by Lisa Kleypas
She opened her eyes and stared into Zachary's pale, wild face. The black eyes were fathomless with astonished wonder, the lashes spiked with tears. Slowly she stroked his hard face, his cheek, watching as sanity and awareness crept into his expression.
“Holly,” he said, his voice shaking and utterly humble. “You…you'll stay with me?”
“Course I will.” She sighed and smiled, keeping her hand on his cheek, though the effort demanded all her strength. “Not going anywhere…dearest Zachary.”
Epilogue
“Higher, Mama, higher!”
Holly unrolled more string and the kite dove and soared in the cloud-ribboned sky, its green silk tail fluttering amid a strong breeze. Rose trotted beside her, shrieking her approval. Somehow their skirts and legs tangled and they fell together in a wildly giggling heap. Bounding up immediately, Rose took the roll of string and continued to run, her brown curls flying in shining banners behind her. Holly remained on the ground, resting on her back. Smiling, she relaxed on the crisp green lawn while the sun shone full on her face.
“Holly.” The anxious note in her husband's voice pierced her reverie. She rolled to her side with an inquiring smile. He was coming toward her from the house, his stride purposeful, his hard face set with a frown.
“You must have been watching from the library window,” Holly murmured, crooking her finger for him to join her on the grass.
“I saw you fall,” he said curtly, squatting beside her. “Are you all right?”
Holly wriggled to her back, heedless of possible grass stains, knowing she looked far more like a tumbled country lass than the grand lady she had been reared to be. “Come closer and I'll show you,” she said throatily.
A reluctant laugh escaped him as his gaze traveled over her abandoned posture, the skirts flipped up to reveal her white-stockinged ankles. Holly lay still beneath his perusal, hoping his reticence with her was finally beginning to fade. In the past six weeks of her recovery from typhoid, she had regained her health in full measure, until she was once more pink-cheeked and lively, and even a bit plump. She knew she had never looked or felt better, and along with her health had come all her natural desire to be physically close with her husband.
Ironically, Zachary's recovery had been somewhat slower than hers. Although he was as affectionate and teasing as ever, there was an unbreakable restraint in his manner with her, an undue carefulness in the way he touched her, as if she were still so fragile that he might accidentally cause her harm. Although he had regained some of the weight he had lost, he was still a bit too lean, too watchful and tense, as if he were waiting for some unseen enemy to pounce.
He had not made love to her since before the typhoid fever. There was no mistaking the fact that he wanted her, and after the past two months of celibacy, a man with his sexual appetite must be suffering mightily. But he had greeted her recent advances with careful, gentle rebuffs, promising that they would be intimate again when she was better. Clearly his opinion of her health was far different than her own, or even Dr. Linley's. The physician had tactfully informed her that she was ready to resume all normal marital activity as soon as she felt able. However, she didn't seem able to convince Zachary that she was more than healthy enough to receive him in her bed.
Wanting him to relax, to be happy, to lose his restraint in her arms, Holly slid him a provocative glance. “Kiss me,” she murmured. “There's no one here but Rose…and she certainly won't mind.”
Zachary hesitated and bent over her, brushing his mouth gently over hers. She slid a hand around the back of his neck, fingers curving over muscles that were as hard as steel. Holding him to her, she touched her tongue to his lips, but he would not share his taste with her. He took her wrist carefully and pulled her hand away from his neck.
“Have to go back,” he said unsteadily, and let out a panting breath. “Work to do.” Shivering and laughing briefly, he stood in an easy movement and threw her a glance of tortured love. He returned to the house while she raised herself to a sitting position and contemplated his tall, retreating figure.
Clearly something must be done, Holly thought with mingled amusement and exasperation. Of all men, she had never thought Zachary Bronson would be so difficult to seduce. He seemed almost afraid to touch her. She had no doubt that he would make love to her again someday, when he finally realized that he would not inadvertently hurt her. But she did not want to wait. She wanted him now, the vigorous full-blooded lover whose lusty advances made her mad with pleasure—not this careful, considerate gentleman who seemed entirely too self-controlled for his own good.
Returning home from a long day spent in his town offices, Zachary entered the house with a sigh of relief. It had been an unexpectedly difficult negotiation, but he had finally acquired the largest interest in a Birmingham metalwork factory that produced chains, nails and needles. The difficult part had not been in setting the financial terms, but in convincing his would-be partners that from now on the factory would be run by his managers, his way. There would be decent hours for the workers, no children employed and part of the profits would be reinvested in ways his partners had called foolish and unnecessary. He had nearly walked away from the deal entirely, and when they had realized he would not yield an inch, they had agreed to all his terms.
The day of patient, persistent debate had left him agitated. He was still tense with battle readiness, longing for a way to expel his pent-up energy. Unfortunately, his favorite method, that of tumbling his wife, was still not available to him. He knew Holly would welcome him if he approached her that way. However, she still seemed so small and fragile, and he was terrified that her health might undergo a setback if he pushed her too hard. Moreover, his own feelings for her overwhelmed him. It had been so long since he had made love to her that he half-feared he would fall on her like a rabid animal when he finally approached her.
It was Thursday, the usual night off for the servants, but the household seemed far quieter and emptier than usual. As Zachary wandered from the entrance hall to the family dining room, he discovered that the cold supper that the cook always set out on these evenings was not to be found. Checking his pocket watch, he discovered that he was only a quarter-hour late. Was it possible that the family had already eaten and retired? Mysteriously, there wasn't a single person in view, and no one responded to his casual call. The house seemed deserted.
Frowning, Zachary strode to the grand staircase, his pace quickening as he wondered if something had gone wrong…and then he saw it. A rose with crimson petals, laid carefully along the bottom step. He picked up the flower, the long stem carefully denuded of thorns. As he ascended the stairs, he found another on the sixth step, and another on the twelfth. His gaze progressed upward, discovering that a trail of red roses had been laid out for him to follow.
A smile pulled up from deep inside him, and he shook his head slightly. He wandered along the path of roses, in no particular hurry as he added to his growing collection. The blossoms were lush and fragrant, the sweet smell teasing his senses as he carried them. After retrieving more than a dozen, he found himself standing before his own bedroom door, with one last bloom dangling from the doorknob by a red ribbon. Feeling rather dreamlike, he opened the door, crossed the threshold and closed himself inside the bedroom.
A small table laden with covered silver dishes and candles in silver holders had been set in the corner. His gaze traveled from the cozy supper for two to the sight of his pretty dark-haired wife, who was dressed in something filmy and black. Her body was visible through the wickedly revealing negligee, and he stared at her in stupefied silence.
“Where is everyone?” he asked with difficulty.
Holly waved a rose as if it were a magic wand. “I made them all disappear.” Smiling mysteriously, she came forward to embrace him. “Now, which will you have first?” she asked. “Supper?…Or me?”
The roses dropped to the floor in a rustling, sweetly aromatic heap. He stood amid the cascade of blossom
s as she pressed against him, silken and fragrant and utterly female. Zachary's arms went around her. The feel of her warm flesh beneath the transparent black silk was enough to make his mouth go dry and his aching loins wake in a rapid, twitching surge. He tried to control the bursting excitement that filled him, but he was so hungry with longing, his body so damn deprived, that all he could do was stand there and gulp for air. Her small, clever hands roamed busily beneath his coat, tugging at buttons, pulling at fabric until his shirt hung free of his trousers. Her palm brushed lightly over his rock-hard erection, lingered in a squeezing caress, and she smiled against his shirtfront. “I suppose this answers my question,” she murmured, and set about freeing him from the tight constriction of broadcloth.
Somehow in the midst of his turmoil, Zachary was able to make his stiff mouth form words. “Holly, I'm afraid…oh, God…I can't control myself.”
“Then don't,” she said simply, and tugged his head down to hers.
He resisted, his face drawn with torment. “If I should cause you a relapse…”
“Darling.” She stroked his cheek with her soft hand, smiling tenderly at him. “Don't you know that your love only gives me strength?” She touched the corner of his taut mouth with a gentle fingertip. “Give me what I need, Zachary,” she whispered. “It's been far too long.”
Groaning, he took her sweet mouth with his, delving deeply with his tongue, and the pleasure of it drove him wild. He kissed her endlessly, sucking, stroking, devouring, while his hands cupped over her silk-covered breasts, her round hips, her bottom. The feel of her made him dizzy. He dragged her to the bed and tossed her on top of the mattress, and tore at his own clothes until most of them were gone. He crawled on top of her, his hands and mouth searching for the white skin left uncovered by the veil of black silk, while she whispered urgently for him to unfasten her gown. “There are some buttons,” she gasped. “No…not there, over here…yes, and a ribbon that ties over my…oh, yes…”
His growing desperation made it impossible to dispose entirely of the intricate network of fastenings. Finally he settled for pushing the filmy skirts up to her waist and lowering himself between her open thighs. He pushed himself inside her, lunging, sliding, until he was deeply encased in her silken heat. She moaned and wrapped her arms and legs around him, her hips pressing firmly upward against his weight. Framing her face in his hands, he kissed her open mouth and began to thrust without restraint, taking her in primitive, impatient drives that made her whimper against his lips. The delicate crescents of her nails pressed into his back, and he shuddered and pumped harder, until the eruption of sensation caught up with him at last. For a moment the release seemed too intense to bear, white-hot and consuming as it blazed through his body. Just as his climax began to ease, he felt her inner muscles tighten around him in a long, exquisite ripple. He took her cry into his mouth and held himself as far inside her as possible, riding her until the last tremor had faded.
They lay together, winded and relaxed and steeped in pleasurable aftermath. Zachary drew his fingers over his wife's alluring body, unfastening what was left of the negligee and stripping it away. Finding a rose poised on a nearby pillow, he retrieved the soft open blossom and drew it over her damp pearly skin, tickling her breasts and navel, gently stroking it between her thighs. “Zachary,” she protested, delighting him with a blush.
He grinned lazily, feeling at peace for the first time in months. “Witch,” he murmured. “You knew I wanted to wait longer before doing this.”
Holly levered herself over him with a triumphant smile. “You don't always know what's best for me.”
He tangled his hands in her hair and urged her to kiss him. “And what is best for you?” he whispered when their lips had parted.
“You,” she informed him. “As much of you as I can have.”
Filled with adoration, Zachary stared into her smiling face. “I believe I can oblige you, my love.” And he pulled her deep into his embrace and loved her once again.
About the Author
Lisa Kleypas is the author of nineteen historical romance novels that have been published in twelve languages. In 1985, she was named Miss Massachusetts and competed in the Miss America pageant in Atlantic City. After graduating from Wellesley College with a political science degree, she published her first novel at age twenty-one.
Her books have appeared on bestseller lists such as the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and WaldenBooks. Lisa is married and has two children.
Please visit her at www. lisakleypas.com.
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By Lisa Kleypas
SECRETS OF A SUMMER NIGHT
AGAIN THE MAGIC • WORTH ANY PRICE
LADY SOPHIA’S LOVER • ONLY IN YOUR ARMS
ONLY WITH YOUR LOVE • WHEN STRANGERS MARRY
SUDDENLY YOU • WHERE DREAMS BEGIN
SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME
STRANGER IN MY ARMS • BECAUSE YOU’RE MINE
SOMEWHERE I’LL FIND YOU
PRINCE OF DREAMS • MIDNIGHT ANGEL
DREAMING OF YOU • THEN CAME YOU
And the Anthologies
WHERE’S MY HERO?
THREE WEDDINGS AND A KISS
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
WHERE DREAMS BEGIN. Copyright © 2000 by Lisa Kleypas. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound™.
PerfectBound™ and the PerfectBound™ logo are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Microsoft Reader October 2004 ISBN 0-06-079186-1
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