The Babe Ruth Deception by Stewart David O

Author:Stewart, David O. [Stewart, David O.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Historical
ISBN: 9781496702005
Amazon: 149670200X
Goodreads: 28439640
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2016-09-27T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Her rule was that Joshua couldn’t help, so he sat and watched, which he hated. The leg brace, with mean-looking leather straps and steel rods and buckles, had to weigh five pounds. Sometimes she called it her thighbone, since it made up for the one that never healed right. The first few times she put it on with him around, she tried to keep her skirt pulled down to her knees, then reach up under it.

“Just pull your skirt up, girl,” he had said. She said it wasn’t decent. “Not decent?” he said. “After what we just finished?” She flushed and sent him out of the room.

Now she pulled her skirt up to get it done. And she let him stay in the room. But she didn’t let him help.

“Don’t stare,” she said, perspiration beaded on her upper lip. “I hate it.”

“I love that leg, sweet girl, and every other part. Let me help.”

“Nope,” she grunted, straining at a buckle. She gasped when the prong went through the eye and the tension on the brace relaxed to a level of steady discomfort. “There. Brooklyn’s favorite gimp is ready for a day of hobbling around.”

“You don’t need to talk like that.” He rolled over and knelt at the edge of the bed facing her, placing his hands on either side of her waist and pulling her to him. He could feel her muscles. Every other part of her was strong, making up for the leg.

“Talk like what?”

“Making fun of yourself. I’d punch anyone who talked like that about you.”

“And what would that fix, mighty warrior? I’d still be a gimp.” He laid his cheek against her torso, his arms around her now, the fabric of her slip rustling in his ear. She dug her fingers into the tight curls of his hair. What did she think of how it crimped close to his skull? Or of his caramel skin? She had puzzled over the palms of his hands, so much paler than the rest, not much different from hers. He had been less surprised by her whiteness, after the women in France, but still could wonder at blue veins in her wrists, her breasts, the red flush of feeling on her cheeks.

Talcum powder motes tickled his nose. He reached under her skirt and slid his hands up to the asymmetry of her thighs. Under the heavy brace, the injured leg had narrowed. No matter how many exercises she did or how much she walked, the leg remained thin, vulnerable. When Violet thought he was looking at it, she would say that at least it wasn’t getting worse.

Joshua smiled. The hunger was building again. He slid his hands further up her leg. He rose and kissed her lips.

“Say, buster,” she said softly. “The brace.”

He kissed her again. “No time. We’ll work around it.”

In just a few weeks, he’d grown addicted to the feel of her, the smell of her. Even the talcum. He was surprised, after the first couple of times, how she took her pleasure.

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