Hummingbird (36 page)

"It's my turn to know your body like you've known mine all these weeks, Abbie." She became aware of all the places where her body was wet, where his tongue had trailed as she slept, where her skin now cooled as it dried. Naivete vanished as she read his eyes and understood his intention. Involuntarily she shivered, then slowly hid her breast behind her upper arm, not quite knowing how to hide the rest of her Mesmerized by the hunger in his gaze, she watched in fascination as he dipped his head again to her white hip, his eyes sliding closed while a sound of deep passion rumbled from his throat. He braced up on one hand, twisted now at the waist, and with a warm, caressing palm, pushed her back down onto her stomach. Her cheek grew lost in a pillow and her heart thrust wildly against the mattress as his warm lips brushed up and down her back and he began uttering her name against her skin. "Abbie… Abbie…

Abbie…" Over and over, roaming her body with his soft moustache and his softer mouth until everything inside her grew yearning and outreaching. He turned her gently onto her back, moving her limbs where he would have them, trailing wetness and love words as his kisses tracked across her flesh. His gravelly voice whispered that the second time was better, begged her to be still, to let him. "Don't fight me, Abbie, I'll show you… Abbie, you're so tiny… God, you're beautiful… Shhhh, don't hide from me… there's more… Trust me, Ab." When she reached instinctively to cover herself, he nudged her hand aside with his nose. Then his teeth gently closed upon the side of her thumb and he carried it to the hollow of her hip.

"Jesse…" she rasped once, beseeching him for she knew not what.

"Nothing's going to hurt this time, Abbie, I promise."

No, she thought, people don't do this! But people did, she learned, for his mouth possessed her everywhere, sent her spinning into mindless wonder while she lost all will to resist. He sailed her high and writhing until heat exploded like a skyrocket inside her, sending sparks sizzling from the core of her stomach to the tips of her toes and fingers in a gigantic burning burst of sensation. She opened her eyes to the sight of him gazing in undisguised need up her stomach, into her dazed, glazed eyes. She groaned and rolled a shoulder languorously away from the mattress, then let it sag back again. She pulled her senses up from their debilitated depths and opened her eyes, realizing that he needed fulfillment equally as much as she had a moment ago. So she raised her drugged arms in welcome.

He lunged up, rasping instructions in her ear, encompassing her with powerful brown arms that lifted her, turned her, and set her on top of his stomach, then brought her down until her breasts were crushed against the mat of hair on his chest. Words became unnecessary, for her body and his hands told her what to do. Innocence, timidity, naiveté all fled as she started to move, watching his pleasured face as his eyes slid closed and his head arched back against the jumbled pillows. As his lips fell open and his breath scraped harshly, she saw in his face the plenary abandon which he'd earlier brought to her Her heart soared. Her eyes stung. This, this, this, is how it should be for both man and woman, she realized. The one giving to the other, the one taking from the other, with as much joy derived from the giving as from the taking. She faltered and his eyelids flickered opened momentarily, then closed again and his temple turned sharply against the pillow as she regained the rhythm. Unbelievably, when he reached his climax he cried out—was it her name or some mindless profanity or both? It mattered not, for it made her smile, made her feel skilled and agile, and bursting with joy.

She collapsed onto his broad chest, her forehead nestling beneath his jaw. One of his hands fell tiredly onto her shoulder, rubbed it in a light, caressing circle of satisfaction before flopping weakly onto the pillow again. Then, surprisingly, beneath her ear, a slow, quiet, wonderful chuckle began. It rumbled there like sweet thunder until, puzzled, she raised her head to study him. But his eyes remained closed while his chest rose and fell beneath her own, with silent laughter And suddenly she understood why he laughed—

it was a laugh of elemental satisfaction. A smile blossomed upon her lips, and a slow glow began deep down in her belly, in answering gladness. He slung his tired arms about her, hugged her tightly, and smiled against her hair as he rolled them both from side to side several times.

"Ahh, Abbie, you're good," came his lover's hosannah, "you're so damn good."

Nothing he might have said could have pleased Abbie more at that moment. She smiled against his chest.

Then his hands flopped back, palms-up, on either side of his head. She sat up, peered at him, but his eyes remained peacefully closed, and while she watched in astonishment, he fell asleep, with her sitting yet astride him—stunned, naked, and new.

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With her first rising movement, Abbie knew she'd overdone it. She was thirty-three years old and some of the muscles she'd stretched last night hadn't been stretched for years. Suppressing a groan, she rolled to the edge of the bed.

"Good morning, Miss Abigail," drawled a pleasant, raspy voice behind her. But she couldn't endure the thought of facing him, knowing that in a few short hours he would simply be walking out of her life. Two strong brown hands circled her white hips, and he kissed her down low, almost where she sat, laying behind her, strewn all over the bed hazardly, like the tumbled sheets.

"Where you going?" he inquired lazily, giving her a fond squeeze.

She sucked in her breath and her back went rigid. "Don't do that, it hurts!"

His hands slipped away and he watched her get up slowly with one hand bracing the small of her back.

Two or three steps told them both that her back wasn't the only thing that hurt. But she eased her way to the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, bent over painfully to pick up her wrapper.

Ooooo, did he enjoy that!

He'd planned on a little morning morsel of her but could see that was definitely off. She straightened up just fine, but wasn't moving any too spryly. She shuffled out wiltedly while he felt like the first rose of summer—no doubt about it! He flexed, yawned, scratched his chest, and popped up happily to slip into his pants.

Abbie stood looking at the greasy, ivory-colored platter, the bones and hardened fat with dry, curling edges. She surveyed the coffee cups with brown rings and residue in their bottoms, the plain everyday glasses with now-flat champagne lying lifeless in their depths, the spot on the linen where the laughing piece of steak had hit when it flew from her mouth. Miserably she remembered their gay laughter while she'd tried in vain to settle the tablecloth perfectly all those times. She studied it all and it sickened her, standing in the middle of the room, gripping both ends of her tie-belt as if considering pulling, pulling, pulling, until it cut her in half. She told herself she would
not
think of last night as sordid!
She could not
!

But eyeing the mess on the table, she wondered sadly which she wanted to wash up first, the dishes or herself.

Behind her, Jesse crossed his brown arms and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. He could read her as accurately as if the old beatitudes were suddenly running ticker-tape fashion across the back of her sensible, sexless wrapper.

He wondered what to do or say. If he made a joke, it would fall flat. If he tried to take her in his arms, he was sure she'd push him away. If he conferred upon her the right to place the blame on him, it would only make matters worse. Still, he could not let her stand there interminably, being her own censor.

He came up behind her, placed both hands on her shoulders, and decided to simply say the truth. "In the morning sometimes a person needs reassurance, sometimes both people need reassurance." Her neck was very stiff and he slowly rubbed his long thumbs along its taut cords. He felt her swallow and went on soothingly, "It always seems different in the morning, so the best thing to do is wait until later in the day to decide just how you feel about it. In the meantime, it's customary to at least acknowledge one's partner That is usually done in a very charming and old-fashioned way—like this."

Abbie felt herself being turned by her shoulders. She knew her hair and face were a fright, that this whole situation was frightful. But he made all that seem petty by lowering her hands when she sought to hide her hair and eyes, by kissing her ever so lightly while softly kneading her neck. She wanted to respond, but was afraid and guilty, thus Jesse had to settle for no reassurance at all, nothing more than the closing of her eyelids. Yet he understood that self-retribution already had her in its clutches, so he kissed her tenderly again, touching her fleetingly on each corner of her mouth.

His kiss was a new surprise, a unique, nice sensation which threatened her only with gentleness. But in the middle of it, with his warm lips wishing her the first lover's good morning of her life, she remembered that before the day wore out he'd be gone. Stricken, she controlled the urge to cling to him. She bit her lip as he rested his chin on top of her head. His hands rubbed her lower spine in heartrending consideration while he murmured, "The soreness will go away in no time."

And her thoughts cried, Oh, but so will you, Jesse, so will you!

She was shaken by his sensitivity, his depth of understanding. Both last night and this morning he had been tenderhearted in his treatment of her, and she now wished this weren't true. It made his imminent departure too abrupt and harsh to quite accept. Were he to turn again to his former ways, teasing, needling, or irritating her in some fashion, it would suit her far better, for she told herself rigidly that she would not—
would not
!—beg him to stay.

He patted her then, back there low, and said, "Why don't you take a nice hot bath and don't worry about breakfast? We ate late last night anyway."

She turned stiffly from his embrace, his consideration ripping some new wound in her with each passing moment. But still it went on, for when she was laying the fire and he saw her wince as she lifted a heavy chunk of wood, he came to take it from her, saying, "Here, let me do that. You go gather up your clothes or those dishes or something while I get a fire going and bring in some water."

As she turned away, burdened by his sweetness, he stopped her, calling quietly, "Abbie?"

She craned around, meeting his eyes directly for the first time across the morning expanse of kitchen. He looked as engagingly natural as ever: nothing on but his jeans, standing there barefoot, with that hunk of wood in his long brown fingers, his hair tousled and dark, his moustache and eyes as unsettlingly attractive as ever.

"What?" she got out.

"You haven't said anything to me yet this morning except 'Don't do that, it hurts.'"

She thought, damn you, Jesse, don't do this to me! I don't deserve it—not all this!

Why did he have to stand there looking so damn handsome and considerate and warm and likeable only now when he was on the very brink of leaving?

"I'm all right," she said evenly, disguising her turmoil. "Don't worry about last night. I can live with it."

"That's better," he said, putting the chunk of wood down, brushing bark bits off his palms. " Abbie, I have to ask you for a favor."

"Yes?"

"Are the stores open in town yet?"

"Yes."

"Well, all my stuff went on the train with my photographic gear It was all packed together. I want to go buy a set of clothes, but I don't have any money. I never thought to ask Jim for some. If you could lend me some out of that thousand, I'll see that you get it back."

"Don't be silly. You do not need to pay it back. The money was for anything you need, and if you need clothes, of course you may have as much as you wish."

"I thought I'd just wash my face quick and run a comb through my hair and go on up to buy what I need, then come back here and get cleaned up and changed before I leave. Is that all right with you?"

"You're leaving on the morning train, then?"

"No. I'm meeting some people at noon to discuss… some business, then I'll take the three-twenty out this afternoon."

"Meeting some people?" she asked, puzzled, but he looked away, busying himself at his firebuilding.

"Yeah, Jim set up a meeting here and told me about it yesterday. He said I don't have to be there, but I want to since it's… well, it's railroad business and I'm involved in it."

She couldn't help but wonder what kind of meeting a railroad photographer would be attending in a town as remote and insignificant as Stuart's Junction, but decided it was none of her business whatsoever. She was acting like a presuming lover on the basis of a one-night consortion. He had no obligation to explain his business dealings to her at all.

"Of course," she agreed, watching him poke at the fire. He looked so natural, bare-chested and barefoot that way. It was hard to imagine him in a full set of clothes. She'd never thought to see the day he'd actually buy and wear them, railroad meeting or not. It struck her that he must be inordinately eager to leave, for he had memorized the exact time of the train whistles.

Some minutes later she was sitting at the secretary in the parlor when he came out of the bedroom, shirt buttoned, all tucked in neat and proper, boots on, hair combed.

"I hope it's all right if I used your brush, Abbie, since I don't have one of my own."

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that remark after what the two of them had shared last night.

She handed him a bank draft she'd written out, saying, "Yes, of course it's all right. Here. I hope this will do. I haven't much cash in the house."

He reached out slowly, his eyes never leaving her downcast face while he scissored the check between two lean fingers.

"I'll be back soon." He hesitated, wishing she'd look at him, but finally swung away, seeing she would not.