Jennifer Greene - Man From Tennessee

“We’re going to have to get up, you know.” Kern was threading his fingers through her hair in hypnotic fashion.

“Hmm.”

“Although if you continue to lie like that without a stitch on…”

A shy smile touched her lips, but she neither moved nor opened her eyes.

“You know…the Tish I married would never have sun-bathed nude, never have explored such off-the-beaten paths to find a place like this. Five years…” he murmured. “You were loving then and I thought in time the passion would grow. You were so inexperienced, so young…but I never guessed at this kind of hidden fire, at this kind of sexual abandonment.”

The words were sweet but Trisha’s eyes flickered open, uncertain suddenly at his tone.

“How many have there been, Tish?”

Her head lifted from his lap. “Pardon?”

“Men.”

She felt an odd shiver of chill inside, and her throat was suddenly dry-as if she were about to take off on a roller-coaster ride headed downhill. “Do there have to be other men?”

His smoke eyes rested on hers. “From a woman who shied from lights-on at night to wanton in broad daylight? I think it more than likely that men were part of the transition. If you think I’m judging, Tish, I’m not. I find you beautiful, more compelling in passion than any woman I’ve ever known. And tonight we’ll have a bed, not just a stolen moment…”

She drew back almost unconsciously. The urge to cover herself had not been there before, but suddenly it was. She was suddenly aware of bits and pieces of moss clinging to her skin, of a small red graze on her thigh where a stone had scraped, of a heat on her breasts that felt like sunburn.

“You sound to me like you are judging,” she said sharply. And the invitation to tonight’s bed sounded like an invitation extended to a mistress, not a wife. She stood up and took the few steps to her shorts and halter top still in a heap on the flat white rock. “I never asked if you were celibate for five years, Kern. Though the answer would obviously be no. It wouldn’t even have been…healthy if you had. Five years is a long time.”

“I only asked you a question. You don’t have to answer it. But don’t tell me I don’t have the right to ask, Tish.”

She drew up the shorts, buttoned them. But when she tried to slip on the emerald-and-navy top, she winced in discomfort.

“You can wear my shirt.” He lurched up stiffly to a standing position, preparing to get his own clothes.

“No, thank you.” Her head was bent, trying to do the halter straps in a tangle of hair at her neck. Her hands were firmly and suddenly pushed away. He did the straps, smoothed the hair free and then pulled her back against his bare chest. His arms enfolded her in a sensual cage, his lips pressing into her hair.

“Jealousy feels like hell, Tish, and I spoke before thinking. Nothing matters right now; it wasn’t the time to say anything. Smile again for me, bright eyes.”

She smiled, and kissed him. But she heard the “right now.” The trip down the steep slope was quick. The sun was setting in the west, reminding Trisha of how many hours they had stolen. And of how much had suddenly changed-and how much had not. Everything was right when he was holding her close, but Trisha was all too aware that they walked the last steps separately. Without his arms around her she felt oddly cold, unsure, and in some incomprehensible way, despairing.

At nine the dishes were done and the sun was fading. Julia had taken center stage from the moment she walked in a half hour before, oblivious to the odd silence between the two younger Lowerys. The patio at dusk was as cool as anywhere, but the stillness at the end of the day seemed only to intensify the heat wave that nestled in the valley.

“Three fish,” Julia repeated for her audience, who were normally more than captive to her every word. “The one fought so hard I found myself in the water, completely ruining my silk pants. I should have worn those horrible jeanish things… I saw some deer and wild turkeys, did I tell you that, Kern?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have you know I even cooked the fish myself! The kitchen in that mobile home-I swear it’s like a doll’s setup, everything in miniature. You know how long it’s been since I’ve actually tried to cook anything, but Mr. Michaels…” Her monologue trailed finally, an irritable note in her voice as she darted impatient looks at both of them. “Well, then. Since the two of you are being entirely uncommunicative, I shall retire to my room.”

Trisha stood up quickly after Julia. “I’m tired, too. Do you need anything before you go to bed, Julia?”

“I was looking for that antiques magazine this afternoon…”

The women’s talk mollified Julia. For Trisha it was an excuse to leave Kern’s presence. Once upstairs she closed and locked the door to the bath and turned the taps on full. The tension between them had escalated in each short, uncomfortable little silence. She could not take any more of it.

She stripped off her clothes and slid into the tepid water, sinking to her neck and closing her eyes with a sound of relief. The sunburn in such mortifying places was soothed, cooled. When she emerged half an hour later, she applied an apricot-scented lotion, brushed her hair until it crackled and drew on an aqua silk nightgown-another of Julia’s purchases-that felt better on her overheated skin even than air.

The night was still warm when she stepped from the bathroom, but the sun was long set. Her room was the color of dusk, and the man on her bed blended in shadow until he stood up the moment she opened the door.

Kern’s hand grasped hers, persuasively firm as he walked her down the hall to his room-to their own room. He only let go of her hand when he had shut the door with both of them inside.

“You’re tired, Tish. So am I.”

A dare to start an argument if ever she’d heard one. His look was granite. He started taking off his clothing in the semidarkness, as if it were settled between them. Obviously he did not intend to sleep alone tonight. She debated for a moment about pitting the wildflower fragility she felt inside to his mountain granite, and came up with the obvious conclusion.

Slowly she unfolded the spread and laid it on the chair and then quietly slid in between the cool sheets. Kern was done with his shirt and removed his pants.

“Were you actually planning on sleeping in the spare room tonight?” he asked finally.

She swallowed the developing lump in her throat. “You didn’t ask me to stay,” she said quietly.

“It shouldn’t need to be said.” His voice grated and then became gentle like velvet teasing her in the darkness. “Tish, you’re sunburned and you’re tired. I know that. We don’t have to make love. I just want you here, sleeping next to me-”

She drew in her breath. “That wasn’t what I meant, Kern. You haven’t asked me to… stay, ” she said softly. “This afternoon…” Her pride was battered because she had to ask. At the waterfall, it hadn’t mattered. She had told herself she only wanted that moment, not knowing or caring how he felt about her. She had thought it would be enough. It was a sad lie to have told herself…

He drew back the sheet and slipped in beside her, bolstering the pillow behind him. The scent and warmth of him were suddenly there, clean and male and potent, but he made no move to touch her. His voice was gentle but she could feel fear licking all up and down her spine.

“You’re here, Tish. That’s your choice. I could have come after you when you left the first time, but I didn’t then and I wouldn’t now. I swore I’d never ask you to stay again. It was done the first time, when I gave you that ring still on your finger. That ‘once’ said all I had to say.”