Tainted Love

by Louisa Trent

  Lily scowled behind Victoria Hill's back. "Yes, Nana."

  Her grandmother, sensing something was up, gave Lillian the full weight of her attention. "You look much improved this morning, dear. There is a healthy glow about you that wasn't there yesterday."

  Victoria turned to their visitor. "What do you think, Doyle? Do you think Lily looks more rested today?"

  Doyle made a big production of looking her over. "In that outfit, I would say she looks as cute as a kitten. Probably as naughty as one too." He winked.

  At that point, Lily was too busy downing three rolls and two glasses of milk to reply. She ate every crumb and slurped every last drop, and didn't feel sick afterwards.

  "Lillian, dear--Doyle has returned the pony cart with the wheel fixed. Wasn't that thoughtful of him?"

  "Yes, very thoughtful," she said, standing at the dry sink

  Their breakfast guest shrugged. "Actually, Johnny volunteered his services. He is the better axle mechanic, so it made sense for him to check the wheel. He left me a note saying he had fixed the problem and it works fine now." He ambled over to stand with her.

  Lillian wouldn't stake her life, or more importantly, her grandmother's life on that assurance, which is why she would ask Jeb, the stable boy, to check the cart out before anyone rode in it again.

  Victoria Hill turned to Doyle. "What do you and my granddaughter have planned for today?"

  "Going fishin'. A hike in the woods first, a swim to cool off, followed by some serious casting. I packed us up a huge picnic for lunch. Sounds about right to you, little one?"

  Little one?

  Lily hid her stunned expression by swiftly turning her back.

  Doyle hadn't called her 'little one' since she was seventeen years old.

  "Well?" Doyle prompted. "You will join me today, correct?"

  "Do I have a choice?" Lily muttered, under her breath.

  "No," he answered, and not under his breath.

  As her grandmother was occupied, Lily looked over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue at him.

  In retaliation, Doyle gave her bottom a pat.

  She countered with a glare.

  His parry was to deepen the pat into a caress. "Mmm, mmm, mmm. The best buns in Bar Harbor can be had in this house."

  Her face went hot. "Doyle!"

  "Lily!"

  "Children! Whatever is the problem?" asked her grandmother.

  "Nothing," the guilty parties replied in unison, and jumped away from each other.

  "Sounds like something to me," rejoined the cagey woman.

  Blushing, Lily walked around Doyle and began her escape of the kitchen.

  "Pack a swim costume, unless you intend to go skinny dipping," Doyle called after her.

  Her grandmother had the bad taste to laugh. "Sounds like a good time to me."

  Why was her grandmother encouraging him?

  "Wear the trousers, dear. So suitable for a hike, no?"

  How to refuse? The trousers were a gift; a rebuff would hurt her grandmother's feelings.

  "Quite suitable," she replied.

  "And by the way, dear, before I forget, I have a message from Anthony. The artist would like you to pose for your portrait tomorrow and the next evening too. Please say you will! It means so much to both of us!"

  "Tell Tony those sittings are fine with Lily," Doyle answered for her.

  Some things don't change...

  She stomped up the staircase ... to change.

  * * * *

  As usual, her grandmother was right: her gift--trousers and a heavy cotton shirt--was very comfortable for horseback riding. And the jaunty straw hat, supplied by Doyle, protected her redhead's fair skin from freckling.

  "So a sunburned nose won't ruin Tony's painting," he said, installing the huge farmer's hat atop her head.

  Lillian loved to ride, though she seldom had the opportunity any more. She missed the feel of animal flesh between her legs...

  She also missed Doyle's toneless whistling.

  Doyle always pursed his lips and blew a terrible off-key tune when things were going his way.

  Evidently, he thought things were going his way today.

  "This is the place," he advised, the horrendous whistling finally coming to an end as he jumped out of the saddle.

  She jumped down too, tied her mount to a tree, and started walking up the trail.

  His voice rang out. "Where are you off to? This gear won't get carried up the hill by itself. And I am not doing all the heavy work. Get your fanny back here and help!"

  She turned. "You expect me to carry that," she said pointing to the saddlebag.

  "Ayuh," he grunted, lifting the smaller of the two huge packs and slinging it over her shoulder.

  One step and she sagged.

  "City life will be your ruination," the ogre scolded. "When you were a girl, you could have carried two of these packs without breaking a sweat."

  "Only horses sweat; gentlemen perspire and ladies glow." Challenge issued, Lily hefted the load. "And I can still carry my fair share of the burden. Just watch me."

  "I won't even blink."

  Halfway up the hill, she could no longer hide her groans. "This is what comes from armchair teaching. My muscles have gone soft."

  "You should be standing at an easel, brush in hand, not teaching."

  "I have rent to pay, sir."

  He scratched his jaw. "Have Charles support you while you paint."

  "Me, a kept woman? I think not, Mr. Doyle," she said, and continued her up-trail flounce.

  Spite kept her going for another mile, but when the oxygen thinned near the top, her pace slowed to a crawl. Her back ached. She was perspiring from the exertion. Collapsing in the dirt, she hung her head.

  "Time for a rest?" Doyle asked.

  "That, or you carry me."

  He squatted down beside her. "And that would present no problem. Skin and bones is all you are. As a girl, you were healthy."

  "Not that again!" She rubbed her aching shoulder. "Let's stay in the moment, shall we? Let's pretend we have no past and no future. Only today exists. Deal?"

  "Deal," he agreed, peeling the saddlebag down her arm. "Today is really all anyone has anyway."

  He patted the dirt beside him. "Scoot over here. You need a rub down."

  "Pardon?"

  "You heard me."

  She scooted. "What am I--a horse?

  He supported her back against his raised knees. "Drop your long neck, little mare."

  "My neck is already dropped."

  "I was trying for tact," he said, kneading her achy shoulders.

  She moaned. "Gosh, that feels good. I haven't hiked for a while." She looked over the shoulder he was rubbing. "Can you tell?"

  "Naw," he said, crossing his eyes.

  "What gave me away?"

  "I would have to say it was the whining. Definitely the whining. Good thing I provoked you; otherwise, we might still be at the bottom of the hill looking up."

  "You intentionally angered me?"

  He shrugged. "It's a talent. Some might even say, a gift."

  His hands were gifted too. And after his kneading, she began to feel better. Not only better, but starving too.

  "Miss Hill! Was that your belly I just heard rumbling?"

  "A gentleman would pretend not to have heard."

  "Good, God, woman, the growling frightened me! I thought it was a big ol' black bear come to git me."

  "Very amusing."

  Reaching into his pack, he threw a small cloth sack at her.

  "What is this?"

  "Trail-mix. Made it myself. See if that will fill you up."

  The bag's contents looked absolutely horrid, oats and dried raisins and apples, fit only for a horse. But she was hungry...

  She tossed the stuff by the handful into her mouth, until it was gone. "Have any more?"

  A second small cloth bag came her way.

  After hearing her crunch for a while, Doyle said, "Over here with som
e of that mix."

  She wiped her hands on her buckskin leggings. "Too late. It's all gone."

  "That was enough trail mix for four people. You must be getting your appetite back."

  "If this keeps up, I shall need to let out the seams of my gowns."

  "Good! No fun rubbing down a skinny woman. If you had some meat on you, I would have your top off and we would be wrestling in the grass for your bottoms."

  "Think so?"

  "Know so. Women find me irresistible."

  "Irresistible, eh? Why have you never married, then?"

  The easy banter came to an uneasy conclusion. "I thought we agreed to live in the moment?"

  Lily lumbered to her feet. "Sorry."

  Doyle stood too. He was such a strong man, but not a moment ago he had massaged her back with the gentlest of hands. She reminded herself that those same hands were also capable of violence. How foolish, indeed, to forget that fact.

  He sighed. "You were so young when it happened. No more than a girl. On a good day, I really don't blame you."

  "On a bad day?"

  "You don't want to know. Let's forget it for today."

  Forgetting was easy when one was on top of the world. Up here, in the hills, high above everything, they might have been the only two people on the planet. Only blue skies and mountain pine surrounded them. Nothing touched them up here, not even the past.

  Lily took a deep breath, filling her city lungs with clean Maine air. Today the world was hers. Anything was possible. Even trust.

  She angled her head and listened to a bubbly sound off in the near distance. "Is there a stream through the trees?"

  "Perhaps," he said, much too casually, and deliberately vague.

  "An ordinary stream?" she pressed.

  "An ordinary stream." He chuckled. "With an extraordinary waterfall. It's a damn paradise behind those bushes. Centuries of water passing over them have hollowed out the rocks. The granite is worn so smooth, you can slide down the stone. And green fertile banks cradle the spot on both sides. You will love this place, Lily."

  She spun, arms opened wide. "I already do." The sky seemed so close! Close enough to embrace a big, white, puffy cloud.

  "How can you give all of this up for Boston?" he asked, solemnly. "How did you ever expect to be happy there? And you haven't been happy in the city. Don't bother to deny it."

  She opened her mouth to do just that, to deny his accusation, but she didn't get the chance: At that moment, a screaming hawk flew within scant inches of their heads, free and proud.

  "Oh, my," Lillian said in wonder. "I had forgotten the hawks."

  "Hunting down his lunch, no doubt. How 'bout you? Still hungry?"

  "Yup. But show me this stream before we stop to eat."

  He grabbed his pack, then her hand. "Come along."

  The sound of rushing water grew louder, and when Lily looked up, she saw the waterfall, spilling like a champagne fountain at a Boston society wedding over an outcropping of stone.

  Doyle smiled down at her. "I know how much you appreciate nature, especially when the landscape is wild and untouched. It's hard to believe that only a couple of months ago all this water was frozen ice on the mountaintop. Spring thaw arrives, down the water races. It has no choice in the matter, no place else to go." He stared intently into her face. "But people do have choices."

  Was he referring to her?

  "I found this spot," he continued, "about five years ago when I spent a month camping. I needed to get away and think about what I would do with the rest of my life. When I came back down off the mountain, I started the book. Hopefully, the place will have the same affect on you. You need to paint again, Lily."

  He removed his shirt. "Hurry up. Get undressed."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "Ex--excuse me?" Lily stuttered.

  "I said, strip off."

  "W-w-why?"

  "For underwater exploring."

  She shivered. "I cannot... I mean ... the water is much too cold for swimming. And, alas, I forgot to pack my swimming costume."

  He removed his shoes and socks. "Sissy! I seem to remember you swimming with Johnny and me in a colder stream than this." His black brow lifted in challenge. "And, as I also recall, you had forgotten your swimming costume that day too."

  Oh, yes. She remembered. Her impetuousness had nearly resulted in disaster the day she had come upon the Donovan brothers swimming naked...

  *

  On a made-up errand for Tony, she knocked on Doyle's office door. She knew the architect was at home because El Diablo was hitched to the post out front, saddled. After receiving no reply, she went looking for Doyle.

  She heard splashing coming from the stream behind the Donovan property. Unashamed of her strong, young body, she stripped to her lawn drawers and chemise and joined the brothers, unannounced and uninvited.

  As usual, Doyle ignored her.

  Hoping to make the elder Donovan jealous, she flirted outrageously with Johnny in the water. But she soon grew bored with her teasing: Johnny was enamored of her, and though she liked him well enough as a friend, he didn't stir her heart ... or her loins.

  She left the stream and stretched out on the grassy bank, drying her hair in the sun.

  Now dressed, John joined her. He leaned in towards her mouth.

  After all that flirting, she figured she owed him at least a kiss. So she allowed him to kiss her. She needed the experience if she ever hoped to attract Doyle...

  But when his hand found its way to her bosom, she pushed him away.

  John was her age, just coming into manhood, and she was wearing only her clingy underclothes; having been teased, he wouldn't accept her rebuff.

  "No, Johnny," she cried, as he ripped at her chemise to get at her unfettered breasts.

  And then he was atop her, his tongue in her mouth, holding her down, yanking at her drawers. She screamed.

  Doyle pulled Johnny off of her.

  "Go home," he spoke tersely to his younger brother. "And wait for me there."

  With John gone, she braced herself for the full brunt of Doyle's disapproval. She hated the thought of displeasing him, of disappointing him. She didn't know why she kept behaving as she did. She was normally so level headed...

  Save when it came to Doyle. All reason was lost when it came to the man she loved.

  " Please don't think badly of me," she pleaded.

  "Rape is a consequence a female risks when she swims alone with two naked men. You led Johnny to believe you were willing to mate with him," he said sternly.

  "I didn't mean to..."

  He squatted down in front of her. "Take down your drawers."

  She swallowed. Hard. She was a virgin, and nervous. "All the way off?" she prevaricated.

  "All the way off, Lily," he said, his tone brooking no argument.

  "Will you strap me again?" she asked, her excitement growing.

  "Corporal punishment doesn't appear to help the situation. In fact, it only seems to exacerbate the situation," he said dryly.

  "I don't understand..."

  "The last time, you climaxed as soon as my belt touched your posterior."

  "Climax?" she repeated, seeking further clarification; her grandmother hadn't explained that word to her.

  He let out a sigh. "Lily," he said patiently. "You like my discipline just a little too much. For that reason, I think it's best if I touch you as little as possible from now on."

  "But I like it when you touch me."

  "The rub is, you would like it no matter what man touched you. You need to learn discretion."

  "Unfair! It's your touch I long for, Doyle."

  But he had ignored her protestation in favor of watching her peel the damp drawers down her legs. At her belly button she came to a stop.

  "Any lower, and you will see my kitty."

  "The word is pussy, sweetheart, and yes, I intend to see it. Not to worry, I won't hurt you. And please, Lily, do not say you wish me to hurt you. You
are far too young for that sort of play and I am not quite that much of a cad."

  When she was naked from the waist down, she waited for his next instruction.

  "Legs bent up to your belly. Knees opened wide. No need for shyness with me, sweetheart. I only intend to show you how to pleasure yourself so that never again will you place yourself in a dangerous situation in your need to gain release." He arched a brow. "Unless you masturbate, already?"

  "I don't know what that is."

  "You will after today."

  "Should I bend up my legs now, Doyle?"

  He stared at her hardening nipples under the damp undergarment. "Off with the chemise first. I might just as well show you how to touch your nipples too."

  "Why would I wish to touch my own pips?"

  He thought for a moment. " You see, Lily, a woman's arousal generally begins with her nipples. Stroking them readies her for intercourse."

  She nodded, although her grandmother hadn't mentioned that either, and whipped the chemise over her head.

  When she was completely nude, he said, "Go ahead now. Open your legs." He moved to her feet. "Your pussy is slick with your juices. Is that from kissing John?"

  "I don't love John. I love you," she insisted. "And why do you call it a pussy?" she asked primly. "Nana calls that region of a woman's body her vagina."

  "Only because your grandmother doesn't own a cock, honey. A man calls the female genitalia a pussy aloud, and a cunt in his thoughts. Your pussy is particularly delicious. Have you let a boy's finger or cock or tongue inside it yet?"

  "Certainly not!" she replied, incensed that he would think she would let anyone else but him touch her privates. Only he had seen her naked, only his finger had pleasured her. She loved only him! Why would he not understand the depth of her feelings?

  "Breech your slit with a finger," he said.

  When she did, he said, "At the top of your sex it is where your clit is nestled."

  Another fact her grandmother had failed to mention.

  "Stimulate the little nub with your finger while you stoke your nipple."

  "Yes, Doyle," she said, loving that she had his undivided attention, loving that he kept staring, as though transfixed, between her legs. He admired her body, she could tell.