You Belong to My Heart (6 page)

“Jesus Christ, what are we doing?” He came suddenly to his senses, anxiously urged her up off him. “Someone could walk down here and catch us.”

She laughed softly, unfazed. “You didn’t seem to mind the danger a minute ago.”

He pushed her from him, rose his to feet, looked anxiously about, and grabbed his discarded trousers. “Get dressed, Brandy. We have to get back to the party before we’re missed.”

“Why? So you can dance with that silly child?” She tickled his chest playfully. “You’re wasting your time, Daniel. Mary Ellen Preble has eyes only for Clayton Knight.”

Daniel Lawton irritably shoved Brandy Templeton’s hand away. Cruelly he said, “Before the summer’s over, she’ll forget that sullen seamstress’s son exists.”

“Perhaps,” said Brandy, carefully folding her lace-trimmed pantalets into a small, neat square. She reached out, pulled one side of Daniel’s dark evening jacket away from his body, and stuffed the underwear into an inside breast pocket. And she said, “Before this night is over, you’ll forget that spoiled Mary Ellen Preble exists.”

His trousers back on, his hands at his belt buckle, Daniel Lawton started to smile again. He liked Brandy. He liked her a lot. She was daring and wild and did things to him no other girl would consider. After what they’d just done, it would be fun to go back to the party and dance amid the crowd, knowing she was naked beneath her petticoats, that the insides of her bare thighs were sticky with the residue of their hot loving.

Brandy was right.

She probably could make him forget he’d like to get his hands on the beautiful golden-haired Mary Ellen Preble. Chances were Mary Ellen was such a baby, she’d cry and run to Papa if he so much as kissed her.

Daniel raised his hand, cupped Brandy’s chin in his thumb and forefinger. “You know you’re the only woman for me, Brandy.”

“You know you’re only the girl for me, Mary.”

“Well, I can’t help it. I was so worried and jealous when I saw you with her.”

Clay and Mary Ellen danced together to the resonant music; the mellow light from a colorful Japanese lantern spilled down from overhead. He held her properly in his arms, as a young gentleman was supposed to hold a young lady. Carefully adhering to the rules of propriety, Clay was mindful of decorum. And of her parents keeping a watchful eye on them. He left the correct amount of space between them, but he longed desperately to hold her closer. Much closer. So close he could press his lips to her ear to reassure her, to murmur how much he loved her.

“Mary, dearest Mary,” he said, speaking softly so that only she could hear, “you have no need to be jealous of Brandy Templeton. Or of any other girl.”

“Then why were you with her? Where were you two going? What would have happened if the music hadn’t ended when it did and I came searching for you?”

“I told you, I wasn’t
with
Brandy. I was alone. Just relaxing. She came to join me.”

“And…?”

“And…nothing. She said she was overwarm and needed a rest from the dancing. That’s all.”

“That isn’t all. She was holding your arm. I saw her. Where did she want you to go?”

Clay felt himself flush, said sheepishly, “To the summerhouse.”

“The summerhouse?” Mary Ellen’s voice lifted and her perfectly arched brows shot up.

“Shhhh.” Clay frowned. “Not so loud.”

“But the summerhouse!” she lamented. “That’s our spot, yours and mine. You would go there with her?”

“No. No, I wouldn’t. And I didn’t.”

“But you thought about it. You considered going—”

“If I did,” he cut in, “it was because you were in Daniel Lawton’s arms when Brandy suggested we go down there. You danced four times with Lawton, and you smiled and simpered and allowed him to hold you too close.” His silver eyes had turned frosty.

Mary Ellen’s feet stopped moving. She quit dancing. She stared at his dark unhappy face and was swamped with overwhelming feelings of love and affection for him. Longing to throw her arms around him and kiss him and keep on kissing him forever, she put her hands atop his shoulders, rose on tiptoe, and whispered into his ear, “I can’t stand Daniel Lawton. He’s spoiled, arrogant, and boring.”

She pulled back a little, looked up at Clay. Unconvinced, he said, “He’s also rich, handsome, and educated.”

“I don’t care if he’s—”

“Mary Ellen, the guests are starting to leave now,” John Thomas Preble interrupted them. “Mind your manners and come bid them good night.”

A half hour later John Thomas Preble closed the heavy front doors. The last of the guests had finally departed. Only Clay remained.

John Thomas turned and said, “Son, it’s late. Time you went on home now.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Preble.”

“I told Sam to bring the brougham around,” said John Thomas. “He’ll drive you home.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

“Mary Ellen”—her father turned to her—“say good night to Clay and then get on up to bed.”

“I will, Papa,” she said. And stayed where she was.

“Well, good night, children.” John Thomas Preble, yawning sleepily, climbed the stairs to join his wife, who had already retired to their suite.

Neither Clay nor Mary Ellen made a move until they heard the door to the master suite open, then close. Even then a full thirty seconds elapsed before Mary Ellen tiptoed over to Clay and whispered, “I’ll walk you to the carriage.”

He nodded.

Outside, a full white moon floated in and out of some high, scattered clouds. Down on the river a steamer sounded its whistle. Katydids and frogs croaked a loud summer chorus. The hot, sultry air had cooled, and a pleasant breeze blew out of the south.

The young in-love pair sauntered slowly toward the waiting carriage, Mary Ellen’s golden head on Clay’s shoulder, her hand firmly enclosed in his.

Harnessed to the big brougham, the matching blacks snorted and blew. One lifted his hoof and pawed at the pebbled drive. The trappings jingled. Old Sam sat atop the box, his white hair shining in the summer moonlight.

He saw the children approaching the carriage, gave them a wide, toothless grin. Then, when they stood directly below, he thoughtfully turned his head, looked away.

Clay and Mary Ellen smiled. They knew the faithful Preble driver had turned his head so they could steal a good-night kiss.

“Bless his dear old heart,” said Mary Ellen, turning to face Clay.

“He’s one in a million,” said Clay, and wrapped his arms her.

They kissed there in the moonlight beside the waiting carriage. Once, twice, three times they kissed, until finally Clay tore his burning lips from Mary Ellen’s and said raggedly, “I better go.”

“I don’t want you to go.” She sighed, pressing her slender body against his tall, slim frame. “I wish you never had to leave me.”

Inhaling deeply, he felt his senses reel, assailed by the faint perfume of her golden-white hair. “Me too, me too,” he whispered as his hands glided down her back to settle on her hips.

“You’ll come see me tomorrow?” she asked, and laid her head on his shoulder, her face turned in.

“You know I will.”

“I’ll have the cooks pack a hamper with party leftovers. We’ll go for a picnic.”

Clay’s heart started to pound. “And a swim?”

“And a swim,” she said, and pressed her lips to his tanned throat.

Clay Knight shuddered.

T
HE PICNIC HAMPER
SAT
untouched on the grassy riverbank. A protective red-and-white cloth remained tucked neatly over the specially prepared lunch. The varied delicacies filling the heavy wicker basket held no interest for the young pair, whose only real hunger was for each other.

The minute they left Longwood behind, hurriedly descended the bluffs, and reached their secret concealed cove on the river, Clay dropped the hamper to the grassy bank. He turned to Mary Ellen. His eyes a warm smoky gray, he reached out, curled his tanned fingers around the back of her neck, and drew her to him.

He stepped in closer.

He lowered his head, and his dark face descended slowly to hers. He paused, his mouth hovering a scant inch above her own. Softly, seriously, he said, “From the minute I left you last night I have waited for this
minute.
Kiss me, Mary. Kiss me and make me know you love me as much as I love you.”

Mary Ellen’s hands lifted, clasped his rib cage. She put out the tip of her tongue and wet her lips. Then she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him. Clay sighed with pleasure when her warm, soft lips settled sweetly on his. His hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, he held her securely to him as she kissed him.

The tip of Mary Ellen’s tongue slid slowly, tantalizingly, along the seam of his full lips. He sighed deeply, shifted his weight slightly, and opened his mouth to her. Her tongue penetrated and did all the wonderful teasing, tempting things to the sensitive insides of his mouth he’d taught her.

Clay’s heart pounded. His pulse raced. He pulled her closer, bent a-knee, and wedged it between her legs. Through the barrier of their clothes, Mary Ellen instinctively rubbed herself against the hardness of his lean thigh.

Clay’s hands moved, went to her buttocks. He cupped her bottom, lifted her a little to fit more fully against him, and felt her pelvis immediately start to grind insistently up and down against his leg.

By the time that first long, openmouthed kiss finally ended, both of them were as hot as the blistering June sun.

Out of breath, trembling with emotion, Clay tore his heated lips from hers. His heavy-lidded silver eyes were glazed with passion. His chest was rising and falling rapidly with the forceful pounding of his heart. His tanned throat glistened with perspiration in his open-collared white shirt.

Mary Ellen was just as affected. Her breath was short, her legs were weak. She sagged against Clay, her hands gripping his biceps, her forehead resting against his chin.

When he could speak, Clay said, “There was a time, not so long ago, when it took us hours to get this worked up. Now with just one kiss we’re—” He stopped speaking, inhaled with effort.

“I know,” she agreed breathlessly. “Clay…oh, Clay.”

For an interminable time they stood as they were, just holding each other, weak with passion but fighting the inevitable.

“Let’s take a swim,” Clay said at last, knowing that a swim would do little good. Nothing could cool his ardor for this beautiful girl he adored. “We need a cooling swim.”

“Yes,” she said weakly, “a swim’s just what we need.”

Clay released her. Both took a couple of steps backward, moving away from each other. But neither turned away. They continued to face each other as Mary Ellen’s pale fingers went to the tiny buttons going down the center front of her lilac summer dress. Clay’s tanned hands went to the buttons of his white shirt. Watching each other closely, they began to undress.

His shirt open, the long tails yanked outside his trousers, Clay paused, bent from the waist, took off his shoes and socks. Her dress open to the waist, Mary Ellen crouched down and removed her shoes and stockings. Then she straightened and smiled at Clay.

Her eyes lingered on the growth of dense black hair covering Clay’s dark chest when he shrugged out of his shirt and dropped it carelessly to the ground. Clay stared unblinkingly when Mary Ellen pulled up her full-skirted lilac dress. When it came off over her head, she released it. The colorful garment mushroomed to the grassy bank below.

Clay’s hands went to the waistband of his beige cotton trousers. Mary Ellen’s nervous fingers went to the tape of her long, lacy petticoats. Clay unbuttoned his fly, shoved his pants to the ground, stepped out of them, and kicked them away. Mary Ellen yanked the tape of her full petticoats, pushed them impatiently to the ground, stepped out of them, and kicked them aside.

Now both were stripped down to their underwear. An awkward moment passed, and Mary Ellen made a move toward the water.

“Wait,” Clay said, stopping her. He came to her, placed gentle hands on her bare upper arms, and looked into her dark eyes. “You know I love you, don’t you, sweetheart?”

She nodded. “Yes. I know you love me.”

“And you trust me?” Again she nodded. He said, “Then let me undress you, Mary. Please.”

She smiled nervously. “I am undressed, Clay.”

“No, I mean all the way. Take everything off.” He held his breath, waited.

Mary Ellen hesitated, swallowed hard, but finally nodded her golden head. And then she stood obediently still while Clay’s tanned hands went to the tiny hooks going down the center of her batiste camisole. When the camisole was open to her waist, he slowly pushed it apart and down her arms. And released it. The wispy garment whispered to the grass at their feet.

His eyes caressing her bare, pink-tipped breasts, he found the opening at the waistband of her pantalets. It came undone. He sank to one knee before Mary Ellen and gently urged the lace-trimmed underpants over her hips. When the pantalets plunged downward until they were below her naval, Mary Ellen’s breath caught in her throat and she automatically grabbed at the swiftly vanishing underwear. Suddenly shy, uncertain, she was hesitant to let go of the undergarment and of her innate modesty.

“No,” Clay scolded gently, “don’t stop me, sweetheart. Not now. Move your hands. Let me finish.”

Mary Ellen reluctantly moved her hands away. He leaned to her, brushed his warm mouth to the shadowed hollow beneath her left hipbone. Mary Ellen winced, and an involuntary shiver of excitement surged through her near naked body.

The silky jet black hair of his head ruffling against her bare sensitive stomach, Clay said, his lips moving against her pale flesh, “Just this once, Mary. Let me undress you completely. Let me hold you naked in my arms for this one time. That’s all. Just once. Then I’ll never ask again.”

Mary Ellen’s dark eyes slid closed and her fingertips danced nervously atop his bare brown shoulders as Clay’s hands dragged down the pantalets. She felt the fabric’s softness slip over her buttocks, slide down her tensed thighs, fall from her knees to her ankles. Felt Clay’s strong fingers encircle her left ankle, lift her foot to free it of the garment. He did the same thing with her right foot.