didn't want...I couldn't write it in a letter."
She set the knitting aside and rose. "Tony, if you were still a child, I'd kiss you and
promise that tomorrow everything will be all right. Unfortunately, we're no longer
children, and we both know some things just don't get better."
She sounded sad. Defeated? He opened his mouth to ask why, but she interrupted
him.
"Do you need help undressing?"
Relieved in a way that she hadn't asked how he had caused so many deaths, he
said, "Maybe with the shirt." He wasn't sure he could get it off. Putting it on had been
painful.
"I'll come in shortly, then. You go ahead and brush your teeth."
She sounded so much like Aunt Flower that he had to grin. "Yes, mother."
Her gray eyes held a shadow when she looked up at him. "I am not your mother,"
she said, before she abruptly turned away.
He was sitting on the side of the bed, waiting, when Lulu entered a few minutes
later, carrying the jar of honey and more clean cloths. She set them on the bedside table.
"I'll be back in a minute," she told him, and went back to the kitchen for the basin full of
warm water.
His back appeared better already, less inflamed and weeping. She washed
carefully, trying not to hurt him. Even so, she forced a couple of wordless exclamations
from him when the wet cloth brushed the blistered patch on his left shoulder. Each time her
hands touched his warm, smooth skin, they wanted to soothe. To stroke away the pain. To
comfort not just his body, but his soul.
Instead, she poured the honey onto a folded pad and carefully positioned it. "I'll tie
this more securely tonight. I don't want it coming off as you sleep."
"Neither do I. Honey-soaked sheets would not be a comfortable bed." He pushed
himself upright, moving much more easily than he had this afternoon.
"Ugh! That would be awful!" She held the pad in place until he was sitting on the
edge of the bed. To make sure the bandage didn't slip as he slept, she tied half a dozen
cloth strips around his chest. "There, that should hold it."
As she stood before him, she could feel his heat. Her fingers lingered on the last
knot as she looked down into his face. When he lifted his chin and gazed back at her, she
almost gasped with what she saw. She stepped back--or would have, except his arms were,
somehow, around her waist.
"Oh, Lulu," he murmured, resting his head on her breast. "God, this feels so good.
You always smell of flowers. And you're so soft and warm."
His arms tightened, and she knew she should pull away, now, before it was too
late.
His back hurt, but Tony didn't care. All he could think of was Lulu. Lulu whom
he'd fallen in love with at the age of eight, and had never stopped loving. The first friend
he'd ever had of his own age. His protector, his defender, when he'd been unsure of
acceptance and uncertain of behavior.
She had taught him to play. Soomey had taught him to love and Silas had taught
him to trust, but Lulu had taught him how to be a child.
And one night, when she'd broken his heart, she'd taught him what it meant to be a
child no longer.
Maybe it was time for him to show her the man he'd become.
He hooked his foot around hers and swept her sideways, onto the bed. Before she
could react, he was on top of her, kissing her, consuming her mouth. She tasted of tea and
smelled of flowers. She was soft, woman-soft, and yielding. His fingers closed around her
breast and he could have wept because he had only one hand to delight in the richness of
her.
She resisted for a moment, then arched against him. Her breathing quickened, her
hands scrabbled at his shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin. One leg curled around
his, pulling his groin hard against her belly. Even through layers of clothing, he could feel
her heat. Her need.
With his good hand, he caught her collar, high and snug against the silken skin of
her throat. "How does this open?" he panted between nips at her mouth.
"I'll do it. Let me up."
But he couldn't let her go,
She set the knitting aside and rose. "Tony, if you were still a child, I'd kiss you and
promise that tomorrow everything will be all right. Unfortunately, we're no longer
children, and we both know some things just don't get better."
She sounded sad. Defeated? He opened his mouth to ask why, but she interrupted
him.
"Do you need help undressing?"
Relieved in a way that she hadn't asked how he had caused so many deaths, he
said, "Maybe with the shirt." He wasn't sure he could get it off. Putting it on had been
painful.
"I'll come in shortly, then. You go ahead and brush your teeth."
She sounded so much like Aunt Flower that he had to grin. "Yes, mother."
Her gray eyes held a shadow when she looked up at him. "I am not your mother,"
she said, before she abruptly turned away.
He was sitting on the side of the bed, waiting, when Lulu entered a few minutes
later, carrying the jar of honey and more clean cloths. She set them on the bedside table.
"I'll be back in a minute," she told him, and went back to the kitchen for the basin full of
warm water.
His back appeared better already, less inflamed and weeping. She washed
carefully, trying not to hurt him. Even so, she forced a couple of wordless exclamations
from him when the wet cloth brushed the blistered patch on his left shoulder. Each time her
hands touched his warm, smooth skin, they wanted to soothe. To stroke away the pain. To
comfort not just his body, but his soul.
Instead, she poured the honey onto a folded pad and carefully positioned it. "I'll tie
this more securely tonight. I don't want it coming off as you sleep."
"Neither do I. Honey-soaked sheets would not be a comfortable bed." He pushed
himself upright, moving much more easily than he had this afternoon.
"Ugh! That would be awful!" She held the pad in place until he was sitting on the
edge of the bed. To make sure the bandage didn't slip as he slept, she tied half a dozen
cloth strips around his chest. "There, that should hold it."
As she stood before him, she could feel his heat. Her fingers lingered on the last
knot as she looked down into his face. When he lifted his chin and gazed back at her, she
almost gasped with what she saw. She stepped back--or would have, except his arms were,
somehow, around her waist.
"Oh, Lulu," he murmured, resting his head on her breast. "God, this feels so good.
You always smell of flowers. And you're so soft and warm."
His arms tightened, and she knew she should pull away, now, before it was too
late.
His back hurt, but Tony didn't care. All he could think of was Lulu. Lulu whom
he'd fallen in love with at the age of eight, and had never stopped loving. The first friend
he'd ever had of his own age. His protector, his defender, when he'd been unsure of
acceptance and uncertain of behavior.
She had taught him to play. Soomey had taught him to love and Silas had taught
him to trust, but Lulu had taught him how to be a child.
And one night, when she'd broken his heart, she'd taught him what it meant to be a
child no longer.
Maybe it was time for him to show her the man he'd become.
He hooked his foot around hers and swept her sideways, onto the bed. Before she
could react, he was on top of her, kissing her, consuming her mouth. She tasted of tea and
smelled of flowers. She was soft, woman-soft, and yielding. His fingers closed around her
breast and he could have wept because he had only one hand to delight in the richness of
her.
She resisted for a moment, then arched against him. Her breathing quickened, her
hands scrabbled at his shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin. One leg curled around
his, pulling his groin hard against her belly. Even through layers of clothing, he could feel
her heat. Her need.
With his good hand, he caught her collar, high and snug against the silken skin of
her throat. "How does this open?" he panted between nips at her mouth.
"I'll do it. Let me up."
But he couldn't let her go,
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