Jezebel's Blues (15 page)

The attic was stifling, even with a fan, and she didn’t even want to
try
to sleep in this restless mood.

So now she sat on the porch with one of her father’s books in hand, reading. She’d been going through the novels for several days, trying to decipher where his stories ended and the real Gideon began. Especially tonight, after her recent encounters with Eric, she felt the lines blurring.

She cursed her father softly, more sure than ever that she was unconsciously living out one of his dramas. And why? To bring him back somehow? To punish him for running away?

“Damn you, Daddy!” she cried aloud, and with a guttural noise, she threw the book as hard as she could into the dark yard. Then she buried her head in her arms, needing to cry. “I miss you,” she whispered.

A soft swish in the grass made her lift her head. There, emerging like a specter from the darkness, was Eric. He carried a guitar case in one hand.

In spite of the way they had parted this afternoon, Celia felt no surprise at seeing him. He bent over to scoop up the book Celia had thrown, then quietly joined her on the steps. “There must be some kind of blues you could sing over your daddy,” he said in his rough voice.

He smelled faintly of whiskey and heat. “What are you doing out so late?” Celia asked, wiping her cheeks dry.

“Been to the Five O’Nine.”

“Drowning your sorrows?”

“I had every intention of getting so drunk, somebody had to carry me home.” He chuckled and leaned on the step behind him. “The trouble is, I never have been able to develop a taste for real hard drinking.”

In spite of herself, Celia smiled. “I won’t tell anybody.”

“I’d appreciate that. Might completely ruin my image.”

He was just a little tight, as her grandmother used to say. A little bit friendlier than usual, a little more cheerful, a little less intimidating. As he handed Celia the book, he let his arm graze her leg, and he leaned a little closer yet.

In his rumbling voice, he asked, “Why’d you throw it?”

“I don’t know. I’m just so angry with him still.” She took a breath, shaking her head. “He knew that road like he knew keys on a keyboard. He could have driven it blindfolded.”

“So he killed himself.”

“Yes.” The knowledge stung deeply.

“And it hurt your feelings that he wanted to get back to his wife more than he wanted to stay with you.”

Celia jumped up. “Yes! They never had time for me. They only cared about each other. I was an afterthought, always. I don’t understand why they even bothered to have a child.”

“You really miss him.”

Celia nodded, feeling tears well in her eyes again. “I really do.”

Eric smiled gently and held out one broad hand. “Come here. Sit down.” When she settled reluctantly next to him, he pulled the harmonica from his pocket. “We’ll just sing some blues,” he said, and there was mischief in his eyes. “‘Celia’s Blues.’”

She gave him a skeptical look.

He started to sing, obviously making up the song as he went along, about a wandering man named Jacob Moon. But he put a silly turn on the words and used his harp to make light, leaping notes. It made her laugh. When Eric saw that he was being successful, he got ever sillier, making up absurd rhymes and hitting high notes that were far beyond his reach.

Finally, Celia slapped his shoulder. “Enough!” She grinned at him. “It helps,” she pronounced. “Now maybe you should sing one for your sister.”

He moistened his lip, looking at her, and even in the darkness, his eyes held a mystical blue color. All mirth fled his face. He bent his head over the harp and blew a soft, mournful cry of notes. A ripple passed through Celia’s belly—a warning.

Then Eric opened his mouth and began to sing, really sing. The words told a story of loneliness and a long search for safe harbor, of a pretty woman abused by a world too harsh for her gentle ways.

It was a beautiful, sad, poetic song, but the words were insignificant in comparison to the voice that sang them.

His speaking voice was almost unbearably rich, dark, low and seductive; having heard it, Celia should have expected that he could sing like this. But as she listened, she realized, too, that she could never have known how beautiful it was without hearing it. He sang low and hard and with great power, the notes raspy here, clear there; so rich and deep, she ached with the power of it. His was a voice perfectly suited to singing blues ballads, and the longer he sang, the more she pulsed with it. Tears began to stream from her eyes unheeded as she thought of his sister and her father and Eric himself, aching for all of them. Aching for herself.

* * *

Eric finished the song, staring out toward the fields where lightning bugs sparked in the grass like fallen stars. His heart felt less heavy for having sung, and he sighed with deep satisfaction.

From beside him came Celia’s voice, soft and filled with tears. “Eric,” she whispered, “that was so beautiful.”

He turned in surprise to see a wash of tears running over her pale cheeks. “Oh, sugar,” he said, and without thinking, gathered her into his arms. Her fine hair splayed over his hand, and her face nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. Her arms slipped around him. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said.

She felt like a fragile doll in his arms, so small that she might snap if he hugged her too tightly. But he’d learned that her fragility was an illusion, and he tugged her hard against him, feeling a well of emotion at the press of her damp face against his neck. She was vulnerable in ways, tender in others, but she was strong, and as he held her, he knew why he’d come.

“You should be singing, Eric,” she said. “Your voice—”

“No,” he whispered against her jaw, seeking her mouth. “I should be kissing you. I wanted to all day.”

“I wanted you to.” She lifted her head, her pale eyes full of trust and hunger. He bent his head and tasted her sweet lips, fitting his mouth over hers with ease. Such a soft mouth, he thought vaguely, drifting as she returned the kiss.

The simmering hunger he’d felt for her went up another notch, and forgetting that he’d sworn he would not give in to his passion, he traced the lines of her body with both hands—her long, slim back and the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip and thigh, even her calves. He tasted the flicker of her tongue against his and felt the edges of her pretty teeth. Her nose bumped his cheek and she made a small, low sound.

He lifted his mouth from hers, holding her head in his hand. Her eyes were slumberous, her mouth glistening with his kiss. The sight pushed his control beyond all recall. “I want you,” he said raggedly, kissing her between words. With one hand he traced the line of her jaw, followed her neck and, staring into her eyes, cupped her breast, wondering again at the perfect nestling of it against his palm. “You make me feel like somebody else.” He stroked the gentle rise of flesh and felt the pearling of the tip against his thumb. He settled his mouth over hers, pushing the fabric from her shoulders—first the loose blouse, then the plain, ordinary bra below. Her naked breast fell into his waiting hand and he heard her gasp and felt her try to pull away.

“I can’t do this, Eric,” she whispered. “Not if you’re going to tell me you have to go. Don’t make me go through another night like last night.”

In answer, he bent his head to the soft skin in his palm and nudged the tip with his tongue, once, lightly, then settled his mouth over it, suckling at the heat. She made an airy, restless sound and grabbed his shoulders and he pushed her back against the post to brace her. He circled the incredibly soft, supple flesh of her breasts with his palms and tasted the column of her throat with his mouth, with his tongue.

“You’re so beautiful, Celia,” he said, lifting his head to look into her eyes, his fingers roving of their own accord over her. Her eyes grew sultry and her eyelids dropped, but she held his gaze without shyness or embarrassment as his hands moved over her. Slowly, looking at him, she lifted her hands to cover his and leaned forward to kiss him.

He exploded at the carnal thrust of her tongue and with a groan, he bent his head again to lick and suckle the rose-tipped rise of her breasts, lost in the taste of her satiny flesh, lost in the glory of Celia.

“Make love with me, Eric,” she whispered.
With
her—not
to
her. Something swelled in his chest, and he growled low as he stood up, grasping her waist to pull her up with him. He kissed her at the door, pressing her into the threshold, his hands roaming her body as she clutched handfuls of his hair so tightly, it hurt him. She turned and backed them into the living room, her fingers freeing the buttons of his shirt as she walked.

At the foot of the stairs, he kissed her again, lost in his need for her. In an urgent need to feel her bared flesh, he pushed the tank top from her arms and chest into a pool at her waist, leaving her in that simple white bra, one strap falling down her arm. He tugged the clasps free and tossed it over his shoulder, taking her mouth as he let his hands roam the small, silky lines of her back, her slender shoulders, the fine round of her rib cage. Halfway up the stairs, they tripped together, but in spite of the jarring impact, they didn’t lose touch. She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, her breath coming in hard, fast gasps. He felt the round give of her breasts against the wall of his chest and a jolt of electric sensation squeezed his heart. For an instant, he pressed her closer, reveling in the glory of her naked flesh against his own, and then he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to the attic room where it had all begun.

Together they tumbled to the bed, kissing so wildly, Eric thought he would lose his mind before he could join with her completely.

And for the first time in his life, he felt a woman needed him as much as he needed her, for in Celia’s kiss there were teeth, and her body arched in fierce hunger. She freed the buttons on his pants and pushed them away, and she restlessly stroked the curve of his naked buttocks and the backs of his thighs and the hollow of his spine, using her palms and fingers and nails.

Somehow in the madness, he found her completely bare below him, hot and shivering at once.

Only then did he pause, kneeling above her in the dark room, with moonlight pouring through the window. Her hair was as silvery as the light, and her big, gray eyes shone like captured moonbeams. He touched her breasts and her belly. “You’re so beautiful, Celia. Like sugar.”

She opened her arms to beckon him. “Eric.”

Then he was lost, driving into the waiting heat of her, moving with urgent hunger and lost control. Celia met him, wrapping herself around him. It was not smooth or sweet; it was not elegant or polished. It was pure and elemental and primitive.

And yet as he held her and moved with her in the silence, his hands cupped around her bottom, his mouth against her neck, her arms flung hard around his shoulders, he felt a shock of joining that transcended anything he’d known. As they thrashed together, lost to anything but each other, he felt suddenly awash in a perfect silvery light, as if Celia had cloaked them with her magic. Where everything had been dark, now all glowed with light—a blazing, healing light he’d never seen, had never hoped to know. In Celia’s arms he felt it in him to be all she saw in him, all the things he’d never dared dream of being.

And as their rhythm intensified, punctuated with breathless whispers and urgings and endearments and kisses, he felt tears. His own tears, running hot on his face. Ashamed, he bowed his head into her hair, feeling her tremble and shiver against him. She clutched his back and cried his name, and even as he tumbled into the very depths of her, his tears washed unchecked into the silk of her hair.

Lost, he thought, coming apart. He was so lost—and Celia felt like home.

A
s their breathing slowed, Celia felt a tingle moving through her body, spreading from the tips of her fingers and toes to radiate through her limbs and torso, through her organs and through her soul.

Eric’s weight pressed her into the mattress, his powerful arms anchoring her even more tightly to him. His hair fell over her face, silky and cool. She flashed on their tangled, passionate ascent up the stairs and a bubble of laughter built in her chest. “Good grief,” she said with a chuckle.

He lifted his head to look at her. There was a sheen of sweat over his brow, and a lock of black hair clung to the moisture on his cheek. “You laugh at the weirdest times.”

The bubble chuckled over once more as she pushed his damp hair away from his hard jaw. “I think laughing when you feel good is perfectly appropriate.”

The devilish expression flared in his eyes. “You feel pretty good, do you?” He moved against her and his nostrils flared.

She nodded slowly. “Mmm.”

He kissed her, suddenly and urgently. “You taste like sunshine,” he whispered, his big hand wrapped around her neck. “I can’t remember the last time anything tasted as good as you do.”

Again laughter swelled in her chest. “How about those brownies you ate in one sitting?”

“Not even those,” he murmured, intently kissing her jaw.

Celia laughed and he let go of her. “What do you keep laughing about?”

“Quit scowling,” she said, and rubbed her nose over the tip of his. “Not everything in life is that serious.”

“This afternoon, that was a serious story and you giggled.” His voice was puzzled, though, not angry.

“Eric, don’t you see how melodramatic your whole life has been? It really is just like something my father would write. That’s what has been driving me so crazy about you.” She frowned at herself, wondering how she’d let that slip. With a distracted fascination, she touched the round of his shoulder, glorying in the satin sheen of his flesh, the supple feel of it against her palm. In the same mode, she bent and pressed first her lips, then her cheeks to the place.

The sound of his song for Laura whispered through Celia’s mind. “You really should be singing, Eric.” She lifted her head. “You have the most incredible voice I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you.” A glitter of humor touched his eyes. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re feeling just a teeny bit expansive at the moment.”