Amish Heart (Erotic Romance) (Amish Heart Trilogy) (5 page)

It couldn’t get any worse.  In six weeks, she was to marry a man she despised and live with a family she loathed.  There had been another family dinner with all of Ezekiel’s family that next Sabbath at the
Bontrager farm.  Ezekiel’s children ages 15 – 4 had sat sullenly throughout the meal, insolently surveying Rebekah, except for the youngest child, who halted beneath the sneering gaze of her grandmother, but her eyes peeked at Rebekah regardless. 
We might be friends
, Rebekah had thought.  But throughout the evening, watching the girl cower under mere glances, she knew that Mother Yoder would never permit such a friendship.  Never. 

And so, alone in the small grocery store the next morning, Rebekah buried her face in her hands and let lose the sobs that she had been storing up in the past two weeks.  She cried for herself, for having to endure obliterating silences and disparagement for the rest of her life.  She cried for having to stomach Ezekiel’s upcoming touch and kiss. 
Swamp breath.
  And she thought of his poor child, the little four year old girl who was having all the natural enthusiasm of a child ground out of her and Rebekah bawled even harder. 
We are prisoners, that child and I.  We will be chained forever
.

She truly attempted to stop herself.  But once she had unleashed her grief, there was no way to shut it down.  She heard her voice, now growing
hoarse from her cries, but it seemed like the voice of another echoing in her ears. 

Then, without warning, she felt strong smooth hands lift her head up gently and arms enwrap themselves around her shuddering frame.  All at once, her face was buried in Nick’s hard
, lean chest and she curved into his arms, her own arms folded up like wings in front of her and her hands falling lightly on his torso.  She continued to wail even harder, her small body rocking back and forth with her sobs.  She lamented the vicious trap she found herself in, the hopelessness and purposelessness she now felt, and the prospect of never being able to be comforted by anyone like this again.  Nick stood and held her, letting her pain flow out upon his shirt.

As the ferocious grief was leaving her, she became aware of Nick gently holding her head against him, and stoking her back. 
How inappropriate, what would Father say?
  Even with thinking that, she dissolved under his touch, wanting it to go on indefinitely.  At first his soothing made her feel safe, and then, as his touch moved to stroke her face, she felt her heart begin to gallop.  She was keenly aware of his chest moving in and out, his fingertips on her check, the
thu-dup
of his heart beside her ear. 
If only my life were like this. 

Nick bent his head close to Rebekah’s, while lifting her chin up and meeting her eyes, their faces only inches apart. 
             

“Are you okay?  No, of course you’re not okay; you’re bawling your eyes out.  What is wrong?”

She shook her head, “I can’t—”

“I have to know!  What in hell’s name has happened to you?  What’s going on?”

Her face contorted and her voice threated to break again.  “Oh, Nick!  I’m getting married!”  This brought about a new deluge of tears.  Nick never released her from his hold, waiting for her to calm. 

Finally, her terrible grieving filtered out.  She pulled away look
ing at him then.  His eyes were intent.

“So tell me.” 

“His name is Ezekiel.  I don’t want to marry him.  He and his mother are terrible—”

“His mother?
  He comes with a mother?”

“And a sister and four children, but that wouldn’t be so bad if they were just a little bit nice.”

“You don’t want to marry this guy?”

“No!”

“Then why are you?”  He looked genuinely confused and a bit hurt.

She sighed. 
The English are so different.  

“I have no choice,” she said simply. 

Rebekah saw something close to anger flare in Nick’s eyes.  “No choice!  Holy shit!  That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s our way.”

“But,” he caught her hand, “it’s making you miserable.”  He did not let go of her hand and she did not pull it back, content to allow this touch.  No, happy to have his touch. 

“You should not be marrying someone who makes you heartbroken like this.  You need to marry, you
deserve
to marry a man who worships you and whom you love in return.  Someone who wants nothing more than to touch you, to kiss you, to be with you every moment of the day and aches for you the minutes you aren’t together.  You deserve to marry someone who can’t wait to see how another day is going to be with you and can’t imagine life without you, someone who knows exactly how lucky and blessed he is, because you . . . you are an amazing lady.  You should marry someone who looks forward to growing old with you, and wants to hold you every day of your life together.  You should marry. . .” he hesitated briefly, his eyes fervent, “. . . someone who is in awe of you.”

“I, uh—”
she faltered. 
He’s not talking about Ezekiel.  Is he talking about himself?  Oh, dearest Father God, he is talking about himself.  Now what do I do?

Flabbergasted, she withdrew her hand, speechless.  Still just inches away from Rebekah, Nick moved closer and bent his head down towards her again.
She felt his warm breath strike her cheek as his hand held her shoulder.  He moved closer still, his mouth slightly open. 
He’s going to kiss me!
   Simultaneously, Rebekah felt panicked and giddy. 
So this is what it is supposed to feel like
.

Abruptly they heard a woman’s voice outside the screen door and Rebekah backed away as if burned.  The door opened and one of the English women from Jamesport walked in with her daughter. 

“Hi, Rebekah.  Do you have any fresh eggs today?”  She was oblivious to the heat between Rebekah and Nick. 

“Yes, we do,” her eyes never leaving Nick’s. 
We almost kissed
.  He returned her gaze
.  We almost kissed.

“I will see you soon,” he told Rebekah as he turned to leave.

“Soon,” she agreed. 

Soon.
  Not ‘next week when I take you and your family to Wisconsin.’ 
Soon
.  Rebekah mulled this over.  Fervently hoping that soon would arrive hastily; wishing beyond wish that it could happen now.

She had to wait
three days.  Three days.  Days, which short in number they may be to some, dragged on for Rebekah nearly interminably.  Seventy-two hours in which she was absorbed in her own thoughts, paying little heed to the happenings around her.  She played the same mental images over and over again: Nick’s fingers caressing her cheek, his hand stoking her back, the heat of his eyes as he had bent low to—Rebekah was almost certain he had been about to kiss her.  But she wasn’t entirely certain.  And that doubt caused her agony.  Part of the time she imagined what his lips would have felt like.  The rest of the time, she chafed inwardly.  Could she have been imagining it? 

Along with these lines of thought she found herself knowingly comparing Nick and Ezekiel.  The men were reversals of the other.  One was tall, lean
, and darkly handsome, almost beautiful, while the other was squat, ruddy, and despicable.  One was considerate and gentle, the other cold, rude, and impassive.  One was in love with her; the other wanted merely to possess her. 

The thought of Nick being in love with her consumed her.  It made being forced to marry Ezekiel that much harder to bear
.  It’s so unfair.  Just weeks before my wedding Nick and I—what, fall in love?  Is that what is really happening?
She carefully considered the way her heart and breath skipped when he touched her and the pining she felt now separated from him for three days.

Then she tortured herself further. 
What if it is not love?  What if I am mistaken?
 

Around and around these thoughts and emotions went until t
hree days later when the store was at its busiest, he appeared.  He was even more appealing than ever. His dark curls were lustrous and his eyes had what was fast becoming to Rebekah an endearing intensity.  He was clean-shaven and was wearing spotless blue jeans and the whitest button down shirt Rebekah had ever seen.  In his hand he carried a single red rosebud, the kind sold in English stores.  

Nearly blind to all but Nick, she hurriedly assisted customers with their purchases, her eyes drawing up to his at every opportunity.  He stood, unmoving, self-possessed.  Two Amish women in front of the counter were, in true Amish fashion, examining their purchases carefully, deliberating if they should buy that extra box of cereal or not.  Or should thy just settle for more of the bent cans, now that they were on special? 
Or maybe they should
—Get out!
  Rebekah wanted to scream at them.  But instead she ignored their conversation, not out of patience, but because it gave her the moment to meet Nick’s eyes again. 
We touch without touching,
she reflected. 
And when we do touch
. . .  she had very little to go on but, to her innocent mind, it seemed immense. 

Finally the women decided on the extra cans of tuna and paid.  After the screen door slammed behind them, Rebekah took a few tentative steps and stood in front of the counter, doe-eyed and unable to speak.  Presently, Nick took two strides with his long legs and was before her.  Not touching
, not yet.  Just letting his gaze wash over her.  She took in every detail of him, his contrasting silkiness, hardness, and smoothness.  His breath was warm and she detected the hint of soap and aftershave.  English soap.  She recognized the smell.  Once, on a stocking trip with Leah, she had picked up a box of English soap, held it to her nose and inhaled deeply. 
The smell of the English
.  Then she hastily put it back before Leah could notice.  Scented soaps were not for the Amish.  She recognized that faint scent on Nick now.  It was such a contrast to the Amish who only bathed once a week.  By Saturday night, Amish men in particular reeked ripely, especially in the summer months. 

He handed her the flower.  “I’ve been thinking of you.” 

It was all she could do to breathe, being mesmerized by his eyes.  It seemed that everything poured out like honey: thick, slow, and sweet.  She reached up to skim his jaw with her fingertips.  His skin was warm and moist. He swallowed, timid for a moment, then moistened his lips which parted in a half smile.  Placing a hand on each side of her head, he bent his face to meet hers. 

The kiss came, at first a brush on the side of her mouth, then centering and sweeping fully, tenderly, opening his lips to take in hers.  First the upper
lip, then the lower, then both at once.  Rebekah’s eyes closed so as to take in only the unbearable exquisiteness that was his mouth.  A sigh escaped her.  Her lips moved with his softly, then more ardently as his arms came around and, pulling at the small of her back, drew her closer to him.  Then, his tongue tasted her lips, briefly.  She returned the action, and he opened his mouth, delicately grazing her tongue with his. 

It was kerosene to flame.  A surge of fire sparked through Rebekah, causing a roar in her head.  Unconsciously dropping the rose, Rebekah threw her arms around him, catching him tightly.  Locked in their embrace, Nick moved forward, pushing Rebekah back into the counter, pressing into her, hugging her with his whole body.  At once feeling his hardness digging into her abdomen, an unexpected, tremendous surge of heat welled up in her
and settled in her thighs, her pelvis and her breasts.  She became aware of her nipples erect and rubbing against the fabric of her dress.  An alien need now was deliciously welling up inside of her.  Nick continued to kiss her.  The heat in her pelvis intensified, collecting now in the area between her legs. 
Moisture—sweat?—
trickled down her inner thigh.  Unconsciously, her hips tilted forward as she rose up to meet his kisses.  He pressed, rubbed into her hips and then quietly withdrew.

Rebekah, panting, reached out for him.  He stepped forward again, this time bussing her softly, short sweet pecks on her lips.  Then
he stepped away again and drew a breath.  He stooped to pick up her rose, and placed it in in her hand, kissing her hand at the same time.  Then he flashed her a grin and said, “I’ve been thinking about you.”  And then he was gone.

Rebekah stood as if paralyzed for several moments
.  Did that just happen
? 

She was still trying to gather herself when the screen door slammed and Leah came into the shop.  Leah took one look at the rose and her sister’s flushed complexion and
said, “The English.”  It really wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

A cloud veiled Leah’s eyes.  “Rebekah—”

“I know.”

“You can’t—”

“I know.”

“Rebekah.  Do you like him?”

Yes, I’m in love with him, Leah
.  Her eyes glazed as she stood wordless.

“Ezekiel would not like this.”

“I know.”

“Rebekah!
  You are getting married.”  Leah searched her sister’s face for understanding, agreement, docility—anything—and finding none, shook her head with disbelief.  “You are marrying Ezekiel next month!”

If only I could forget!
  “I know.” 

“Please
,” Leah beseeched her sister. 

“Don’t tell Father.”  Leah regarded her gravely.  Now it was Rebekah‘s turn to plead.  “Please.”

Leah paused, taking in the rose once more.  “I won’t,” she said slowly, “but I am worried about you.”

Rebekah gave a small smile, meant to reassure her sister and friend.  Leah was not to be convinced.  “I am fine.  Truly I am.” 

Leah hugged her and left, whatever she had come in for completely forgotten.

I’m fine.
  Words she had told Leah seconds ago resounded in her head.

Taking the rose in her hands, she broke off the stem and tossed it into the trash.  Then she put the bud into her apron pocket and, st
roking it, thought of the man she loved.