This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [42]
“Now is the time.” He gripped her hand tightly. “It’s time someone took care of you, too. I’m going to take care of you both. You belong to me now.”
Slater’s eyes were suddenly like dark glowing coals. They met Summer’s. Hers were startled. He had said, “belong to me.” And she could see he meant it. Suddenly, something had changed, forever. They both knew it.
Summer sat frozen, yet waiting. Very slowly, he raised the cigarette to his mouth. Smoke floated away like a dream, lost and gone. He stared down at her.
“What we have, we share.” His eyes were inscrutable.
This wasn’t a game, or a fantasy. He meant what he said. Her heart pounded and she drew the tip of her tongue across dry lips. Under his slanting black brows, his eyes were clear and searching.
The silence was long, breathless and deafening.
Slater flicked the cigarette into the yard and took the mug from her hand. Then his arm went around her and she was so firmly against him that she could feel the hard bones and muscles of his body thrusting through her thin cotton dress. The intimacy of that contact sent waves of surprise and pleasure through her. Strange, tempestuous feelings threatened to swamp her, and she struggled desperately to keep her head.
The smooth side of his face pressed tightly against her cheek, and the feel of his mouth against her ear made her panic. Writhing in the trap he made of his arms, she uttered a faint cry of protest.
“Sh, sh . . . hh. Sh, sh. . . .” His voice was soothing. His lips touched the side of her neck and his hand moved up and down her back. She was panting a little, the wild beat of her heart against his. “Do I frighten you?” His lips were against her cheek.
“No.” It was scarcely more than a whisper. Her brain commanded her to fight free of him, but her senses ignored the order. Her eyes closed and all conscious thought was wiped away by new and pleasant sensations.
Long ripples of tranquility flowed through her as she lost the desire to struggle. Her body became pliable and molded itself tenderly against his as a new need grew within her, a sort of ache for something—she wasn’t quite sure what—something like a joy beyond anything she had ever known, and which she might be able to reach if she stayed close to him.
Still holding her with one arm, he raised her face to him. She opened her eyes.
“Is there anything you want to say?” His voice was thick, but she didn’t notice. She was too aware of the hard warmth of his body and the faint smell of tobacco on his breath to take notice of anything else.
“I . . . don’t know. I . . . have to think.”
“I’m staking my claim,” he said tensely.
The bold possessiveness of his words, the sheer arrogance of them, sent a thrill of excitement through her even while her intelligence rejected it. Once again, she made an effort to assert absolute control over her mind, only to find that her senses were being led into open rebellion by the touch of his fingers as they wandered down her chin and over the hollow of her throat. Gently the tips stroked the soft skin.
“I won’t rush you,” he murmured. “We’ll take time to get to know each other.” He looked searchingly into her eyes, then his arms fell away abruptly and he stood up. “From here on, I’ll handle your brother. He’s not going to grow up to be a spoiled bastard like Travis!” He walked away with sure, quick steps. At the end of the veranda, he paused and threw her a wary glance over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner of the house.
Summer sat for a moment, then went to the end of the porch to peek out. Slater was talking earnestly to John Austin. Perhaps he intended to take care of them like a younger brother and sister. He hadn’t mentioned marriage. Her confused mind groped for an answer. Confusion darkened her eyes, and her heart began to pound again. It hadn’t been a sisterly embrace when he held her. You belong to me now . . . the words refused to leave her mind. She went back to the bench and sat down, her pulses beating feverishly, wondering what would happen the next time she saw him.
Eight
In