Desert Angel

by Pamela K Forrest

  Reminding himself that he needed to practice extreme gentleness, Jim blew out the lamp on his desk and turned to the one across the room, beside the chair March usually occupied.

  A flash of movement at the doorway attracted his attention. Suddenly, Jim forgot to breathe, as he stared at the vision that was his alone. The cream-colored nightdress and matching robe teased and enticed, emphasizing the very curves it sought to cover.

  The entire bodice of the robe was made of lace that hid nothing of the plunging neckline of the dress beneath it. Long bell-shaped sleeves, also made of lace, gave alluring glimpses of the bare shoulders and arms. Feminine shadows beckoned with an irresistible temptation to touch, to explore, to taste. Silky hair nearly to her hips hung in an inviting cascade of golden tresses.

  Jim remembered to breathe, when the room started to swirl around him. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her, as he slowly approached, trying to force himself to act as normal as possible.

  “New dress?” His voice was deceptively casual, while his eyes burned with a hunger bordering on starvation.

  “Yes, do you like it?” March twirled in a circle, unknowingly making the hem of the gown float just above her slender ankles.

  “Oh, I like it, angel.” Jim’s voice was a husky rasp. “I like it entirely too much.”

  “Mazie gave it to me as a wedding present. She said she knew that you’d like it,” March smiled innocently. “I can’t understand why she thought it was necessary for you to like it, when it’s a gift for me?”

  “Can’t you, sweetheart? I think it is a wedding present for both of us; for you to wear and for me to admire.”

  “Something this pretty shouldn’t be kept hidden in a bedroom. It should be worn for everyone to admire.”

  Putting his fingertips beneath her chin, Jim raised her head. “It is indeed pretty and you are beautiful, but I don’t want anyone else seeing what’s for my eyes only. They’ll just have to wonder what’s put a smile on my face.”

  March looked at his grim mouth. “Do you plan to do a lot of smiling?”

  “Constantly.

  “When are you going to start? You certainly don’t look too happy right now.”

  “Later, angel, I’ll smile all the time. For now I’ve got better things to do.”

  Jim traced the outline of her lips with his thumb, pulling back the fuller lower lip to find the delicate skin inside. He felt her tremble slightly, and smiled with satisfaction.

  “You’re smiling,” she mumbled.

  “It’s just the beginning, Mrs. Travis.”

  March’s eyes widened at the title. “I am Mrs. Travis, aren’t I? I hadn’t given that much thought … March Travis … “

  Without warning, Jim bent and swung her into his arms. He turned and carried her from the room.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, March leaned confidently against him. Whatever was about to happen, she could endure. It was such a simple thing to do for him. He had given her so much, surely she could give him this, she decided with a sigh. So far it had been … pleasant. His admiring gaze had been unexpected, his gentle touch pleasurable.

  Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, March closed her eyes as her head rested against his shoulder. Soon it would be over, and she could sleep. It had been a long day, filled with excitement and new experiences.

  Expecting his destination to be the bedroom, March was startled when she heard a wooden chair sliding across the floor. She opened her to eyes to find that he had carried her into the kitchen. He smiled mysteriously as he lowered her to the waiting chair.

  “I have a special surprise for you, Mrs. Travis.” After lighting a lamp, he walked across the room, stopping in front of a wooden barrel that hadn’t been there earlier. March’s curiosity grew as she watched him pry off the lid, and then scoop out handfuls of straw. By the time he freed the clay crock embedded beneath the straw, she was leaning so far out of her chair, that she was in danger of falling.

  “Mazie wasn’t the only one to give us a wedding present.” Jim carried the bowl over to the table. “Walt made this specially for you, and said I was to give it to you when the time was right. I think about now would be the best time for you to have it.”

  Anticipation brought a glow to her stormy gray eyes, as she reached for the lid. The coldness that met her fingers confirmed her hopes.

  “Ice cream!” March removed the lid, delighted by the creamy confection in the bowl.

  “It’s not going to last much longer.” Jim dipped a finger into the melting cream. “The ice in the barrel is nearly melted, and this is a little milkier than usual. Walt knew it wouldn’t last, but he wanted to give you something special to remember the day by.”

  “I don’t think I will ever forget this day.” Unable to resist for another minute, March stuck a finger into the ice cream. “But it sure was sweet of him to do this.” She licked her finger clean, closing her eyes with delight.

  “If you’ll wait just a few more seconds, I’ll get a spoon.” Jim grinned at her. “I wouldn’t want you to miss any of this.”

  He returned with two spoons and sat down beside her, pulling the bowl between them. Like greedy children, they consumed the ice cream, sharing the pieces of peaches Walt had mixed in. The heat worked quickly, turning it into liquid, but neither of them minded.

  In the kitchen of the big house, with only the light from a single lamp, they began their lives together as husband and wife, by sharing the simple delicacy.

  Jim entertained her with stories of his childhood, while growing more and more intrigued with her smile, her soft laugh, her sparkling eyes. By the time the bowl was empty, March was completely relaxed, and Jim was aroused to a fevered pitch.

  “All gone.” She sighed with contentment as she scraped the spoon over the bottom of the bowl.

  Taking the spoon from her hand, he placed it on the table and put his fingers beneath her chin. Leaning over slightly, he softly kissed her lips, tasting the peach ice cream lingering there.

  “I want to make love to you,” he whispered.

  “I know,” March replied quietly.

  “I don’t want you to be afraid.”

  “I’m not.” She smiled confidently. “I was, at first, when I realized what you’d want to do to me, but then I got to thinking about it, and, after all, it only takes a few minutes, and I can practice my spelling while you’re doing it.”

  “What?” Jim leaned back, letting his hand drop from her chin. “You plan to practice your spelling while I make love to you?”

  “Sure … I mean, I won’t take my list with me, but I can practice my days and months. And if I’m not sure about one of them, then I’ll wait until you’re done, and I can ask you. I won’t interrupt you or anything.”

  Shaking his head, Jim didn’t know whether to laugh in amusement or howl in outrage; somehow he was torn between both emotions.

  “Sweetheart, making love isn’t something to do alone.”

  “Well, of course not. I don’t know much, but I do know that.”

  She was so innocent, he thought with an indulgent smile. For all her experience at the vile hands of Fred Hamner, she still didn’t know the first thing about making love.

  “You won’t … ah, mind?” he asked, trying to hide a grin. “I mean, I don’t want to interfere with your spelling.”

  “You won’t.” March patted his hand lightly, unaware of the open challenge she had just offered.

  “Well, as long as you’re sure …”

  Jim blew out the lamp and again swung March into his arms. Guided by the light of the full moon, he effortlessly maneuvered through the room. Her long gown wrapped sinuously around his legs as he slowly climbed the stairs, her bare feet peeking from beneath the hem.

  “I’m perfectly capable of walking.” March snuggled contentedly into his arms. She knew he wouldn’t drop her, and she found that it was nice to have someone to depend on. Granted, this carrying her from room to room was only for this one special
night. But from now until the end of her life, she would have him to count on when she needed him.

  Until she was relieved of it, March hadn’t realized how much responsibility she had carried on her shoulders for so many years. Her mother had had so many children so close together, that she was usually either expecting or healing. As she had grown older, March had gradually taken over the burden of taking care of the little ones.

  Her life now seemed almost leisurely. With only one child to care for, she had more free time than ever before. The anxiety over food, shelter, and clothing was one of the past. As Jim’s wife, she could expect him to worry over such things, while she tended to Jamie and the house.

  It was a heady feeling, to know that she suddenly had more freedom and security than she had ever dared to dream about.

  In the bedroom, Jim lowered her feet to the ground, but kept an arm around her slender waist. The room was bathed in the light of the moon, making a lamp unnecessary.

  “Monday,” he murmured as he lowered his lips to hers, gliding whisper-soft against them.

  March stood quietly in his arms, slowly spelling the word to herself. It was one she had learned easily, and prided herself on remembering. The touch of his lips against hers was soothingly familiar.

  “Tuesday.” Jim traced the shape of her lips with the very tip of his tongue, lingering slightly at the corners. His hands moved restlessly up and down the slope of her back, from her shoulders to her rounded bottom.

  Tuesday wasn’t difficult either. There were only four letters with the word day at the end. His tongue was so warm and surprisingly soft. She wondered if he would object, if she tasted him as he was tasting her. Of course, he would, she decided with a sigh. He was the one making love; she was practicing her spelling.

  “Wednesday.” Jim lifted his lips from hers and pulled loose the ribbons at the bodice of her robe. The silky fabric slid freely down her arms to pool at her feet. With fingers eager to explore new territory, he traced the path of the thin straps over her shoulders.

  March closed her eyes, hoping that she could better concentrate if she wasn’t watching the fascination on Jim’s face. Wednesday was a tough word, one she almost always misspelled. How could he expect her to get it right, when his touch was so tender, his fingertips so warm?

  “Thursday.”

  “Wait! I haven’t gotten Wednesday right yet.”

  “That’s all right, you can go back to it later.” He bent and kissed the soft skin where her shoulder met her neck. Suckling lightly, he left a lover’s brand on her creamy flesh.

  “Thursday,” he repeated, kissing his way up the side of her neck, as his fingers journeyed down the sides of her body from the fullness of her breasts, lingering at her tiny waist and over well-rounded hips.

  Thursday was nearly impossible with his lips against her neck. The pressure of his suckling against her skin sent shivers of delight down her back. His hands were incredibly warm, burning through the light layer of her gown and into her flesh. No, Thursday wasn’t easy.

  “Friday.” Jim teased himself as much as he teased her, letting his lips and fingertips learn her in ways he’d often imagined. The silky fabric of her gown and the silky texture of her skin were driving him to a burning need, one that he intended to satisfy very thoroughly, very soon.

  March bent her head to the side, giving him freer access to her neck. His inquisitive fingers traced the plunging neckline of the gown where it dipped between her breasts, delving just beneath the fabric to the skin below. She wasn’t sure she had spelled Friday correctly, which surprised her, since it was usually as easy as Monday … but then, she’d never been this distracted before, either.

  She was surprised to realize that her breasts felt heavy and incredibly sensitive, her nipples were like hardened pebbles. That was a reaction she was familiar with when it was time to nurse the baby, but she had never imagined that she’d experience it at any other time.

  “Sunday.”

  “Wait . . . “ March moaned as the backs of his fingers trailed over the tips of her breasts. “I… I’m still working on Thursday.”

  “Sunday, sweetheart. Thursday was way back here.” He suckled on her neck again, leaving another brand of possession.

  “How am I supposed to remember how to spell Thursday when you do that?” she asked, moaning at the sensuous feel of his mouth on her skin.

  “I’m sure you can figure something out.” Smiling at the obvious distraction on her face, Jim stepped back and pulled the suspenders from his shoulders. He watched her watching him, as he freed the buttons of his shirt. “Did you ever figure out Wednesday?”

  “Wednesday?” As the shirt came open, she discovered that his chest was lightly covered with dark hair. Wanting suddenly to reach out and touch him, March closed her hands into fists at her sides.

  “Try something easier, like Friday or Sunday.” Pulling his shirt free from his pants, he slid it from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Moving away from her, he locked the heel of his boot in the bootjack, and pulled his foot free. Soon his socks joined his shirt and her robe on the floor.

  “Friday? That’s … that’s usually an easy one.” March watched with utter fascination as he unbuttoned his pants and let them slide down his long legs. Covered only by his knee-length drawers, she swallowed hard at the obvious bulge. She knew exactly what was there, having cared for Jamie and her little brothers, but somehow it was so innocent when the male was a baby, and so … so exciting when it was Jim.

  Satisfied that he had caught her attention, Jim lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Lowering her slowly onto the crisp white sheets, he leaned over her and let his mouth make a trail from her shoulder to the beginning slope of her breast.

  This wasn’t at all like she expected, March decided as she looked at his dark head against her breast. Not at all!

  “January” Jim pulled free the ribbons that tied on her shoulders and one beneath her breast, leaving the gown in place.

  “I haven’t finished the days yet,” March muttered as his warm breath fanned across her. He slid his drawers from his body, giving her only a brief view of his masculinity before he joined her on the bed.

  “February,” he whispered, as he made a trail down the center of her body, stopping just short of his ultimate goal. When he could stand it no longer, he slipped the bodice of the gown down to the tip of her breast.

  “April.”

  “You forgot March,” she reminded him with a moan, as his hand rubbed gently against her stomach, making wider and wider circles with each rotation.

  “Never, ever, sweet March. How could I forget a taste as heady as wine? Skin softer than the softest velvet? The little moans of pleasure, when I touch or taste? No, angel, I could never forget March.”

  Jim kissed the slope of her breast, pushing the gown out of his way until the cherry pink tip was exposed. A fever of need soared through him, as he lowered his mouth and gently suckled. Taking care not to hurt her, he tasted his fill, then traveled to the other breast.

  She had forgotten how to spell April! God above, what was he doing? This was something entirely new and unexpected. She wanted to clutch him tighter to her. She wanted to push him away, as she felt a frightening new sensation course through her. She wanted … she wanted to spell April.

  “May.” Jim raised her enough to free her from the gown. The moonlight fell softly on her skin, and he caught his breath at the beauty of her body. Her full breasts gave way to a waist he could span with his hands, and led to rounded hips and a flat stomach. The curls at the crown of her femininity were the same golden blond as the hair on her head, and he was eager to discover the treasure they protected.

  “June.” Kissing, tasting, teasing, Jim forgot why he was naming the months of the year. He forgot everything but the lovely woman who was his wife.

  “July.” With incredibly gentle fingers, he parted her thighs and found the warmth of her. Her moans of surprised pleasure were adding
to his heightened enchantment, as he teased them both.

  “August.”

  March thought she knew what to expect, but whatever that was, it wasn’t this. Her body felt on fire, and yet shivers kept dancing across her skin. Her breasts ached, and there was an unfamiliar throbbing deep inside her.

  “September.”

  She couldn’t stop her hands from moving to Jim’s back, tracing the heavy muscles, delighting in the warmth and smoothness of his skin. The hair on his chest tickled against her in a way that added to her awareness of him. When he parted her thighs and gently stroked her, she felt a tightening anticipation deep within her.

  “October.”

  Jim lifted himself over her, resting comfortably between her silky legs. He felt the heat and the need, and knew he was as close to losing control as ever in his life.

  “November.”

  March waited with her breath caught in her chest, for him to become a part of her, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry. With his hands buried in her hair, he kissed her neck, working his way toward her mouth. His lips were hot as they settled onto hers, his tongue invading in a dance of passion. His hips rocked slowly back and forth, while the hair on his chest rubbed deliciously against her sensitive breasts.

  “Please?” she asked, pleading for release from the sensuous torment.

  It was all the invitation he needed. One word that told him he wasn’t alone in this ritual of mating. In her innocence she had thought she wouldn’t be involved, and he had gently taken her on a journey of discovery of her own body.

  Jim slipped into her eager warmth, sighing as she sheathed him protectively in her body.

  “December.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  “Want another spelling lesson?” Jim felt her moan more than he heard it. She lay snuggled tightly against his side, her surprisingly long legs tangled with his.

  “Did you ever figure out how to spell Wednesday?” he asked far too innocently. “I think that was the first day that gave you trouble.”