“Do you think the princess minded?” Rose asked breathlessly.
Chapter Nine
“Minded what?” George asked, his mind empty of everything except Rose.
She stood on tiptoe, her whole body leaning against him. George felt his groin swell in response to the pressure of her breasts against his chest, the rubbing of her thighs against his own. How could he have thought he was immune to women when just one kiss could demolish his resistance? His arms tightened around Rose as his lips took hers in a feverish kiss.
“Being carried off to his castle,” Rose said, when she finally managed to disengage herself. “Maybe she loved someone else.”
“Princesses are only allowed to love the knight who rescues them.”
“Mmmm.” Rose seemed to find nothing to object to in George’s reasoning. Nor with the kisses he planted on the corner of her mouth or the end of her nose. In fact, she seemed to be in total agreement with his program of action. George felt her arms go around his neck.
George felt as though something inside him burst loose from its bindings. He could never remember feeling so absolutely wonderful in his entire life.
As much as it stirred his physical need of her to the breaking point, holding Rose tight against his chest fulfilled another need deep inside him. It was almost as though she were holding him, as though her arms were enfolding him in a protective embrace.
Rose sighed with contentment and leaned her head against George’s chest. “I thought you didn’t like me.”
“How could anybody not like a woman as pretty as you?”
“You never said anything.”
“I was trying to stay away from you.”
“I was afraid you were angry at me for getting the boys upset.”
“I couldn’t be angry at you, at least not for long.”
George kissed the top of her head and pulled her back into his embrace.
“I’ve got to finish the berries,” Rose said, attempting to break away.
“They can wait a little longer.”
“No, they can’t. I’ll have to start dinner soon.”
“That can wait, too,” George said, his arms still firmly around her. “I won’t be able to think about food for hours.”
“What about Monty?”
But George kissed her again, and they both lost interest in Monty.
“George, why are you biting Rose?”
Neither of them had heard Zac come up. They jumped apart.
“Where did you come from?” George demanded, his mind rapidly reorienting itself.
“I followed you. Rose promised I could help her pick blackberries. She’s going to make jam.”
“I thought you meant to stay gone until I’d finished picking,” Rose mumbled, unable to regain her composure as quickly as George.
“I wouldn’t do that. Not anymore,” Zac added. “Why was George holding you up? Did you fall down?”
“You might say I lost my balance,” Rose said.
Zac looked at the creek bank which fell sharply away to the sluggish, brackish water below. “You ought to stay away from there. George and I will pick those berries. You pick the ones over there.”
“Do you know if there was a St. Zac?” Rose asked George, hardly able to keep her amusement bottled up.
The heat still raged in George’s veins. So did irritation at Zac’s interruption. “I doubt it. Dragons gobble up little boys who sneak up behind their big brothers.”
“How can it if you’ve just slain it?” Rose asked, her eyes dancing with laughter.
“There are other dragons that specialize in devouring little brothers,” George replied.
“Have you been making wine out of these berries?” Zac asked, his cherubic face screwed up in confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
“Monty wants Rose to make wine out of the blackberries, but she won’t because she says it makes people act funny. You sure are acting awful peculiar.”
George and Rose struggled to hold back laughter.
“I must have chewed on some loco weed.”
Zac had no intention of being treated like a little boy. “I know you didn’t chew on loco weed. You probably ate too many berries and didn’t want anybody to know. Rose said it makes your stomach queasy.”
“That must be it.”
“You can’t eat any more or there won’t be enough to make jam.”
“If we don’t get back to picking, there won’t be enough for anything,” Rose said.
Zac looked into George’s basket. “You don’t have very many.”
George didn’t look at Rose. He didn’t want to see her laughing at him, not when his body was still hot and tense. “Rose has already made that complaint. Maybe you’d better show me how.”