Chapter Fifty-Seven
All good things arrive to them that wait—and don’t die in the meantime.
—Mark Twain
Georgina was sitting in her room, staring out the window at the frosty night. There was a sharp blue wind and the stars snapped in the deep purple sky like sapphires. She looked at one of the stars for the longest time, then turned away just as the door to her room opened.
He stood in the doorway, filling it the way a painting fills a frame. “Can I come in?”
“Yes.” She was standing there stiffly, but she couldn’t help it. The tension between them had gone on for so long now that she didn’t think it would ever change. She was destined to go through life wanting something she couldn’t have.
He sat down on the bed. His knees were slightly spread and he rested his elbows on his thighs. He just stared down at the floor. “I’m sorry, George.”
“Why?”
He looked up at her. “For everything that’s happened. The kidnapping, jail, the stupid deal we made.”
“Stupid deal?”
“Aye. I was angry because you wanted to marry someone else.”
“Tom Cabbage,” she said.
They both laughed and for just a moment the tension relaxed.
“Aye.” He stood up and held out his hands in supplication. “I’m asking you to forgive me.”
She took a step, then another, and put her hands in his and felt his close around hers. “You fool. There’s nothing to forgive. I wouldn’t want to go back to what I was before.”
His mouth was barely a breath away. “I want to kiss you.”
She smiled. “You know.” She shook her head. “You really have to stop asking, MacOaf. If you see something you want, take it.”
He kissed her then. Kissed her as if she were the most important thing in his world. It was almost more than she could bear.
When he finally pulled back, his gaze was locked on her mouth. It seemed to fascinate him and he traced the outline of her lips with one finger. “I think I was caught from the night of your party, there in the garden.”
She slid her arms around his shoulders and looked up at him and smiled. “Me, too.”
His mouth closed over hers and he was kissing her deeply and with all the passion and power that seemed to always be between them, from the moment they were in the same room, from that first instant in the garden.
That passion was there and they had both known it, both had been fighting it. For once it felt so good to just give in to it, to let him love her and she him, any way they wanted. No doubts. No regrets. Nothing but honest emotion.
His mouth moved to her neck and ear and he whispered, “God... you taste so good to me.”
She smiled against his cheek. “Better than doughnuts?”
“Aye,” he said with a deep laugh that was scratchy with passion. “Better than doughnuts. And maybe, even better than blueberry pie.” His hands moved from her face to her bosom, and one large hand slid around to her back and down to her bottom, and he pressed her against him so her feet were between his and their bodies were touching from mouth to hip.
His tongue was in her mouth, filling it, and his other hand was inside the neckline of her dress, playing with her naked breast and making her aware of how his touch could excite her and make her knees weak.
She buried her hand in his hair and held his mouth even tighter against her, kissing him back until he was the one who was moving. He growled something earthy into her mouth and then he swung her into his arms, never breaking their kiss.
By the time he placed her on the bed her dress was already down to her waist and they were fumbling with each other’s clothing.
He muttered something about the damn buttons.
“Tear it,” she told him.
