Wild Flower (5 page)

“I'm so glad it's summer again,” I told him, my voice sounding distorted to my ears, which were both under the water.

“Me, too,” he agreed, resting one hand upon my belly for just a second, before joining me on his back. “It's so pretty out here. Look at that moon.”

“I'm excited for our trip,” I told him, tilting my face to look over at him, our arms making continuous, languid fluttering motions under the water, fingertips brushing.

“July can't get here fast enough,” he said. “I am a selfish son of a bitch, but I can't wait to have you all to myself for a whole week.”

I giggled, tasting lake water. I teased, “I hadn't even considered that. What will we do with all that free time…”

“I have a few ideas, very specific ideas,” he teased back.

“Daddy! Catch me!” Rae was begging from the pontoon as Uncle Justin leaped gracefully into the water to draw the speedboat to its lift on the far side of the dock.

“Me, too!” Millie Jo yelped.

“Rae-Rae, not now,” Aunt Jilly said, catching the back of her daughter's lifejacket.

“Listen to your mama, teddy bear,” Uncle Justin said. “We'll swim tomorrow.”

“We better get out before Millie decides to jump in,” I said to Mathias, already heading back that way.

Mom and Grandma helped Aunt Jilly herd the girls away from the temptation of the lake and back up the bank; Aunt Ellen elected to ride with Dodge back over to the filling station, just around Flickertail, where the pontoon was stored. I covertly studied my great-aunt and Dodge, who was more a grandfather to me than anyone I had ever known, as they chugged away, wondering when they would openly admit that they harbored feelings for each other.

“Who took my towel?” Tish yelped, hefting herself onto the dock, Ruthie on her heels. Clint waded directly to shore, bypassing the dock altogether. He found Tish's beach towel crumpled on the bank and helped himself, making a show of wrapping it around his dripping body.

“Clint!” Tish bitched at him, and he ran, Tish and the dog both chasing after him, Clint's hee-hawing donkey laugh trailing in his wake. It was somewhat reassuring to realize that the two of them, despite being high school graduates, hadn't changed much in the past few years. Ruthie rolled her eyes and was polite enough to wait for me; I wrapped one arm around her shoulders, squeezing out my hair with the other hand. Mathias helped Uncle Justin grab the last of the gear from the speedboat. Up on the porch, Mom was lifting Matthew out of the baby sling, Millie Jo tugging on the hem of Blythe's t-shirt, begging to be tossed into the air.

An hour later everyone had headed home. Mathias, Millie Jo and I had climbed the steps to our little apartment above the garage and I managed to get Millie into bed in Clint's old room, which was now hers. She was bug-bitten and her nose and cheeks pink, despite my best efforts to keep her sun-screened throughout the day. Mathias was in the shower, singing as he always did when there, but Millie was so used to this that her eyelids fluttered towards sleep despite the sound. I smoothed curls from her forehead and kissed her soft little face.

“G'night, Mama,” she whispered.

“Good-night, baby,” I told her. “See you in the morning.”

“Say ‘don't let the bedbugs bite,'” she reminded me, half-asleep.

“Don't let the bedbugs bite,” I repeated dutifully, smiling. Millie settled her right arm on the pillow over her head and was snoring almost immediately after this statement.

I eased her door to within two inches of being shut and then proceeded to the bathroom, stepping over and subsequently ignoring the piles of dirty clothes shed on the tile floor there, the shambles of combs, brushes, gels, toothpaste and cosmetics strewn over the miniscule countertop space. Since living together as of last March, Mathias and I had discovered that neither of us was particularly organized, neat, or concerned about messes. It was a relief that we were both relaxed in this regard, though our place wasn't exactly company-worthy at any given moment. I unhooked my bikini top and slipped from the bottoms, still damp from the lake, letting both pieces fall to the floor atop Mathias's swim trunks, already smiling as I drew aside the turquoise-green shower curtain to join him.

Mathias was facing me, his head tipped back in the spray, still singing. At my entrance, he opened his eyes and grinned devilishly, dimple flashing, beckoning to me as he continued crooning the chorus to an old Travis Tritt song, “Drift Off to Dream.” We were hooked on old-school country. I shivered with undiluted pleasure at the sight of him, my nipples tightening and swelling as my eyes absolutely devoured his wet, powerful muscles, his hair dripping down his neck, all of the dark, curling hair on his body riotous in the shower's heat. He was so fucking gorgeous and manly that my knees went weak. He wrapped me close at once, already growing hard as I pressed delightedly against his body. His big hands slipped down my back, pulling me flush against him as he bent to kiss my neck, still humming the song.

I caught his head in both hands, entwining my fingers into his hair as my head tipped backward. Soft moans escaped my bowed throat as he brought my left nipple into his mouth. He lavished attention upon my breasts, his tongue swift and hot on the swell of my flesh, his hands gliding over my slippery back as the showerhead poured hot water over us. He went to his knees next, holding my hips in both hands, grinning up at me as I tried to catch my breath, heart thrashing my ribs.

Hi
, I said with no sound, my hands still in his hair. I cupped his face, his handsome, unshaven face, moving my fingers tenderly over him, even as desire beat fiercely between my legs.

Hi honey
, he said back, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to my palm. I traced the outline of his sensual lips and shivered again, as he grinned knowingly and put his face against my belly. He let his tongue make patterns over my wet skin before bracing his chin against my belly button and looking up at me.

“Give me your hand,” he ordered, low and intent, and took my right into his left, bringing it between my legs, rubbing his opposite thumb over the hair on my pelvis.

“Yes,” I whispered, almost inanely, my eyes closing as I began trembling.

He cupped my hand securely, slipping my own finger inside along with his, stroking gently, building me to a feverish height. He kept me upright with his other hand, when my legs would have given out in the desperate need to spread around his hips.

“Camille,” he said, his voice hoarse, and when I opened my eyes his drove into mine. My heart was out of control as he brought my hand next to his mouth, taking my finger into it and suckling. My breath came fast as I was reduced to basic primal instinct for the countless time since we had first made love. He was so amazing at what he did, and I moaned as he tipped his face between my legs, bringing me over the edge and then beyond.

“I need you…
right now
…” I ordered when I could bear no more, realizing somewhere in the back of my head that I sounded angry. I wasn't; I was urgent, but the tone was very similar.

Mathias surged to his feet, lifting my legs around his hips and entering my body with all the force I needed and craved down to my bones. He braced me against the yellow shower wall as he plunged into me, and I bit the top of his shoulder to keep from waking my daughter with my cries, my fingernails creating deep crescents in his back. He groaned, his tongue reclaiming my mouth just as possessively as his cock claimed me, lower down.

“
Yes
,” I gasped, over and over, and swore I saw stars from the intensity of our lovemaking.

We clung together in the steaming shower for some time after, still kissing softly, our bodies yet joined. Mathias smoothed my wild, tangled wet hair back from my cheeks and studied me somberly, his indigo eyes replete with love. He kissed the scar on my top lip, gently, and then kissed my chin.

He said quietly, “Do you know how much I need you?”

I tightened my arms and legs around his strong, wet body and kissed his dimple. I whispered back, “I do know,” and tears of joy sparked in the corners of my eyes; one trailed down my left cheek, and he licked it away.

“It only gets stronger every day. I wake up and see you and it hits me all over again. Camille, I never imagined I would feel this way in my life. I can hardly bear to be apart from you long enough to go to work.” And then he grinned a little, making fun of himself, as he said next, “God, I don't mean to sound crazy. You know what I mean.”

His words, crazy or not, pleased me immeasurably, and I felt just the same. The second I saw his truck coming up the driveway towards Shore Leave in the evening light, all was right again in the world. I held him by both ears and said what I had been thinking earlier, “You are crazy. But you are also mine, for all time.” My throat choked around a lump of intensity as I called him by my special nickname, the one no one but me used, “You are my love, Thias. I need you so much.”

His eyes blazed, hot-blue and intent. Against my lips he murmured, “Honey, let's get dried off and in our bed. Our full-size, non-feather bed in which I am going to practice making you my wife.”

I giggled as he kissed me, already nodding agreement.

“Jilly-honey, you want anything?” Justin called from the kitchen, where I imagined him standing in the wedge of light created by the open fridge, hoping just like I often did that something delicious and easy to prepare had magically appeared on its clear-plastic shelves. I wasn't much of a cook, and neither was Justin, but somehow we managed. We had gotten back from Shore Leave a half hour ago, the kids drooping with exhaustion from an evening spent on the lake.

Early this morning I had told Justin everything Joelle told me while on the porch swing. By the dawn's light, which painted the log walls of our bedroom with a cheerful rosy-orange glow, my rage from the last night seemed misplaced, even ridiculous, though I nearly writhed with embarrassment as I explained that the person whose expensive little car I had crunched in the parking lot yesterday belonged to his ex-wife, and that she was…unhappy about this situation.

Justin's eyes went from mildly concerned at my tone to outright amused as I related this part of the tale. He tucked an elbow under his head, still relaxed on the pillow, and teased, “Are you sure you didn't realize it was her car? God, it's actually kind-of funny, in its own way.”

Irritation instantly replaced all other emotions as I snapped, lifting to my elbow, “
Funny
?”

A smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head at my tone, repeating calmly, “Yes, funny. Don't spend one second worrying about Aubrey and her endless need for drama. It's what she would want, honey.”

I flopped to my back and pressed both hands to my forehead, closing my eyes, probably irrationally upset, but upset nonetheless. Justin rolled to look down at me; I could sense his grin and it angered me all the more. Just to be a pain, I grumbled, “Doesn't it bother you
at all
that she demanded
you
fix her car? That she thought she had the right to drive over to the shop and accost Dodge?”

Justin said, still with a reasonable tone, “I can't believe it bothers you this much, baby. I shudder at the thought of even hearing her voice. God, I wasted too many years with that woman as it was.”

“But she wanted to see
you
,” I pressed, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes and rubbing.

There was a moment of total silence before Justin, with an air of dawning awareness, asked incredulously, “Jillian Rae, are you
jealous
?”

Because he'd hit the nail so close to the head, I rolled to face away from him, mortified that I'd pushed it this far. Of course I wasn't jealous. I knew better than that.

“No,” I muttered, as though insulted.

“I don't know if I should be shocked or flattered,” Justin said then, and again I could tell he was grinning, perversely teasing me. He decided, “I have to say, I'm pretty flattered.”

I snatched a pillow and thwacked him across the head. He blocked my next shot with crossed forearms, laughing.

“You should be so lucky!” I bitched at him, and then contradicted myself in the next moment as I pretty much yelled, “
I'm not jealous
!”

He was almost breathless with laughter, and with disgust I threw aside the pillow and felt the absurdity of tears stinging my eyes. Before he could notice, I rolled from the bed and stormed, as much as a pregnant woman is able, to the bathroom. The slam of the door was particularly satisfying. Justin, attempting to sound contrite, called, “Baby, come on!”

I heard Rae in our room then, asking excitedly, “Daddy, can you make pancakes?”

Clint must have been on her heels, as he followed up with, “And bacon? Please, Dad?”

I knew it meant the world to Justin that Clint called him ‘Dad.' I had never asked Clint to do so; it was something he started on his own. Once, when Clint and I were talking not long after my car accident, my son explained that he loved Justin because Justin so openly loved me, and made me so happy. Just considering those truths dissolved my anger in a burst similar to an exploding firework. Even so, I soaked in the hot shower for a good fifteen minutes to calm down before joining my family in the kitchen for a breakfast of blueberry pancakes (one food item Justin could manage to prepare) and bacon.

Now, twelve hours later, Rae was asleep in her toddler bed and Clint on his phone; I could hear the muted sound of his voice from behind his closed bedroom door. Lying on the bed, I slid my bare legs over the softness of our top sheet, luxuriating in the fact that most of the day's humidity had dissipated. I had the bedroom windows propped open to the pleasantly cool air. I was not in favor of shutting out the sounds of the night, even if it meant keeping the air conditioner from running. We had a small bedside fan and besides, I loved the tinkle of the wind chimes strung at Rae's height in our blue spruces, the peaceful breath of an occasional breeze, the sigh of it through the lush summer leaves. From our bedside table the trailing bouquet of honeysuckle blossoms that I had picked this afternoon scented the entire room with rich sweetness.

“No, I'm not hungry!” I called back.

Seconds later Justin appeared in the bedroom and just like that I felt a jolt in my heart. I smiled in a lazy fashion at my sexy husband, who was still shirtless, his swim trunks riding low on his lean hips. The right side of his lips lifted in a similarly content smile as he let his dark, smoldering gaze travel down my body before coming back to my eyes.

“Those flowers smell so good,” he said, holding my gaze in his. He leaned on his forearms over the end of the bed and caught my ankles in his hands. He slid his palms up the backs of my calves and tilted to kiss the inside of my left knee. His lips were warm and the lightning bolt in my heart zinged at once southward.

“You're not hungry…at all?” he asked quietly. His dark eyes teased me.

“Maybe just a little,” I allowed, my heart throbbing as he climbed over end of the bed and cupped my belly tenderly, smoothing his hands in gentle circular motions, as someone stroking a crystal ball.

“Hi, son,” he pressed his lips to my belly to say, before resting his chin on the crest of my rounded stomach and grinning radiantly at me. Love for him, and for our children, both the two down the hall and the one yet within me, struck me straight through the soul, and I berated myself silently for how I'd acted this morning. I reached to tuck a strand of his dark hair, even more wild than normal from the evening on the lake, behind his ear.

“Justin,” I whispered, a catch in my throat. Outside, one of the great gray owls called and Justin moved with fluid grace, bracing carefully over me and cupping my face in his strong hands. He traced my lips with his thumbs before lowering his mouth to mine and kissing me so softly that I shivered.

“I know, baby,” he whispered back, reading my eyes. “I know it.”

“I was just thinking of the summer you started calling me ‘Jilly-Anne,'” I went on, getting my arms around his neck and my fingers into his hair. “You must have known how much of a crush I had on you, even back then.”

“I wasn't observant enough that summer, but subconsciously maybe I had a clue,” he allowed softly, kissing my nose and then my chin, which he bit lightly, sliding one hand down my ribs as he ran his tongue along my bottom lip. He whispered, “You're so soft. Soft as silk, baby, I can't touch you enough.”

“I need your mouth…right here…” I ordered in a whisper, lifting my breasts against his bare, hairy chest. Justin grinned again and pressed his lips to my collarbone, easing the soft, stretched-out white t-shirt I was wearing over my left shoulder. My nipples were nearly slicing through the material. Pregnancy made my nerves, my skin, so very sensitive that I could hardly bear the teasing. I clarified breathlessly, “Right at this moment, I mean.”

Justin skimmed the t-shirt over my head without further ado, taking me into his mouth, cupping my other breast in his strong hand. He lifted his head to tease me, his voice a little hoarse, “It's kinda like palming a basketball.”

I giggled, tipping my cheek to the pillow, and said, “A basketball with a nipple, you mean.”

At that moment our son landed a kick on the inner curve of my belly, strong enough that I gasped in surprise and Justin lifted his head from my breasts again, dark eyebrows lofted high.

“Holy shit, that was a big one,” he said, studying my stomach as though he was imagining the baby boxing his way free of the confines.

“He's not done yet,” I said, lifting to my elbows and observing as what was surely a tiny heel pressed outward from just beneath my ribs, distorting the roundness.

“Oh, wow,” Justin said, laughing a little, putting his hand over our son's foot. His voice was hushed and reverent as he said, “I love when I can see him. Look there.”

I smiled at his expression and said, “I
feel
it, believe me. Wow, he's on a roll now.”

Justin's smile vanished at once as he asked, “It doesn't hurt you, does it? I don't remember Rae kicking you so hard when she was in there.”

I shook my head and Justin's shoulders relaxed. I said, “It's uncomfortable, but it doesn't hurt. He's definitely more active than his big sister. Clinty was that way too. Maybe it's a boy thing.”

“Whoa!” Justin said then, watching as my belly subtly changed shape with each new kick. His tone was that of someone on the sidelines of an athletic competition.

“Shoulda had a beer before bed,” I teased, which is what Gran would have told me to do, and Justin laughed, resting on one elbow near my hips.

“Look, I think that's a knee,” he said, watching raptly.

“He was quiet all afternoon,” I said, settling comfortably on my side. “When I'm moving he snoozes and then when I finally lie down he thinks it's a free-for-all.”

Justin stroked my belly, following the movements of the baby, and almost lulled me to sleep. After a time he said softly, “I'm sorry I teased you this morning.”

“Don't be sorry,” I said, opening my eyes. “I was being ridiculous.”

“No, you weren't,” he said, shifting back up the bed. He caught my hip in his right hand and aligned his much longer, bigger body so that we were lying face to face. His dark eyes were tender on me as he added, “I wouldn't like it either, if the situation was somehow reversed.”

He was always so careful, tread so gently when it came to an even indirect reference to Clint's dad, Christopher, who had died in a snowmobile accident the winter Clint was three. The aching sadness that had permeated my every movement for years after had finally let me be, replaced by a sense of fading sweetness at the memories of the time we'd spent together.

I said honestly, “I was so jealous of Aubrey once, I guess it's still in the back of my mind.”

Justin traced the side of my face with his fingertips, studying me somberly. He whispered, “There's nothing to be jealous of, not ever. You know that.”

“I do,” I assured him, as his hand glided down my side, stroking me softly. I added, “She just…the way she talks…”

“I know,” he said. “She loves to make a scene. She's not content unless she feels like everyone is paying attention.”

“Like Jackson,” I said, referring to Joelle's ex-husband. Justin's thumb was moving in slow circles over my bare thigh and I squirmed a little, desire sparking along my nerves.

Justin agreed, “Exactly like him.”

I admitted, “I still hate her.”

“Aw honey, don't waste your time.”

“I know it's stupid…”

“Jillian Rae Miller, my wife, my sweet little woman, it's not stupid, and I don't mean to change the subject, but I have kind-of a problem right now…”

I felt a smile moving inadvertently over my lips at that. He had a ‘problem' that needed my attention at least once a day. I skimmed my left hand slowly down his chest.

“I really am flattered that you were jealous,” he couldn't resist, and at that I pinched his belly.

He smothered a laugh even as I sputtered in a whisper, “You really want to talk that way to the woman who planned to help you with this?” My hand had reached its destination and I observed, “It seems like a pretty gigantic problem to me.”

He made a sound deep in his throat and pressed against my palm, covering the back of my hand with his own. His dark eyes blazed, igniting a similar fire in me, as he kissed the corner of my mouth and promised in a whisper, “I'll stop talking.”

“You do that,” I said against his lips, and felt him grin as he got us both completely naked almost before I could blink.

Monday morning dawned clear and fresh, the scent of dewy grass and the blue spruces flowing in the open window. Justin usually got up for work around seven-thirty, and Rae normally rolled out of bed around the same time; Clinty, my night owl, rarely appeared in the kitchen before ten. I still worked lunch shifts a few days a week, and even though the café was closed today Rae and I walked through the woods to Shore Leave after breakfast. I knew Aunt Ellen would have a fresh pot of coffee perking, and probably something delicious just coming out of the oven, and I craved the company of the womenfolk. We waved to Justin as he headed for the filling station and his and Dodge's mechanic shop. He blew us a kiss, and then I collected Rae's hand into mine and let her lead the way through the familiar trees.

“Lookit, Mama, a blue jay!” she said as we ambled along the path through the woods, sun dappling our shoulders with little leaf-cutout shadows. I smoothed my hand over her golden hair as she grinned up at me with her long-lashed brown eyes that were just exactly like Justin's. I thought of how she liked to kneel on his lap and pat her hands and trace her little fingers over the scars on his face; she had never been afraid of them, calling them ‘Daddy's scratchies.' She asked him once if they hurt, to which he'd replied, “No, sweetheart, not at all,” prompting Rae to promise, “But if they do, Daddy, I'll kiss them for you.”