The Sculptress V.S. Alexander (ebooks that read to you .txt) đ
- Author: V.S. Alexander
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They did so and soon were off to their rooms after a quiet embrace. The upstairs tall clock ticked in its stately, monotonous tone, and soon Emma was asleep, but dreaming of opening presents, like an excited child on Christmas morning.
* * *
Emma spent the morning complaining of a minor sore throat and a headache, enough so that Charleneâs father threatened to call off the journeyâuntil his daughterâs tears took over.
âYou canât, Father,â her friend said in her best whiny voice. âIâve been looking forward to this trip for so long and I want that new dress for Christmas.â She took out her handkerchief, turned her head toward Emma, blew her nose, and gave her an artful wink. âIâm sure Emma doesnât mind spending a few hours alone.â
âNot at all,â Emma replied. âI donât want to spoil the weekend. You go ahead. Iâm sure Iâll be fine by tonight.â
âSee? Emma doesnât mind.â
âWell . . .â her father said, sounding unconvinced.
âPlease. . . .â
âAll right, all right,â he said, âstop acting like a petulant child. Youâre behaving like this to get your way.â Frowning, he turned to Emma. âBut you must rest and get well. Your mother will be as mad as a wet hornet if we send you home sick.â
Charlene smothered her father with hugs and the matter was settled. The hours were set: They would be gone from ten until about two in the afternoon with lunch in town. Emma was welcome to help herself to bread and the soup on the stove, if she was hungry.
As planned, the family left and she was alone again in a farmhouse. The surprise wasnât scheduled to arrive for another two hours, so she sat in the living room and tried to read but couldnât, her anticipation growing as the minutes dragged by like hours. She attended to herself in the mirror, applying powder, rouging her cheeks, and combing her hair. There was no harm in being presentable when the family returned. She sat on the porch for a time, enjoying the warm morning sun, and taking in the brilliant oranges and reds that blazed upon the hills.
She was about to sit down for lunch when the screen door opened behind her.
Shortly after eleven thirty, Kurt Larsen stepped inside.
Emma had considered that he might be the âsurprise,â but had discarded the thought as an impossible fancy believing Charlene would never devise a plot that dangerously crafty and deceitfulâunless she and Kurt had dreamed up the scheme together. Perhaps he really did want to see her! Her breath caught and she dropped the napkin she was holding into her lap.
There could be no mistaking her thrilling attraction to Kurt, that pulled at her stomach and heart like a yearningâa butterfly attempting to burst forth from its cocoonâand the mixed sense of liberation and peril that the feeling generated. She was aroused by and, at the same time, terrified of his presence. He stood in the doorway, framed in the dazzling fall light, in a dark jacket and pants, seeming more confident and mature than he had the previous Christmas. The breeze had mussed his hair; he smoothed it back with a strong hand and took a seat at the table.
He took her hand in his and smiled in a way that Emma thought kind and sincere.
Her heart pounding, she fought the urge to pull away. Instead, she leaned close to him. âCharlene told me about the âsurprise, â but I didnât think it possible.â A jolt rushed from his hand to hers and raced up her armâthe same as when they had first touched by the river such a long time ago.
âI wanted to be here,â he said. âWe planned it together, knowing . . . Iâm sorry about your father. Charlene said your mother has made your life miserable, even getting angry because I dared write to you.â
âYes. Iâve been crushed. She blames me for my fatherâs death. I wasnât even allowed to study with Mr. French over the summer.â
âHave you had any enjoyment since he diedâany chance to recover?â
âHardly a day.â
He released her hand, pushed back in the chair, and crossed one leg over the other. âThings havenât been going so well for me, either.â His eyes dimmed for a moment and he lowered his gaze. âMy grades arenât up to parâat least Harvardâs idea of parâso Iâm rethinking where I might go to law school. My fatherâs furious. My mother is keeping the family together at the moment.â
âIâm sorry,â Emma said, reaching for his hand. âYouâre smart. Iâm sure things will work out.â
He flinched, jarred by her touch.
âI think about you all the time,â she said.
âI wondered.â He leaned toward her, even closer, until his lips neared hers. âI think about you all the time.â
The heat from his body reached her, the fresh scent of his skin enveloped her, as their lips met. She flushed with desire, as if she could sink into him and never return. The lonely hours in her room, the feelings of guilt and betrayal that had dogged her since her fatherâs death, vanished with his kiss.
âWe donât have much time,â he said, caressing her face with his hands. âWould you like me to model for you?â
She nodded, unable to speak because of the images coursing through her mind.
He lifted her from the chair and carried her like a princess to her bedroom on the second floor. The sun splashed outside the windows, the day relatively warm even for mid-October. The crimson maples shook in the breeze and an undulating fiery light shimmered across the walls.
Emma felt as if she were consumed by a fire ignited by youth, the warmth of the dying season, and Kurtâs kisses. There was no pretext for modeling now as they both explored each otherâs body. The room fell away as her passion exploded.
He disrobed by the
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