Mary Balogh - Secrets of the Heart

"Don't, Win," she said, uncomfortable.

"You've grown, Sarah," he said into her ear. And then he did pitch her backward, threatening to drop her on the ground until she shrieked for mercy.

Another time he was lifting her down from the same stile, his hands beneath her arms. And again he touched her breasts, his thumbs this time pressing in on her nipples. She slapped his hands away without stopping to think, and he grinned.

"I think we are losing our angular little Sarah and gaining a shapely woman," he said. "Look at this!" And his hands traced the curve of her waist and the growing fullness of her hips. He gripped her hips tightly suddenly and pulled her lower half against his groin. Then he released her and laughed.

"You really are turning into a woman, Sarah," he said. "I bet that blush reaches right down to your toes."

"Stop it this instant, Winston Bowen," she scolded, "or I shall tell Uncle Randolph."

"No, you won't, Sarah," he said, laughing into her eyes. "You like being touched, don't you?"

It went on like that all summer, small incidents that made her uncomfortable and uneasy yet had not seemed serious enough to make a big fuss over. Winston was an attractive boy, after all, and she was woman enough already, at the age of sixteen, to feel a twinge of excitement over the fact that he had noticed her blossoming womanhood and appeared to appreciate it.

It was the following summer that everything went wrong. He had not been home either at Christmas or at Easter, and she had completely forgotten those small incidents- from the previous year. She was delighted to see him, delighted at the prospect of needs having a companion close to her own age again. She was dearly fond of Graham, but he did not satisfy all her needs of friendship. And Winston had grown more attractive than ever, tall and muscular, like a blond god. And he was not one whit less amiable and carefree.

He began on her on their very first ride together. Again it was a hot day, and they had stopped to rest amongst some trees on a hillside several miles from home. She, foolish and naive, stretched out on the ground and spread her hands palm-down on the cool grass, sighing with contentment. Winston was quiet for a while, presumably stretched out beside her. Then she felt his hand on her breast.

"Don't, Win," she said, turning her face to him and laughing in some embarrassment.

"Don't what, Sarah?" he asked with wide-eyed innocence. And he moved the hand deliberately to the other breast.

"Don't do that," she said, flushing. "Please, Win."

"You have lovely breasts, Sarah," he said. "Full and firm." His fingers tightened around the one that rested in his palm.

"Win," she said, laughing again in hot embarrassment. "Please stop it."

"If you say so, Sarah," he said meekly. And he moved his hand away and placed it palm-down on her abdomen. He grinned down into her face as he pushed his fingers down between her legs and tightened his clasp of her.

Sarah pushed him away in a panic and scrambled up onto her knees.

He laughed. "Have I scared you, Sarah?" he asked. "That's more than I ever did with all the ghost stories I told and tricks I played when you were younger. Come and sit down again. You aren't afraid of me, are you? Silly girl. Come on. I didn't mean to frighten you."

She sat, and he stretched out beside her and regaled her with stories of his university days until she was giggling with amusement and forgot the discomfort she had felt a few minutes before.

Even so, she was a little more wary the next time he suggested a ride. She made an excuse not to go. It was several days later that he found her at her favorite haunt, the stile, where she was again reading. He stood beside her, his arms resting on the fence for a while, before suggesting that they go for a walk. She had been sitting and reading for more than an hour and agreed.

The walk took them across the pasture to a clump of bushes at the other side, where he suggested they sit (town. She was only slightly uneasy. She sat, her arms around her knees.

He talked for a while, until she was thoroughly relaxed, and then he reached for her hand. She gave it. They had often sat thus in the past. He tickled the palm with one finger until she giggled and would have pulled the hand away. But he turned it palm-up and put it to his mouth, his tongue continuing the tickling movements that his finger had abandoned. And then his mouth moved up her bare arm toward her short puffed sleeve.

She giggled again. "Don't be absurd, Win. You are tickling me." Her giggles stopped cold when he lifted his head and she saw the expression on his face. "Win," she said, "let go of my arm. It is time to be getting back."

"You tease, Sarah!" he said. "You know you don't mean that." And one hand came up to hold her chin as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Sarah froze. She waited for the kiss to stop. She did not like the sensations it created at all. She thought of Winston as a brother. Brothers did not do this with their sisters. And then he opened his mouth over hers and she felt his tongue pushing against her lips. She felt nausea and panic both at the same time and pushed at the hand that still held her chin.

He lifted his head to look at her. "Don't fight," he said. "You are bound to be frightened at first. But don't fight. You will like it if you will just relax."

"I don't like it," she said decisively. "I want to go home, Win."

"No, you don't," he said. "Lie down, Sarah, and relax for a few minutes."

"I don't want to, Win," she said, her voice beginning to shake.

But he would not take no for an answer, and she found that that muscular body, which she had admired for several years, now worked very much to her disadvantage. He took her by the shoulders, laid her back on the grass, and held her there with one hand on her shoulder and one leg thrown across her body. The other hand proceeded to explore her body, his palm pushing and kneading, his fingers prodding and teasing. His mouth was everywhere: on hers, on her throat, on her breasts.

All her struggles were quite in vain. She could not work an arm or a leg free with which to flail at him. Finally, when his hand went under her skirt and began to explore its way up her legs, she stopped fighting and started to cry. And her tears accomplished what her struggles had failed to achieve. He looked at her in surprise and immediately removed his hand from beneath her skirt.

"You are a tender little thing, Sarah," he said affectionately. "Are you still frightened? Most girls love doing this, you know. You are silly, are you not?"

"I don't want to, Win," she said through her sobs. "It isn't right."

"What is so wrong about it?" he asked, smiling down at her tenderly. "We were merely having some fun, Sarah. We have always had fun together, have we not?"

"Not like this," she said. "This isn't right. Aunt Myrtle would not like it."

He laughed and propped himself on one elbow beside her. "It would not be wise to tell her," he said. "Older people tend to forget what it is like to be young. You will learn to like playing, Sarah. The time will come, I guarantee, when you will be begging me to do this to you and more. Silly little girl." And he bent his head and kissed her gently on the cheek.

She accepted the handkerchief he offered her and dried her eyes and blew her nose on it. "Let me go home, Win," she begged.

"Come on," he said, jumping to his feet and pulling her to hers. "We will go together. Don't cry, Sarah. I wouldn't have hurt you, you know. You didn't think I would hurt you, did you? How could I do that when we have been the best of friends for years? Come on, smile and tell me you are not afraid of me."

She made a poor attempt at a smile. "I am not afraid of you, Win," she said, "but I don't like it when you do those things to me."