Beneath the Apple Leaves(72)
Her mouth dropped and her eyes beaded angrily. “You think that’s why I was mad at you?” Her eyebrows drew together like magnets. “You don’t think being with a prostitute had anything to do with it?” she accused hotly.
The word hung in the air and drifted, left him momentarily speechless. “A prostitute? H-h-how did—? Wh-h-ho—” he stuttered.
The hurt grabbed again, the sting renewed and as fresh as that day at the baseball field. She gathered up her skirt and turned to stand. “Just go.”
“Wait.” He clutched her arm. “Lily, wait.” She tugged at her limb, but he held tight. “I was never with a prostitute.”
“Don’t lie to me, Andrew! Fritz told me how you were with her.”
“Fritz.” Andrew rubbed his eyes. “Fritz didn’t know what he was saying. I did see one of those . . . ladies, but—”
Lily jerked from his hold and he stood quickly, pressing his hand against his aching rib. “But not like that. I swear, Lily. Just listen to me for a second. Okay? Just let me explain.”
Reluctant, she sat back down, her head hanging low.
“My uncle brought me to Pittsburgh, brought me to that . . . woman.” He tried to make sense of the words. “I had no idea until we got there. I swear. But Lily, I didn’t do anything with her. Didn’t lay a hand on her, I swear.”
She sneered and crossed her arms.
“Listen, Lily. You’ve got to believe me. I’d never be with a woman like that. Never on my life. And I told her so.”
“But Fritz said—”
“Fritz didn’t understand. Please believe me, Lily.” He took her hand gently and stared into her eyes. “I swear on the life of my father, I was never with that woman.”
Her eyes lifted and scanned his face, tried to read the depth of the blue eyes for truth. His face melted with remorse and begged for understanding, his gentle fingers gripping her limp hand. “That’s not how I want to be with a woman, Lily. Not like that. Not ever like that.” His lips moved, then stopped. “There’s only one woman I want to share a kiss with,” he whispered. “Only one woman I want to be with in that way.”
She softened. For the first time since that autumn day, she relaxed from her toes to her forehead. “Really?”
“Really.”
The hope entered and brought its own brand of terror. The relief blinded and she needed to see, couldn’t bear to be a fool. But Lily drifted. This man flowed into her marrow and her blood and burned along their paths.
Andrew wrapped his arm around her and she buried her face into his warm neck, the smell of his skin disintegrating any restraint. “I’m so sorry, Lily.” He sighed into her hair, his breath seeping into her pores. “No wonder you hated me.”
He kissed her forehead, pulled back to look at her face. “Please talk to me, Lily,” he pleaded. “Tell me you believe me.”
She fell into the contours of his figure. The strong, straight nose; the lean neck; the lips that belonged upon her own; the wide shoulders that had blocked Dan Simpson. Lily nodded. “I believe you.” The sound of her voice scared her, the weakness of it, the pure surrender to the man who had shattered her heart without intent. A tear dropped, bloated and singular, from the corner of her eye. “I’m scared,” she breathed.
Andrew’s lips parted, his face sanguine and filled with compassion. “I’m not going to hurt you, Lily.” He met her green eyes and held them as with arms. “Not ever.”
She rolled into his neck again and he held her just as he had on the first day they had met. He held her without movement, without disruption, let her emotions settle and translate as they needed, for as long as they needed.
He smiled into her hair. “I can’t believe this whole winter I could have been snuggling with you next to the fire instead of you sitting in your house cursing me. I’m such an idiot.”
She grinned against the skin, tilted her chin to look up at him. He lowered his mouth to hers then, the soft lips grazing, the tips of their tongues touching lightly. He pulled her closer, kissed her top lip and then the bottom, before taking them both languidly. His hand etched the outline of her jaw, traced the curve of her ear, slid to her neck and cradled her head.
Lily pulled back in distress. “Your lip.” Gingerly, she touched his swollen face. “It must hurt.”
But he only grinned and bent to kiss her again.
CHAPTER 35
Lily grew feathers and stretched in the tepid wind. Freedom. A world in bloom wiped away the grime of winter and painted the earth in living color. She let down her hair, rich in golden curls from the conditioned months of French braids. She wore no sweater and her skin exhaled from the pores. Before she had left the house, she had opened every window and every door to banish the ghosts and invite the spring herald. And with the shoots of renewal, her heart opened, called out a name—a face and body—that left her warm and aching.
Lily paced in front of the doughy, black Kiser lane debating the safety of heading down the muddy slope. One wrong step and she’d tumble and roll and plop into the running water below.
Above the sound of the rushing creek, Andrew cupped his hand and hollered, “Stay there! I’m coming up for you.”
His gallant order thrilled her, brought a tingle of pride to have him coming to her aid. She smiled widely, gave thanks to the blue swollen sky and the full sun and the tall, muscular body working its way to meet her.