Page 13 of Just Imagine

Magnus drove the buggy home from church with Sophronia at his side and Samuel, Lucy, and Patsy in the back. When they’d first left church, he’d tried to make conversation with Sophronia, but she’d been brusque, and he’d soon given up. Kit’s return had upset her, although he didn’t understand why. There was something strange about that relationship.

Magnus looked over at her. She sat at his side like a beautiful statue. He was tired of all the mysteries surrounding her. Tired of his love for her, a love that was bringing him more misery than happiness. He thought of Deborah Williams, the daughter of one of the men working on the cotton mill. Deborah had made it clear that she wanted Magnus’s attention.

Damn it! He was ready to settle down. The war was behind him, and he had a good job. Risen Glory’s small, neat overseer’s house situated at the edge of the orchard pleased him. His days of hard drinking and easy women were over. He wanted a wife and children. Deborah Watson was pretty. Sweet-natured, too, unlike the vinegar-tongued Sophronia. She’d make a good wife for him. But instead of cheering him up, the idea made him feel even more unhappy.

Sophronia didn’t smile at him often, but when she did, it was like a rainbow unfolding. She read newspapers and books, and she understood things in a way that Deborah never could. Most of all, he’d never heard Deborah sing when she was going about her work the way Sophronia did.

He noticed a crimson-and-black buggy coming toward them. It was too new to belong to any of the locals. Probably a Northerner’s. A carpetbagger, most likely.

Sophronia straightened, and he looked more closely at the vehicle. As it drew nearer, he recognized the driver as James Spence, the owner of the new phosphate mine. Magnus hadn’t had any contact with the man, but from what he’d heard, he was a good businessman. He paid an honest day’s wage and didn’t cheat his customers. Still, Magnus didn’t like him, probably because Sophronia so obviously did.

Magnus saw that Spence was a good-looking man. He tipped a biscuit-colored beaver hat, revealing a thick head of black hair, parted neatly in the center, and a set of trim side whiskers.

“Good morning, Sophronia,”

he called out.

“Nice day, isn’t it?”

He didn’t even glance at the other occupants.

“Mornin’, Mr. Spence,”

Sophronia replied with a sassy smile that set Magnus’s teeth on edge and made him want to shake her.

Spence replaced his hat, the buggy passed, and Magnus remembered this wasn’t the first time Spence had shown an interest in Sophronia. He’d seen the two of them talking when he’d driven her into Rutherford to shop.

His hands tightened involuntarily on the reins. It was time they talked.

The opportunity came late that afternoon, when he was sitting with Merlin on the front porch of his house, enjoying his day of leisure. A flicker of blue in the orchard caught his attention. Sophronia, in a pretty blue dress, was walking through the cherry trees, gazing up into the branches and probably trying to decide whether there was enough fruit left to justify another picking.

He rose and sauntered down the steps. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he ambled into the orchard.

“Looks like you might as well let the birds enjoy those cherries,”

he said when he reached her.

She hadn’t heard him come up behind her, and she whirled around.

“What do you mean, sneakin’ up on me like that?”

“Wasn’t sneakin’. I guess I’m just naturally light on my feet.”

But Sophronia refused to respond to his bantering.

“Go away. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m talkin’ to you anyway.”

She turned her back to him and began to walk toward the house. With a few quick steps, he planted himself in front of her.

“We can talk here in the orchard”— he kept his voice as pleasant as could be— “or you can take my arm, and we’ll walk over there to my house, and you can sit in that big ol’ rockin’ chair on my front porch while I say what I have to say.”

“Let me by.”

“You want to talk here? That’s fine with me.”

He took her by the arm and steered her toward the gnarled trunk of the apple tree behind her, using his body to block any chance she had of sliding past him.

“You’re makin’ a fool of yourself, Magnus Owen.”

Her eyes burned with bright, golden fires.

“Most men would’ve taken the hint by now. I don’t like you. When are you goin’ to get that through your thick skull? Don’t you have any pride? Doesn’t it bother you to be chasin’ after a woman who doesn’t care anything about you? Don’t you know that half the time I’m laughin’ at you behind your back?”

Magnus flinched, but he didn’t move away.

“You just go ahead and laugh at me all you want. My feelin’s for you are honest, and I’m not ashamed of them.”

He rested the heel of his hand on the trunk near her head.

“Besides, you’re the one should be ashamed. You sat in church this mornin’ cryin’ out praises to Jesus, and then you walked out the door, and the first thing you did was make eyes at James Spence.”

“Don’t you judge me, Magnus Owen.”

“That Northerner may be rich and good-lookin’, but he’s not your kind. When are you goin’ stop fightin’ what you are?”

Magnus’s words made Sophronia ache, but not for anything would she let him see that. Instead, she tilted her head provocatively and rested it against the tree trunk. At the same time, she pushed her breasts ever so slightly forward.

A stab of triumph shot through her at his quick intake of breath and the way his eyes drank her in. It was time she punished him for trying to interfere with her life, and she was going to punish him in the way that would hurt the most. A little ache spread inside her at the thought of causing him pain. The same ache she felt whenever he looked at her, spoke to her, or turned those soft dark eyes in her direction. She fought her weakness.

“You jealous, Magnus?”

She placed her hand on his arm and kneaded the warm, hard flesh beneath his sleeve. Touching a man usually gave her an ugly clawing feeling inside, especially if it was a white man she had to touch, but this was only Magnus, and he didn’t scare her a bit.

“You wishin’ it was you instead of him I was smilin’ at? Is that what’s botherin’ you, Mistuh Overseer?”

“What’s bothering me is watching all those wars goin’ on inside you and not being able to do anythin’ about it,”

he said huskily.

“There aren’t any wars goin’ on inside me.”

“There’s no reason to lie to me. Don’t you understand? Lyin’ to me is just like lyin’ to yourself.”

His gentle words cracked the chrysalis of her self-protection. He saw it happening just as he could see through the sham of her seduction to the vulnerability behind it. He saw it all, and he still knew he had to kiss her. He damned himself as a fool for not having done it sooner.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head, determined not to frighten her, just as determined to have what he wanted.

The knowledge of what was to come flickered in her golden eyes. He saw a tremor of uneasiness, a hint of defiance.

He came nearer, then paused at the point of illusion, where his lips first sensed the warmth of hers. Instead of touching them, he feathered her skin with his warm breath.

She waited, whether as a challenge or in resignation, he didn’t know.

Slowly, the illusion became reality. His lips brushed hers. Tenderly, he kissed her, yearning to heal with his mouth her hidden wounds, to destroy devils, tame demons, and show her a gentle world of love and softness where evil didn’t exist. A world where tomorrow held laughter and hope that knew no color. A world where forever lived inside two loving hearts wedded in joy as one.

Sophronia’s lips trembled under his. She felt like a trapped bird, frightened yet somehow knowing her captor wouldn’t harm her. Slowly his healing magic seeped through her pores like warm summer sun.

He gently lifted her away from the tree and enfolded her in his arms. The maleness that had frightened her for so long didn’t seem terrifying now. How soft his mouth was. Soft and clean.

Much too soon, he drew away from her. Her mouth felt abandoned, her skin cold despite the heat of the June afternoon. It was a mistake to meet his eyes, but she did it anyway.

She drew a deep, shattering breath at the love and tenderness she saw there.

“Leave me alone,”

she whispered.

“Please, leave me alone.”

And then she fled, tearing across the orchard as if an army of devils were at her heels. But all the devils were inside her, and she couldn’t outrun a single one of them.

Kit had forgotten how hot it could be in South Carolina, even in June. Heat haze shimmered in the air above the cotton fields, which were covered now with creamy white four-petal blossoms. Even Merlin had deserted her this afternoon, preferring to nap in the shadows of the hydrangeas that grew near the kitchen door.

Kit should have done the same thing. Her bedroom was shuttered like the rest of the house to keep out the afternoon heat, but she hadn’t been able to rest there. Two days had passed since the Saturday night dinner party, but her encounter with Cain kept coming back to her.

She hated the lie she’d told him, but even now she couldn’t think of anything else she might have said that would have guaranteed he’d give the permission she needed to marry. As for Brandon . . . She’d received a note asking her to accompany him to the Wednesday evening church social, and she was reasonably certain he’d propose to her then. No wonder she was in a fitful mood. Impulsively she turned Temptation into the trees.

The pond lay like a small, glimmering jewel in the center of the woods, where it was safely tucked away from the bustle of the plantation. It had always been one of her favorite places. Even on the hottest August days, its spring-fed water was cold and clear, and the thick barrier of trees and underbrush acted like a fence around it. The spot was quiet and private, perfect for secret thoughts.

She led Temptation to the water’s edge so he could drink his fill, then wandered around the pond’s perimeter. The willows there had always reminded her of women who’d tossed their hair forward over their heads and let the ends dip into the water. She tugged at a switch and stripped the leaves into neat stacks in her fingers.

The lure of the water was irresistible. The workers never came near here, and Cain and Magnus had gone into town, so no one could disturb her. She threw her hat aside and tugged at her boots, then tossed off the rest of her clothes. When she was naked, she made a shallow dive from a rock at the edge and cut into the water like a silverfish. She came to the surface gasping at the cold, laughed, and dived under again.

Eventually she settled onto her back and let her hair unfold like a fan around her head. As she floated, she closed her eyes against the flaming copper ball of sun balanced on the treetops. She felt suspended in time, part of the water, the air, the land. The sun touched the hills of her body. The water lapped at the valleys. She felt almost content.

A bullfrog croaked. She rolled onto her stomach and swam in lazy circles. When she began to feel chilled, she headed into the shallower water at the edge and lowered her feet to the sandy bottom.

Just as she was about to step out, she heard Temptation nicker. From the border of the woods came the answering whistle of another horse. With a curse, she scrambled up the bank and dashed toward her clothes. There was no time for undergarments. She grabbed her khaki breeches and tugged them on over her dripping legs.

She heard the horse coming closer. Her fingers were too stiff from the chilly water to allow her to manage the buttons. She snatched up her shirt and shoved her wet arms into the sleeves. She was fumbling with the button between her breasts when the chestnut gelding broke through the line of trees, and Baron Cain invaded her private world.

He reined in near the spot where her undergarments still lay. Loosely crossing his hands on the pommel of the saddle, he looked down at her from the great height of Vandal’s back. His eyes were shaded by the brim of his tan hat, leaving their expression unfathomable. His mouth was unsmiling.

She stood frozen. Her wetly translucent shirt revealed every inch of the skin it clung to. She might as well have been naked.

Cain slowly swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. While she struggled with the buttons on her breeches, she thought how wrong it was for such a large man to move so quietly.

His boots were dusty, and he wore his fawn trousers low on his narrow hips. His pale butternut shirt was open at the throat. His eyes remained shadowed under his hat brim, and not being able to see their expression made her even more uneasy.

As if he were reading her mind, he dropped the hat to the ground, where it landed next to her undergarments. She wished he’d left it on. The scorching heat in those gray eyes was threatening and dangerous.

“I—I thought you were going into town with Magnus.”

“I was. Until I saw you heading out on Temptation.”

“You knew I was here?”

“I would have shown up earlier, but I wanted to make sure we wouldn’t be interrupted.”

“Interrupted?”

The button on her breeches refused to behave beneath her fingers.

“What difference would that make?”

“Don’t bother fastening it,”

he said quietly.

“It’s just going to come back off again.”

Mesmerized, she watched him lift his hands and slowly unbutton his own shirt.

“Don’t do that.”

Her voice sounded breathless, even to her own ears.

He tugged his shirt free of the waistband of his trousers, then stripped it off and let it fall to the ground.

Oh, she knew what he was doing . . . She knew, but she didn’t know . . .

“Sophronia’s going to be expecting me,”

she said in a rush.

“If I’m not back soon, she’ll send somebody to look for me.”

“Nobody’s coming after you, Kit. I told them you wouldn’t be back until late. We have all the time in the world.”

“We have no time. I have . . . I have to go.”

But she didn’t move. She couldn’t.

He came closer, exploring her with his eyes. She felt him take in all the curves that her wet clothing outlined with such scrupulous attention to detail.

“Do you still want me to turn you over to Parsell?” he asked.

No.

“Yes. Yes, of course I do.”

“Then I will.”

His voice grew husky and seductive.

“But first we have something to settle between us.”

She shook her head, but she didn’t try to back away. Instead, she heard herself say inanely.

“This isn’t proper.”

“Most improper.”

His smile held a gentle note of mockery.

“And neither of us cares.”

“I care,”

she said breathlessly.

“Then why don’t you climb up on Temptation right now and ride away?”

“I will.”

But she didn’t move. She simply stood there and gazed at the muscles of his bare chest burnished by the late-afternoon light.

Their eyes locked, and he drew nearer. Even before he touched her, she felt the heat of his skin.

“We both know this has been between us ever since the day you came here. It’s time we put an end to it so we can get on with the rest of our lives.”

Temptation whickered.

He brushed her cheek with his finger and spoke softly.

“I’m going to have you now, Kit Weston.”

His head dipped so slowly that he might have been moving in a dream. His lips touched her eyelids and closed each one with a soft, quieting kiss. She felt his breath on her cheek, and then his open mouth, like a warm cave, settled over hers.

The tip of his tongue gently played with her lips. It slid along them and tried to coax away the uncertainty that held them shut. Her breasts had been so cold. Now they crushed against the hard warmth of his bare chest. With a moan, she opened her mouth and let him in.

He explored every part of the velvet interior that she made so freely accessible. His tongue touched hers. Gradually, he coaxed her into his mouth until she finally took what he offered her.

Now she become the aggressor. She entwined her arms around his neck. Tasted. Invaded.

He made a muffled sound deep in his throat. She felt his hand slide between their bodies. He pushed aside the open V of her britches and flattened his palm on her stomach.

The intimacy inflamed her. She dug her fingers into his thick, tawny hair. He pushed his hand beneath her shirt and found her breast. As his thumb circled the small, tight bud at the center, she pulled her mouth away with a smothered cry. Would she go to hell for this? What she was letting him do . . . This man wasn’t her husband but her dearest enemy.

She felt herself falling and realized he was taking her to the ground with him. He cushioned their landing, then rolled her onto her back.

The earth was soft and mossy beneath her. He tugged at the button between her breasts, pushed aside the wet fabric, and exposed her breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,”

he said huskily. He lifted his gaze to her face.

“So perfect. Wild and free.”

Locking his eyes with hers, he covered her nipples with his thumbs and began making a series of small circles.

She bit her lip to keep from crying out. The frenzied sensations spiraled inside her, growing hotter and wilder.

“Go ahead,”

he whispered.

“Let yourself feel.”

The sound she made came from a place deep inside her.

His smile was smoky and full of satisfaction. He kissed the hollow of her throat, then the nipples he was torturing so expertly with his fingers.

Fiery pinwheels whirled behind her eyes as he suckled her. Just when she knew she could bear it no longer, his mouth trailed to the patch of flat, smooth stomach exposed by the open V of her britches. He kissed her there, then drew them down over her hips.

Finally she lay beneath him, naked except for her open white shirt.

Every nerve in her body quivered. She was frightened. Ecstatic. Noises played inside her head.

“Open for me, sweet.”

His hands guided her . . . pushing . . . separating . . . Oh, yes . . .

Feathers of air touched her intimately. Her thighs were spread. She was open to his gaze, and the first trickle of apprehension hit her. Eve’s Shame. Now he would do to her this momentous, awful thing that men did to women.

There’s pain . . . There’s blood . . .

But this wasn’t pain. He brushed the curls between her thighs, and it felt more wonderful than anything she’d ever imagined.

His breathing grew heavy in her ear, and the muscles in his shoulders quivered beneath her palms. Her apprehension returned. He was so powerful, and she was defenseless. He could tear her apart. Yet she lay here.

“Wait,”

she whispered.

His head came up, his eyes darkly glazed.

“I shouldn’t be . . . I need . . .”

“What’s wrong?”

Her fear of him evaporated, but not her anxiety. So much was wrong, and right then, she knew she had to tell him.

“It wasn’t true,”

she managed.

“What I told you. I’ve—I’ve never been with a man.”

His brow clouded.

“I don’t believe you. This is another one of your games.”

“No . . .”

“I want the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“There’s one way to find out for certain.”

She didn’t understand, not even when she felt his hand between her thighs. She sucked in her breath as he pushed his finger inside her.

Cain felt her wince, heard her gasp of surprise, and something inside him twisted. The membrane was there, that tenacious survivor of her rough, unruly childhood. Taut as a drumhead, strong as she was strong, it protected her even as it damned him.

His vulnerability frightened him, and he hated that. He sprang to his feet and cried out.

“Isn’t there anything about you that’s what it should be?”

She stared up at him from her bed in the moss. Her legs were still parted. Long and slender, they held the secrets she’d shared with no man. Even as he grabbed his shirt and hat, he wanted her with a ferocity that made him shake, and pain he refused to acknowledge consumed him.

He stalked across the patch of grass to the place where his horse was tied. Before he mounted, he washed all feeling from his face and turned to inflict some of his own torment on her. But he couldn’t think of words cruel enough.

“This isn’t over between us yet.”