by Diana Palmer
She laughed under her breath. “Okay, I like them occasionally.”
“I like crickets occasionally,” he replied, responding to the private joke about his glamorous life and her sedate one.
“You should learn to fish,” she said.
“Fish?”
“Yes. You know, you put worms on a hook and stick them in the water to catch fish.”
“I can catch all the fish I like at the supermarket,” he responded drily.
“Not as much fun as catching it yourself,” she returned. “Fishing is also relaxing.”
“I know something more relaxing,” he said in a velvet tone. He slid his fingers into hers, tangling them sensuously.
Emma forgot about the show onstage, the other people, the whole world. “Me, too,” she whispered back, her voice choked with emotion.
“Let’s get out of here.”
She held his hand and guided him, unobtrusively, to the elevator and back up to their rooms.
Once inside, he closed the door and locked it. His big hands slid around Emma and pulled her close. He felt her inner struggle, mind against body.
“We’re getting married,” he whispered as he began to touch her more intimately. “Engaged couples do this.”
“I know.” She leaned her forehead against him as he started removing clothing. She caught her breath when she felt his callused hands on her bare skin.
“You’re sensual, Emma,” he whispered against her mouth. “I love kissing you. I love touching you. You don’t hold anything back with me.”
“I can’t,” she explained shakily. “You rattle me when you start touching me. Oh!” she gasped as he found a very sensitive spot.
“Where’s the damned bed?”
* * *
He leaned over her, his hands and mouth making a virtual banquet of her while she lay writhing under him, as the pleasure built and built and built.
His mouth lingered on her hard nipples, his tongue teasing them tenderly. “I love your breasts,” he murmured. “Not too big, not too small. Just right.”
She arched her back. She loved it when he touched them, when he kissed them. Even as she thought it, she felt his warm mouth open on one and take it right inside. He suckled it, harder than he meant to as the heat built in him. She moaned and lifted it up to him, aching for more of what he was doing.
He increased the pressure of his mouth. At the same time, his fingers touched her in a new way. She almost leaped off the bed when she felt the incredibly arousing rhythm. Her legs parted even more. She whispered to him, words that would have embarrassed her with anyone else. She writhed under him, her body demanding satisfaction.
He made a sound deep in his throat as he moved over her and, delicately, into her. He lifted his head, aching to see her face, her eyes. He could hear her hunger for him, feel it in the response of her body, the pounding of her heart, her sharp, quick breathing. He was her first lover, and he desperately wanted to see her. But it was impossible. He hated his blindness because he wanted to see Emma in the throes of passion, see her face, her eyes. He groaned as the pleasure rose in him. But he moved into her so slowly that she cried out and tried to pull him down to her.
“Patience,” he breathed into her mouth as his hips moved slowly into contact with hers, and he began to enter her. “Humor me. It will be good, Emma. Very, very good!”
“Torture,” she moaned, her body involuntarily moving against his.
“Yes.” He shifted, the action bringing a harsh moan from Emma. “The sweetest torture there is.”
His hips lifted and fell in a soft, slow rhythm, far too slow for Emma, who was building up to a spectacular release. Her mind focused only on the pleasure that was growing like a hot tide in her body. She shivered and moaned as he found the right movement, the right touch, to bring her to absolute ecstasy.
When she cried out and sobbed, he impaled her, went in deep, so deep that he thought he was going to pass out from the rush of pleasure. A rough sob broke from his tight throat as he went shooting up like a meteor, bursting into a thousand pieces, as he gave himself to the culmination.
Emma watched. It was the first time she had. It intensified what was already almost unbearable delight. She shivered as he throbbed, and her body undulated under him until she went rigid again, shuddering with pleasure so incredibly intense that it was almost painful. And at the last, she almost lost consciousness. Connor’s warm mouth covered hers to stifle her cries, which grew louder as the tension snapped and left her trembling all over.
“You’re loud when we make love,” he teased minutes later when they were curled up together under the covers.
“I’m sorry,” she said at once, flushing.
“It wasn’t a complaint, honey,” he whispered. “I love it when I can hear how much pleasure I’m giving you. It almost makes up for not being able to see it.”
Guilt racked her. She moved closer. “I’m so sorry, about your sight...”
He kissed her temple. “Life happens. We can’t look back. We have to go on, however hard it is.”
“I guess we do.”
He stretched lazily. “Your period comes in about another week, doesn’t it?” he asked.
She was shocked that he knew. “Well, yes...”
“I want you to see a doctor and get on birth control,” he said seriously. “No kids. You know that already.”
She’d hoped that he might change his mind. They’d had unprotected sex for several days. Some women weren’t regular in their periods. Emma wasn’t. She usually ovulated about this time in her cycle. It was a dangerous time to make love. But she hadn’t told him. She could dream of a child. He might want it. There was always the hope that he would change his mind when it was a child of his own. He’d had one brother, and no sisters. It was highly likely that the child would be male.
“You’re too quiet,” he said curtly. “Are you brooding about what I said?”
“No,” she lied. “I was thinking how sweet it is to sleep with you.”
He laughed softly, the irritation quickly gone. He drew her closer. “Yes. It is sweet. The sweetest taste of honey I’ve ever had, bar none.”
“Really?” she asked.
He kissed her softly. “Really. You give me insane fulfillment.”
Other women must have, too. She thought of all the women he’d had in his lifetime.
His arm tensed. “It was all before you came along, jealous heart,” he teased, guessing what had caused her to be silent again. “Educational experiences.”
“Not your first wife,” she said quietly.
He shifted in the bed. “No. I loved her.” He was quiet for a minute. “I could never love anybody else like that, with that intensity.” His head turned toward her, and he traced her soft face. “I love sleeping with you, Emma. I enjoy your company. But love...”
“I know,” she said lightly, trying not to betray how desperately she wanted him to love her.
“It’s dangerous to let a woman that close,” he muttered under his breath. “Once was enough. Never again.”
Emma bit her lip to keep from crying. It was hard, to hear a dream die. But there was always hope. Always!
After a minute, she yawned audibly. “Sorry. I’m so sleepy. Does making love always make people this tired?” she wondered aloud.
“When it’s this good, it does,” he replied. He sighed and turned her so that her soft breasts were pressed into the thick hair over his chest. He moved her lazily against him, arousing her all over again. His hand slid down her back. He pulled her closer, and moved his hips, so that they were lying side by side.
He tugged one of her legs over his hips and gently eased inside her. He heard her soft gasp, her intake of breath. He felt her nails biting into him as he moved with her. He hesitated a mome
nt, and she moaned. He knew, then, that it wasn’t weariness that produced those reactions. He caught her hip in one big hand and dragged it into his.
She felt him go into her, so hungrily that she responded immediately. He’d sensitized her to his touch already. This pleasure was beyond her meager experience. He seemed more powerful, more...intimidating. She felt him swell inside her body and she stiffened a little.
“It’s all right,” he soothed her, his voice faintly unsteady as he pushed her hips against his in a quick, hot rhythm. “You can take me. I’m a little more potent this time, that’s all.”
“Okay,” she whispered. She was shivering at the sudden rush to pleasure that took over her body and made her moan as if she were dying.
He positioned his mouth over hers as he increased their rough rhythm. “So our neighbors don’t hear too much of that,” he teased as his mouth went down against hers.
His hips drove into her with a piston-like rhythm, quick and hard and deep. She cried out when she shot up into the stars, her whole body convulsing with such ecstasy that she was certain she was going to die.
He went with her, every step of the way. His big body shuddered over and over again as he throbbed and exploded deep in her body. For some incredible reason, he thought about a baby when he fell into the hot darkness of climax.
Emma was feeling something similar. She clung to him in the aftermath, kissing him everywhere her mouth could reach.
“It was good,” he whispered.
“Yes.” Her voice still sobbed with echoes of the joy he’d given her.
He held her close, enjoying her reaction to him. He buried his face in her soft throat. “It’s never been quite this good for me,” he breathed.
She held him closer. She didn’t like being reminded that he’d had it a lot.
He knew that, but he didn’t say it. He smoothed her supple body against the length of his. “My sweet girl,” he whispered.
Her arms tightened. Tears burned her eyes. “I love you so much, Connor,” she whispered brokenly. “More than anybody in the whole world!”
The words humbled him. Embarrassed him. He ground his teeth together. “Emma...” he began.
“You don’t have to say it. You don’t feel that way for me. It’s okay. I just wanted you to know. I won’t say it again,” she promised.
Odd, how much the words pleased him. But his face set. “Don’t think this is permanent,” he said after a minute, feeling her sudden start. “It suited the situation, but I’m no good at relationships. I don’t believe in forever. We’ll be together until the passion burns out, then we’ll move on.”
Her heart was breaking. She’d hoped... Well, what had hope ever gotten her? She snuggled close to him and didn’t say a word.
His hand brushed her disheveled blond hair. “Did you hear what I said, Emma?” he asked quietly.
“I heard, Connor. I know you’re only marrying me because of my conscience.”
He drew in a troubled sigh. “That’s right,” he said, and he was lying. He was marrying her because he wanted a visible Hands Off! sign on her. Emma belonged to him. He didn’t want men like Cort Grier hitting on her. He wanted...possession.
He felt her softness next to him and experienced the first real peace he’d ever felt. She’d made him slow down, enjoy life, delegate responsibility. She’d changed his life.
But that didn’t mean he’d stay married to her, he assured himself. She wanted a family, children. And he never wanted a child. Ever.
* * *
They were married in a small wedding chapel on the Vegas Strip. Emma wore a couture wedding gown because she couldn’t out-argue Connor. It was a symphony of white lace and satin and handmade white roses that embossed the gown, and were visible on every inch of the Brussels lace that made up the train and the fingertip veil and the lacy gloves she wore. Underneath everything was pure silk. Emma had never had such finery in her life. She felt like Cinderella and worried at the possible ending to her fantasy even as she gloried in the ceremony being performed.
When the minister pronounced them husband and wife, Connor raised the veil, even though he couldn’t see her, and bent to touch his mouth gently to hers. Barnes and Marie, standing nearby, were both misty with emotion.
A professional photographer, sworn to silence, recorded the event. As the camera flashed, Emma laid one soft hand on Connor’s hard cheek. She was so in love with him, and so happy, nothing could ruin this moment. And the way she looked at him was so poignant that the photographer regretted not being able to enter the shot in some competition. He’d never seen such love in a woman’s face, or such sorrow. Odd to capture both in one split second of emotion.
“Mrs. Sinclair,” Connor teased as he kissed her.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she replied saucily.
He felt such a flash of possession that he had to fight it. This wasn’t permanent. He couldn’t let himself be caught up in that tangle. So he laughed and caught her hand in his. They finished the formalities, the marriage license was given to Emma and they went back to the hotel to celebrate.
Emma had a small trousseau—also at Connor’s insistence—so she changed into a cherry-red dress to go out with her new husband. She worried about the color, but he laughed and said at least she’d stand out in a town where glitter went mostly unnoticed. Besides, he added, he thought blondes looked beautiful in red. She sighed and told him beautiful blondes probably did, but she wasn’t beautiful. He just kissed her, assuring her that she was all the beauty he needed in his life. The words were so profound that she had to fight tears.
* * *
Barnes and Marie went on a casino crawl with them, all over Vegas. They saw floor shows and danced and drank and generally had a ball. Connor wasn’t recognized once. In a city of strangers, it wasn’t odd.
“Corrupting influence,” Emma accused when they were briefly alone.
He chuckled. “You needed a little corruption,” he retorted. “Everything improves with a little spice.”
“I wish you hadn’t gone to so much expense on my clothes,” she said quietly. “I would have been happy with just a wedding dress, even if it was off the rack.”
He knew that, and it humbled something inside him. “I told you why,” he added. “I’m not having people say I was cheap if they find out we had a honeymoon and your clothes came out of a thrift store.” He sounded absolutely horrified at the prospect.
She wasn’t offended. She just smiled. “I lived within my means,” she said simply. “Most people do. The ones who don’t are usually in jail,” she added pertly. “If I got thrown in the slammer, who’d do your typing?” A shiver went through her as she said the words. She grew cold all over. It was a possibility.
He just laughed. “You can live within my means now,” he teased. “Having fun, honey?”
“The time of my life,” she assured him. “I’ve never been so happy!”
He could have said that, too. But he didn’t. She had a hold on him that he hated. He was obsessed with her body, but also with her mind and her heart. She’d changed him from a somber, indifferent, vindictive man into one who cared intensely about other people. It was a shift that she might not have been aware of. She brought out the very best in him, made him hungry for her, nurtured him. He couldn’t imagine life without her, despite what he’d told her, about the marriage ending when the passion burned out. Even without passion, Emma was part of him. He knew it, even if he couldn’t admit it.
“Let’s find another club,” he said in her ear. “This one’s too loud!”
She laughed. “Okay.”
* * *
They went home a week later. But it was only the first of many trips she was to take with him. He took her to Cancún, to Morocco. They spent a magical Christmas in Paris and had roast goose and all the trimmings at one of
the most famous restaurants in the City of Light. Later, he booked them onto a Mediterranean cruise and remained anonymous throughout the whole thing, which wound through Italy and the Greek islands, all the way to Spain.
They stopped by his home in Nice, so that Emma could see what the ancient, elegant old home looked like, and meet his newest chef Edward, who was tall and very attractive. But her reaction to him was that of a woman madly in love with her husband, and it seemed to set Connor’s mind at ease. They spent a week on the Riviera lounging on the beach, and another week touring the sites in the surrounding area aboard the yacht of one of Connor’s friends. Emma had been nervous at first, but she discovered that people with money were pretty much like people without it. Some were nice, some weren’t.
In the midst of the whirlwind, Emma hadn’t had time to talk to a doctor. She wondered if Connor was really that insistent about not having children, because he made love to her all the time, day and night, and never seemed to care about taking precautions. It was as if his subconscious and his conscience were at war over the thought of a child.
Emma hoped that was the case, because about two months after they married, she threw up her breakfast. Fortunately, she was alone in the lake house when it happened. They’d arrived home just two days before, weary from the long honeymoon. Connor had received a phone call that left him quiet and brooding. He’d gone into town with Barnes, after saying barely a word to Emma.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Emma asked Marie, and hoped she didn’t sound as apprehensive as she felt.
Marie grimaced. “Something about the accident that caused his blindness, but I don’t know what,” she confessed, unaware of Emma’s sudden anguish. “He hired a private detective. I don’t know what he thinks he can find out after all this time,” she added softly. “It’s been months since it happened.”
“I know.” Emma pulled apart lettuce for a salad they were making. “What did the detective tell him, do you know?”
Marie shook her head. “He was very quiet about it. Barnes said he was smoldering, but he didn’t say a word. He thinks Mr. Sinclair found out something about the accident—that maybe it wasn’t really an accident.”
