Carolyn Davidson - The Texan

It trembled in her pocket, her fingertips tingling as she considered resting them on that open palm. “Why don’t you step up here?” she countered, her head tilting to one side.

As if he had been waiting for the words of invitation, he lifted a foot to the porch, touching the upright post for balance, and, eschewing the stairs, stood before her. She backed from him with haste, but he was immobile, only the rise and fall of his shirt with each breath he drew marring the statue he became.

“You really missed me?” he asked, his voice taking on a husky note that stirred her heart into a more rapid pace.

“Yes.”

“Then show me.”

“Show you? I don’t understand.”

She lied, he thought smugly. Though her wide eyes were confused, her body arched, leaning toward him as if she yearned to be in contact with his own solid frame. Escaping the pocket where she’d thrust it, her hand rose, fingers clenched tightly. And then they unfolded and her fist was no more, having become a narrow palm whose trembling fingers lifted toward his wide chest.

“I think you do,” he said quietly, denying her words. “Shall I help you?” he asked.

Her gaze was shuttered by drooping eyelids now, as if she concentrated on the movement of her fingers as they brushed against his leather vest. “I thought you’d wear a suit in your pursuit of business. A white shirt and tie, perhaps.” And then, as if his words penetrated her mind, she glanced up at him and he saw heat in the depths of her blue eyes, a warmth she was unable to conceal.

“Help me? What do you mean?” Her lips trembled and he fought the urge to cover them with his own. He’d almost done that very thing, less than a week ago, there at the corner of the house as she held the shutter for him. An unnecessary task he’d invented for his own pleasure.

“Like this.” He bent his head, and one wide palm lifted to cover her hand as it pressed finally against his chest. She was warm to his touch, her slender hand more than capable of bringing him to a state of arousal with barely a whisper of pressure against his clothing. And what he would do next would perhaps thrust him beyond that initial state of yearning.

Her eyes closed as he surrounded her waist with his other arm, tugging her gently against himself. Lest he frighten her with the evidence of his longing, he allowed only their upper bodies to touch, and that just enough to feel the soft curves of her breasts against the back of his hand.

She inhaled, a deep, quivering breath, and he rested his lips against hers, barely brushing the soft surface. They trembled at his touch and he pressed more firmly, wanting the further intimacy of tongue and teeth exposed to his own. But not tonight, he realized. She kissed like the innocent she was, and so he was dutiful in his behavior, only whispering a soft word of pleasure as he lifted his head.

“Nice,” he said quietly. “Your mouth is soft and sweet, Miss Gussie.”

“Gussie?” she inquired, as if she’d only now realized his use of a derivative of her name. “You said that a few minutes ago, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he agreed with a nod. “I think it suits you.”

“My brother called me Gussie,” she told him. “A long time ago.”

“I won’t call you that in front of others,” he promised. “Only when we’re alone.”

“I hadn’t planned on us being alone, Jonathan,” she replied, using his given name for the first time, emphasizing each syllable. Her eyes met his with a direct gaze that demanded a reply.

“Beth Ann told you, didn’t she?” His smile was gentle as he thought of the ungainly young woman who had caught his attention and inspired his gentleman’s instincts. “She needed to feel special that day, Gussie. I told her she had a lovely name, and…”

“She told us. And you succeeded at your task. You made her feel good, just by paying attention to her.”

“You don’t mind? Not only that I told her my name, but that I didn’t tell you first. I didn’t intend it, but she’s a needy female, Gussie. I just thought…”

She shook her head, effectively halting his words. “Every woman needs to know that there is something about her that is attractive to a man. Beth Ann has never felt worthy of anyone’s attention. I think now she recognizes that she may have something to offer one day. In fact, I think we’re attacking that problem in the proper fashion now.”

It was not the way he’d wanted these few moments to be spent, speaking of another woman, yet Augusta went on, and he allowed it, easing himself a bit as he held her against his body.

“We’re showing her how to fix her hair. Pearl’s good at that, and she has her using lemon juice to rinse it with to bring out the gold. Janine is fixing her clothes a bit, making them fit better, and showing Beth Ann how to stand up straight with her shoulders back.”

“And what are you doing for her?” he asked, his voice amused as her earnest words told of her plan.

“I’m helping her to read better and teaching her how to write more clearly. She is sadly lacking in schooling, I fear.”

“You have a kind heart, Gussie.”

“I have a need to help, Jonathan.” As if she tasted his name on her tongue, she pronounced the syllables slowly. “Someday I’ll tell you about it, when I’m brave enough.”

Brave? Did Augusta need to gather her courage to confide her reasons for what she did here, in this place, with these women? “Someday soon, I’ll remind you of that promise,” he said quietly. And then pushing all else aside, he bent to her again, catching a whiff of sweet scent he could not identify, mixed with the warm aroma of her flesh. “I think I must leave,” he told her, pressing his lips against her forehead. “I don’t want anyone to see us and think badly of you.”

“I missed you.” She repeated his words and her smile was tremulous as she tilted her head to look up at him. “I’ve never been kissed before,” she confessed. “In all my days, no man has ever gotten this close to me.”

“Not for lack of trying, I’ll warrant,” he said quietly. “You are an appealing woman, Gussie.” His mouth touched hers, a fleeting caress.

“Appealing?”

“I’m not going to make a list of your charms, ma’am. You’ve already chastened me on that score once.” He softened the words with another quick touch of his mouth against hers. “Besides having lovely hair—” His lips brushed like fairy wings against the wispy curl that lay against her temple “—and beautiful eyes—” He kissed the lids, carefully, with butterfly touches. And then his words were wistful, clinging to her ears like honey dripping from the comb. “Augusta, my love, you have a bountiful supply of attributes which could easily bring a man to his knees.”

“My hair is down,” she blurted out, as if unable to respond to his elaborate descriptions of what she obviously considered rather ordinary features.

“I noticed,” he murmured. “I feel privileged to see it revealed. I’d lay odds that no other man has had such a viewing.” His hands yearned to tangle in its golden waves and he forbade himself the intimacy. Next time.

“You’d win,” she admitted with a sigh. “My mother would roll over in her grave if she saw me here with you. She taught me to be a lady.”

“She did a good job of it,” Cleary said. “You are every inch a gentlewoman.”

“Even with my nightclothes on and my hair in disarray?”

He nodded. “Especially in such a state. Your womanhood does not depend on what you’re wearing or your hairpins remaining in place. Right now, you’re every bit a lady, and I respect you as such.”

Even as I yearn to lay you down and make you a woman. The thought raced through his mind and he inhaled deeply, stepping away from her, releasing her from his embrace, lest he frighten her with his barely controlled desire.