gave credence to her answer.
For now, it was enough for him. As he stroked his wife's bent head, he spent his seed and collapsed over her. She took his weight without complaint. Not for the first time he was struck by her strength, her softness.
"I do see you as you are," he groaned beside her ear, then nursed the fleshy lobe before taking her wedding band between his teeth and gently pulling it.
"Tell me what you see," she pleaded.
"I see a lot, Mariah. Maybe more than you see yourself. I think of you as a steel magnolia. A perfect companion who's slowly repairing the dents in my battered armor."
She was crying. Her shuddering sobs vibrated through to his chest and melted his heart. Apparently someone or something had driven her from her home and into his arms, someone or something that had refused to see her for the warm, sensitive individual she was. That seemed to be the crux of her problem, and doubtless the reason for her flimsy lies.
Wondering how anyone could sell her short, he soothed her with tender strokes. "Can I do anything to make it better, Mariah?"
"No. You make it too good, that's the whole damn problem."
Sol frowned. Her answer wasn't the one he'd hoped for. Had his intention to establish their marriage as one based on honesty and trust caused her to bury her secrets even deeper so she could live up to his expectations? He'd played dirty, but only because he'd been so desperate to get rid of her farce.
For a moment, he debated. Should he push, lay the bones bare while she was close to defenseless? Or back off and give her time to find the answers for herself? Trust. He decided he should show some in her, practice what he'd preached.
"Cry it out," he whispered. "Just cry it out, baby."
"I'm not a baby. And I'm not crying," she insisted while swiping at her cheeks. Sol had to admire the way she kept a stiff upper lip while she fumbled with the knot on her skirt. She clawed at the fabric, striking her fist against the fence when it wouldn't give way. "Untie me," she pleaded, then demanded.
"Shhh, shhh," he whispered beside her ear. "Trust me. Trust yourself. We can't come into our own until you do both, Mariah. Now watch, and think of us." With agile and determined fingertips, he worked the binding loose. "This is the fabric of our lives, bound tight by vows and trust."
He wiped the wetness from her face with the material. She wouldn't look at him, just continued to face the wood post. "And the fence?" she asked hesitantly.
"It weathers the elements. Rain or shine, it remains solid because it's planted firmly in the ground. Even the stormiest gale can't uproot it, because it connects with supports that go deep enough to withstand the hardest blow." He released her skirt and let it flutter from his fingertips and into the cool wind.
Time, she'd said, helped to heal wounds. So did truth. He wanted her, needed her, enough to provide the two of them with both.
"Mrs. Standish," he said firmly, "you are my woman. My wife. You're tearing me apart and putting me back together until sometimes I don't even recognize myself. Remember that and think about it."
Whether it was his vow, the deepness of commitment he'd tried to convey, or his emotional plundering that had gotten to her, he wasn't sure. But she was sniffling and wiping her nose against her arm, then cursing in a very unladylike way when, as she bent down to smooth her skirt, a crutch hit her head.
Sol tried to grab it, and their hands met. When she came up, she was rubbing her head. A laugh caught in her throat. She seemed in need of comic relief to patch herself back together.
What a woman. He'd turned her inside out, and she'd definitely returned the questionable favor.
Sol thrust the crutch aside, then slumped against the fence. For once, he wasn't inclined to hide his pain or exhaustion or just what he wanted from her.
"I've got one last question. What am I to you? An escape, a turn-on, a great adventure?"
"You're all those things. And more, so much more."
"I want to hear the 'more.'"
"You're my mate, my lover, my friend."
"In that case..." He held out his arms and she hugged him tightly. "That's what I wanted. You to hold me... and trust me."
"One you've got, and the other I'm learning."
"Well, seeing that patience isn't one of my stronger suits, I'm counting on you being a fast learner."
"There is something I've learned today." She threaded her fingers into his hair, then pulled him down for a scorching kiss. "You're an amazing man, Sol Standish. You say things without saying them, and I do hear you, even in your silence. We share a silent language, you know."
"That we do, love." His smile was warm, intimate. "What should we dub this private dialogue of ours?"
"That's easy," she said softly. "Heart-speak."
Chapter 10
"One more picture, and this roll's done."
"Sol," Mariah groaned. "You must have gone through ten rolls by now."
"So, humor me and I'll give you a break for a few days."
"On one condition. You tell me why you enlisted in the Marines when you had a degree in photojournalism."
As he adjusted the zoom lens, she heard him sigh. "Okay. Patriotism is a big thing with my family, so joining up was an acceptable way out of here. I think my parents figured once I got some wanderlust out of my system, I'd come back home. What they didn't count on was me reenlisting. That was a sore spot with us for a long time."
Sol waved her to the barn gate and checked the filtered interior lighting. Besse, the cow Mariah had adopted as a pet, and who was expecting any day now, nudged her through the wood slat of a pen. There were ten pens in this barn, along with rows and rows of cattle lined up in separate stalls.
Mariah was still amazed that each one ate over eighty pounds of grain a day, and drank a staggering amount of water. Old MacDonald had nothing on the Standishes, she thought wryly. It took fifteen men to feed and milk the livestock, hooking up udders to suction tubes every twelve hours so that the milk flowed through a hose and into a huge refrigerated tank.
"Now that you're here to help, has
the sore spot gone away?" she asked. They all worked hard, but especially Sol and Herbert, baling hay, plying the land with tractors.
"Some, but not completely. A breach that big doesn't mend overnight," he said quietly. "I regret hurting them—betraying them, but the decisions I made to strike out on my own were right at the time." He paused. "Know what I mean?"
"Yes, I do." He couldn't know how completely she related—at least, she didn't think so. "Do you think parents ever get over it, when they see their children's need for independence as betrayal?"
Sol hesitated, as if carefully considering his response. "I think, Mariah, that anyone who loves another person has to put his own needs aside sometimes. The urge to hold too tight can be strong, and it's a risky deal. Suffocating a loved one is self-defeating and selfish. I guess the best anyone can hope for is to keep the reins loose enough that betrayal doesn't become necessary in a relationship. That means a relationship based on trust. And honesty."
Trust and honesty. Two words he used a lot and she'd shown precious little of. Each time he said them, they taunted her cruelly. Their silent language had become rife with contradictions that confused her. He would say one thing while she sensed he meant another. And he was given to seemingly subtle actions that struck her as brash. Such as his making a show of replacing Beth's picture in his wallet with a recent one he'd taken of her, then hanging Beth's picture alongside a family portrait and some honeymoon candids in their hallway.
The suspense was killing her. Why didn't he just confront her if he guessed the truth, instead of shading everything in innuendo and slowly driving her crazy wondering if it was innuendo or her conscience distorting his meaning?
Why didn't she just unburden herself and risk his wrath, even perhaps his emotional estrangement, once he knew that the honesty and trust he adhered to was nothing but lip service on her part?
"Wet your lips," he was saying. "A little more to the right. Good, now lift your chin and give me that saucy look."
"Uh... Sol?"
"Yes, love?"