Sins of Omission. Fern Michaels
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are elsewhere this morning, and they are not pleasant, I think,” Mickey said suddenly, breaking into his reverie. Her smile was as bright as a summer day and seemed to envelop him in its warmth. “Did you hear a word I said?”
“I’m sorry, Mickey. I was”—he searched for the right phrase—“woolgathering.”
“I said I was going to the village this morning to bring you the tutor. You are ready for this next step in your studies. Monsieur Pierre Faroux is a scholar. Extraordinaire. He will read to you and he will teach you whatever you wish, philosophy, language, law, art, music. He is a rare individual. He was a wonderful friend to my husband and myself. He will take you under his wing, chéri, and in six months, a year, you will be eligible for any university you choose.”
“Mickey, I never even finished high school. I can’t afford college, and law school seems a million miles away. Reuben’s got all these ideas but…I just don’t see how—”
“Bah! Your mind is quick as lightning. Begin today solving the future’s problems! Be gracious. Let Monsieur Faroux share his knowledge with you. He is an old man now with nothing in his life but his books. And you love the books. You will make him happy.”
“I’ll try,” Daniel conceded. He glanced at Reuben.
“Mickey’s going to teach me to drive the motorcar today, Daniel. So while you’re having lessons I will be gadding about the countryside.” Reuben hesitated, realizing how that sounded. “Do you think that’s unfair?” he asked.
Daniel pretended not to hear the anxiety in Reuben’s voice. “Of course it’s fair. Please don’t crash into a tree this first time out, or run over a cow.”
“You worry too much, Daniel.”
And you don’t worry enough, my friend, Daniel thought to himself. Six months, a year, she’d said. Had Reuben picked up on her intimation? And if so, how did he feel about it?
Monsieur Faroux arrived two hours late; he, too, had celebrated the Armistice. He was a little man with a shock of white hair that stood on end, making him appear taller. His mustache was spiky and also white, curling at the ends. He possessed incredible eyes, the color of taffy, crowned by the same white spiky hairs as his mustache. He wore a heavy wool sweater two sizes too large and baggy trousers that had once been black but were now muddy gray. His hands, though, were of a much younger man, the fingers perfect for playing the piano or violin. But it was the taffy-colored eyes that mesmerized Daniel: he read in them all the things Mickey had said about the old scholar. He worshiped the old tutor on sight and flushed when the Frenchman kissed him soundly on both cheeks.
“So, you are my new élève! Come, we go to the library at once so I can choose our lessons for the day. Go, go, you are in my way,” he said to Mickey and Reuben, shooing them toward the door.
“Come, chéri, we are in the way here. Daniel, do not forget to have your eye treatment and you must rest for a while. Pierre will read to you when you have the compresses on your eyes.”
“Yes, yes I will see to everything. Go, so we can begin our work.”
Reuben searched Daniel’s eyes to see if he was in agreement. What he saw there assured him. Except for the day his bandages came off, Daniel was the happiest he’d ever seen him.
Reuben and Mickey strolled side by side to the barn. He wanted to say something to her, to tell her how wonderful the night before had been, but her behavior was so casual, so…so ordinary, as though nothing had happened between them. He didn’t want to be gauche, so he contented himself by returning her warm smiles.
George had said you never let a woman know how important she is to you. Never let her see how much you want to bed her. You’re a man, that’s taken for granted. Women know their place, and it’s next to a man, when that man wants them.
“Now, chéri, you wait here and I’ll drive the Citroën out.”
Reuben watched her run ahead, imagining her bottom jiggling deliciously under her sable coat. He could feel the heat between his legs, feel himself stiffening. Before allowing himself to think twice, he was running after her, overtaking her just as she was about to open the wide barn door.
“I want you here, now!” he said hoarsely.
She continued to open the door as though she hadn’t heard him. Reuben’s heart fell; feelings of inadequacy welled in him. Why was she so uninterested? Had his inexperience been so obvious the night before? Hadn’t he pleased her? He followed her into the shadowy barn.
The combination of sweet-smelling hay and Reuben’s manly scent was so heady. Her own breathing was as labored as his when she finally spoke.
“Here? In the barn? Like animals?” She turned to look at him, felt his gaze pierce her, felt the intensity of that gaze tingle her spine and quiver through her thighs. “You want to fuck me? Or do you want to make love to me: Animals or lovers, Reuben? Which?” Her voice was throaty, deep inside her chest, the tone suggestive, provoking. Actually she didn’t care how he wanted it, only that he wanted her. Immediately upon awakening she had wanted him, wondering what he thought of her, wondering if he found her woman enough to slake those irrepressible passions he’d unleashed the night before. Was her waist slim enough, her skin smooth enough? Did her breasts please him? Her sex? Would he ever want her again?
“Like an animal,” Reuben said. “Against the wall. Standing up. Now,” he insisted, pushing her backward.
“Is this how Americans do things? In barns, in awkward positions?” she purred, already anticipating the feel of him between her legs, stirred by the powers of her own femininity that he would want her again and this time would be the aggressor.
“I don’t know what Americans do, and I don’t care. This is what I want to do.” He moved toward her, hands reaching to span her waist, pulling her against him, feeling her flesh yield.
“Then do it!” Mon Dieu! It was as though she’d unleashed a sleeping tiger within herself. She let her hands brush open his overcoat and pulled at the buttons on his trousers, reaching through the soft wool to find him. Her breathing came in quick, hard gasps. His hands were raising her skirt, searching for the fullness of her thighs, groping for the hot bare flesh exposed at the top of her stockings. He laughed when he slid his hands around to her buttocks, slipping them beneath the lace edges of her panties. The sound was sly, amused, satisfied at finding her bare skin.
“Do you think you are the only one with strong passions, chéri?” she asked, grazing the flesh of his belly with her finger, searching for and capturing that which would be her prize. “I anticipated this, and if you hadn’t followed me in here, I would have called you in, saying the Citroën wouldn’t start.” A smile played across her lips as she continued. “I, too, know what I want, and I want you. Reuben. I want you. Fuck me! Fuck me, now!”
“Then open your eyes,” he ordered as he pressed her onto the nearest hay bale. “I want you to see what I’m doing to you.”
Mickey leaned back, obeying him. He pulled away her panties, picked up her legs, and wrapped them around his waist, exposing her to his plunder. Gazing upon her open, waiting sex, he felt himself stretch almost beyond the limits of his control. “Keep watching…” His voice was a gravelly whisper now. “Look,” he ordered again as he drove into her fully, in one long, quick motion.
“Quickly, chéri, for I cannot stand it. Faster! Faster,” she moaned, all the while watching their wild, wonderful, unbearable joining. When he withdrew from her a little so she could see him hard and glistening, she pulled him back, urging him onward. One last violent thrust and both cried out at the same time.
“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” Mickey raked her fingers through his crisp dark hair. “We are animals!” she cried in a voice she barely recognized as her own.
“Was it good for you?” Reuben asked. Suddenly he was unsure of himself, worried that it might have been over too quickly, that he’d slaked his thirst for her too greedily.
Mickey