by Nora Roberts
With a hand to her cheek, he nuzzled. Drawing on a tenderness he hadn’t known he possessed, waiting for her lips to warm and soften beneath his. She hesitantly touched a hand to his shoulder. She knew his strength now, what it was capable of, and yet . . . and yet his mouth was so patient, so sweet, so beautifully gentle. When he increased the pressure, her fingers tensed. Immediately he drew back to nibble again until he felt her begin to relax.
He wanted to take care, and not just for her, he realized, but for himself. He wanted to savor, to explore, to open doors for both of them. He’d never been a man to bother with candlelight and music, had never looked for the romance of it. Now he found himself as soothed and seduced by it as she was.
The scent of her bath was on her skin; fresh, clean. On her his soap seemed feminine, somehow mysterious. Her skin was smooth but not frail. Beneath it were firm muscles, honed by an unpampered life. He would never have found frailty as appealing. Still, he could feel the nerves jangle inside her. Now he would treat her as though she’d never been touched. Where there was innocence there should be compassion. Where there was trust there should be respect.
And somehow, wonderingly, he felt as though it was his own initiation.
She heard the rustle of the sheets as he shifted. Her body hammered with need even while her fears held her back. It was natural, she reminded herself. And now that she wasn’t expecting, she wouldn’t be disappointed. Then her breath caught as a new thrill coursed over her skin. Confused, she brought a hand to his chest.
“I won’t hurt you again.” He drew away from her to brush the hair from her face. His fingers weren’t steady. God, he had to be steady now, he warned himself. He couldn’t afford to lose control, to lose himself a second time. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
She didn’t believe him. Even as she opened her arms in acceptance, he saw she didn’t believe him. So he lowered his mouth to hers again and thought only of Erin.
He’d never been a selfish lover, but he’d never been a selfless one, either. Now he found himself ignoring his own needs for hers. When he touched her, it wasn’t to fulfill his own desire but to bring her whatever passion he was able. He felt the change in her start slowly, a gradual relaxation of the limbs, a dreamy murmuring of his name.
She’d waited, braced, for the speed, the pressure, the pain. Instead he gave her languidness, indulgence and pure pleasure. He moved his hands over her freely, as he had before, but this time there was a difference. He stroked, caressed, lingered until she felt as though she was floating. The sensation of vulnerability returned, but without the panic. Light and sweet, he brought his mouth to her breast to nibble and suckle so that she felt the response deep inside, a pull, a tug, a warmth that spread to her fingertips.
With a moan she wrapped her arms around him, no longer simply accepting but welcoming.
My God, she was sweet. With his lips rubbing over her skin he discovered she had a taste like no other, a taste he would never be able to do without again. Her body was so completely responsive under his that he knew he could have her now and satisfy them both. But he was greedy in a different way this time. Greedy to give.
Reaching for her hand, he linked his fingers with hers. Even that, just that, was the most intimate gesture he’d ever made. In the candlelight he saw her face glow with pleasure, the soft, silky kind that could last for hours.
So he came back to her mouth to give them both time.
She tasted the wine, just a hint of it, on his tongue. Then she felt his lips move against hers with words she heard only in her heart.
Here was the glow she’d once imagined, and all the bright, beautiful colors the poets had promised. Here was music flowing gently and light soft as heaven. Here was everything a woman who’d given her heart could ask in return.
She’d loved him before. But now, experiencing the compassion, the completeness, she fell deeper.
Slowly, carefully, he began to show her more, finding all the pleasure he could want from her response. Her body shuddered and strained toward him without hesitation, without restrictions. When he nudged her over the first peak, he saw her eyes fly open with shock and dark delight.
Breathless, she clung to him. It felt as though her mind was racing to keep pace with her body. And still he urged her on in ways she’d never dreamed existed. The next wave struck with a force that had her rearing up. There couldn’t be more. The colors were almost too bright to bear now, and need and pleasure had mixed to a point that was both sharp and sweet.
She held him, moaning out his name. There couldn’t be more.
But he filled her and showed her there was.
***
She was trembling again, but she wasn’t curled away from him. This time she was turned to him, her face pressed against his shoulder, her arms holding tight. Because he was more than a little dazed himself, he kept her close and said nothing.
He was no novice at this game, Burke reminded himself. So why did he feel as though someone had just changed the rules? The candlelight flickered its shadows around the room so that he shook his head. It looked as if he’d changed them himself. Soft light, soft music, soft words. That wasn’t his style. But it felt so damn right.
He was used to living hard, loving hard and moving on. Win, lose or draw. Now he felt as though he could go happily to the grave if he never moved beyond this spot. As long as Erin stayed with him.
That thought had several small shock waves moving through him. Stayed with him? Since when had he started thinking along those lines? Since he’d laid eyes on her, he realized, and let out a long, none-too-steady breath. Good God, he was in love with her. He’d gone through his life without taking more than a passing interest in any woman. Then someone had opened the chute, and he’d fallen face first in love with a woman who hadn’t had time to test the waters.
He didn’t have time for this. His life was unsettled, the way he wanted it. His days, his decisions, his moves were his own. He had plans, places to go. He had . . . nothing, he thought. Absolutely nothing without her.
Closing his eyes, he tried to talk himself out of it. It was crazy, he was crazy. How did he know what it meant to love someone? There had only been one person he’d loved in his life, and that was long ago. He was a drifter, a hustler. If he’d stayed in one place a little too long, it was only because . . . because there hadn’t been a better game, that was all. But he knew it was a lie.
He should do them both a favor and take that trip to Monte Carlo. He should leave first thing in the morning. The hell with the farm, the responsibilities. He’d just pick up and go, the way he always had. Nothing was keeping him.
But her hand was resting on his heart.
He wasn’t going anywhere. But maybe it was time he upped the stakes and played out his hand.
“You okay?” he asked her.
Erin nodded, then lifted her face to look into his. “I feel . . . You’ll think I’m foolish.”
“Probably. How do you feel?”
“Beautiful.” Then she laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“You’ll do,” he murmured, and knew in that moment that no matter how hard he struggled he was already caught.
“I never want to feel any different than this.” She drew him closer to press kisses along his jawline and throat.
“You will, but there’s no reason you can’t feel like this as often as possible. We’ll bring your things over tomorrow.”
“What things?” Still smiling, her arms still around his neck, she drew back.
“Whatever things you have. There’s no reason to bother moving tonight. Tomorrow’s soon enough.”
“Moving?” Slowly she unwound her arms. “Burke, I told you once before I won’t live here with you.”
“Things have changed,” h
e said simply, reaching for the wine. He wished it was whiskey.
“Aye, but that hasn’t. What happened tonight . . . ” Had been beautiful, the most beautiful experience of her life, and she didn’t want it spoiled by talk of sharing a life with him that wouldn’t be a true one. “I want to remember it. I’d like to think that there may be a time when we might—when we might love each other this way again, but that doesn’t mean I’ll toss my beliefs aside and move in as your mistress.”
“Lover.”
“The label doesn’t really matter.” She started to move away, but he grabbed her shoulders. The glass tilted to the floor and shattered.
“I want you, damn it, don’t you understand? Not just once. I don’t want to have to drag you away from the Grants every time I want an hour with you.”
“You’ll drag me nowhere.” The afterglow of love was replaced by angry pride. “Do you think I’ll move in here so it’ll be convenient for you when you have an urge to wrestle in bed? Well, I won’t be a convenience to you or any man. The hell with you, Burke Logan.”
She pushed away and had swung her legs off the bed when she went tumbling backward to find herself pinned under him. “I’m getting tired of you wishing me to hell.”
“Well, get used to it. Now take your hands off me. I’m going home.”
“No, you’re not.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ll not keep me here.”
“Whatever it takes.” Then she twisted under him. Before he realized her intent, her teeth were sunk into his hand. He swore, and they rolled from one end of the bed to the other before he managed to pin her again.
“I’ll draw blood next time, I swear it. Now let me go.”
“Shut up, you crazy Irish hothead.”
“Name-calling, is it?” Erin sucked the breath between her teeth. The words she uttered now were Gaelic.
This was hardly the time to be amused, he reminded himself. But there was no help for it. “What was that?”
“A curse. Some say my granny was a witch. If you’re lucky, you’ll die fast.”
“And leave you a widow? Not a chance.”
“Maybe you’ll live, but in such pain you’ll wish . . . What did you say?”
“We’re getting married.”
Because her mouth went slack and her bones limp, he released her to suck on his wounded hand.
“It’s a relief to know you’ve got good teeth.” He reached to the bedside table for a cigar. “Nothing to say, Irish?”
“Getting married?”
“That’s right. We could fly to Vegas tomorrow, but then Dee would give me grief. I figure we can get a license and do it here in a few days.”
“A few days.” She shook her head to clear it, then sat up. “I think the wine’s gone to my head.” Or he had, she thought. “I don’t understand.”
“I want you.” He lit the cigar, then spoke practically, deciding it was the style she’d relate to best. “You want me, but you won’t live with me. It seems like the logical solution.”
“Solution?”
Calmly, as if his life wasn’t on the line, he blew out smoke. “Are you going to spend the rest of the night repeating everything I say?”
Again she shook her head. Trying to keep calm, she watched him, looking for any sign. But his eyes were shuttered and his face was closed. He’d played too many hands to give away the most important cards he’d ever held.
“Why do you want marriage?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been married before.” He blew out another stream of smoke. “And I don’t intend to make a habit of it. I figure once should do me.”
“I don’t think this is something you can take lightly.”
“I’m not taking it lightly.” Burke studied the end of his cigar, then leaned over to tap it out. “I’ve never asked another woman to marry me, never wanted one to. I’m asking you.”
“Do you . . . ” Love me? she wanted to ask. But she couldn’t. Whatever answer he gave wouldn’t be the right one, because she’d posed the question. “Do you really think that what we had here is enough for marriage?”
“No, but we’re good together. We understand each other. You’ll make me laugh, keep me on my toes, and you’ll be faithful. I can’t ask for more than that.” And didn’t dare. “I’ll give you what you’ve always wanted. A nice home, a comfortable living, and you’ll be the most important person in my life.”
She lifted her head at that. It could be enough. If she was indeed important to him. “Do you mean that?”
“I rarely say what I don’t mean.” Because he needed to, he reached for her hand. “Life’s a gamble, Irish, remember?”
“I remember.”
“Most marriages don’t make it because people go into them thinking that in time they’ll change the other person. I don’t want to change you. I like you the way you are.”
He took her fingers to his lips, and her heart simply spoke louder than her head. “Then I guess I’ll have to take you the way you are as well.”
Chapter Eight
“This is all happening so fast.” Dee sat in Erin’s bedroom, where even now a dressmaker was pinning and tucking a white satin gown on her cousin. “Are you sure you don’t want a little more time?”
“For what?” Erin stared out the window, wondering whether if one of the dressmaker’s pins slipped and pierced her skin she would discover it was all a dream.
“To catch your breath, think things through.”
“I could have another six months and still not catch my breath.” She lifted a hand to her bodice and felt the symphony of tiny freshwater pearls. Who would have thought she’d ever have such a dress? In another two days she would put it on to become Burke’s wife. Wife. A chill ran up her spine, and at her quick shudder the dressmaker murmured an apology.
“Have a look, Miss McKinnon. I think you’ll be pleased with the length. If I do say so myself, the dress is perfect for you. Not every woman can wear this line.”
Holding her breath, Erin turned to the cheval mirror. The dress was the real dream, she thought. Thousands of pearls glimmered against the satin, making it shimmer in the late-afternoon light. She thought it was something a medieval princess would wear, with its snug sleeves coming to points over her hands and its miles of snowy skirts.
“It’s beautiful, Mrs. Viceroy,” Adelia put in when her cousin only continued to stare. “And it’s a miracle indeed that you could have it ready for us in such a short time. We’re beholden to you.”
“You know you’ve only to ask, Mrs. Grant.” She eyed Erin as she continued to stare into the glass. “Is there something you’d like altered, Miss McKinnon?”
“No. No, not a stitch.” She touched the skirt gingerly, just a fingertip, as if she was afraid it would, dissolve under her hand. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Viceroy, it’s only that it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
More than placated, Mrs. Viceroy began to fuss with the hem. “I think your new husband will be pleased. Now let me help you out of it.”
Erin surrendered the dress and stood in the plain cotton slip Burke had once unhooked from the clothesline. As the wedding gown was packed away, she slipped into her shirtwaist and thought she understood what Cinderella must have felt like at midnight.
“If I might suggest,” the dressmaker continued, “the dress and veil would be most effective with the hair swept up, something very simple and old-fashioned.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Dee murmured as she continued to watch her cousin. Erin was staring out the window as if she was looking at a blank wall.
“And, naturally, jewelry should be kept to the bare minimum.”
“She’ll have my pearl earrings for something borrowed.”
“What a sweet thought.”
“Thank you again, Mrs. Viceroy,” Dee said, rising. “I’ll show you out.”
“No need for you to go up and down those stairs in your condition. I know the way. The dress will be delivered by ten, day after tomorrow.”
Day after tomorrow, Erin thought, and felt the chill come back to her skin. Would it always be now or never when it came to Burke?
“A lovely lady,” Dee said after she closed the bedroom door.
“It was kind of her to come here.”
“Kind is one thing, business another.” Since the weight of the twins seemed to grow heavier every day, she sat again. “She would hardly pass up the opportunity to please the future Mrs. Burke Logan. Erin...I’m happy for you, of course. Oh, I feel like a mother hen. Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I’m not sure of anything,” Erin blurted out, then sank onto the bed. “I’m scared witless, and I keep thinking I’ll wake up and find myself back on the farm and this all something I dreamed up.”
“It’s real.” Dee squeezed her hand. “You have to understand that everything happening now is as real as anything can be.”
“I do, and that only scares me more. But I love him. I wish I knew him better. I wish he’d talk to me about his family, about himself. I wish Ma was here and my father and the rest of them. But . . . ”
“But,” Dee coaxed as she moved over to sit beside her.
“But I love him. It’s enough, isn’t it?”
“Enough to start.” She remembered that in the beginning all she’d had was a blind, desperate love for Travis. Time had given her the rest. “He’s not an easy man to know.”
“But you like him?”
“I’ve always had a soft spot for Burke. He’s got a kind heart, though he’d rather no one noticed. He’s a tough one, but I believe he’d do his best not to hurt someone he loved.”
“I don’t know if he loves me.”
“What’s this?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Erin said quickly, and rose to pace. “Because I love him enough for the two of us.”
“Why would he want to marry you if he didn’t love you?”
