Page 116 of The Treasure House

He wanted her. She knew he did.

As she lay there in the sand, languid from the heat, Marly wondered what would happen if she rolled over and ran her hand down him. Over those shoulders, down that arm, across that lightly furred chest and those small brown nipples, down…

She bit her lip and pressed her forehead into her forearm. She tried to concentrate on the playful lapping of the waves on the shore and the high calls of the gulls. She thought of her mom in the hospital—Mom would never lie on this, or any, beach again. And there was a ticking clock in Marly’s body too, which might or might not speed up.

Time was short. And she was only young once. And this might be the only time she’d ever be alone like this with Freddie de Marche. He was going back to the army, which he’d decided to make his career, and he’d go from posting to posting, sending her postcards. While she’d be here. Alone.

As the day wore on, unspooling like an endless thread, Marly considered things from every angle, and then decided angles were overrated. She wanted him, he wanted her.

She made her move that evening. They were sitting on the front porch swing, watching the pink and gold sky fade to indigo over the wide sighing bay, the fireflies winking on and the sound of moody jazz washing over from one of the summer houses.

“I can’t believe you actually like the army,” Marly said, shaking her head in wonder. He’d been such a fop when she’d met him.

“I really do,” he said with a smile. He had both hands behind his head and his feet stretched out in front of him. He was a happier version of himself, relaxed in his own skin. Marly was jealous—she envied him that he’d found a place to belong. And there was still a sting inside her that he didn’t want to belong with her.

And then he’d turned his head. They’d only been inches apart and she’d felt like he was staring straight into her soul.

While you can.

The words echoed in her head.

Spend time at the summer house while you can.

See Freddie de Marche while you can.

Kiss him while you can.

So she kissed him. Years of pent-up longing were delivered in that kiss. Longing that had once been childish and naïve transformed in that moment to something much, much more. Marly grabbed his shirt in her fist and kissed him with her whole body. She seduced his mouth open with her tongue, bending him back over the arm of the swing. Her bare legs tangled with his and his thigh wedged between hers. She moaned and kissed him even more thoroughly, running her hand down the length of him as she teased him with her mouth.

“Wait.” Freddie pulled back. “No, I shouldn’t, pixie—”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all grown up,” she breathed. She pushed her breasts into his chest to underscore her point. She was sprawled across him, his shirt bunched up in her fist. His stomach was bared, his skin hot against her. She ignored his protest and kissed him again. He tasted so much better than she’d imagined he would, his mouth sweet and hoppy from his beer. His crooked lips were soft under hers and she felt his breath catch as she touched her tongue to his. She rubbed herself against him, feeling his arousal. Freddie de Marche wanted her.

Freddie kept his hands in the air as she kissed him, as though scared to touch her. She was having none of it. She took his hands and put them on her body.

“Oh no.” Freddie pushed her away. He wiped his mouth and stared at her with wide eyes that were both starry and a little afraid. “Oh no, this isn’t right, honey.”

Honey. He hadn’t called her pixie stick.

Marly sat back and considered him. “Why not?” she asked bluntly.

“Well, because you’re… and I’m…”

“What?” She lifted an eyebrow.

“It’s just not right.”

“Okay.” She pressed a kiss to her own finger and then pressed the finger to his lips. “Okay, Freddie de Marche. I’ll wait till you come to me.” She had no intention of waiting long. She rose from the swing in long sinewy movements, knowing she looked good in her white shorts and the blue shirt tied at the waist. She saw his eyes drop to her exposed midriff. Marly strolled to the door. As the screen door swung behind her she heard him swear and she smiled.

But the damn fool man didn’t come.

Freddie de Marche had no idea what he was up against. Marly hadn’t lived through all those years of longing without learning a thing or two. She’d imagined plenty of ways to seduce him and she was sure she could put them to good use until one of them worked. She went upstairs and changed into her pajamas. Not the usual ones, but the light cotton ones that were so fine they were almost-but-not-quite transparent. The set consisted of very brief shorts that skimmed the bottom of her ass, and a button-up short-sleeve shirt that clung to her. She unbuttoned the top three buttons, to give him an idea of where to start.

He called up the stairs to ask if she wanted supper, sounding nervous.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” she called back, checking herself in the mirror. The white cotton was seriously indecent, she thought with satisfaction.

There was silence, and then the sound of his bare feet on the stairs. There was a gentle knock at her door. “Marly, I think we need to talk.”