If Only You Knew Page 10

  "Good. I'm going to get out of this suit. See you later." He turned and walked down the hall.

  Anna May walked to the bed and sat down, dropping her shoes on the floor. This was not the way she'd pictured their first night together. Things had started going downhill the minute Ric saw his aunt and uncle. No, that wasn't true, she thought to herself, folding her arms. Her relationship with Ric had changed the morning after the ice storm. They'd approached each other like two weary soldiers, each unwilling to totally let down their guard around the other.

  Since her hasty proposal, there had been only a few pockets of time where the old, easy friendship had surfaced. And she missed it. She missed being able to talk to him about practically anything. She even missed his dry sense of humor, which she sometimes had a hard time following.

  "You've made your bed, now lie in it," she muttered, her voice breaking the silence of the room. With a sigh she looked down at the full-sized bed. Unfortunately it seemed as if the bed she was to lie in wasn't Ric's bed.

  The weight of the gold band felt strange, Ric thought, looking down at the object in question. The ring symbolized the vows he'd made before God and man. Vows to love, honor, and cherish his wife.

  Anna May.

  He'd honored her before their marriage. To love her and to cherish her, he wasn't so sure he could do.

  His mother had told him she loved him every time she came to visit. But she never took him home with her, never brought his little brother with her—instead after her visits, he would have another bruise made by the back of his grandmother's heavy hand. The beatings stopped after he moved in with his aunt and uncle. They'd taken care of him for four years, and he'd made sure they were compensated for their effort. The trust he'd set up for them ensured that neither of them ever had to work again. In his opinion he'd more than paid for four years of food, clothing, and shelter.

  If his grandmother had been alive, she too would have been paid for the eight years she'd taken care of him. It would have given him a great deal of satisfaction to give the old woman a wad of money. He could still remember the numerous times she'd told him he owed her for the food he ate, the roof over his head, and the clothes on his back. He never wanted to owe her or anyone else a thing. When he was old enough, he began to work after school to pay her back. He never did. She'd died a few years before he could completely pay her back.

  Anna May had given him her trust and friendship year after year without asking for anything in return. Until now. She'd asked him to give her a child. Not only did she want his child, she wanted to conceive the old-fashioned way. If she'd asked him to donate his sperm, he would have been leery but he would have done it. He would do just about anything for her. The thought of having sex with Anna May made him edgy.

  He had a feeling that he couldn't treat having sex with Anna May the same way he'd treated his women in the past. He'd walked away from his relationships in the past without ever looking back. With Anna May he knew that would never be the case.

  Twisting the ring around his finger, he wondered if he'd done the right thing. He could have turned her down and knowing her, she would have still treated him as a friend—however, the thought of her making love to another man triggered possessive feelings he hadn't known he felt toward her.

  He wanted to be the man who introduced her to the delights of the flesh. He wanted to be the first and only man to watch her as she dissolved into a thousand pieces.

  He wanted to feel her legs around his waist. He wanted his seed to grow inside her. He wanted her plain and simple. And it scared the living daylights out of him.

  An hour later she wondered how she could have been so down in the dumps. After she'd soaked in a tub filled with jasmine-scented bubbles, her relationship with Ric came into focus. Dressed in a floor-length, white silk gown and matching robe, the most conservative article of clothing she'd received at her bridal shower, she walked down the hall in search of her husband.

  So Ric was upset with her, she thought tightening the belt of her robe. This wasn't the first time, she thought, remembering how angry he was this summer when she'd gone rafting down Tallulah Gorge, a valley which had been dried up when the dam had been built miles upstream on the river. For the first time since the dam had been built, the state of Georgia allowed the river to run in the gorge. Rapids with names like Hurricane and Death came to life again. Ric had been livid when she told him about her adventure.

  "You could have been killed," he said in a deceptively calm voice.

  "I was perfectly safe. The other rafters were professionals."

  "How many times have you been white water rafting?"

  "I've been once before, and they assured me that it was safe. They were right. I'm here in one piece. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I don't think they'll ever release the river again. I couldn't say no when they asked if I wanted to come."

  "You're going to get in over your head one day. Didn't you stop to think of the things that could have gone wrong?"

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Walking across the street is dangerous, but people do it every day."

  "It's not the same, and you know it." He frowned at her.

  She smiled as she remembered the lecture he'd given her and the hours it had taken her to soothe his anger. The most important thing she'd remembered was no matter how angry he'd been with her, he'd never stopped being her friend. Their marriage, she decided when she reached his bedroom door, wasn't going to end their friendship if she had anything to do with it.

  She knocked on the door, then smoothed her hands over her thighs. Nerves, she thought in disgust as she waited for him to answer but receiving none. She knocked again, this time a little harder, listening closely for a sound in the room. Still no answer. Puzzled she walked down the hall. He was somewhere in the house, and she was going to find him. She found him in his office.

  He'd changed out of the tuxedo into navy dress pants and a white shirt. The single lamp on his desk worked in vain to dispel the darkness in the room. Ric stood with his back to the door, staring into the darkness of the night. The white fabric of his shirt lay taut across his shoulders. He had a restless quality about him despite his stillness.

  "Ric," she called softy.

  He turned from the window. "Yes."

  "We need to talk," she said as she walked into the room.

  "About what?" he asked.

  "About us. I don't want our friendship to suffer just because we're married. We've been friends for years, and we've always been able to talk to each other. If you didn't want your family at our wedding, I think you should have told me. I may not have understood, but I would have respected your wishes. You would have talked to me before. I want to know what changed," she said standing beside his desk.

  "I've never talked to you about my family. That hasn't changed," he replied.

  "So talking about your family is off limits?"

  "Yes."

  "Fine. We won't talk about your family. Why didn't you tell me earlier?" she asked.

  "It didn't seem important at the time," he said from his position beside the window.

  "Ric, I don't want to spend another minute feeling like I have the past few hours. I don't want to lose my best friend. If I do something to make you angry, tell me. I'd rather have you yell at me than get the cold, silent Ice Man treatment"

  "When did I give you the silent treatment? If I remember correctly, I did tell you I was mad at you for inviting my aunt and uncle to the wedding."

  "Yes, you did, but you left angry and that's never happened before. I felt like you dumped me in the guest room and left. Usually you lecture me until you're not mad anymore. Are you still mad at me?" she asked.

  "No, I'm not mad at you," he said.

  "Good," she said leaning against his desk. "We need to talk about my room."

  He frowned. "What's wrong with it?"

  "Nothing's wrong with it except I'm in it."

  "What?"

  "I don't want to stay in that
room," she said inwardly wincing at the pouting tone in her voice.

  "We'll move your things into another room."

  "I don't want another room, I want to be in your room."

  "My room?"

  "I was hoping it would be our room."

  "You want to move into the master bedroom with me," he said as if he were getting his facts straight.

  "Ric. We're married. Married people share a bedroom. Besides, how am I supposed to become pregnant if we sleep in separate beds?"

  He turned and faced the window before replying. "We'll move your things tonight."

  "What's wrong? You don't sound too happy about it."

  He turned to her then said, "Nothing's wrong."

  Something was definitely wrong.

  Ric went to the dressing room door where Anna May had disappeared after muttering, "I'll be just a second." Twenty minutes later the door remained closed.

  "Anna May? Are you all right?"

  A thump accompanied her muffled voice. "I'm fine. I'll be out in a second."

  "You said that fifteen minutes ago," he muttered and walked away. When she'd closed the door twenty minutes ago, he'd gone into action. A bottle of sparkling apple cider on ice sat in a holder beside the bed. Calla lilies adorned her pillow on the bed, a bottle of jasmine-scented body oil warmed in a container of its own, and soft music played on his stereo. Everything was in place, except the bride.

  Anna May deserved more than the seductive atmosphere he'd created in his—no, their—bedroom. She deserved the hearts and flowers, the happily ever after. She deserved to have a husband who loved her. Instead, she had him. A man who wasn't sure he could ever love anyone.

  He frowned as another thump sounded from the other side of the door. What was she doing in there? He'd assumed that she'd gone in there to change, but how long did it take to put on the gauzy piece of fluff she'd tried to conceal? He turned his attention to the door when he heard the latch release. Standing in the doorway wearing the same white robe she'd worn earlier, was his wife. His very nervous wife, he noted, from the way she tugged at the ends of her belt. If she tightened it any further, she'd create a tourniquet for her waist. He had to get her to relax.

  "Would you like something to drink?" he asked putting a small amount of distance between them.

  "Er ... no."

  "Sure? I'm having some," he said lifting the bottle out of the ice bucket

  "No."

  He poured himself a glass and took a sip, studying her over the glass as she fussed with the knot of her belt

  "Relax, Anna May. We've got all night."

  He felt a wave of desire as she bit her bottom lip. "Er ... if it's all right with you, I'd just as soon get it over with."

  He put down the glass and walked to her side. With her head down and her hands twisting her belt, she couldn't have looked more vulnerable and uncertain. Or so utterly appealing. "It doesn't work like that," he said stroking her shoulders.

  "It doesn't?" she asked breathlessly.

  "No. Sometimes it could take hours." He pulled her toward him and kissed her brow.

  "I don't think I can stay in this thing for hours, Ric," she said earnestly taking short quick breaths.

  "What thing?"

  She stepped back, fumbling with the knot of her belt until it gave way in her hand. "This thing," she said opening her robe.

  He'd always considered white to be a virginal color—however, virginal was the last thing that came to mind when he saw the pure white creation she had on. Sheer mesh and lace both revealed and concealed her breasts. He could almost make out the dark brown skin of her nipples beneath the delicate white lace. The sheer material hugged and defined the pouty curves of her breasts, which threatened to spill over with every breath she took. His own oxygen supply seemed to desert him as heat rushed through his body as his gaze traveled down her body.

  Satiny white Lycra clung tightly to the curve of her waist before giving way to more lace which barely covered her feminine mound. Two lace garters held lace-topped stockings, leaving the tops of her brown thighs bare and her shapely legs covered with sheer white nylons. Her feet were encased in two strips of white leather with high heels.

  "I can't breathe in this thing," she said.

  That was funny because he couldn't seem to breathe, either. "You could always take it off," he murmured barely able to say the words.

  Her eyes widened in appeal. "I barely got into this thing without killing myself. I don't know why I let Janet talk me into wearing this thing." Her satin robe slipped off her bare shoulders, pooling at her elbows.

  His mouth went dry as every nerve ending in his body seemed to relocate to his manhood. "I'll help you."

  Uncertainty flashed in her eyes as she studied his face. She was smart to be uncertain, he thought. All he wanted to do was peel her out of her clothes and bury himself inside her. He hadn't felt this way since he was a teenager. But he had to get himself under control. She was a virgin and deserved, no, needed him to be in control.

  "The hooks are in the back," she said presenting him with her back, as she removed her robe.

  He forgot to breathe.

  She was nearly naked from the waist down. A long series of hooks spanned from her shoulders to the small of her back. A thin, white scrap of lace did nothing to hide the twin orbs of her firm brown buttocks. His hands ached to cup and knead them. A bead of sweat slid down his temple. With shaking hands, he tackled the first hook and nearly groaned. Her skin felt soft and warm against his knuckles.

  Control. He had to stay in control. He concentrated on hook after hook. Slide and release, slide and release until the two binding panels hung freely at her back. A long red line where the two panels were joined bore witness to her discomfort. He traced the line gently with the tips of his fingers.

  Her muscles stiffened.

  "Anna May," he said softly.

  "Wh ... what?" she said with her head lowered and her hands pressing the wisps of lace to her chest.

  "Do us both a favor and go lay on the bed."

  She hesitated for a moment before walking over to the king-sized bed. If she knew how much the sway of her hips and the rise and fall of her buttocks turned him on, he had a feeling she wouldn't have taken so long to walk to his bed. He released his clenched hands and forced himself to relax.

  "I'll be right back," he said when she sat on the mattress then walked to the master bath. When he returned, he held two large towels which had been warmed by the heated towel rack. He put them on the bed beside her. Kneeling in front of her, he removed her slippers and placed her foot on his thigh. With shaking hands, he unsnapped the garters and rolled her stocking down her leg before letting the nylon float to the carpet The other stocking quickly joined its mate. He rose to his feet Cupping her chin with his hand, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was over almost before it began. Reluctantly he straightened and unfolded a towel.

  "Raise your arms," he commanded wrapping the towel around her with its ends at her back.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  He smiled at her. "Something I'm sure you're going to enjoy. Now lay back and relax."

  And enjoy she did.

  She lay on the bed with her feet at the bottom edge of the mattress. He moved the pillow down to cushion her head. After pouring the warm oil in the palms of his hands, he pressed, rubbed, and stroked away the tension in her foot. She closed her eyes, letting her body luxuriate in the pleasure of his hands and the soft music. She opened her eyes briefly when she felt him drape the second towel across her hips and closed them again as his large hands spread the oil from her thigh to her ankle, working muscle group by muscle group until long, pleasurable minutes later both legs were warmed, oiled, and totally relaxed.

  "Anna May, lift up a little," he said sliding his hands on her back. With very little effort on her part, he slid the teddy down to her waist, arranging the towel so that only her breasts were covered and leaving the other to
wel at her hips. His oil-slick hands massaged her sides, easing the tense muscles into a relaxed state. When her shoulders, arms, and hands were oiled and relaxed, she opened her eyes.

  "Thanks, Ric," she said, her voice husky and soft.

  "You're welcome, but I'm not done yet," he said wiping his hands on the ends of her towel. He kneeled on the mattress, positioning himself in the space between the headboard and her pillow.

  "Sit up for a second." When she did, he moved forward and kneeled behind her. He tossed her pillow aside and placed a thin decorative pillow between his legs. He held out his hand and she lay on her back with her head on the pillow. "Comfortable?"

  "Umm, yes" she replied closing her eyes.

  "Good," he said encircling her chin and jaw with his hands. The warmth of his hands penetrated her skin like a caress. Then he drew his hands slowly and gently over her jaw until the tips of his fingers brushed her ears. He traced the outer edge of her ears, she trembling at his touch.

  "You like that?" he asked, his voice smooth, deep, and as gentle as his touch.

  "Yes, I like it," she said opening her eyes to meet his dark, sensuous gaze.

  He repeated the caress. "You have very pretty lips," he said tracing the shape of her mouth with his fingertips. "They're soft"—he stroked her upper lip—"warm,"—he traced her bottom lip then slipped his finger between them. Her heart quickened when he brought his finger to his lips, "And very sweet."

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, kneading and caressing. Creating tension and sharp sparks of pleasure with every stroke of his hand. Gone was the relaxed, floating on a cloud feeling he'd invoked.

  Anna May watched his face as he molded his hands on her back, gliding upward along the sides of her ribs. When he reached her shoulders, he used the backs of his hands to stroke her from her shoulders to her hands, entwining his fingers with hers; he lifted her arms and gently moved them until her arms outstretched over her head on the mattress.

  With his fingertips at her breastbone, he eased his hands between her breasts, dragging the towel down until her chest was bare. He swept his hands over her stomach, then pulled them along her sides, molding his hands around the sides of her breasts, circling around until he cupped her breasts in his hands. Slowly he circled his palms around her breasts. Her heart thundered in her chest as he repeated the caress again and again, deliberately avoiding her nipples until she couldn't stand it any longer.