Read Online Sharing Sunrise by Judy Griffith Gill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Judy Griffith Gill
Ads: Link
all, was Marian, and he was responsible for her …
It was heaven. If she died now, Marian thought, she would die happy. She had felt like this twice before, and both times had been at weddings, both times while dancing with Rolph.
Those other times, she’d tried to tell herself she was just reacting to the romance of the occasion, that weddings did that to people. And Jeanie’s had been a particularly romantic wedding with the muted colored lights and decorations, the scent of the Christmas tree, the sweet, flowing music from Sharon Leslie’s harp, and the soft-spoken vows exchanged by Jeanie and Max, vows they must have thought they would never make before their friends and families, when they fell in love trapped deep in a cavern, believing themselves doomed, but willing to love in spite of that.
For the first time, hearing another couple’s wedding vows had choked her up with tender emotions. Tears had welled up in her eyes. She had sniffed them back, blinked hard, but with little effect. Beyond her control, they had spilled over, splashed on her linked hands and Rolph had seen. From his position in the front of the room, he had grinned wickedly at her and winked then later, he’d teased her about it.
“All women cry at weddings,” she’d said and he’d raised his brows.
“But not you, surely!” he’d scoffed with the affectionate sarcasm permitted a long-time friend. “What made you cry? Thinking about Jeanie’s lost freedom, I suppose?”
She’d shrugged, still not sure in her own mind exactly why she’d found the ceremony so touching, so poignant, why it had made her throat ache. Ordinarily, since her own fiasco of a marriage, weddings had been something to be avoided and when they could not be, she’d often found herself thinking scathing, bitter thoughts as the promises were made. Only this wedding had been different. “Could be that, I guess.”
He’d held her firmly that night, as he always had when dancing, so that she’d know what he intended almost as soon as he knew himself. That was what made them such a good couple on the floor. Only that night, for her, it was different. His hands had never felt so large nor so warm. The scent of his after-shave had never affected her as it did that magical Christmas Eve. And the play of his powerful muscles as his thighs brushed against hers set up such a clamor in her blood she’d felt the first stirrings of fear liberally mixed with desire.
The fear was because since her marriage she had avoided men who might have that kind of power over her. The desire came out of nowhere and refused to leave her. She felt stunned by its breadth and its depth, almost horrified because she knew if she gave Rolph even the slightest indication of what she was feeling, he’d laugh at her.
When it came time to catch the bridal bouquet, she saw it coming her way and in that instant, caught the mocking, laughing gaze Rolph had turned on her, and she’d ducked, letting Jeanie’s flowers—and the lovely tradition that went with them—sail on by, right into the hands of Sharon, Jeanie’s sister.
And then, less than a year later, Sharon had married that gorgeous Jean-Marc Duval, just as tradition dictated and Marian had to wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t ducked.
But here she was, in his arms again, feeling distinctly romantic again and without a wedding to blame. Nestling close, she rested her head against his chest, twined her arms around his neck and gave herself up to the beauty of the moment. His hair was crisp and curly under her fingers. The skin of his nape was soft and faintly moist. She lifted her face and pressed her lips gently to his throat, parting them, slipping the tip of her tongue out to sample the salty flavor of his skin. His arms tightened, his body hardened, and she heard him take in a harsh breath. For just a moment, she thought he might push her away from him, but though he went stiff, after a second or two he relaxed and
It was heaven. If she died now, Marian thought, she would die happy. She had felt like this twice before, and both times had been at weddings, both times while dancing with Rolph.
Those other times, she’d tried to tell herself she was just reacting to the romance of the occasion, that weddings did that to people. And Jeanie’s had been a particularly romantic wedding with the muted colored lights and decorations, the scent of the Christmas tree, the sweet, flowing music from Sharon Leslie’s harp, and the soft-spoken vows exchanged by Jeanie and Max, vows they must have thought they would never make before their friends and families, when they fell in love trapped deep in a cavern, believing themselves doomed, but willing to love in spite of that.
For the first time, hearing another couple’s wedding vows had choked her up with tender emotions. Tears had welled up in her eyes. She had sniffed them back, blinked hard, but with little effect. Beyond her control, they had spilled over, splashed on her linked hands and Rolph had seen. From his position in the front of the room, he had grinned wickedly at her and winked then later, he’d teased her about it.
“All women cry at weddings,” she’d said and he’d raised his brows.
“But not you, surely!” he’d scoffed with the affectionate sarcasm permitted a long-time friend. “What made you cry? Thinking about Jeanie’s lost freedom, I suppose?”
She’d shrugged, still not sure in her own mind exactly why she’d found the ceremony so touching, so poignant, why it had made her throat ache. Ordinarily, since her own fiasco of a marriage, weddings had been something to be avoided and when they could not be, she’d often found herself thinking scathing, bitter thoughts as the promises were made. Only this wedding had been different. “Could be that, I guess.”
He’d held her firmly that night, as he always had when dancing, so that she’d know what he intended almost as soon as he knew himself. That was what made them such a good couple on the floor. Only that night, for her, it was different. His hands had never felt so large nor so warm. The scent of his after-shave had never affected her as it did that magical Christmas Eve. And the play of his powerful muscles as his thighs brushed against hers set up such a clamor in her blood she’d felt the first stirrings of fear liberally mixed with desire.
The fear was because since her marriage she had avoided men who might have that kind of power over her. The desire came out of nowhere and refused to leave her. She felt stunned by its breadth and its depth, almost horrified because she knew if she gave Rolph even the slightest indication of what she was feeling, he’d laugh at her.
When it came time to catch the bridal bouquet, she saw it coming her way and in that instant, caught the mocking, laughing gaze Rolph had turned on her, and she’d ducked, letting Jeanie’s flowers—and the lovely tradition that went with them—sail on by, right into the hands of Sharon, Jeanie’s sister.
And then, less than a year later, Sharon had married that gorgeous Jean-Marc Duval, just as tradition dictated and Marian had to wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t ducked.
But here she was, in his arms again, feeling distinctly romantic again and without a wedding to blame. Nestling close, she rested her head against his chest, twined her arms around his neck and gave herself up to the beauty of the moment. His hair was crisp and curly under her fingers. The skin of his nape was soft and faintly moist. She lifted her face and pressed her lips gently to his throat, parting them, slipping the tip of her tongue out to sample the salty flavor of his skin. His arms tightened, his body hardened, and she heard him take in a harsh breath. For just a moment, she thought he might push her away from him, but though he went stiff, after a second or two he relaxed and
Similar Books
