A Lasting Impression

Even hopefulness.
    “I’m sorry, Claire, again, if my not telling you about her earlier on hurt you in any way.” He cradled her face, stroking the curve of her cheek with his thumb, and unknowingly fanning the spark inside her into a flame. “I promise you, that was never my intention. Your . . . friendship is very important to me.”
    “And yours is the most important of my life, Sutton.” His thumb stilled on her cheek. Claire read surprise in his eyes, and for an instant, she wished she could take back the words.
    Then he smiled, only the tiniest bit, and more with his eyes than with his lips. Oh, but those lips . . .
    He got that look about him again, as though wrestling with something, and the sea blue of his eyes darkened. His thumb slid from her cheek to her mouth, and he traced a feather-soft path over her lower lip. She closed her eyes, thinking that maybe if she didn’t look at him, she wouldn’t be so moved.
    But the lack of sight only made her that much more aware of his touch.
    His hands, so strong, so warm . . . One of them edged down her neck, and she tilted her head, certain the hillside moved beneath them. And then, his lips on her cheek. Oh, how was she still standing? His breath was warm and minty. And his hand, inching up her arm only added to the weakness in the hollow backs of her knees.
    “Open your eyes,” he whispered.
    But she didn’t want to. She didn’t want it to end.
    “Claire . . .” He sighed, a smile somehow wrapped up in the sound.
    Reluctantly, she did as he asked, and what she saw in his eyes took her breath away. It was then that she realized he was holding her in his arms, and her arms were around his neck. And that he intended to—
    His lips brushed hers, softly at first, as though she might break, then grew more confident, and eager. He tasted like peppermint and sunshine, and somewhere deep inside, long cordoned off and forgotten, a place slowly began to open again.
    Or maybe it was opening for the first time. Yes . . . that was it. Because never had anyone touched her there before.

    Sutton deepened the kiss, and her willing response sent a bolt of lightning through him. With determination he knew was right but was already regretting, he drew back. He wasn’t sure who was more breathless, him or her.
    Seeing her eyes still closed, her lips full and parted, any question in his mind about whether this woman felt more than mere friendship for him, vanished. He kissed her cheek, and she slowly opened her eyes. His chest tightened at the mixture of innocence and desire he saw there.
    On impulse, he drew her to him again and held her, tracing the small of her back, then the curve of her spine, admiring how well they fit together, her head tucked beneath his chin, her arms around his waist. If he had to choose between kissing her and holding her, he would definitely choose the kissing. But the holding wasn’t too bad either.
    “My father and I,” she said softly, her cheek against his chest. “We weren’t close.”
    We weren’t close. Only three words. Yet they said so much, and helped to explain her reaction from moments earlier. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
    “My mother and I were, though.”
    He felt her quick intake of breath and tightened his arms around her, wishing he could take away the pain in her voice. “And she passed away how long ago?”
    “Almost eight months.” She exhaled. “Tuberculosis.”
    “I’m so sorry.”
    She gradually looked up at him. “A moment ago you said that your family house stood. Meaning it’s not there anymore?”
    He looked back in the direction of Laurel Bend. “The house is gone. The Federal Army burned it—and everything else—to the ground. . . . The same day they killed my father.”
    Questions flitted across her face, and yet she said nothing, only waited, her gaze patient.
    “Federal officers had been out to the house, more than once, demanding that he sign the Oath of Allegiance. That he and I both sign it.”
    “But you both refused?”
    He nodded. “My father served in the hospitals and cared for the wounded. His family, patients, and friends were fighting for the Confederacy, but he refused to take up arms against his fellow countrymen.” Sutton stared out across the valley toward home, or what was once his home, and told her about finding his father’s bloodied body, and of his mother collapsing in his arms. “The reason my father refused to sign the oath was because of me. I told him that