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eyes. 'What's wrong?' she asked.
'There's nothing wrong,' he muttered. She saw his eyes slide sideways
as if he couldn't help taking another covert peek. Then they flickered
quickly away and he swung round and took a hasty step towards the
road. 'We'd better see if our fish is ready.'
It was much too soon, but Blythe didn't argue. She was disturbed by
his reaction to the family on the beach. He'd stared and then...ran.
There was nothing ugly about the little girl's blue eyes, button of a
nose, and happy smile. And surely he'd seen children like her before?
The shop was full but the teenagers had vacated the seat outside.
'Wait here,' Jas said. Til get it.'
Blythe sat down and tried to put the incident out of her mind. Perhaps
Jas had been mentally working out some mathematical problem, not
even noticing the family on the beach.
Wanting to seek the reassurance of his smile, his closeness, she stood
up. Her reflection looked back at her from the window of the shop.
She paused, taking a long, critical look at herself. She might yearn for
manageable hair, for a few more centimetres of height, for a face that
was classically oval and serene rather than heart-shaped and dimpled
and conventionally pretty, but she knew perfectly well that many
people found her looks everything a girl could wish for, everything a
man could desire.
But did she have any attraction for a man like Jas apart from a pretty
face and the fact that she was willing to listen to him expound on his
favourite subject? Would he have desired her at all if she hadn't
conformed to society's view of female attractiveness?
She shivered despite the warmth of the day, and then Jas came out,
the screen door flapping shut behind him, and smiled at her.
CHAPTER NINE
JAS hooked an arm about her waist, heading for the car.
'We could eat on the beach,' Blythe suggested, 'while the food's hot
and fresh.'
'In ten minutes we can be home. It's crowded here.'
She held the parcel of fish and chips while he drove, the heat
penetrating through the paper strangely comforting. After they had
cleared the town she said carefully, 'The little girl on the beach '
'What little girl?'
'The one with Down's syndrome.'
A tiny muscle in his cheek flickered. 'What about her?'
'Did she bother you?'
'What do you mean?' He sounded almost aggressive.
'The way you looked at her you were staring.'
He frowned, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel so that his
knuckles showed white. 'I was thinking about something else.'
Light dawned. He'd seen a happy family a loving father, a mother
who hugged and praised her child for small accomplishments, a child
who was secure and happy and surrounded by affection and pride.
And the fact that she had been born 'different' was irrelevant. What he
had seen was not an abnormal child but a loved child like all the
children he must have envied in his own unloved childhood.
She looked at his harsh, enigmatic profile, and stretched out her hand
to take one of his from the steering wheel into her warm clasp.
For a moment his fingers resisted. Then they curled about hers and
clung as if she'd offered him a lifeline. They were almost home before
he relaxed his grip.
Jas tipped the food onto plates and they took them outside. Indoors it
was quite muggy, but on his veranda the air was very pleasant.
Blythe scorned a knife and fork, saying that was no way to eat fish
and chips. When she'd finished she said, 'I'd better go and wipe my
fingers,' but Jas caught her wrist and made her laugh by licking the
grease away. Then he began kissing her fingers and her palm, and the
laughter died as her eyelids grew heavy with passion.
In his bedroom she said, 'It's too hot in here.'
'You want to go back to the veranda?' he queried. 'If anyone came
along the road...'
'Out the back, then? No one will see us there.'
He made a bed for them in the long, soft grass, spreading blankets
under the old plum tree that Blythe remembered from her childhood.
The grass beneath cushioned their naked bodies and the tall, pale
standing stalks curtained them.
The moon rose beyond the branches of the plum tree and cast a
pattern of shadows. Blythe's skin felt cool and extra-sensitive in the
open air, every nerve responding to the lightest touch of Jas's fingers
as he traced the contours of her breasts, a hip, a thigh.
Her head on a white pillow, she looked up and saw Jas, his shoulders
limned with moonlight.
His wandering hand reached her foot, and he knelt to kiss the arch of
her instep, making her laugh softly. One finger smoothed along the
length of her leg. 'You have such beautiful legs,' he said.
'I always wanted them to be longer.'
'Why?' His hand shaped her hip, and his thumb found the little
indentation of her navel, making her catch her breath. 'You're
perfectly proportioned. I bet,' he said, 'if I measured your height and
compared it with the height of your navel, it would be in the Golden
Ratio.'
Blythe giggled; she couldn't help it. 'Whatever made you think of
that?'
Jas shifted his hand to her breast, leaning over her. There was a smile
in his voice. 'An imaginative member of the Fibonacci Society
suggested the men in the group should test it on their wives.'
'We must try it later! But if I don't measure up will you be
disappointed?'
'Never.' His voice was muffled against the heated skin of her throat.
'You couldn't disappoint me.'
She touched his hair, and his shoulder, ran her hand down his arm and
guided his hand to where she wanted it, letting out a sigh of
contentment as he obeyed her silent signal. She saw the gleam of his
brief smile, and then he shifted closer and his head bent towards her.
'I love you!' she whispered, just before his mouth came down on hers,
tender and fierce at the same time, waiting for her response to him
before he deepened the kiss, eager and hot and mind-shattering, his
tongue and his fingers bringing her to a breathtaking delight.
She came to a climax so quickly she had no time to warn him, and he
kept kissing her and holding her until her little gasping cries died and
she lay quiescent in his arms, her face hidden against his shoulder.
'I'm sorry,' she whispered.
'Sorry?' His hand moved over her hair. 'Why?'
'I...I couldn't wait for you.' "
'Don't be silly. It was wonderful. Knowing I had done that for you
was exciting for me. Feel that.' He gently took her hand and closed it
about his velvety hardness. 'Or on second thoughts,' he muttered,
'maybe you'd better not.'
She felt him surge against her palm, and smiled. 'If you can do it for
me...'
'No,' he said. 'I'd rather be inside your sweet body...if that's all right
with you.' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]