by Kerri Carr
She couldn't breathe. Her head felt light. It must have become apparent because Owen surged into the room. His hands wrapped over her shoulders.
“Emily, you need to breathe.”
“I...” She heaved in a breath through a tightening throat. It burned. Her anger swam beneath a wave of fear. “I can't!”
“Emily, please calm down. You can yell at me all you want, just relax first.” He was trying to keep his voice as typically flippant as always, but even she could pick out the note of disquiet in it.
She shook her head hard enough that her already messy curls tumbled out of their pins, and yanked herself away from him. “I can't breathe...”
“Look at me, Emily, look up.”
Her gaze filled with his glorious eyes. They were so lovely, and filled with steadfast concern. For a moment, just a moment, the storm of emotions ebbed.
“Breathe with me.”
He placed her hand on his chest. He took a long slow breath and she struggled to do the same. In and out, over and over. Each one was easier than the one before. The storm abated.
“There we go,” he whispered. “There we are.”
“He proposed.” Her legs felt heavy beneath her body, and unwilling to hold her up in the wake of her rampant feelings.
“And you accepted.”
“No,” she said. She shook her head again, feeling the weight of her hip length hair sweep over her back.
“Emily, you are wearing his ring.”
She looked down, and saw it glimmering there. How had she ever seen diamonds as warm? They were filled with cold promises. “No, you don't understand.”
“Are you engaged to Hudson Wright?”
She blinked. “I honestly have no idea.”
He laughed, and it was an oddly manic sound that seemed to come from a bleak place within. “Curse you, woman.”
“I love you.”
“Do you?”
“I have no idea.”
“Curse you again.”
He kissed her like he could devour her from the mouth down, and she melted. His kiss was nothing like Hudson's, though she hated to compare them. There was no awkwardness to the brazen way that his mouth slid over her own. His tongue delved between her lips to taste her, over and over again. She drowned in his own intoxicating favor of wine and spice.
He pulled back to let her breathe.
“More,” she begged. “Oh, Owen, more.”
He pushed her unto the chaise and pulled her dress away from her body. In moments sunlight, muted by the misty gray of rain clouds, was spilling across her bare skin. His mouth sank along her body, over her neck and breasts and hips. He left nearly no part of her untouched, unworshiped.
“There you are,” he groaned, when his fingers slid along the wetness of her sex. “There is my demure little vixen.”
His fingers plunged inside of her, opening her body to him. Deep pleasure swam through her, crashed through her. Yet all it did was fuel the storm of her need.
“Owen, I need more.”
“Tell me, tell me what you need.”
She wrapped her legs around his hips, and pulled him to her. Emily felt his length pressing inside of his breeches. She thrust her hips in wanton desperation.
“Take them off.”
He hesitated. “Emily, if they come off I can make no promise to your purity.”
She gripped his face in her hands. “I do not care. My purity...take it. I want them off.”
He made a sound more animal than human and jerked his pants down his hips. The next time he lay over her she felt the hot press of his blunt tip.
“Oh yes, Owen, yes!”
“Are you sure, Emily. Say it, tell me that you are sure.”
She thrust her hips towards him, enamored of the wet glide of his masculinity across her cleft. “I am sure, Owen.”
He buried his face between her breasts and she felt him nudge himself against her opening, still he hesitated. She wrapped her arms over his back and tugged him closer.
“Don't stop now.”
“God, Emily, you are my undoing.”
He slid into her. Emily expected to feel pain, but it never came. Perhaps her body was too willing, or his fingers had been preparation enough. All she felt was her own wetness and the glorious heat of him inside of her. He moved and she groaned. Her hips arched towards him with ardent abandon.
“Oh, Owen, yes!”
She was aware of everything, his breath on her body, the tickle of his hair along her neck. The long line of his chest as he moved over her, again and again. She lifted her hips to cup him to her.
“More, oh God, Owen, more.”
And more he gave her. His hands slid beneath her body and lifted her from the chaise so that only her shoulders were mated to the fabric. He surged forward over and over again. She could no longer determine where he ended and she began, nor could she bring herself to care. Her body had never felt more alive.
“Emily,” he grunted, his voice near to breaking.
“Yes,” she told him. “Oh yes.”
One hand fondled her breast and her eyes rolled back as the rough tender tip of her nipple scrapped along his palm. Her skin felt too tight for her body.
“Please,” she whimpered.
“Fall with me,” he gasped. “Fall with me, Emily.”
She could do nothing else. She felt the hot flood of his release inside of her and she gave in. With a final surge of his body, she broke into a thousand pieces.
*****
She was not sure when she dozed off, but when she woke he was still inside of her. The light from the study window had turned gray with a late hour, casting shadows across the room. She pressed her hand against his shoulder and he roused.
“Emily?” he asked.
“Well who else?”
He swallowed once before quipping, “Might have been a scullery maid.”
“You are not half so funny as you seem to believe yourself.”
“True. But I am twice as funny as most and that is enough.”
“Fine, now please remove yourself from my person, I would like to breathe.”
“As you wish.”
With a move that she could not have performed on her best of days, much less in a state of half wakefulness, he rolled off of her and sprang gingerly to his feet. She curled her legs to her chest and watched him search for his trousers. He was a gloriously built man.
“What do we do now?”
He glanced up at her. “What do you mean.”
“Come, now Owen, now is hardly the time to joke.”
“I am not joking.”
A cold feeling began in her belly. “I have already said you are not funny.”
“I am not attempting to be. Emily, I made what I wanted abundantly clear.” He stopped looking for his garments, and instead gave her a steady glance.
“I, I don't understand.”
“I told you that I did not want to get married,” Owen offered.
“Well, yes, of course you did. But I had assumed...”
“I also told you that I was many things, but I am not a liar.”
Her heart felt too small inside of her chest, small and breakable. Without understanding the 'why' of it, she pulled her chemise over her otherwise naked body.
“So, you will not marry me?”
“No, but that does not mean that we cannot be together, Emily. I will not push you out of your home, we can stay here and be together.”
She shook her head, as much to clear her angry thoughts as to tell him 'no'. “I cannot do that. I am...I am a lady.”
His brow shot up his forehead. “Oh?”
She opened her mouth to give a retort, but another voice stopped her.
“Emily?”
Hudson's shocked face filled the doorway. How she had forgotten about the door was well and truly beyond Emily. She knew what it must look like, with Owen standing in the middle of the room wearing nothing but his shirt, and she wearing only her chemise. T
heir scattered clothing a clear indication of their late afternoon activities.
“Oh, Hudson, I...I'm sorry.” She should have said more, but no words would come out of her throat.
“We were to go to the Avington's soiree tonight, I...the butler let me in, I've been waiting...”
Her stomach sank. Why the butler hadn't come to her, or why he hadn't sent Hudson on his way was well beyond her understanding right this moment. It didn't matter.
“I...can't.”
“That is clear. I will...excuse me. I should leave.”
Hudson swept out of the room.
“I told you he was a ponce.”
Emily brought her hand clearly across Owen's face, this time the slap, unmuted by gloves, was truly satisfying. He said nothing as she stormed out of the room.
~*~
The Briarmont gala was everything an end of season gala ought to be, bright, and cheerful and filled with new couples who were adamantly engaged in showing off who they had managed to snag. Emily wasn't sure that she had ever been more depressed to see couples together before.
She had arrived without escort, which had already caused a stir, and managed to corner Hudson Wright in the Briarmont's rather resplendent music room.
“Hudson, we must talk.”
“No, Miss Crawford, I am not entirely sure that we do.”
He was angry, and she could hardly blame him. He paced across the span of the music room, clearly not sure if he would leave her there or yell at her.
When he had worn himself out, he plopped unceremoniously onto a piano bench. He looked pitiful, and she realized that she hadn't just hurt him, she had broken his heart.
“Was it the kiss? Was it so terrible?”
She thought it was very unfair that he asked. He had been there, after all, he knew exactly how terrible it had been. Still, perhaps it had only been so terrible for her because she had had something terribly wonderful to compare it to.
“There was nothing wrong with the kiss. It is only that I hadn't realized until that moment that my heart belonged to another.” She moved to sit next to him on the bench, he slid to one side to afford her enough space.
“Why him? If there were a man who were gentler, or wealthier, or even more willing to marry you I would understand. But he...he is not any of that.” He splayed his hands on his knees, looking more at the floor than to her.
“I don't know,” she answered as honestly as she could. “He is a difficult man, he is stubborn and he is most uncouth. I do not know why I care for him, but I do.”
“You made a fool of me.”
She looked down. “I know. Does it help if I say that it was never my intention?”
“No, not really.” He sighed and looked down at his lap. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, oh of course not! You were perfect. You are perfect.”
“And yet you are not going to wed me.”
“No,” she shook her head. “I'm not.”
“You will wed him.”
She felt tears fill her eyes. “No, it does not look as if that will happen either.”
It was a mark of just how kind a man Hudson was when his concern colored his features. “Emily, what do you mean? He...well...he..”
“I am supremely aware of what he did, but Mister Harding is adamant that he has no desire to be married, not even to me,” her tears filled her eyes. “Forgive me, I don't mean to...to..” She found that she could not finish her statement.
“Oh, Emily.”
He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and bent his brow to hers, offering a kerchief for her tears. She took it. For a long time, he simply held her as she cried. She had not the first clue what she had done to gain such friendship from a man.
“I know that there is not love between us. But there is, I believe, friendship.”
“You would still be friends with me after what I have done?”
“Forgiveness and understanding are both terrible character flaws of mine,” he said with a shadow of a smile on his lips.
“So, you forgive me?”
“You did what you did out of love, did you not?”
“I did.”
“Then yes,” he placed his hand over hers. “I forgive you.”
“What am I going to do?”
He took a deep breath and wrapped his fingers over hers. “I am afraid that is not a question for me to answer. While I would be more than willing to hunt down the scamp who made you feel this way and demand that he takes you to the altar...I am of the opinion that this would make no one happy.”
Emily dabbed her eyes with his kerchief. “No, no I am afraid it wouldn't.”
“Well, maybe I can be of service.”
Emily and Hudson jumped at the sound of Owen's voice. For a moment she was sure that she was imagining things.
“Mister Harding.” Hudson surged to his feet. “What exactly are you doing here?”
“Well, I am Miss Crawford's appointed escort to this nonsense.” He waved one flippant hand in the general direction of the party. “It would be improper if I weren't here, wouldn't it?”
Emily adjusted her seat on the piano bench, turning her back to Owen. “As if you have ever cared one fig for propriety.”
“That is...true enough. However, in the weeks since you have left your rather impressive mark on my cheek, I realized that I do care more than a few figs for you.”
“I should leave,” Hudson said.
“No, no not yet,” Owen said. “I owe you an apology as well and I am sure that if I don't say it now, I won’t.”
Emily and Hudson shared a glance.
“Alright,” Hudson stood up.
“I have been a terrible brute, and while I have many reasons for such, I have come to realize that they are excuses. I have admitted to Emily, and now to you Lord Hudson, that my father was a rather despicable creature, and while I will not go into details I have come to believe that I never felt worthy of friendship, nor of love because of it...”
If Emily didn't know any better, she would have believed that Owen's voice broke. He cleared his throat and went on.
“I have acted a terrible fool, and I would like to know what I can do to fix that.”
“You know, Emily, I'm not entirely sure that this is Owen at all.”
Emily stood up and gently pushed passed Hudson. Her hand went to Owen's cheek and he tilted his face until she could stare into those beautiful eyes, and their starburst color.
“Oh it is,” she whispered. “It certainly is.”
“Am I forgiven?”
Lord Hudson took a very deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I will leave it to the lady to decide.”
Emily ran her thumb across the dip in Owen's chin. “There will be a great deal for you to make up for. You can start, of course, by agreeing to marry me.”
“Are you proposing to me?”
“I am,” she smiled as his lips dipped towards hers. '
“That is most unladylike,” he whispered. “I approve.”
THE END
Another bonus story is on the next page.
Bonus Story 34 of 44
Laws of Passion
“I still can't believe that you actually opted to move to the country, Nick,” Gary said to his longtime friend over the phone.
“Well, the thing is that I figured that since my grandpa left me a ranch out south, I might as well go there and see how it goes. I'm going down there next week probably. From what I gather, it is a pretty sizeable piece out there, and I just might put it to better use so that we can make some profit out of it,” Nick said to Gary, excitement actually bubbling through him at the thought of moving south to Austin.
“So, what does the ranch deal in?” Gary asked as a matter of fact.
“Well, Gary, what do you think that ranches deal in apart from cattle and horses. I wanna go down there and make it the best cattle ranch ever, and maybe once I'm there, I could invite you over to see how things are going,” Nick said.
“I think that would be swell. I guess that means that you are now going to be a cowboy of sorts, huh, I can't wait to see how well you can ride a horse,” Gary laughed, running his fingers through his long hair before taking his beer bottle and drinking from it.
“You might not believe this, but I've been riding horses ever since I was a kid. I was even a jokey for a time when I was in the army,” Nick said, signing out of his computer and shutting it down.
“I happen to be one of your closest friends, and yet I feel as if I know so little about you,” Gary contemplated.
“Well, the thing is that there are things that we have never gotten around to talking about, and one of them happens to be horses. Anyway, I have got to go, I need to put my accounts in order so that I can start preparing for the purchase of new cattle and a slaughterhouse for the ranch. By the time that I'm done with that place, I am going to be a Texas legend,” Nick said, pulling the brim of his Stetson a little lower over his face as he grabbed his laptop bag and walked out of his office.
Nick had been taken by surprise a week earlier when he had received a call from a law firm telling him that he had just inherited a huge chunk of ranchland in Austin after the death of his grandfather. It had come quite as a surprise because he had not known that he had any living relatives at all. Upon hiring a private investigator, he had discovered that Francis Ford was indeed his biological grandfather and that he was the only bloodline left, apart from some cousins of his who had moved north to New York and could not be traced.
He was pretty excited to find that he had some relatives and even a grandfather that had taken the time to hire an investigator to find out if he was still alive. Nick's mother had died when he was barely six and then his father died while he was still in high school. When his father died, life had been hard for the young teenager, but he had worked hard in his studies while living with a well-wisher. As soon as he had graduated from high school, Nick had enlisted to the army because he did not want to feel like a burden to the well-wishers that he was living with, and it was from there that he had begun his life.
