Always in My Dreams (39 page)

Walker wasn't accepting such a facile explanation. He focused on the one word that was important to him. "Distracted? How?"

"In the traditional way," she said simply. "I flirted with him."

Closing his eyes, Walker rubbed his face with his palm. He let out a slow breath and considered the possibility that it was all a dream. He looked in her direction out of the corner of one eye. She was still there. "What time is it?"

"It was just after two when I arrived in the lobby. I imagine it's close to two-thirty now."

She seemed completely unconcerned by it. "Do you do this sort of thing often?" he asked.

"This would be my first time." She looked around with interest. The room was plainer than the one she remembered Michael having. But that had been years ago. Perhaps they were all so utilitarian now. "Do you have anything to drink here?"

"Water."

"That would be fine." She divined the expression in his eyes. "I'm only thirsty," she said. "I don't need to bolster my courage."

Walker pointed to the dressing room. "I don't think you're lacking in courage, merely in common sense."

Skye found a glass and poured herself a drink of water. When she reentered Walker's bedchamber he was standing by the window, his hands thrust in his pockets. His body was angled forward and he raised himself on the balls of his bare feet. Skye sipped her water, watching him.

He didn't appear to be angry, yet there was a restlessness about him that he was trying to contain. The tawny color of his hair, the length, the thickness, the lithe strength of his profile suddenly prompted an image in Skye's mind of a prowling lion, proud, stately, alone but in command. She was reluctant to go to him.

He sensed her presence and turned suddenly. "I should take you back," he said. "Finish your water and I'll get dressed."

"No. I'm not going with you, and if you try to force me, I'll make it very difficult for you." Skye returned to her chair and sipped her water. "You know I can."

It was the one thing he did know. "All right," he said. "You can stay."

"Thank you," she said softly. She regarded him intently before she spoke again. "You told Jay Mac and my mother that your parents were missionaries."

Of all the things he considered she might have to say to him, Walker hadn't once thought it would be this. She had an uncanny ability to set him completely off balance. He actually felt as if he'd staggered backward, but he knew he hadn't moved at all. Wondering where she was leading, not at all certain he wanted to follow, Walker confirmed her statement. "I told them," he said.

"Why?"

"Why? Because my parents
are
missionaries. Or rather, they were. They've been dead over fifteen years now."

Skye stopped rolling the glass between her palms and gripped it more tightly. "I'm sorry."

Walker knew she meant it. "You shouldn't be. They chose their death when they elected to serve in a leper colony in the South Pacific."

It was not his words that captured Skye's attention, but the lack of inflection in his tone. He wasn't indifferent to their deaths, he was merely pretending to be. He might even have convinced himself. Fifteen years was a long time to practice feeling nothing and capture the essence of it. "Where were you?" she asked.

"They left me on the mainland."

"The mainland?"

"China. Their mission was in Shanghai."

"You never told me any of this before," she said. "Didn't you think it was important?"

Walker took his hands out of his pockets. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the window. He could feel the cool panes of glass through his shirt. "I'm not sure that it's important now."

"But you told my parents."

"Is this what it's about?" he asked. "Is this why you traipsed across town in the middle of the night? You're taking me to task for telling your parents something I didn't tell you?"

"That's part of it."

"Then perhaps you'd better tell me the whole of it, because I don't understand what goes on in that mind of yours."

He hadn't raised his voice, but the cold, sharp edge of it was enough to make Skye flinch. For all that his posture appeared relaxed, she sensed his agitation. His narrow gaze speared her. The gold flecks were splintered and bright. Skye put her glass down and got to her feet. She approached Walker, stopping only when she was within a foot of him. Her hands went to the tiny jet buttons on her gown and she began to unfasten them. She didn't watch her fingers; she watched him.

Walker's eyes dropped to Skye's hands when she touched the first button. The material parted and he had a glimpse of the hollow of her throat. A second button was undone and more of her skin came into view. She undid another. Then another. He looked at her again, a question in his eyes this time. She merely stared back and moved her fingers to the next button.

"Skye." His voice had a deep, raspy quality to it. It also held a warning.

"Hmm?" She sounded innocent even as she played the temptress.

Walker was looking at the bare curves of her breasts as her bodice gaped wider. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Flirting?" she asked hopefully.

Walker fairly groaned. "I hope this isn't what you did with the desk clerk."

Her smile was a sensual siren's call and she let him wonder. She flicked another button and eased the gown off her shoulders. Skye was naked to the waist. She didn't have to touch another button.

Walker pushed away from the window. His palms grazed her arms, her shoulders. His thumbs passed along her collarbone, then traveled lower, brushing the sides of her breasts. He stroked them, cupping the underside, passing lightly across the nipples. She leaned into him and raised her face. Her lips parted as she stood on tiptoe and reached for him. Her fingers threaded at the back of his neck and she pulled gently, bringing him closer. Her mouth closed over his, hungry and searching.

She was lifted, carried. She felt the edge of the bed at the back of her knees. He pushed the gown over her hips. It spread like a dark green pool at her feet. Her shoes and stockings, and finally her petticoat, followed. When she was tumbled backward on the bed, she pulled him with her. The weight of his body held her still for a moment, stealing her breath. He covered her, surrounded her. Her breasts swelled against his chest and her legs rubbed his. She kissed his jaw, his cheek. She pressed tiny, tasting kisses along the length of his neck.

He rolled on his back and she straddled him. Leaning forward, she removed the ribbon from her hair. She shook her head just once, slowly, from side to side, and her unbound hair slipped softly over her shoulders. Her hips moved lower as she slid comfortably over him. Through the barrier of his trousers she felt him straining against the cleft of her thighs. She rocked on him, teasing him again with kisses on the underside of his jaw and just below his ear. She felt his breathing quicken, then catch.

She kissed him again, softly, slowly. She raised her head before she was caught deeply by it. He was searching her face, his eyes dark. She dipped again, grazing his mouth, nudging his nose. Above him, she smiled.

"One of us has too many clothes on," she said.

It was gratifying, Walker reflected, that they thought so much alike.

Chapter 12

Walker stripped off his shirt and flung it over the side of the bed. He raised his hips as Skye tugged on his trousers. She made it sweet torture, kissing him as she inched the material past his hips and thighs. When she was finished, he was so ready for her that he ached with it.

He twisted them both so that she was under him again, this time on her stomach. She lay still, uncertain now by this turn of events. It was her breathing that became increasingly ragged as he laid his palm on her thigh, then drew it upward over her bottom, past the small of her back, and over her shoulder blades. It was her skin that warmed, even burned, under his touch, and a soft, aching moan parted her lips.

Moving her hair to one side, he kissed her neck and whispered in her ear as she turned her head. His mouth made a trail down her spine and then he moved behind her, lifting her hips.

Skye's fingers curled in the sheets as he entered her. His thrust was hard, the pleasure so intense that she bit her lip to silence a cry. She pushed back against him as he came into her again. She was lifted slightly and his hands came around, sliding under her belly and up to her breasts. They filled his hands. He cupped them. The nipples were hard, harder still when his thumbs passed over them. He urged a hum of pleasure from deep in her throat. Her body fairly vibrated with it.

He clutched her, pressing against her, filling her. His mouth was hot on her skin. He whispered her name. She cradled him, rocking with each thrust, finding his rhythm so they moved together. Her body shuddered first, and when he felt it, he couldn't prolong his own pleasure or hold out to make hers return. His hips moved quick and shallow and his entire body contracted tightly in the moment before he spent himself.

For a long time they both simply lay still, curled like spoons, his arm around her waist. His breath ruffled wisps of her hair. Lamplight burnished the strands with threads of gold and copper. When she moved slightly, only adjusting her position for comfort, her bottom nudged his groin. His response was a groan that he muffled in her hair. "Don't move," he said quietly.

"But—"

"Not just yet."

Except for the hand she laid across his forearm, Skye stayed as she was. In time Walker slept.

Skye rose from the bed and padded quietly into the dressing room. She washed at the basin. The water was cool on her warm skin and she let it trickle over her shoulders and between her breasts. She dried with a towel that still held Walker's masculine scent. When she was on the point of leaving she saw his dressing gown and slipped it on. The shoulder seams hung low and the sleeves brushed her fingertips. She raised the lapel to her face and rubbed her cheek against the material.

Skye crawled back into bed wearing the dressing gown.

Walker opened one eye. His hand slid over her shoulder and he recognized the texture of his robe. "Why do you have this on?"

"I wanted to wear you."

Once again Walker marveled at her ability to move him off center. He raised himself on one elbow as Skye turned on her back. "When are you going to marry me, Skye?"

"I'm not."

This time her response didn't really surprise him. "Are you going to tell me why?"

Instead of answering him directly, she asked a question of her own. "What is it you imagine I want out of life?"

Walker knew he was in trouble because he had never given it any thought. He did so now, thinking about it carefully because he realized how much depended on his answer. He considered what he knew about Mary Schyler Dennehy, what he had observed, what he had heard. He considered the things she had already told him and the things she had been unable to put into words. He thought about the things that were deeply felt and showed only in her eyes.

The first time he had seen her—the very first time—she had been marching along a Central Park path, a solitary figure who'd left her friends behind. She had been at some risk that night when he was attacked, but instead of running, she had watched the dangerous drama unfold. Knowing her as he did now, he thought that she might even have come to his rescue had events proceeded along a different line.

The next time he saw her was in the entrance hall of the Granville mansion. She was in a room full of other women but she was alone on that occasion as well. He had noticed her immediately, first when she pretended to sleep, and then when she waggled her behind in the air as she leaned over the bench. She was sharp and smart in the interview, tempering her wit so she did not cross the line to insolence. She had managed not only to secure a position for herself but one for another woman who would have surely gone without. He didn't believe she had gone into the meeting with Parnell with that intention. It was a notion that had occurred to her at some point in the interview and she'd seized it. Skye was not one to let an opportunity pass.

She could think quickly, spinning tales that held up under some scrutiny whenever she was caught out. And she didn't shy from danger. Rather, she seemed to embrace it. She was a little reckless, still impulsive, but before he judged her too harshly, he thought back through his own life and realized there was a time he'd have been judged much the same way.