Carrying His Secret

by Marie Ferrarella

  The relief was enormous.

  Knowing that she had never graced his father’s bed put an entirely new spin on what was happening between them. He wasn’t making love with one of his father’s leftovers. Whatever their so-called relationship or dalliance was, wherever it might lead or not lead, it belonged to them alone, untainted by his father’s fingerprints.

  Whit had always hated existing beneath his father’s shadow. He was his own man.

  The kiss between them heated up almost instantly.

  One moment, Whit was just deepening the kiss, the next he had gently pushed her back against her bed, moving with her.

  Continuing the kiss.

  His lips sealed to hers, Whit found himself putting his entire being into that kiss, stoking the fire that was just beneath.

  His hands began to roam almost possessively over her body, touching, caressing, claiming. And all the while he was doing that, his clever fingers were divesting Elizabeth of the nightshirt she’d slipped on.

  Since she’d intended on going to bed, she had nothing on beneath the nightshirt. There were no more barriers to keep him from her.

  There was just her bare skin.

  The instant his fingertips glided along the velvet-soft skin, he could feel his loins quickening, could feel his own breath turning almost solid in his lungs.

  The feel of her skin set his own on fire. He knew he should be backing away. She’d turned down his proposal, which meant she didn’t want to be married to him. At the very least, he should have been insulted instead of aching for her this way.

  Common sense as well as a sense of morality told him he shouldn’t be doing this, and yet, something within him felt it would curl up and die if he didn’t.

  So he kissed her.

  Over and over again, he kissed her. Kissed her lips, the sides of her neck, the swell of her breasts and beyond.

  Each moment fed on the next, making him bolder. Making him yearn.

  Tugging the nightshirt from her body, he let it slide off the bed and onto the floor. He was otherwise occupied. Hardly able to catch his breath—her nearly perfect body was making it increasingly difficult for him to breathe—he pressed his lips to Elizabeth’s bare shoulders, then created a damp trail of kisses that led down to her navel and then farther than that.

  Every part of her was his.

  Elizabeth pulled frantically on his shirt, desperate to eliminate the barrier it provided.

  Pausing for just a moment, Whit raised his arms, allowing her to drag his shirt off his torso.

  Before he could resume what he was doing, she’d pushed the button free of its confining hole on his trousers. After that, the trousers disappeared, removed via a joint effort.

  She was about to push him down on the bed, to have her turn at raining kisses up and down all along his torso, but Whit was faster than she was. Before she knew it, she was the one whose back was against the comforter while Whit went back to what he’d been doing: claiming every inch of her body by branding her with his mouth and his tongue and nipping her with his teeth.

  And Elizabeth reveled in it. She twisted and turned beneath him, as much to absorb the sensations as to give him new areas to make his own.

  When he got down to the very core of her, the ecstasy was almost too much for her to bear. Elizabeth had to bite down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying out. Whit had brought her up to a climax before she even realized what he was doing.

  The first climax flowered into another and then another, just like an endless, ever-widening fireworks display across the sky on the Fourth of July.

  Arching her back to try and absorb every nuance, every last bit of the wondrous sensation rippling all through her like a hundred small earthquakes, she dug her fingertips into his shoulders.

  The next second, with her last ounce of available strength, she dragged him up until his face was level with hers.

  Their bodies were aligned.

  Aware that he was on borrowed time and that he was not going to be able to hold out indefinitely, Whit positioned himself over her and then, his eyes once more on hers, their hands linked above her head, he entered her, claiming a woman who was already his—or at least she had been during that one magical, memorable night they’d shared.

  He wished with all his heart that he could give her what she wanted—because it was what he would have wanted as well. But a man knew his own limitations, and Whit was convinced that this was his.

  He couldn’t love—he could only want to love.

  The exception was his unborn child. He could already feel love growing and multiplying within his heart for the child he had yet to meet.

  Just like your father, a voice echoed in his head. He’d quickly gone through that box of baby things that Carson had found in their father’s closet. He’d read a few entries in a diary that his father wrote in sporadically, apparently only when the mood moved him. In one entry he mentioned being surprised that he could care so much for someone so tiny and helpless. Someone who couldn’t communicate a single word but who could somehow light up his soul.

  That was as close as he was going to come to love himself, Whit thought as he made love with Elizabeth. He wished that it was enough for her, because he knew, in absence of the teeth-jarring real thing, that he could live with that.

  The urgency within him grew to such proportions, it left not a drop of room for anything else. Certainly not any coherent thoughts.

  The tempo quickened as he and Elizabeth raced together for that final second’s embrace, and to celebrate the all-encompassing final surge that promised to capture both of them and hold them in its delicious, viselike grip.

  But even as it occurred, as that wondrous sensation pervaded all through them, it began to dissolve, backing away from them slowly, leaving a soft sense of euphoria in its wake.

  Eventually, even that was gone.

  Opening his eyes, Whit looked at her for a long-drawn-out moment, then brushed back some of her hair from her face.

  Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open.

  She wasn’t asleep after all, Whit thought. For a moment, she’d been so still, he was certain she had drifted off to sleep.

  “Sorry,” he told her—a blanket apology for anything she might feel merited one. “I guess I just got carried away.”

  How could he make love to her like that, make her feel as if she could fly over anything, and not love her? It didn’t make sense to her.

  “Yeah, I guess we both did,” she replied, her voice so low he could barely hear it.

  Raising himself up on one elbow, Whit turned his body in to hers, the movement totally unself-conscious. He looked at her for a long, long moment.

  She had been incredibly flexible, all but blowing him away.

  “I guess you really don’t have any stress fractures,” he concluded, only half teasing her. “You didn’t wince once.”

  “You didn’t exactly leave much room for wincing. That was a full-scale attack,” she told him—but she was smiling as she said it.

  “I like being thorough.” And then his smile faded just a touch as he asked, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  She tried to keep a straight face, but in the end, she failed. “It’s a little late for concern, don’t you think?”

  “Better late than never,” he countered and then he gently touched her face. “If you need anything, anything at all, you’ll tell me, right?”

  He was talking about meeting his obligations as a father, she thought. “You mean if I need anything for the baby, right?”

  “No, anything at all,” he emphasized. “That means the baby and you. I want you to let me know. If you won’t marry me, well, that’s your decision, I guess. But I still want to take care of you and the baby.”

  This was killing her, she thought
. He was a good man with good intentions and maybe just too honest for her own good. When he’d proposed to her, he hadn’t needed to tell her that he couldn’t love her. Granted, she would have undoubtedly figured it out on her own, but not all that quickly, especially not if he made love with her like this.

  Even knowing what she did about the fact that his feelings were paralyzed, she’d been completely blown away by his lovemaking.

  Could a man make love like that and still not feel anything at all?

  He was looking at her, waiting for an answer—she could see it in his eyes.

  “Yes, I’d tell you,” she said.

  What else could she say? She didn’t want his money, especially not in lieu of his love. But she wasn’t exactly dressed for a long-drawn-out debate on the subject.

  She wasn’t even dressed for a short discussion, she thought, suddenly amused at the whole situation. Lovemaking had left her feeling rather giddy and upbeat.

  Whit searched her face for some sign that she was telling the truth. Her expression was unreadable. “You’re sure?” he asked.

  God help her, she was lying, she thought. But it was a necessary lie, to keep everything from just exploding and going haywire. To keep from wounding him, although why she should care about his feelings when he obviously didn’t care about hers was beyond her right now.

  “I’m sure,” she replied.

  He smiled at her then, and the next moment, cupping her cheek and tilting her head ever so slightly, he kissed her.

  It was supposed to be a kiss to seal the bargain, perhaps even to say “thank you.” But it didn’t turn out that way.

  He discovered that the taste of her mouth was utterly irresistible to him no matter how many times he kissed her—or maybe because of all the times he’d kissed her.

  One kiss led to another as sure as the sun rose in the east and bedded down in the west. This time was no different.

  There it went again, Elizabeth thought. Her heart was taking off as if they hadn’t just spent the last forty-five minutes making wild, passionate love with one another.

  What was she, insatiable? Elizabeth silently demanded. How was she going to reconcile all this with her feelings about his stand? She would think about that later, Elizabeth told herself.

  Tomorrow.

  Whenever.

  Right now, she didn’t want to think, even though that was the way she was normally wired. Right now, all she wanted to do—again—was feel. And he made her feel glorious.

  Beautiful.

  Despite everything, despite her attacks of lack of confidence, he made her feel like the most beautiful and desirable creature on earth.

  That had never happened to her before and she wanted to hold on to that feeling for as long as she could. But beneath it all, she also knew she had to be logical.

  “Won’t someone come looking for you?” she asked Whit.

  The last thing she wanted was to have someone come knocking on her door with Whit lying naked in her bed. She knew without asking that he wouldn’t suddenly jump up and hide in the closet to avoid detection. He would remain just where he was, and she wasn’t sure if she was up for that and all the things that such a discovery would cause to rain down on both of them.

  “It’s late,” Whit reminded her. “And it’s not like I have a keeper—or that anyone even really cares where I am.”

  He began to kiss her again, but she was quicker and placed her index finger against his lips, stopping him. She wasn’t finished making her point.

  “Your father was murdered and someone— possibly the same person as the one who murdered your father—pushed me down the stairs. I’d say that’s plenty cause for your family to worry about you if you’re not where you’re supposed to be.”

  “That’s just it,” he told her, rolling her onto her back in one quick movement with his body looming over hers. “I’m not supposed to be any particular place. And there are a hell of a lot of places in this house that I could be.”

  Although, Whit had to silently admit, Carson would probably figure out that if he wasn’t in his room and his car was still on the property, he would be here, in Elizabeth’s room.

  He decided he didn’t need to share that with her, especially since he didn’t know just how she would react to it.

  “Now if you’d like me to stop, all you have to do is say so,” he told her, giving her the option to do just that. He waited a beat, then two, but she didn’t say anything. “Well?” he asked.

  “I’m not saying so,” she told him, an almost impish smile on her face.

  She knew in her heart that tonight was an aberration, caused by the scare they’d both had, fueled by the energy created by him unexpectedly finding out about her condition—and his pending fatherhood.

  Tomorrow things would go back to normal. Since she had turned down his proposal, this might very well be the last time they would be together like this.

  She intended to make the very most of it. She had a feeling that the memory of tonight was going to have to last her a very long time.

  The next moment, he was kissing her again and her mind stopped functioning altogether.

  Chapter 15

  The first rays of the morning sun slipped slowly in through the slight part between the two curtains, painting sections of the bedroom in soft golden hues.

  Most of the time, mornings represented a new beginning and a sense of hope for Elizabeth.

  This morning, however, was different.

  This morning she woke up to find herself more confused than she’d ever been in her life. On the one hand, she had her principles, rules that she had faithfully lived by all her life.

  Principles that kept her strong and on track even when her world turned chaotic.

  On the other hand, she had all those conflicting feelings about Whit. She was in love with him and had been for the past five years. That side was pushing for marriage under any excuse, under any circumstances. This, while her principles insisted she stay true to her beliefs.

  And smack in the middle was her baby. Above all else, she needed to do right by the baby.

  A baby deserved a mother and a father.

  But at what cost?

  Should she just sell out, say yes to the man who lit up her world and never, ever be secure in the knowledge that he actually loved her? Or ever would love her? Even if he said the words, would she be able to believe him? She just didn’t know.

  Elizabeth’s head began to hurt.

  She needed to think, to really think this over carefully.

  Elizabeth knew she couldn’t do that lying beside him this way. Just being in the same room with Whit caused her mind to come to a grinding halt, never mind the fact that they were in bed together, as nude as the days they were born.

  No, if she was going to think this through and hopefully come up with an answer that she was willing and able to live with, she needed to think about it away from Whit.

  Away from all distractions.

  And then it came to her. She knew where to go to be alone with her thoughts, to clear her mind and look at everything from a clean perspective.

  Watching Whit’s face closely for any indication that he was waking up, Elizabeth eased out of bed almost in slow motion. Still watching him, she gathered up the clothes she had left discarded on her chair. Holding her breath, she silently hurried into them. Then, moving on tiptoe, her boots clutched against her chest, she slipped out of the bedroom.

  Making her way down the stairs, she set her sights on the front door.

  She was almost home free when she ran into Carson.

  He looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. “You’re up early,” he commented.

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” she told him, and that was the truth. Sti
ll, she mentally crossed her fingers that he wouldn’t ask her to elaborate. “And I thought I’d go for a ride on one of the horses, if that’s all right.”

  “Sure. Knock yourself out,” Carson told her. “Do you need help saddling up?” he asked. He glanced around for a flat surface on which to rest the mug of coffee he was nursing in order to accompany her to the barn.

  But Elizabeth shook her head. “No, but thank you for offering, though.”

  “Are you sure?” he pressed. “Those saddles aren’t all that light.”

  She smiled at his comment. “I’ll be fine. I grew up on a ranch. My uncle’s place,” she explained. “It wasn’t nearly as grand or as fine as this ranch, but we did have a couple of horses. It was my job to keep them groomed and to exercise them.”

  What might have been a tedious chore to someone else had been a source of soothing peace for her. In those days, she was never happier than when she was on the back of a horse, with the wind in her hair and the sun on her face.

  “Guess you’re all set, then,” Carson told her. “Have fun.” Still holding the mug of coffee, he made his way toward the den, his mind elsewhere already.

  * * *

  A day into her stay at Adair Acres, she had discovered the barn and the horses that were stabled there. She had been completely mesmerized by the palomino stallion, Golden Thunder. Whit had told her she was free to ride the horse whenever she wanted to—as long as he came with her.

  She knew that was the bodyguard in him talking and she appreciated his concern. But right now, she didn’t want Whit coming along with her, since he was the problem she was hoping to work out.

  Elizabeth made her way over to Thunder now, talking softly so that the stallion could get used to her presence before she began to saddle him.

  “How are you doing, boy?” she asked, gently petting the stallion’s nose. To her delight, the horse seemed to recognize her. So much so that he nudged her, his attention focused exclusively on the pockets of her jeans. “Sorry, boy. No lumps of sugar on me this time. This is a spur-of-the-moment visit—”