Page 87 of Always to Remember
Meg felt Clay’s hesitancy to follow her lead. She teased his tongue, suckled it, then drew it into her mouth. He groaned, and she felt a shudder run the length of his body. She found his uncertainty endearing. When it came to matters of the heart, he had maintained an innocence that she had seldom seen since the war.
She knew Kirk had kissed an abundance of girls before he ever kissed her, knew he had bedded others before he took her as his wife. He had taught her the pleasures to be found with a man, had given much more than he’d taken. He’d been a skilled teacher, she an apt student.
Yet now, she found Clay’s lack of experience as intoxicating as she’d found Kirk’s abundant knowledge. He moved his hands back to her face, his fingers lovingly tracing the curves of her cheeks, the lines of her brow, and the jut of her chin. He touched her as though she were as delicate as finespun glass. He touched her as though she were more precious than gold.
Drawing away from the kiss, she placed her hands over his. “Are you trying to memorize my lines so you can carve the stone accurately?”
Slowly, he moved his head from side to side. “I could carve your likeness in stone if I were blinded. I’ve just never touched anything as soft or as smooth as you are. I can’t get over how incredible you feel.” His hands fell away from her face.
“What’s wrong?”
In the moonlight, she could see the barest of smiles touch his lips. “Wish I had different hands. Mine are so damn ugly, they shouldn’t be touching you.”
Wrapping her fingers around his hands, she lifted them to her lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Releasing one of his hands, she turned the other over and skimmed her fingers over the roughened surface, a palm that was as unpolished as the stone it had caressed over the years. She placed a kiss in the center of his palm. “I like your hands.”
“Why?” he asked, and she heard the disbelief mirrored in his voice. “They’re so big. They look and feel like stone.”
She rubbed her cheek along his hand. “But they don’t touch like stone. I watch the way you chip at the stone, and then you touch it as though you’re apologizing for treating it so harshly, as though you don’t realize you’re doing it a favor and turning it into something of beauty. I’ve missed watching you work this week to the point that I’ve resented every thoughtful neighbor who stopped by to visit Mama Warner because I had to play hostess and couldn’t sneak away for a few minutes. I don’t mind caring for Mama Warner, but it wears me out to care for all the people who come by to see her.”
“I’ve never felt lonelier in my life than I felt the day after I saw you here, and you didn’t come to watch me work. I started carving Kirk’s features because I thought it would bring you back to me.”
“Will you stop working on his face now that you know why I didn’t come?”
He shook his head. “No, I’ll go ahead and finish it now that I’ve begun. Might have to carve your features as well, just so I won’t feel so dadgum alone.”
“I’d watch you work if I could, but Mama Warner has always been there when I needed her. I can’t leave—”
“I know.”
She pressed her cheek against his chest. “Don’t stop working on the monument.”
“I won’t,” he promised.
Fifteen
BY UNSPOKEN AGREEMENT, THEY MET AT THE SWIMMING HOLEevery night after that. Lying on a quilt, Meg gazed at the stars. Stretching out beside her, Clay looked at her.
She told him about her day, caring for Mama Warner. She never talked enough to satisfy him. He could have listened to her soft voice all night, well into the morning, if she would have stayed with him that long, but he always escorted her home around midnight, watching while she climbed in through the window, wishing he could boldly escort her to the front door.
The days were shorter when he had the nights to look forward to, but the nights were never long enough.
Perched on an elbow, he lifted the end of her braid.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“Wishing I was a painter. I’d use your braid as my brush, dip it in the colors, and create the most beautiful paintings in the world.”
“And what would you do if I wasn’t near you?”
“Ah, there’s the secret. I’d have to keep you near me.”
She wrapped her hand around his neck and pulled him toward her waiting mouth. With no doubts, she initiated his favorite part of the night.
Rolling onto his stomach, he braced his elbows on either side of her to keep his weight off her, grazed his knuckles along her cheeks, and lowered his mouth to hers.
Words he dared not speak drifted through his mind, questions with answers he’d rather not hear taunted him. If she hated him, why did she meet him here every night? If she hated him, why did she welcome his touch? If she loved him, why did she meet him secretly?
If he loved her, why didn’t he leave her alone instead of luring her into his world where hate overshadowed love, and battles were still fought over a war long over?
