The rusty-colored mark showed where water had been seeping through from above to trail a path down one of the corners. Such marks were ubiquitous throughout the house.
She grimaced when a large drop splattered onto the floor. “I’ll get a bucket.” She’d learned that such leaks were what had been ruining all of her floors.
By the time she’d returned from the kitchen, Luke had retrieved a ladder and was pulling soaked strips of plaster away from the corner, shaking his head.
The plaster fell away in sopping heaps that reminded Naomi of strips she’d once used as a child to make a paper mâché elephant.
“Oh, hell, Naomi.” He looked concerned as more of another large strip dropped to the floor. “Hand me that bucket.” He stepped up higher and practically disappeared into the ceiling.
Naomi watched him in concern, but as he stretched and reached, she found herself noticing how the muscles in his thick thighs rippled when he twisted. And beneath his shirt, where the material pressed against his abdomen, the flesh wasn’t soft but corded so as to appear almost ropey.
She shivered.
What would that feel like? To touch?
She licked her lips and got so lost in her own imagination that she didn’t realize he’d emerged and was watching her.
“Naomi?”
She lifted her gaze to his and her insides tightened at what she saw in his.
Lust?
But then it was gone. She’d imagined it. She must have. And she could chalk her sudden bout of her own physical yearnings up to the changes her body was going through. This unfortunately wasn’t the first time she’d caught herself doing this.
If this unsavory habit wasn’t caused by the physical changes her body was going through, what kind of a woman would she be? And if she had seen lust, then what kind of man would that make Luke? Reluctant to analyze such cravings, she shook her head and smiled cheerfully. “Sorry. Excuse me?”
“Hand me one of those rags?”
“Oh, oh. Yes.” She scooped one off the floor and approached the ladder. What she failed to take into consideration was that when she handed it up to him her face would be embarrassingly close to what she’d been ogling moments before.
Heat flushed up her neck.
“Are you all right?” He’d bent down to peer at her closely. Lost for a moment in the sky blue of his eyes, the memory of him rowing her across the pond last spring popped into her head. Last spring, without fail, he had treated her with respect and concern.
She had liked him.
He hadn’t been as flamboyant as Arthur, but she had liked Luke very much.
When he’d taken her out on the water, she’d wanted him to kiss her. How had she forgotten that? But wished…
“Naomi?”
Dismayed by her thoughts, she practically threw the rag at him and then stumbled backward. “It’s… hot in here. I think I’m just a little overheated.”
“I’ll get you some water.” He was narrowing his eyes now as he climbed down, the leak momentarily forgotten.
“No. Don’t bother.” She backed toward the door, refusing to meet his gaze. “I’ll check in with Ester and get it myself. Please, don’t concern yourself. I’ll be right back.” Or not at all. Not, at least, until she could get these inclinations under control.
“Perhaps you ought to lie down for a spell,” he suggested.
“Yes. Yes.” Anything to curtail these yearnings. Because the thoughts that had begun to cross her mind were unthinkable.
She missed the intimacy she’d experienced with Arthur. That was all.
That was all!
Naomi rushed out of the room and into the foyer and, instead of seeking out Ester, scurried into her bedchamber and immediately closed the door behind her.
If she was to be strictly honest with herself, the facet she’d loved most about her marriage had been the lovemaking. It was nothing she could ever admit to anyone. Whenever she’d overheard older ladies speak of the marriage bed, they’d complained that it was something to be endured, to be tolerated. It was meant only for the procreation of children.
But… Arthur had awakened something inside of her and now…
Now he was gone.
Standing with her back pressed against the door, she moved the hand resting on her belly to just beneath her breast.
“Arthur,” she whispered, imagining it was her husband’s hand. Only he’d also used his mouth. He’d laved his tongue gently around the tip. He’d been learning what she liked. Both of them had been. The first few months of marriage her husband had only begun to allow her a glimpse into the pleasures they could share with one another.
And then he’d left.
Naomi massaged the sensitive flesh that weighed heavily in her own hand. As she increased the pressure, she fantasized a man suckling and even biting softly. Heat rushed to her core, and she resisted lowering her other hand to offer herself some relief.
“Mrs. Gilcrest.” Ester’s voice from the other side of the door had Naomi jumping guiltily. “The major asked me to bring you some tea and a bite to eat. Are you unwell?”
“I’m—I’m fine.” Naomi opened the door. Tea was an excellent idea. She obviously needed… something. Although a niggling voice in the back of her head assured her that whatever it was she needed, it definitely wasn’t tea.
Chapter Six
Luke sighed and climbed down the ladder. With each repair he made, he seemed to find a dozen others that needed to be addressed. Weather permitting, he’d have to get on the roof again tomorrow.
He couldn’t help but wonder that the house hadn’t already fallen down around her. She’d wanted to paint the room, but it wouldn’t do any good to do that until the leak was repaired.
He turned his head when the door, which had been left partially ajar, pushed all the way open.
“I don’t know what came over me.” Naomi paused, looking hesitant. Her color seemed normal again, although her cheeks still held a soft pink rosy glow.
He’d caught her staring at his behind and although he was tempted to tease her about it, checked himself. Now wasn’t the time.
It wasn’t as though he hadn’t ogled her a time or two over the past week. And it wasn’t as though he didn’t experience a pang of sickening guilt afterward either—for yearning after her, with Gil barely dead a month.
It was the only reason he’d been able to recognize the expression on her face so easily. He’d been fighting the same desires himself.
And then a horrid thought turned his stomach. Had she imagined that he was Gil? He swallowed hard.
Unlike him, she’d had absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. Her housekeeper-maid, Ester, had commented more than once how sensitive expectant women were. Carrying the baby affected Naomi’s emotions, it affected her physically, it even affected which foods she could eat. Naomi had said she used to like beef in stew but on the one occasion Ester attempted to serve her red meat, she’d turned a pale shade of green and hurried outside.
Of course, carrying the baby would affect other appetites as well.
“Luke?” Her voice broke through his thoughts.
“I’m sorry. Woolgathering, I suppose.”