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He stepped inside. “It wasn’t my place to tell you how to live your life. You must do what you think is right for you.”
“Oh, Maurice…my dear Maurice,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say, what else she could do. She could see him shatter right before her eyes. He was breaking…over her. How could she do this to him when he had offered her his world?
He took her shoulders and before she knew what she was doing, or perhaps if she was honest, really honest with herself, she would admit that she did know exactly what she was doing and why. She knew he needed this and she was so eternally grateful to him.
His mouth sought and won her own. Hungrily, ardently, feverishly he kissed her, long and with a passion he seemed unable to hold back. She was, in fact, surprised how welcome his delicious kisses were, and responded in kind.
She was absolutely incredulous about her level of arousal. She had believed no other than Godwin could please her, but Maurice’s touch was welcome, very welcome.
Heather was driven by gratitude and deep affection. Also, she just couldn’t reject his advances. How could she do that to him? She was torn in so many directions in that moment, and the kisses seemed to ease all thought.
She believed, truly believed that if she allowed him to bed her, she would no longer be a challenge lost and he could then be able to move on when she left for home.
Thus, she allowed him to manipulate her nightdress even as he backed her towards her bed. A moment later she felt a rush of sensation as he dexterously teased her nipples until they were taut and ready for his mouth. Swiftly, urgently, he discarded her nightdress, and groaned as his hands roamed over her beauty and his tongued teased one nipple and then the next.
Heather was shocked at the flood of happiness surging through her. Finally, she was able to give him something of herself. His kisses—his touch, were pleasant enough to arouse the woman in her, and she moved willingly to Maurice’s fingers as he sought the fluff and then the wetness between her thighs.
She smiled warmly, encouragingly, when he looked into her eyes with hope. She whispered sweet words of affection and admiration as he dropped his open neck shirt and britches to the hardwood floor.
He laid her back on the bed and his voice was hoarse with passion as he told her, “Spread wide for me, my petite…spread wide.”
She did as he asked and he bent his head to nibble at her sex. She arched with pleasure, for he had a certain expertise as he worked her, and it didn’t take long before she cried out his name as he brought her to relief.
His voice was joyful then as he got into position and deeply, ravenously plunged into her.
Their time, that night, was filled with the wonder of passion, but even as he took her, she knew she would always dream of Godwin, and kept her eyes tightly shut.
~ Fourteen ~
LOUISE’S HAND ON HEATHER’S SHOULDER startled her. She had been deep in thought as she went over in her mind everything she and Maurice had shared last evening.
Louise laughed. “Mais non, so nervous? It is only I, chérie.”
Heather smiled. “I was daydreaming.”
“Ah, of course. But why do you sit alone? Do I intrude?”
“No, Louise, of course not. You could never intrude. Shall I make room for you here in the shade of this lovely tree?”
“On the grass? Mais non. I am not such a, what is it you English call rough girls…ah, yes, hoyden. Non. I will not ruin my dress with the grass stains.” She looked around and found a set of wicker chairs and dragged one over and into the shade of the palm. She sighed and said, “It is no use to try and talk around this. One should always get to the heart of the matter, oui?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” Heather said cautiously.
“Ah, well, never mind. I am aware you sent Maurice to Bridgetown this morning. You sent him to book you and your Bunky passage to England.”
“Yes,” Heather said, and managed to meet Louise’s disapproving eye. She remembered the stricken look that had crept into Maurice’s eyes, and how she hated herself. Allowing him to bed her had only made matters worse for him, given him false hope. Why was she always doing the wrong thing?
She remembered how he had stepped back, as though she had struck him, and said, “Then last night, last night meant nothing to you?”
“It was goodbye…only goodbye,” she had answered quietly as she looked away.
He turned sharply from her and left the room. She saw it all so vividly. His hurt, his anger, and yet he went to do her bidding. She watched him leave and saw that his shoulders had been slumped as never before.
“Heather…? Heather, are you listening to me?” Louise demanded.
“What? Oh, yes,” she said, her voice scarcely audible even to herself.
Louise put a hand to her forehead. “Ah me.”
