Beyond Beginnings Book 2

BEYOND BEGINNINGS - BOOK TWO
Linda Barth

Chapter Seven

With a surge of regret, Vincent felt the powerful sensations within him ebb and melt away, leaving him content but full of yearning. The physical force of his arousal subsided quickly, but the emotional impact was with him still. Dazedly, he looked down at Catherine as she lay back in his arms, still clasped within his embrace. Her eyes were closed, and he found himself entranced by the way her long lashes lay against the rosy flush of her skin and how her soft breasts rose and fell with her rapid breathing, a rushed, shuddering pace that matched his own. He felt as if he could hold her this way forever, but even as the thought formed in his mind, he felt her tremble slightly and he immediately sought to ease what he assumed must be her discomfort.
Swiftly and carefully, he lowered her with him to the cavern floor. Intending to shield her from contact with the cold, damp stone, he cradled Catherine's slight weight upon his own body, but was greatly surprised when he felt her roll away from him. And then his surprise turned to a blending of shock and delight as with passionate strength she pulled him down hard on top of her. Loathe to move and yet ever mindful of his need to protect her from any harm, Vincent tried to edge over onto one hip beside her, hoping to ease her of the burden of his greater size and weight. But Catherine would have none of it. At last her eyes fluttered open and the glittering green of her gaze stilled his furtive movement and made him an eager prisoner in their depths.
"Please, Vincent, don't pull away from me," she urged, her voice low and rushed. "You don't know how long I've waited to feel you holding me like this. It's what I want."
The heat in his voice and eyes matched hers. "I do know, my Catherine. It's what I want, too." He paused for a moment, savoring the sensation of her warm and willing body beneath the strength of his. "But I won’t take the chance of your being injured." He shook his head gently. The slight movement rustled the tousled ends of his hair over the sensitized skin of her face and neck, sending small shivers of pleasure through her entire body and making her gasp even as she tried to speak.
Vincent could feel the firmness of her breasts pressing up against his chest as she tried to control her breathing. The sensation threatened the remnants of his composure and self-control, and only with effort could he continue. "I know what you’re about to say, Catherine. It’s true -- I cannot and I will not hurt you. But this floor is damp and rocky, and I won't take that chance." And in his heart, he admitted that his concern for her comfort was only part of the reason he needed to put some distance between them. His desire for her still pulsed hotly within him, and he knew it would be all too easy to let it continue to carry them away. But some inner voice told him, too, that even though it was what they both wanted, it would be better to wait.
Despite her continued murmurs of protest, Vincent forced himself to roll over onto his side, and with relief he felt her yield to his request. For several minutes they lay as they were, looking deep into each other's eyes, watching the hazy aftermath of their passion subside to a soft glow. Vincent knew Catherine would not let the moment pass without words, and he searched for a way to express all the things that he was feeling. His analytic mind struggled to order his thoughts and impressions, to put them into some semblance of structure and cohesiveness; but this was unlike anything he had ever known, and his time-honored methods of reflection were nearly powerless in the face of such intense emotion.
At last he sat up, pulling his knees almost to his chin and clasping his arms around them. He quickly glanced back over his shoulder at Catherine and watched as she, too, sat up, settling herself next to him with her legs curved to one side. How can I begin to speak of this, he asked himself, feeling his heart start to pound anxiously. I don't know what to say to her.
He tried to reach out to her through the bond, but his uneasy emotions would not permit even that means of help, and he could discern nothing other than his own growing turmoil. But perhaps, he thought, grasping at straws in a windstorm, she won't want to talk about it after all.
One look at her quietly determined expression told Vincent his hope was a futile one. Then, she took a deep breath and, along with it, his last chance to escape.
"Vincent, are you all right?" she began cautiously, her voice forcibly even. He nodded briefly, the movement quick and decisive, but she saw the shadows that flickered across his face.
Maybe I should leave all this alone, she worried silently. How can I say these things to him? I'll only embarrass him terribly. But I have to be sure. I need to hear the words, the words that will tell me he understands how much I wanted him, how much I want him still, and that he knows what more there can be for both of us...
Her troubled thoughts faded away as she focused again on his beloved face, and she felt a surge of renewed courage when she realized that his gaze hadn't faltered. Taking another deep breath, she began again.
"Vincent, do you know, I mean, are you okay with what just happened to us?"
"Yes," he answered quietly, but did not elaborate.
God, he isn't going to make this easy for me, is he? Catherine fretted silently, her forehead creased with apprehension. I should have known. But I can't stop yet.
She continued aloud. "Are you sure? What I mean is, I didn't know, everything was so, so overwhelming, I couldn't tell, I wasn't certain if...And I wanted you to know how I felt, I mean, how much this -- how much you -- mean to me and -- "
Her words cascaded over one another until they no longer made any sense even to her. Feeling as if she had been tossed overboard in a stormy sea, she abruptly clamped her mouth shut. Then she covered her face with her hands, frantically trying to calm herself long enough to continue speaking or to somehow escape from the humiliating jumble she had made of a beautiful and wondrous moment.
Stunned by the unaccustomed sight of Catherine flustered and confused, Vincent could only stare at her for several long moments, feeling himself grow conversely calm and certain. Although it seemed impossible, he could not deny what he knew must be true, and his mind reeled with the understanding that Catherine was as unnerved as he by what had just happened. Immediately the instinctive need to help and comfort her arose in him and he tried to speak. But much to his shock, he felt himself start to laugh, and although he tried desperately, he was unable to stop.
At the first hint of Vincent's warm, throaty laughter, Catherine's head shot up and she stared at him in profound disbelief. Her eyes widened as waves of surprise and exasperation washed over her; then, unable to resist the enchanting and all too seldom heard sound, she joined him, laughing until her eyes sparkled with tears. Gasping for breath, he held out a shaking hand and she sagged against him, feeling his arm encircle her shoulders as they slowly gained control of themselves once again.
Sitting up, Catherine tilted her head and looked at him appraisingly, a quivering smile still dancing over her mouth and flickering in her eyes. "I suppose asking this really isn't necessary, but were you actually laughing at me?"
Vincent let his arm slide from her shoulders as he sat up straighter. Sighing slightly as he reached for her hand, he found he no longer had to struggle for the right words. He simply spoke what was in his heart.
"Yes, I think I was, but I was laughing at myself as well. Catherine, we have just begun to share some of the things we've always longed for. Only moments ago we were closer, more intimate, than we have ever been. It gave great joy to both of us. Yet we were so worried about each other's feelings that we couldn’t face each other long enough to find the words to talk about it."
"I know you're right, Vincent." Her hand tightened on his in a gesture as warm and reassuring as the tone of her voice. "And I'm sorry because it was mostly my fault. Sometimes I just can't leave well enough alone. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to force you to talk about it at all."
He raised his free hand, gently stroking the glowing skin of her face and smoothing the satiny tangles of her hair. "No, I wanted to talk about it, but I couldn't find the words to tell you that I did realize, that I do know. I am...inexperienced in these things, but I am not without understanding. Even though physically I did not...not yet..." He glanced away, feeling his face flush warmly, before returning his gaze to her. "I was aware of everything you felt, Catherine, everything, through our bond. And it was beautiful beyond words."
She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into his caress as his hand trailed through her hair to cradle her head. Then she sighed softly as he gently urged her forward and touched his lips to hers in a kiss of tenderness and trust. As she pulled back slightly, she felt his hand slide the length of her back, skimming lightly over her hip and thigh before moving away completely, leaving a slowly simmering trail of fire.
As their eyes met, her generous mouth curved into a glowing smile. "I'm glad, Vincent, because it was a moment I'll never forget...and it was my promise to you. Because next time, there will be so much more for you, far beyond anything our bond has shown you today."
Her smile deepened and took on a playful look, making Vincent suddenly think of childhood birthdays, when he'd shivered with growing excitement as he waited to unwrap an especially fascinating and enticing gift. With effort he forced himself to concentrate on her voice, and had to smile himself when he realized she had correctly interpreted his reaction to her words, and that it had pleased her immensely.
"Oh, Vincent," she said, her voice slightly breathless. "No one makes me feel like you do. No one ever could."
He responded without waiting to think better of it. "And no one had better try," he rasped, his exaggeratedly husky growl delighting both of them as it revealed the warm surge of masculine pride he'd felt at her declaration. It seemed impossible to him that he could bring such pleasure to her, but in his heart he knew it was the truth.
They shared one final, lingering kiss and then rose to their feet, knowing it was time she went back to the world that no longer had any power at all to offer her a happy life. Silently they gathered their belongings and straightened their clothing. After tying her shoes, Catherine turned to him, hoping to lighten the sad shadows that were descending over them.
"We'll have to come back here soon, Vincent," she suggested hopefully. "I never got a chance to see if the water would help my ankle after all."
He managed a small smile. "Yes, we will return here. I promise."
At the threshold to the small chamber, they paused, looking back once more at the magical lights dancing across the flowing water on the surface of the pool. Then Vincent extinguished the torches and they entered the narrow, darkened passageway together.

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Although little more than an hour had passed since he had begun reading his journal, it seemed to Jacob Wells that he'd traveled half a lifetime in those brief minutes. His eyes stung from the effort it had taken to suppress his tears as he concentrated on the words he'd written so long ago. He knew if he gave in to such an unmistakable expression of his sorrow, he might never regain what little remained of his self-control.
His breath rasped in his chest as he sighed heavily and set aside the small leather-covered book he had clutched in his hand. He removed his glasses and placed them next to his reading lamp on the small marquetry table. Rubbing his hand over his eyes in a useless attempt to ease their burning, he slumped down in his chair and leaned his head back against the worn cushion. The soft golden lamplight drifted over him, doing little to alleviate the darkness in the surrounding shadows, just as his introspection had done little to relieve his pain.
How long he remained as he was, he never knew, but it was Mary's voice from the outer chamber that called him back with gentle but firm insistence.
"I'm here, Mary," he replied, willing himself to answer as calmly as he could. "Please come in."
He had just pushed himself up in the chair and smoothed his rumpled hair when she entered his bed chamber. And although he was quick to put his glasses on once again, he could not hide the telltale look of despair and tears in his weary eyes from her sharp, discerning glance.
"Is everything all right, Jacob? You didn't come to supper. In fact, no one has seen you since brunch. Have you been here the whole time?"
Her voice was kind and full of caring, but despite his gratitude for her concern, he could not risk letting his façade of resolve and strength crumble any further. Keeping his voice as noncommittal as possible, he looked up at her and forced a quick, tight smile.
"Yes. I had some things I wanted to read and think about," he replied, hurriedly rising to stand in front of the table, intent on preventing her from seeing the journal and packets of letters that waited there. He knew she would recognize them in an instant.
Mary had seen them as soon as she had entered the chamber, and the very sight filled her with cold, wavering dread, but she was careful to keep that realization to herself. At least for now, she vowed silently. But this can't continue much longer, Jacob. And I will help you, if only you'll let me.
The thoughts rippled through her as she smiled and spoke aloud in her serene and gentle voice. "Then I hope it was time well-spent. But I wanted to let you know that Vincent and Catherine have returned from their walk, and she'll be leaving very soon. Did you want to check her ankle once more before she goes Above?"
It was impossible to disguise the flaring emotion that rose in him at that simple request, making his voice unnaturally harsh and strident. "No, that will not be necessary, since she obviously is well enough to go walking about the tunnels with Vincent all afternoon. If her ankle were still bothering her, she would have come to see me about it."
They both knew his latter comment for the falsehood that it was. Throughout the entire weekend Father had made every effort to avoid all but the most necessary contact with Catherine and, therefore, with his son. Catherine knew it as well as everyone else did, and she would have been unlikely to seek him out, inviting another opportunity to receive his disapproval and disdain.
Mary's lips tightened in a narrow line, and only with effort was she able to relax enough to maintain the pretense that she was unaware of his true feelings.
"And besides that," he continued. "I have not finished my reading. When you leave, will you please let it be known that I do not wish to see anyone nor to be disturbed in any way again this evening?"
She nodded as she turned to leave him. "Fine," she replied quietly. "If that's what you want."
As he heard her footsteps receding in the distance, Jacob could not help but listen to a small voice in his heart. No, that's not what I want. Not at all. But even as the words faded away, he knew that what he truly wanted was quite entirely beyond his reach.

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Their time together had passed quickly, moment flowing into moment, hour into hour, until they could no longer ignore the force that drove them toward an inescapable parting. They had vowed to measure time in their own way, but in their hearts they knew they were powerless against it. Even their happiest times were infused with a bittersweet awareness of its relentless strength and an unending pain which all their hopeful promises of someday could not soothe away.
Acutely aware that his gaze followed her every move, Catherine slowly folded a soft, amethyst-colored sweater and placed it on top of the other garments that she had packed into her suitcase with unnecessary care. For the third time, she glanced around the small guest chamber, purposely avoiding the place where Vincent leaned against a far wall, his arms crossed over his wide chest as if trying to hold himself together. And then, with a resigned sigh, she yielded to the inevitable.
"I guess that's everything," she said quietly, as she zipped the suitcase shut. Its faint metallic whisper mimicked her sigh.
"Are you certain? Perhaps we should check again."
As she shook her head, the quiet sigh was replaced by a small, mirthless laugh. "No. I'm sure I'm not leaving anything behind." She raised her head to meet his gaze. Except everything that matters most, she added silently. His sad awareness responded to hers within their bond.
The ever-present need to touch and hold him suddenly surged through her in an overwhelming rush. With a soft cry, she held out her arms, but before she could take a single, halting step, he came to her, sweeping her into his arms in an embrace both rough and tender.
She buried her face against his chest, clinging to him as if she could burrow past the layers of quilted vest and cotton shirt to take shelter within him. And although she knew they were unneeded, she could not stop the painful rush of words. "I wish I didn't have to leave you!"
His voice rasped low and harsh. "It is what I wish as well."
She leaned back in his arms and lifted her tear-stained face to him. "Vincent, what are we to do?"
His hoarse sigh shuddered through both of them. "Not long ago, I know what my answer would have been. I would have told you that we would do what we have always done. We’d wait until the time is right for us to be together. But, Catherine, I know -- we both know -- that answer is no longer enough."
Her sigh echoed his. "No, it isn’t."
She pulled away reluctantly and turned back toward the bed. She was aware that he remained where he was, waiting only inches behind her, so close that she could both hear and feel the trembling warmth of his breath lightly ruffling her hair. She knew that she could collapse into his arms again in less than a heartbeat, but she could not ignore the realization that to do so would only deepen their pain. She reached for the suitcase, suddenly anxious to leave, grasping at the shadow of hope that promised the sooner their time apart had begun, the sooner it would be over.
Before her fingers could close around the leather-padded handle, Vincent reached past her and in one swift motion unzipped and opened the tapestry bag. Completely baffled by his unexpected behavior, she turned quickly to stare up at him, but he deliberately avoided her eyes.
For a moment it seemed as if he were about to rummage through the contents of the suitcase, and then he stopped, letting his hand hover uncertainly above the cashmere sweater she had placed on top of the other clothing.
"Catherine, is there something here that you will not need until the next time you are Below?" His voice betrayed the effort it took to subdue his inner turmoil.
She shrugged uncertainly and shook her head. "Of course, sure. That sweater, I guess."
She watched as his large hand gently closed on the luxurious fabric. After the briefest hesitation, he withdrew the garment from the suitcase and held it to his chest with great care, as if it were as fragile as a rose. Then, he finally let his gaze meet hers. For several moments he was silent and then with his free hand, he reached for her.
"Catherine, will you come with me?"
Her response was immediate. "Yes," she told him, feeling his hand close around hers with gentle firmness as he drew her toward the chamber entrance.
It was not long before they reached their nearby destination. As they entered his chamber, Vincent's steps were sure and quick. Catherine hurried to keep up with his pace until he brought them to a halt at in front of the huge black walnut armoire that housed most of his clothing. Releasing her hand, he reached for the ornate, highly polished brass handles and pulled open first one door and then the other. He hesitated only a moment before turning toward her. Then, with a force that stunned her, Catherine recognized his purpose for bringing her here. It was precisely what she had begun to hope it might be. The love he would never again be able to hide, reverberated in the low, rich tone of his voice and the sound of it made her feel like crying.
"Catherine, since you’re spending more and more time Below, I thought you might like to leave some of your things here -- and that it would be more convenient for you to keep them here in my chamber."
In our chamber, his heart whispered as he opened a drawer, its panels sliding easily on well-oiled runners, and gestured toward its interior. The drawer was empty, and Catherine knew in an instant that at some earlier time he had set aside this place for her in the hope that she would agree to his suggestion. The realization that he had done so even before their greater intimacy that afternoon touched her to the heart, and the tears that had threatened seconds earlier now filled her eyes. She wiped them away and then reached for the sweater Vincent still clasped to his chest.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice warm and full of love. "I would like that very much."
She quickly arranged the sweater in the otherwise empty drawer, wishing she had something else to add to it. She knew that Vincent's careful reference to convenience had little or nothing to do with his invitation -- or with her acceptance. In ways great and small, their worlds were finally merging and blending, slowly fulfilling their deepest dreams of sharing one world, one life together.
Catherine looked up at him, knowing the soft smile on his face was a reflection of her own. "I could go and get a few other things from my suitcase," she suggested. "It'll just take a minute."
He nodded almost shyly. "I'll wait here for you."
When she returned, her arms full of clothing and other items, she found Vincent standing just where she had left him. "There, that didn't take long, did it?" she called out happily.
His response was an enigmatic look, at once uncertain and hopeful. And when she came closer, she realized he had not simply waited for her in motionless silence.
In the drawer with the amethyst sweater were three other garments. Turning a bit, she dropped the burden she carried onto a nearby chair, ignoring the clink of a silver bracelet as it fell to the floor. And then reaching into the drawer with a hand that trembled only slightly, she touched the familiar softness of ivory angora wool and pale satin ribbons, the warmth of billowy white flannel, and then, sliding her hand beneath the two top garments, the unexpected coolness of silk.
She slowly pulled an emerald silk shawl out from under the other garments, the well-loved clothing she had worn while staying Below over a year earlier, seeking refuge after her father's death. She held the length of sleek, shimmering fabric to her face and breathed in the lingering memory of her own perfume, a soft, warm fragrance that Vincent had once shyly told her reminded him of summer roses and sunshine. Then she took a deeper breath and immediately found faint traces of something else, a wonderfully familiar blending of smoky candle flame, soft leather, and another more evocative scent, heated and fresh, that could only belong to him.
Catherine felt her heart pound. He has touched this shawl, recently and often, thinking of the night I wore it, holding it and wishing he were holding me... The rhythm of her heart echoed the surge of desire that jolted through her as she pictured him in that very chamber, slowly caressing the rich fabric, letting it ripple through his strong fingers, sighing heavily as he drew it forward to bury his face in it.
She felt the shawl flutter from her suddenly nerveless fingers as she turned to meet his anxious gaze. Then she warmed him in an instant with her smile. "Vincent, where did this come from? I thought I'd lost it ages ago."
He bent low to pick up the fragile fabric, then rose to return it to her with great care but obvious reluctance. To his chagrin, he felt a rosy heat rising along his neck and knew he was helpless to hide his discomfiture from her.
"You did lose it many months ago," he began carefully. "I found it among the cushions and pillows in our music chamber under the park. It was after the night we listened to the Philharmonic playing Orpheus and Eurydice in the bandshell above us. You wore the shawl over a blue dress... and you looked so beautiful."
"I remember that night..." The flair of passion heating her voice told him without a doubt that she remembered as vividly as he the way they had held and touched each other, still tentative but ever more trusting, that sultry late summer night. It had been only a few months since they had begun to heal from the horror of his emotional and physical collapse, and they’d treasured more than ever any chance to be together in tranquility and happiness.
Vincent returned her warm smile as he continued, his voice softly apologetic. "When I found it there the next morning, I meant to return it to you the next time I saw you. But somehow I never did."
"I didn't miss it until weeks later," Catherine replied. "And I forgot that I had worn it that night. I just assumed I'd left it somewhere and that I probably wouldn't get it back."
"Perhaps you forgot about it because you had other memories of that night," he suggested, averting his eyes for a moment before looking back at her, longing and expectation shaping his expressive features.
"The same ones you had, I hope." Smiling she extended her arms and dropped the shawl into his outstretched hands. "Summer will be here again in just a few months. Why don't you keep it for me until then?"
"Yes," he murmured, gently folding the silken fabric and placing it back inside the open drawer. "I will."
More than anything Catherine wanted to take him in her arms and hold him forever, but she knew it was past time that she leave. There was work she needed to do in the intrusive world Above, responsibilities that commanded her attention, no matter how hard she tried to ignore their insistent demands. Unconsciously she closed her eyes tightly and, bowing her head, raked her hands through her long hair. When she raised her head again, she found him gazing at her with undisguised yearning and sadness.
"You must return Above now, Catherine. Come, it's time."
Her eyes darted around the well-loved chamber, wildly seeking something, anything, to delay the dreaded moment of their parting. Forcing her voice to remain calm, she gestured toward the belongings she had dropped onto the chair.
"In a minute, Vincent. I need to put these things away first."
He shook his head, regretting with all his heart the words he had to say. "No, I can do that for you when I return. We both know waiting will not make this any easier to bear."
She sighed heavily. "No, I suppose not."
But when she began to walk toward the chamber entrance, he called out to her and she spun back in the direction of his voice, hope struggling against resignation.
"Vincent, what is it? I thought we agreed it would be better this way."
"Yes," he replied, his gaze sweeping toward the armoire and then back to her. "But before we go, I want to ask you something."
She waited patiently, but when he remained silent, her anxiety forced her to speak. "What do you want to ask me? Please tell me."
"I thought perhaps you would like to take something of mine to keep with you while you're Above."
His voice was so low and husky that for a moment she thought she had imagined rather than heard his words, at once impassioned and tender. "Yes," she answered softly. "Yes, I would like that very much."
As she watched, her heart beating faster with the sensations that flowed between them through their bond, he moved several wooden hangers aside and withdrew the ruffled linen shirt he knew she loved to see him wear. Without thinking, she rushed forward and grasped his arm, stilling his movement as he looked at her uncertainly.
She shook her head quickly. "Not that one!"
His look of puzzlement deepened. "But this shirt is one I know you like, Catherine."
"I do like that shirt -- very much. I love to see you in it."
Her reply was quick, yet did nothing at all to explain her perplexing actions. And then she chased away every shred of his confusion, leaving him full of desire and doubt, strength and uncertainty. She raised her hands to his shoulders, slowly, sensuously gliding them beneath the edges of his suede and cotton vest and over the blue chambray underneath, caressing him through the soft fabric.
"This is the shirt I want to take Above with me, Vincent. The one you wore today by the pool in the little hidden-away chamber. This is the one I want more than any other."
He swallowed hard, as if with such a simple gesture he could contain the soaring flames he felt within. He knew she was waiting for his answer, and he knew as well that there was only one he wanted to give.
"Then this is the one you shall have," he promised, his voice full of heat and hope.
Her smile was bright as she gazed up at him, her hands still resting against his shoulders. "Shall I go back to the guest chamber while you change then?"
His hands rose to clasp her gently about the waist. As he shook his head slowly and decisively, his long amber hair brushed over her wrists in warm, rustling waves. "No, stay here, Catherine, with me."
Catherine gasped, knowing how much she wanted this, knowing, too, how much it might cost him to please her in this way. Suddenly, it was she who felt uncertain, not of her desire nor of his, but of how to go on without harming him in any way. She tightened her grip reflexively on his wide shoulders and felt the granite-hard muscles ripple slightly beneath the worn cloth. Moments later she reluctantly pulled her hands away and, not knowing what else to do, let them fall uselessly at her sides.
When she began to speak, her voice was cautious and careful. "Vincent, you don't have to do this just for me. I --"
Then any further words of concern she might have offered were tossed aside and lost forever, as dry autumn leaves are flung away by the wind.
Though almost harsh in its strength, his voice was tempered by deep warmth and tenderness. "Catherine, you are not forcing me. You would never purposely do anything to hurt me, although I’ve hurt both of us with my doubts and fears. And even if it still isn’t the time for us to....to have all our dreams come true, perhaps we can move closer to them. I know this is what you want." The growing heat in his voice was reflected in the flickering flames in his eyes. "Know that it is what I want, too."
Her voice trembled with the emotions rushing through her. She didn't want to say another word, but knew she had to before her pounding heart overrode her wavering self-control. "Vincent, please be sure before..."
The words faded away in an unheard whisper, for in the next moment he gave her the reply she had sought.
Without tearing his gaze from hers, Vincent loosened his grasp on her waist and took a single step backward. Then raising his hands to his chest, he quickly untied his vest and slipped it off, setting it aside on the same chair that held Catherine's clothing. He brought his hands upward toward his throat, and before the prohibitions he had lived with all his life could once again imprison him, he hooked a taloned finger into the neckline of his shirt and with deliberate precision began to work his way downward, slowly unfastening each rough wooden button until he reached the barrier of his leather belt. Pausing only long enough to grip the soft cotton fabric and pull it upward to release it from his jeans, he continued until each button was undone.
The edges of the garment fluttered open, and as if suddenly filled with uncertainty, Vincent hesitated, tightly gripping the ends of the pale blue shirt in both hands. Without warning, his old doubts assailed him, filling him with shame, and it took every bit of his resolve not to turn away from her. Yet what he found in her then lent him strength and courage. She would not let him hide. Even as her soft voice spoke aloud, the love in her heart touched him through their bond, echoing her words and bathing him in a pure and healing light.
"I know you are beautiful, Vincent. I know. You have nothing more to fear."
A final question rippled through him, only to be soothed away in an instant. How can I not trust her now -- or myself? And then he loosened his hold on the shirt so that he might reach for her small hands.
Catherine knew his outward calmness belied the turbulence that still roiled within him. Then her smile flared like a sunburst when she felt his hands close firmly around hers, urging them forward toward the center of his chest. Once there he pressed her hands to the open edges of the shirt and released her, letting his own hands slip lower until they rested tautly against his thighs. They both knew he had offered her a choice, trusting her with all his heart. Never would he force his will upon her, even knowing the great depth of his hopes and dreams were hers as well.
So sweet and sure was his faith that her eyes filled with tears, until the tiny drops sparkled with reflected candlelight and matched the radiance of her smile. No one else but Vincent had ever loved her this much, no one else ever could. And in that moment, she somehow knew that there was nothing on earth powerful enough to drive them apart again.
"I love you, Vincent," she whispered softly. "I love you for trusting me, for loving me like you do."
"I always will," he promised, his husky voice a solemn counterpoint to the deliciously expectant light that flared in his eyes. "Until you came into my life, I never really knew how to trust, how to love so fully and completely as I love you."
The look they shared was incandescent, as if the bond itself shimmered with light and heat. Catherine could feel the warmth of his body radiating against her hands and she was filled with the need to touch him. Opening her fingers, she finally let the edges of the shirt fall free, and then, moving quickly, she slid her hands past that boundary and pressed them hard against the hard strength of his chest.
He shuddered and drew in a hoarse, harsh breath, but did nothing to stop her, wanting and needing her to go on. And when her hands began to slide upward over rock-hard muscles and warm silken hair to reach his shoulders, he felt his entire body tighten as he anticipated her intent. Without further thought, he moved to help her, shrugging aside the crumpled shirt even as she pushed it from his shoulders, then tugging it down and off his arms to throw it aside, unneeded and unwanted. When Catherine backed away slightly, some small part of his innermost self felt a short, sharp jolt of fear. But one look at her glowing face helped him abandon that errant feeling, recognizing that it, too, was entirely unneeded.
Catherine did nothing to disguise the unbridled excitement that flared within her. The virile reality of the man before her surpassed every seductive imagining she'd ever had of him, and her instinctive reaction was so over-whelming that for several long moments she could only stare at him, stunned by the impact of his sensual gift to her. Gasping as if he literally took her breath away, she let her eyes devour the sight of him golden and gleaming in the light of the chamber's candles.
She had always known he would be beautiful -- the powerful arms which had held her so many times with strength and gentleness; the wide chest where she had nestled, both exhilarated and content, yearning to touch him; the vulnerable hollow at the base of his throat where he had let her taste the pounding beat of his pulse. The tautly defined muscles of his chest were only slightly concealed by an expanse of lush amber hair, its silken strands darkening to bronze as they tapered away over his flat stomach, to vanish beneath the jeans that hugged his narrow hips. The very sight of him was incredibly arousing, but it was not enough. Murmuring his name, Catherine raised her hands to his shoulders, feeling him tremble as he sensed her need to touch what her dazzled eyes had seen.
Her hands were warm and reassuring as she gently caressed his shoulders and chest. She had intended to keep her touch light and easy, not wanting to expose him further to the impact of her fiery emotions, but she could not. The sensation of her hands gliding over his smooth skin and velvety hair was even more intense than she had anticipated, and with a low moan she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she nuzzled her face against him.
Immediately Vincent gathered her into his arms, holding her close as he leaned down to bury his face in her hair, muffling the huskiness of his voice as he whispered her name over and over again. Never before had a woman touched him like this and it was more than he could have imagined. To his surprise, he felt none of the fear or embarrassment he would have expected; instead there was nothing but an overwhelming sense of rightness, an unshakable belief that this was the way it was meant to be for them.
At the sound of his voice, Catherine raised her head to look into his eyes, finding a smoldering warmth within the semblance of serenity, a blue summer sky before a storm. Parting her lips, she raised herself up for his kiss, quivering as his mouth moved over hers, gently demanding everything she would eagerly give. She felt his tongue trace the soft fullness of her lips slowly and deliberately, and she moaned softly, trembling the sweet warmth of her breath into his hungry mouth as he deepened their kiss. Then, with a final, lingering caress, he pulled away, leaving both of them elated and yet filled with longing.
He looked down at her, wanting to tell her what she meant to him, knowing how it would delight her to hear the words, understanding that she already knew. Then the deep breath he took turned to an uneven gasp as he saw how the candlelight glistened on her lips still warm and moist from his kisses. Unable to resist, he pulled her back into his arms, chuckling softly as she nuzzled her head against his chest, feeling her soft mouth curve into a smile.
"Catherine, 'thou art to me a delicious torment,'" he quoted, his voice low and full of heat.
Finding the place nearest his heart, she pressed quick kisses into the golden silk of his hair, and then leaned back to grin up at him. "Shakespeare?"
He shook his head. "Emerson."
Catherine laughed appreciatively as they slowly ended their embrace. "Vincent, you truly are unique. There couldn't possibly be another man on earth who could come up with a quotation from Emerson at a time like this, and make it sound like the most sensual thing I've ever heard!"
His eyes darkened to cobalt. "There are other things I want to say to you. So many other things."
Her soft, breathy voice drifted over him, full of promise. "And someday, someday soon, we'll have all the time we need to say those things to one another."
"Yes, Catherine, someday soon."
Backing away, Vincent turned and reached for the chambray shirt. He held the garment for several seconds, staring down at it with a lingering sense of disbelief, before placing it in her hands. Then as he watched Catherine gather the shirt close and nestle her face in its soft, crumpled folds, he sensed the final fragments of self-doubt shatter and fall away into nothingness.
She could feel the warmth of his gaze resting on her like the soft gleam of a sunrise. Raising her head, she brushed tousled strands of hair away from her eyes now luminous with joyful tears.
"It still hurts terribly to leave you, Vincent, but it's only for a little while, and I promise that it won't always end like this for us."
"I know, Catherine." He nodded solemnly, sharing the bittersweet echoes within their bond. "We will find our way."
Turning away from her for a moment, Vincent reached to the top shelf of the armoire, stretching to catch hold of a heavy, ivory wool sweater. He raised the sweater over his head, inordinately conscious of the way the toned muscles of his arms and back flexed and rippled -- and equally aware that Catherine was watching his every move with fiery fascination. He pulled on the sweater and shook his head, settling his long blond hair over his shoulders in waves of amber, honey, and gold that glistened in the flickering light. Then, reaching for his cloak, he began to turn back toward her, concentrating all his efforts on ignoring the throbbing current of their bond, remembering how difficult it had been to end their earlier embraces, doubting he would have the strength to resist bringing their next one to its natural conclusion.
As soon as he faced her, he knew her thoughts had been the twin of his own, and for several moments they simply looked at one another, sharing hopes and dreams and promises. Then, inexplicably Catherine's smile turned fanciful as she reached for his hand and started for the chamber entrance. "In five days it will be our third anniversary," she began, laughing softly at the wry expression her unnecessary announcement brought to his face. "Did I tell you I have a surprise for you?"
"No, but I suspected as much."
She turned her head sharply in his direction, narrowing her eyes in wariness. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Only that you have always planned something special for that day, Catherine. Through our bond I can sense your strongest feelings. But I haven't developed the ability to read your mind."
Blushing slightly, she shook her head. "That's not what I thought. It's just that I've been very careful to keep this a secret until the time is right. And I'd find it hard to forgive even you for spoiling it." She squeezed his hand and felt his fingers clasp hers more firmly in response.
Catherine's thoughts immediately swept to a brownstone on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, the house she had purchased with Peter Alcott. If all went as planned, it was there that her surprise for Vincent would be revealed. She felt a shiver of anticipation ripple through her at the possibilities that awaited them, purposely ignoring the fissures of fear that wavered through her beautiful dream like tiny fault lines through an otherwise flawless piece of crystal.
They had walked several paces before he spoke again, catching her off guard, yet thoroughly delighting her with his seemingly casual comment. "Perhaps I’ll have a surprise for you, too, Catherine."
Her green eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. "Do I get three guesses?"
"No guesses."
"Not even one?" she persisted, knowing he loved the chance to tease her.
He shook his head firmly. "Not even one. You'll have to be patient until Friday night."
Catherine sighed heavily, maintaining an air of exasperation. "You know, you can be very difficult when you want to, Vincent."
"I know."
Surreptitiously raising her eyebrows, Catherine ducked her head to hide her smile. Somehow she knew the smug satisfaction in the tone of his voice was not entirely an act, but instead of annoying her as it would have done with almost any other man, she found his uncharacteristic boldness to be endearing beyond words. The freedom to relax and be himself with her was part of the gift that she could offer him .
They reached the small guest chamber, and Catherine carefully packed Vincent's shirt in her now half-empty suitcase. He took the bag from her as they turned to leave, but once in the passageway, she paused. "I said good-bye to Mary and the others at supper, but Father wasn't there. I should speak to him before I go." She did her best to hide the hesitancy in her voice, knowing he would sense it anyway.
"Yes," Vincent agreed. "He would wish to see you before you leave."
They walked the relatively short distance to Father's chambers in uneasy silence, but once there they found the galleried library to be well-lit but entirely empty of people.
"Wait here, Catherine. I'll go and see if Father is in his inner chamber. He may be reading or he might have decided to retire early."
She nodded, feeling foolishly relieved at the prospect that she might not have to face the older man after all.
Don't be ridiculous, she told herself firmly. You're acting like a child who's done something wrong and is afraid of getting caught! Everything will work out. I'm sure of it. I‘ll talk to him again very soon. I have to. There's too much at risk to let things slide for much longer....
Moments later Vincent returned to her side. "Father is there, but he appears to have fallen asleep in his chair while reading. We shouldn't disturb him now. I'll check on him again when I return."
Catherine nodded her agreement and then led the way up the short metal staircase into the main passageway. She did not see the worried lines that creased Vincent's forehead, nor did she feel the surge of trepidation that he managed to conceal from her. Vincent knew that Father had only pretended to be asleep when he had entered the room and that the sole purpose of his deception was to avoid seeing Catherine.
This cannot continue, he vowed silently. I will talk with him, and surely he will understand. It will be difficult, but not impossible.
A beautiful smile curved Vincent's unique mouth and thoughts of his father were too easily set aside.
With Catherine's love, he told himself, all things are possible.

somewhere i have never traveled
e.e. cummings

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence;
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands