Just Imagine (31 page)

He slid the sheet to her waist and gazed at what was revealed. "Your breasts are beautiful," he muttered huskily.

A more gently reared woman would have lowered her arms, but Kit hadn't been gently reared, and modesty didn't occur to her. She saw his head dip, watched his lips part, felt his warm breath on her tender flesh.

She gave a moan as he circled the small nipple with his tongue. He transformed its softness into a tight, pulsing peak. She arched her body, and he opened his lips to encompass what she offered. Tenderly he suckled her.

She found herself lifting her arms to cradle the back of his head in her palms and pull him closer. As his mouth tortured one nipple, he attended to the other with the tough, callused pad of his index finger, teasing the tip and then catching it with his thumb and squeezing it ever so gently.

Not knowing men, she couldn't understand what a tight rein he was keeping on his own passion as he pleasured her. All she knew was that the pull of his mouth on her breast was firing nerve endings deep inside her.

He pushed the sheet away and lay next to her. Once again his mouth found hers, but this time he didn't have to coax it open. Her lips were already parted for his pleasure. Still he took his time, letting her become accustomed to the feel of him.

As he played at her lips, Kit's own hands grew restless. One of her thumbs settled over his hard, flat nipple.

With a groan he plowed his hands into her damp, tangled hair and drew her head up off the pillow. He plunged his tongue into her mouth and took possession of the slippery-hot interior.

The wildness that had always been part of her nature met his passion. She arched beneath him, splaying her fingers over his chest.

The last vestige of his self-control snapped. His hands were no longer content with her breasts. They moved down her body to her belly and then into the dark, silky triangle.

"Open for me, sweet," he whispered huskily into her mouth. "Let me in."

She did open. It would have been unthinkable not to. But the access she offered was still not enough for him. He stroked the inner surface of her thighs until she thought she would go mad. Finally her legs were splayed wide enough to satisfy his desire.

"Please," she gasped.

He touched her then, his wild rose, the center of her. He gently opened her so it wouldn't be so difficult, taking his time even though he was nearly crazed from needing her as he'd never before needed a woman.

He moved on top of her, kissing her breasts, kissing her sweet young mouth. And then, unable to hold back any longer, he poised himself at the very center of her and slowly entered.

She stiffened. He soothed her with his kisses and then, with one smooth thrust, he broke through her maiden's veil and put innocence behind her.

She plummeted back to reality at the small, sharp pain. Until now, there had been only pleasure. This felt like a betrayal. His caresses had lied to her. They'd promised something magical, but in the end it had been a devil's promise.

His hand cupped her chin and turned her face. She glared up at him, too conscious of what was buried deep and massive inside her.

"It's all right, sweet," he murmured. "The hurt is over."

This time she didn't believe him. "Maybe for you. Get off!"

He smiled a smile that was deep and smoky. His hands returned to her breasts, and she felt the melting begin again.

He began to move inside her, and she no longer wanted him to leave. She dug her fingers into the hard muscles of his shoulders and buried her mouth in his neck so she could taste him with her tongue. His skin was sea salt and clean, and the stroking inside her was moving deeper, piercing womb and heart, melting her bones, her flesh, and even her soul.

She arched and strained and let him ride her through day and night, through space itself, clinging to him, to the sweet male of him, the hard shaft of him, driving deeper and deeper into her, carrying her higher, flinging her into the blinding brightness of the sun and moon where she hung for eternity and then shattered into a million slivers of light and darkness, answering his great cry with her own.

  15

was alone in the great rumpled bed when the noise in the hallway awakened her. She blinked against the sunlight, then bolted upright as she realized where she was. The sudden movement made her wince.

Sophronia rushed in without bothering to knock. "Kit! Honey, are you all right? Magnus wouldn't let me leave, or I'd have been here earlier."

Kit couldn't meet Sophronia's eyes. "I'm fine." She pushed back the covers. Her robe lay across the bottom of the bed. Cain must have put it there.

As she slipped into it, Sophronia stiffened. Kit saw her staring at the pale stain on the sheet. "You stayed with Magnus last night?" she said quickly, trying to divert her.

Sophronia pulled her gaze away from the bed and said unsteadily, "The major didn't give me much choice. Magnus slept on the porch."

"I see." Kit headed into her own room, just as if everything were normal. "A nice night for sleeping outdoors."

Sophronia followed her. Kit began to wash in the water Lucy had left for her. The silence hung heavy between them.

It was Sophronia who broke it. "Did he hurt you? You can tell me."

"I'm fine," Kit repeated, too quickly,

Sophronia sat down on the side of the bed that hadn't been slept in. "I never told you this. I didn't want to, but now…"

Kit turned away from the washstand. "What's wrong?"

"I—I know what it's like to be… to be hurt by a man." She twisted her hands in her lap.

"Oh, Sophronia…"

"I was fourteen the first time. He—he was a white man. I wanted to die afterward, I felt so dirty. And all that summer he'd find me, no matter how hard I tried to hide. 'Gal,' he'd call out. 'You. Come over here.' "

Kit's eyes filled with tears. She rushed to her friend's side and knelt beside her. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"I didn't want you to."

She drew Sophronia's hand to her cheek. "Couldn't you have gone to my father and told him what was happening?"

Sophronia's nostrils flared, and she snatched her hand away. "He knew what was happening. White men always knew what was happening to the slave women they owned."

Kit was glad she hadn't eaten, because she would have vomited. She'd heard stories, but she'd always been able to convince herself that nothing like that could ever happen at Risen Glory.

"I'm not telling you this to make you cry." Sophronia took her thumb to one of Kit's tears.

Kit thought of the arguments about states' rights she'd made over the years to anyone who said the war had been fought over slavery. Now she understood why those arguments had been so important to her. They'd kept her from confronting a truth she hadn't been able to face. "It's so evil. So wicked."

Sophronia rose and moved away. "I'm doing my best to put it in the past. Right now, it's you I'm worried about."

Kit didn't want to talk about herself. She returned to the washstand, acting as if the world were just the same as it had been the day before. "You don't have to worry about me."

"I saw the expression on his face when he carried you into this house. It doesn't take much imagination to know you had a hard time of it. But listen to me, Kit. You can't keep all that ugliness stopped up inside you. You have to let it out before it changes you."

Kit tried to think of what she could say, especially after what Sophronia had revealed about herself. But how could she speak of something she didn't understand?

"No matter how terrible it was," Sophronia said, "you can talk to me about it, I understand, honey. You can tell me."

"No, you don't understand."

"I do. I know what it's like. I know how—"

"You don't." Kit turned. "This wasn't ugly like what happened to you," she said softly. "It wasn't ugly or awful or anything like that."

"You mean that he didn't…"

Kit swallowed and nodded. "He did."

Sophronia's face turned ashen. "I—I guess I shouldn't have…" She ran out of words. "I need to get back to the kitchen. Patsy wasn't feelin' good yesterday." Her skirts made a soft whooshing sound as she left the room.

Kit stared after her, feeling sick and guilty. Finally she forced herself to finish dressing. She reached into her wardrobe and pulled out the first thing her fingers touched, a candy-striped dimity. She'd lost her silver comb, so she tied her curls back with a pumpkin-colored ribbon she found in her drawer. It clashed with her dress, but she didn't notice.

just as she reached the foyer, the front door opened and Cain walked in with Miss Dolly. Kit was immediately swept into a peppermint-scented embrace.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet precious! This is the happiest day of my life, 'deed it is. To think that you and the major cherish tender feelin's for each other, and I didn't suspect a thing."

This was the first time she'd heard Miss Dolly voluntarily refer to Baron as "the major." She studied her more closely, which gave her an excuse to avoid looking at Cain.

"I've already chastised the major for keeping me in the dark, and I should chastise you, too, but I'm too consumed by happiness." The older woman clasped her hands to her ruffled bodice. "Just look at her, Major, in her pretty frock with a ribbon in her hair. Although you might want to find another color, Katharine Louise. That little pink satin you have, if it's not too badly crushed. Now I must go talk to Patsy about a cake." With a quick peck at Kit's cheek, she headed for the kitchen. When the clatter of her tiny heels on the wooden floor had receded, Kit was finally forced to look at her husband.