Plantation Read Online Free PDF Page B

line. To my complete amazement, his lips fit mine so perfectly, it was like kissing my twin. My arms were around his neck and even though I was considered tall, I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach his face with mine. It was the kiss of a lifetime, the kind you read about, not the kind you got. The longer he held me, the more emboldened I became.
    When he ran his hands down my hips and cupped my backside he said, “You’re not wearing panties.”
    I said, “Oops. Got dressed too fast.”
    His tongue traveled my neck, stopping here and there for a nip.
    “I’ll overlook it this time,” he said. “Don’t let it happen again.”
    That seemed like a good breaking point to me. If we didn’t stop then, we wouldn’t stop all night, so I said, “Listen, bubba, we’d better give it a rest. Nice southern girls don’t just peel down on the first date, you know.”
    “Bubba?”
    I slipped away from him and led him to the living room. “You stay here while I cook, okay?” I pushed him into the overstuffed chair and put his feet up on the hassock.

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    “Caroline? What is bubba? And where is my wine?”
    I picked up his glass, refilled it, and brought it to him. “In this case, it’s a term of endearment.”
    Dinner was delicious and I thought briefly about Abe the butcher and how I had created this set for The Love Boat from the Goldbergs’ stash and the lobby plants. Wynton Marsalis played low and moanful in the background. While we drank both bottles of wine, he told me about his childhood. He could’ve read me the want ads and I would’ve thought it was poetry.
    His story was a tearjerker. He was born in London, the only son of a successful jeweler. He lost his mother to ovarian cancer when he was only twelve years old. His father had remarried shortly after that to a divorcée with three young children of her own. He was sent to boarding school, as he and his stepmother had major differences. He distinguished himself academically and went on to medical school, where he decided he wanted to be a psychologist. Richard was doing his dissertation when he met his first wife, Lois.
    Evidently, nothing good came from that marriage except an infant son, whom he adored. As he told me all of this I was lost in his hazel eyes. They had little flecks of green and gold in them.
    Between dinner and dessert, Richard’s hand found its way to under my dress. We were definitely on the road to Sodom.
    “There’s something on my leg,” I said, feigning fright.
    “Don’t worry, I can cure your delusion,” he said.
    “I’m holding out for my wedding night.”
    “Marry me.”
    “Okay.”
    The strange part was that I meant it. I knew, that very first night we were together, that I would marry Richard. All the southern guys I ever went out with were polite and predictable. Not that they weren’t just as good-looking as Richard or appealing in other ways. They were truly lovely men. Maybe it was me, that I wasn’t ready to settle down. Probably.

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    But there was something else about Richard. He was a little bit dangerous—like there was something in him you couldn’t tame. He was so smart and so sexy, I didn’t want to spend one day alive without him. I had never felt that way before and I knew I never would again. I had this instantaneous belief that here was a man who could take care of me—if he would. It was absolutely astounding.
    That night, he fell asleep on the sofa from grape overdose while I did the dishes. Propriety dictated that I should wake him up to go home. But, not me. I was so smitten and crazy about him, I covered him with a comforter, took off my dress and shoes, and went to bed nude. I rationalized the nude part by telling myself that Fate would rule the night.
    If he woke up and went home, he was a gentleman and therefore worthy husband material. If he woke up and got in bed with me, I’d know more about what kind of husband he’d