Coming Up Roses

by Catherine Anderson

  Cupping a hand over the back of her head, he pressed her face to his shoulder, muffling whatever else she meant to say. The urgency of his embrace spoke more eloquently than words. Relief eased the tension from her body, for she knew by his touch that he understood.

  She turned her face slightly. "Oh, Zachariah."

  For what seemed an endless time, they stood there wrapped in silence, bodies pressed together so tightly that it seemed to Kate their hearts beat as one. When at last he drew away, he lifted his hands and slowly began pulling the pins from her hair. When that task was completed, he gently loosened her braid with deft fingers. Her hair fell like an untied silken drapery down her back.

  "Remember the night you told me how it makes you feel when you see the first rays of sunlight come across the sky at dawn?" he asked softly.

  Battling tears, Kate smiled at the memory. "As if I've been reborn?"

  He framed her face between his hands. "That's how you make me feel when I look at you. And it's how I want to make you feel when I make love to you."

  Kate closed her eyes on that, touched by the aching sincerity in his voice.

  "We can turn our backs on the past," he whispered. "As far as I'm concerned, we never have to speak Joseph's name again. But only under one condition. I want you to promise me if anything I do ever starts to frighten you that you'll tell me. Agreed?"

  "Yes, but—" She lifted her eyelashes to look into his eyes. "Oh, Zachariah, I'm not frightened. Just a bit apprehensive, that's all. I'm not certain what to expect from you."

  "Ecstasy," was his husky reply.

  Very gently, he pressed her back against the wall and put some distance between them so his hands were free to unbutton her shirtwaist. Kate resisted the urge to catch his wrists. Inch by inch, her bodice parted and fell from her breasts, leaving only the muslin of her chemise to shield her from his gaze. Next, he unfastened the waistband of her skirt. Kate closed her eyes when he skimmed his warm hands down her arms to peel away her sleeves.

  Cloth rustled and fell to the floor in a whisper. Her heart was pounding so loudly she felt certain he might hear it.

  A tug on the drawstring at her waist sent her petticoats the way of her skirt. An instant later, she felt her bloomers sliding over her hips and down her legs to lie at her ankles. He knelt on one knee to remove her shoes and stockings. Then he stood and began the task of untying the ribbons of her chemise.

  Kate dragged in a searing breath and held it as his fingertips eased the muslin apart. Until now, she had never stood naked in front of a man. With an agonizing slowness, he drew the cloth down her arms, trailing in its path feather-light fingertips that electrified her skin.

  "You're beautiful, Katie," he whispered.

  Kate exhaled in a rush, longing to press close to him so he couldn't continue to stand there and look his fill.

  "Zachariah, don't do this to me," she pleaded in a tremulous voice. "I'm not quite ready for this."

  "You will be. Just let me get a running start here."

  She blinked. "I thought we had started."

  Chuckling under his breath, he toyed lightly with the tips of her fingers, then drew his touch slowly over the palms of her hands, up to her wrists, then higher to the sensitive bend of her arms. His laughter died as suddenly as it had come to be replaced by an almost worshipful concentration, all fixed on her. The sensations he elicited were so acute, so tantalizing, that Kate could scarcely breathe. He touched her as though he meant to sculpt her, his fingers whispering over the flesh of her arms, tracing the curves and hollows, lingering, then moving on, only to stop and hover again as if to memorize each line. By the time he reached the slope of her shoulders, the V of her collarbone, the tendons along her throat, Kate couldn't form the words to ask him to stop.

  When he pressed the pads of his thumbs under her jaw to lift her face, she was shivering from head to toe, and her breathing had become ragged. A dizzying swirl of blacks and grays filled her mind, and she closed her eyes again to keep her balance. Behind her eyelids, the shades spiraled to pinpoints, then blossomed as his silken lips brushed across hers.

  "Oh, Katie, you're so sweet. Every time I make love to you, I'm going to be on my knees afterward, thanking God with every breath I take for sending me an angel."

  With his lips still a breath away from hers, he trailed his wondrous touch back down her throat once again to trace the shape of her collarbone. When his fingertips ventured downward from there, Kate caught her breath, her entire being focused on each caress. Slowly, so slowly. Her blood felt as though it were as thick as molasses, slugging through her veins with a resonant thrumming that beat against her eardrums in a hypnotizing staccato.

  Dimly, she realized he was playing her as though she were a string instrument, her body his fingerboard, her tautly strung nerve endings the strings from which he plucked his notes. The melody that rose within her made her recall the music her mother had loved and shared with her when she was a child. Attending a symphony, hearing the music, being surrounded by it, feeling it to her bones. That was how Zachariah made her feel, as though she drifted on the notes of a light, graceful allegretto. As surely as she breathed, she knew the moment he touched her throbbing breasts that the pitch would reach a crescendo.

  Anticipation stilled her lungs. The room around her fell away, and there was only this man and his clever, masterful hands. Her skin quivered at his every touch. The aureoles of her nipples swelled, the tips pebbled and eager to be kissed by moonlight and the brush of his fingertips. As if he sensed that, he circled those pinpoints of yearning, setting her flesh afire all around them, denying her what he had made her want most.

  Kate sobbed at the sheer frustration of it, and mindless with need, she grabbed his wrists to guide his hands. Such wonderful, glorious hands. They cupped her with searing heat, the calloused surface of his palms chafing tender peaks, each electrifying contact stirring another need deep within her that only he could slake.

  She leaned against him, forgetting all her preconceived notions about propriety of behavior. For propriety to exist, there had to be a world, and Zachariah had become her only reality. It felt so wonderfully sweet when he skimmed his large hands along her ribs to test her waist and the softness of her bottom. So wonderfully, wonderfully right when he lifted her against him and settled his hungry mouth over hers.

  She moaned. His breath spilled into her in a ragged rush. When he moved in a dizzying circle with her crushed to his chest, she likened it to a swirl in a waltz, the melodious scale to which they danced trilling octave by octave up the cordillera of her spine, each thrum of her heart a harmonious drumbeat.

  Need. An urgent need. A longing so poignant, so acute she nearly wept with it. Kate clung to him. When he touched his tongue to her lips, she opened her mouth, willing to engage in yet another new intimacy simply because he had asked it of her.

  Only vaguely aware, Kate felt him carrying her toward the bed, felt the bunching of muscle in his chest and arms as he struggled out of his shirt, never once turning her loose. Denim rasped down the front of her legs. Boots thunked. Pocket change clinked and rolled across the floor. And then there was only the silken heat of flesh against flesh. Kate gasped at the shock of it and dug her nails into his shoulders.

  "Your wish," he reminded her raggedly. "Melting into me and ceasing to exist, remember? That's what it's all about, Katie girl. Making love, becoming one. No more Kate, no more Zach. Melting into each other, getting lost in one another, until all that's left is the magic."

  Kate felt the down mattress pillow around her as he lowered her gently onto it. When she realized where she was, she started to stiffen, but then Zachariah was beside her and everything else moved away. With one sweep of his hand over her body, she was mindless.

  "I love you, Katie girl," he whispered. "I want to taste and memorize every inch of you. Every precious inch so I'll have the memories while you're away from me."

  With his hands and
mouth, he proceeded to do just that. And Kate surrendered all that she was to him. No part of her body was left untouched, unkissed. He traced each line on her palms with his tongue, learned the shape of her ears, the slope of her brows. By the time she felt the silken heat of his mouth at her breast, she was strung so taut with need that she arched toward him like a bow. When he slid a hand up her inner thigh, she raised her hips to meet him.

  Zachariah. His name became a one-word lyric to the song within her. She loved him with such intensity she ached with it. When his fingertips found the honeyed center of her, she gasped at the sheer pleasure that rocked through her. When her body sheathed the white-hot shaft of his manhood, the pleasure was intensified by a sense of rightness, and Kate finally understood what loving this man truly meant. Oneness. A sense of completeness.

  Nothing held back. It was beauty at its most exquisite, so sweet, so perfect that she wept.

  Partly buried within her, he froze. "Are you all right, Katie?" he rasped. "You're so small. I don't want to hurt you."

  Gazing up at him through tears, Kate ran her hands over the broad shoulders above her, along the rippled arms that braced his weight, over his flat belly. When her shyly seeking fingertips encountered the base of his staff, he gasped and moaned her name.

  "Don't," he bit out. "I'm having trouble enough holding back as it is."

  Instinctively, Kate curled her legs around his steely thighs, her invitation as old as womankind. "I don't want you to hold back. I've given myself to you. Now give yourself to me."

  "I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

  Clutching his shoulders, Kate lifted her hips and took all of him. "I've had a child, Zachariah. You're not going to hurt me, I promise you."

  A violent shudder ran through his body. "Are you sure you didn't find her under a cabbage leaf?"

  A startled giggle erupted from Kate. At the sound, a smile touched his mouth. He executed a careful stroke, driving gently home. Her little laugh ended with a gasp, and she dug her nails into his skin.

  "Are you all right?"

  With a muted moan, she arched into him with urgent need. It was answer enough, and he set a cautious rhythm.

  Darkness and moonlight, limbs intertwined, heat then fire. Kate felt as though she were soaring. The sensation of having him inside her was just as he had once said it should be. Glorious. There was nothing and no one but him.

  Zachariah, lifting her, pushing her inexorably toward a sweet promise. Ecstasy. With a final series of thrusts, he took her over the edge into a swirling vortex of feeling that went beyond the ecstasy to sheer rapture. Jolt after jolt of it. Rocking through her body, spasm after spasm.

  Afterward, Kate was too exhausted to move, and she felt as though her body were buried under a thousand pounds of vibrant, muscular flesh. Zachariah. The heat of him radiated to her bones. His ridged belly convulsed against hers with every ragged breath he drew. The pounding of his heart vibrated through her, muting the patter of hers. She felt a whiskery jaw against her cheek, a padded shoulder under her chin, large hands manacling her wrists, long legs anchoring hers apart. His heavy sex was still buried within her, their skin slick with sweat.

  Barnyard beasts. The memory came to Kate from out of nowhere, and she closed her eyes on a surge of joy that brought with it an hysterical urge to giggle. Draping an arm around his neck, she lost the battle and gave a weak laugh.

  "What?" He turned his head to nip her ear. "Did I do something funny?"

  More wild laughter swelled in Kate's chest. Another giggle escaped from her despite her efforts to hold it back.

  "What?" he demanded, his voice taut with stung pride. "Jesus, Kate, you're not supposed to break up laughing after I—"

  "My dignity," she managed to squeak. "You promised to keep it intact, if you'll recall, and I'm just wondering where you stashed it. Under the bed, maybe?"

  She felt his mouth curve in a grin against her ear. "I slipped it under the pillow," he whispered huskily. "Want it back?"

  "Not if you hid your socks under there with it."

  He barked with laughter and rolled to one side, carrying her along in the circle of his arm. After draping her naked torso across his, he flashed her a rakish grin. "I did promise to keep my socks on, didn't I? Sorry. I got so wrapped up in preserving your dignity and trying to remember all the rules of decorum, I flat forgot."

  Looking into his moon-silvered gaze, Kate lost her smile. With tremulous fingertips, she traced the network of scars along his cheek, then bent her head to kiss them. He clamped a hand over the back of her head.

  "If I told you all the things I imagined you might do to me in the marriage bed, you'd be laughing with me," she informed him in a tight voice. "Every time I even thought about it, I wanted to shrivel in mortification. I was terrified you'd go about coupling like a barnyard beast."

  He tucked in his chin to meet her gaze. "What in hell did you think I meant to do?"

  Her voice went even tighter. "Exactly what you did."

  For an instant, he lay perfectly still and silent beneath her, then she felt his chest jerk. A strangled laugh came up his throat. Then another. Kate pressed her face against his neck and laughed with him. Until she was weak. A laughter that cleansed and healed as tears never could. And in that, Kate found the magic she had long since ceased to believe existed, the miracles she no longer dreamed could happen, and the peace that had evaded her for so long. All because this big, powerful, absolutely wonderful man held her close and laughed with her—at the nightmares, at the pain, at the heartache—helping her to bid it all good-bye, forever.

  "I love you, Zachariah."

  "I'm beginning to believe you truly do," he whispered, and turned his dark head so her lips settled over his. After a long, drugging kiss, he asked, "Would you mind if I left your dignity stashed under the pillow for a while longer, Mrs. McGovern?"

  "Just what, exactly, do you have in mind," she queried in a throaty whisper.

  Clamping his large hands at her waist, he drew her upward on his chest until her breasts were within easy reach of his lips. A little shocked at her brazenness, Kate braced her arms to accommodate him and moaned softly with pleasure as the velvety wet heat of his mouth closed over her nipple.

  After tormenting her for several delicious moments, he drew back. "Well? Make your choice," he said with a devilish grin. "Me or your dignity. You can't have both."

  As far as Kate was concerned, that was no choice at all. He made love to her again, slow, languorous loving that was so sweet, so incredibly fantastic, that Kate's mind reeled at the sheer wonder of it.

  Afterward, he reared up on an elbow, planted a light kiss on the end of her nose, and whispered, "Thank you, ma'am."

  Kate giggled and nipped his lower lip. "That isn't nice."

  His teeth gleamed white in another rakish grin. "I don't want to completely abandon all decorum and shock you."

  Laughing with him again felt nearly as wonderful as making love with him had. She wiggled a toe along the arch of his foot. He bent his leg to escape and lowered his head to nibble her ribs, which sent her into instant fits of shrill giggles. He muffled her mouth with his hand and continued to tickle her until she lay weak beneath him.

  Completely sated, completely content, and happier than she could recall ever having been.

  * * *

  One night. It was all they would have for a very long while, and Kate half expected Zachariah to spend it making love to her until dawn. And he did. But, as he had from the beginning, he never did things exactly the way she expected. After physically taking her a third time, he threw on his jeans, helped her into her chemise, and led her in a tiptoed ascent of the stairs. For the remainder of the night, they lay four to a bed with a child and a dog, him holding her tightly to the powerful planes of his body, one hand across her midriff, his other resting lightly on her daughter's silken curls.

  Kate snuggled against him and learned yet another new meaning to an old wor
d. Love. It went beyond the joining of two bodies, as wonderful as that part was. It meant sharing and caring. It meant embracing a child together. It meant whispers in the darkness, and smiles that had no meaning yet meant the world. It was knowing another's deepest feelings without being told. It meant making sacrifices simply to please. Love, Zachariah, the two were synonymous, and over the course of that one night, he taught her that lesson well.

  By dawn, Kate felt filled. As though she had lived and loved for a lifetime. No matter what the day brought, she would never feel cheated. One night with Zachariah. It was enough. She wanted more, of course, but if fate said otherwise, the beauty of the simple gifts he had given her would last her.

  When she rose to face the day, Kate stood at the window to savor the dawn's first light, knowing that she might next see it through the bars of a cell window—if she was lucky. If she wasn't and her cell had no window, she might never see it again until she was released. Unless, God forbid, she was found guilty of Joseph's murder.

  Then she might see it next from a scaffold, for executions were usually meted out as the sun came up.

  The thought saddened Kate, but it didn't frighten her. Since giving birth to Miranda, the meaning of her existence had funneled down to one thing, protecting her child into adulthood. Now that had been accomplished. If it was God's will that her life be forfeited for what she had done, then so be it. She could give herself up to an early end knowing her life had had meaning and that her child would have everything any little girl could want.

  Kate wasn't surprised when she felt a pair of strong arms encircle her waist from behind to draw her against a warm, well-padded chest. A smile touched her mouth because to share the dawn with Zachariah made their one night together absolutely and perfectly complete.