American Dreams by Janet Dailey Page B

glad," she said softly, surprised by her own boldness, and at the same time aware that his hand still loosely gripped hers. She liked the sensation and wanted it to go on and on. Slowly, she turned to look back at him, aching with the wish that he would feel the same way.
    Deu stared at her rapt face. The longing in her beautiful dark eyes was more than he could stand. A tightness constricted his throat, making it impossible for him to swallow or breathe. The tightness spread, gripping the rest of his body, knotting him up inside until he thought he would die with wanting her. His gaze inadvertently shifted to her lips, soft and innocently inviting. The sight pulled him.
    He didn't remember moving. He didn't remember anything until he felt the tentative pressure of her lips, warm and tantalizingly eager, against his own. He hadn't meant to kiss her, but now he couldn't stop himself. Hungrily, he tasted the ripe curves of her mouth as it melted against his like wild honey on the tongue.
    Deu felt the touch of a hand sliding inside his coat. The contact seared through his shirt. He stiffened, discovering that his fingers held the stick alone. An instant later, he felt the press of her body against his—and the childishly small mounds of her breasts. Abruptly, he pulled away and shot to his feet, hot with shame and guilt.
    "Deu?" Her questioning voice sounded small and faint. "What's .. . what's wrong?"
    "It's late ... and it's cold. You better get yourself home before your mama comes looking for you," he said curtly. The hurt in her eyes made him feel worse. "Don't look at me that way. Don't you understand, Phoebe? I shouldn't have done that."
    She scrambled to her feet, catching at the trailing ends of her shawl as she moved toward him. "But I wanted you to."
    "You shouldn't have." Deu was angry with her for saying that, angry because it made him want to kiss her again. "You're just a girl, Phoebe. Too young to be ... letting a man near you."
    She stood before him, innocent and trusting, and so beautiful he wanted to groan with the ache he felt. "My mammy was only a year older than me when she had her first baby."
    He did groan. "Phoebe ... don't."
    "Didn't you like kissing me, Deu?"
    The simple question unleashed a whole new torrent of feeling. "You know I did," he murmured thickly.
    A wide smile split her face, revealing a set of teeth white as pearls. "So did I."
    When she swayed toward him, he started to reach out—to check her movement or to take her in his arms, he wasn't sure which. Before he could find out, a deep-voiced summons came from the front veranda of the big house. "Deu. Deuteronomy!"
    Recognizing the voice of Master Blade, Deu swung instantly toward the sound, a part of him relieved by the interruption. "Here, sir," he called in answer and cast one last glance at Phoebe before breaking into a run away from her.
    When he reached the bottom of the side steps leading to the columned veranda, he saw The Blade at the top. "Fetch the horses. It is time to leave." Behind him, the front door opened and Temple stepped out, a shawl draped over her head, one end flung over her shoulder.
    "Yes, sir." Deu backed up a couple of steps, then turned and headed off across the lawn to the stables.
    The Blade watched him disappear into the night's shadows. Although aware of Temple's presence behind him, he resisted the impulse to turn and continued to stare into the darkness instead. Breathing in the crispness of the air, he felt that old restlessness return, the urge for action, something that would challenge both his brain and his muscles. More than once this past summer he had toyed with the idea of returning to the gold fields. It wasn't the gold that lured him. It was the game of danger, pitting his skills and cunning against the Georgians. He missed it.
    His father wanted him to stay. He had openly encouraged him to see Temple. But The Blade wasn't sure he was ready to settle down to the tame life of a planter and