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Zack and Camille stood on the new front porch, watching the sleek car drive over the lane that Zack had had resurfaced. As it drew nearer, Zack put a possessive arm around her waist. It must have been her imagination that his fingers deftly brushed the underside of her breast. But why then did her breath catch in her throat, and Zack’s body stiffen in a jerking reaction?
Dearly was weeping copiously into her handkerchief as Rayburn mounted the steps and hugged her. He shook hands with Simon and then embraced Camille and Zack together.
“Welcome home, Dad. We’re glad to have you back.” Zack’s voice had a slight hoarseness to it, and Camille knew that he was struggling to hold on to his composure. He loved his father very much. She should know better than anyone to what extent that love went. How many men would marry a woman they detested just to please a parent?
They were all filled with expectancy as they led Rayburn into the house. He stood inside the front door for long moments and stared at the transformation the house had undergone with Camille’s supervision. He walked slowly to the opening of each room leading off the entrance hall and gazed in wonder at the restored beauty of the home he loved so much. She saw tea
rs glistening in his eyes as he turned toward her and extended his arms. She went to him without hesitation and returned his warm embrace. Over his shoulder, she surprised Zack in an unguarded moment and met his eyes. They had softened; the lines around his mouth weren’t grim and set as they had been since the morning after their wedding. His expression was tender. When he realized that she was looking at him, he shook his head slightly and said quickly, “Dad, Camille has another surprise for you.” Whatever she had read in his face a moment before had vanished.
“I don’t know if I can stand any more surprises this morning. Camille, it’s… I…” he floundered and then chuckled. “I guess I’m trying to say that it’s better than I ever imagined it could be. Thank you, daughter.”
She blushed at his flattery. “You helped with the selections, remember, Rayburn.” He had insisted that she call him by his given name ever since the wedding. “Come see what else we’ve done.”
She took his elbow and, with the others following, led him toward the rear of the house where the screened porch had been. When Rayburn saw the new den with the window blinds opened to reveal the late autumn landscape outside, the tropical plants dappled by filtered sunlight, and the new furniture mixed with all of his favorite things, he was truly taken aback. He wandered through the new den and then went into the bedroom and accompanying bath. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief as he said with a touch of awe, “I love it!”
The rest of the morning was spent settling Rayburn into his new rooms. Even more plants and flowers, his gifts while in the hospital, were moved in, much to Zack’s consternation. Dearly and Simon were ever at Rayburn’s beck and call, though, just before Dr. Daniels left, he admonished them not to spoil his patient too badly.
Rayburn was reluctant to let Zack and Camille out of his sight. He seemed hungry for the sight and sound of them. They stayed near him all day except for the times that Zack demanded Rayburn take his naps.
Later in the evening while they were all sitting around the new television set watching a fairly recent movie, Rayburn said again, “I love my new rooms. But you can’t fool me, Zack. I realize that I’ve been moved downstairs to insure you and Camille more privacy.” He laughed deeply, and it was a good thing that he was so engrossed with the remote control gadget of the television set that he missed the guilty look that passed between Zack and his wife and the hurriedly averted glances of Dearly and Simon.
* * *
Camille leaned into the bathroom mirror and applied the finishing strokes of mascara to her eyelashes. The mirror was still a bit foggy from her recent shower, and, since it was so steamy in the room, she wore only a brief pair of bikini panties.
At the instant she returned the mascara to her makeup drawer, the bathroom door from Zack’s bedroom opened and he stepped through it. Their eyes locked in mutual astonishment over the expanse of the few feet that separated them.
Camille stood rooted to the floor, flushing hotly and shivering with cold as she watched his eyes fix on her breasts before moving to somewhere in the area of her navel. She checked the ludicrous impulse to cover herself. What good would it do? The damage had already been done, and she would only look foolish.
“Good morning,” he said huskily when his eyes finally returned to her face.
“Good morning,” she answered, her voice none too steady. He must have just stepped into the worn jeans, faded almost white, for he had still been zipping them as he opened the door. His chest was bare, as were his feet. His hair was still tousled from sleep. He had never looked more devastatingly appealing.
“I… uh… I should have knocked.” Camille was glad he, too, was finding it hard to concentrate. His usual aplomb seemed to have deserted him.
“I thought I had locked your door. I’m sorry.” She could barely hear her own words for the loud pounding of her heartbeat reverberating in her head.
“Please don’t be on my account.” Some of the mocking quality had returned to Zack’s voice, and he grinned at her lazily, automatically putting her on guard.
“I was just about to dress,” she said defensively. “I’ll be out in a minute.” She turned her back and began gathering up the clothes that were hung on a decorative wall hook. In the blink of an eye, he was behind her and grabbing the clothes out of her hand.
“What are you doing?” she asked, panicked by his sudden action and whirling to face him.
They were standing so close that her breasts were brushing against the hair on his chest, and she stepped back hurriedly, but not soon enough to prevent a normal physical response from her nipples. Zack saw it and grinned sardonically.
“Well now,” he drawled, “since I don’t have the pleasure of undressing my wife like most husbands do, maybe I could dress her.”
“Zack, give me back my clothes! Please.” She tried to be stern, but she sounded ridiculous even to herself. Her costume wasn’t exactly obedience-provoking. He ignored her and half-leaned, half-sat against the dressing table. Before she could react, he had grasped her around the waist and pulled her toward him, placing her between his long legs.
He rubbed his hands together eagerly and said with irritating relish, “Now, let’s see. I guess this goes on next.” He held up the scrap of sheer fabric and lace that was her bra.
“Zack, please—”
“Yes, I remember,” he leered, “you always wear this kind and for the life of me, I don’t know why you bother. Oh, well,” he shrugged. His face was no more than an inch from hers as he reached around her and slid her arms into the shoulder straps of the bra. She was drowning in the deep blue pools of his eyes before he straightened and, drawing the sides of the garment together, fastened the clasp under her breasts. “A perfect fit,” he murmured. He brushed his fingers across the tops of her breasts, which were still exposed by the demi-cup bra. She shuddered as he glided his hands over the soft mounds of flesh, down her taut stomach, and settled on her waist, drawing her closer to him. He buried his face in the deep cleavage, nibbling gentle kisses with burning lips. “You smell so good,” he whispered. “So good.” The abrasion of his unshaven jaw against her smooth skin was an unexpected pleasure. He caught one nipple between his lips, and, even encased as it was in a sheer veil of fabric, the moist pull of his mouth caused a sweet, agonizing desire to course through her body. Camille settled her hands on his shoulders as she leaned into him. NO! She caught herself just in time and pushed away from him. “Don’t, Zack,” she gasped.
“Don’t?”
“Yes, please don’t.” Was she sobbing even though her eyes were dry?
