Against The WindAgainst The WindGenesis Press; 11/99
ISBN: 1-885478-90-9
Leslie couldn't get used to Jordan's public show of affection. She was at once ill at ease and proud as they strolled hand-in-hand to the stables.
Jordan saddled Serenity and held the reins while Leslie mounted. "You do that so gracefully. Serenity's going to love you."
That wasn't Leslie's main concern. "But will I love her?" she asked him, voicing her anxiety.
He shrugged. "Good question. I hope she fares better that I have, though you may be more adept at communicating your feeling to her than to me."
She looked down at him from her perch on the big bay. "I wouldn't dare comment on that. Where're we going?"
He swung up on Casey Jones, grinned at her and winked. "Out back of the pecan grove where nobody can hear your cries when I'm ravishing you."
Her face must have expressed her momentary panic, for his whole demeanor changed. "Leslie, what it is? What happened? Wait a minute. You don't think I was serious?"
She shook her head with all the energy she could muster. She wasn't afraid of Jordan but of... Would she never forget Faron Walker and that horrible night! "No. No, of course not. It was the... the moment... is all."
She knew he didn't believe her, but at least he didn't probe. As though to test her, he headed them straight for the pecan groves where he informed her that her dismounts needed improvement.
"I thought I'd made progress."
"You have, but you need more practice, and I suggest we do this every evening after supper till you get the hang of it."
What was his game? Her dismounts weren't bad. "I swung my right foot over Serenity's back until it touched the ground. then I moved my left foot out of the stirrup. What else should I have done?"
She noticed that he didn't look at her, but busied himself tethering the horses. "You could have done it more smoothly. Handling a horse isn't child's play."
She controlled her annoyance. If he needed an excuse to be with her, she could suggest something that didn't involve a cold wind blowing in her face. His smile abated her frustration. And when his hand found hers, she forgot about the wind, for his fierce stare provoked a flurry of sensation in her.
"Let's walk a little," he said.
Right then, he could charm her into doing most anything and, realizing it, a wariness settled over her. "I'm...it's chilly." she stalled. "Maybe we should go back."
His fingers entwined with hers, warming her. "All right, if you'd like, but if you're cold, I can take care of that. Come here to me."
He stopped, but she continued walking. "You're after my head, remember?"
His laughter wrapped around her, battling the rising wind, entrapping her thoughts the way a smart lawyer cages an adversary. "Do I remember? You bet I do."
They reached a grove of large Scheley trees that Cal said bore the sweetest nuts he'd ever tasted, and Jordan picked up a handful of pecans from beneath the tree, put two of them together in the palm of his right hand, pressed and cracked them. He picked out the meat, put it to her lips and watched her in the sensual act of chewing while she stared into his eyes.
She swallowed. "You're making putty out of me."
He wanted to smile, but somehow, it didn't come off. "Maybe that's the idea, but you don't mold easily. I'm not making much progress."
"Why are you so sure of that?"
"If I was getting anywhere, you'd have your arms around my neck right this minute hugging me."
He wasn't used to deviltry in her, so the twinkle in her eyes didn't warn him, and he gaped when she said, "Hug you? What, for two pecans?"
Her countenance mirrored the smile that he knew had taken possession of his face. He said, "You're so irreverent. I want you to be free. I want to be with you when you let it all pour out. The fun, wickedness, wit... He sobered. "And the secret you still keep. Here." He cracked another pecan, shelled it and fed it to her for the pleasure of watching her chew it. It hadn't occurred to him that chewing could be so sensuous.
"Some of that fun stuff is as new to me as it is to you," she told him.
"You mean the wickedness? Surely you know about that sharp little tongue of yours."
She shrugged. "After years of being straightlaced, I've discovered that I like feeling wicked."
"Feel devilish enough to... to kiss me?"
"We're supposed to be giving me riding lessons and finding out if we like each other."
She couldn't be serious. "I suppose I spend every minute I can with you because I don't like you. Unless you're dead set on pulling my chain off its hook, woman, put your arms around me."
Her fingers brushed his cheek, and he thought he saw love in the tender expression of her eyes. Her smile lighted the dusk-encroaching world around them, and when she raised her arms, his heart thundered in joy. He'd never know how or where he got the patience to wait as she tiptoed, grasped the back of his head with her hand and brought his mouth down to hers. Her lips, eager and warm, sweet and tender, touched his mouth, taking from him something that he'd always guarded and held apart and, in that instant, he knew she was in him forever. He reeled beneath the knowledge. Sobered.
Leslie didn't question his thoughtful manner as they headed back to the house, and he was glad. He'd have told her the truth, unvarnished, and demanded the same. He waved at Ossie in passing, helped Leslie dismount, stabled the horses and walked home with her. He knew she expected a kiss, but he didn't feel like punishing himself. He loped down the steps that led from her apartment to the garden and paused on the bottom one. Ossie hadn't moved and seemed to stare in the direction of Leslie's door. He wished he'd kissed her.
#
Leslie showered, put on a gown and robe and sat down to work on her thesis, but his smile shrouded the pages of her notebook. She knew she'd come a long way in the seven months she'd been at the Estates, that she'd changed, grown as a person. But had her metamorphosis been so complete that she could ignore the consequences, the censure of ordinary people, because of a liaison with Jordan and let nature dictate their dance? She wanted to. A sheen of perspiration covered her arms as her mind teased her with images of him lying above her, loving her. Embarrassed by her thoughts, she switched off the lamp and began counting sheep.
#
Jordan extinguished the light on his night table. Two o'clock. If he didn't get some sleep, he'd be useless the next day. When had he last slept uninterruptedly for eight hours, or even six? He could answer that question, if he could name the day he'd begun to want Leslie. He dozed off, and the intercom buzzed. He sat up, got his bearings and pushed the button, praying that nothing was on fire.
"Saber."
"Jordan! Jordan can you hear me? Somebody's coming up the stairs to my apartment."
He was on his feet. "I'm coming. Lock your bedroom door." He hung up, stepped into his pants and boots, didn't bother with a shirt, grabbed the .45 with its holster from his night table drawer, slung it around his hips and flipped on the flood lights that lit up the back of the house and the entrance to Leslie's apartment. Then he punched the Bakers' intercom and alerted Cal. A minute later he was running toward the stairs to Leslie's apartment. He reached the bottom step just in time to see a man's silhouette disappear around the side of the garage, obviously scared off by the brilliant lights.
"If I get my hands on you, I'll break you in half," he yelled in frustration, knowing the man had escaped. At his knock on her door, Leslie screamed. He started to kick the door in, but thought better of it, as he realized that would frighten her more. Instead, he used his passkey, calling her name as he did so. He walked into her bedroom as she scrambled out of bed and grabbed the lamp for a weapon, tears streaking her face. He hurt for her, knowing that she was reliving the fear that had haunted her since she'd barely escaped rape five years earlier. Without a word, he lifted her into his arms, threw the covers back, crawled into bed with her, shoes and all, and gathered her into his arms. Her wrenching sobs sent chills through him, tearing at his heart. He knew he was probably back to square one with her, but he didn't bother with self-interest; his only concern was the well-being of the woman who had come to mean everything to him.
"It's all right, sweetheart. I'm here, and nothing and nobody can harm you." He kissed her eyes, her nose and her forehead and whispered comforting, soothing words. But still she sobbed.
"Baby, don't. I can't bear to see you this way. Talk to me." She stirred, her deep breaths telling him that she struggled to bring herself under control. As she moved in his arms, his passion awakened. But he banked it quickly, knowing that what she needed right then was not lust but tender caring.
Silently, Cal observed them from the doorway, turned and left. Julia had told him something of Leslie's past, and he couldn't help wondering if Jordan would ever be able to banish her fears, especially after tonight.
Jordan had similar thoughts. "Leslie, darling, you have to talk about it. I know you're hurting, but don't hold it in. Let me help you." He continued to talk to her, soothing her with his voice. "Hold on to me, Leslie. I've got strength enough for both of us, and I won't let anything happen to you. Not now. Not ever. Just trust me, sweetheart."
She turned in his arms and sought his face with her fingers. "He... it reminded me of that night... the night ... Oh Jordan, I thought he was going to... that he would manage before you got here. There's never been anyone. If there ever is, I want you it to be you."
Gentle now, he silently cautioned himself, cradling her while her soft sighs grabbed his heart. "Shhhhhh, sweetheart. It's over now." He stood abruptly, pulled the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her. When he lifted her and cradled her close to his shirtless body, she slid her arms around his neck.
"Where are we going?"
"I'm taking you where you belong, where I can take care of you, protect you, where you should have been all along. I know you love this apartment, but I have to know you're safe and that you're not afraid. From now on, you stay at the house with the rest of the family. Tomorrow, we'll move your things. You may come over here and work on your thesis or whenever you feel the need for privacy, but you'll live under my roof. Can you accept those conditions?"
She nodded, and he carried her into the house and up the stairs to the spare room across from the master bedroom. As he walked into the room, she brushed his lips with her own, innocently, he knew.
Nonetheless, he froze in his steps. He wasn't in any shape or mood to have his control tested, and he didn't want to be reminded of her softness, nor of her near nakedness under that blanket. He looked at her and saw that she, too, had felt the electricity of that sweet little kiss. Glancing quickly away, he laid her gently upon the bed and reached to turn on the Tiffany lamp that graced the night table. The room was immediately suffused with a hazy glow, reflecting soft blue walls and the rose, sand and blue furnishings. She lay where he'd placed her, looking up at him with all that she felt shinning in her eyes.
Don't even think it, he commanded himself. Don't go near there, man!
"Sweetheart, you've been through a lot tonight. You'd better get some sleep. We both need it. I'll see you at breakfast." He slipped off the holster and turned to leave, knowing that if he spent another minute in there, he'd be in serious trouble. But she grasped his hand and clung to it, her voice soft, her expression wistful.
"I don't know how to thank you. I mean, I don't know what to say to you. Nothing that I can possibly say will reflect what I'm feeling." She was rambling. He stood over her, his hand wrapped tightly in both of hers. This wasn't the time. This wasn't the place. But God in Heaven, she'd come damned close to asking him to stay with her. He wasn't a saint, he thought, ruefully. He was human and the heat in his loins simmered like a time bomb. He had to get out of there, and he turned again to leave but, suddenly, she squeezed his hand.
He flung the holster on the chair beside her bed and, moving with lightening speed, he was beside her in a second, jerked the blanket off of her and pulled her to him. She met his kiss with her own eager, open mouth. She's a fast learner, he thought, as he plunged his tongue into her. He'd known that Leslie was basically uninhibited, at least with him. But he was unprepared for the power of her passion, when she threw her left leg over his lap, leaving her gown riding high near the top of her thighs, and buried her hands in his hair. Not satisfied with that, she began to caress his face, whimpering in the fashion of a woman wanting more. Much more. He knew she was in shock and only barely aware of what she was doing or of its effect on him.
"Baby, slow down here. We can't do this." She pulled him over on her, burrowing beneath him. He knew he had to stop it, but her passion, her heat, lured him as nectar entices a bee. And he had wanted, needed, gone half-mad with desire for her for so long.
She wrestled him for his hand and placed it on her breast, and with a groan of resignation, he capitulated. She arched her back and, cursing himself for his weakness, he lowered his mouth to her breast and sucked it through her sheer gown. He heard her cries and whimpers and it occurred to him somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, that they were not alone in the house. But he couldn't stop himself. He wanted so badly... needed what she offered. If he could just hold her forever! His common sense returned like a blast of arctic air when she tried to wrap both of her legs around his waist and began to undulate beneath him.
He didn't want to hurt her, but it wasn't the time or the place for them to make love. He first eased away from her and then cradled her to him. Best to talk about it, he decided.
"Leslie, honey, I want to make love with you more than anything. I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman, but after what you've just experienced, this is the wrong time. You're reacting to shock. I don't want you to associate our first time with that incident. And another thing. When we do make love, we will need more privacy that we have here and plenty of time. Leslie, tell me it's all right! Tell me what you're feeling."
He'd swear that she withheld the truth, or told only half of it, saving face, when she said, "What I'm feeling is, I'm scared."
His laughter wasn't honest either. "You just think you're scared. If I hadn't put the brakes on, I'd be inside you right this minute." Where I want to be, he finished silently.
"Don't be so smug, Jordan Saber. I've always heard that talk is cheap; it takes money to buy land."
"Hell, there's nothing on earth that feeds a man's ego like having his woman want him to the point where she's willing to take what she needs. Damn straight, I'm smug."
"I fattened your ego? I dread the thought of what would happen if I put some effort into it. What's with you anyway?"
If she only knew what it cost him to keep his hands off her. He leaned toward her. Exasperated. "Listen here. It's a foolish man who runs with the ball when he doesn't have a hope in hell of scoring. Sometimes you have to punt, to give it up and wait for a better chance."
"Jordan---"
He interrupted her. "Can't you ever address me with an endearment? Must it always be `Jordan'?"
She looked up at him and shook her head as though denying an unwanted truth, but her silence didn't fool him and it didn't please him either. He suspected that the old, self-protective Leslie was trying to emerge. Another setback. He told her good night and stepped across the hall to stare at the ceiling for the remainder of the night.
This
page is designed and maintained by The Literary Times