and went up on tiptoe to throw her arms around his neck.
John caught her close and kissed her. The words
made what they did now easier, as if in talking openly
they had shed any need to be self-conscious.
She pushed his flannel shirt off, then made him help
take off the T-shirt beneath it. Fiona lifted her arms
with breathtaking trust so that he could remove her
chemise. She did flush when he looked at her small,
high breasts, but she arched her back willingly when he
cupped them, then bent to kiss each.
He hadn’t had the foresight to ditch his boots and socks,
and had to sit down to do that. She knelt and helped him,
when she wasn’t nipping at his earlobe or stroking his
thigh. He was so hard by the time he was done, he didn’t
think he could have gotten his jeans unzipped without
help. The feel of her fingers as she undid the button, then
eased down the zipper, was like coming into contact with
a live wire. Felt in every corpuscle of his body, and damn
near painful but the best pain he’d ever imagined. He was
gasping by the time she freed his erection.
She made choked little sounds as she stroked him.
He had to grip her hand.
“I’m…on the thin edge here.”
“Oh.” A slow, satisfied smile was incredibly erotic.
“Shall I make things worse?” Before he could answer,
she stood, put her hands at the waistband of her flannel
pajama bottoms and pushed them down until they
pooled on the floor and she could step out of them.
He growled something; her name, an expletive, he
didn’t know. She was exquisite. Pale-skinned, fine-
boned, long-legged, with those perfect, small breasts
and just enough curve at her hips. Hair as dark as that
on her head curled at the apex of her thighs. John
groaned, gripped the arms of the chair and momentarily closed his eyes.
Then he surged to his feet, lifted her high and deposited her on the bed, coming down on top of her. As naturally as if they’d made love a thousand times before, her legs parted to welcome him, tangling with his. It was
all he could do to grope in the bedside drawer, find a
condom and put it on.
Foreplay might not have been what it should be, but
she didn’t seem to care and he couldn’t have waited
another second to enter her. The feel of her enclosing
him, not just her core but her arms and legs, and her
mouth open against his, was the most glorious sensation he’d ever known. When almost immediately her body spasmed, and she whispered his name against his
lips, he had the dazed thought that he’d found heaven
on earth. Then he let himself drive into her once, twice,
a dozen times, and empty himself of all his bitterness
in a climax that shattered him—and yet left him whole
on the other side.
THE FIRST DAYS were wonderful. Fiona didn’t think
she’d ever been happier in her life.
She got up early and kneaded dough while he heated
the ovens and spooned muffins into tins. Once the bread
was in the oven, she slipped on a wool sweater and
stepped outside on the front porch with him, each of
them cradling a mug of coffee, to watch dawn lighten
the sky. The first morning it came gradually, charcoal-
gray becoming infinitesimally paler shades until they
could see fine snowflakes floating toward the ground,
moving so slowly it was as if time itself had slowed, too.
The second morning, she understood why John didn’t
care that no movie theater was within driving distance.
Hollywood couldn’t touch this show.
The colors alone stole her breath. She had seen
glorious sunsets, but these colors had more delicacy.
She couldn’t have named the vivid hues. The words
“pink” or “peach” were woefully inadequate. And all
the while, the world was utterly silent, as if it, too, held
its breath.
When the show was done and morning arrived, she
looked up at John and said, voice hushed, “I never knew
what I was missing.”
“It’s not the same down there.” He, too, spoke quietly,
as if out of respect. “Until I came up here, I didn’t know.”
“Surely in Iraq, with open desert…”
He shook his head. This time, his voice was flat.
“No. Dawn there…it was splashier.”