Delaney's Sunrise. Rhonda Lee Carver

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      Smooth, warm lips moved across the sensitive skin of Dee’s bare neck and shoulders. She threaded her fingers through Abe’s thick, long hair. Her nails skimmed his scalp. She arched her back. Her erect nipples pressed against his chest. The crisp hair tickled her breasts.

      The sensation brought her to new heights. She wanted this feeling to go on forever. She needed him with a penetrating, undeniable desire. Consumed by it, she bucked her hips.

      He pulled back and stared down at her. His mocha eyes reflected what she yearned for. Dee whispered his name, “Abe...”

      And then he was gone as cold air swept across her bare skin.

      Lifting up on her elbows, Dee blinked gritty eyes and stared into the pitch-black bedroom. Her cheeks burned, and her cotton gown clung to damp skin. Her tangled hair stuck to her cheeks. She pushed the tresses aside. Only a dream, but her body tingled, rousing cravings that left an aching wetness between her legs.

      As her eyes adjusted, she scanned the dark room. She was alone. Good...maybe.

      She sighed and buried her face into her clammy palms. Her breaths raced; she tried to pace them. The lingering intimacy and sensuality left a distressing quiver in her gut. The worst part? That had been the best sex she’d had in years.

      The mattress welcomed her body as she buried her head in the soft pillow. Memories flooded her sleepy mind. She forced herself to think about Jacob, but as always her mind thrust Abe into her thoughts with guilty pleasure.

      She’d cared for Jacob, but their relationship had been a whirlwind from the moment they’d met. Their love had never blossomed and hadn’t gotten any further then two people longing for happiness.

      Dee rolled over and sniffed back tears. The darkness paled as a silver glow of moonlight flowed through the window. The light feathered across the wall. She watched the designs that shifted against the wallpaper. Silence engulfed her in an invisible cloak. Except for the occasional crack and creak of the old house, the stillness settled. In the city, the quiet was laced with horns blaring, police sirens and music. Someone always had music playing.

      Her thoughts went to Abe, to his bedroom down the hall. She listened for sounds that he was still awake. She was deeply aware that he was close, yet so far. Was he lying in bed, plotting to get rid of her? She hoped he realized she planned to stay. She wanted to make her home here. Maybe even start a business. She wanted to feel whole again, and this was a start. She had nowhere else to go, no family.

      She drifted to sleep with Abe on her mind.

      The sun came up bright the next morning. Unfortunately, earlier than Dee wanted. It flooded her room with its warm light, as if telling her the day started early on a farm. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Nine o’clock. She’d guess Abe had been up for a few hours.

      She stretched beneath the covers and yawned. A pretty cardinal stopped by her windowsill, tweeting in greeting. “Good morning to you too.” She pushed off the blanket and climbed from bed. The wooden floor was cold on her toes.

      Dee hurried to the adjoining bathroom and glared at her reflection in the mirror. She’d tossed and turned most of the night. Her frizzy hair resembled a poodle’s do, and she didn’t think even a good brushing could tame the mane.

      Her boots clunked against the rungs and echoed off the white walls as she headed downstairs. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten much yesterday, and her greasy burger had long vacated her system. She meandered into the kitchen, expecting to find Mrs. Graves, but she was nowhere in sight. Dee rummaged through the cabinet and settled on a blueberry muffin and a cup of strong coffee. Feeling a bit like a thief in the kitchen, Dee quickly snuck out before she was caught.

      Nostalgia washed over her as she roamed the empty house, looking at the family photos lining the walls. It evoked a feeling of loss and curiosity at what might have been.

      Making her way into the living room, she skimmed a fingernail over the stiff bindings of rows of shelved books. Restlessness kept her from finding one of interest. She sat down at the antique piano and pressed the keys. The notes squealed under her unskilled fingers.

      Sighing, СКАЧАТЬ