A Passion Most Pure by Julie Lessman

them, each to its proper place. She already knew the answer. She had done what she'd been taught to do. To do what was, after all the tears and heartbreak, the only thing she could do. She gave it to God-her anger, her hurt, her marriage. After hours of weeping, she had taken her heavy heart and placed it in the hands of her loving God, and finally she was able to drift off to sleep. And as the soft light of day had gently spilled into the room, her heart remained in his loving grasp, peaceful and whole as she'd lain in the arms of the man she loved.

    The memory brought a rush of warmth to her heart and heat to her cheeks. Marcy closed her eyes. They had made love and then talked until the first glimmers of dawn crept across their sill, bathing the room with its pale light. It had been a time of healing ... of rediscovery ... of prayer. And when it was over, they made love again. To Marcy, it had been a completely cathartic experience, a sacred renewal of vows. She had not believed she could love Patrick O'Connor any more than she already did, but she had been wrong.
    Theirs had always been a marriage of love and tender passion, but over the years, her true appreciation had diminished somewhat. She realized now she had taken it all for granted-taken him for granted. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of him-his slow, easy smile and rugged good looks. And it stopped altogether at the idea of another woman holding him in her arms, kissing his lips. The very notion sent a jolt of fear and pain ricocheting through her. When had she lost sight of it all, even for a moment?
    Lost in her reverie, Marcy failed to see Patrick enter the kitchen. She jumped as he embraced her from behind, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and burrowing his lips in her hair. She put a hand to her stomach, hoping to quell the hot flood of passion he stirred, while her cheeks reheated with embarrassment. Saints alive, woman, she thought to herself, wasn't last night enough? She took a deep breath. "Patrick! The children will walk in any moment."
    Patrick's hands slowly brushed up the side of her waist, past her breasts, to her throat where his fingers began to trace, feathering her skin along the neckline of her blouse. "You weren't worried about the children last night ..."

    Marcy slipped from his grasp and turned to face him. Her heart melted at the smile on his lips and the sparkle in his eyes. She steadied herself. "Last night I was angry ..."
    Patrick's eyes never left hers as he took a step forward. "And now?"
    Lord, the man is attractive! When did Ilose sight of that? "Now, I'm so much in love with my husband I can't seem to get breakfast on the table."
    In one quick reach, she was back in his arms, his lips on hers and the fervor of the night rekindled. Never had Marcy wanted to return to their bed more, to take their fill of love until they exhausted their passion. Oh, how she wanted to allow the children to fend for themselves! But she was a mother as well as a wife and needed to feed her children far more than her passion. Breathless, she pulled away.
    "Good morning, Mother, Father. What a beautiful day! Did you sleep well?" Charity seemed oblivious to the blush Marcy felt on her face. Her daughter took her place at the table, humming softly under her breath.
    The kitchen door was still swinging behind her as Patrick cleared his throat and sat down, a twinkle in his eye. "Good morning, Charity. Yes, we did sleep well, as a matter of fact. Best ever, wouldn't you say, Marcy?"
    Marcy turned her back to retrieve the bacon and eggs keeping warm in the oven. "Yes, one of the best nights I've had in years." She smiled warmly at her daughter, careful to avoid Patrick's eyes lest they prompt another telltale blush. "You're certainly in a wonderful mood this morning," Marcy observed as she brought the utensils to the table.
    Charity bounded up and took them from her. "Oh, I am! You can't imagine how caged I felt staying home for so long. I