After the Loving by Gwynne Forster Read Free Book Online

that had held her head caressed her breast, and teased her nipple, drowning her in a pool of sensuality, and her hips began to undulate against him, leaving no doubt as to what she needed from him. Suddenly, he attempted to push her away, but she wouldn’t be denied. She had him at last and didn’t want to let go. Her weaving body invited his entrance, and he rose against her, hard and strong. Weakened by the force of her own libido, she slumped against him in what they both recognized as surrender.
    Cradling her in his arms, he sank into the lounge chair beside the window. “I can’t talk about this right now,” he said. “Just…I’d like us to stay here like this for a few minutes.” She sat on his lap with her head against his shoulder and his arms tight around her, and couldn’t have said a word if he had asked her to. She didn’t know how long they remained in that position. Her only thought was that she never wanted to leave him. But she understood the decision was and never would be hers alone, for she had known from the start that Russ charted his own course.
    After a long while, he said, “It’s been about an hour, and I feel as if something’s eating away the lining of my stomach.”
    She hoped that didn’t signal his intention to pretend he’d never kissed her out of her mind.
    “And you promised some sweet revenge. If it’s anything like what you just meted out, I can’t wait.”
    He set her on her feet and got up. Rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Still like to challenge me, huh? Don’t do that, sweetheart. I never accept a challenge unless I am sure I can win, and I won’t play games with you.”
    “That isn’t a challenge,” she said, a little miffed. “Aren’t you used to women telling you the truth?”
    “Let’s say I’m not used to expecting it. What were you doing that was supposed to take an hour?”
    She pointed to the blue caftan that lay across the back of the desk chair. “Hem that and fit it with darts front and back.”
    A frown clouded his face before slowly dissolving into a grin. “You’re kidding. Because of what I said?”
    “I figured if seeing me in these graceful, flowing caftans gave you something akin to gallbladder, I’d better find something else to wear.”
    The frown returned. “ Gallbladder? I didn’t—” She stared at him as a grin circled his lips, spread over his face and lighted his eyes seconds before laughter poured out of him. “Ah, Velma. Baby, you’re precious.” He gathered her to him, looked down into her face and grinned. “I’m too hungry to start that again. Come on. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
    She slipped her feet into her high-heeled shoes and, with her hand in his, tripped down the stairs. At the bottom, she stopped. “Russ, how long has it been since you heard that piano?”
    “I don’t know. What I’ve been concentrating on had nothing to do with music. Let’s walk down there and see what she’s up to.”
    Just before alarm set in, she saw the note on the piano: “Dear Aunt Velma, I’m over at Mr. Henry’s house with Biscuit.”
    She handed the note to Russ. “Would you believe a five-year-old can write this well?”
    “With five teachers in the house, why shouldn’t she? Besides, she’s smart. I hope she put on some boots before she went down to Henry’s place.”
    “Is she allowed to go there?”
    “I think that’s the only place she’s allowed to go without getting permission. To the kitchen with you, woman.”
    Their laughter echoed through Harrington House as they raced down the hall, free of pent-up tension and inhibitions, open to each other. He found the makings of sandwiches on a platter in the refrigerator. “Like your bread toasted?” he asked her.
    “Yes. Thanks.”
    He made turkey sandwiches, ham sandwiches and tuna-salad sandwiches, stacked them on a platter, cut some sour pickles, added jars of mustard and horseradish and