Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [98]
She swallowed, trying to remember if she’d made her bed or cleaned up after Mrs. Patrick did her hair, but she couldn’t remember. Had she even put her nightdress away?
Her cheeks heated. The light moved back into the living area, then to the kitchen. Finally, he returned to the front and opened the door, stepping onto the porch.
“It’s fine. You can come in.” His voice was soft, low.
She tried to approach with as much composure as she could, but found herself lifting her skirts and scuttling to him.
He widened the screen. Memories of the passionate moments they’d shared on her couch flashed through her mind. “I think we’d best say our good-nights out here.”
The lantern cast shadows on his face, making it impossible to read his expression. Finally, he stepped away from the door and closed the screen.
They stood several feet apart, the streamers on the Mai tree whispering in the breeze. Lowering the wick, he doused the flame, making the darkness deeper after being in the light. “Come here.”
She didn’t hesitate, but stepped into him, wrapping her arms about his neck, stretching up to meet his descending mouth. His kisses were fierce, possessive, and full of all the things they wanted to say aloud but had not.
He slanted his head the opposite way, kissing her again, cinching her to him, his hands reaching clear around to her sides. She went further up on her tiptoes, tightening her hold, giving back as much as she received.
I love you. But she couldn’t say the words first. Must wait until they came from him.
He wrenched his mouth from hers, dragging it across her jaw, nibbling at her ear, nuzzling her neck. Fire sang through her veins.
Say it, Luke. Say it.
But he did not and finally, she loosened her hold, running her hands from his neck to his shoulders to his chest. “We must stop,” she whispered.
He hesitated, then rested his forehead against her shoulder, his breaths deep. He moved his hands to her sides, squeezing her waist.
Say it.
Nothing.
Bracketing his cheeks, she lifted him from her, placed a heartfelt kiss upon his forehead, and stepped back. His fingers lingered at her waist, as if he couldn’t quite let her go.
“Good night, Luke. Thank you for today. Thank you for everything.” She retrieved the lantern, breaking the connection between them, then opened the screen.
“Georgie?”
She paused inside the threshold, hope filling her.
“Lock your doors.”
Swallowing, she nodded, pushed the door closed, and, for the first time in her life, locked it.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Hello, Central.”
“Good morning, Georgie. I have to say I still can’t get over what Mr. Ottfried did to you and your hats.”
Giving Luke a sidelong glance, Georgie traced the outline of a lever with her finger. “We don’t know who exactly burned the hats, Mrs. Kleberg.”
“Well, who else could it be? In any event, refusing to frequent his millinery isn’t enough. I’ve decided I want to plant a bird garden, too. But I haven’t the slightest idea where to start.”
Georgie pictured Mr. Ottfried’s Maifest booth with hardly a customer all day while the Plumage League’s booth was never without a line. “Signing a pledge doesn’t mean you can’t frequent his shop. It just means you won’t buy or wear hats with bird parts.”
“Yes, yes. But with Mistrot Brothers right there on Douglas Street, I don’t see any reason to go to Ottfried’s shop. Now, about that bird garden?”
Georgie hesitated. She still couldn’t imagine what anyone other than Mr. Ottfried would gain from burning the hats and in her heart of hearts, she believed he was the one responsible. She just found it strange Frank Comer would do his bidding.
“Hello? Georgie? Are you there?”
“Yes, Mrs. Kleberg.” She cleared her throat. “As for your garden, if you would but put a fresh pan of water out daily, why, you’d be surprised at the number of birds you’ll attract.”
“Oh, splendid!”
“Just be sure it’s in the shade and up off the ground. Birds