Marriage On Demand

by Susan Mallery

  Then she smiled at him. "You are too handsome by far," she said, touching his cheek. "I think that was my downfall. That and your earring."

  He took her hand and kissed her palm. Her eyes widened as he licked the tips of her fingers. Her breathing quickened instantly.

  She was such an innocent. She'd only been with a man once in her life.

  He hadn't known then, hadn't taken the time to seduce her. Regret swept through him, convincing him that this time had to be different. He returned her smile. At last they were treading in territory he knew something about.

  He kissed the back of the hand he held, then urged her to sit on the side of the bed. When she was seated, he knelt before her. Once again he slipped his hands through her hair, but gently this time. Teasing, instead of punishing.

  "Rebecca," he whispered.

  She blinked sleepily. "I love how you say my name."

  "Rebecca," he whispered again, slower this time, sensually. "Beautiful Rebecca. Relax. Trust me. "

  "I do."

  The echo of her wedding vow caught him low in the belly. He fought not to flinch. He wanted it all to be real, but it was just an illusion. The woman before him would disappear as the fireworks had done, leaving behind the smoke of his existence and nothing else.

  He wove his fingers through her hair, moving lower, dividing it into two sections. He drew her hair over her shoulders, baring her back. His fingers found the zipper of her dress and lowered it. Most of the time she didn't wear a bra but today he could feel the thin strap in back. He unfastened it, as well, but made no move to take off her clothing.

  He leaned close and kissed her cheek. Soft kisses. Lightly he moved over her face, her eyes, her nose, finally her mouth. Brief brushes, lip to lip, never lingering, teasing her into wanting more. She reached for his shoulders. He drew back with her hands in his. Turning them palms up, he rubbed his thumbs around and around, circling her skin, heating it. Then he brought her palms to his mouth. He sucked the most center spots, making her straighten with surprise, then gave his attention to each of her fingers, drawing them into his mouth, tasting the salty length, nibbling on the sensitized tips, before withdrawing and allowing the warm night air to continue his work.

  The floor was hard beneath his knees, but he didn't notice any discomfort except that between his legs. His hardness grew with each moment he spent with her. In time he would take his release and it would be all the better for waiting. In time. This was for her.

  He released her hands, then drew her to her feet. As she rose, her dress stayed in place. Still on his knees, he hugged her close, burying his face on her flat belly. He breathed in the scent of her, savoring the lingering fragrances of the carnival, the sunshine, the heat, and myriad other smells that would forever mark this day in his memory.

  He lowered his hands to her knees, then drew them up under her dress and along her thighs. When he reached her hips, he raised his head and looked up at her. "Pull up your dress," he said quietly.

  His hands held her in place. A shudder rippled her body, then she reached for her skirt. Inch by inch the glowing fabric slid up her legs, exposing her shapely thighs. When the fabric was bunched around her waist, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her belly, just above the elastic of her panties.

  The room was silent around them, except for the faint sounds from outdoors and the rapid cadence of her breathing. With his index fingers, he tugged her panties down a few inches. He turned his head so his stub bled cheeks brushed her sensitive skin. Her breath caught. Back and forth he moved, teasing her in an erotic dance of sensation. Her legs began to tremble. He searched for her belly button and traced the small circle with his tongue. Her muscles rippled in reaction.

  Slowly, so slowly he could hear her mentally screaming at him to hurry, he lowered her panties to her ankles. Supporting her at her hips, he held her steady as she stepped out of them.

  He turned his attention to the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. Here the heat was more intense, her scent more captivating. Gently, carefully, he brought his mouth to her. She stiffened in shock, then her legs started trembling harder, as if she was having trouble standing. His own need pulsed painfully against the fly of his jeans. He brought his hands down from her hips to her woman's place and used his fingers to part the curls.

  When her most sensitive spot was exposed, he touched it with the tip of his tongue. He didn't move, he just held the contact. She tasted of the forbidden, of sweet sin and promise. She gasped his name. He brought his mouth to her and suckled her. She grabbed for his shoulders, letting the dress fall over him, cushioning him in darkness. Her knees buckled and he caught her as she fell.

  Her dress slipped off one shoulder, exposing her bra and part of one breast. As he stood up and drew her to her feet, her dress slipped down to her waist. Without his urging, she pushed the garment over her hips and to the floor. Her bra followed.

  This time she didn't cover herself. She sat on the side of the bed, then slid onto the comforter. Her gaze was glazed with passion, but underneath, he felt the trust. It should have scared the hell out of him. It should have, but it didn't.

  He tugged his shirt out of his pants, pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Then he moved onto the bed and knelt between her legs. The night hid the subtleties of her body from him. He reached to the nightstand and flicked on the light.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, blinking in the sudden glare.

  "I want to see everything." He smiled. "Looking at you turns me on."

  "Really?" She sounded surprised. "But you've seen it before. After those other women, how can I be very exciting?"

  He would have laughed except he knew the question was genuine. "Look at me," he said.

  "I am."

  He shook his head. "Not in the face."

  She apparently hadn't forgotten how to blush, he thought, trying not to grin. She lowered her gaze to his midsection, then dropped it to the place where his hardness strained against his jeans.

  "I think you're plenty exciting," he said.

  She smiled slowly, that sensual smile that spoke of a female's power over a male. When she reached to touch him, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. She didn't struggle. Her surrender was absolute. "Do you want me to let you go?" he asked; eyeing her full mouth and needing to kiss it.

  "Never," she said. She wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him closer. Her wet core brushed against the rough fabric of his jeans. Pleasure made her arch her head back. When she opened her mouth to draw in a breath, he covered her lips with his and plundered her softness. This time there was nothing gentle about his possession. His tongue swept inside her mouth, claiming her, daring her to fight back. The strength he'd always believed in caused her to accept the dare and duel with him. Tongues circled against each other, sending electric impulses through his body.

  He grew hotter, harder, more ready, as the pressure in his groin built. He drew his head down her neck and bit her tender skin. She gasped. Suddenly he had to touch her, all of her. He released her wrists and covered her breasts. Already taut nipples scraped his palm. Although she didn't know about it, he had a secret stash of books on pregnancy in his lab. While she was at the house, he would read chapters, preparing for his child's birth. He remembered now that most pregnant women had extra-sensitive breasts, so he was careful when he stroked her curves. And he licked gently when he drew the hard points into his mouth. She clutched at his shoulders, digging her fingers into his skin. Her hips continued to rock against his. She was bringing herself pleasure. He wondered if she knew. He grinned against her breasts. Somehow he doubted it. She was too easily embarrassed to take control in bed. In time she would be the tiger. His organ flexed at the thought. He straightened and looked at her. The bedside lamp exposed the flush on her face and chest. Teeth marks faded on her shoulders and neck. Her nipples stood at attention, begging for his touch. He glanced down to where her curls pressed against his jeans. When he moved back, he
could see the wet spot she'd left on him.

  Her hands clutched at the comforter. He took them in his and brought them to her center. "Open for me," he said, placing her fingers on either side of her most secret place.

  She swallowed hard and complied.

  He rested his hands on her knees and pushed them back toward her chest and out slightly. He could see her most womanly place, feel the heat. She was ready for him, and he was more than ready for her, but it wasn't time. He wanted to hear her cries of pleasure first. He wanted to drive all thoughts from her mind and leave her empty of anything save ecstasy.

  He lowered himself on the bed and nipped the back of her thigh. She jumped, then giggled. With his index finger, he traced a line from her tiny point of pleasure to the place that would send him to paradise. She shivered and whispered his name.

  He planned to taunt her with her release, to build slowly and make her shake with need. She would cry out, scream and shatter, all for him.

  But when he touched her with his tongue he couldn't think about anything but her. Thoughts of technique, of skill, disappeared. He'd been with other women, but that disappeared, as well. His chest and throat tightened as he tasted her sweetness. There was a connection between them, between their bodies. He would bring her pleasure, exquisite pleasure, but honestly. Because he wanted to, rather than because he had something to prove.

  So he listened to her breathing, felt the urging pressure of her fingers on his face, shoulders and in his hair. When he could have paused, playing the game, he kept his rhythm steady. And when she asked him to stop, he did, raising his head until their eyes met.

  "Be in me," she said. "Make love to me."

  His hands shook as he unfastened his jeans. It was insane, he told himself. This was no big deal. He'd done it countless times before. Still he trembled as he undid the last button. His knees threatened to give out when he bent down to pull off his pants. It wasn't the need making him weak, it was the woman. Rebecca. Perhaps in his heart he'd always known what would happen. Perhaps that was why he'd avoided her bed until now.

  When he returned to kneel before her, she reached for him to guide him inside. Her touch was tentative but loving, and almost his undoing. Her heat swallowed him, her muscles caressed him. The light of love in her eyes blinded him.

  He looked away because he was a creature of the shadows. He plunged in deeply, wondering if she was his greatest sin or, as she had promised, his only hope of redemption. He had meant to shatter her, but he was the one who was shattering.

  Her hips moved in time with his, her hands pulled him closer. He couldn't hold back, even though he knew she wasn't ready for their final ascent. He slipped his hand down her leg and dipped his thumb into her moistness. When he found her most sensitive spot, he circled in time with her thrusts, touching lightly, quickly, urging her over the edge.

  His performance was juvenile at best, his technique laughable. Another time he would analyze what was wrong with him. This moment it was enough to match her rapid breathing, to gaze at her face, watching her eyes flutter closed as she arched her head back. He held on to his control until her muscles contracted around him, milking his hardness, sending him into oblivion. He plunged deeper and deeper still, holding her hips and hoarsely calling out her name.

  When they had found their way under the covers, she snuggled against him.

  "I'm not going back into that room," she said, then yawned. "I don't care what you say. We're going to make love every single night and you can't do anything to keep it from happening."

  He had a bad feeling she was right. "What about the other room? Do you want me to take the walls down?" he asked.

  "No." She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. "The baby can stay there." Her fingers trailed across his chest, then she tucked them under her chin and closed her eyes. "I'm never going to leave you," she said quietly. "No matter what. You'll see. I'll make you see…"

  Her voice trailed off as she fell asleep. Austin lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. He could hear the regular sound of her breathing. Something had happened to him tonight, something that scared the hell out of him.

  Through a combination of events he didn't understand, she'd gotten through to him. She'd found a way past the barriers and reached into the blackness to leave a small light. Its flame burned inside him. He could feel it. In time the blackness would swallow it whole, leaving him once again without hope. It would be worse, though, for the promise she'd given him. Because as surely as he knew that flame would die, he knew she would leave.

  She thought she'd learned his deepest secret, but she was wrong. There was something else, something far worse than she imagined. And when she knew the truth, she would leave as the others had left. Once again, he would be alone.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  "Okay, the glue should have dried on the wing," Austin said, stretching across the workbench and picking up the white piece of plastic. "Looks like we're ready to paint. Where'd we put the brushes, sport?"

  David slid off his chair and collected a brown paper bag from the corner. "They're still in here. We never unpacked 'em." When he handed Austin the sack, he glanced longingly at the wing of the plane. "What color are you gonna paint it?"

  "I'm not the one doing the painting. You are."

  David stared up at him, his big blue eyes wide with excitement. A grin split his face. "Golly. That's cool." The smile faded. "What if I mess up?"

  Austin recognized the sudden distress and silently cursed the circumstances that had made the boy fearful. David wasn't stupid. He knew what his relatives fought over. No doubt he'd figured out that even the promise of his parents' substantial estate wasn't enough to make any of his relatives willing to take him. In the month since the carnival, he'd gone from a bright, inquisitive child to a fearful one. He questioned every move he made, did his best to behave perfectly, as if finding the right behavior would make someone want him.

  Austin knew what that kind of pain was like. He wanted to tell David it would get better in time, but it wouldn't. All that would happen was that he would cease to care. He would lie awake in the night and refuse to admit he was bleeding on the inside.

  Austin spread out a sheet of newspaper and set the wing in the middle. After opening the pattern so the boy could see what colors were supposed to go where, he uncapped the first small container and handed him a brush.

  David worked slowly and carefully, trying to copy the pattern exactly. Austin wanted to tell him it was no big deal if he went outside the lines. He was a kid; he should have fun. But he didn't speak. Partly because he knew David wouldn't understand and partly because he didn't want the kid to care any more than he already did.

  Since the carnival, David had been a regular visitor to his workshop. At first Austin had resented the interruptions. He needed to concentrate on his work. In time he'd grown to expect the soft squeak of the door opening, then the hushed footsteps as David stepped inside. He let the boy continue to visit because Rebecca had mentioned that he was still not joining in with the other children. He stood on the outside, watching them play, but never entering the circle. Austin knew all about that, too.

  David dipped his brush in the paint and drew a straight line along the edge of the wing.

  "Great job," Austin said. "This is going to be the best plane anyone has ever seen."

  David smiled up at him. "Will it be done by next Tuesday?"

  "It can be. Why? What happens next Tuesday?"

  "It's my birthday. I'm going to be eight."

  "So you want the plane ready for your party?" All the children had parties on their birthday. He knew. Rebecca was always roping him into taking care of the balloons. He and the helium-tank dealer were spending far too much time together.

  David nodded. "My uncle Bob said he might come for my birthday. I want to show him what I can do."

  His hopeful expression tore at Austin's heart. He wanted to pull the boy close
and protect him against the bastards of this world. He shook his head. Austin was one of them.

  Would he also protect the child from himself? He had no answer. He only knew it tore him up inside to see David so eager and know he was bound to be disappointed.

  "Sure, we'll have the plane ready by then," Austin promised.

  David bent over the wing. "Are you coming to my birthday party?"

  "I don't know, sport. I have to give a presentation in Kansas on Monday. I don't think I'll be back in time. "

  "But you have to be there, Austin. You're the one I want there the most. More than Uncle Bob."

  Even as the child's words warmed him, he fought against q the urge to run. He didn't mind spending time with David but he didn't want to get too involved. "I'll try," was all he promised.

  David nodded, but his shoulders slumped and he stopped being quite as careful with the paint. Austin stared at him and swore silently. He was messing up again, this time with an innocent child. The problem was he was as wrong for the kid as he was for Rebecca. This was turning into a disaster. They continued to work in silence. Finally Austin couldn't it anymore. "Why don't we finish this up tomorrow?" he said.

  Instantly David put down the brush and started cleaning up. Austin stared at him, not sure what to say or do to make things better. Should he even bother to try?

  Footsteps in the garage drew his attention. He looked up, recognizing the sound of his wife.

  "Are you two hiding out in here again?" she asked as she came in from the garage. "What is it about hammering and sawing that's so interesting?"

  David looked up and returned her smile, but he didn't answer. Austin knew she was smart enough to figure out something was wrong. He steeled himself for her questions. But she didn't ask any. Instead, she crouched down beside the boy and draped her arm around his shoulders.

  "What have you been doing?" she asked.