“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, “and the changes are so small only a lover… a man who loves you… could see them.”
She opened her eyes, questioning.
“Your breasts are fuller. God, I want to hold them.” Instead, he sprinkled gold dust over them. The flakes settled on the upper mounds, the puffy aureoles and the taut nipples.
She moaned and looked down. “I’m beautiful,” she sighed with surprise.
“That’s what I always said, babe.” Then he sprinkled gold dust over her stomach. The only evidence of her pregnancy was a slight swelling. Some of the flakes settled on her hips and in her belly button. Even on her red curls, turning them into golden flames.
Every atom in his body yearned for her. He wanted an end to their problems, a healing of the pain, and, more than anything, he wanted their bodies united in lovemaking to seal the future.
She giggled. “This is the most outrageous thing you’ve ever done.”
“No. No, it’s not, babe. The most outrageous thing I’ve ever done is almost lose you.”
She whimpered. “I’m not sure.”
“I’ll make you sure. Don’t be afraid, honey. Please.” He was stalking her magnificent body, taking handful after handful of gold dust from the sacks and covering her with it. Her tattoo got extra attention. A gold butterfly. He liked it.
Then she was scooping out the gold dust, too, tossing it at him. It was a playful game, but somber, each circling the other with smoldering, tentative eyes. The feel of the dust sweeping his body was like a sensuous caress.
Finally, he could stand no more. He held his arms out for her. “Let me make love to you, Helen. Let me make love to my wife. Because that’s what you are to me. Regardless of the legalities. Before God, we’re man and wife.”
“That’s what your mother said.”
“Oh, no! Now you’re going to quote my mother.” He was still holding his arms open for her. Moving up to her, he put his hands on her forearms, trying to pull her into his embrace. She had gold dust on her lips. He wondered how gold dust would taste and lowered his head.
She pressed her hands against his shoulders. “Wait.”
He groaned. “I’ve been waiting so long.”
“I have to tell you something.”
The stiffness of her body told him it was something important. He tilted his head, waiting.
“You said you would love another man’s child…”
“Yes?”
She licked her lips nervously. “And if it were your child?” Her eyes probed to his very soul.
He blinked at her, not understanding. When he did, finally, conflicting emotions churned within him.
My baby!
Then, She was going to give my baby to another man!
His hesitation wounded her. He saw that in her shocked eyes before she spun away.
He fought a silent battle in his head. A part of him wanted to forgive and forget. Another wanted to yell at her for her deceit. He chose the former, and yanked her back against his chest, burying his face in her neck. Then, wrapping one arm around her waist from behind, he laid the palm of the other hand against her tummy. “I love you, and my child.”
He swung her into the circle of his arms then and carried her to the bed. Laying her on the comforter, he kissed her gently, then kissed her savagely. She gave herself freely to his kisses, her surrender a silent affirmation of the life she chose to share with him.
Their first coming together was tender and slow. His grainy endearments. Her breathless whispers. When he entered her silky sheath on a hissing inhale, they both gazed at each other, stunned by the power of their joining. Love seemed to surround them in every touch and stroke and mindless, soul-searing kiss. They rose and rose to each higher crescendo, then splintered together to the skies.
Only later, after their first fierce coming together, when they lay sated and murmuring softly, did Helen remember Rafe’s promise.
“What promise?” he asked, nuzzling her breast.
“A corkscrewing lesson.”
He laughed and rolled over on his back, taking her on top of him. “The trick is in the twist of the hips, and the Kegels, of course.”