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An Excerpt From: NIGHTS OF FIRE
© Copyright LEONIE
DANIELS, 2004.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.
“Come,” she said, leading him towards the ladder.
“Wait a minute.” He felt embarrassed at the idea of walking
around naked with her. “Where are my clothes?”
“I burned them.”
“Burned...” He seemed to remember her saying something
about that. Ages ago. “Why?”
“They were all torn, and covered in blood and mud and...ugh, who knows what else?”
“But—”
“You couldn’t have worn them again, chéri,
je te le jure. So I burned them. I don’t expect anyone to
come here, but if I’m wrong, then it’s better that
no one should find those clothes. They’d realize right away that—”
“Yes, I see.” He supposed he did. It was a sensible
precaution. “But surely I must have other clothes?”
“Not here.” Sensing his hesitation, she let out her
breath on an impatient puff. “Paul, there is no one here but me, and I see
you naked often.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “You like me to
look at you naked.”
He could well believe that. And at least he seemed to be
in decent shape for showing himself off to her. “It’s just that, uh...”
“I see.” She was getting annoyed. “You let me do
the things I did this morning when you didn’t even know my name. But
now that you know I’m your wife, you don’t want me to see you
naked.”
“When you put it that way,” he admitted, “it sounds bad.
But this morning, we were making love. Whereas now—”
“Were we?” she snapped. “Love? You didn’t even know my
name!”
“But you knew I was your husband—”
“While you thought I was just some woman you were
enjoying for a few minutes!”
“No, I thought you had saved my life—”
“Oh, and your way of saying merci was to roll
around in the straw with me?” Her sarcasm made him wince. “What if some
other woman had rescued you? Would you be in bed with her now?”
“Not unless she was also as bold as a cat in
heat,” he snapped back. “It’s not fair to blame me completely for—”
She gasped in outrage. “A cat in heat! Monstre! You’re the one who taught me to be bold
with you! You like it!”
“I know! Without remembering! I can tell! In fact, I love
it. I loved it so much this morning, I wanted you
even though I was half-dead. So why,” he demanded, angry by now,
“are we fighting about it?”
“Because when I took off my clothes for you last night—”
“You were so beautiful, I—”
“Or put you in my mouth this morning—”
“And I’d have died a happy—”
“You might have found the time to mention,” she snarled,
“that you thought I was a total stranger instead of the woman you married!”
“My body could tell—”
“Because if I had known that you didn’t know that we do
things like that together all of the time—”
“We do?”
“Yes!” she cried furiously.
“In that case, I married very well, didn’t I?”
“I might have been a little more...A little less...”
“Yes?” he prodded.
She sputtered, “I would not have...”
His anger was fading now, being replaced by amusement.
And comfort. This did feel familiar. Wonderfully so. “Would not have
what?” he asked, cheerfully goading her. Did he even like arguing with her?
He must be in love.
“I would never have—”
“Put my hands on your breasts?” he offered helpfully.
“Or taken me in your mouth—”
“Yes!”
“With, I might add, stunning expertise. Is it always
that good, or was this morning special?”
“You’ll just have to live with not knowing, won’t you?”
“I guess you wouldn’t have put my hand between your
legs, either?”
“I did not—” She paused. “Did I?”
“And showed me how to make you happy.”
“Since you’d forgotten.”
“Still, I muddled through well enough, didn’t I?” She
grunted noncommittally in reply, so he continued, “Oh, well, if I’ve left
you wanting, we can certainly—”
“Oh, stop,” she said in exasperation. “Enough.”
“Of course, at the time, you seemed pretty pleased. But
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not quite myself, so—”
“Are you sure?” she said dryly, also sounding more
amused than angry now. “Because you’re starting to sound just like
yourself.”
He came closer, ready to make up. “Am I an irritating
husband?”
“Very,” she whispered, reaching for him.
They bumped noses in the dark, laughed softly, and then
kissed. They were gentle, mindful of his sore lip—and of each other’s
volatile feelings right now.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I came back from death, and
you were there. So beautiful. So free with my body...and with yours, too.”
“Well, you’re my husband,” she whispered back, “even if
you don’t remember that.”
He slid his arms around her, trying to imagine what this
must be like for her, being with a spouse who didn’t know her. She
hesitated for a moment, then embraced him, too.
Her palms were smooth and warm on his naked back, and
exquisitely gentle on the bandages she had put over the stinging marks of
the whip the Gestapo had used on him. Her fingers absently kneaded his
shoulders. Her breasts flattened against his chest, the worn fabric of her
slip a delicate barrier between them. Her flat belly snuggled against his
groin, and she ran her hands down to his buttocks, which she cupped and
suddenly gripped hard, pulling his hips possessively against her.
“This body is mine as much as yours,” she informed him
fiercely. “You gave it to me.”
Wedding vows. “With my body I thee worship.”
“Yes. And you have been...well, a very dutiful
husband in that respect.”
“But not in other respects?” he asked.
She pressed her face against his neck. “As much as you
can be, Paul. But the war is not kind to lovers. Or to marriage.”
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