Laurel stared at him, struck by the idea. She lifted her chin. “Maybe you’re right. I should.”
Call welcomed the thrust of her chin. It was likegreeting an old friend. He took her hand, squeezed it gently. “I think I hurt you,” he said. “Did I?”
Her astonishment was not forced. “No. No, you didn’t. Why do you think that?”
“I got ahead of myself. I was needy and I was rough.”
“Do you think I’m fragile?”
“God, no.”
“Then there’s your answer.” She drew a breath and averted her eyes before she thought better of it. “I didn’t want you to put me away like you did at the falls. I wanted to keep you in me.”
“I know. You were almost successful.” He brushed the heart of her palm with his thumb. “You haven’t forgotten why I have to do that, have you?”
“No. I remember. I just don’t like it.”
“Neither do I.” He pushed himself toward the middle of the bed, tugging on her hand as he moved. She didn’t resist, stretching out in the depression he had occupied. The awkwardness of their handclasp finally forced them to release it. Call propped himself up on an elbow. “I’ll see if I can get my hands on some French letters,” he said.
“French letters?”
“Preventatives. It’s a sheath, animal skin of some kind, usually sheep or goat, that fits over the penis. We used them during the war; at least some of us did, mainly to prevent disease. If they don’t break or tear or have pinprick holes to begin with, they can prevent pregnancy.”
“Why are you only telling me about this now?”
“Because they break and tear and sometimes have pinprick holes. And they’re not cheap. Three dollars for a dozen the last time I bought some.”
Laurel did not trouble herself to hide her interest. “When was that?”
“Before I was captured.”
“So long ago. What about since then?”
“Since then I’ve been careful.”
“There’s still disease or don’t you consort with women of a public character?”
Call chuckled at the expression. “That’s how my grandmother referred to her daughter. My mother had become a woman of a public character. Not surprisingly, Mother preferred ‘whore.’”
“You speak of it all so casually. Were you never bothered by it?”
“Grandmother did her best to make me ashamed of my mother, and it’s her deepest regret that she was unable to make it happen. I love my mother; I love all the women I called aunts while I was living at the brothel. They came and went and had a hand in raising me, and I like to think I was better for their attention. I didn’t attend school until I tried college so I didn’t experience much in the way of name-calling and slurs. Mother schooled me. Some of my aunts couldn’t read so we learned together. There were other women who knew history or geography or mathematics and tutored me. Aunt Estella read the philosophers and championed John Locke. She was impressive.”
“They all sound impressive. Who tutored you in—” She hesitated.
“Say it,” said Call. “It will come to you more easily if you start saying it.”
“All right. Who tutored you in pirooting?”
He laughed. “I learned something about making love from every one of the whores I lived with. They taught me to respect women, to treat them with dignity, to care for their tender feelings and never make the mistake of thinking them the weaker sex. As for the physical aspects, I never bedded any of the women in my mother’s brothel.”
“I believe you had an excellent education,” she said. “In all things.” Laurel warmed to his soft and tender smile and loosened the knot that held her sheet closed. She didn’t part it. She let him do that. His fingertips brushed her skin as lightly as a butterfly’s wing against her ear. He didn’t look at what his fingers were doing. He looked at her. It was infinitely better that way.
Lowering his head, he kissed her on the mouth, moving slowly over it and then down. He kissed her chin, herthroat, and then made a trail to the gentle hollow between her breasts. He felt her breathing quicken as her heart stuttered. His mouth moved to her nipple and he rolled it between his lips, laved it with his tongue. He heard her start to say something, but whatever it was ended on a little gasp that was wholly satisfying. He pressed a smile against her skin.
Laurel threaded her fingers in his hair. She wanted him to linger, and he did for a time, but eventually he slid sideways and gave his full attention to her other breast. She held her breath in anticipation of his mouth closing over her areola, and when it did, she realized she still had room in her lungs to suck in another gulp of air.
He lifted his mouth and rose above her. Without prompting, Laurel raised her knees and Call moved between them, but how he accepted her invitation was entirely different than before. He let her see his perfectly wicked smile before he dipped his head, placed his lips between her breasts a second time, and then made a damp trail between her ribs and down her abdomen.
