[Montacroix Royal Family Series 03] - The Outlaw (24 page)

"Is this what you want?" He slipped his fingers into her slick moist heat, moving them in and out with a silky ease.

As delicious as his sensuous touches were, as clever as his hands could be, Noel needed more. Much, much more.

"I want you." She twisted in his arms, pressing her breasts against his slick wet chest as her avid mouth roamed over his face and her hands slipped between them, touching him as he'd touched her.

As many women as he'd known, as many as he'd bedded, it had never been this way for Wolfe. Every time was like the first time. He knew that if he were to make love to his princess every day for the next one hundred years, until they'd reached her time, he would never tire of the way she made him burn.

"Not yet." He caught her waist, stopping her as she began to lower herself down onto him.

"Wolfe—"

He ignored her faint protestation. "There are times, like now, when you seem like a dream," he said, standing up, drawing her to her feet, as well. The warm water sluiced off them. "And I'm terrified of waking up, because you might be gone."

"I know that dream." She pressed her hands against his chest, splaying her fingers against his coppery flesh. "Too well."

"I rather thought you might." He dipped his head and treated her to a kiss so tender, so sweet it brought tears to her eyes. "Whatever happens, I want you to know that you're my destiny, Noel Giraudeau. My life. My love. And somehow I will find a way to be with you. Forever."

Her lips began to tremble. Her eyes overflowed with tears. "Forever," she whispered.

He kissed the moisture from her cheeks and held her close for a long time as she wept silently, unable to bear the thought of losing him.

He spoke to her in his native tongue, the language of his heart, and although she couldn't understand the words, she knew that they were meant to comfort.

Much, much later, her tears stopped flowing, and although her breath still came in little hitches, her trembling had ceased, as well.

He pressed his lips against the top of her head.

"And now I want to make love to you in a real bed. With the lights on, so I can watch you as I take you over the edge. And so that I'll know, for certain, that you're not a dream, but a real flesh-and-blood woman."

She smiled through the filmy mist of tears. "How could any woman resist an offer like that?"

Never had Noel known such splendor. Outside the window, the night draped Whiskey River in a moon-less cloak of black velvet. Inside, bathed in the flickering golden glow of the gaslight, Wolfe showed her ways of making love she'd never imagined, loved her in ways she knew she'd remember for the rest of her life.

At the same time, he encouraged her to spread her sexual wings, to touch him in places she'd never touched a man, to kiss him in new and exciting ways, to claim, to possess, until he was as seduced as she.

All thoughts of the future were burnt away by that same flame that ignited their bodies and hearts. They forgot the world—both their worlds—as they spent a long love-filled night designed to last a lifetime.

As he watched her sleep, Wolfe could feel her slipping away. Like illusive wisps of morning fog between his fingers. She was leaving him. As they'd both feared she would.

Not that she would ever be gone from his heart. Because Wolfe knew that whenever the wind blew through the trees, it would be Noel's voice whispering to him. When he looked at the sky, he knew it would be her face he would see in the clouds. And at night, he knew the tiny points of the stars brightening the black sky would be the twinkling of her magnificent eyes.

She would be everywhere.

And he knew, as he knew his own heavy heart, that someday, somehow, they would be together again.

It was the sun streaming into the bedroom that woke her.

"Thank heavens," a familiar voice said with obvious relief. "You're awake."

"It seems so." Fighting against the cloud still settled over her mind, Noel forced her eyes open and found herself staring into a familiar face.

"Audrey?"

"It's me," the elderly woman agreed, strawberry curls bobbing as she nodded with enthusiasm. "I'll tell you, girl, you sure did give us a fright. When the sheriff found your car—"

"I had an accident."

"Skidded off the road into a ditch," Audrey agreed. "Sheriff Callahan saw the tire marks and figured you must have swerved for something. Maybe a deer?"

"Perhaps." Or a man on horseback. "I can't quite remember." She dragged her hand through her hair and glanced around the room, her gaze focusing on the wall calendar. The picture was of the towering rocks of Monument Valley, which she could remember with vivid clarity. "You didn't take me to the hospital?"

"We wanted to," Audrey assured her, "but the bridge over Whiskey River is out from all the flooding and the Medivac helicopter can't fly in this thunderstorm, so the doc examined you and said it'd be okay for you to stay here. He said you were just sleeping. Not unconscious, or anything, but I gotta tell you, honey, you've been zonked out for the past twelve hours and even though the doctor checked on you three times, and said you were okay, you sure seemed gone from this world to me."

Even as she fought against the threatening flood of tears, Noel felt her lips curving in a faint wry smile. "It felt that way to me, too." For someone who had been asleep for twelve hours, she felt horribly exhausted.

"I'll get you some tea," Audrey said. "And some soup and crackers. You've got to be hungry."

"I don't—"

"You need food," the robust innkeeper overrode her planned complaint. "No offense, honey, but you're too skinny, as it is. Men prefer a woman with a little meat on her bones."

"I'll keep that in mind," Noel murmured, remembering how Wolfe had found her perfect.

As she listened to Audrey going back downstairs, Noel leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes. It had been real. She knew it. She was not like Dorothy, who'd only dreamed of Oz. Her adventure in Whiskey River had not been a product of a bump on the head. Her love affair with Wolfe had not been merely a sensual dream.

She glanced down at her bare left hand where she'd once worn a ring, and despite the fact that her heart felt as if it had been carved into little pieces, Noel found herself hoping that Bret Starr had enjoyed his life in Mexico.

Viewing the familiar
Rogues Across Time
on the bedside table, she picked it up, opening unerringly to the chapter on Wolfe Longwalker.

"Considered one of the West's most important writers," she read out loud, "after being falsely accused of murder, Wolfe Longwalker went on to live a full and productive life, still writing well into his eighties." Tears born of both sorrow and happiness filled her eyes. "He never married."

But he did, Noel knew.

They'd exchanged vows that last night together. Here in this very room.

Wolfe Longwalker would always be her husband. As she would be his wife.

Forever.

The following day, fortified with plenty of aspirin, Noel flew home to Montacroix. As soon as she landed at the airport, she went directly to the bank, where Bertran served as vice president in charge of foreign investments.

"Noel." Her fiancé rose from behind his desk, surprise evident on his face. "I hadn't expected you back so soon."

"You hadn't expected me to leave in the first place," she said.

"True." He nodded. "Please, sit down. Would you care for some tea? Some mineral water?"

"No, nothing, thank you. I'm fine."

He studied her with concern. "You look pale."

"I suppose it's jet lag."

"You never get jet lag," he said, reminding her of one of the disadvantages of trying to be less than forthright with a man who'd known you all your life.

"You're right." She took a deep breath. "Bertran, we have to talk."

"I agree." He sat on the edge of his desk and began fiddling with his gold Waterman fountain pen.

"You do?"

"I recall saying much the same thing when I asked you not to leave for America."

"True, but I thought it was because the wedding—"

"That is what I wanted to talk about."

"Well." She looked at him, confused at the way this was going. All the way home, she'd rehearsed her speech so carefully, choosing her words so as not to hurt him. But no sooner had she entered his office than he'd thrown her off the track. "Would you like to go first? Since you've obviously been waiting longer? Or should I?"

"I believe the rule is ladies first," he told her.

"All right." Taking another deep breath that did little to calm the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, she went on to explain how, although she truly loved him dearly, and always would, she felt it would be unfair to both of them—and to whatever children they might have—if they went through with the planned wedding ceremony.

"As hard as I tried, Bertran, dear," she said quietly, her eyes earnest as they looked straight into his, "I could not love you in the way a woman should love a man she's promising to spend the rest of her life with."

Noel had not known exactly what to expect. She'd known Bertran would not display any temper. But would he be icily cold? Remote? Would he, heaven forbid, beg her to change her mind?

What she could not have guessed was that he'd laugh.

"Bertran?"

"Oh, Noel." He slid off the desk and took both her hands in his. "The reason I so wanted to talk to you before you left is because I was trying to find some way to say the same thing to you."

"You wanted to break off our engagement?" She stared up at him in disbelief. "Why?"

"For the same reason you just mentioned. All our lives, we knew we would marry. Such knowledge was safe. Predictable."

"Boring," Noel muttered.

"
Exactement
. There is something else." He ran his finger around his starched white collar, as if it had suddenly become too tight.

Comprehension dawned. "You've met a woman."

"An actress, actually. From America. New York. She arrived last month to appear in one of Sabrina's productions, and, well, she wanted to open an account, just while she was here, and one thing led to another and…"

He dragged his hand through his hair and cursed. A rich, earthy curse she'd never heard from him before. "Do you hate me too badly?"

"Hate you?" Noel laughed. "Darling, I could never hate you." She framed his distressed face between her palms and kissed him. A light, friendly kiss with no sexual overtones. "I told you, I'll always love you."

Two days later, Noel was in Washington, D.C., helping Chantal hang paintings for the gallery showing.

"So it's really over."

"Yes."

"Are we happy about that?" Chantal asked carefully.

"Very happy," Noel assured her.

"Good." Chantal's smile was as dazzling as ever. "So, what will you do now?"

Noel shrugged. "I'm not sure. At the moment, the only thing I do know is that I belong in Whiskey River." She took another framed drawing out of the carton. "There's an inn I might buy."

"You're thinking of running an inn?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I'll just live there."

"And do what?"

Noel shrugged. "Play it by ear, I suppose."

Chantal shook her head. "I think that's a very good idea. And very unlike you." Noel was infamous for her lists and schedules. "Are you certain you didn't suffer any head injuries in that accident?"

"I'm fine." She cut the string and began unwrapping the brown paper. "Truly."

"Well, I for one, think it's time you had a little enjoyment out of life. You've always worked too hard."

Chantal said. She glanced over at the painting Noel was staring at.

"Oh, I like that one."

"So do I," Noel agreed as she studied the painting of a woman, clad in a red dress, holding a dapper, well-dressed man at gunpoint.

"Do you know," Chantal said thoughtfully, her gaze going from Noel to the painting and back to Noel again, "that woman looks a great deal like you."

Noel laughed, feeling happier and more carefree than she had in days.

Epilogue

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Noel had never been happier. Three months after her return to Whiskey River, comfortably settled into her new home, she was in the front yard, weeding the garden, when the sound of a car engine coming up the long curving driveway caught her attention. Nearby, beneath an apple tree laden with fruit, her dog gave one quick sharp bark.

The big yellow dog had shown up her first day in the former bed and breakfast, behaving as if he belonged there. Which, she knew, he did.

"It's okay," she assured the animal. "I've been expecting company."

After spending the night dreaming of Wolfe, she'd awakened with a feeling of expectation. A feeling that had escalated when she'd reached into the drawer of the bedside table and discovered that the
Rogues Across Time
book had mysteriously disappeared. Fortunately, Wolfe's books remained on her bookshelf.