Weak Flesh (29 page)

Was it the fever addling his brain? Or was having her come to him like this in the middle of the night a confirmation of the truth?

His flesh blistered and his blood ignited as his erection jutted at her through the trousers she wore. Christ! Inhaling deeply, he pushed her away, groped for the basin, and splashed water on his face and chest.

He felt her move behind him to the window, saw her throw open the sash, welcomed the night air on his fevered flesh. She chose clean linen from the armoire and made the bed with her small, efficient hands.

"Leave it!" he snarled and caught her expression in the mirror. "Get out of here!"

If she didn't leave, he'd have no defense against her, he thought madly. He leaned heavily against the dresser, staring at her with wary weariness.

Why did she torment him? What did she want from him? He had nothing to give her, and yet, he wanted her like an addiction.

She finished with the bed and rearranged the extra blankets at the end. Slapping her hands together in finality, she spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. "I'm not leaving, so you can get that silly notion out of your addled brain."

"Bailey – "

"And stop calling me that!" she snapped. She scowled and braced his arm over her shoulder while guiding him to the bed.

"Meghan." She turned into him, lifted her face, her voice tender and breathless, a sweet caress against his jaw. "Call me Meghan," she whispered.

He allowed her to put him to bed like a child, too exhausted now to care that the fever was rising again, pounding at his muscles and bones like wild waves against a battered ship.

She was here. For the moment that was enough. He'd worry about the rest tomorrow.

"You're burning up," she declared, the practical nurse once again, but he heard the tremor in her voice like a healing balm as he dropped into senselessness.

#

When Gage woke an hour later Meghan could see the fever had subsided. His eyes were bright and clear as he observed her where she sat in an old rocker she'd pulled up to the bed.

He wet his lips. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long." She lifted his head so he could sip from the glass of water she held to his mouth. His skin beneath her wrist felt considerably cooler. "How do you feel?"

"Better." He shoved up in the bed and leaned his head against the headboard.

After a moment he looked embarrassed and mumbled, "Necessary." Pulling on a robe that hung in the armoire, he padded barefoot down the hall.

While he tended to his ablutions, Meghan fluffed the pillows and straightened the linens. She'd brought a small satchel of food from Clare's kitchen which she now laid out on the circular table by the window. Bread, butter, fruit, a bottle of wine.

"What's this?" Gage asked when he returned, looking much more lively. He sat on the edge of the bed while she prepared a small plate and laid it on his lap. "A picnic?"

"Eat," she commanded. "You'll feel better."

Now that Gage was clothed, now that his sickness had ebbed, she felt awkward, nervous. She darted a glance toward the door. She ought to leave now, return home lest Papa find her missing and worry again.

Pouring a glass of wine, she gave it to him. "I should go now," she murmured, unnerved by the smoldering look that darkened his eyes to the color of a sky black with a hurricane.

She reached for her jacket.

"Stay." The word was nearly inaudible. She turned from the door and stared at him across the room. "I don't want you to leave."

"But – you said – why – ?"

"Just stay." He set aside the plate and goblet and reached for her. "I said a lot of foolish things I didn't mean."

She dropped her jacket to the floor and let him slowly unbutton the shirt she wore. What was he doing? Had he changed his mind?

Her hands trembled at her side as his eyes flared when he saw she wore nothing beneath the shirt – no chemise, no corset, no bodice. Was her plan all along to seduce him, she wondered?

A ripple of shock raced through her as his long fingers ran down the center of her torso from neck to waist. She'd left the window open and now shivered in the cool room.

"You're cold," he murmured, those clever hands cupping one breast, thumbing the nipple until it tightened and she inhaled audibly.

He stared at her as if she were a wonder, a treasure, then dipped his head to cover her breast with his mouth. Her blood simmered and when he ran his tongue over the nipple, ignited to the boiling point.

"Oh, God! Gage, what are you doing to me?" She closed her eyes and savored the moment.

"Touching you," he whispered against her flesh. "Loving you." He eased the shirt off her shoulders, unfastened the trousers and pulled them down to her ankles. Her drawers were plain white cotton that hid nothing from his view.

"Christ, you're beautiful," he murmured against her neck, trailing his fingers down her spine to cup her bottom possessively. "And mine, all mine."

She sensed his robe drop to the carpet and his drawers follow quickly and her eyes fluttered open. She hadn't seen him fully aroused last night, had only felt the wide expanse of his chest, the tautness of his thighs, the persistent swelling of his member against her body.

Now she drank it all in. How beautiful he was! And large. She ought to be afraid, but instead curiosity and longing filled her as she reached for him.

#

By the wide roundness of her eyes, Gage knew Bailey had never seen a man's erection. He led her to the bed, tumbled her back onto the sheets, and lay down beside her. He'd enjoyed her body last night, had pleasured her, he knew, but tonight he'd move slowly, initiate her carefully to proper lovemaking.

He propped himself on one elbow, using his hand and fingers to touch her, caress her, bring her to a shivering mass of need. He enjoyed the power he had to bring her to fulfillment. His mouth covered hers as she moaned and writhed against him, impatient, he knew, to reach the same sweet peak of release as before.

Fondling her with one hand, he twisted his fingers in her rich mane of hair with the other and kissed her hard and long and deep. His tongue invaded her mouth, tangling with hers. His teeth nipped her lips, and still she pressed her body against his, demanding more.

Rolling over, he covered her body with his great bulk, nudged her legs apart and lay between them. He leaned on both elbows and cradled her head between the palms of his hands.

"There'll be no going back from this, Bailey," he warned, staring into eyes the color of a stormy sea. "Nothing will ever be the same if we go through with this."

"I don't want to go back," she urged, her voice husky with desire. "I want you inside me. Now."

"All right, then." He stroked her hip and thigh, her belly and lower to the dark curls between her legs. She was wet and ready, and still he wanted more for her.

She gasped as his fingers invaded her body and she came quickly with a jerky violence he hadn't anticipated. He held her tight, working her body with his fingers, savaging her mouth hungrily as she climaxed in one long, hard shudder.

More, he thought, I want more from her.

When she would've rolled away, he pulled her back and continued the assault on her senses until he felt her ready and willing again, trembling with need. He held himself at the entrance of her body, prepared to breach her at last.

He wanted to make her deflowering as painless as possible. "This may hurt a bit," he cautioned, "but only for a moment, my love." He rubbed himself against her and felt the friction of their bodies arousing them both nearly to peak.  

He strained to hold back.

"What – oh, God – no, don't stop," she commanded and arched her back to bring her sex closer to him.

God help him not to go off too soon.

He pressed and probed, the head of his cock manic with intent. God, she was so small, so tiny, so tight. His great beast of an organ would surely rip her in half. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and their bodies stuck slickly together.

She lifted her hips. "Do it, Gage, please. Now. I need you inside me now."

In one powerful thrust he entered her, feeling the violent breach of her maidenhood like a knife to his gut. He covered her mouth with his, but felt her scream rip through his conscience.

But though she froze a moment beneath him and whispered, "It burns," soon she writhed again as if in a fever pitch of agony that begged for release.

He rode her hard, feeling her orgasm build madly once, twice in wild ferocious climaxes until he shuddered, his own release pumping his seed into her.

He thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

Until he felt the wetness of her cheeks against his shoulder.

Gage rolled off her and drew her close, pulling a blanket around them.

"I'll speak with your father straight away about – about the marriage," he said, avoiding Bailey's eyes.

She swiped at her cheeks as she shoved him away. "Good grief, Gage, this isn't the Dark Ages. You're not obliged to marry me because you've taken me to your bed."

"Why are you crying, then?"

She frowned at him. "You think I'm weeping because I'm afraid you won't offer me marriage?"

"Well, no. Nevertheless – "

"Fiddlesticks. I'm not going to wed just because I lost my virginity. I'll marry when I find a man I've a liking to."

Did that mean she had no liking for him, then?

God help them both.

He hadn't meant to pounce on her, but her waspishness flamed his temper. "Fine," he snapped, "when you find that husband, he can keep you out of trouble."

Pity, he brooded. For the brief time he'd lain in Bailey's arms, the Chippewa Brave's shattered face and empty eyes had receded to a far corner of his conscience. Would he ever know that kind of peace again?

"I'm too tired to argue with you," he said wearily. "Come, I'll see you home."

"No need." She jerked on her drawers, covering that lovely ass, but leaving her breasts bare. "Since I found my way here, I can certainly get home under my own power."

"Why
did
you come here?"

"Foolish as it sounds, I was worried about you. It appears I was correct. You're still sick." She sounded in no way sympathetic. "But apparently your illness hasn't compromised your virility."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Bailey."

"Oh, for God's sake, stop calling me Bailey." Tears shimmered in her eyes and he felt momentarily ashamed.

He reached for her hand. "I'm sorry, Meghan."

She dashed at her damp face with shaky fingers. "Don't get sentimental on me, Gage."

She sniffed and swiped her hand on the shirt she'd just put on. Pity to cover those magnificent breasts, he thought, fighting his continued arousal for her.

"I've ridden the bicycle so I'll be home quickly enough." Finally dressed, she arranged her hair under the cap again and reached for the door knob.

"Oh," she said, turning back, "I also wanted to tell you what Mrs. Jolly said about the altercation she witnessed at the Swamp. But it can wait, I suppose."

Whether from the thought of her leaving or the residual effects of the snake bite, he felt ridiculously weak all of a sudden.

Knowing he shouldn't, he called her back. "Don't go, Ba – Meghan. Stay a while. Tell me Mrs. Jolly's sinister tale."

He smiled and sank onto the bed, closed his eyes. "Don't leave me just yet."

Chapter 33

How could she resist when Gage begged her so sweetly to stay? When such a strong man looked so weak and vulnerable? Meghan glanced at the pocket watch on the nightstand. Scarcely past midnight, plenty of time yet to sneak away before the boarding house patrons were up and about.

She gave in to the temptation and set to work.

She'd learned to change linen around a bed-ridden patient and used the skills she'd learned from her father to change the sheets without disturbing Tucker. He scarcely roused himself, but each time she touched her hand to his forehead, he felt only mildly warm. Good, he was healing.

After she changed the linens, she rolled him over – no small task with his great weight – and dared to lie down beside him. Curving her body into the solid width of his back, she tucked her hand beneath his arm to curl into the springy sprinkling of hair on his chest.

The position felt so right that for the moment she indulged the fantasy of going to bed each night just like this. She and Tucker comfortably snug in their own bed.

#

Gage woke at four in the morning, feeling somewhat rested and refreshed. The soft pliable weight of Meghan at his back both alarmed and thrilled him. He reached behind him to caress her round bottom through the annoying trousers she wore, feeling himself grow immediately hard.

He turned around to face her, lift the messy curls from her face, reveling in the smooth planes of her face, the tender blue veins of her closed lids, the swell of breasts beneath the shirt. Even in his illness he wanted her again. Desperately, uncontrollably.

She opened her eyes, almost as if she sensed the raw lust of his body. She smiled sleepily at him
.

He ran one finger down her jaw to her throat at the open neck of the shirt, around her shoulder and down her back. "You were going to tell me Mrs. Jolly's story," he reminded her.

"I could do that," she teased, "or I could ... "

When he realized her intention, he gripped her forearm, causing her to wince again. "Bruises there, too?" He tugged the shirt down one shoulder and removed her arm, inspecting the ugly purple splotches. He clenched his teeth. "That bastard Nolan?"

She shrugged. "He might've been miffed when he discovered me searching his office."

Dark, murderous intent coursed through him when he pictured Nolan putting hands on her. "If he touches you again, I'll kill him. I can't bear the thought of someone hurting you."

"It doesn't matter now," she soothed as her hands roamed over his naked chest, dipped down to the furrow of hair at the top of his waistband, slowly pulled the string of his drawers. "We have more important things to think about."