Golden Vows (4 page)

“Oh, terrific,” Amanda grumbled as she followed him. “And what am I supposed to do when that happens?”

“You might try hysterical screaming, but if that doesn’t work you’ll have to rescue me. Otherwise, it will be a long walk home. I have the car keys, you know.”

“Always planning ahead, aren’t you, Dam?” she teased. “Remind me to turn you in to the knight-errantry commission. If you can’t behave in a more chivalrous manner and, at the very least, throw the keys to me while you’re being carried away, I’m afraid you’ll never earn a white charger.”

“You’re behind the times, Amanda. These days, any knight worth his salt has a white Mercedes. The upkeep on chargers is just too high.”

She had smiled at his nonsense and hoped that when he did have that Mercedes, she would be the damsel he chose to rescue.

A bend in the path slowed her steps and the memory faded. Lazy patterns of sunlight filtered down through the thick foliage and Amanda paused to appreciate the green and gold tapestry of spring. It had been spring then, too, she thought, her mind drifting back to that day as she walked on.

Dane had led her to a clearing, surrounded by trees and serenaded by the soothing sounds of water flowing over rocks. Amanda remembered how she had looked for the sound and caught a glimpse of a sheltered brook. Then she had turned to Dane, her fingers impulsively tightening around his. “This is the place you told me about, isn’t it? Where you used to come as a boy? Oh, Dane. It’s beautiful!”

His gaze circled the small clearing with satisfaction. “It is, isn’t it? I used to believe there really was an ogre in the woods and it was great adventure to thwart his attempts to catch me and make it here to safety.”

“I’m glad he never caught you.”

“So am I.” Dane brought his gaze to her face, the look in his eyes saying more—so much more—than the words. Somewhere inside her she had known their relationship had reached a turning point. From the moment of their first meeting, Dane had tended to be reserved, sharing only bits and pieces of his past and his plans for the future. But slowly he had come to trust her and now, with an intuition beyond her experience, she recognized what he was sharing with her. It wasn’t the place or even the fact that he’d brought her here.

It was commitment and the willingness to overcome his natural self-sufficiency and admit that he needed her. A pledge of love and trust that she would want to do the same. She had heard the words in her heart before they ever left his lips.

“Amanda, I’m in love with you.”

Emotion had constricted her throat as she lifted her hand in acceptance. She didn’t know who moved first, whether Dane stepped forward to take her hand or whether she simply followed her heart into his arms. But suddenly she was there, where she’d always wanted to be. His mouth closed over hers, tender and mobile, and she shut her eyes to lock in the exquisite wonder of the moment.

It wasn’t the first time he’d made love to her but, as he lowered her unresisting body to the bed of grass, Amanda knew she would always remember this as the first. Her senses were heightened by the natural beauty surrounding them. The sights and fragrances would always color her memory of this place and Dane and the feel of his hands moving over her.

Her fingers memorized the planes of his face and stroked the golden weight of his hair while he freed her breasts from the bondage of blouse and bra to glory in his caress. Amanda arched her back, feeling her nipples harden and strain toward his slowly descending mouth. The tip of his tongue circled, tantalized, and tested her desire before he enclosed the taut arousal with his lips. A glorious sense of anticipation rippled through her and she surrendered to the spiraling tension that promised such sweet fulfillment.

For a long while she lay passively beneath the light, erotic movements of his mouth, willing her pulse to slow its wild rush, and let Dane set the pace. She wanted to experience every touch, every sensation, to the fullest and then to give it all totally, lovingly, back to him.

Dane.

Her heart murmured his name until it seemed to meld with each life-giving beat. Like the panorama of changing seasons, she visualized Dane loving her under the simmering blue sky of summer, on a pallet of autumn leaves, beside a red-gold fire on a snowy night and, again, as now, beneath a canopy of spring.

But as his hand made a smooth glide over the hollows and curves at her side, the fantasy faded into the breath-stealing reality of his touch. Her senses focused on the stimulating strokes of his fingertips as he pushed aside her jeans and the lacy underwear beneath to pave an unencumbered path for his lips to follow.

The path he chose began at the corner of her mouth, feathered along her cheek, and nibbled at the fleshy lobe of her ear. His tongue explored the smoothness of her neck and the indentations of her shoulders. Then he paused to admire what his lips had conquered.

Amanda quivered beneath that possessive gaze, but she remained still, savoring the look in his eyes and the quiet knowledge that he found her beautiful. When his hands brushed across her breasts and moved deliciously lower, she longed to hurry the lingering seduction. She wanted to taste his lips, to feel his fevered body pressing into hers, to know the urgency that precluded passion.

But she was powerless to hurry him.

She was his captive, an impatient yet willing hostage of his caress. She drifted ever closer into his embrace like a leaf carried by a mountain stream.

His head bent to renew the sensation of a thousand sipping kisses against her skin. He explored the shadowy cleft between her breasts and his lips moved leisurely over the smooth swelling until, at last, he took the throbbing peak in his mouth.

The rough velvet of his palm against her inner thigh robbed her of reason and sent her hands in a blind search for the satisfaction she knew lay somewhere in the sinewy strength of his body. Mindlessly she rubbed the corded muscles of his neck and massaged the back of his shoulders. But he seemed determined to awaken every part of her with his kiss and he moved from her breast to the satiny flatness of her stomach.

His head lowered deliberately, creating an agony of anticipation inside her. With each downward foray of his tongue, her hands lost contact and she was soon unable to do more than fondle the hair at his temples.

His fingers parted and probed the intimate mysteries of her body and his lips branded every secret place with his burning possession. A wanton ache tightened her stomach and unfolded within her, building to a febrile heat that made her oddly pliant and yielding. She couldn’t seem to breathe, but in this new world of sensation, breathing seemed too ordinary, too mundane to be a part of her. His touch was the only reality, the only sustenance she needed.

“Dane.”
His name flowed from her on a sigh of surrender. Like a sacred promise it surrounded her in beauty, an offering of her heart that far transcended these few stolen moments in time.

“Dane.” Again it echoed in the gentle silence, calling to him, asking him to claim the promise and return it to her lips.

The warm moistness of his mouth moved upward in response, lingering against her skin to feed the fire of her passion, clinging to the silken curves of her flesh to ignite the remaining embers of desire into flame.

She quivered with longing and her hands slid over him in stormy need, seeking to arouse in him the same fierce turbulence. Unbuttoning and parting the material of his shirt, her fingers tingled with the crisp feel of his chest. Her lips found the brown hardness of his nipple and plied it gently with her tongue as her hands stole around his waist to pull him tightly against her.

He moved free of her, despite her low moan of protest. She lifted desire-darkened eyes to watch as he shrugged off the shirt and unfastened the stud of his jeans. His clothes soon joined hers in a discarded heap and Amanda reveled in the sight of his tanned, virile body. Slowly, carefully, he covered her. His lips nuzzled her breast and ascended to the pulsing hollow of her throat. Then, at last, there was only the smooth tactile sensation of flesh against flesh, male against female.

Like a warm, tropical wind, ecstasy swirled inside her and rushed to meet his growing urgency. Amanda moved her hand to wedge a space between them, caressing him and guiding him toward the intimate union she craved. He cupped her hips, lifting her to accept the completeness of their coupling and the rhythmic dance of passion.

“Amanda...?”

Her name blended with his as his breath filled her. She sank deeper into the delights of loving him, the taste and scent and feel of him merging with the music of her name on his lips.
Amanda. Amanda.

“Amanda.”

She snapped to the present with jarring speed and realized that Dane stood only a few feet away, repeating her name impatiently.

“I thought you were going to stay in the car.” The abrasive quality of his voice tilted her chin in defense.

“I wanted to see for myself….” Her words ended in a painful, barely audible gasp as she looked past him to the clearing beyond. “Oh.” A wealth of sadness accompanied the sound and she took a step forward to see more clearly the upheaval that time had wrought. One of the sycamore trees had fallen. It lay sprawled across the clearing with roots exposed and lifeless branches disfiguring the brook’s natural flow.

“Oh,” she repeated quietly and turned to Dane.

A muscle worked in his cheek before he clamped it tight with a frown. “You should have stayed in the car. I would have told you.”

But somehow Amanda knew that he wouldn’t have. “What do you suppose could have happened?” she asked.

He thrust his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and surveyed the scene with dispassionate eyes. “Probably a combination of things. Shallow roots, a strong wind. I don’t know. What does it matter?”

Her gaze swept the length of the tree and found the grassy bed where once she had lain in his embrace. Shadowed now by part of the fallen tree, it no longer reminded her of what had once been and, impulsively, her heart sought a way to deny the change.

“Maybe the ogre of the woods?” A derisive silence followed her pitiful attempt to recapture the past and she wondered why she had even felt the urge to try.

He shrugged.  A simple, eloquent shrug. “Well, whatever happened here, it seems like a fitting end. Come on, let’s go. Martha is expecting us.”

He pivoted and walked back to the path, leaving her to follow. Amanda hesitated as tears welled behind her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry for the whim of nature that had spoiled this spot or if it was simply a need to shed a teardrop for the innocent young woman who had once loved and been loved here.

A fitting end,
she thought.

Blinking aside the emotion, she turned and followed the path back to the car.

Chapter Three

“More cider, Amanda?” Martha extended the silver coffee urn with a hopeful flourish and a doubtful smile.

With a shake of her head Amanda refused the third offer to replenish her cup. She took one last sip of the pungent drink and wished that Martha allowed something stronger than apple cider to be served in her home.

“What about you, Dane?” Martha swung in his direction to urge a refill. He sat in an overstuffed wing-back chair, looking very much at home with his feet propped on a matching hassock and dubiously eyeing the cup perched on the chair arm.

“What?” he asked absently, glancing first at Amanda and then at Martha. “Oh, no. No more cider. I’ve got all I need, thanks.”

“I can’t give the stuff away this year,” Martha grumbled as she plopped the antique server onto the matching silver tray and arranged the rest of the tea service around it.

Amanda reprimanded her impulse to smile. Only Martha would serve cider in an heirloom tea service. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she seemed ageless. Martha never hesitated to do the things that gave her pleasure, no matter what anyone else might think. She was a mixture of youth and wisdom, her appearance a salt and pepper blend, her good nature spicy with humor and tart advice.

“Well, well, well.” Martha folded her stout frame into her favorite Boston rocker and surveyed Amanda with interest. The green eyes held a hint of their usual Irish blarney as they made a quick perusal. A visual inspection that Amanda ordinarily accepted as a matter of course.

But today, knowing that the affectionate light in Martha’s eyes would soon dim in disappointment, Amanda was ill at ease. To conceal her discomfort she leaned forward to set her cup on the coffee table, then settled against the sofa cushions to await Martha’s judgment.

“You’re too thin, Amanda.” The blunt criticism was softened with a wink as Martha turned to Dane. “You should take better care of her. She’s wasting away to nothing.”

Dane looked up, his gaze brushing Amanda in unconcern. “She’s a long way from that, Martha. Amanda just needs a jug of your cider and some tender loving care.”

Meeting his eyes with a lift of her brow, Amanda wondered at the teasing quality of his voice that wasn’t really like teasing at all. “I draw the line at a
jug
of cider,” she said, trying to imitate his tone. “If I can’t sip it from an eighteenth-century teacup then I’d rather do without.”

“You can borrow mine anytime, Amanda,” Martha said, “but you’ve got it wrong. You’re supposed to sip cider from a sieve.”

Amanda released a soft laugh from her tight throat. “That can’t be right, Martha.”

“You’re both wrong.” Dane straightened in his chair as if he were going to impart a priceless gem of wisdom. “I believe the correct adage is sipping champagne from a slipper which is an old tradition for bridegrooms on their wedding day.”

“Humph!” Martha indicated her opinion. “I can’t believe that any man would be so besotted he’d drink champagne or anything else from a shoe. You didn’t do anything so silly on your wedding day, did you?”

His brown eyes met her blue ones in silent reminiscence and Amanda’s lips trembled with the longing to smile.

“Certainly not,” he said without breaking the moment of shared memory. “I certainly never drank champagne from Amanda’s slipper.”