Love, Come to Me(35)

Heath bent over her and pressed her down on the flat surface of the rock, his forearm supporting the back of her neck. She caught a glimpse of the beginnings of sunrise lightening the sky, and aware of what their closeness would lead to if she didn’t stop him, she tried to struggle away.

“Don’t. It’s all right. Don’t be afraid,” he murmured against her throat, savoring the taste of her fragile skin against his lips. His body eased over hers, and his mouth muffled what she had been about to say. Through their clothes she felt his thigh intrude between hers, riding against the vulnerable softness of her. It was surprisingly natural to be fitted against his body like this. Lucy slid her hands underneath his shirt and across his wide back, exploring the silken surface of it until she reached a long diagonal scar. Slowly she raised her hand to touch the scar at his temple, pulling her mouth away from his. His eyes burned with a steady blue flame as he looked down at her.

“Where?” she asked breathlessly. “Where did you get this?”

“The war.”

“All of them?”

“Yes. Do they offend you?”

“No . . . I . . . don’t like to think of someone trying to hurt you.”

He smiled slightly. “I wasn’t enthusiastic about it myself.”

“Heath, let me go.”

He couldn’t. His willpower had vanished. “One more minute. Just one more.”

She closed her eyes and shivered as he kissed her throat. His lips searched out the most vulnerable places and lingered over them. “Why did you move up North?” she asked, trying to divert his attention. Her hands pushed at his chest.

“Because you’re here.”

She laughed shakily. “No that’s not why . . . that’s not . . . oh, Heath . . .”

His lips were at the highest slope of her breast, and she could feel his fingers tugging at the buttons of her basque. “Please, you can’t—”

“I’m just going to kiss you.”

“No, I don’t want . . .”

But his lips had slid down an inch, and then another, and then his mouth was on the tender peak. She felt her nipple contract inside his mouth, responding to the feathery strokes of his tongue, and she moaned deep in her throat. A terrible struggle raged inside her—it was wrong, she shouldn’t encourage him—but what he was doing felt so good that soon she didn’t care. Her fingers twined in his hair, tightening as she felt his hand skimming the surface of her bodice. Boldly his hand slipped inside her dress, cupping her breast and stroking the tip of it with his thumb.

She was dissolving in a warm, heavy rain of feeling: the weight of his body on top of hers; the tickling hotness of his mouth on her skin; the hard strength of his muscles, able to crush her but imprisoning her so gently; his low, unsteady breathing; the pulse that beat so feverishly.

“This is what it’s like,” he said huskily, “to have a man want you more than anything else . . . who would kill to have you—”

“You’ve got to stop—”

“Not yet.” He took her mouth in a scalding kiss, and she thought dizzily that after this she would make him stop—after one more kiss. Her slender hands slid across his shoulders, holding him closer as he bent his head to whisper her name. “Lucy . . . my Lucy . . . God, how I want you . . .” His hand covered her breast again, massaging gently. Her toes curling, she went boneless, lying helplessly underneath him and groaning his name. Her heart pleaded silently for it to last forever. But just as she writhed closer to him, she heard a woman’s sharp cry.

Startled out of the haze of pleasure, Lucy opened her eyes. Her lips red and swollen, she looked groggily to the side where the sound had come from. Standing only a few feet away were Daniel and Sally, both of them white-faced.

Heath cursed viciously, sitting up and pulling Lucy behind him in one swift movement.

“We . . . we were looking for you . . . Lucy,” Sally stuttered, her hands going to her mouth; then she turned and ran off, her feet crashing noisily through the leaves.

Daniel did nothing except look at the pair of them, his expression of shock gradually changing into hate. The forest was still except for the sound of rustling leaves. His bitter brown eyes met taunting blue ones; then Daniel smiled faintly.

“I would put a bullet right between your eyes,” he said to Heath in a thin voice, “but you’re not worth the trouble.”

Lucy buried her face in her hands, listening to the sound of Daniel walking away. The heat of passion faded from her body and left her with a cold, sick feeling.

Lucy would never forget the misery of the ride back home, during which every one of the Hosmers stared at her wordlessly. Mrs. Hosmer drew her youngest son under her wing and watched Lucy balefully, as if she thought Lucy was a threat to the moral health of her family. After they were dropped off, Lucy sat alone in the parlor while her father went downstairs and minded the store. She couldn’t think straight. She merely stared at the wall and sorted through bits and pieces of what had happened, over and over again. She prepared lunch mechanically and set the table, wiping the endless stream of tears from her cheeks. Lucas Caldwell’s feet were unusually light on the steps, as if he dreaded having to face her as much as she dreaded it.

“How was business?” Lucy asked in a quavering voice. There was a feeling of unreality about the whole situation. How could they talk about commonplace things when her whole life was upside-down?