Turner's Rainbow 2 - The Rainbow Promise (39 page)

He released his breath in a shaky sigh. "I don't know how I lived so long without you."

Carefully he took one nipple between his forefinger and thumb and rolled it, gently squeezing and pulling, delighting in the way it puckered and hardened at his touch. He bent his head and kissed the rosy bud. Sparks showered through Julia's abdomen at the feel of his mouth on her, and moisture dampened her thighs. His tongue slid over her nipple and around it, then softly lashed it until Julia whimpered with pleasure. His mouth widened on her breast, sucking rhythmically.

Julia moaned, and her hands came up to clasp his shoulders, as though to steady herself in a tilling world. Her fingers dug into his flesh at each new shattering sensation. He bent her back over his arm, feasting on her breasts, and his other hand slipped down her body and into the cleft between her legs. His fingers slid into her moist warmth, caressing the slick, hot flesh. Julia's breath caught in her throat, and her fingernails scraped his skin. Wantonly her legs moved apart, inviting his touch. Gently, lovingly, James explored the folds of her femininity, finding the hard little nub that was the center of pleasure and teasing it until she was groaning and twisting in his arms.

Julia breathed his name over and over, her hands running over his back and arms and winding through his hair. James trembled under the force of his longing. Julia's hands on his flesh, the sweet taste of her in his mouth, the feel of her damp, utterly soft womanhood against his fingertips all combined to make him ready to explode with desire. He wanted to explore every inch of her skin with his hands and mouth. He wanted to make her pant and groan and cry out with pleasure. He needed it.

"Julie." He lifted his head and looked down at her. Julia's face was soft and dreamy, focused on nothing but the passion raging through her. Just looking at her sent desire shooting through him. He couldn't wait any longer.

James lifted her into his arms. Julia opened her eyes in hazy questioning. "James? What—"

"I'm taking you to bed." His voice was low and rough with barely restrained hunger.

Her mouth curved sensually. "Good."

He laid her down on the bed and stood for a moment looking at her. Her pale hair was spread out across the sheets, a silken backdrop for her shapely form. Her breasts were plump, the perfect size for a man's hand, and her nipples stood out proudly, dark and swollen from his kisses. James ran his tongue across his lips; he could taste them there. Her waist was slender, her abdomen flat even after children; the knobs of her pelvic bones rose sharply beneath her satiny skin. His eyes roamed lower to the flow of hips into thighs, to the womanly V covered by pale curls. She was beautiful, perfect. He ran a hand down her body, across her breasts and stomach to the soft flesh of her inner thigh, and his fingers tangled in the curls. Julia's eyes closed with pleasure at his touch.

Julia raised her arms to him, and James settled onto the bed beside her. Her hands went to his chest, and James had to bite his lower lip to slow the raging force of his desire. He had to feel her hands on him no matter how close to the edge it pushed him. Her fingers moved across the breadth of his chest, relearning the texture of his skin and the pattern of bone and muscle. She traced the jutting line of his collarbone and slid her fingers down into the prickly black hairs upon his chest. Her forefingers found the small masculine nipples, and James sucked in his breath. Julia glanced up at his face. His features were rigid, his mouth slightly open, and the intensity of his eyes sent a searing heat right through her.

She smiled and lightly moved her fingers back and forth across the nipples. James tightened all over. Shyly Julia placed her mouth on one tiny bud. She had wanted to do that years ago when she had known James, but then she had been too young and apprehensive to try anything he hadn't initiated. When James groaned, his hands clenching into the sheets, she grew bolder. Her tongue played over his nipple, stroking, circling, lashing it with wet heat.

"Oh, God. Julie." He moved quickly then, rolling her onto her back and moving over her. She loved the weight of him on her, loved looking up into his face, burning and taut. Her legs opened to him, and he slid into her. He moved slowly, carefully, despite the effort it cost him, afraid that he might cause her some discomfort.

But there was no discomfort, only the joy of him filling her, the satisfaction of wholeness. James paused, struggling for the control that he almost lost at the exquisite pleasure of her tight sheath gripping him. He began to move, sliding almost out, then all the way in again. He moved slowly, sailing the edge of a dark, wild pleasure. Julia's hands slid down his body to his buttocks, and her hips moved beneath him. James watched her face, taut and rapt, as he stroked, and his movements began to speed up. Their sweat-damp skin clung as his body rubbed over hers. He moved ever faster, his hips pumping, Julia felt each stroke to the depths of her being. Like a knot drawn ever more tightly, her desire heightened, and she strained up against James, seeking the bliss of completion. He was on fire, every inch of his skin quivering with sensations. Then, at last, the hot surge of utter delight and release came to him, and he groaned, shuddering, as his seed spilled into her Julia buried her face in his shoulder, holding on to him tightly, and the wave of pleasure took her, too. For one long moment, they were mindless, selfless, bound together in an eternity of love.

He lay upon her, his weight crushing her into the mattress, but when, after a time, he started to roll away, Julia's arms wrapped around him, pressing him to her tightly. James smiled against her skin and kissed her tightly on the shoulder His arms encircled her, and he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, so that she lay stretched atop him. He couldn't remember ever feeling quite this blissful and at peace. He stroked his hand down her long golden hair.

"I love you, wife," he murmured. Julia laughed shakily. She thought she could have gotten up and yelled and danced with joy, except she was so wonderfully exhausted she couldn't move. "And I love you, husband. I love you always."

❧

Sarah settled the children in bed, tucking Julia's Bonnie in with Emily and putting Vance with Cal. It was a relief to see Cal accepting the other boy in his room without protest. She had worried that Cal might be difficult to deal with while the other children were with them during Julia's and James's honeymoon. No doubt Bonnie and Vance were a little lost without their mother for the first time, and if Cal had been antagonistic, it would have been an awful situation. But be was chatting with Vance about what he would show him the next day, and Sarah closed the door on them with a smile.

She walked down the stairs to the kitchen just as Luke stepped in the back door. For a moment they simply looked at each other The air had been thick with tension between them since the wedding this afternoon. During the ceremony, watching James and Julia pledge their love for each other, Sarah had been swept with a wave of longing for her own marriage. She remembered how happy and in love she and Luke had been, and she had wished desperately that they could recapture what they had had. She had sneaked a glance at Luke and caught him watching her, the same remorse and yearning in his eyes. For an instant there had been the old closeness between them, a sweet remembrance of the commitment and love they shared.

It was still inside them, Sarah knew, blocked by Luke's stubborn insistence on protecting her from himself. He loved and desired her as much as she loved and desired him, yet she was dying of loneliness for him. She had tried to talk to him about it, but Luke had managed to avoid any conversation after the wedding and on the ride home, using the presence of the children as a buffer between them.

But now there was no one else there. There was no way he could hide. Sarah's heart began to hammer in her chest. She was scared that she would fail and ruin what little they had left. But she couldn't continue to live like this!

She drew a shaky breath. "Luke."

"Sarah," His face was closed and cautious. "How are the children?"

"In bed."

"Any problems?"

"No. Cal was fine. Even Bonnie didn't cry."

"Good."

"It was a nice wedding, don't you think?"

"Yes. Julia looked happy."

"I'm sure she is. They've waited a long time to be together."

Luke nodded. He glanced around the room, searching for something else to say.

But Sarah spoke first, forestalling him. "All through the wedding, I kept remembering ours. Do you remember it?"

"Of course." He relaxed into a genuine smile. "I was scared to death."

"Were you? It didn't show. I thought I was the only one who was terrified."

He shook his head. "I remember Stu glowering like he wanted to kill me and Jenny in tears. They hated your marrying me."

"They were concerned for me. They didn't know how happy you would make me, what a good husband and father you would be." She paused. "I want it back, Luke! I'm tired of being alone, of missing you and wanting you and never—" She stopped, fighting back the flood of tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Sarah! Oh, God, don't cry." He came to her quickly, and his work-roughened hand smoothed away her tears. "Don't cry. I'm not worth it."

"You are! You're worth far more than my tears!" Her hands came up to his chest, grasping the material of his shirt. "Please. Come back to my bed. Love me again." Sarah blinked away her tears. "What will it take? I'll beg, if that's what you want."

"Sarah, don't! You know that's not what I want."

"Then what? What do you want?"

"You," be replied thickly. "Only you."

Sarah stretched up on tiptoe, offering her mouth to him. "You have that," she whispered.

Her lips brushed his, and a tremor shook Luke. His eyes closed, his face melting into the familiar pattern of passion. His hands came up to her waist, spreading wide, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Desire thrummed in him.

It took almost nothing to set him off. He wanted her all the time these days. Luke knew that for a while Sarah had tried to tempt him. She had teased him in hundreds of little ways, taking down her hair in front of him or coming into his room wearing only her nightgown or unbuttoning her blouses farther down than her usual modesty allowed. Sometimes she had simply looked at him in that heavy-lidded way he'd seen so many times before in her, and he knew she wanted him. Even that was enough to ignite the fires in him.

He was beginning to realize that those fires would never be put out. Sarah had stopped the small seductions. She no longer tried to arouse him, but he was still aroused. Sarah didn't have to do anything, say anything, look any way. Just her being there was enough to bring his nerves to sizzling life. He had only to look at her to want her, had only to think about her to know the fierce swell of hunger deep in his abdomen. Luke knew that only age or death would bring an end to his desire for her. Maybe not even that. Sometimes he thought that this must be what hell was: wanting her with every fiber of his being, yet having to stop himself from taking what he wanted.

Today at the wedding Sarah had looked at him with her heart in her eyes, and love and desire for her had filled him. The rest of the day he had been able to think of nothing else but coming to her bed tonight. Now, with her reaching up to kiss him, he was shaken with longing. He could smell her, touch her, taste her—all the things he had been missing for so long. She was like water to a man lost in the desert, and be wanted to drink her in.

For a long moment Luke stood, his entire body rigid, hovering on the brink of giving in to his longings. Then, at last, he jerked away. He strode across the room, crossing his arms across his chest and clamping his hands under his arms, as though to forcibly keep them from wandering where they chose. "God, Sarah! Don't tempt me."

Sarah made a noise of frustration and whirled away, slamming her hand, palm flat, against the door frame. "Damn! Damn! Damn!"

He whirled back and stared at her, amazed by her language. "Sarah!"

She faced him defiantly, chin thrust out. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. A saint doesn't say such things, does she?"

He grimaced. "I never said you were a saint."

"You didn't have to say it," she retorted hotly. "Everything you do shows that that's what you think. Sweet little Sarah. Porcelain doll Sarah. Up-on-a-pedestal Sarah. She doesn't get angry, she doesn't get hungry, she doesn't have low, lustful desires like the rest of humanity. Isn't that right?"

"Of course not."

"Oh? I thought that was how you saw me. You certainly don't see me as a real woman. One who desires her man."

Even her words stirred him. Luke glanced away, struggling for control. "I refuse to endanger you to satisfy my own selfish lust."

"Well, what about my selfish lust? Have you ever given a thought to me in all these noble decisions you make?"

"Of course. It's for you."

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "Oh, no. Think again. It's for you. What you want. What you think."

Anger surged through Luke. "Damn it! If I paid attention only to what I wanted, I'd pull you down to the floor and make love to you right here."

"And I'd welcome it! I would have made love to you on the ground by the creek that day, if you'll remember! What do you think I do every night while you're lying in your sanctified single bed? I'm awake in our bed, thinking about you, missing you, remembering the times we made love. The ways."

He swallowed with difficulty. "Stop it."

"I can't sleep. I lie there and think about it until my skin's like fire and I'm throbbing inside."

"Christ, Sarah." A fine sheen of sweat dotted Luke's upper lip. "You're killing me."

"No. You're killing me. I'm a flesh and blood woman, not the plaster saint you're determined to make of me. I want you. I want to taste your kisses again. I want to feel you inside me."

Luke groaned and turned away. "Don't."

"Don't what? Don't admit that I have human desires? I know you don't like to hear it. You don't want to see me as I really am. You won't accept that I'm not perfect. That's why you won't make love to me. 'Sweet Sarah' must not feel pain or desire or any other low human emotion. I can't come close to death; I can't labor in childbirth; I can't get angry at the world because my baby died. I must not be allowed to suffer. I must not be allowed to feel pain. I must not be allowed to feel passion or joy. Because, after all, I'm a statue, not a woman. Perfection. Isn't that right?"

"No!" Anger mingled with desire in Luke's gut. He hated what she was saying. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to rip off her clothes and thrust into her. He wanted—oh. God, he wanted. He clenched his fist, trembling with barely restrained fury and lust.

"Oh yes, it is!" Sarah retorted. "I'm not a real person to you. I'm something you've concocted in your mind: the perfect woman. Sweet and good and pretty and never, ever bad, never, ever hurt. If anything bad happens, it has to be your fault, not mine. Because that's the only way I can remain this perfect woman. But I'm not! I'm not! That isn't me! I'm very imperfect. I feel the same heat, hunger, and lust you do. I'm fallible. I have ordinary weaknesses. I'm no better than you are! We're alike inside. Don't you realize that yet? It's part of why we love each other! I want to make love to you; I want to bear your children. And I'm willing to take the responsibility for those things. I'm willing to risk it."

"Well, I'm not! I won't risk your life!"

"It's my life! I don't want to be locked into this dry, empty, loveless life for the rest of my years! This is a mockery of a marriage. I'm your wife. I want to be your wife in every way. I want to be at the core of your life, not something you worship!"

"Damn it!" Luke slammed his fist down on the counter, and dishes fell with a clatter. "You are the core of my life! That's why I can't bear to lose you. Why can't you understand that? Why do you have to keep fighting me?" He was rigid, the tendons standing out in his neck, muscles bulging under his shirt.

"Because," Sarah's voice was cold and cutting, "I'm not a quitter like you. Because I love you enough for anything. But you don't even love me enough to let me make my own decisions." Sarah whirled and ran out of their kitchen. He heard her feet on the stairs, then the bedroom door slammed behind her.

Her words had sliced through him like a knife. He wanted to grab her and force her to take them back. He wanted to toss her skirts up over her head and take her like a common whore. He wanted to make love to her so slowly and deliciously she whimpered and writhed and begged him to take her. His insides were like hot pitch. She infuriated him. She tormented him. She was the thing he treasured most in the world. How could he love her so much and yet itch to slap her? How could he go cold as death at the thought of losing her and yet ache to do what could cause her death? How could he want her so much and still manage to keep himself from bedding her? He thought he must explode from it all.

Luke brought both fists crashing down upon the counter. He hit it again and again. He felt as wild and furious as he had when he was young, feverish, and uncontrollable. For the first time in years he wanted to find someone to beat up, wanted to feel the pleasure of his fists smacking into flesh and bone. Instead, he kicked open the door and walked out, crashing it to behind him. He strode across the yard to the tool shed and jerked out the ax. He took it to the chopping stump behind the house, set a log on the stump, and brought the ax crashing down on it. Like a maniac he wielded the ax over and over, chopping wood into smithereens in the pale moonlight, not stopping until he was drenched with sweat and dotted with wood chips, his muscles quivering with exhaustion. Only then was he able to go up to his bed and sleep.