Read Online Resurrection by Linda Lael Miller - Free Book Online

wild, so great, so consuming was her need, and Gil left her nipple at last to cover her mouth with his own and muffle her hoarse groans with his kiss. His fingers went still, and he left her mouth to speak gruffly into her ear.
    “I will satisfy you, Emmeline,” he said, his voice no steadier than hers would have been, “but you must not cry out.”
    She nodded her assent—at that moment, she would have agreed to practically anything—and he rolled off the cot to kneel beside it, parting her legs with one hand, stroking the tender flesh of her inner thighs almost reverently.
    “Gil,” she whispered, arching her back.
    “You promised,” he scolded. Then he parted the silken delta between Emmeline’s legs, studied the treasure buried there for a few moments, and lowered his head and feasted.
    Emmeline let out a long, low cry, and Gil reached up to cup one hand over her mouth. She rocked under his tongue, herhips rising and falling as he led them to do, and he teased her without mercy. While he was engaged in a series of fleeting nibbles, Emmeline’s universe splintered into a many-petaled blossom of white light.
    When it was over—her back still slightly arched in an instinctive quest for pleasure, her flesh still quivering with satisfaction—she watched in silence as Gil rose to his feet, found his clothes, and began to put them on. When he bent to kiss her lightly on the mouth, she caught her own musky scent on his skin.
    “You’d better get dressed, Miss Emmeline,” he said. “That teakettle is probably boiling by now.”
    Emmeline sighed and stretched. For the moment, she was at ease, but she knew her body only too well, and the effect that Gil’s attentions had upon it. The benefits of his efforts would wear off soon enough and then, because he hadn’t put himself inside her, she’d want him more than ever. What he’d done to her there on the sunporch was not meant to satisfy, but to prime her for a true conquering.
    By the time Emmeline got back into her camisole and drawers, Gil was gone, and she had just reached the top of the stairs, carrying the rest of her clothes in her arms, when she heard Izannah call her name from the kitchen.
    Emmeline pretended not to hear, and fled into her room, where she splashed herself with tepid water from the basin and wept inconsolably.
    An hour later, when she’d collected herself enough to go downstairs and face her cousin, she found Izannah at the stove. Emmeline had put on a wrapper and nightgown, like a convalescent, while Izannah wore a flower-print poplin and was putting the finishing touches on a dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn.
    “You let the teakettle boil dry,” Izannah accused, but there was no rancor in her voice. She was watching Emmeline witha speculative, worried expression in her usually mischievous eyes. “Are you sick, Emmeline?”
    There was coffee, and Emmeline got a cup and poured herself some. She would have preferred a stiff dose of the judge’s brandy, but it was Sunday afternoon and still light outside. Besides, she thought with a sniff, if she indulged, Reverend Bickham would probably find out somehow and preach a roof-raising sermon on the evils of strong drink.
    “No, pet,” she said gently. “I’m not sick, just tired.”
    “I stayed away as long as I could,” Izannah went on, carrying a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes to the table. When it was just the two of them, they always ate in the kitchen. “Since Mr. Hartwell followed you home and everything.”
    “That was thoughtful of you.” Emmeline turned, pretending to watch the rain through the small window over the sink, so Izannah wouldn’t see her face.
    “He gave me a dollar to spend the afternoon with Becky,” Izannah confessed, without a trace of repentance. “Some people would call that bribery, but to me it’s a new hair ribbon and that book I’ve been wanting.”
    Emmeline smiled a very small smile, but said nothing.
    A brief silence fell