“You’ve never been in love?”
“No.” He lifted a strand of her hair off the pillow and began winding it round and round his index finger. “There was a woman in France. Not one of the ‘French girls’ you referred to,” he said wryly. “She was a nurse in the hospital. She was from Scotland. When she talked it sounded like bells jingling.”
“Was she pretty?”
“In her way. Every soldier in the ward liked her. They’d flirt with her. She’d flirt back. All in fun. Whenever one would die, she took it hard, because she’d lost her fiancé during the first year of fighting. That’s why she volunteered.” He pulled his finger from the curl of hair he’d formed, laid it back on the pillow, then began to trace the shape of her eyebrow.
“She was crazy about horses, found out that I was a cowboy, wanted to know all about my life on the ranch in the wild, wild West. Sometimes after her shift, she’d come sit with me and we’d talk.”
When he didn’t continue, Laurel whispered, “There’s more to this story, I think.”
He gave a small shrug. “When I was discharged from the hospital, I was given a three-day leave before I had to report for duty. She invited me to stay with her. She had a small place. Only one room and a toilet, but she’d made it cozy.”
“How often did you stay with her?”
“Just that once. After that three days, we said our goodbyes.”
“Did you write to each other?”
“No.”
“Did you see her after the war?”
“No.”
“Did you try?”
“No. It wasn’t like that, Laurel. She was a caring person. For all the cheer she gave her patients, she was sad. Still in love with her fiancé. We were a comfort to each other, that’s all. Two people trying to take some pleasure where there was damn little to be found. Those three days were just a time-out from the hell going on around us.”
“Like this is now?”
He quit concentrating on her eyebrow and met her gaze directly.
Placing his arm around her waist, he spread his hand wide over her bottom and pulled her against him. “Nothing like this. Nothing’s ever been like this.”
His deep kiss became a long, continual one that caused renewed arousal to spiral inside her sex. Gradually, the kiss changed character, taking on heat that melted any lingering inhibitions. Up till now the word “erotic” had hinted at dark and mysterious things of which she had no experience or knowledge. Now, she felt steeped in the essence of the word’s definition.
Thatcher ended the kiss only to whisper against her lips, “I have to have you again.”
Her desire for him had also risen to the level of need. “Yes.”
He murmured indistinctly as he moved to lie between her legs. “I’m going to kiss you.”
But he didn’t do as he was wont to and cradle her face in his hands. Instead he clasped her hips between them and blazed a trail of wet kisses down the center of her body.
His hands assumed mastery over her movements, but their guidance was gentle and unrushed. He repositioned her legs to accommodate his shoulders, cupped her behind the knees and raised them, stroked the backs of her thighs, then slid his hands under her bottom. It was a delicious shock to feel the prickliness of whiskers against her navel, in the valleys under her hipbones, and on the insides of her thighs.
She couldn’t hear everything he whispered directly against her, but she felt the words as they formed on his lips, felt the warm breath that wafted over her sensitive flesh as he spoke them.
She never would have imagined that his mouth could be both softly persuasive and aggressive at the same time, but it was. His tongue was simply wicked. It shattered her, and she surrendered to it utterly.
She was still in the throes of her orgasm when he braced himself above her. In a possessive push, he sheathed himself. He gave only a few more rapid thrusts before his body tensed and she felt his pulsing deep inside her. She closed around him as tightly as she could, and they held that way, until they both went listless.
Long moments later, he placed his hands at each side of her head and sank his fingers into her hair, tangling the strands around them as though he wanted to be ensnared.
He remained heavy and full inside her, filling her. His face was feverish against her neck. His breath, which had been gusting, eventually slowed. He inhaled deeply once and exhaled slowly.
Before he slept, he spoke a single word. “Laurel.” Only that.