Shadows of Yesterday
Page 37
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“God, you are a woman,” he breathed, lowering his head to accept what was so lovingly offered. His mouth was a hot, wet vise that closed around her nipple. He urged her to know his rising manhood by folding his hands at the small of her back and lifting her to it.
Rapturously she clung to him. Her hair swept her naked back as her head tipped in abandonment. His relentless caresses made her weak and she slumped against him.
He carried her to the bed and laid her face down on the pillows. Straddling the backs of her thighs, he massaged her with loving hands that sensitized her whole body and made it quake with desire for him. When his hands had toured her at leisure, his lips followed suit, pausing to give special attention to the backs of her knees. He opened his teeth over the susceptible spot and flicked the fragile skin with his tongue. Heedless of her pleas, he kept up the torment until he, too, had to have more of her.
She rolled to her back at his prompting. His mouth sealed hers in a kiss so voluptuous that she writhed beneath him, seeking fulfillment. “Not yet, not yet,” he whispered. “Let me love you.”
His hands traced the delicate sculpture of her arms, then moved to her breasts. He went on to adore each inch of her skin first with hands, then with lips. All of her was touched, all was kissed, all was loved with the sweetness that was uniquely his.
At last, when they were both trembling with suppressed longing, when each nerve cell was quivering for the melding of their bodies, he held her hips in his hands, lifting her to bury himself deep inside her. The love words he chanted in her ear, without meter, without rhyme, were genuine poetry.
His loving thrusts stoked the fires of their passion until they were forged together by a conflagration of spirits as well as of bodies. It took a long time for the fire to burn itself out.
Still harbored inside her, still spent from trying to withstand the tempest, Chad lifted his head and pierced her with fevered eyes. “Will you marry me?”
Half-laughing, half-sobbing with the wonder and joy of loving him, she said, “Yes. Yes, my love, I’ll marry you.”
Chapter Nine
“You can’t be serious.” Lois Jackson didn’t even try to disguise her disbelief. Leigh watched as her mother shot a look of consternation at her husband, who seemed equally disbelieving. Leigh took a deep breath and prepared for the inevitable battle. “I’m very serious, Mother. Also very happy. I love Chad. He loves me and Sarah. We’re getting married on New Year’s Day.”
Had the topic not been so important, Leigh would have laughed at her parents’ astounded expressions. She had called them and asked them to drive to Midland for the day. She hadn’t told them why. Now that they had inquired into her health and the baby’s, poured themselves a cup of coffee from one of her new coffeemakers, exclaiming how glad they were that she had finally deigned to get one, and taken their favorite seats in her living room, she had calmly announced that she was to be married within weeks.
“But, Leigh, that’s… that’s highly improper, for one thing. Greg’s barely been dead”
“He’s been dead over a year, Mother. I think that period of mourning should satisfy even the most stringent sense of decorum.”
“Don’t be flippant with me, Leigh. It’s irritating. Especially under the circumstances.”
“I’m sorry.” She had known it wasn’t going to be easy to tell her parents about her forthcoming marriage, but she hadn’t bargained on its being quite so hard. Chad had wanted to be with her, to lend his support in a situation she had predicted wouldn’t be pleasant, but she had refused. Knowing her mother’s waspish tongue, she had thought it better to take the first onslaught alone.
“Leigh,” her father said in a tone more kindly than her mother’s, “could it be that you’ve formed a fondness for this young man because he delivered your baby? Perhaps if you give the relationship time, you’ll see that what you’re feeling isn’t love but gratitude.”
She smiled privately and her thoughts went back to the night she had accepted Chad’s proposal. Lying in Chad’s arms, wonderfully tired from their lovemaking, she had tilted her head back from the crook of his shoulder to kiss his chin, and whisper, “Thank you.”
His eyes were closed, but one thick brow cocked in query. “For what?”
“For loving me.”
A soft rumble of laughter echoed from his chest into her ear. “It was my pleasure.”
She smiled. “Thank you for that, too,” she said, trailing her finger down the tapering line of hair on his stomach. “But I meant thank you for loving me. And Sarah. Not all men would want to rear someone else’s child.”
He opened his eyes then and turned his head on the pillow they shared. “It’s strange, but I’ve always felt as if she were mine. Physically she looks like you, not Greg as you’ve described him to me, and then, too, I was there when she was born. As far as I’m concerned, she is unquestionably, ‘ours.’ ”
She had hugged him fiercely. “Would you ever consider adopting her? Making her name legally Dillon?”
“I’d love that, but I would never have asked you for it. Biologically she is Greg’s.”
“Yes, and I’ll want her to know that, to know about him. But he had no family after his mother, Sarah, died. You’re the only daddy my Sarah will ever have, and I think she’d rather share our name. All things considered, it would be much less confusing.”
“I want both of you to have my name. As soon as possible.”
Leigh’s face glowed warm at the memory of the kiss that followed. Yes, she had many reasons to be grateful to Charles Dean Dillon. She addressed both her parents. “I’ll be eternally thankful that Chad came upon me that day, that he was man enough to do what he did with sensitivity and care. But that’s not where my feelings stop. I love him. I want him to be my husband, my lover.”
“Oh, my God,” Lois groaned and placed her fluttering hand against her throat. “Leigh, you’re a new mother. Listen to yourself. Harve, say something,” she hissed to Leigh’s father. Never giving him a chance to obey her, she launched into her next string of objections.
“You told us yourself that night in the hospital that he looked like he could use money, a reward for helping you. Does he have a job? What does he do?”
Rapturously she clung to him. Her hair swept her naked back as her head tipped in abandonment. His relentless caresses made her weak and she slumped against him.
He carried her to the bed and laid her face down on the pillows. Straddling the backs of her thighs, he massaged her with loving hands that sensitized her whole body and made it quake with desire for him. When his hands had toured her at leisure, his lips followed suit, pausing to give special attention to the backs of her knees. He opened his teeth over the susceptible spot and flicked the fragile skin with his tongue. Heedless of her pleas, he kept up the torment until he, too, had to have more of her.
She rolled to her back at his prompting. His mouth sealed hers in a kiss so voluptuous that she writhed beneath him, seeking fulfillment. “Not yet, not yet,” he whispered. “Let me love you.”
His hands traced the delicate sculpture of her arms, then moved to her breasts. He went on to adore each inch of her skin first with hands, then with lips. All of her was touched, all was kissed, all was loved with the sweetness that was uniquely his.
At last, when they were both trembling with suppressed longing, when each nerve cell was quivering for the melding of their bodies, he held her hips in his hands, lifting her to bury himself deep inside her. The love words he chanted in her ear, without meter, without rhyme, were genuine poetry.
His loving thrusts stoked the fires of their passion until they were forged together by a conflagration of spirits as well as of bodies. It took a long time for the fire to burn itself out.
Still harbored inside her, still spent from trying to withstand the tempest, Chad lifted his head and pierced her with fevered eyes. “Will you marry me?”
Half-laughing, half-sobbing with the wonder and joy of loving him, she said, “Yes. Yes, my love, I’ll marry you.”
Chapter Nine
“You can’t be serious.” Lois Jackson didn’t even try to disguise her disbelief. Leigh watched as her mother shot a look of consternation at her husband, who seemed equally disbelieving. Leigh took a deep breath and prepared for the inevitable battle. “I’m very serious, Mother. Also very happy. I love Chad. He loves me and Sarah. We’re getting married on New Year’s Day.”
Had the topic not been so important, Leigh would have laughed at her parents’ astounded expressions. She had called them and asked them to drive to Midland for the day. She hadn’t told them why. Now that they had inquired into her health and the baby’s, poured themselves a cup of coffee from one of her new coffeemakers, exclaiming how glad they were that she had finally deigned to get one, and taken their favorite seats in her living room, she had calmly announced that she was to be married within weeks.
“But, Leigh, that’s… that’s highly improper, for one thing. Greg’s barely been dead”
“He’s been dead over a year, Mother. I think that period of mourning should satisfy even the most stringent sense of decorum.”
“Don’t be flippant with me, Leigh. It’s irritating. Especially under the circumstances.”
“I’m sorry.” She had known it wasn’t going to be easy to tell her parents about her forthcoming marriage, but she hadn’t bargained on its being quite so hard. Chad had wanted to be with her, to lend his support in a situation she had predicted wouldn’t be pleasant, but she had refused. Knowing her mother’s waspish tongue, she had thought it better to take the first onslaught alone.
“Leigh,” her father said in a tone more kindly than her mother’s, “could it be that you’ve formed a fondness for this young man because he delivered your baby? Perhaps if you give the relationship time, you’ll see that what you’re feeling isn’t love but gratitude.”
She smiled privately and her thoughts went back to the night she had accepted Chad’s proposal. Lying in Chad’s arms, wonderfully tired from their lovemaking, she had tilted her head back from the crook of his shoulder to kiss his chin, and whisper, “Thank you.”
His eyes were closed, but one thick brow cocked in query. “For what?”
“For loving me.”
A soft rumble of laughter echoed from his chest into her ear. “It was my pleasure.”
She smiled. “Thank you for that, too,” she said, trailing her finger down the tapering line of hair on his stomach. “But I meant thank you for loving me. And Sarah. Not all men would want to rear someone else’s child.”
He opened his eyes then and turned his head on the pillow they shared. “It’s strange, but I’ve always felt as if she were mine. Physically she looks like you, not Greg as you’ve described him to me, and then, too, I was there when she was born. As far as I’m concerned, she is unquestionably, ‘ours.’ ”
She had hugged him fiercely. “Would you ever consider adopting her? Making her name legally Dillon?”
“I’d love that, but I would never have asked you for it. Biologically she is Greg’s.”
“Yes, and I’ll want her to know that, to know about him. But he had no family after his mother, Sarah, died. You’re the only daddy my Sarah will ever have, and I think she’d rather share our name. All things considered, it would be much less confusing.”
“I want both of you to have my name. As soon as possible.”
Leigh’s face glowed warm at the memory of the kiss that followed. Yes, she had many reasons to be grateful to Charles Dean Dillon. She addressed both her parents. “I’ll be eternally thankful that Chad came upon me that day, that he was man enough to do what he did with sensitivity and care. But that’s not where my feelings stop. I love him. I want him to be my husband, my lover.”
“Oh, my God,” Lois groaned and placed her fluttering hand against her throat. “Leigh, you’re a new mother. Listen to yourself. Harve, say something,” she hissed to Leigh’s father. Never giving him a chance to obey her, she launched into her next string of objections.
“You told us yourself that night in the hospital that he looked like he could use money, a reward for helping you. Does he have a job? What does he do?”
