Tides of Love (Seaswept Seduction Series) (35 page)

Forcing his hands by his side, he tried to disregard how beautiful she looked in what he thought was a new dress. "I'm sorry for shocking you in class. I'm also sorry for sneaking up on you today." He repressed visions of what she might be wearing beneath the butter yellow material.

"Caroline told you where to find me, I suppose." She linked her fingers and squeezed, presenting the crown of her head.

"After my fourth telegraph, plus two from Zach, yes, she finally did. You mustn't blame her. I left her no choice. Since then, I've been going crazy trying to get the lab on its feet and get to you."

Her eyes met his. "Get to me? Why would you want to get to
me?
"

"Elle, I"—he tunneled his hand through his hair—"I need to talk to you. Desperately. There are things I want to say. Words best spoken in"—he glanced over his shoulder and back—"private."

"I thought this might be why you'd made this journey." Her voice dropped. "I'm not pregnant, Noah. Thank God, for both of us. So you can go to Pilot Isle or Chicago or wherever it is the fish need you with a clear conscience."

He glanced down in dismay. He had
hoped
to find her pregnant. What would she think about that? "If you're trying to hurt me, you're doing a fine job."

"I'm, I'm not trying to hurt you."

"Doesn't matter. Nothing hurts as much as your leaving did. You didn't it important to tell me you planned to return to university? I woke up on Devil
alone,
Elle."

"You don't need to remind me how much being left hurts,
Noah
."

"Is that what this is? Revenge?" He leaned in, the scent of almonds and honey fueling his desire
and
his anger. "I wish I had never left. I wish I had given you your first kiss, been the one to hold your hand and dance with you, see you through university and the opening of the school. I wish... oh, hell." He banged his fist on the table.

"No use in wishing, Professor. We're like oil and water. You're the one who reminded me time after time, in your diplomatic way. Congratulations. Now I believe it."

His hand shot out. "You
don't."

She flinched, dodging the contact. "Yes, I
do."

He wrenched his spectacles off and gazed into her eyes. "Look into my face, Elle, and tell me what you see."

"I used to be able to see everything. Now... I, I see
us
, together, kissing and touching. Like the night on—" She flinched and her textbook hit the floor. "Why did you come, Noah?
Why?
You're not responsible for what happened. You were right when you begged me to forget the boy I loved. You should do the same and forget the girl you protected."

"I did say that, didn't I?" He laughed and scrubbed his hand over his jaw. "I once said far too many things." Before she could react, he was halfway across the table. His hands rose to cradle her face. "I hadn't planned to say this for the first time in my life in a damned library, of all places, although the irony isn't lost on me. However, another night cannot pass without you hearing me say it. The last two months I've said it in my dreams. Tonight I want to say it to you." He leaned in until their mouths brushed. "I love you, Marielle-Claire Beaumont. I'm deeply, hopelessly, helplessly in love with you."

Then he kissed her. And felt love flow from his heart.

Against his, her mouth formed one word—
no
—as anguish etched her face. With a cry that cut clear through him, she wrenched to her feet and rushed from the room.

He stared at the strand of hair wrapped around his finger, realizing he did not know where she lived, and that she had sprinted into a dark night. Shoving from his chair, he slipped on a smooth marble edge and cursed leather soles, inferior vision, and lack of foresight.

"Elle, stop!"

Chest hitching, he caught her as she turned into a dim passageway bordering the faculty residences. She shoved at his hands, tears streaming, dampening the hair hanging in her face. "Easy, sweet. There now. I'm here." He leaned against the rough bricks and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close to ease her trembling.

"No." She slumped, the crown of her head slipping beneath his chin.

"Tell me why my loving you is a terrible circumstance." He turned his face into her hair.
Lemon,
he remembered, and inhaled deeply.

"What happened that night wasn't"—she burrowed her cheek against his chest, her sob tearing into his soul—"what you planned and... you don't know how to make if right. It's nagging at you... to make the situation right. Make me fit somewhere proper, somewhere decent. It's your way."

He cupped her chin, forcing her gaze to his. "You think my love for you is born of guilt? I don't feel
any
guilt over what happened between us. I'm incredibly awed by the beauty of what we shared. And I'm starved, actually somewhat desperate, to touch you again, but guilt?" He shook his head.

"Your list—"

Laughing softly, he fit his brow to hers. "Oh, sweet. Forget that ridiculous list. I've been making those since the day I defended a disheveled French immigrant in a crowded schoolyard. A thousand by now, at least."

"If you have, you hid them well."

A renewed burst of love swelled his heart as a renewed burst of desire swelled things elsewhere. He had not been lying when he'd said he was starved. For the sensation her body beneath his, arching to meet his thrusts, grasping his hips, and guiding his movements. Taking command in a manner unknown to him before her. His heart stuttered in remembrance. Sixty nights alone, dreaming and wishing for her companionship had proven to be a torturous experiment.

One he never wanted to repeat.

He lost sight of his purpose and lowered his head, thinking only of tasting.

Oh, no, he's casting his spell.

Proof of his hunger pressed into her hip, hard and long, as his mouth skimmed her cheek, his tongue flicking, stoking. Her thoughts scattered. Frantic and aroused beyond measure, she shoved against his chest. Then repeated the action more forcefully when he refused to move.

He backed off with a swear. "Elle, for God's sake, you're killing me. Tearing my heart from my body." He drew a shallow breath and let the air rush out. "I need you. Blessit, I love you. How can I prove it?"

She covered her ears, the pounding of her heart deafening. "You're confusing passion with love. You see, I went to the psychology section of the university library when I first arrived and spent an entire afternoon reading about... intimate relations. A classic example of misplaced affection, confounded by our childhood relationship. Also, I realize it's odd because, at one time, I would have sold my soul to hear you say the words you said to me tonight. I prayed to hear them, dreamed of hearing them. Only, I don't want to hear them now." She babbled and could not stop. "I can't depend on you. I have to depend upon myself. I've been trying to heal, trying to find my way. Trying to decide what I'm going to do with my life, now that my family is gone. You have your life planned, successful career, loving family. I'm alone now, and—"

He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin. Throat working, he glanced at his hands. Jerking them back, he turned to lean stiff-armed against the wall. His frenetic breaths echoed in the silence.

Had she imagined the glint of tears in his eyes? "Noah? I think, I think this would be better for both of—"

"Please," he said, an anguished, inaudible plea. "Don't say any more. I'll go crazy if you do." His fists clenched, his knuckles scraping the wall in what must have been a painful movement. "Not your fault. I expected too much after what I've said. The warnings." His head dipped low, and she watched him struggle, the muscles beneath his shirt bunching. "Just before you left, I figured this out, what it means, the rarity of the bond between us. I understand how poor the timing is. You've started university again. I intended to tell you that night on Devil, had every word planned, but you stopped me, kissed me. I never got my thread of thought back."

"You're a child with a new toy. You don't—"

He slapped the wall. "Don't presume to tell me what I feel, Marielle-Claire Beaumont. Don't you dare."

She swallowed, heartsick, and surprisingly, a tad angry. "It's too late." She added,
"You're
too late. Time will take care of this, for both of us."

"You little fool, time won't take care of a damned thing." His features settled into an intractable expression. "You'll marry me, Elle. Within the month. I'm not waiting any longer for you to come to your senses."

"Not waiting?" she asked, red coloring her vision. Stepping forward, she jabbed his shoulder. "Well, you'll wait a long time." Jab. "I'm not marrying you." Jab. "This is my life, Professor, and you have no say. And thank you, but you can keep your romantic proposal."

He captured her hand before she uttered another word. "I love you, and I'll do whatever is necessary to make you believe it. Every day for the rest of my life. Swim the length of the Atlantic Ocean. Lasso the moon. You're the only person I've ever belonged to, and I'm not letting you give me up."

"No." He didn't hear her, as he was occupied with nibbling on her wrist.

"Yes," he said, and sucked her index finger into his mouth, rolled his tongue around her nail for good measure.

As if it were happening to someone else, she watched him make love to her hand. The same sweeping tilt she experienced when he kissed her, an earth-shattering shift, rocked her where she stood.

"This is what I want to do to your entire body, sweet. This is what I
will
do. I promise you."

A weak sound rose from her throat. A flush of need and embarrassment crossed her face. The juncture between her thighs caught fire; her nipples contracted beneath her corset.

Leaned against the wall, he hooked his feet at the ankles, a deceptive pose when she could see his chest lifting with ragged breaths. His gaze traveled from the tips of her new leather boots to the ends of her recently trimmed hair. "You desire me as much as I desire you. And you love me, even if you don't want to."

"Yes, I want you."

Raw hunger replaced confidence. His stance stiffened as he pushed off the wall. "Spend the night with me. Come to my house."

She walked back a step, stumbling over an uneven brick. He followed, his depraved expression exposed by a strip of moonlight.

Helplessly, she whimpered.

He squinted, his hands falling to his side. "You're terrified of me. Completely terrified."

"I am," she said, pride yielding to honesty.

Naked sorrow swept his face, making her feel the guilty party. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here, forced myself upon you. I just figured with what happened on Devil." He closed his eyes and touched the bridge of his nose. "That you only needed to hear me say the words. I assumed my foolishness was keeping us apart." He turned and walked into a gaping recess of shadow. "I guess that's what my limited experience with women gets me."

Lacking reason, she raced forward and caught his sleeve between her finger and thumb. "What did you say?" Impatient and confused, and as always, impulsive, she said, "What did you just say?"

His gaze slid her way, and he blinked. As he remembered, a flush she observed even in the dim moonlight flooded his cheeks. "Nothing." He fingered the neat golden arch above his ear. "I didn't say anything."

"How you touched me, you were confident. Clever." She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, a movement he watched with blind attentiveness. "How many?"

His frown deepened, creasing his lips. "Elle, this isn't something we should discuss."

"Why? You've never kept secrets from me before."

"Secrets?" He groaned. "It isn't a secret."

"Then tell me." She swallowed, preparing for the worst. "How many? Too many to count?"

"Too many to
count?"
He leaned in, searching her face. "Is that what you think?"

She nodded.

"Sweet—"

"It's all right. Don't tell me. We're not children anymore, whispering under a spread of scrub pines, dangling our feet over the side of a dock."

Bricks shifted. A rock cracked the wall. "Two." His labored sigh echoed along the passageway. "In college, a professor's daughter. Engaged to a very wealthy man her father had selected for her. She was testing the waters, being rebellious, I suppose. She made her interest known, and I accepted her invitation. One time, at her father's summer cottage. Later, in Chicago, a woman I met at a university function. Widowed, attractive, not interested in an attachment. There were other, well, opportunities... but a nagging sense of discontent always held me back."

Elle opened her eyes to find him watching her, his gaze guarded and wary. "Once with her, the widow, too?"

He jammed his hands in his pockets and shook his head.

"Oh, now I understand what Caroline meant."

"What Caroline meant," he said and knocked the toe of his oxford against the ground. "Listen to me, the things we did, most of them were as new to me as they were to you. If it appeared I was overly confident or possessed a great degree of knowledge, hell, I don't." He lifted his head, a wicked smile growing. "Just beginner's luck."

"I'm scared," she said, startled to hear the confession.

His smile dimmed. "Why?"

"Everything's all mixed up." She pressed the heel of her hand to her throbbing temple. "My father attempted to determine my future, guide my hand. He told me so often that my choices were foolish, sentimental, and preposterous. I've come to wonder if he's right."

"Elle, he was not right. I told you the same thing, and I wasn't right, either. The young girl grasped out connection. She was wise and brave, and I loved her as much as I love you."

"You don't understand. I'm not a girl anymore, living on dreams of the future and believing in your love above all else. I can't pin all my hopes on you. Give you my heart like I could before. I just can't."

"Time? Do you need time?"

She bowed her head, the uncertainty on his face bringing to mind the boy she'd cherished.
Damn and blast,
it made her want to shout at the unfairness, the gross irony, of life.