by Donna Fasano
Dakota was quiet, seeming to ponder all that she’d said. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “There’s something I don’t understand,” he began. “You attended college. Earned your degree in nursing. You had the means to provide for yourself.”
“So why continue the quest for a rich husband?” She voiced the obvious question he was leading up to.
Lyssa set her mug next to his on the coffee table. Dakota wasn’t a judgmental man, but still she felt extremely self-conscious of his disapproval. She didn’t dare reveal too much more, but she was determined to at least tell him enough so that he’d be able to grasp her motives.
“Abject poverty does something to a person, Dakota.” She kept her tone level, her demeanor calm. She didn’t want his pity, only his understanding. “My mother could barely take care of herself, let alone take care of me. I got into nursing school, yes. But scholarship money isn’t easy to come by. I’d like to be able to tell you I was a genius. That organizations were clamoring to offer me a free education. But my grades were average. And I had no extracurricular activities to speak of. My college applications looked pitifully thin. In the end, I was accepted, but I had to take out loans to pay for my tuition, books, living expenses.” She shook her head. “Lots of loans.”
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking and that left her with all sorts of worrisome vagary swirling around in her mind.
“By the time I’d graduated,” she continued, “I owed tens of thousands of dollars. A mountain of debt. I started my first job. Rodney was on the board of the hospital. He was everything my mother told me to be on the lookout for. Handsome, respected, and rich. Before I knew what had happened, I was attending gala balls and charity dinners. Being dressed by honest-to-goodness clothing designers. I was rubbing elbows with senators and rock stars. I was bowled over. Completely.”
Dakota was silent. Just studying her as she talked.
“Rodney’s lifestyle was so far on the other end of the spectrum from where I’d grown up,” she explained. “From what I was fighting my way out of.” She shook her head remembering how stupefied she’d been by her ex-husband’s daily existence, his days filled with boardroom meetings, his nights filled with merriment and mayhem. Her voice grated like rusty nails as she forced herself to admit, “I wanted the good life, Dakota. God help me, but I wanted it all.”
He laced his fingers together. Touched the knuckle of his index finger to his chin. “So you married him.” He said the words softly. “You got exactly what you wanted. The good life.”
His green eyes were so keen that their hue actually seemed to deepen. The errant thought drifted through her mind that any woman who could remain unaffected by the power of his gaze—by the raw, almost animalistic power of him—must have veins filled with ice water.
He asked, “What went wrong?”
Lyssa closed her eyes as unpleasant emotions washed over her. When she raised her lids, his gaze was no less potent than it had been before.
“No sooner had we spoken our vows,” she said, unable to bring her voice above a whisper, “than Rodney began acting… differently. Treating me differently.”
She remembered having a hard time putting her finger on the change in him at first. The tone of his voice. The impatience in his eyes that could turn to meanness in a flash. But his behavior toward her soon made it very clear that she was no better off than her mother. No better off.
The day she’d been struck, full-force, with that realization had been a devastating one. She shoved away the horrific memory.
“He felt he owned me,” Lyssa continued. “He thought he’d bought me with his millions. I was to be there for him. I wasn’t to want anything for myself. No career. No friends. No identity save that of being Mrs. Rodney Gaines.”
She frowned. “Once I peeled off my blinders, I saw that all the Gaines women were forced to lose themselves to their husbands. Rodney’s mother bends to her husband’s will purely as a means to survive. The wives of his two brothers do the same thing. And the Gaines children…”
Distress had Lyssa smoothing a protective hand over her lower abdomen as panicky tears blurred her vision. “Rodney is intimidated by his father. Scared of him, really. His brothers act the same way. And they treat their own children with the same ferociousness that they themselves receive from Samuel Gaines. They’re all perpetuating some sick cycle. Like a pack of wolves constantly setting and jostling the hierarchy.”
Sometime during her speech, Dakota had relaxed against the chair back. However, his eyes had never left her face for an instant.
“I put up with it for a year,” she told him. “Then I left him. And while I was away from him, I brought myself up to speed so I could practice nursing. But he charmed his way back into my life. Told me he’d change. Told me things would be different. And there seemed to be no denying him.” Her tone sounded far-off as she said, “It seemed so ironic that I had been the one who had gone out on the hunt. But in the end, I was the one who was trapped.”
She shrugged. “There was no real love in me for Rodney. He’d destroyed the affection I’d had for him. But I’d made my bed, I decided. I would just have to lie in it. He wasn’t going to stop badgering me until I surrendered. That much became clear rather quickly. However—” nerves had her swallowing jerkily “—once I discovered I was pregnant, everything changed. I don’t want my child feeling afraid of his father. The idea of standing by and watching my son or daughter being raised in that kind of environment…”
The sigh she expelled came from the very depths of her soul as a silent tear rolled down her cheek, unnoticed.
“I left Rodney for good. After doing some research, I found a judge who was both sympathetic and honest, meaning he wasn’t impressed and couldn’t be swayed by the Gaines fortune. In fact, Judge Burnbaum had a bit of a vendetta against my father-in-law. Years ago, Sam Gaines did all he could to keep the judge from winning his seat on the bench. Judge Burnbaum has been looking for a way to kick ol’ Sam in the seat of the pants ever since.” A small, sad grin crept over Lyssa’s mouth. “He did that by granting me an amazingly quick divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences.”
Lyssa sighed. “Of course, both the judge and I knew that Rodney would go ballistic over the ruling, that he’d surely contest the divorce. That’s why Judge Burnbaum suggested I leave the state. He said the longer our divorce remained intact, the less chance Rodney would have of succeeding with his appeal.”
After a moment of silence, she continued. “Back then, my body showed no signs of my pregnancy. And I didn’t dare tell anyone. Not even the judge. But he figured it out.”
Tipping up her chin, she looked Dakota in the face. “The last thing he said to me was, ‘Take care of that baby.’”
She realized suddenly that both her hands were now splayed out over her tummy. “That’s what I plan to do, Dakota. I love this baby. And I want only the best for him. Or her. I-I won’t settle for anything but the best.”
Her chin quivered now.
“I feel as if I’m in a deep hole,” she told him, her throat growing tighter by the second. “And I know that I’m the one who’s done all the digging. I put myself where I am. I’m totally to blame for my circumstances. But my child shouldn’t have to suffer for my mistakes. I had to get out, Dakota.”
She wanted desperately to tell him that she had no idea how to achieve what her heart desired most. In voicing the words, surely she would reveal just how weak she was at this moment, and she feared he would find her defenselessness as repugnant as she herself perceived it to be.
His forehead puckered, and she got the distinct impression that he honestly felt the pain, the regret, the fear that she was experiencing yet he didn’t seem to be condemning her with a single nuance of criticism.
Finally, she breathed, “Peace. I just want to fall asleep at night unafraid of who might be chasing me. I want to be confident that my baby will be safe. I don’t want to raise my child as my
mother raised me. And I sure don’t want to use Rodney’s father’s parental strategy, either. All I want is for my child to grow up in an atmosphere filled with unconditional love.”
Tears slipped down her face. She couldn’t say what was more crushing—the horrible facts of her past or that she’d had to reveal them to the person she most respected in the world.
He got up and came to sit on the edge of the sofa beside her.
Her voice wavered as she thinly said, “Is that too much to ask?”
There was no hesitation in him as he reached out to her. He cradled her jaw in his palm, his gaze so full of kindness that all she wanted to do was get lost in it.
“No, Lyssa. You’re not asking for too much. Love. Freedom from fear. Freedom from harm. Every mother wants those very same things for her child.” His tone was assuring as he repeated, “Every mother wants them.”
Something magical swirled in the heated air. Lyssa felt as if time itself froze in place. That the clock stopped ticking. All she was cognizant of was Dakota’s understanding expression. Those amazing moss-green eyes seemed to hold her rapt. The feel of his skin against hers was titillating. The scent of him, heated and woodsy, wafted and spun, enveloping her, kick-starting her heart into a wild and frantic pattering. She feared he would actually hear the thumping, feel the throbbing of her pulse.
It never dawned on her to wonder how she could have been crying in despair one instant and then tumbling headlong into desire the next. All she knew was that she’d been catapulted into a hunger so strong that satiating it was her only thought.
And what had hurled her to this place of passion was the flame that had ignited in Dakota’s eyes like a flash fire. Sweeping and all-consuming.
“Lyssa.”
His broken tone held a myriad of emotions, and she got the sense that he was feeling baffled and troubled, joyous and determined, simultaneously.
He leaned toward her, his mouth slanting down over hers.
Heat sizzled between them, and a delicious shiver shimmered through her. His tongue skipped languidly over her lips, and she parted them in a silent invitation for him to deepen the kiss.
He tasted of the sweet tang of warm apple cider. Luscious. Spicy.
Lyssa’s blood pounded, lava hot, her need growing and swelling. Running rampant. Out of control.
“I want you,” he breathed against her mouth.
The words were simply too alluring to be endured.
“I’ve wanted you since the day we met. But—”
“No buts,” she pleaded, hearing the frantic tone of her own voice. “I want you, too. I want this. No regrets, Dakota. Please.”
It was as if, with those few words, she’d freed him from every trace of reserve that had been holding him back. He rose to a stand, tucked his hands beneath her body and swooped her up into his arms.
“We’ll be more comfortable in my room,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “In my bed.”
His bedroom was cool and dark. He set her on her feet only long enough to rip the silky quilted spread from the mattress. Then he took her hand, and they sat on the edge of the bed together.
He gifted her with dozens of feather-light kisses. On her lips, her temple, her jaw, her neck. He kissed the backs of her hands, her palms, her fingertips. With each kiss, her yearning amplified until she could hear the whoosh of it in her ears, feel the heat of it throbbing through her veins. She wanted nothing less than to tear off every stitch of her clothing so he could kiss each naked inch of her.
She reached up, fumbling for the buttons of her blouse, but he stalled her efforts. Nudged her fingers away.
Frustration rose up in her sharply. However, he immediately began unfastening the buttons himself, and Lyssa’s muscles relaxed. He pushed the fabric facings aside, slid the blouse from her shoulders, peeled it from her arms, tossed it to the floor.
“Your skin is like cream,” he murmured, his fingertips grazing her upper arms, shoulders, the curve of her neck.
His touch was so delicious that she tilted her head, offering him the full length of her throat. He placed a searing kiss on her already hot skin. The result made her gasp with pleasure.
He traced the lacy edge of her bra first with his eyes, then with his fingertips. They were both breathless as the pads of his thumb grazed over the swell of one breast, then the other, her nipples hardening. Deftly, he freed the front hook, and the bra fell from her body. His gaze smoldered and impatience mounted inside her. She wanted to see him. Touch him.
Reaching up, she smoothed her palm over his chest, the knitted cotton soft against her skin. Then she began gathering the fabric with her fingers. With both hands, she pulled and tugged until the sweater was free and she threw it aside.
Her eyes feasted on his sinewy pectorals, his rippled abdomen, and she surrendered to the urge to touch his golden brown skin. He sucked in his breath and held it as she let her fingers meander over his chest, over his broad shoulders.
Finally, her name burst from his lips in an agonized whisper. His hand went behind her neck to support her as he urged her backward onto the mattress.
His kisses became more frantic now. The long curtain of his hair trailed about them, the silky tendrils tickling her shoulder, the sensitive skin on the inside of her elbow. She reached up and combed her fingers through the sleek, luxurious locks, fanning them outward, felt them dance and skitter across her skin.
Heated current zipped through her body, her muscles strained up toward his touch, toward his kiss. She wanted more. And she wanted it now. The frustration and longing raging in her must have been evident in her frenzied gaze.
“Wait,” he urged softly. “Wait.”
With slow, deliberate fingers, he unfastened her jeans. He tucked his thumbs oh-so-intimately into the stretchy waistband and tugged the pants free of her body. And although all she wore now were her silky panties, she still felt hindered by too much fabric. Looking down the length of herself, she suffered a moment of self-consciousness. Could he find the swell of her pregnant body desirable?
But the feeling was fleeting because the fact that he found her—all of her—pleasing was blatantly expressed in his eyes.
“You… now,” she implored in a rush, unable to quell the urgency she endured. “It’s your turn.”
He gifted her with the sexiest of grins. “Yes, so it is my turn.”
In order to take off his trousers, he had to get up. He stood there by the bed a moment, merely gazing at her, his ravenous eyes traveling down the full length of her. Lyssa felt his wanting stare almost as if it were a physical touch.
After he removed the last vestiges of his clothing, she witnessed the indisputable proof of his need of her. He eased himself down beside her. The atmosphere of the room crackled with the electric passion pulsing around them, through them, between them. Their desire was a connection. A bond. A union that drew them closer and closer.
She couldn’t even smile now as she murmured, “I think it’s my turn again.”
“Oh, yes.”
He sounded winded, as if he’d run a long distance. And Lyssa liked thinking that she affected him in this manner.
“Yes,” he told her, “it’s your turn. Unless, of course—” he grinned wickedly now “—you’d rather I did the honors.”
She just shook her head.
He eased back a bit, resting his upper body on one elbow, his mossy eyes glittering with expectation.
Slipping her index fingers beneath the peach-colored lace, she slid her panties slowly, erotically, down the length of her lower body, over hips, thighs, knees, calves. Her throaty chuckle echoed off the walls as she caught the tiny strip of fabric on the bridge of one foot and flung it with a quick and tiny kick.
Their eyes met. And held.
As if he couldn’t keep his hands off her any longer, he rolled toward her. The heat of him, the weight of him made her delirious with joy. The ache that had been, until now, dull and low in her belly, flared like a dangerous
bonfire needing, no, demanding to be quenched.
“I need you,” he said.
And Lyssa gasped with relief. “That’s good,” she whispered between kisses. “Because I feel the same.”
She let herself get lost in his kiss, lost in his touch, knowing this would be one long and scrumptious night.
~oOo~
Lyssa woke the next morning in a tangle of sheets, the cotton soft against her naked skin. Memories flooded her brain, sensual images flashed, soft caresses and moans, breathless sighs, strokes and touches that left her weak. A languid smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Yes, last night would be unforgettable, indeed!
She looked over toward Dakota’s side of the bed, the mere sight of his broad, muscular back rekindling the embers of her desire. But she decided it was too early to wake him. He had patients to treat today. He needed his rest. Especially since he’d performed so well—and so long—last night. Lyssa couldn’t stifle her grin.
Lyssa started when his cell rang. Dakota groped for and picked up the phone, identifying himself. After listening for only a moment, he sat up on the edge of the mattress.
She rose up on one elbow. “What is it, Dakota?”
His back was still to her and he tensed at the sound of her voice. Whatever the matter was, it must be serious as he didn’t respond to her query.
“How long has she been in the E.R.?” he asked of whomever it was on the other end of the phone line.
Dakota leaned over as he talked and snatched up the clothing he’d discarded so carelessly last night.
“Okay, who’s with her?” he asked. “No, I mean which doctor.” He clutched the waistband of his pants in his free hand and struggled into them. “Good. She knows what she’s doing. Do you know how many of the berries Grace ate?” Another slight pause. “Okay, just sit tight and I’ll be right there.”
Lyssa realized suddenly that Dakota hadn’t turned to face her once. Hadn’t acknowledged her presence. He hadn’t even looked at her. A strange reserve came over her and she pulled the sheet up high to cover herself.
