[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.His feet had slowed on the sidewalk as he stared into her face, alive with dreams he’d never ever entertained.He grinned.“Come on.Fish’ll be gone if we don’t get down there.”* * *It was a glorious day, Celia thought later, stretched out sleepily on a blanket in the grass by the river.She would never have dared explore Jezebel on her own, but with Eric along, pointing out paths and steering her around pitfalls, she felt safe.There were still more bugs flying and crawling and buzzing around than she’d ever dreamed existed, but Eric knew all their names and told her which ones to worry about.Mud daubers were big, black flying bugs that really hurt when they stung, but they didn’t sting very often.Tics were tiny black or brown bugs with hard shells and they didn’t hurt, but if you spent time outside, you had to remember to check yourself over for them.The rest were ordinary and irritating, but not dangerous—mosquitoes and horseflies and ants.It somehow made the environment seem less threatening to know what was what.Twice Celia saw snakes glide by in the water, slipping into stands of cattails.A snapping turtle once grabbed Eric’s line, getting a hook stuck in his lip.Eric, cursing, freed the creature and moved a few feet upriver to avoid him.Eric.She crossed her arms on her knees and propped her chin on her wrists, looking at him.This Eric, with his dancing eyes and quick grin and teasing asides, had been glimmering below the surface since she’d met him, but this was the first time he’d allowed that side of him to show.He stood at the edge of the river, shirtless and barefoot, which seemed to be the mode of dress he preferred.As she admired the taut lines of his smooth back, she remembered how sleek that burnished flesh had been against her palms last night.As if he felt her gaze, he turned and gave her a wink.“Getting bored?”She simply shook her head.It was as natural to admire him in the sleepy heat of high noon as it was to slip off her shoes in the evenings.He smiled and propped his fishing pole beneath two rocks, then ambled over to sit beside her.The warmth of his sculpted arm radiated outward to touch her, and she lazily smiled.All day she’d been waiting.Waiting for him to reach out to kiss her, touch her.Something.He’d held her hand, nudged her with his elbow, squeezed her shoulder.Nothing more.Now he plucked a long strand of grass with a bushy end and leaning on one elbow, reached up to tickle her nose with it.“How do you like my Gideon?”“I like it,” she said, brushing the grass away.“It’s so peaceful you can cut it with a knife.”“Knives aren’t very peaceful,” he said with a chuckle.As he looked at her, his blue eyes sparkled with something akin to happiness.“You know what I mean,” she said.“Yeah.” He dropped the blade of grass and fell backward onto the blanket, grabbing her hand.Celia leaned over him.“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were actually happy right at this moment.”He opened his eyes and lifted a devilish eyebrow.“I’ve got another word for it,” he drawled.She tilted her chin upward.“No, you don’t.It’s just been so long you forgot what to call it.”Slowly, he licked his full bottom lip, his eyes dancing.“Randy is the word I was thinking of.”Celia smiled, and that, too, was natural.She felt as though she’d known him always, since birth.It was that easy to be with him.All day he’d talked to her about Gideon and his time on the road.He’d told her stories about getting caught in a biker bar once in Chicago and talking to the wrong woman; about tripping and falling off a stage in New Orleans, right into the lap of a fat woman who instantly grabbed him; about his sister finding a tutu she wore around the house for months when she was nine.He made Celia laugh until her cheeks hurt from smiling.In turn, she told him about her parents accidentally leaving her behind in a Brussels train station; about the time her mother decked a photographer in a Milan restaurant; about girls in boarding school.So now it was easy to lean close and put a hand on his chest.“Randy?” she repeated.“Unless I’ve got my slang mixed up, that means, er, lusty?”Still grinning, he nodded.“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” she asked, and since he didn’t seem like he’d mind and she was tired of waiting, she kissed him.It was gentle and warm, and she released him after a moment.His mouth had softened with her kiss, but the gentle shine didn’t flee from his eyes.Instead he lifted one hand and touched her cheek.“Maybe it is just happy,” he said in his low, dark voice.Celia took one big hand into both of hers.With a light touch, she explored the long graceful lines, admiring the strength and size and elegance of a hand designed to create.The thready scars, white against the darkness of his flesh, seemed a sacrilege—and all at once she knew they also held the key to the loneliness that clung to him like perfume.“What happened to your hands, Eric?”He pursed his lips.His eyes sobered and Celia knew she’d hit the mark.With a small, slow sigh, he lifted his free hand, examining it as if it belonged to someone else.“I used to play guitar,” he said quietly.“I miss it so much sometimes…” His voice trailed off as he flexed his fingers.Celia inclined her head, waiting.She’d learned that his stories came out slowly, in their own way, end to beginning as often as beginning to end.He sat up.“I left home when I was sixteen.Laura had gone to Dallas for cosmetology school, and I didn’t want to hang around here without her, so I took my guitar and my harp and hitchhiked to New Orleans [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]