Dear Sir, I'm Yours (17 page)

She made a sound that made him laugh and roll over onto his side.

“You like my hands, darlin’?”

“Nobody’s got hands like you.”

He couldn’t help but give her a very lecherous wink. “That’s what Victor said, too.”

Lips quirked with amusement, she replied, “For very different reasons, obviously.”

Nodding, he continued the story. “The big college decision came closer and closer, and I became quieter and more worried by the minute. I wanted to go to Southern Methodist and study English, reading to my heart’s content. But they have a shitty football program, and Texas A&M was already courting me. Hell, even University of Texas came calling, and Daddy and Victor both would have killed me before they let me join the Horns. Still, in my mind, I decided they’d rather I play there than not at all.”

Even years later, he remembered the heart-wrenching decision he’d made after agonizing many a sleepless night, wrestling with his heart’s desire and his imagined duty. “Finally, I decided to go to Texas A&M and play ball with Victor. I put away my treasured books, and it was like cutting my heart out. I mourned, silently, or so I thought. I sat out on the porch with my tattered copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets, rocking in the porch swing for hours. Daddy came out and stood on the porch.”

Conn smiled at the memory: his father standing tall and strong, a black mountain backlit by the homestead’s warm glow. Even on the verge of manhood himself, he’d imagined his father invincible. “Now Daddy was a hard, extremely quiet man. He never raised his voice and very rarely ever had to spank us when we were little, because he had that look, you know?”

“My daddy has that same look, even in a wheelchair.” Nodding, she arched a brow at him, a teasing look sparking in her eyes. “You’ve got that look too, when you want to.”

“Strikes fear into you, does it?” Despite the light joking tone, he watched her face carefully to see if he truly scared her. Playfully, she slugged him in the chest, easing his tension. “Well, I’ve got nothing like my daddy’s look. He’d won Colonel Healy’s approval to marry his daughter, and let me tell you, Colonel Healy was one tough bird. He took shit off nobody, not even Miss Belle, although she got away with more than most. That night, Daddy said:

“‘I miss those days you and Victor played catch all night in the yard. He loved playing ball, but he loved playing with you more. He loved it more than he wanted to breathe.’ He turned and gave me that heavy stare that was enough to send me running to do whatever chore I’d neglected. ‘Son, what do you want to do more than breathe?’

“Now this took every ounce of my courage, but I stood up, clutching that precious book in my hands, and I blurted out the truth. ‘I want to study English. I want to teach. I love it, Daddy, and I don’t love football. But I love Victor and you, and if you want me to play, I will.’

“‘You do what you love, son. You go read your books. Life’s too short not to spend every waking moment doing something you love.’

“He was one amazing man,” Conn whispered, his chest tightening with love and grief, both. “He died right after I got my bachelor’s degree. He came to SMU and cheered for me as hard as he did Victor, in his quiet way, of course. I never knew he was sick when I moved off to Duke to get my doctorate. Mama called me home just in time to say goodbye. I’ll never forget how scared I was, though, heading off to the college of my choice, living my dream, afraid I’d fail, or worse.”

Rae stirred beside him, drawing his attention to her. Her lovely face was strained, her eyes glimmering with tears. “Why is it so scary to do what you want so much?”

He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. Did she understand that he loved her more than life itself? “Because when you love something more than breathing, a part of you will die if it doesn’t work out.”

“That part of you dies anyway if you don’t risk it.” Darkness filled her eyes, hurts and disappointments, love betrayed and innocence lost. He only knew bits and pieces of these last five years, but she knew the cost of sacrificing a dream as well as he. “Actually, more of you dies, I think. It rots inside you like a cancer.”

“No more cancer, darlin’.” Part of him wanted to turn back time and spare her those hurts, but would she have run from him again? Had those years of sadness been necessary to bring them together here and now? He couldn’t do anything to wipe the darkness from her memory, but he could certainly give her new dreams. New memories to warm her heart for the rest of their lives. “We’ve got the cure right here, right now, if you want to take it.”

Rae sat back on her heels, measuring the tiny bed with her eyes. “There’s not room for you, let alone both of us.”

Sitting up, he reached out, grasped her hands, and drew her to him. “You think so, darlin’?” Hands closing around her waist, he lifted her onto his lap. Then he lay back on the bed, shifting deliberately beneath her until she felt his erection nestled hard between her legs.

As a result, the silk sheath rode up high on her hips.

Concentrating on breathing slowly and evenly, and not ripping his shirt open, she could hardly recognize her thick, raspy voice. “I never imagined you’d let me be on top.”

“Darlin’, I’ll let you take any position you want as long as I’m inside you.” He feathered his fingertips over the curves of her breasts bared by the low-cut black silk bodice. “You look amazing. Is black your favorite color?”

“Nope.”

His mouth quirked, eyes darkening. Sliding his hands down, he hooked his thumbs beneath the hem of the dress. “Are you going to let me see which ones you picked?”

Her breath caught in her throat, her stomach fluttering.
I’d let you do damned near
anything you want.
Afraid she’d said it aloud, she flushed, searching his gaze for any flicker of response.

“Just a peek, darlin’. Give me a glimpse of heaven to distract me from the hell of Miss Belle’s cooking.” His fingers stroked higher on her hips, silk gliding higher. “Have you thought of your word yet?”

She blinked stupidly. How could she think when she straddled him like this? “Word?”

“I want you to pick a word that makes you feel safe and protected when you’re with me.”

Safe, yeah, right. Staring down into his face shadowed by a day’s growth, she decided he looked nothing like safety. Midnight eyes flashing with wicked intent, he looked like sin.

“It should be meaningful and unusual, not something you’d say to me under any normal situation. That way, I know immediately that you need me to stop.”

Shelley was his favorite poet, and she knew he’d studied
Prometheus Unbound
in his doctorate thesis. He’d commented on it often in class. “How about… Prometheus?”

She wasn’t prepared for him to laugh with amusement. “I have a dog named Prometheus, and one named Manfred.”

Oh. She wracked her brain, trying to remember some other name from their poetry class.

Not Byron or Shelley—those were too easy, and he’d likely quiz her on them directly. “How about Ozymandias?”

“‘
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:/ Look on my works ye Mighty, and despair!
’

Are you sure you can say it in the throes of passion? Perhaps we should test it out.”

That didn’t sound good. Well, it did, but—

He raised her up and scooted lower, wiggling her up onto his stomach. His chest.

“What are you doing?”

With another heave, he worked her knees up over his shoulders, putting his face inches away from the vee of her thighs. “I want to see what your favorite color is.”

Involuntarily, she closed her thighs against invasion, his bristly face rough on the tender skin.

He pushed her dress up around her waist and made an appreciative sound. “Cherry red, very nice.” He breathed deeply and his chest vibrated against her legs. “You smell like spice and musk, velvet and satiny rose petals. I’m hungry, darlin’, hungry for you. I want to savor a taste of you before Miss Belle’s cooking kills my tastebuds.”

Breathing shallow and fast, she thought her heart might pound right out of her chest. She cast a wary glance at the door. It was shut, but Miss Belle was right downstairs. The threat of exposure made her feel like a teenager making out in the backseat of his car in the middle of the night in the park. “Here?”

“Give me a taste of heaven while I blow your mind.”

He splayed his left hand on her buttock, urging her closer, while he worked his right hand down by his face to lightly stroke over the red silk. “Oh, yeah, you’ve already dampened these sexy little panties. Lean back and brace yourself on my stomach. I’d rather taste you skin to skin without the barrier, but I don’t have time to do you full justice this first time. Later tonight, I’ll strip these off, spread you wide, and lick until you beg for mercy.”

Moaning at the thought, she leaned back, tilting her pelvis up for him. Hot and wet, his tongue slid up the crotch of her panties. She dug her fingers into the flat planes of his stomach hard enough he grunted. Even through the silk, the pressure of his tongue, the heat of his breath, was amazing.

He hooked a finger beneath her panties, unerringly sliding deep into her. His tongue curled, pressing silk inside. His teeth closed carefully around that bud of flesh, his finger stroking slow and firm. Pleasure hummed inside her, swelling, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“Oh no you don’t, darlin’. I want to hear you. Don’t keep anything back from me.”

A ragged moan escaped, and she clenched her hands tighter.

Somebody knocked on the door. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Conn!” Rae panted, jerking against his grip. Miss Belle had already caught them once, in a much less compromising position. She’d die of embarrassment if the old bat walked in now. “Let me go!”

“Not yet, darlin’. Not until you come.”

Her voice went up another notch. “What if she comes in?”

“Then she sees me eating my cherry dessert early. Or you can use your word and I’ll stop immediately.”

The door handle wiggled, jangling, and she spasmed, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest.

“Why is this door locked? Verrill Connagher, open this door right now!”

“I didn’t lock it,” he whispered. “Come or give me your word, darlin’. Colonel Healy can’t hold her off for long.”

Through the silk, he sucked harder, his tongue stroking firm. She clenched, groaning desperately when he got another finger inside her. But the door rattled, Miss Belle pounding, shouting.

She couldn’t do it. Any minute, the crazy old lady would barge in. “Ozy—”

The rest of the safe word was lost in a rush of pleasure. Groaning, he rubbed his face harder against her, drawing out every tremor. Then he lifted her off, set her on her feet and smoothed her dress down just as the door flew open hard enough to hit the wall.

Rae swayed, grateful for his hands on her waist. She hunched her shoulders against the daggers the old lady must be shooting at her back.

“What’s going on in here?” Miss Belle retorted. “Didn’t you hear me knocking?”

Using Rae’s body to block his grandmother’s view, he slipped his fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean, growling softly. Fresh moisture flooded between her trembling legs, and his eyes darkened, his nostrils flaring as if he scented her desire.

“Sorry, Miss Belle. You know that old door always used to stick.” Conn winked at Rae and stood up, drawing her into his arms. Face hot, she buried her face against his shirt and prayed the old lady wouldn’t take one look at her and know the truth. “What’s for dinner?”

“Meatloaf.”

Conn flinched. She glanced up at his face, and he was actually rather pale. He squeezed her reassuringly, but his coloring worsened as they headed downstairs. The closer they got to the dining room table, the smell grew worse. Rotting cabbage and eggs was the closest description Rae could come up with. The black dress was too low cut for her to stick her nose down in her shirt, so she leaned into him and breathed in his scent as long as possible.

A brown log was on the table, along with a bowlful of something that she thought was supposed to be mashed potatoes, but it looked rather like glue, and another bowl of green beans so shriveled up they looked like dirty green pipe cleaners. Rae shared a mute, pleading look with Conn, and his arm tightened. He looked to the door, as if he might bolt, but then pulled her chair out.

Sitting down at the head of the table, Miss Belle frowned. “Be a dear and slice the meatloaf, Conn.”

Staring at the brown log doubtfully, he picked up a serrated knife and tapped the loaf. It thunked. “Did you put concrete in it?”

“Balderdash.” Miss Belle sniffed, which made her cough into her hanky. “Oh dear. It doesn’t smell like this when Samantha makes it.”

“Nothing smells like this but sewage,” Conn muttered. “Maybe a medieval battlefield full of rotting bodies. Certainly not anything I want to put in my mouth.”

Eyes watering, Rae tried not to laugh, because then she’d have to take a deeper breath of the putrid meatloaf. God help her if the old lady actually expected her to eat it.

He tried to slice it but ended up using both hands on the hilt and sawing it apart. Green and red bits fell out. Conn turned his head and coughed, eyes streaming.

Even Miss Belle looked rather green around the gills. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have tried stuffing it.”

“Stuff it with what?”

“Anchovies, capers, red pimento, all sorts of elegant things I found in the cupboard. Even some pickled quail eggs.”

“Are quail eggs supposed to be green?”

Rae gagged. “I’m sorry, Miss Belle, but capers make me ill.”

“Oh, dear. Well.” Miss Belle blinked, eyes watering, and dabbed at them with her napkin.

“Me too. Let’s have dinner in town.”