Sweet Gone South (23 page)

He was.

Luke stood in front of the dresser combing his damp curls. He was shirtless, barefoot, and his drawstring sleep pants rode low on his hipbones. He was beautiful like a mountain lion — graceful, athletic, and svelte, yet powerful and strong. He caught her eye in the mirror and turned.

She braced herself. The submarine race fun was a thing of the past. Now he would advance on her, run his tongue halfway down her throat, and drag her to the bed. But he didn’t. Instead, he smiled and looked her up and down. When he moved toward her, it was not so much an advance as a soft saunter. He ran his hand up the sleeve of her pretty new nightgown and she wondered if it would be all right to ask him to please not tear it. But it didn’t seem like he intended to tear it. Instead, he reached up and cupped her cheek.

“You look pretty, Lanie. I like your nightgown.”

“Tolly got it for me.”

“Oh? Did Missy and Lucy get you something too?”

She felt her face go hot. “You don’t want to know.”

“I might — sometime later, when you’re comfortable.” His dimples deepened and crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. If only she was normal. In this moment, he was so appealing. She could have watched him on television all night long. “Meanwhile — ,” he drew her into his arms and laid his cheek against hers, “ — I’ll enjoy seeing you in this.” He stroked her side and let his hand linger on her hip.

She stiffened. The moment was here. But he drew away and went back to the dresser. It was then she noticed the silver champagne bucket and crystal flutes.

“Would you like some champagne?” Then he laughed out loud. “Isn’t that the most trite, predictable thing you’ve ever heard?”

She found herself laughing too, relieved that the inevitable would be delayed. “Not to me. I love champagne and not that many people have offered it to me.”

“Tell you what,” he said as he worked at the cork. “Why don’t you get in bed and turn on the TV to CNN? Let’s have some champagne and find out what’s happening in the world.”

That didn’t sound so bad. Maybe he didn’t want to have sex. Maybe he wanted to tell her they would have a marriage in name only because he loved Carrie so much he could never make love to another woman.

“Which side of the bed do you want?” Lanie asked as she turned back the blue embroidered comforter.

Pop
went the champagne cork. “Eventually, whichever side
you
are on. But for now I don’t care.”

So much for that.

They didn’t really watch the news, though it was a comfort to hear it in the background. They lay on million thread count sheets, drank the best champagne Lanie had ever tasted, and talked about the day. The more she drank the easier it was. She told him how frantic she’d been to wrap things up at the shop, feed Emma, and get them ready to leave on time — and then he’d been late. She had been furious at the time, but now it seemed funny. He told her how he hoped and prayed that one day Missy Bragg had a plan that he could ruin, something he could make her very late for, and a stuffed animal he could steal.

Feeling a little giddy, Lanie held her left hand in front of her face. “I’m shallow, Luke Avery. Shallow, shallow, shallow. I love this ring. I never thought about having something like this but now that I do, I’m keeping it.”

“I hope so.” He turned on his side and propped up on his elbow. “That was the idea.”

“I thought of giving it back and telling you it was too much, to get me something plain, but I decided I don’t care.” She licked a drop of champagne from the rim of her glass.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I took a shower in it.”

“It ought to be able to withstand a little soap and water.”

“I might go swimming in it.” She turned her glass upside down and let the last drop fall in her mouth. Then she ran her tongue around the rim.

“You might?” He took her flute, set it on his bedside table, and clicked the TV off.

Oh, no. The night was ruined now. She was about to be found out.

“Could your turn off the light?” she asked.

“I can, though I’d love to see you. I’ve wanted to see you ever since that night I had to sign a warrant and you came bouncing down the stairs in those shorts.” But he turned off the light.

She braced herself. She had expected the kisses but not for them to last so long and be so sweet that she almost forgot the bad part was coming. He tasted like champagne. His tongue even felt a little fizzy. Was that possible? This was so nice, his lips trailing up her neck and across her bottom lip, his tongue sparkling against hers. But it didn’t last. He reached for her breast and she turned to concrete. This is how it went. Breasts, impaling, and then, blessedly, done. She concentrated on the
done
part.

“Lanie,” he whispered against her ear. “I know you’re nervous, but I promise you don’t need to be.” Alexander had always said that too. “Try to relax.” But she couldn’t. Soon he would be hurting her, pulling at her nipples, followed by his demanding mouth and teeth. He would leave her breasts bruised and sore because that’s the way it worked.

But he wasn’t doing it yet. He continued to kiss her and even when he untied the ribbons on the front of her gown and reached inside, his caresses were still gentle and pleasant. Against her better judgment, she began to relax. With his hands gently squeezing and lifting and the champagne washing through her, it was easy to convince herself to enjoy it while it lasted. But soon, dread replaced the warmth. Like she knew he would, he bent his mouth to her nipple and she bit her lip, waiting. Amazingly, there was no biting or painful sucking. He softly ran his tongue over first one nipple and then the other. To her own astonishment, she let out a low moan.

“Is that good?” he murmured against her skin.

“Yes,” she answered and it was true.

He took her hand and moved it against his bare side. “Touch me, Lanie. I like to be touched.” Turned out, she liked to touch him and the more she did, the more the pressure on her nipples increased, making her want more — but not too much. More, but not too much — that place likely existed somewhere south of Never-Never Land and north of Oz.

He suckled her and lightly bit her left nipple. Then he raised his head. “Is that too hard? I don’t want to hurt you.”

He didn’t want to hurt her!

“You’re not,” she said and she guided his head back to her breast. Encouraged by this response, he peeled her nightgown off. She willed herself not to stiffen in his arms. Regardless, it was going to end the same way — messy, unpleasant, and uncomfortable. But with his mouth still on her breast, he brought his hand to caress between her legs, and she let out a cry of surprise and pleasure.

Luke laughed, pleased with himself. “Take off my pants,” he urged, “stroke me.”

This was it. This was when he would go into his own world and forget about her. Oh, well. It had been a pleasant surprise and more than she had expected. She reached for the drawstring of his pants; at least she was proficient at this part, having been coached until she got it right.

He cried out when she caressed his throbbing erection and she waited for him to roll her to her back and rip into her. But instead, his hands and mouth were everywhere — gentle, teasing, urgent, demanding, but giving. Though she’d done it to stall, she was glad she’d shaved her legs, never imagining he’d want to kiss the back of her knee, caress her calves, and run his tongue over her ankle bone. He was making her feel things she’d read about but hadn’t quite believed.

“Lanie.” His mouth was on her neck again, his breath was labored, his voice thick. “I want you so much. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” That was the right answer. She rolled to her back and waited for the dry abrasive onslaught.

But it still didn’t come. He cradled himself between her thighs, hot, naked, and throbbing, but he didn’t enter her. He moved against her and kissed her eyes, neck, and finally her mouth. When he whispered that she was beautiful and moved into position, she steeled herself. They always said something nice before the bad started.

Why did Luke slip in so easily when he seemed so much larger than Alexander? She waited for the pounding to begin, but he lay perfectly still, moaning, kissing her neck, and caressing her breasts. And it felt good, so good. She was afraid for it to feel so good, afraid she would miss it when the good went away.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he whispered against her neck. “You have the sexiest legs I’ve ever seen. I want to feel them against me.” She did as he asked. There had been a time when she’d been proud of her legs, her whole body, really. But that was before she knew she wasn’t normal.

Though she wasn’t feeling so abnormal now. Luke began to move inside her and something was happening that made her want to move too. She reached and reached — for what she didn’t know. The room was filled with moans of pleasure — his, but there were feminine moans too, that spoke of feelings she hadn’t, couldn’t process.

“Are you close?” Luke asked and she knew he was waiting for her, waiting for something that would never happen.

“Go ahead,” she urged. “This is good.” And it was — good enough. There was no discomfort, no pain and if it could always be like this, she’d be happy. She wouldn’t expect more, wouldn’t ask for that elusive magic.

He lifted himself high and thrust hard — though not too hard — and held.

“Come for me, Lanie,” he said. “Let me feel you come.” He pressed and moved until she felt herself lift up to the clouds and bloom like a rose. In that supreme and perfect moment, he cried out and spilled inside her.

He fell against her and she lay there, too stunned to move, speak, even think.

“That was so good and I’m so sorry,” he said around his labored breathing.

“Sorry?” Had she heard him right? Why was he
sorry
he had made her feel that way? What had she done to deserve that?

“I’m sorry. It has been so long and I wanted you so much. I promise I can last longer. I will next time and it will be better for you.” And he collapsed on her shoulder and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

It could last
longer
? It could be
better
? How was this possible? Indeed, had this been a fluke? A one-time occurrence? Stunned, she pondered those questions for close to an hour.

Then Luke woke up, pulled her to him, and answered all her questions — without saying a word.

Lanie woke to the sound of thunder and the weight of an arm thrown over her stomach. Though in a strange bed, in a strange place, not only did she immediately know exactly where she was and what had happened, but her senses seemed sharper.

She was hungry — hungrier than she’d ever been in her life. And thirsty. Everything was bigger, louder, more acute. It was as if she’d been insulated against the world and it had fallen away.

Maybe that’s what happened when you found out that maybe you were like other women after all. Or maybe, now that her body was fully awake, her mind was catching up.

The bedside clock showed that it was nine thirty-five. Of course, this wasn’t the first time she’d been awake this morning. She slowly and quietly eased herself from underneath Luke’s arm. He jerked and mumbled, but fell back against his pillow, still asleep. Good, she wanted him to sleep — and not just out of consideration. She needed to be alone with her thoughts, but she spared a moment to look at him. His hair lay in loose curls all over his head, more like Emma’s than his usual controlled style. Goodness, had he looked this good before this morning? He must have. It couldn’t just be the hair.

Or the sex. Three times they’d had sex, the last time at daybreak. Each time she had thought, surely, this was the time it would go bad and her body would fail her, but each time had been better than the last. She picked up the white nightgown from the floor and slipped it over her head. The bathroom mirror said she looked the same but that wasn’t true. She was different — very different.

Her stomach growled as she padded barefoot into the kitchen. They hadn’t gotten groceries. Too bad she hadn’t saved that banana. She hadn’t eaten all the chips but, hungry as she was, the thought of that made her stomach revolt. Please, God, let there be some cheese or an apple, at least. But when she swung open the door of the built-in refrigerator, she found the glass shelves lined with disposable containers from a place called Bay View Catering. Among the salads, deli trays, and soups, she found an oven-ready cheese and sausage strata. After putting it in to bake, she drank a Diet Coke in three gulps and made a pot of coffee.

In the living room, the light that poured through the wall of windows looked gray and watery, though it wasn’t raining yet. She settled on the sofa with her coffee and a soft cotton throw. Her stomach rumbled again. She should have gotten some of the fresh fruit salad but now she was too comfortable to get up. Or was it sated? She had never understood the meaning of that word until now.

There was still a lot she didn’t understand, but one thing was for sure: the sex scenes in novels weren’t lies or even exaggerations. It was real and right at the top of those stairs for the taking, complete with champagne sparkling kisses. It seemed more and more possible that, apart from being unable to have children, there was nothing wrong with her. Just maybe, her lack of response had been because Alexander had been a bad lover. But if so, why? Had he been selfish? Or had he not known better? Maybe they’d been too young and inexperienced. Not that it mattered now. But how different would her life have been if she had taken a lover later? If she’d found out that she was normal? There had certainly been opportunities for lovers. If she had given herself to someone between the landscaping course and the origami classes, or even when she’d been in Jackson during her apprenticeship, where would she be now? Would she have gone back to her former life? Would she be teaching kindergarten? Would she have already married and maybe adopted a baby or two?

Maybe, but would that have been better? How could it, if there was no candy shop, no Merritt, no book club friends, and no Emma?