Free The Rebel and His Bride by Bonnie Pega Page A

She chatted with Lem a while, admired his horses Sally and Pepper, and left with a bushel basket half-full of baby squash and early cucumbers.
    On the way home, she stopped by Caterina’s shop and visited, then went by Bosco’s and treated herself to a Bosco Sunrise Special—a lemon Sno-Kone with a swirl of orange and a squirt of cherry in the center. She spent a few more minutes chatting with Bosco’s mother, Ada, who cashiered for Bosco two days a week.
    It took some effort, but she managed to keep her mind off Gregory, even during an evening spent with Gran and Lute watching television. Gran, bless her heart, was more interested in hearing about Lute’s drive up to Richmond than in pumping Annabelle for more information about her relationship, such as it was, with Gregory.
    By bedtime she was feeling pretty pleased with herself. Every time Gregory’s face had popped into her mind during the evening, she’d been able to distract herself long enough to get past it. She wasn’t just pleased, she was downright proud of herself. Maybe she’d survive this summer after all.
    She should have known, she told herself later, that pride goeth before a fall. Her conscious mind had been moderately successful in not dwelling on Gregory, but her subconscious mind didn’t even try to fight it. She couldn’t have been asleep long before a vivid dream—a memory, really—swept her back into the past.
    Gregory unlocked the door to the tiny one-room apartment he rented off campus. Before he entered, he turned to Annabelle. “Are you sure, babe?”
    Annabelle had loved Gregory for nearly all the three months she’d known him, but going to bed with him was still a big step. When she looked into his eyes and saw the tender yearning there, her answer was clear. “I’m sure.”
    When he closed the door, she burrowed into his arms and he kissed her. She opened her mouth to him, shivering when he deepened the kiss. His kisses had always been a wonderful end to their evenings, but tonight she knew it was just the beginning. She wrapped her arms tighter around him, pressing her suddenly sensitive breasts to his chest
.
    He pulled back far enough for his gaze to search hers. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he lowered his head and kissed her again. He kissed her until she pushed away and began to unbutton the denim shirt she wore. Gregory brushed her hands aside and finished the job himself, then drew her shirt down her arms
.
    She felt her face flush when he unfastened her plain white bra and tossed it aside and she fought the urge to cover herself with her hands. All her self-consciousnessdisappeared when she saw Gregory’s face. He looked at her in awe as he cupped each breast in his hands and groaned. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful.”
    She felt beautiful as he caressed her breasts, kissed them, sucked the aching tips into his mouth. She also felt things she’d never felt before. She felt as if all the blood coursing through her veins had suddenly pooled low in her body and heated to the boiling point. She whispered his name, but didn’t know how to say what she was feeling, didn’t know how to ask for what she needed
.
    Gregory, with flawless intuition, seemed to know. He took her by the hand and led her next to the bed. Instead of pulling her back into his arms, he pressed a kiss on the palm of her hand, the inside of her wrist and elbow, her shoulder. He pressed tiny kisses up the side of her neck before taking her lips again and filing his hands with her breasts. He circled his thumbs around her nipples until she moaned and clutched at him for support. Then he quickly removed her jeans and panties and lay with her on the bed
.
    He caressed her again and again, as if he couldn’t get enough. He caressed the hollow of her throat, the curve of her shoulder, the valley between her breasts. He caressed her rosy nipples, the flat smoothness of her stomach, then finally the silky nest of curls between