The First Law of Love (38 page)

“Let me…see you…” I gasped into his ear and he knew what I wanted, what I needed, and caught my face in one hand, holding my gaze in his as I held him as closely as two people can be joined. His face was severe with passionate intensity and my heart pulsed with love, just seeing this.

Tish
, he said without words.
My Patricia
…

Case
, I said back. And then, in the intensity of the moment, I was overtaken by how I had known him before this, and his long-gone name seared through me. I thought,
Cole
…

***

Later, we held each other
close in the soft light of the lamp, sweating, tangled together, heavy-limbed with satisfaction.

“I could die right now, and I would die happier than I've ever been. My life would have been worth it, for these past few hours with you,” he said, and his deep voice was formed around a lump in his throat as he caressed his fingertips down the side of my face and neck, smoothed his palm over my shoulder before cupping my breast, tenderly, skimming his thumb over my nipple. His hand continued down my ribs, curled around my hip and drew me even closer to him.

“Don't say that,” I scolded him, my hands on his chest, my own throat thick with emotion. I hooked my right leg more securely around him. “Don't you dare talk about dying and leaving me. I would die right after that, just so you know.”

“Come here,” he whispered, gently lifting my chin to kiss me soft and sweet.

“I need you, I will never stop needing you,” I told him, my heart surging against his chest. I begged, “Come in me again, oh God, Case, please come inside me again.”

His eyes were so intense that I gasped even before he shifted his strong, nude body, my legs curving instinctively to form a cradle around him as I took him back within me, arching against him with a small, soft cry.

He licked gently along my bottom lip and then murmured against my mouth, “Nothing has ever felt better than you in my arms. I want you to know that.”

In the dimness of the little bedroom, linked as closely as we were able, we held utterly still for a second in time, clinging together. I could feel his heartbeat, matching the increasing pace of my own. He smoothed hair from my forehead, studying me at close range.

“Nothing,” he repeated, so softly.

“Case,” I breathed, shifting to take him even deeper. He groaned and took up a steady rhythm. I held his face in my hands and opened my lips, tasting him, taking him into me in every way possible, heart and senses, body and soul. And nothing had ever felt more right.

Morning's light found us curled together beneath the top sheet. His orange cat, whose name was Carrot, sprawled at our ankles, stretched out like a kitty-sized throw rug, while Mutt and Tiny each had their pointy noses sticking over the top of the mattress, their brown eyes curious, tails wagging. I opened my eyes first and giggled, and Case knuckled his eyes and groaned, “Everyone is watching us, aren't they?”

I giggled more, pressing warm kisses to his prickly jaw. He growled a little, teasing me, and I squeaked as he flipped me beneath him to nuzzle at my neck. The dogs barked and Carrot prowled the foot of the bed, jumping at my toes under the blanket. I shrieked as Case blew a huge breath of air against my collarbones, tickling me, and he laughed, pinning me and doing the same against the side of my neck. At this noise, Carrot flew from the bed as though shot out of a cannon.

“Stay right there,” he ordered, bracing above me and grinning. My heart thumped like crazy at just the sight of him, all warm and tumbled from sleeping, his jaws stubbled with a good day's growth of beard, darker than the hair on his head. He rubbed his chin lightly over the side of my neck as I shivered and giggled beneath him. At my ear he said, “I have to go feed everyone. But I'll be right back.”

“Hurry,” I ordered, cupping his face, and he tipped and kissed me flush on the lips before climbing from the bed and stretching, twisting at the waist. I lifted to one elbow, wholly admiring his lean, nude body, craving the feel of him even as tender as I was from all our lovemaking last night.

He donned his shirt and jeans with brisk, masculine movements and then turned to look at me, lying in his bed on my side, the sheet drawn almost demurely over my breasts. My hair was a tangled wreck. He swallowed hard, then smiled, again with the expression I knew well, that this was almost too much for him to bear, that he couldn't quite believe that we were here, and together, at last.

“Sweetheart,” I said, reaching for him, and he took me back to the mattress with one fluid movement, where I wrapped my arms around him and held. My legs were too entwined in the sheet.

“This is the most beautiful morning of my life,” he whispered. “Yesterday morning I didn't know how I was going to go on another day.”

“You are mine, Charles Shea Spicer,” I told him, gripping his ears for extra emphasis, and he smiled wider at my use of his full name. “We sound like an old-fashioned couple. Charles and Patricia.”

“We sound like everything I've ever dared to hope for, that's what,” he said, kissing my forehead. “My sweet Patricia. You know what, I have something to give you.” He grinned a little, then leaned to root something out of his nightstand drawer. He sat up with my silver hoop earring. He said softly, “I found this in my bed, you know.”

I smiled at the sight of it in his hands. I whispered, “I
knew
it.” I admitted, “I kissed your pillow that night.”

“That just blows me away,” he said, resting his free hand warmly upon my thigh. “Here I was dying to touch you every second, trying so damn hard not to let it show…and you were in my bed without me even knowing. You know how hard I rode home that night? And then you were gone when I got here.”

“Come here,” I demanded, and he set aside the earring and collected me close. I caught his ears into my hands and my heart absolutely surged with love for him. I said softly, “I knelt right here and I touched your sheets and I kissed your pillow…I wanted to wait for you right here. Oh God, it was so hard to drive away.”

“If I'd have known you did that, I would have ridden straight to your place and thrown you over Buck on the saddle. I would have brought you right back here.” He grinned at me and kissed the end of my nose. Again he marveled, “Although I had some idea that maybe you liked me more than you let on, when I pulled back my sheet and saw your earring. I felt like I'd found a treasure chest in my bed.”

I giggled a little, caressing his neck. I told him, “I wanted to be kissing a whole lot more of you than just your pillow, you realize.”

“I do
now
,” he said. “You stay here, woman, I'll be right back.”

“I'll be right here,” I assured him.

I curled around his pillow as sunlight fell across the foot of the bed. I was nearly asleep again, drowsy with warmth and contentment, when Case came back into the bedroom; we had only gone to sleep a few hours earlier. He shucked his clothes and I murmured happily as he drew me against his chest, kissing my shoulder, my neck, cradling me to him. He whispered, “I thought of something while I was outside. I'm a little ashamed to admit it didn't occur to me last night.”

“What's that?” I whispered back, snuggling delightedly against his warm front side. He spread one big hand over my belly.

“What if we're parents, around about next May?” he whispered, patting my belly gently, two times.

I had thought of that, very early this morning. I covered his hand with both of mine and calmly whispered back, “Then I hope she has your beautiful hair.”

Case crushed me closer to him. I could tell he had choked up, and I had too, at the thought of something so precious.

I added in a whisper, “And I hope you'll make an honest woman of me.”

He laughed around the lump in his throat. He whispered, “I would make you my wife this second, if I was able. Baby or not, I hope you know.”

I brought his hand up to my mouth and pressed my lips to him. Tears of pure joy overflowed and streaked sideways over my face.

Case kissed the side of my forehead and said softly, “Everything will be all right, sweetheart, my sweet, sweet heart. We're together now, from here on out.”

***

“No, your fingers aren't quite
there,” he said, and I bit my bottom lip in concentration, even though I was almost too distracted by his strong, naked body just behind me to think of anything else. I was bare as the day I'd been born too; Case had instituted a house-wide ban on clothing. It was late afternoon now, the sun lazy and warm out the windows, and we'd managed to make it as far as the living room couch, after spending the entire morning in bed. I was currently situated on his lap, sitting cross-legged, his guitar braced over my thighs.

His chest engulfed my back as he curved a little more securely and put his big hands over mine. I forgot all about the guitar and tilted to kiss his neck. He shivered, but said with determination, “Now this is the G chord,” and guided my fingers to the proper placement on the strings.

I pressed my fingertips and strummed; it sounded on-key and I smiled, strumming again. I said, “It's harder to hold the strings than I would have thought.” So saying, I took his left hand into mine and inspected his fingertips.

“It's just that your hands are so delicate,” he murmured.

“And yours are so tough,” I said delightedly. I ordered softly, “Play something, while I sit on your lap. I want to feel like I'm part of the music with you. I wish I knew an instrument.”

Case repositioned, tucking me closer to his chest. He swept the hair from my neck, settling it over my right shoulder. He whispered, “I'll teach you. And until then, you can inspire the music.”

I put my hands on his hard, bare thighs and confessed, “When I watch you play, this is all I really think about. Being close to you, like this. Being in your arms. You look so…enraptured when you play. I love it so much.”

He whispered, “I knew where you were, every second, when you were at a show with me. I tried to pretend I didn't notice you, especially that first night, but every song I played was for you. What's your favorite, baby? What do you want me to play for you?”

I didn't answer immediately, thinking of what I'd love to hear, but before I could respond he began strumming out a melody I recognized, sweet and slow, though usually he played it on the violin. I felt the vibrations from the guitar all the way to my toes, hot in my center. He continued the song; by the second time he reached the chorus, I was anticipating the certain series of notes that I liked, and shivered in pleasure. When he was done, he held the final chord and then tipped his jaw against my left temple.

“That's so beautiful,” I whispered. I said, “I love that one so much. Is it an old song?” It sounded like something from an earlier century, I'd always thought.

“It's nearly seven years old,” he said softly. “I wrote it for you, August of '06.”

Tears sprang instantly to my eyes. I whispered, “That's
my
song? Oh Case…oh God…” I turned enough to see his eyes, alight with warmth and love as he grinned at me. I said, “You mean to tell me that I've been hearing that all summer and never knew?”

He kissed my left eye, closing it momentarily, and whispered back, “I prayed that someday you'd know it was yours. I end almost every show with it.”

I started crying then, tears streaming over my face. I whispered, “You sweetheart.”

He set aside the guitar and stretched us full length on the couch, me over his chest. He tucked hair behind my ears with both of his big hands, thumbed away my tears, smiling sweetly. I caught his face in my hands and pressed kisses to him, his forehead, his nose, his chin. I said, my voice rough with emotion, “I love it. Thank you, sweetheart. I love it so much.”

He brought my lips to his and kissed me gently, so gently that I trembled and quivered. He said, “You're so very welcome.”

“Can you play it again?” I begged, even as my thighs spread over his hips.

“I promise,” he whispered, his eyelids lowering a little, “I promise I will in a little while. But first…”

I rocked my hips against him as he breathed out in a rush.

“First I want you to thank me for something else,” he whispered intently, and drew me firmly closer.

***

“I have to feed the
animals,” he mumbled much later.

The air was a rich indigo-blue, the sky out the window washed in a pale violet-pink as the sun disappeared behind the ridge. We were still on the couch. I didn't know if my knees would be able to support my weight when I tried to stand, and smiled at the thought, snuggling closer to his chest.

“I'll help you,” I told him, tickling him, trailing one fingertip down the line of dark hair that extended from his belly button, curling my fingers into the thicker hair, lower down.

He snorted a laugh, reaching to catch my hand into his. He said, “Quit that, woman, that tickles.”

I lightly bite the side of his neck, teasing, “So that is just an urban legend about redheads.”

He moved with determination now that I was tickling in earnest, laughing as he got me under him and stilled my hands. Pinning me to the cushions, he demanded, “What are you talking about?”

“I thought your hair might be red-gold
all
over your body,” I said wickedly.

He said, “You're so naughty and I love it,” laughing even harder at this, shaking his head, bending to open his lips over my left breast. I caught his ears in my hands, arching into his stroking kisses. He said, though his mouth was pretty damn busy, “You taste so good.”

I breathed, “You feel so good…don't stop…”

He took my waist in his big hands and my nipples between his teeth, suckling and running his tongue in circles, by turns, as I shivered and moaned. He whispered, his mouth against my skin, “Like gumdrops, all soft and sweet on my tongue…”

“I dream…about this…all the time,” I gasped, my throat tipped back.

I felt him smile and he said, “Me too…but this is so much more amazing…”

He moved lower, brushing his nose over my belly, pressing gentle kisses there.

“So soft and sweet,” he whispered again, and I cried out, clutching his hair as his tongue teased over the most sensitive spot on my entire body. He held my waist, keeping that part of me gently anchored as he worked, so incredible at what he did, his wide shoulders arched over my spread thighs like wings.

***

Later I mumbled, “We should
probably eat something.”

He laughed against my skin, tickling me, and I squeaked a little. He said, low and teasing, “I thought that's what I just did.”

I giggled then too, replete with satisfaction, my laughter jostling his head.

“Maybe a bath?” I whispered, stroking his hair. It was so soft in my fingers.

“If I could move, maybe,” he murmured, half asleep against my breasts. I cradled his head to me, curling around him and pressing my lips. Darkness had leached the color from everything around us. He added, “I don't need food. Or water. Just you.”

“You've got me,” I whispered back. “And if you ever get tired of me, too bad. I'm here to stay.”

He lifted his head then, moving back above me. The strength and immediacy of his strong, warm body enveloped me at once, his voice so very serious as he whispered, “Tish, the entire rest of my life isn't near enough time to be with you. I can hardly bear the thought of you leaving here to go back to your apartment tomorrow.”

“Case,” I whispered, overcome with a near-violence of tenderness and love. I clutched his face and kissed him, pressing my lips fervently to his jaw, his chin, the skin beneath his eyes that had borne shadows for too long. I clung to him as I said, “Oh God, I love you. You were hurting and I did that to you. Oh God, I'm so sorry.”

He tucked me closer to him and I snuggled, burrowing into his warmth; the windows were yet open and the air had grown chill with evening. He reached and caught the flannel blanket from the back of the couch and swirled it over us. I felt as though I had never been anywhere but this evening, this place, with Case. It was as if everything I had ever lived through had been leading to us holding each other in this moment. He wrapped one arm around my waist, smoothed his other hand over the back of my head and pressed his lips to my forehead.