Not Quite Married (27 page)

And yet, there were times when she felt such longing . . .

Would she ever find a remedy for this restlessness? Had she ever felt at peace?

With a pang of conscience, she realized that she had felt peaceful and fulfilled as she lay in Aaron’s arms that night on board
The
Lady’s Secret.
Something about him and his loving reached inside her to her very soul and calmed her.

Tonight, however, it sent heat and longing welling in her loins.

She thought of the way a casual movement of his shoulders or the light pressure of his hand on hers could start a fire in her. She secretly enjoyed the possessive way his eyes flowed over her body whenever they met. Beneath his easygoing manner simmered volatile passions; the combination of calmness and intensity intrigued her. His wit and double-edged conversation challenged her to be at her best—to best him if she could.

She suffered a shiver that warned of another presence in the room. Turning quickly, she spotted a pair of tall black boots in the shadows cast by the curtains. She looked up to find the subject of her thoughts, Aaron Durham, sitting casually on the window seat, watching her.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

He rose and stepped out of the shadows into the warm circle of candlelight . . . tall, vital, and intensely male . . . his hair hanging loose and his golden eyes glowing.

“I have come to see to your interests, my lady.” His voice had a provocative quality that sent a shiver through her. “I believe you struck a bargain that went sour.”

“How could you have heard?
I
haven’t even gotten word yet.”

Her eyes widened. “What have you done? Did you go to see him?” She stalked toward him, thinking only of his audacity and her desire to get her hands around his stubborn neck. “Van Zandt was near to making an offer for our entire holdings and if you’ve—”

“Van Zandt?” He laughed shortly, put his hands on his hips, and leaned back. “I’m not here about that business, sweetness. I’m here about another bargain entirely.”

“What other bargain?”

“Ours.”

She froze for a moment while every bit of composure she possessed deserted her. “We—we don’t have a bargain anymore.”

“I am surprised at you, Brien.” He folded his arms and looked her up and down. “A true businesswoman would have demanded her money back when she found out she wasn’t actually married.

Why didn’t you? Could it be that you secretly wanted the deal to stand? Somewhere in the deepest, darkest recesses of your heart you actually want to be married to me?”

“Fine. I want my money back. Every blessed penny of it.”

“Too late. I’ve decided not to give it back after all.” He smiled with infuriating good humor. “I’ve decided to give you the full value of our original bargain instead.”

“Now see here—”

“I am seeing here. And there.” His eyes dropped down her frame to the silhouette the candles were casting on her nightdress. “And there. Mmmm, and there . . .”

She looked down at the translucent fabric and wheeled, snatching her dressing gown from the bed and shoving her arms into it.

With her face aflame, she turned and found him standing inches away, staring down at her with that mesmerizing gold heat in his eyes. That made it all the harder for her to think . . . which she knew was probably the point of it. Well, part of the point.

“See here . . . the original deal was for you to marry me and then just walk away. Never to ask for more money or to make further demands on me.”

“So it was. And I wedded you and walked away. Clearly, I fulfilled my part of the bargain.”

“You did not. And here you are making demands . . .”

“I am not demanding. I’m
offering.
”

“‘Offering’?” Her heart began to pound as she watched his gaze fasten on her lips.

“My services . . . the execution of my husbandly offices . . . the rights to my assistance and my attention . . . wherever, whenever you say.”

“Aaron Durham—” She tried to summon at least a modicum of outrage and back away, but it was hard. Her very bones grew fluid with desire. The warmth of his body engulfed hers. The soap and brandy scent of him filled her head. The memory of his lips on her skin set the tips of her breasts tingling. “It is near midnight, at the least! This is no time and no place to be discussing such things!”

He laughed and spread his arms wide, opening himself to her.

“Where would be a better place for me to tell you that my ship is haunted by your memory . . . that I can’t walk the quarterdeck or take refuge in my cabin without seeing you and feeling you all around me? When would be a better time to tell you that the feel of you naked in my arms is burned into my flesh? That I see you in my mind the last thing at night and the first thing each morning?”

Finding herself backed against the bed, she swayed, realizing that resistance was probably futile. The misery he was describing was also hers. She watched his tongue appear at the corner of his mouth and sweep slowly, luxuriantly across his lower lip.

Hunger swept through her like a hot wind, trembling her to her very depths. When he reached for her and drew her to him, she slid her hands up his arms, imprinting on her sense of touch the shape and hardness of his muscles.

“Whenever, wherever you say, I will be there. Whatever conditions you impose, I will meet. I’m yours, Brien.” The entreaty in his eyes and voice melted the last of her defenses.

“All you have to do is take me.”

His lips closed over hers and she soared against him, meeting his kiss, reveling in his saltiness and the feel of his big, hard body against hers. Whatever happened, she would not regret being with this exceptional man, loving him. The thought slipped into her deeper regions without a twinge of alarm raised. She loved him.

He traced the curves of her waist and hips through her gown, setting her nerves humming with each stroke. She squirmed with pleasure as he nibbled at her ear and her neck, half-tickling, half-devouring her. Eyes aglow, she pushed back and began to work at his buttons. Soon, his jacket and shirt were a heap beside them on the floor.

He folded her against his bare chest and then sank with her onto the bed. Her hair spread over the pillows like a silken flood and her nightdress twisted tightly over her breasts, exposing the tops of those cool mounds and revealing the outline of erect nipples beneath. He nipped the tip of her breast through the fabric and she closed her eyes, whispering his name again and again, like an incantation.

In a moment, his remaining clothes were on the floor and he came to her, removing her gown and replacing it with kisses and caresses that made her sigh with pleasure and moan with encouragement. Time seemed suspended as they explored each other, memorizing beloved curves and exploring erotic hollows until he finally came to her, joining their bodies degree by luscious degree.

This passion was different from that on the ship. Now they arched and joined without reserve, knowing each other’s pleasure and indulging the desire that drew them together. One last soaring rush of pleasure pushed them both into an updraft that sent them hurtling through sensory barriers into sweet release.

They lay joined for a long while. Slowly the room stopped spinning and the thunder in Brien’s ears receded. Aaron moved to lie beside her and she felt a sense of loss, as though he took a vital part of her with him when they parted. She was soon comforted by his hand stroking her shoulder and hip.

“You have me under a spell, love,” he murmured before dropping a kiss on her swollen lips. “And a night with you every two or three years is all it takes to keep me in your thrall.”

She frowned as she ran her fingers through the coppery mass of his hair. “You make me sound cold and heartless, when in truth, you seem to be able to talk your way into my bed anytime you like.”

“If it were up to me—” He halted and every part of her focused on what he had been about to say.

“If it were up to you, what? What would you have from me, Aaron Durham?”

“I would have you care for me as much as I care for you.”

She made a sound of disbelief and looked away. “Stop right there. Before you say something you may have to live up to.”

He seized her chin and turned her face to his, his expression suddenly serious. “You don’t understand, do you? I intend to live up to every syllable I uttered before God and the vicar.”

Her breath caught in her throat and it was a moment before she could speak. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care for you, Brien. Heaven help me, I need you in ways I’ve never needed anyone.”

“But I don’t want to be needed. I have a life and a—” She pushed him away from her and sat up, drawing the sheet over her as if drawing a veil between them. But a curious, sweet stab of pain shot through her heart. Before she could censor the thought, she blurted out: “What you said about caring for me . . . is it true?”

As she searched his eyes, her heart all but stopped. He took her hands in his.

“I care for you as none before and none after.” He kissed each of her fingertips. “To be in the same colony, the very same city, and still be so far away from you is torture for me, Brien. I don’t know how you managed to make yourself so much a part of my heart, of my very being, but you have.”

“You do care for me.” She closed her eyes sharply so as not to reveal the shock that his admission generated in her. She didn’t see the way he lay back, grinning, tucking his arms behind his head.

“That, I think, puts it mildly. And have you no words of comfort for me?”

She sat up on her knees, clutching the sheet to her, but it slipped as she turned to him, revealing a ripe breast to his appreciation.

“Tell me what words of comfort you want and I’ll supply them.”

He paused only a second. “Tell me you love me.”

Unprepared for so potent a demand, she tried to slide from the bed, but he grabbed her arm to keep her from fleeing.

“What is it you feel, Brien? I have to know.”

“I don’t want to feel anything. It’s not wise.” She averted her face more. “It makes no sense.”

“But you do, don’t you? Tell me.” His gentle command forced the truth from her, but not before she could dilute its strength.

“I care very much for you.” It would bind her to him to say she loved him. And what did she know of love? Was this madness she felt continually on his account really love? She had named it such in her thoughts, but now . . .

He turned her face to him and tenderly pressed her lips with his.

When she opened her eyes, she saw no disappointment, no reproach in his eyes.

“You can’t say it now, but you will. We were meant to be together, Brien. And we will be.”

How could he be certain of that, when she couldn’t count on her emotions from one moment to the next? Marveling at his confidence in the face of her uncertainty, she circled his neck with her arms and drew his lips to hers.

When Brien awoke, hours later, dawn was graying the morning sky and Aaron was still there beside her, sleeping peacefully. He stirred at the warmth of her hand on his shoulder and raised his head. Seeing her, he smiled contentedly and reached for her.

Could anything in life compare with the intimacy she now shared with him? After a night of hot, intoxicating loving, to awaken to the cool sweetness of dawn, to a tender closeness of body and spirit. Surely life could offer no deeper pleasure.

She kissed his stubbled chin lightly. “You have to leave. Jeannie will be coming to wake me soon.”

“And what if I refuse to move—stay here until she comes?” His eyes twinkled.

“You’ll ruin my good name.” She was scandalized by the realization that he was tempted to do it. “And destroy my reputation as a heartless widow.”

“Or confirm the suspicion that you are not.”

She donned her dressing gown, gathered his breeches and stockings, and carried them back to the bed. She felt his eyes on her every movement and reveled in her newfound ability to tantalize him.

While he buttoned his breeches, Brien picked up his boots and hugged them to her. When his shirt was tucked and his belt was in place, he turned to her for his footgear.

She was smiling seductively, and his eyes fell to where her partly bare breast was pressed hard against the top of his sleek black boot. An explosion went off in his blood.

“My boots, my lady . . . I’ll have them now.” He took a step forward.

“Your boots, sir?” she asked coquettishly, backing away.

“I’ll have the boots and you,” he threatened, stalking her as she backed away from him.

She ran to the bed and was on and over it before he could grab her. He stalked and chased her about the room until she found herself between corner and wardrobe with no place to run. The game was over and the sweetness of surrender lay ahead.

He took the boots from her and dropped them behind him. His big hands slipped inside her open gown next to her bare skin and he crushed her to him, kissing her to within an inch of her sanity.

She stood against the wall for a moment with her eyes still closed.

When she finally opened them, Aaron was standing nearby with his boots on, watching her.

“I should go,” he finally admitted.

Finding her will at last, Brien moved toward him. “What am I to do with you?”

He smiled gently. “I am your husband, Brien. By my honor. By my choice. But it is up to you whether or not you will be my wife.” He cupped the side of her face with his hand. “Whatever you choose, never ask me to do without you again.”

Seeing confusion boiling up in her, he gave her a sympathetic smile. “You will need time; I see that.”

With one quick, hard kiss, he was gone.

IN THE LONG shadows of the summer dawn, a lone, coarsely clothed figure at the end of the nearby alley rubbed his eyes and ran a callused hand through a mop of hair. His night’s vigil ended with the appearance of a booted figure on a window ledge two houses away. He straightened, watching the figure creep along the rooftops and drop to a lower level before disappearing from sight. Turning his collar up against the morning chill, he shoved his hands into his pockets and slipped away quietly along the fences toward the street.