by Laura Wright
Deep longing filled his gaze as he hovered at the entrance to her body. In that moment, as their eyes met, Isabella wanted to tell him that she loved him, that she wanted this forever, that with him she felt complete. But when he pushed into her, all she could understand were sensations.
He moved inside her slowly at first, then faster. She wanted to hold on to the sweet heat of the moment, but it was no use. Gasping, she fought for breath and for her sanity as that delicious heat spread through her core. The speed of his thrusts increased to a pitch where nothing existed but the two of them. It was madness, a thirst that needed to be quenched.
She cried out as orgasm hit, but Michael continued to thrust over and over as her walls clenched and tightened. Then he stiffened, a primal groan tearing from his throat.
"Bella…" He thrust into her again and again before their bodies finally cooled and their breathing returned to normal.
Rolling to the side, he took her with him so that they faced each other on the roomy sofa. Michael touched her cheek, kissed her lips softly, then pulled her close.
"You're mine," he whispered, caressing her back in long, easy strokes.
She shivered, but hardly felt it. His words spoke directly to her heart, making her wonder if…
"Tonight you're all mine."
A wave of disappointment poured through her. Michael was talking about right now, not the future. It wasn't the dream she longed for, but she sure wouldn't let that truth kill this time between them. She'd known the rules going in, and she was not about to play the dejected lover now.
"You think you got more in ya, Wulf?" Her tone was teasing.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "More tasting your sweet nipples until they harden in my mouth? More feeling you grow wet against my fingers?" As he spoke she felt him begin to grow hard against the apex of her thighs. "More pushing into your body while you wrap your legs around me?" With a devilish smile, he pushed inside her. "Is that what you mean, Ms. Spencer?"
She gasped and draped her leg over his hip, giving him full access. And as all thoughts and questions and wishes drifted from her mind, she whispered, "You win."
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
She slept like an angel.
Michael had noticed that once before. Under the same moon on the night she'd first come to his house. He'd sat in his chair beside the fire, watching over her, wondering what dreams filled her mind as he kept his distance.
Just like now, he mused, folding his hands across his chest and leaning back in the desk chair he'd occupied for more than thirty minutes. After he'd made love to Bella a second time on the couch, she'd fallen asleep in his arms. Content just to lie there with her, he'd watched the last few minutes of the movie, then the screen had filled with snow as the VCR shut itself off. Finally he'd carried her to bed and tucked her in.
He'd wanted to go with her, slip beneath the sheets and pull her close. But tonight he knew he didn't dare.
Something had changed. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something inside him tonight that begged for release. Perhaps it was a need for more—more of Bella, more connection with this town, more freedom from his solitude. Whatever it was, it had surfaced this weekend in Fielding.
He knifed a hand through his hair. He needed to go back where he belonged before he was sucked into a vortex of certain disappointment. Before he began to believe he belonged to a woman, a child and a community.
But although he could readily leave the town behind when this weekend was over, Bella and Emily were a different story. If Bella was willing, he wanted her and Emily to come home with him. For as long as they wanted to be there. No strings, no promises, just being together.
It was all he could offer, all he was willing to risk. He hoped it was enough.
From the baby monitor beside the bed, he heard Emily begin to fuss. As though she heard her child in her sleep, Bella stirred. She was exhausted, getting up before dawn to bake, serving customers all day and taking care of Emily. Such a rigorous schedule was another solid reason for her to come live with him. He could give her some slack. Thank God she had the good sense to close the bakery on Sundays. Most everyone in town had gotten their provisions today, and Bella could use a full night's sleep.
Emily's fussing strengthened into soft cries. Michael got up, turned down the monitor and threw on his pants, then quietly left the room.
Still decorated with rosebud wallpaper and lace curtains from when a young Bella had occupied it, the only difference in Emily's room was the baby furniture. In the center of the long space a crib was set up atop a plush pink rug, and a mobile of stars and moons hung over it.
"Not tired, either, princess?" he whispered, picking her up and holding her against his chest. "Ah, it's more of a diaper issue, huh?"
Emily mewed softly.
"I'll take that as a yes." He placed her down on the changing table. It was old hat to him now, he realized: talking to her, making faces, giving her those plastic keys she liked to bite on when she was being changed.
After Emily had a clean diaper, Michael rocked her for a few minutes, then tried putting her back in her crib. But the little girl was having none of it. When her back hit the mattress her round face scrunched up and a wail escaped her lips.
"I'm a little hungry myself," he said, gathering her up in his arms once again. "Let's go see what your mom's got in the fridge."
Several bottles of expressed breast milk lined one shelf of the refrigerator. Michael placed Emily in her baby seat, then heated up one of the bottles. After testing its temperature, he dropped into a chair, cuddled the baby close and gave her the bottle.
She took to it at once, and Michael settled back against the chair and exhaled. Never in his life had he felt so relaxed. Emily stared up at him with wide trusting eyes, making him feel that strange sense of belonging again.
"You're trouble," he told her softly. "Bella's got her work cut out with you."
She blinked up at him.
He chuckled softly. "But I'm guessing there's no sweeter work to be had."
Only the sound of Emily suckling filled the house. He couldn't take his gaze off that cherubic face. And as her eyes drifted closed, he could only whisper, "You're both lucky to have each other."
He knew he must sound like an idiot, talking to a six-week-old baby in a dim kitchen in the middle of the night. But he wanted her to know, to always know, that people loved her and felt fortunate to have her.
And hell, no one was up to hear his foolishness, anyway.
No one but Isabella, that is.
She stood in the living room watching and listening, her breath held, her heart balancing somewhere between wonder and sadness. To anyone who saw what she was seeing, Michael Wulf looked like Emily's father. They were so natural together, the calmness he brought out in her and the softness she brought out in him.
Love surged into her heart. And it seemed quite clear that she wasn't the only one who was taken with him. Her daughter had fallen in love with Michael, too.
Feeling as though she was trespassing on sacred ground, Isabella returned quietly to her bedroom. But the love in her heart sent questions rocketing through her mind. Did Michael Wulf have any clue how much they both needed him? How much they loved him?
And if he didn't, should she tell him?
Anxieties tripped across her heart as she slipped into bed, then, out of habit, reached over to the monitor and turned up the volume.
"…and he has a long white beard, a red suit and a whole herd of reindeer that can fly." She heard Michael's deep chuckle. "I know what you're thinking. It seems scientifically impossible. But with the power of magic, Emily, anything's possible."
Anything's possible.
Isabella clutched the pillow to her chest and sighed. She knew exactly what kind of magic she was going to ask Santa for this year.
*
At seven a.m., Isabella awoke, content and happy to feel Michael'
s warm chest beneath her cheek. He'd come to bed late last night, but when he had, she'd snuggled close to him, sighing when he put his arm around her and gathered her to him possessively. Only then had she truly been able to sleep.
She'd dreamed of more weekends like this one, with no Sundays to put an end to her happiness. But that was just a dream. Sometime today he would put on his expensive coat, call for an expensive car and leave.
But it was not today yet.
Shamelessly trying to rouse him, Isabella eased her leg across his hips. He stirred, but didn't awake. Lightly she touched his taut stomach, running her hand up the delicious column of hair, threading her fingers in the thick of it. Need coursed through her veins. Every inch of her, inside and out, craved him. It was so unusual for her to want a man so desperately, body and soul, but Michael Wulf wasn't just any man.
She had a few more hours of showing him just how much she loved him. That was all she was guaranteed.
Bypassing subtlety, she pressed her hips against him and moved her hand downward.
Michael's first thought was that he was dreaming—a hell of a delicious dream, too. But then he felt Bella's hand on him, felt her tongue dart out and lave his nipple, and he knew that this was all heaven-sent reality. He was hard as granite in Bella's small hand, and so turned on he could barely remember his name.
Night and day, the woman bewitched him.
And he loved every minute of it.
He let his predatory hands explore everything they could reach—her back, her buttocks, her breasts. His eyes remained closed, but he heard her urgent moans, felt her hips thrusting insistently against his thigh.
"Michael, please…" she uttered, her tone needful and feverish.
Enough playtime. He was awake.
He rolled her to her back, quickly put on protection, then plunged into her. A very satisfied gasp escaped her lips as warm wet heat closed all around him. He couldn't bear to leave her, but knowing the pleasure that would come from it, he rose, hovered at the entrance to paradise, then drove home once again.
"Wrap your legs around me, sweetheart," he instructed, and she instantly did as he asked.
The fevered longing that zipped through his body was so foreign, but so welcome. This connection was a first. The feeling that rushed over him with every stroke made his mind falter, his will weaken.
"I can't hold on," she whispered, dragging her hands down his back, gripping his buttocks.
He groaned. "Take what you want, Bella. Everything you want."
Smiling up at him, she used her hands to pull him deeper. Their eyes remained locked on each other's. It was a lost cause, but as they moved fitfully together, he fought to separate his physical needs from the emotional wants.
She fit him so perfectly, and even though he chose not to give it a name, what he felt for her was undeniable, uncontrollable and totally unstoppable.
Shots of honey-sweet pleasure ripped through him. He dragged in a breath, just as Bella gave a cry and shuddered around him, her muscles gripping him. All thoughts abandoned him.
Out of control and out of his mind, he quickened his strokes, slamming into the center of her where liquid heat resided.
With her soft moans in his ear, he couldn't fight any longer. He didn't want to fight any longer. Thunder hit, lightning crashed and he plunged over the edge.
*
Isabella stood in the center of town, Emily in her arms, Michael by her side, and took in the view. It had been years since she'd seen Fielding dressed up for the holidays, and it was as alive with spirit as it had always been. From the silver bells, handmade ornaments, flocked trees that gave off that wondrous scent of pine, green holly and ivy, and strings of colored lights to the adults and children with that Norman Rockwell look of excitement and anticipation on their faces.
Christmastime was here.
And she wanted to enjoy it for a moment before they started their—
"Christmas shopping, Bella?" Michael raised a brow at her.
She laughed and said wryly, "It's a new concept for you, I know."
He shot her a mock frown. "You're becoming too damn sassy."
With a quick smile, she started down the street. "Thank you. I try." The town truly looked picture-postcard perfect. The sun was shining, the park benches and street lamps had a light dusting of snow, windows were filled with treasures, people waved at one another and children's laughter filled the air.
"Have you given any thought to what you'd like for Christmas, Michael?" Isabella asked. Maybe one more night with me?
"Peace," he said.
"As in 'peace on earth'?"
"Nope. As in 'peace and quiet.'"
She turned around and gave him a patient smile. "Listen, if you're going to hang out with me and Emily, any and all Scrooge and Grinch references are strictly prohibited."
"Fine." He tipped his chin down. "You're going to make me pick out a tree, too, aren't you?"
"Not until later." She laughed at his beleaguered expression, then the display in the shop window in front of her caught her gaze. "Look at this."
Imitation snow framed the window, setting off the little scene inside perfectly. A handmade train carried angels, nativity figurines, wooden Santas and presents along its little black tracks.
"This is the sweetest, most wonderful time of the year." She glanced over her shoulder at Michael. "Are you really going to tell me that you don't like any of it?"
"All right," he acquiesced with a grumpy huff. "There is one thing."
Isabella regarded him with curious eyes. "Well, don't keep me in such suspense."
He leaned in and kissed her ear. "I happen to be particularly fond of mistletoe. But don't spread that around."
Despite the warmth of her wool coat, a shiver ran down her spine. Since coming home to Fielding, her life had been a series of perfect moments. Standing on the sidewalk, being kissed by the man she loved—in the town she loved—was certainly another.
And God help her, she refused to accept that this perfect time, this perfect weekend, was swiftly coming to a close.
"Your secret's safe with me," she said, forcing a lightness she didn't feel into her tone. "But I can't vouch for Emily."
Michael looked down and brushed the baby's cheek with his thumb. "You won't tell anyone, will you, princess?"
Emily gurgled. Isabella interpreted. "She says no problem. Not until she starts talking, anyway."
"Clever girl." He straightened and put on a game smile. "All right, I'm ready for this shopping expedition. Where are we headed?"
"Let's go in here," she said, nodding at the craft shop. "I want to pick out Emily's first ornament."
He looked up at the sign. "The Crafty Corner? Can't these people come up with something more original?"
She glared at him. "Give 'em a break, okay, Wulf?"
"For you, Bella, I'll give everyone a break." He winked at her. "Today."
"Oh, the generosity," she said on a chuckle as they walked into the store.
Within two minutes Bella was deeply involved in a discussion on how to make a gilded angel for the top of the tree, and Michael was walking around the store wondering what sort of gifts to get Bella and Emily for Christmas. Sure, he'd only celebrated Christmas once, but if the two of them were going to be at his house, he wanted to do the holiday up right, with all the trimmings and loads of presents.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a wall of little handmade ornaments. If Bella was going to get Emily one, maybe he'd get one for Bella, he thought, walking to the back of the store where the huge array hung on wooden pegs. He smiled as he spotted the perfect ornament. Hanging from a red-and-white checked ribbon was a miniature pan like the ones Bella used for baking with two miniature gingerbread men on it.
"I'm just telling you, Joan, I don't buy this big change that Michael Wulf has supposedly undergone."
Michael froze, the ornament forgotten. To his left, the stockroom door stood partially open. His jaw tight as a trap
, he glanced inside. Molly Homney, hands planted on ample hips, stood above a young woman who was methodically unpacking nativity figures from a box.
"Isabella seems very happy," Joan said.
Molly snorted. "Well, of course she does. She's in love with him."
Michael's chest tightened painfully, his mind rewinding what he'd just heard. Bella? In love with him?
"She can't tell her backside from her elbow right now," Molly continued. "But I can."
Joan sighed. "And what do you see?"
"Trouble. That man is used to living in a cave. And he can survive that way. But can Isabella? Can Emily?"
Cocking her head to one side, Joan said thoughtfully, "Maybe they could get married and live in town."
Molly shook her head. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. It's not the house that Michael Wulf lives in that makes him uncivilized. It's his attitude. He and Isabella could live anywhere and he would still sneer at the world." A look of pure pity crossed her face. "Just think about little Emily growing up that way. No friends." On a sigh, she added, "And Isabella has just come home. Such a shame…"
Michael didn't want to hear any more—didn't need to hear any more. He turned and walked away, pure unadulterated anger roaring through his blood. But it wasn't directed at the town's resident gossip. It was directed at himself. Why the hell hadn't he thought about how his way of life would affect Emily and Bella?
Because he wanted to be with them at all costs, that was why.
Just then, Bella caught his eye and motioned for him to come over to the register. Was Molly right? he wondered as he walked toward her. Did Bella love him? Could a man so incapable of love see such a thing in the eyes of another?
"Doesn't this angel look just like Emily?" Bella said, thrusting the angel-kit package at him and switching her daughter to her other arm. "I thought this would be so cute on top of the tree for her first Christmas."
Struggling for control, Michael looked at it. "It's great."
"I'm not all that crafty." Her voice was filled with enthusiasm. "But I'm willing to suffer through a few mistakes as long as it comes out all right in the end."
