Just North of Bliss (32 page)

Win said, “Aaaaaah,” as she tortured him
with her fingers.

When the last button slipped through the
last buttonhole, Win stood abruptly and decided he couldn’t stand
much more of this. With a sweep of his hands, he pushed his
trousers down, taking his drawers with them. As soon as his sex was
freed from his prison, it sprang out and saluted Belle, who blinked
several times.

“Um . . .”

Before she could lose her nerve, Win stepped
out of his trousers, shoved his shoes from his feet, and fell onto
the chaise, encircling Belle’s enticing torso as he did so. “Your
skin is like heaven, Belle,” he muttered as he pressed his lips to
her bosom.

“Um . . .”

Worried lest she get scared and make him
stop, Win reluctantly removed his lips from her breasts and kissed
her again. It seemed to help. After a moment’s hesitation, Belle
seemed to forget her shock at seeing him fully aroused and get lost
in the sensuality of the moment.

His hands slid down her back as they kissed.
Her skin really was fine and smooth and delicate, more or less like
a magnolia blossom. Her skin felt as though it might be as easily
bruised as a magnolia blossom, too. Sort of the way Belle herself
looked, although Win had begun to doubt her overall fragility. She
looked more delicate than she was.

“You look more delicate than you are,” he
whispered in her ear, praying fervently that he was right in his
assessment.

“Am I?”

Lord, he hoped so. “Yes,” he asserted with
more confidence than he felt.

“Mmmm.”

She didn’t sound confident at all, and Win
knew he had to take steps or he might end up a dead man, if
frustrated lust could kill. “I won’t hurt you, Belle.”

“No?” She didn’t noticeably decrease her
attentions to his body, which he appreciated, although she added,
“I’ve heard it hurts the first time,” which made his heart
hitch.

He hurried to reassure her. “It might hurt a
little bit the first time,” he admitted. “But I’ll be careful with
you. God, Belle, I’d never hurt you if I could help it. You must
know that.”

“Mmmm,” she said again, leading him to
believe that she didn’t quite trust him.

Damn it. He wished he hadn’t—misled—her
about the pictures. “I swear to you, Belle—I give you my oath—that
I’ll be as gentle as a man can be with a woman. For God’s sake,
Belle, I—” Good Lord, he’d been about to admit to being in love
with her. This would never do. She’d never believe him after all
the prevaricating he’d done to her. She might even laugh in his
face. “I—I’ll be so gentle. I’ll make it good for you, too.”

“I trust you,” she said softly, adding after
a slight pause, “About this.”

If he hadn’t been otherwise occupied, Win
might have fallen to his knees in a prayer of thanks. Because he
guessed the best way to accomplish his purpose would be to give her
enjoyment first, he slid a hand under the waist of her drawers.
They were tight, damn it. “Do these things have a tie?” Women’s
clothes needed to be altered, he decided then and there. There was
some new stuff he’d seen at the Exposition. Elastic. That’s what
was needed here. Unfortunately, Belle’s drawers didn’t have
any.

“Yes. I’ll untie them.”

She did, and Win thanked his Maker again.
When she slid the drawers down her lovely legs, he couldn’t hold
back a moan of pleasure. “You’re perfect, Belle. Perfect.”

Looking up at him, her huge eyes shaded by
her long eyelashes, Belle looked as shy as a stark-naked woman who
was about to be ravished could look. Win drew her to him and kissed
her again. His hands craved the feel of her, so he let them have
their way.

“You’ve beguiled me,” he murmured as his
hand traced a path from her ankle to her knee and dared go a little
higher. “You must be some kind of witch.”

“Not much of one, I fear.”

He heard a trace of humor in her voice, and
his heart leapt.

“Oh, yes, you are. You’ve bewitched me.
Totally.”

Her arms tightened around his neck. “I’m
glad.”

Heartened, Win allowed his hand to roam
higher, until he felt the swell of her delicious hip. He squeezed
gently. She had a body an artist would die to paint. And he was
being allowed to partake of it. He could scarcely understand why he
was being rewarded in this way. He knew he didn’t deserve her.

“I swear, I’ll never hurt you, Belle,” he
whispered as his he moved his hand over her soft, sweet flesh in
search of the treasure between her thighs. “I swear it.”

“I believe you, Win. About this,
anyhow.”

The trace of caution in her voice didn’t
diminish Win’s excitement, although he made a silent vow to himself
that he’d make everything up to her. Eventually. After tonight.

She made a strange, mewing sound when his
fingers finally touched the curls between her thigh and gently
parted the petals of her sex. He uttered another silent prayer of
thanks when he felt the moisture there. Good, good. “This is the
way it’s supposed to be, Belle,” he breathed. “This is good. This
is right.”

It wasn’t right, and Win could have socked
himself when he heard the word leave his lips. A proper southern
lady would never do this unless she was married to the man she was
doing it with. He hoped Belle wouldn’t notice his slight
exaggeration.

“Mmmm,” said she, and said no more.

In order to keep her diverted, Win delved
more deeply into her hot wetness, rousing a sigh of pleasure from
her. He forgave himself for being inept in speech, and tried to
make up for his slip with physical demonstrations of his
appreciation of Belle and her overall wonderfulness.

She responded admirably. As he gently
massaged the center of her sexual pleasure, her hips arched beneath
him. “Oh, Win!” Her breathy whisper was music to his ears.

“That’s the way, Belle. That’s right. Just
give yourself up to it. This is the way it’s supposed to be.”

He’d had some experience with this sort of
thing, although never before had his heart been involved. The
ladies with whom he’d dallied had been experienced and eager. He’d
never seduced a virgin before.

That didn’t sound right to his critical
conscience, so he revised the phrase. He’d never been involved with
a woman for whom he cared as deeply as he cared for Belle. His
conscience assuaged, he continued, watching Belle’s reaction to his
tender ministrations raptly.

“You’re so beautiful, Belle.” He leaned over
to suckle her breasts as he spoke.

She seemed beyond speech at the moment. Her
breath came in short gasping respirations, and her body was as taut
as a bow. Her bliss came in a split second. One moment, she was
moaning softly, and the next, she went stiff. Then she seemed to
shatter under his touch. With a cry of pure delight, she shuddered.
Win watched her body’s response to his touch with wonder.

“Oh, Win,” she breathed at last, subsiding
like a limp rag onto the chaise, her body dewed with
perspiration.

He kissed her almost savagely. “That was the
most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.” He was about to burst, in
fact.

Before she could recover, Win thrust into
her. She gave a little cry before his mouth covered hers again. He
was so keyed up, he couldn’t hold himself back a second longer. It
took only a very few thrusts before his body exploded in a rush of
pleasure the likes of which he’d never experienced before. Wave
after wave of pleasure crashed over him.

When his last spasm was spent, so was he.
With a groan, he collapsed at Belle’s side. A slight touch of
conscience made him secure her to his side before his thoughts
slipped away and sheer bliss took over.

# # #

They’d lain in each other’s arms for Belle
didn’t know how long before her brain resumed functioning. She’d
never even dreamed that the act of physical love could create such
delights. Her body still thrilled to the unexpected pleasures to
which Win had introduced it. Every now and again, the memory of his
magical touch caused a shiver of remembered joy to pass through
her.

And then realization hit her with a smart
whack on the conscience. She sat up so fast, her head swam and
Win’s arm, which had been lying limp and warm over her stomach,
fell away.

He muttered, “Huh?”

She cried, “My land!”

Her voice, which she’d learned from the
cradle to keep at a honeysuckle-sweet drawling purr, hit the air
with a clang, making Belle jump. It had the same effect on Win. She
felt his body jerk once before he slid off the chaise and landed on
the floor with a thud and a louder, more profane utterance.

Belle glanced around wildly, searching for
something with which to cover her exposed bosom. Not, she thought
bitterly, that it mattered any longer. Win had seen every inch of
her. Thoroughly. In fact, he’d studied it in such depth, he could
probably write a textbook about it.

Still and all, that was then and this was
now, and she’d come to her senses at last. A wee bit late.

Fiddlesticks. Fiercely, Belle battled with
her old self as it tried to barge back with its trappings of
southern delicacy and her mother’s admonitions ringing in her ears.
An avalanche of frenzied telegrams swam in her mind’s eye before
she slammed the door on them and her parents and her southern
roots. Dad blast it, she was going to be a modern woman or know the
reason why! To the devil with her family’s old-fashioned
qualms.

Giving up on a bosom-cover, she decided to
concentrate on Win who was, after all, as naked as she, although he
didn’t seem embarrassed by the fact. She leaned over. “Win? Are you
all right.”

“No.” He seemed to be having trouble getting
his limbs coordinated. “I fell on my a—bottom.”

Belle took a certain satisfaction from the
knowledge that she was, in part, responsible for his fuddled
condition. “Do you need help?”

He managed to push himself into a seated
position. Twisting his head so that he could look at her, his lips
turned up in what Belle could only designate as a silly grin. “No,”
he said. “I’m fine.” Leaping to his feet in a bound so sudden it
made Belle jerk in alarm, he actually beat his finely-contoured
chest with his balled fists, like an African ape. “In fact, I’m
wonderful
!”

Belle couldn’t help laughing. She also
couldn’t help agreeing. He was fine, all right. She’d even agree
that he was wonderful. No matter how much she was trying to turn
herself into a hardened woman of the world, she couldn’t quite make
herself say that. Rather, she shook her head. “You’re silly,
Win.”

She wasn’t prepared for his swoop or for the
gloriousness of being swept up into his arms. “What are you doing?”
she cried as he started prancing around his booth without letting
her feet touch the floor.

“I’m dancing with you.”

She laughed again, but not for long. The
thought of the Richmonds sobered her. “Oh, dear, Win, I need to get
back to the hotel.”

“The hotel?” He lowered her to the chaise
again, and feasted his eyes on her nakedness.

Belle noted with some alarm that the longer
he stared, the stiffer his masculine member grew. Deciding that
once was enough for the nonce—and perhaps forever, depending on how
her newly liberated conscience reacted to this shocking breach of
everything she’d ever been taught was right and proper—she glanced
around again, seeking clothes. Ah, there they were.

As Win made another grab for her, she rolled
off the chaise in the other direction and pounced on her chemise
and shirtwaist. “No, Win. I need to get back home.” She heard his
sigh even though layers of lawn and buckram as she drew her chemise
and shirtwaist over her head.

He looked so dejected as she tugged and
yanked on yards of fabric that she smiled. “I still have a job with
the Richmonds, Win. I can’t leave them without so much as giving
notice.” Trying not to stare at his heavily aroused sex—had that
thing really fit inside her?—she tore her gaze away and searched
the booth for her skirt. Ah, there it was. How did it get way over
there? Ah, well, it didn’t matter.

With a sigh so huge it ruffled the curtains
drawn across the booth’s windows, Win conceded that she was right.
“Very well. But you won’t need that job for very long, you know.
Soon you’ll be making lots of money without having to work for
other people.”

She glanced at him as she shook out her
skirt. “I’ll be working for you,” she pointed out.

Win made a grab for his trousers, which had
ended up on top of one of the lamp stands. “You won’t be working
for me,” he grumbled. “This is a partnership.”

She eyed him as she stepped into her skirt.
“Oh? You mean I’ll have a say in how and where the photographs are
sold?”

He frowned at her. “Not that much of a say.
I know about this business. You don’t.”

“I can learn. I’m quite capable.”

“Huh. You can’t even call a war by its right
name.”

Leaning over to snatch up a shoe, she said,
“Don’t be absurd. There are two sides to everything, including
wars. You damned Yankees can call it a civil war if you wish, but
we southerners know better. It was a war of aggression and
invasion. By
you
.”

Scowling at her as he buttoned his trousers
Win said, “Not by me. I wasn’t even born yet. I wasn’t even a
twinkle in my father’s eye. I wasn’t even—”

“All right, all right,” she snapped. “I
don’t want to talk about it. There’s no way on God’s green earth
that you’ll ever understand my point of view.”

“And there’s no way you’ll ever understand
mine.”

“Absolutely.” Belle sucked in about ten
gallons of air and wondered how in the world such a blissful
evening could turn so quickly into something horrid. It was all
Win’s fault, she decided instantly. He
would
talk about
civil wars. She stormed to the dressing table and lifted the
hairbrush Win kept there for the subjects of his photographs to
groom themselves with. With long, vicious strokes, she brushed the
tangles out of her hair, pondering the quirks of fate.