His For Christmas (24 page)
Authors: Fiona Shin
“However, there seems to be a grave bit of injustice here,” he continued and took a step forward.
“Is there?” she said, feigning boredom and peering at her fingernails. “And what would this…grave bit of injustice be?”
Ivy was close enough to touch.
Close enough to kiss.
Close enough to run his fingers down the length of her back, undoing each button like a knife through butter. Considering the last time he had fumbled with a woman’s undergarments and ultimately ripped a skirt from seam to seam, Elliot took it as a sign.
A sign that it was right to kiss her.
A sign that it was right to wind his hand through her thick, dark hair and bring her down to the knitted rug in front of the fireplace, the logs crackling, the fire warm and inviting on their bodies.
His lips kissed a trail down her body, between the valley of her breasts, down her gently quivering belly…
“Don’t stop,” she whispered in a voice sweeter than anything he had ever heard. “Please don’t stop.”
He raised himself up on his elbows and looked up at her.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”
With a heartfelt groan that just made Elliot’s grin wider, she reached for him.
His cock hovered at the hot, moist apex of her thighs and his grin faded away.
“Do it.” Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink and she brought his head down, met his lips with hers.
Unable to control himself, he surged forward, almost coming right then and there.
She tensed, letting out a small sound of distress.
Damn it!
He should’ve known.
But damn it if she didn’t feel so damn warm, so damn good. “Why didn’t you tell me, you idiot?”
She let out a breath and slid slightly under his hands.
He was in heaven.
He was in hell. “Stop moving, Ivy.”
She did, although it was much too slow for his liking. “I thought…I thought it was enjoyable?”
Enjoyable? What an understatement. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you?” Her eyes widened dramatically. “Tell you what?”
The words stuck in his throat. “That you never…”
His face blazed. Rightfully, the moment he felt the slightest resistance, he should’ve called wolf and made like hell for the next room, no, the next county.
But that was like asking a hungry wolf not to bite a sheep’s leg.
Her hands tightened on his shoulders. “I didn’t think it would matter.”
“You didn’t think it would matter?” he asked, incredulous. But the body was a treacherous thing and even a tornado couldn’t dislodge him from her. Christ, he was a real bastard. “We have to stop.”
“Don’t,” she said quietly, smoothing a finger down his face. “Don’t stop. This is what I want. Let me do this for you.”
Suddenly, Elliot couldn’t get the image of the proverbial lamb led to the sacrificial altar. “Don’t say that. Don’t say that if you’re just doing this for me.”
She put a finger on his lips, effectively shutting him up. “If you think I’m that much of a martyr, Elliot, then I am sorry to disappoint. I do not consider this a sacrifice.” Her lips curved upward and inwardly, he groaned at the provocative image. “It’s a gift. For us both. Surely, you would not be so impolite as to return one?”
“No.” He moved slowly, the delicious friction and heat making him feel weak. “I’ll try to be gentle.”
She moved against him, a subtle sway of her hips that brought a gasp to his lips. “I don’t care about that. Could you move again? That was rather nice.”
Rather nice?
Encouraging words, if any. “Perhaps I can make this more than just…nice.”
“How promising.” She smiled and drew his head down for a kiss. “Please do.”
And he did, moving inside her, slow but sure, and sweat slicked down his body, glistened on her skin.
Beautiful Ivy.
Wonderful Ivy.
And for the first time in a very long time, the memories of Meredith did not cross his mind as he paid homage to the goddess underneath him.
She cried out, hips pressing against his and Elliot let himself go, drawing her into his arms, his cock spasming in the wake of their lovemaking.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his neck. “Thank you so very much, Elliot.”
He pulled away then, stared down at the woman who made him feel complete, who made him feel like a human again and said the only thing he could think of.
“I love you.”
Her eyes widened. “Elliot.”
Feeling more exultant than he’d ever felt, he pressed his mouth to her temple and felt her arms clasp him to her breasts.
“Marry me,” he said. “I don’t want you to go. Ivy, marry me.”
Her answer was a kiss.
He took it as a yes.
***
God save her, she loved him.
She loved him and the very idea that she could not have him made her chest constrict almost too painfully to bear.
He was still sleeping, his beautiful dark eyes closed in peaceful repose, his lips relaxed into that perpetual half--smile she had began to associate with him.
The idea she could no longer see that smile made the corners of her eyes prickle.
I love you.
She stopped a sob before it left her lips, and she clamped a hand to her mouth, just in case.
Marry me.
She could scare believe it. After two years of successfully staving off marriage proposals so romantic, it made all the other girls in her social circle swoon upon hearing the recollection, she had fallen so very deeply for the one man she could not have.
For what had she to offer him?
Ivy, marry me.
And he had meant it. That was the problem.
He who had kept himself behind a wall of ice, who had kept his heart under lock and key until she stumbled into his life.
How could he know if he loved her? What if his feeling was merely exultation at finding that he was a human, not an automaton unable to human emotion? What if he realized, much too late, what a mistake he had made?
In any case, she couldn’t stay.
She pressed a swift kiss to his brow and crept out of the warm bed, taking care not to disturb him.
The storm had stopped; she could hear the sounds of the winter night, the howl of the blizzard having subsided into an empty silence that made her ears ring.
Whispering a note of forgiveness, she slipped a couple of bills from a desk drawer, just enough to get her to the next town, just enough to procure boarding for a couple of days while she tried to secure some sort of employment. Now, it would be easier. She was well--fed, clean, and wearing the clothes he had provided. Due to Mrs. Chang instructions, she was a fair cook. Perhaps she could find employment as a cook at a boarding house…
After a moment, she pulled another bill and folded them into a thin clump.
“I’m a thief,” she whispered. “God forgive me, but I am nothing but a thief.”
She wrote a quick note and slipped it on the top of Elliot’s desk. With luck, he would find it and perhaps…perhaps he would forgive her.
I love you.
The look in his eyes as he whispered those three words…
Tears fell unchecked down her cheeks as she dressed hurriedly, pulling on two thick woolen stockings, as she had no idea how long she would have to wait at the next station for a train. Surely, it would have snowed enough to render delays in the trains. She would have to get to post office, where there would be a carriage, or even a cart that could take her as far as the next station. She couldn’t risk waiting at the station in town…not when she didn’t know when the next train would come through.
Already, she fancied she could hear voices drifting in the air, the sounds of the people who were leaving the assembly hall for their respective homes.
She tied the thick black wool cloak around her neck, pulled the furred hood over her hair and vanished into the night.
“Mrs. Stevens! Three fried eggs, bacon and toast, please.”
Ivy nodded and began to crack eggs over a thick skillet that was blacker than ink. “Right away, Mrs. Miller.”
“Thank you.” The tall, severely faced matron nodded at her, and then paused at the doorway leading to the dining room. “Incidentally, how are you doing, Mrs. Stevens?”
It had been nearly a week since she arrived in the small town of Saint Charles, just south of Elgin, and she had been incredibly lucky. The first boardinghouse she walked into, she had very nearly been bowled over by an errant woman dressed in heavy black cotton, screaming obscenities Ivy hadn’t even heard drunken brawlers mutter under their breath.
She was helped out, or more precisely, pushed out by Mrs. Miller along with her rotund husband, a man with a bushy beard and a belly that seemed in grave danger of springing forth and walking about on its own.
“Don’t you ever come back,” Mrs. Miller had said, thick lines bracketing the sides of her thin lips. “You just consider yourself lucky I’m not getting the sheriff involved, Delilah. Stealing from ones employers, the nerve! Why I’ve a mind to pluck every hair from your head!”
Ivy, having seen a great deal more than a screaming woman accused of thievery, slipped past the struggling trio and waited at the front desk.
It was not long until Mrs. Miller situated herself behind the desk, smoothing back loose strands of hair from her pale face. “Will you be wanting a room, ma’am?”
She nodded and Mrs. Miller pulled out a small leather book, all the while muttering under her breath. “Damn fool woman. Don’t know what I’m going to do, full house and not a single person who can cook a blasted egg without burning it to a crisp…”
A job! Ivy tried not to seem too desperate, although it might very well have shown in her eyes as she cleared her throat. “I couldn’t help but notice…”
Mrs. Miller snorted. “I’m sure folks from miles away would’ve noticed that particular, distasteful incident. I do apologize, ma’am.”
Ivy cleared her throat again. “Well, I am newly arrived from Branford, where I worked…as a maid for some time. I am quite a capable cook and am in search of employment in town.”
“You?” The older woman’s eyes sharpened as she looked Ivy up and down. “You’re not with child, are you?”
Ivy felt her heart dip. She hadn’t even thought about that! Surely…not. Best not to think about that now. “N…no. Of course not! I…I am a widow. My name is Ivy Stevens.”
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