Just This Once (32 page)

“I’m not looking for sustenance.” He drained
the brandy in one burning gulp and set the goblet on the table with
a sharp ping. He advanced a step, closing the distance between them
to a mere two feet, watching her eyes go wide and a pulse jump in
her throat. “At least, not that kind of sustenance.”

Josie could only gaze at him in helpless
awe. This tall man with his piercing eyes and black aura of
danger—what was he thinking? Feeling? Wanting?

The same as all men want,
she told
herself in a desperate surge of fury.
To use you. To take his
pleasure, satisfy it, and then move on. He’s going to divorce you
in a matter of months. And send you away, forever.

That thought shot some fight back into her
weakening senses. She gripped the table hard, and pressed her lips
together, as if somehow signaling him to keep away, keep out.

Ethan saw it, and it made him want to seize
her and show her that she couldn’t chase him away or shut him out
so easily. It was only with consummate willpower that he kept his
feet rooted to the floor, his arms clenched taut at his sides.

A violent restlessness had possessed him
this entire night, growing more intense as the hours passed. The
strain of watching her charm everyone at the party tonight, of
knowing she was his but wasn’t his, had been bad enough. But then
after hearing those cowards Cavenleigh and Willowton discussing her
as if she were a common tart—something had twisted like barbed wire
inside him.

He knew those were just the start of the
rumors. It would get uglier.

Even punching those pompous bastards hadn’t
eased the mounting tension inside him. He hadn’t been able to stop
thinking of her the entire night, even when he was gambling, even
when he’d talked of everything under the sun to dozens of people he
didn’t give a damn about, eaten a tasteless dinner everyone else
had raved over, even when he’d allowed himself only one waltz with
her the entire evening.

And when he’d heard her light step on the
stairs, glimpsed her nightgown-clad form from his study, watched
her glide along the hall and into the kitchen, he’d felt as if
someone had bashed him in the stomach.

There’d been no choice but to follow.

So now here he was, less than two feet from
this tantalizing creature he’d wed in a judge’s study in Abilene,
and he was locked in a bloody inner struggle for self-control that
threatened to rage outward.

To keep from reaching for her, he raked his
fingers through his hair. It was damned near impossible to rein in
red-hot hunger and primitive urges when she looked lovelier than
the most succulent peach, fresher than a rosy strawberry glistening
with dew. He wanted to drown in those violet eyes of hers. Eyes
that seemed to singe his soul. He wanted to bury his fingers in the
soft, lush riot of her hair. Taste and stroke every inch of silken
skin, the small, beautiful mounds of her breasts, every curve from
her shoulder to the arch of her delicate little foot.

But he remembered how she’d run from him at
the stream. Accused him of changing the rules. And from then on,
she’d pulled back from him in every way. The whole damn week in
London he’d felt the difference, felt her distance as if it were a
block of ice lodged in his throat. That’s how she wanted it, he
reminded himself grimly. And he’d be damned if he’d give her
another chance to spit in his face, accuse him of breaking their
bargain, and push him away yet again.

If it was cold and businesslike that she
wanted, that’s what she’d get.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” he demanded, then
swiftly amended it. “I mean, asleep. It’s the damned middle of the
night.”

“I know that. I could ask you the same
question.”

His mouth twisted. Her gumption was as much
a part of her as the sweep of her cheekbone, and the voluptuous
shape of her lips. He tried hard to be irritated by it, but it only
inspired an amused warmth.

Unthinkingly, his gaze dipped lower, from
those stubbornly set lips to the pale neckline of her gown and the
twin mounds of her breasts clearly and saucily outlined beneath the
whisper of silk.

And it was at that very moment that Josie
herself suddenly remembered what she was wearing—and what she was
not
wearing.

She let out a squeak. Her arms flew to her
chest, crossed there, clung to the wispy fabric of her nightgown.
Ruby color rushed like fire into her cheeks.

She half turned her body away from him and
started toward the door with as much dignity as a hasty exit could
afford. “I couldn’t sleep. But I’m tired now. Think I’ll go to
bed....”

He snagged her arm as she tried to scoot
past him. “What’s your hurry?” he asked inanely, knowing full well
why she wanted to get the hell out of there. But he didn’t want her
to leave. Not just yet.

“It’s late. I’m tired. And I’m not properly
dressed.”

Let her go. Just let her go.
But he
couldn’t release her arm.

“You’re dressed just fine.”

“No, Ethan, I’m not. Please let me by.”

“What are you afraid of, sweetheart?”

“Certainly not you! But it isn’t right...
I’m in my nightgown—it isn’t proper.”

“Neither is pickpocketing.” He tried
desperately to lessen the intensity of desire swamping him by
attempting a joke. “But that didn’t stop you.”

She went still as death. Ethan could have
kicked himself. What kind of idiotic thing had that been to say?
He’d been rambling, trying to delay her going upstairs and leaving
him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it
sounded.”

“Yes, you did.” Pain shimmered in her eyes.
Her voice was a whisper. “You can’t ever forget that, can you? Or
else you won’t. You still think of me as a—”

“No, I don’t. I swear.” Roughly he pulled
her against him. “That’s the trouble, I’ve stopped thinking of you
that way.”

“You just proved...”

“Proof? You’re looking for proof of how I
feel? I can give you that easily enough.”

“Let me go.”

“Not until I’ve shown you how I feel.”

“I know all about the way you—”

Before she could finish the sentence his
lips closed over hers, rendering her incapable of thought, much
less speech. The kiss was deep and violent. Her throat shivered and
her knees turned to soup.

“I could kiss you and kiss you and keep
kissing you from now until the end of time,” Ethan groaned, and his
hand wound through her hair, gripping it tight. The other held her
against him, so that the whole length of her body burned against
his. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone,
anything....”

Josie was trembling all over from the power
of that kiss. Her lips felt bruised. Her skin was hot. She was
clinging to Ethan even as she knew she should be pushing him
away.

She had no defenses left. If he didn’t stop
looking at her this way, touching her, kissing her... she was lost.
Lost...

There was only one thing that might stop
him, stop both of them before they made a horrible mistake.

As he lowered his mouth toward hers again,
she gasped out a single word.

“Molly.”

It was Ethan’s turn to go motionless as a
post. With one hand still entwined in her hair, and her body bent
slightly back, he halted while leaning over her, his lips a breath
away from hers.

“What did you say?”

“Molly!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “You
wanted Molly more than anything. You loved her more than you could
ever love... anyone,” she finished lamely, feeling her heart slice
in two as she saw the rage in his eyes.

“Who told you about Molly?”

“What difference does it make?” She pushed
him away, frantically, and this time he was so stunned at hearing
her fling the other woman’s name at him at such a time that he let
himself be shoved back.

“She’s here, between us. You loved her, you
grieve for her still. She is in your heart.”

“So what the hell does that have to do with
you?” he demanded. His bronzed skin had turned to ash.

She wanted to cry out to him:
She’s where
I want to be. In your heart. And there’s no space for
me....

But the shreds of pride kept those words
locked inside.

“I won’t be used.” How thin and hard her
voice sounded, squeezing out those pathetic words. “Used... like a
harlot. Like someone who doesn’t matter. Used only because you
can’t have her, but you want a woman’s body in your bed, someone
who can be tossed aside when you’re done... conveniently
forgotten...”

“Is that what you think?” He clenched his
fists. Fury lashed through him. “Damn you, Josie, is that what you
really think?”

He swung away from her and slammed his fist
down on the table. The resounding thud echoed through the kitchen,
making her jump, fear gleaming in her eyes.

His rage only mounted, a biting, wicked
black rage that ripped through his chest, his gut. Every muscle
bulged and quivered. “Get out of my sight while you can. Before I
do something I’ll regret. Do you hear me? Get out!”

She hadn’t meant to stir such a reaction.
“Ethan, it’s just that... someday I want more.” Her voice was
quavering. “I want... to be loved by someone, the way you loved
Molly. It may never happen but—”

He pushed her across the room with
controlled force that cost him dearly. “Get out!”

The air of the kitchen vibrated with the
depth of his fury. She saw the heat ignited in his eyes, the
tension coursing through his tall frame, and fear at last
penetrated even her pain and confusion. She fled past him with a
stifled sob, dodging up the stairs.

Sweat burst out on Ethan’s brow. My God,
that’s what she thought of him. That he still loved Molly, that he
only wanted to take her to his bed—what? Once, twice, or for the
duration of this ridiculous marriage, and then—what had she
said—
toss her aside? Conveniently forget?

He drove his fist down on the table again,
heedless of the servants he might wake. To hell with them. To hell
with her. To hell with everything.

And then something exploded inside him.
Fury, hot and wild and flailing.

If that’s all she thought of him, if that’s
how she saw him, maybe he should just prove her right. Prove how
callous and ruthless and single-minded he could be. Prove how
little he cared, that he was nothing but a selfish bastard...

He flung himself from the kitchen and into
the hall. She had just reached the top step, and turning, saw him
standing below.

Something in his eyes must have warned her.
Her lips parted, fear filled her face. Even as he lunged for the
steps, she was running.

J
osie bolted into
her room, every nerve alive with panic. As she heard Ethan pounding
up the steps after her, she slammed the door and locked it, then
darted to the other door, the sitting room door that connected
their bedrooms.

Her fingers shook as she twisted the lock.
She backed away, hands to her throat, her heart slamming in her
chest as she gazed fearfully back and forth between both doors.

Suddenly there was a crash. The sitting room
door shattered inward, the wood splintering, flying across the
carpet.

Ethan stood framed in the shattered
opening.

A cry of terror lodged in her throat. She’d
never seen him look like that. His eyes were narrowed and cold as
daggers as he stepped over what was left of the door and stalked
toward her.

She fled toward the other door, the one
leading to the corridor, seeking escape, but Ethan lunged after,
pinning her with his body against the door.

“You’re not going anywhere, Josie. Did you
really think a lock could keep me out if I want in?”

“No, Ethan! Let me go! What are you planning
to do?”

He gave a harsh laugh. “You know what I’m
planning to do, sweetheart.” His breath rasped in her ear. His
voice rang with a deadly purpose that sent broken shivers through
her heart. “It’s not like you to ask idiotic questions.”

He spun her around in his arms, locked her
hands above her head, and held her imprisoned between him and the
door. Her breath came in ragged, terrified gasps, and her eyes
shone with a panic that only increased his anger.

“Ethan, you promised...”

“I promised to love, honor, and cherish, and
so far I haven’t done that, sweetheart. So let’s start with
love.”

“This isn’t love—”

His mouth claimed hers. The kiss was savage.
“Are you sure?” he grated, lifting his head for only a moment to
stare into her eyes. Then his lips descended again. His tongue
forced itself into her mouth, searching, plundering, driven on by
the low moan in her throat.

Josie fought like mad. But she couldn’t
budge him, stop him, free herself of him. She twisted and squirmed,
but all the while her own body and senses were betraying her. She
felt as if she were melting—no, igniting, was more like it. A flame
caught hold within her, fanned out, flickering ever stronger.