Bluestone & Vine by Donna Kauffman (17)

Chapter Seventeen

Pippa could feel her pulse throbbing like it was connected to a single wire that linked to every one of her pleasure points. Seth’s seduction wasn’t hurried. In fact, he seemed perfectly happy to continue kissing her indefinitely . . . and she was in no rush to stop him.

They were both fully clothed, and his big, broad hands framed her face, his fingertips weaving into her hair. Yet her entire body was so alive she felt it would set off sparks if he so much as breathed on it.

She’d never been filled with want to the point of physical pain, but her nipples ached, and the muscles between her thighs had clenched into such a tight knot of need, she wanted to beg him to put those big hands on her there, that clever mouth of his, too, and that devilishly wicked tongue that was doing amazing things inside her mouth. One touch, one taste, and she was pretty sure she’d come apart ... and love every explosive second of it.

It would be easier if he were wearing something she could unbutton to urge his attentions in that direction, or if she were. It turned out long-sleeved T-shirts really weren’t made for seduction. She’d think that through better next time. If I survive this time, she thought, as she squirmed.

Something of her thoughts, or her wriggling, must have transmitted themselves to him because he lifted his head and smiled down at her. This time he curled a lock of her hair around his finger, then traced the curled ends over her lips. “Ha’penny for your thoughts,” he said, his voice now a deep, gravelly baritone that sent a thrill racing through her.

She smiled and ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. She was half pinned under him at the moment, and she wanted to feel more of him on top of all of her. Just the thought of him, naked, moving over her, made her tremble in anticipation.

He felt her response and his slumberous, leonine eyes flared instantly to life, making her gasp. She felt her hips rise of their own volition. “Would it be bad form,” she began, her own voice barely more than a husky whisper itself, “if I were to suggest that we remove a few articles of clothing? Merely to allow us to be a little more ... unencumbered, of course.”

His low, rumbling laugh was, in and of itself, a seductive thrill. “Of course.” His eyes twinkled—no, they glittered—with amusement and a fierce light of desire she’d never witnessed before. All for her. It was both a little daunting and a lot exhilarating.

In answer, he levered himself off of her just enough to reach behind his neck and pull his long-sleeved Henley off in one, over-the-head maneuver. He tossed it behind him without looking to see where it landed.

His chest, his shoulders—dear, sweet Lord—his entire torso lived up to every single Nordic Viking fantasy she could have conjured up, and she’d conjured a few since they’d first met. “Oh,” she gasped, and ran her fingertips across the flat, defined planes of his pectorals, over the deeply bunched muscles of his shoulders, then down along the rigid vein that lined the thick, long bulge of his bicep. She heard his rumbling, almost growling response, felt the muscles bunch and quiver under her touch and looked up to find him staring down at her, the gold in his eyes molten now.

It was too much to take all at once and she teased him out of reflex, trying to find her balance. “Who knew being a vintner was such a good workout,” she said, keeping her gaze on his pecs. His beautiful, perfectly defined pecs.

She glanced up in time to see those molten hot eyes of his widen in surprise. He clearly had not at all expected that response. The accompanying laugh was more a hoarse rasp, but he understood, just as he always understood her, and pulled back, just a little. “More like ten years in the Army, followed by a year or so of banging that mill into shape.” His voice was all gravel now.

It made her toes curl, and she honestly didn’t think her nipples could get any tighter, but they did.

“Fair warning though, as soon as this place is up and running, I plan to hire good help, drink wine, and get lazy.”

She held his gaze for a full five seconds, then burst out laughing. “Yes, I can totally see that happening.”

He tossed his head back in a dramatic pose. “So, you’re saying you only want me for my beauty? I feel so . . . used.”

She giggled, but his antics were exactly what she needed to get her equilibrium back. She was doing this. We are doing this.

Well then? She pulled her own shirt up and off, along with the sports bra she’d worn under it. “I think the more important discussion is going to be about these.” She motioned to her breasts, which were not only not bountiful, they barely qualified as breasts. “You can always work out, or bench press farm animals to maintain your God-given gifts. Me, on the other hand, not much I can do to enhance these. So, if you were hoping for more, I’m afraid I’m going to be a deep disappointment.”

She was teasing, of course. Mostly. Boldly putting herself out there the only way she knew how. There was no way he hadn’t already been aware of her utter lack of curves. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t more than a wee bit self-conscious. And just because she’d decided to handle her anxiety by brazening it out, didn’t mean she wasn’t holding her breath, just a little.

Seth had straightened out of his joking pose when she’d pulled her shirt off, then looked momentarily surprised by her direct proclamation. But with barely a moment’s hesitation, he proceeded to handle the moment in perfect Seth style. His expression grew very serious. “Well, you see,” he said, gathering his hair and pushing it behind his shoulders. “I don’t really judge breasts by their size.”

“No?” she said, trying to play along, but the word had come out quite breathlessly.

He gently pushed her back to the bed, and levered himself up so his body was next to hers, his chest brushing her arm. She gasped at the contact of his warm, bare skin on hers. He lifted the arm that was pinned between them and draped it over her head, then trailed his fingers back along the inside of her arm.

“What makes a woman’s breast tantalizing,” he said softly, as he lowered his head, “is how responsive it is.” And then he closed his lips over her nipple, and ran the tip of his warm tongue over that tight, needy tip. She cried out, bucking hard off the bed, fairly certain with a few more strokes, he could actually make her come by doing nothing more than that.

He lifted his head and met her gaze, his eyes right back to molten, only this time, she was so tautly aroused she didn’t want him pulling back. She wanted to beg him to hurry up and get on with it.

“Hmm,” he said, and the rumbling sound felt like a vibration skimming over her heated skin. “I believe these will do just fine.” Then he shifted and traced his tongue over her other nipple, while running the tips of his fingers over the still damp one.

She moaned long and low and writhed against his touch, wanting him to drag every last stitch of clothing off of her and hurry up about it. Dear God, she wanted him more than she wanted her next breath. And the one after that, too.

She reached for his shoulders, but he pinned both arms over her head with the weight of one arm. “I’m not done yet,” he murmured.

“I’m going to be,” she breathed, letting out a half-shocked little laugh at the truth of it, her back arching again as he continued his delicious torture.

He raised his head and waited for her to lift hers to meet his gaze. “Oh, I wasn’t planning on stopping at just one.”

She let her head drop back to the bed. “Marry me this instant.”

He chuckled at that, and she could feel his lips were still curved in a grin as he slowly started to work his way down her torso to the waistband of her trousers. He unzipped them and slid them down her legs, panties and all, then moved up between her thighs ... and at that point, any remaining threads of rational thought fled altogether.

The instant his tongue brushed over the most sensitive part of her body, she was catapulted straight over the edge into an orgasm so strong it made her scream. “Oh my God,” she panted, as her body started to spiral back down again, still pulsing and clutching and shooting little sparks of pleasure throughout her body. “I didn’t think you could actually see stars.” She laughed when he lifted his head and she realized she’d said that out loud.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, then her navel, then the tip of her breast. “I’ll try harder next time,” he said in mock seriousness, pulling her hands away from where she covered her face.

“If you try any harder, I’m fair to certain I won’t live to see morning,” she told him, her brogue such that it made him pause and grin; then their gazes caught and they both snickered. Then he started to chuckle, which set her to laughing. “I’m just a wee lass, after all,” she went on between gasps, making her brogue thicker still. “I don’t know how much my poor, wee nipples can stand, now can I?” And that put them both over the edge. They were lost to the laughter, until he had to roll to his back beside her to catch his breath.

They lay there, side by side, not daring to look at each other, and in that moment, she knew she was having the singularly best moment she’d ever had in her life. And the literal screaming orgasm had been the least of it.

Then she felt his hand find hers among the now bunched-up duvet and linens that covered his ocean of bed. He slid his fingers through hers, then pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it. She turned her head to one side and found him staring at her. The look in his beautiful, beautiful eyes was a mixture of desire, joy, amusement, affection, and something else she dared not put a name to. And she thought, No, this is the best moment.

And then he pulled her to him, and their smiles remained even as their actions became more serious and deliberate. He undressed the rest of the way, found protection in the bed stand and put it on. She didn’t even look at the rest of him as he angled his body over hers, careful to keep his weight balanced on his forearms so as not to crush her. She was too caught up in his eyes, in the intent look she found there, the way he searched her eyes. She knew what he was asking, without saying a word. She nodded and pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him.

Moments later, he took over the kiss, exploring her gently, intently, taking care, such care, as he drew her more deeply in, pushed her farther, then farther still, until his heart was drumming so insistently she could feel it against her skin even though he was barely pressing against her. When he finally nudged her thighs apart it was the most natural thing in the world to wrap herself around him and take him inside of her body. The utterly glorious feel of him slowly filling her up made her cry out. He paused, but she rose up to meet him, tightened around him, and he groaned deeply, and started a slow, steady rhythm that felt so good it made her eyes well up.

She felt him kiss the dampness from the corners of her eyes, then press a salty kiss to her lips. They started to climb then, and she felt him gathering and wrapped herself even more tightly around him.

“Pippa,” he said, the word hardly more than a rasp.

She opened her eyes and found his gaze on her. It was a moment so potent, she couldn’t find words to describe it. It was as if their bodies paused on an endless moment of anticipation, as if time actually stopped, just so they could be in that space a moment longer, together. She saw everything she’d ever hoped to see right there in his eyes. “Seth,” she whispered, and the words she wanted to say to him came to her lips, begging to be said. But the moment she whispered his name, his eyes closed and the world started moving forward again.

Their bodies rose and thrust in rhythm as he finally went over the edge, and the force of it, that look in his eyes when he did, all served to pull her right over after him. Panting now, he slid his arm under her and pulled her to him, so her back arched off the bed, and he held her there, suspended, cradled against him, for long, heart-pounding moments. He kissed her, and she opened her eyes, looked into his, and smiled. He smiled right back, and it was this perfect moment of intimacy, their bodies still joined, their gazes locked in that private, secret moment, that she wrapped up and tucked inside her heart, for safe keeping forever.

He rolled to his back, keeping her close, still inside her, and cradled her on top of his body. Her cheek was pressed against his shoulder, her hands curled on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.

They lay like that for a long time, until he finally slipped from her, and gently slid her to the bed beside him. He kissed her cheek and her eyes were already drifting closed. She felt him roll off the bed, and pulled a pillow under her head. Smiling, she didn’t fight the wonderfully sated, drowsy pull of slumber. She remembered opening her eyes briefly as he walked back toward the bed moments later, the warm sunlight coming through the big window casting him in a golden glow, and thinking, My Viking, indeed, before sleep claimed her.

* * *

It was the death ray that woke her up for good. Pippa blinked her eyes open and immediately squeezed them shut again, pulling a pillow over her head to block out the daggers of light that threatened to sear her corneas. “He wasn’t kidding,” she mumbled. She sat up, careful to keep her back to the window before daring to remove the pillow.

She looked over, expecting to see Seth’s beautiful frame sprawled among the sheets and pillows, as contentedly spent as she’d been after their last round of lovemaking, but she was alone. There were remnants of the picnic lunch they’d had hours earlier, right there in the middle of the bed, now scattered across the floor. She smiled at the half empty bottle of wine on the nightstand, then leaned over and turned the bottle around. “Sorry, Dex. How rude of us,” she said with a laugh.

She slid her legs over to the edge of the bed and realized she was still wearing Seth’s T-shirt. It was the very same one she’d worn the first night she’d slept in his house, she realized now. She’d donned it to help him carry lunch up the circular staircase and hadn’t pulled it off again, even when he’d seduced her with succulent grapes, and even more succulent kisses. Seth had been propped up against the headboard at the time and had merely pulled her astride his lap. She closed her eyes and let out a soft little moan as she remembered how that had turned out, how they’d looked into each other’s eyes all the way through, right up until he’d pushed her gloriously over the edge.

She wrapped her arms around the pillow she still held, missing him already. Then she spied the rolled-up piece of paper he’d slid into the scrollwork of the iron headboard. Grinning, she leaned forward and slid the paper tube free and uncurled it.

 

 

Using the whole pillow to shade her eyes from the glare, she rose up on her knees and turned toward the window. Looking down at the fields she could see from her perch, she began searching for him, then broke out in laughter when she saw the arrow he’d made with white feed buckets, pointing toward the vines in front of the stone barn, out of her range of vision.

She climbed off the bed and immediately hit the button to lower the blinds. She made the bed, which, it turned out, was quite the undertaking. It was a big task for just one person, especially if said person was her size. Once done, she scooped up her clothes and shoes and went downstairs, looking for his bathroom, and shower. Then she remembered the one out back. Could I?

Bailey had insisted it was perfectly private and said she’d never ever shower indoors again, given the choice. Hmm. Grinning like a child about to do something naughty, Pippa did a little exploring and found the rather enormous bathroom at Seth’s end of the house, and sure enough, there was a door just out the back, into the private little cubicle.

She stepped outside and put her clothes on the bench that lined the little entryway behind the taller-than-she-was privacy screen and turned on the spray. Then she went back into the bathroom for a towel. She pulled off Seth’s tee and tiptoed back outside, like some kind of cat burglar, then laughed at herself. With the sun heading toward the horizon, the air was nippy. The steam from the shower billowed up in the dusky, early evening air and she sighed as she stepped under the hot spray. She let it pummel her back as she looked up at the deep purple streaks spreading across the sky. She felt ... primal.

Her mind naturally played through the events of the long, lazy afternoon, and she was delighted to discover there was no trepidation, no Did I do the right thing? internal debate. Her smile softened. For her, the highlights of their time up in that amazing sea of a bed weren’t the orgasms or the delicious care he’d taken to find and exploit every last one of her pleasure spots. No, the best parts were the whispers they’d shared, the mischievous smiles, and the laughter. Oh, dear God, had they laughed. The reason she had not a single doubt that she’d made the right decision was that she knew she’d made love with her best friend.

It wasn’t until she’d rinsed the soap from her skin and turned her face to the spray that she realized she’d been singing under her breath, probably the entire time. The way she’d done all the time. Before. She stopped as soon as she realized it, her hand covering her throat—her perfectly fine throat—and she closed her eyes against the instant grip that clutched her gut into a tight, queasy knot. The fear swallowed her up, in that moment that she’d sworn she’d never let herself think about again.

She stood there, stock-still under the hot spray, and thought, NO! Not this time you don’t! She was all done with being afraid now. She was going to face down her inner demons. She wasn’t going to endlessly relive that terrifying moment on stage, wasn’t going to allow the past to control her present. I’m going to sing, dammit!

“Pippa.”

Her eyes flew open to find Seth standing just beyond the spray, amid the clouds of steam, as if in some kind of dream. She reached for him without a second thought and felt no shame in needing him. He was her partner, her lover, her safe space. Her best friend. He stepped under the spray, fully clothed, without hesitation, and pulled her against him, letting the shower beat on his back, shielding her face from the spray.

“I saw the steam and thought perhaps I’d come join you,” he said quietly. “Then I got close and I heard you singing.”

She went to pull away again and he held on fast, not allowing it.

“And I just stood there, transfixed by it,” he said, his lips pressed against her temple, his broad palm stroking down her back as she began to tremble. “Such a gift, Pippa. I didn’t know. Hadn’t let myself know. Not truly. I was afraid it would make it that much harder to say good-bye.”

She looked up at him then, eyes wide, confused.

His gaze met hers, and everything was there, laid bare for her to see. “What an idiot I was,” he murmured, his lips curving upward. “Who in their right mind would deprive themselves of listening to that?”

“I’m such a coward, Seth,” she confessed, and felt a certain release at saying the words out loud. “I know I have to do it, I was doing it, am doing it. But when I think about it ... I freeze up. I’m being so stupid.”

He pulled her back into his arms, pressed her cheek against his chest, and moved them both under the spray, deep into the billowing steam. It filled her lungs, soothed her tight throat, worked its relaxing magic as he simply held her. “So,” he said after a bit, “don’t sing for you.” He stroked her hair, her cheek, kept her tucked deep into his arms. “Slide your arms around me,” he said, and she did, then held on tight. “Close your eyes,” he murmured softly, and she did. “Feel my heart beating,” he said. “Feel the water, the evening air. Sing for the trees, for the stars.” He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck, and in a whisper only she could hear, he said, “Or sing something only to me. I won’t let anything happen to you, Pippa. You’re safe.”

Her first instinct was to curl into herself, to tell him all the reasons she couldn’t do as he asked, that nothing had changed. But everything had changed. Her outlook, her life, this new partnership . . . and her music had come back. It was all there for her now, waiting for her to make the conscious decision to reach for it.

“Not singing won’t save you,” he said, and put his back to the spray again. “You know that. Your music is back, and it wants out.” He slowly pushed the hair from her face, traced his fingers over her cheekbones, then slowly ran them down, along her jaw, then lower, until they rested at the base of her throat. She shuddered, hard, but he gently caressed her, sliding his thumb gently up and over her throat, then back, repeating the action until she stopped shuddering, stopped shaking. “So you might as well give in to it and see what happens next.”

Exhausted, she rested against him in defeat, trying to empty her mind, trying to do as he asked. “I want to,” she said. “Desperately. I just don’t know how anymore.”

“Don’t think about singing,” he said, his voice a low hum. “You said it’s your soundtrack. Think about life. Feel it. Your music will do the rest.”

He continued to hold her, stroke her, and let her try.

He made her feel ... anchored.

She let in thoughts of the day, let herself relive those moments, feel those moments, let them inside of her ... and gradually they took over, and she wasn’t thinking about the knot in her gut, or the fear, or singing, or any of it. She was thinking about that morning, about talking to Will. She let herself see the emotions play across his face, and felt them tug as sharply at her heart now as they had then. She thought about walking hand in hand with Seth through the vines, about him piggy-back-jogging her to the house, and only making it as far as the barn. She thought about how he’d posed in bed, how they’d laughed so hard they couldn’t even look at each other. She thought about how she’d stripped her shirt off ... how he’d made love to her breasts, then made love to her.

She thought about the man, standing fully dressed in a hot, steam-filled shower, holding her close, yet giving her all the space she needed ... and how she knew without a single doubt in her heart that he’d stand there until the end of time if she needed him to.

The music found her then. And, with it, so did her song.