Blackwood's Woman (18 page)

"She doesn't control you now. You make your own decisions. Right?"

"You know what the funny thing is, J.T.?" She watched, unmoving, while he walked toward her. "As different as you and Helene Beaumont are, you do agree on one thing."

"What's that?" he asked, halting a couple of feet away from her.

"You both think Annabelle Beaumont was a foolish adulteress and the great love she and Benjamin shared was nothing more than a lonely, unhappy matron's fantasy."

"I've just started reading the diary," J.T. said. "I'm not sure what I believe. Not anymore."

"Don't you dare try to pacify me with lies, John Thomas Blackwood. Don't pretend something you don't believe."

"Nobody calls me John Thomas. I'm J.T. John Thomas was my grandfather."

"Sensitive, are we?" she taunted.

J.T. grabbed her and held her by the arms, keeping a good foot of space between their bodies. "Yeah, honey, I'm sensitive about some things. Everybody is. And it's all right for you to be sensitive." Still holding her arm with one hand, he grasped the back of her neck with the other. His touch was strong, yet gentle. "Your sensitivity is one of the things I like about you."

"Don't you dare be nice to me out of pity!"

"Pity has nothing to do with the way I feel about you."

His kiss, like his touch, was strong yet gentle. Her momentary resistance disappeared as quickly as smoke in the wind. By the time his tongue entered her mouth she eagerly accepted him, responding with a desperate hunger.

He ended the powerful kiss, but pulled her into his arms and pressed her face against his chest. "I want to make love to you, but I don't want you to agree as an act of revenge against your mother."

"If and when I agree to make love with you, it will be for only one reason," she said. "Because I want you."

"Why don't we go to the bunkhouse? I'll fix
us both a drink and you can tell me more about Annabelle and Benjamin."

"You're willing to do anything to cheer me up, aren't you?" she said teasingly.

J.T. let out a deep breath, pleased to see her smile. "Just about anything."

"All right, why don't we go home to the bunkhouse? You can fix us both a drink, then you can tell me about what it was like in the Secret Service, and I'll tell you something you want to know about me."

"What's wrong, Jo, are you afraid if we talk about our great-grandparents, we might find ourselves following in their footsteps and—"

She laid her index finger over his lips. "Shh."

J.T. kissed her forehead. "I read Annabelle's first entry in the diary. The day she met Benjamin."

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Pulling out of J.T.'s arms, Joanna backed away from him. "The day we met, when I first saw you sitting astride Washington, I thought I heard drums." Joanna turned and ran across the yard and toward the bunkhouse.

J.T. raced after her, catching her on the front porch. Grabbing her, he slowly turned her around. "You're hell on a man's nerves. Why did you have to go and tell me something like that?"

"What difference does it make?" she asked. "You don't believe I heard drums any more than you believe Annabelle heard them."

"I told you that I don't know what I believe. Not now."

"Come on, let's go inside and talk. You tell me about the Secret Service and I'll tell you about—"

"You tell me about your art. About when you first realized you wanted to be an artist and how you could draw better than anyone else in kindergarten."

She slipped her hand into his. "Thanks, J.T."

"For what?"

"For not paying any attention to my mother. For not letting her run you off."

"Nothing and no one is running me off. I made you a promise, and it's a promise I intend to keep. You can't get rid of me, honey. I'm sticking to you like glue."

Hand in hand, they entered the bunkhouse—a woman who, more than anything, wanted to be able to trust this man; and a man who, for the first time in his life, wondered what it would be like to truly love a woman—this woman.

Chapter 9

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J
oanna awoke with a start. At first, she had no idea what had awakened her and then she vaguely remembered hearing the front door open. Was J.T. awake? Had he gone outside? She got out of bed, slipped into her thin silk robe and walked into the living room. The floor lamp behind the plaid chair was on, and an open book lay, spine up, across the overstuffed armrest. Undoubtedly, J.T. had been unable to sleep and had been reading. She glanced over at the front door, which stood open, with only the screen door closed. The shadowy outline of J.T.'s broad shoulders caught Joanna's eye. He stood on the edge of the porch, staring out into the dark night sky.

When Joanna neared the plaid chair, she realized the book perched on the armrest was Annabelle's diary. Had J.T. been reading another entry? Joanna picked up the diary, turned it over and glanced down at the open page.

I know I should feel great shame for having committed such an unpardonable
sin. But I feel no shame, only an overwhelming joy. How could loving someone the
way I love Benjamin be wrong? I knew we would consummate our love today. He
took me to a cave in the mountains, high above the world, quiet and secluded. I was
far more nervous with Benjamin than I had been on my wedding night nearly
sixteen years ago. He sensed my unease, my doubts, my fears, and he soothed me
with sweet words that I did not understand because he spoke them in his own
language. But my heart knew their meaning. When we came together, it was as if
we had both been waiting a lifetime for the moment. Benjamin seemed to know me
better than I knew myself. Sheer instinct seemed to guide him, telling him what I
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r than I knew myself. Sheer instinct seeme
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d to guide him, telling him what I
wanted, what I needed. The love we shared, I have never shared with another, and
know in my heart I can share only with him. Benjamin. My Benjamin. My tender,
passionate lover, who taught me the meaning of ecstasy.

Tears gathered in Joanna's eyes. She closed the diary and hugged it to her breast.

Had J.T. read a third of the diary tonight, or had he skipped through parts of it, coming to this account of the first time Annabelle and Benjamin made love?

Joanna padded across the room, her bare feet quiet on the wooden floor. She opened the screen door, stepped outside and let the door slam shut behind her. J.T.

didn't flinch. He had known she was there; he had probably heard her stirring about inside.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, keeping his back to her.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I think I might have heard the front door open, but I wasn't sleeping soundly anyway."

The moonlight combined with the glow from the lone lamp in the living room, creating a muted illumination that cast everything into soft shadows. J.T. wore nothing except a pair of faded jeans. His broad, muscular back looked like polished leather. Joanna barely controlled the urge to reach out and touch him. She wanted this man, wanted him in a way she had never wanted anyone or anything. He stirred needs in her that were new and powerful and frightening in their intensity. Yet, as much as she wanted J.T., she was afraid of the very virility and masculine power that attracted her to him.

"If I weren't working, I'd go somewhere and get rip-roaring drunk." J.T. gripped the banister that bordered the front porch. "I never had any idea it was possible to want a woman as much as I want you."

Joanna went hot all over; a flush of excitement and pure feminine exhilaration spread through her body. She reached out and touched his shoulder. He flinched.

She withdrew her hand.

"You read some more of Annabelle's diary, didn't you?" Joanna's voice sounded strange to her own ears, its quality low and earthy and undeniably sensual.

"Yeah, I read a couple of entries after the first one, then I just flipped through the pages."

"You read about the first time they made love." Joanna laid her hand on his bare back. Dear God, how she longed to wrap her arms around him, to cuddle up against him and hug him close to her.

He whipped around, knocking her hand off his back in the process. "I wish I'd never made that bargain with you. I wish I'd never read a word in that damn diary."

Joanna's heart roared in her ears. She swayed slightly. J.T. grabbed her by the elbows, steadying her. She looked up at him, and suddenly the whole world condensed into this time, this space, this one man.

"It's painful, isn't it?" Joanna realized that Annabelle's words had touched J.T.'s heart. "Reading about how she felt, how much she loved him and how hopeless their love was, always makes me cry. And of course, they'd both realized, from the very beginning, that they had no future together."

J.T. knew what Joanna wanted him to say. She wanted him to admit he'd been wrong and she'd been right about their great-grandparents' summer love affair.

After reading her diary, it had become obvious to J.T. that Annabelle Beaumont had been deeply in love with Benjamin Greymountain, and that it had broken her heart knowing they couldn't spend the rest of their lives together.

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10/31/2009 knowing they couldn't spend the rest of their Blackwood's Woman lives together.

How had Benjamin felt? What pain had he suffered? J.T. wondered. Unlike Annabelle, whose emotions lived on in her words, Benjamin's thoughts and feelings had died with him. Had he suffered the way she had? Had he lived out his life yearning for a love that could never truly be his, except in his memories? And how had he felt having an affair with a woman, knowing he had nothing to offer her?

He'd been a poor Navajo silversmith and she a wealthy Virginia socialite. How many nights had Benjamin stared up at the stars and raged against heaven?

"Would you do what Annabelle did?" he asked, drawing Joanna into his arms.

"Would you risk everything for a brief affair with a man who could offer you nothing more than heaven in his arms?"

"Yes." She slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest.

Silently she added, "If I loved him, I would risk everything."

"I promise that I won't hurt you. Not now or ever," J.T. vowed. "I want you, Jo. I want to lift you into my arms and carry you to bed and make slow, sweet love to you all night long."

"I want that, too, but—"

"You take charge, honey. You tell me what to do. Every step of the way. I won't do anything without your orders."

He was promising her what she wanted to hear, assuring her that she would be in control of the situation. But could she trust him? J.T. looked like a man on the edge, a man ready to explode. He might promise her anything right now to gain her acceptance, but what would he do in the throes of passion?

"I'm not sure. I want you, too, J.T. I want you till I ache with the wanting. But I'm afraid."

"Trust me to be true to my word."

Lifting her head, she stared up at him. "You're so big and strong and … if I asked you to stop and you didn't, I'd be powerless."

"If you ask me to stop, I'll stop. I promise."

Closing her eyes against the sight of him, against the temptation of his pure masculine beauty, she took a deep breath and choked back her tears. Reaching into the depths of her soul she sought and found courage—Annabelle Beaumont's kind of courage; the courage to risk loving a man who could promise her nothing more than the moment.

"Hell, Jo, take your gun to bed with us if that'll make you feel safer!"

Tears escaped from her eyes, trickled down her cheeks and into her mouth. She smiled at J.T. "You want me so much you'd risk getting shot?"

If she refused him, he'd die. But if she accepted him, making love to her slowly and tenderly would kill him by degrees. He wanted her wild and furious this first time, wanted her passion to equal his. But if he acted on his instincts, he'd scare the hell out of her. "Yeah, I want you that much."

"Then take me to bed," she told him.

He thanked God that she hadn't denied him, and at the same time prayed for the strength to be the lover Joanna needed, to be man enough to relinquish the power to her and allow her to make love to him. It was the only way, and he knew it. Yet every primitive, masculine instinct in him cried out for him to take her, possess her, dominate her and make her yield to him.

He swept her up in his arms, swung open the screen door and carried her into the living room, then closed and locked the front door. Joanna kept her arm draped F:/…/Beverly Barton - Blackwood's Wo…

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10/31/2009 room, then closed and locked the front d Blackwood's Woman oor. Joanna kept her arm draped around his neck as he carried her down the hall and into her bedroom. After laying her down, he stood by her bed and waited.

"I'm not sure what to tell you to do next," she admitted. "I haven't done this sort of thing before and I … J.T., what do I do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to touch you."

His already aroused body stiffened painfully. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

"How's this?"

She scooted over toward him, wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his back. "You're hot." She ran her fingers up and down, over his stomach and chest.

J.T. sucked in his breath. Her hands stilled on his chest. He laid his hands over hers gently. "It's all right. You didn't do anything wrong. I love having your hands all over me."

"Would you … would you lie down and let me look at you?"

Slipping out of her arms, he rolled over and lay down flat on his back, then raised his arms and crossed them behind his head. "How's this?"