Mittman, Stephanie (46 page)

"By
all means, then," he said. There was a slight quiver in his voice. His
eyes caught hers and held them tenderly.

When
they were ready, Annie placed all the goodies on a tray and Noah carried it
into the living room and placed it on the table by the sofa. "Now it
really is late," he told the girls. "One cookie each, drink up, and
it's time for bed."

"But
Noah," Annie started, "it's only—" She looked at the clock. All
the baking had taken longer than she thought and she was surprised that it was
so late. Noah had been so patient and good-natured that she had lost track of
the time.

"This
is delicious," he said as he sipped the warm milk. "Come sit by me
and have some."

He
patted the sofa and she settled next to him, careful that their bodies didn't
touch.

"Comfortable?"
he asked.

She
nodded.

"Good,"
he said, then shifted so that he was smack up against her and she was trapped
between him and the arm of the couch. "Drink this," he said, handing
her his cup. "It'll calm your nerves."

"Oh,
I'm not nervous," she lied.

"And
you can't grow roses in winter," he mocked.

"Why
is Miss Annie nervous?" Hannah asked, glaring at her father as if somehow
it was his fault.

"Mama,"
he corrected. "Not Miss Annie. And Mama is not nervous, she's just had a
big day, like you, and she's tired, like you."

"But
I'm not—" Hannah began. She stopped when she saw the stern look on her
father's face that demanded she be truthful. "Well, not very tired."

"Tired
enough," Noah said. "Would you like Mama to tuck you in?"

The
girls nodded eagerly and Annie reluctantly put them to bed with kisses and hugs
and a bedtime story that she would have continued if only the girls hadn't fallen
asleep and Noah hadn't come in to check on what was taking so long.

"Come,"
he said. "You must be tired."

"Oh,
not really," she said, then faced that same look he had given Hannah and
laughed. "Well, not very."

In
his bedroom he had cleaned and straightened and placed some evergreen boughs in
a jar by his bed. Their bed. Ethan had brought her boxes over and they stood by
the chest of drawers. She had marked one with a heart. It stood on top of the
others and contained her nightclothes, her hairbrush, and the other essentials
she would need for her first night as Mrs. Noah Eastman.

She
stood in the bedroom doorway staring at the bed and he came up behind her.

"You
looked beautiful today, in church. I could hardly breathe when I saw you."

He
ran his hands down the arms of her dress, and gooseflesh danced along his
fingers' path.

"It
was Della's dress," she explained, turning and modeling it for him.
"She has lovely things."

"That
may be," he agreed. "But it isn't the dress I find so
exquisite."

"Oh,
but it's a very special dress," she said. "It's what I call a married
woman's dress."

"Because?"

She
turned and showed him the buttons that ran down her back. "A woman can't
get in this dress alone."

"Or
out of it."

"Or
out of it," she agreed.

"Would
you like me to unfasten it?" he asked.

"Now?"
It was a foolish thing to ask. What did she think he meant? Next week?

"There's
no rush, Annie. We have the rest of our lives."

She
stared at the face she would see each night before she closed her eyes in
sleep, each morning as she woke to a new day. "I've waited my whole life
for this day and this night. And now I don't even know what to do."

He
dragged her against him and pressed her tighter and tighter, as if he couldn't
get her close enough. "I'll teach you," he said. "Didn't I tell
you that you were the only pupil I wanted?" His fingers tangled in her
hair and she reached up, found the pins that held it, and let it down.

"Spun
sugar," he said, lifting the strands and kissing them. "Lips of
honey," he said and dipped to taste them. "So sweet. So sweet."

Her
arms went around his neck and her fingers gripped his hair. "Now,"
she said softly by his ear. "What do I do now?"

Circling
around to her back, he gathered her long hair in his hand and set it over her
left shoulder so that he could work the buttons on her neck. "I'm
sorry," he apologized when it took longer than either of them expected.
"Nervousness."

"You
too? But you've done this before. I mean, you've been married, you know how . .
." her voice trailed off. She was too embarrassed to finish the thought.

"Oh,
Annie," he said, looping his arms around her middle and pulling her back
against him. "I love you so. I want it to be perfect. All of it. As
perfect as you are."

"But
I'm not—" she started. He spun her around in his arms and kissed her words
away. His lips barely touched hers, just grazing them again and again until all
she knew was she wanted more.

While
he kissed her he worked at the cuffs of her dress and managed to work her arms
free of the sleeves. And all the while his lips kept moving against hers,
making it hard for her to breathe and kiss and think at the same time.

He
began to press his mouth harder against hers and his tongue traced the seam of
her lips. It was soft and smooth and it seemed like the most natural thing in
the world for her to open her mouth and let his tongue seek out hers. He
invaded her mouth and she steeled herself to stand it for his sake. His tongue
danced in and out, tracing her lips, teasing her own tongue, and instead of
hating it she found it not at all unpleasant. In fact, when she could manage to
think at all, she thought it was the loveliest sensation she had ever felt.

But
that was before he lifted her out of her sister's dress and brought her to his
bed and laid her down on the coverlet. He was still fully dressed, and she
reached over shyly and tried to cover herself with the edge of the blanket.

"Oh,
don't," he pleaded. "You're so lovely, and I've waited so long to see
you like this."

"You
can't have been waiting so long. We've only known each other a couple of
months." The thought that she lay in his bed, undressed, and hardly knew
him only served to embarrass her further. She worked harder at covering
herself, rolling in the blanket like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

"You're
wrong," he said, slipping his suspenders down over his shoulders and
opening the buttons on his shirt. "I've waited my whole life for this
night. Just the way you have. I've dreamed of it and longed for it and I'm as
scared as you that it won't be all you hope."

How
was it that before she even thought it he knew her mind?

He
shimmied out of his trousers and stood beside the bed in his Derby ribbed
underwear. She could see plain as day his arousal, and everything Risa had told
her about her wedding night closed in on her, making her shiver within the
confines of her quilted nest.

"Are
you coming out of there?" he asked. "Or am I coming in?" He
stood patiently waiting for her answer.

Slowly,
almost painfully, she pulled the covers away and lay still and motionless,
waiting for him to mount her. Instead, he turned the edge of the covers back
for her and ordered her to scoot under. After he turned out the lamp by the
side of the bed, he joined her beneath the quilt and put one arm loosely around
her.

"Did
you like the kissing?" he asked her in the darkened room.

She
nodded against his shoulder.

"Then
turn around so I can kiss you again."

She
turned and felt the heat of his body against her breasts, her belly, her
thighs. Loosely his fingers threaded through her hair, brushing it away from
her face and tracing its length down her back. When he reached her bottom he
cupped it and pulled her closer to him.

He
smelled faintly of sweat mixed with bay rum. It was a masculine smell and she
found it altogether pleasant, especially combined with the warmth of his body
against hers. He lifted his head a little and kissed her.

"You
taste like honey," he said, and she could feel the curve of his lips as he
smiled against her face in the dark.

"The
milk," she explained.

He
moved his kissing to her cheek, her closed eye, her temple. "Nope. Unless
you took a bath in it."

One
more kiss, full on the mouth, and then he began to move his kisses lower, over
her chin, down her throat. Just as Risa had said. Involuntarily she stiffened,
and he stopped immediately.

"Ssh,"
he soothed. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to see if you taste
like honey everywhere." His kisses continued down her throat, and she felt
him untying her chemise and fiddling with the buttons. One hand lightly grazed
her breast before his head bent to the task of testing it. "Sweet,"
he murmured. "So sweet."

She
had been prepared to see her duty through, to bear what a woman must bear. But
she hadn't been prepared to enjoy it. That was a surprise that made her gasp. And
her gasp made Noah chuckle, and somehow the ice seemed to melt around the two
of them. Her fear lessened enough to place her hand against his chest, and
before she realized it she was playing with the buttons to his underwear and
they were unfastening beneath her hand.

The
hair on his chest was soft and curly and twined around her fingers like a vine,
unwilling to let her go. And while her hands explored his chest he continued
his own wanderings, taking her chemise straps with him, over her shoulders, down
her torso, taking her underthings as he went, lower onto her belly, the chemise
no longer covering anything vital to her privacy.

His
hand found her darker, curly hair and she thought for the last time about what
Risa had warned her to expect. Risa had told her
what
he would do. She
hadn't told her how it would feel. She hadn't told her about the liquid fire
that built in her belly, the need that fanned it higher and higher until
suddenly all the soft touching wasn't enough. She pulled on his sleeves to free
his body so that she could feel his skin against hers and wrapped her arms and
legs around him, kissing his neck, his shoulder, anywhere her lips could reach.

And
he readied her and brought her to the peak and warned her about the pain. In a
moment it was gone and then the indescribable pleasure took over and still it
got better and better until she screamed out and he had to put his hand over
her mouth and remind her that there were two little girls just beyond the wall.

They
lay close and still, their breathing beginning to return to normal. A breeze
from the slightly open window felt cold against their damp bodies, and Noah
covered them with the quilt and turned Annie on her side, scooping her against
him like two spoons in a drawer.

"What
are you thinking?" he asked in the darkness.

"I
was trying to decide which felt better," she said honestly. "Being
called Mama or that."

"That?"

"You
know," she said shyly.

"Oh,
that.
Well, it wasn't a fair test. I mean, I didn't know you were making
comparisons."

"I
wasn't," she said. "I just didn't think things could get any better,
and then they did."

"Do
you think you're up to a second attempt?" His hand slid down her hip and
insinuated itself between her thighs. "I want you to be sure which one
feels better."

"And
if I'm still not sure?" she teased.

"I
guess I'll have to try harder."

The
door opened with a creak and a small voice called out to them in the dark.
"I can't sleep," it said.

"Hannah?"
Annie asked. "Is that you?"

"Miss
Annie? What are you doing in Papa's bed?" Her voice was full of surprise.

Annie
was silent for a moment, so Noah said, "Mama's right where she belongs,
Hannah. She's where she's always belonged."

He
kissed her cheek and wiped away the wetness there. "Oh, boy," he
said. "I guess I'm gonna have to try real, real hard."

She
nodded her head against him.

"Go
back to bed, Hannah," he told his daughter softly.

"Will
you still be here in the morning?"

"Mm-hm,"
she said, feeling herself drifting off to sleep. "And the morning after
that, and the morning after that."

"Good
night, Hannah," he said firmly.

"Good
night, Papa. Good night, Mama," she said before she shut the door.

"Doesn't
it sound wonderful?" she asked him when they were alone again.

"How
'bout I try to convince you again that
that
was better?"

She
pushed her bottom against his privates and snuggled herself in against him.
With a yawn she said, "How about tomorrow night? And the night after that,
and the night after that."