Written In Stone

tonight.
    She hadn't felt this way about a man since Jonathan. No, she corrected herself, and God forgive her, she never even felt this way when Jonathan touched her — she loved Jonathan so very much. She'd never thought of Jonathan the way she kept thinking of Gavin Stone. She didn't feel guilty now, thinking of another man when she had held so tightly to Jonathan's memory for the last two very long years since he died. Jonathan was a wonderful, caring, sweet man. A man a woman could depend on to care for her, love her, and make sure she wanted for nothing. A man any woman would imagine marrying. But Gavin, oh, Gavin was wild. Gavin made her blood sing; made her dream strange dreams; made her ache deep within her body. Gavin was the type of man a woman bedded while she waited for the Jonathan's of the world to come along and marry.
    Not that making love with Jonathan hadn't been pleasant, it had. Of course, he was the only man she ever made love with, so she'd had nothing to use for comparison. Nevertheless, he made her feel nice, made her feel loved, and making love with him was very sweet, even if she never actually felt unbridled passion with him. Gavin made her feel that kind of passion, the kind that made a woman scream a man's name. The kind that made a woman want him naked with her at all times of the day, every day, not just Tuesday and Saturday nights at precisely nine o'clock. Gavin was the type of lover, or would be, Angie corrected herself, that she dreamed of while swimming nude at the falls.
    Floating on her back in the cool water, daydreaming, she would turn over to find a broad chested, muscled, handsome man standing on the bank, watching her, a slight smile on his lips, lust flaring in his eyes. She would tread water, watching him as he undressed slowly in front of her, and then watch him stroke his hand over his hard cock as he walked slowly into the pool to her. Neither of them would say a word; everything that needed saying, they would say with their eyes; all the want, need, desire, and lust, shining in their eyes. His mouth would come down hard on hers as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his waist. Then…
    Angie sat up in bed and lit the oil lamp on the table. She knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep for a while now. The fantasy, and the memory of herself in Gavin's arms, brought a fever to her brow. In the fantasy, the man at the pool now became Gavin Stone. What did she feel for this man? Was it just lust? Or desire for a man, any man, because she has been alone for so long? Thinking of Gavin made her mind spin with such decadent ideas, and her body ached with such desire, she didn't know what came over her.
    Struggling to get herself into the wheelchair, she went out onto the terrace where it would be much cooler. She couldn't help but relive the moments with him standing there, thoroughly amused at the sight before him, and she smiled at the memory. What was that look she saw in his eyes? Was it lust? Was it want? Need? Did he even remember the moment now that he'd left? Was she acting like a silly girl who never had a man court her before?
    "Oh, Angie, you are acting like a silly schoolgirl," she said, raking a hand through her hair. What would a man like that see in a woman like me? Why would a man like that even remember my name? A crippled woman is hardly the stuff romance is made of. She sighed. Fantasies aside, she still couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to make love to that man. Angie rolled her chair back into her room, leaving the door partly open to allow fresh air to circulate in the stifling room, and managed to maneuver herself back into bed. She stared into the darkness after extinguishing the lamp by her bed and finally fell asleep.
    ~ * ~
    Gavin stood, silently watching her sleep. Having given up on sleep himself, he had wandered the grounds around his house, and how he wound up in town, at Angela Elliott's house, he had no idea. However, realizing where he was, he couldn't resist seeing her again. Entering her room as quietly as if he were simply a shadow cast by the light of the moon, he stepped closer to her bed, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. Her face was peaceful, and her chestnut hair spread about her on the pillow like a halo. Feeling his heartbeat quicken, his blood swim faster through his veins, he shook his head. Never had he had a reaction like this to a woman, not even in the throes of passion. Of