Page 34 of Margins of Love
His lips found hers again. They kissed and rolled over each other, intertwining their legs. She caressed him, stroked his back, and even grabbed his behind. He would have let her touch him everywhere, but she did not. It was his first encounter of this sort, the first intimacy with another. Somehow, he appreciated that they both had unspoken limits to their exploration of each other’s nudity. But how he cherished her beneath him. His heart pounded and skipped beats as she wriggled underneath him, trying to come closer, to maximize the touch of her skin on his. He cherished the feeling. He adored her touch. He treasured her scent, her wet lips on his, he loved it.
Love?Love!
His heart sank, and he broke the kiss. Realization washed over him. He had tasted forbidden fruit. He must not love a gentile. His mother had warned him since before he had any interest in girls. A strange and big concept. It was taboo for Fave to be in love with Rachel. And yet, he felt a chill of relief. It had happened, he had fallen.
His left hand was at the small of her back, and she arched over it. Her delicate figure would never crush him, but he loved her thoughtfulness. Loved. Again. He shook his head and fear spread inside him. He shook his head again.
“Why are you saying no?” she asked, her hands caressing his face, and her eyes plunging into his soul.
He was vulnerable now, he knew it. “I just cannot believe it.” And he kissed her to ward off the next question. He knew that she felt him. Not just his body, the heat of the moment, but his heat and his erection.
Her hands were now on his back, pulling him close. Her breasts were flush against his strong chest. He wanted to reach for them but did not dare. He could not go further without a marriage proposal. And he could not do that, could he? So he turned her around, her back to his chest.
His kisses trailed to the edge of her shoulders toward her decolletage. Kissing every inch. She writhed under his breath and arched her breasts into his face. He shook his head at his restraint for he wanted nothing more than to devour her. His hands took hers. But his mouth chose another path along her slender body. A few more raindrops fell onto their skin and melted into the sweat of the sizzling heat of their intimacy. Now or never.
He nudged her over his lap, held her tight, and his fingers found her slick womanhood. He marveled at the warmth and wetness of her welcoming center and stuck one finger in. Then another. And he pleasured her. The raindrops cool on their skin, and she hot in his arms. He nearly lost control. She would let him. She would welcome him and he could… but he must not.
He flexed his restraint more than his muscles and remained so wordlessly. His mouth caressed her shoulders, her ear, her cheek. He liked the soft mane of her dark brown hair on his face, and inhaled the plumeria scent that had faded into the cool of this night. Her breath grew ragged, she tensed, and he remembered what Arnold said, no stopping, so he held her as she spiraled up and up. She pressed against his chest and grabbed his arm, holding on like a shipwreck in high tide. He was unsure how to act and what to think of her moans. He clenched his eyes shut and willed himself to let her calm down. Tip, ta-dip. Another raindrop. Then another.
The heavens opened up and it began to thunder. Mercy.
He turned her to him and brushed a kiss on her forehead. Then he scooped her up as he stood.
Moments later, dressed in their wrinkled grass-stained clothes, they hurried to the house. Running and laughing together. Rachel seemed exhilarated. But Fave was sore, frustrated, and terrified of his feelings for this girl. This woman. The only one he had ever touched. The only one he had ever wanted with this intensity. He needed her to be his, but he must not.
It was dark when they entered the house. Still afraid to be found out, he sputtered with suppressed laughter. He looked at the leaves and twigs on their clothes, their heated expressions, their physical closeness. But there was something else. A familiarity of their hearts that shone through their eyes and linked their souls. No amount of rain—and it was pouring—and no darkness of the night could hide the ethereal glow of Fave’s love. His chest rose, his heart pounded, and his stomach clenched. The realization was still fresh, and its power left him as full of tenderness for Rachel as with fear.
CHAPTER25
April 9, 1813.
It wasthe eve before Rachel’s birthday, the dance on the last day of the House Party.
Fave had donned his black evening attire and was waiting with the gentlemen. Arnold was next to him and engaged in a conversation with someone that failed to capture Fave’s interest.
Tap, tap.Fave wrinkled his face when a short middle-aged man touched his shoulder, holding a tumbler of smoked whiskey that smelled foul and sharp.
“You must be a Pearler,” the man stretched out his hand. His dark eyes were framed by thinning lashes and crows feet. He seemed about Fave’s father’s age but older in his gaze. “Newman, from London.”
Fave shook his hand. “Newman? Is Rachel your daughter?”
The man nodded proudly, but Fave saw a twinkle of concern in his eyes. “If you find yourself in need of financing the gem for the King’s jewel—”
“We do not require your assistance,” Arnold’s voice thundered more vigorously than etiquette allowed.
“Understood.” And with this, Ilan Newman took off. He seemed oddly unaffected by Arnold’s outburst, but Fave was irritated by the encounter. It was nothing new that usurers tried to get a piece of their business, and Fave would not have given this one another thought had he not been Rachel’s father.
“What is it, Cous?” Arnold recognized the look on Fave’s face.
Fave pulled him aside. “I caught his daughter, Rachel Newman, scouting the library for information on emeralds.”
“Money lenders. Snakes.” Arnold pulled his head back, resembling a surprised pigeon. “You don’t say…Rachel Rachel?” He made a rolling motion with his hand and Fave nodded.
“That Rachel,” Fave said grimly.
“Hm! What does a money lender’s daughter want with an emerald?” Arnold often spoke aloud what Fave was thinking. They had grown up together and had never been separated for more than a few days.
In moments like these, they needed no words to explain their suspicions of the Newmans. Were they competing for the King’s jewels? It made no sense to Fave when he looked in Rachel’s buttery brown eyes, or were they green? He should know. His mind wandered to the lovely eyes of the girl he had kissed so passionately just days before. Their encounters did nothing to support his suspicions. He willed his mind to avoid imagining Rachel as competition for the King’s jewels, yet he knew better. Life had made him such that he could not trust any member of the ton. But he wanted to trust Rachel. Could he?
