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shivered with pleasure as his thumb lingered on the point of her breast.
"When I touch you, I feel your body melt under my hands." He met her
mouth with a long, tender kiss. "What do I want?" he answered as he
tasted the heated skin of her throat. "What I want more than anything at
this moment is to make love with you. I want to take you slowly, until I
know all of you."
She felt her body growing fluid, and her will flowed with it. "Will you
make love with me?" She heard herself ask, heard the tone that was
request rather than question. Luke's mouth paused on her skin. Slowly
he tightened his grip on her hair, then drew her head back until their eyes
met. For a moment, they hung suspended in silence with only the echo
of her voice between them.
"No." His answer was cool and quick as a slap. Gwen jerked away from
it and him and fumbled with the handle of the door. She stumbled out of
the car, but before she could escape into the house, Luke captured her
arms in a firm grip. "Wait a minute."
Shaking her head, Gwen pushed against him. "No, I want to go in. I
didn't know what I was saying. It was crazy."
"You knew exactly what you were saying," Luke corrected, tightening
his grasp.
Gwen wanted to deny it, but found it impossible. She had wanted him,
she knew she still wanted him. "All right, I knew what I was saying.
Now will you let me go?"
"I won't apologize for touching you," he said.
"I'm not asking for apologies, Luke," she told him evenly. "I'm simply
asking for my freedom." She realized uncomfortably that it was not
freedom from his arms that she meant, but freedom from the power he
held over her. The struggle inside her was reflected briefly in her face.
Luke's frown deepened before he released her arms. "Thank you," she
said.
She walked quickly inside the house before he could say another word.
Chapter 8
A yellow butterfly fluttered delicately over a pot of white impatiens.
From the veranda, Gwen watched its dance until it skimmed away, light
as the air. Sitting in the white porch rocker, dressed in a yellow sundress,
Anabelle looked as fragile as the butterfly. Gwen studied her mother's
soft pink cheeks and gentle blue eyes. Anabelle's small hands were busy
with the domestic task of shelling peas, but her eyes were, as always,
dreamy. Watching her, Gwen was swamped with waves of love and
helplessness.
Who am I? she demanded of herself. Who am I to advise anyone on
men? For a moment, Gwen wished desperately that she could seek from
Anabelle advice for herself. Her own emotions were chaotic. She was
terrified that her own feelings for Luke were approaching a dangerous
level. Falling in love with a man like Luke was courting disaster. And
yet, Gwen wondered unhappily, is it really possible for the mind to
control the heart? In this case it must...there's no choice. I have to forget
about last night. The sigh escaped before she could stop it. Priorities, she
reminded herself. Gwen watched a bumblebee dive into a cluster of
wisteria, then took a deep breath and turned to Anabelle. "Mama."
Anabelle went on shelling peas, a misty smile on her lips. "Mama,"
Gwen repeated more sharply, placing a hand over her mother's.
"Oh, yes, dear?" Anabelle looked up with the open, expectant look of a
child. "Did you say something?"
For an instant, Gwen teetered on the brink, then plunged. "Mama, don't
you think twelve years is a terribly big gap?"
Gravely, Anabelle considered. "Why, I suppose it could be, Gwenivere,
but then, as you grow older, twelve years is hardly any time at all." Her
momentary seriousness vanished with a fresh smile. "Why, it seems like
yesterday that you were twelve years old. I remember quite clearly when
you fell out of that old cypress in the backyard and broke your arm. Such
a brave child..." She began shelling peas again. "Never shed a tear. I
cried enough for both of us, though."
"But, Mama." Valiantly Gwen tried to keep Anabelle's thoughts from
straying. "Twelve years, when you're speaking of a man and a
woman...." Anabelle failed to respond to the prompting, only nodding to
indicate she was listening. "The age difference, Mama," Gwen blurted
out. "Isn't twelve years a terribly wide age gap?"
"Sally Deumont's girls are nearly twelve years apart," Anabelle stated
with another series of nods. "I suppose having children that far apart has
its drawbacks."
"No, Mama." Gwen ran both hands through her hair.
"And its advantages, certainly," Anabelle said soothingly, not wanting to
be critical of an old friend.
"No, Mama, I don't mean that at all. I'm speaking of men and women...of
relationships. Romantic relationships."
"Oh!" Anabelle blinked in surprise and smiled. "That's a different matter
altogether, isn't it?" Gwen resisted grinding her teeth as her mother con-
tinued to shell peas for a moment in silence. "I'm surprised," Anabelle
said at length, giving Gwen a look of gentle curiosity. "I'm surprised you
would think that age and love had anything to do with each other. I've
always thought of the heart as ageless."
The words caused Gwen to falter a moment. Slowly she leaned forward
and took both her mother's hands in hers. "Mama, don't you think,
sometimes, that love can blind people to what's right for them? Don't
people often put themselves into a position where getting hurt is the only
possible outcome?"
"Yes, of course." Anabelle shook her head, as if startled by the question.
"That's part of life. If you never open yourself for pain, you never open
yourself for joy. How empty life would be then. This Michael of yours,"
Anabelle continued with a light of concern in her eyes, "did he hurt you
terribly?"
"No." Gwen released her mother's hands and rose to walk the length of
the veranda. "No, basically only my pride."
"That can happen by a fall off a horse," Anabelle stated. Abandoning her
peas, she moved to join Gwen. "Darling, how young you are." She
turned to face her, studying her with rare total concentration. "I
sometimes forget that, because you're so much more practical and
organized than I am. I suppose I always let you take care of me, much
more than I took care of you."
"Oh, no, Mama," Gwen protested, but Anabelle placed a finger on her
lips.
"It's true. I never like to look at the unpleasant side of things. I'm afraid
I've always let you do that for me. In some ways you matured so
quickly, but in others..." Anabelle sighed and slipped an arm around
Gwen's waist. "Perhaps at last we've found something I can help you
with."
"But, Mama, it's not me..." Gwen began, only to be ignored.
"Did you know I was only eighteen when I first saw your father? I fell
instantly, wildly in love." The soft look in Anabelle's eyes halted Gwen's
interruption. "Who would have thought his life would be so short? He
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