Page 116 of Always to Remember
“There. Now you’re not in the light,” she said quietly.
But he felt as though he were sitting in the middle of the sun. He spun around and jerked his shirt over his head. He didn’t think his back carried any scars above his waist. His hips and upper thighs were another matter. With his back to her, she wouldn’t have to stare at theDthey’d burned into his chest. It was the scar he hated most. “If you’re gonna do it, do it,” he barked.
“I’m sorry. I was just admiring your back. Even in the shadows I like the way it looks.”
She began kneading his shoulders. He stopped breathing. She was using both hands. How was she holding up her blouse? Maybe she was using her mouth—
“How does that feel?” she asked.
Nope. She wasn’t using her mouth. “Feels fine, but you’re not using the salve.”
“I don’t like the way it tastes.”
Was the woman daft? “Tastes?”
“Tastes,” she said in a throaty voice before she placed her mouth between his shoulders.
She trailed her mouth and tongue along his spine, and he wished his spine were three times longer than it was. Her mouth traveled back toward his neck. Again, he wondered how she was holding her blouse in place.
Then she pressed her bare breasts against his back, and he forgot all about her damn blouse. Her nipples felt as though they were tiny pebbles buried in soft clay. He smiled inwardly at the thought. He wouldn’t mind burying them in his mouth. She nibbled on his neck, then nibbled on his ear.
“I’m not wearing anything beneath my skirt,” she whispered.
“Dear Lord,” he said hoarsely.
She eased her hands around his waist and nimbly undid the first button on his trousers. “Are you wearing anything beneath your trousers?”
“No—”
She undid another button.
“I didn’t know—”
She gave another button its freedom.
“How urgent your need—”
“Very urgent,” she assured him as she wrapped her fingers around him.
He bowed his head. “Damn.”
She stilled her fingers. “What is it?”
“I was wrong,” he said in a strangled voice. “I can’t stand up to any torture that’s handed out.” He twisted around. “Damn you, Meg.” He lowered her to the quilt and covered her body with his own. Cradling her face with his good palm, he caressed her cheek with the fingers of his injured hand. “Damn you. Even knowing that hell lies on the other side, I can’t resist touching heaven.”
He kissed her long and drank deeply as though he’d crossed a desert: she was the well that contained all the things he’d dreamed about as he traveled alone. She was the water, the succulent fruit, the warmth on a cold night, the shade that protected him from the harsh sun.
He worked his hand around her back and fought the buttons on her skirt as she struggled to get him out of his trousers. The solution was simple. Take a moment and stop kissing, but she didn’t seem to want to release his mouth any more than he wanted to release hers.
Then they were warmth against warmth, flesh against flesh from their toes to their mouths. Pulling back, Clay leaned over and increased the flame in the lantern.
“I didn’t think you liked the light,” she said.
“I don’t like to be in the light, but I made love to you in the dark and didn’t know what I was missing. I wish I could make love to you in the sunshine.” Reverently, he skimmed his hand along every curve she possessed. “You’re so beautiful. Every line is perfect.”
She pressed her hand to the center of his chest. Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry they hurt you. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
Shaking his head, he placed his hand over hers and brought it to his lips. “No past, Meg. No future. All I have is now.”
