Gently, as though he sensed he was frightening her, he caught the lush fullness of her breasts in his palms, lifting them. “You’re very beautiful.”
She blinked, not knowing what to say. “So-o are you.”
He smiled as if she’d amused him and, leaning down, caught her nipple in his mouth, closing over the fullness of her soft, feminine mound before lavishing it with greedy attention. His tongue laved the tightening hardness and then he sucked fiercely. Hannah whimpered at the startling wave of pleasure it gave her. Gradually she grew accustomed to his attentions and relaxed, closing her eyes as she delved her fingers into his hair. He repeated the process with her other breast, and Hannah felt a stirring sense of wonder at each powerful tug of his mouth. The warm, heavy feeling she’d experienced earlier in the lower half of her body returned a hundredfold, and she moved instinctively against the hard bulge in his loins.
“That’s right, baby,” he murmured as his hand found the snap on her jeans.
Once they were both free of their clothes, Riley picked her up in his arms and effortlessly carried her to the bed.
He was eager then; too eager to go slowly. He mounted her, settling himself between her open thighs. Not sure how much pain to expect, Hannah tensed, gritted her teeth and turned her head to the side. He caught her by the chin, however, and kissed her deeply, causing the heat to rise to the exploding point. Not knowing how else to ask for him to make love to her, Hannah raised her hips.
It seemed to be what he was waiting for as he settled between her legs, his heated shaft nudging apart the creamy folds of her womanhood. Once again Hannah tightened her jaw as he relentlessly entered her, pausing only when he met the restrictive barrier of her virginity.
He stopped then, frozen. Hannah’s gaze found his, and she read his confusion. He pulled back his head, gritting his teeth, his look tense and confused.
“It’s all right,” she whispered softly. Fearing he might leave her, she looped her arms around his neck and drew his mouth to her own. The kiss was wild, tempestuous, a battle of wills.
Hannah wasn’t sure who won. In the end it didn’t matter. Slowly, determined to bring her whatever pleasure he could, Riley continued forward, tiny increment by tiny increment until he was buried so deep inside her, she was convinced he could go no deeper.
She was panting with pain, panting with pleasure. He gave her a moment to adjust to him, to allow her senses to recover. She felt his heat, his strength, his hardness envelop her, and she felt as though her heart reached out to him, bonding them in ways she never expected. Twinges of pleasure gradually overcame those that had brought her pain.
Slowly he began to move within her, in long easy strokes that lingered and then opulently replenished the pleasure.
Heat encompassed her, and when it became too much, she moaned and bit into her lip, breathlessly searching, striving for what she didn’t know. In the end, release came, making her senses explode in shattering waves so strong they lifted the upper portion of her body off the bed.
He held her for a long time afterward; he kissed the crown of her head gently, then rolled onto his side, taking her with him. His arms continued to hold her as he brushed the hair from her face with gentle fingers and wiped the moisture from her eyes. He was full of questions—Hannah sensed them as profoundly as if they were spoken—yet he left them unasked. For a long time he did nothing but hold her, and for then it was more than enough.
She fell asleep, and woke chilled. Riley was awake still, and when he saw her tremble, he pulled up the covers, then gathered her close into his arms once again.
“Why?” he asked her, his voice deep and impatient.
Hannah could think of no way to explain. At least not with words. Tilting back her head, she brushed her lips over his, loving the velvet feel of his mouth and tongue.
“That doesn’t explain a whole lot.”
“I know.” She had no answers for him. The emptiness was back—reality so harsh and brutal that she couldn’t bear it a moment longer. Not knowing any other way to ease it, she raised her arms and brought his mouth down to hers and kissed him once more. He wanted answers, not kisses, but soon his physical need overpowered everything else and he made love to her a second time.
Hannah woke at dawn, sick with guilt and self-recrimination, and quietly slipped from the room. It was the last time she’d seen Riley Murdock.
* * *
She lay in bed, eyes open wide as she stared at the ceiling. The time had come for her to quit fooling herself. The week before, she’d bought a home pregnancy test at the local drugstore, hiding it under a magazine until she’d reached the checkout stand. It was in her underwear drawer now.
Reading the instructions carefully, she did as they said and waited the longest fifteen minutes of her life for the results.
Positive.
She was pregnant. By her best calculations, almost three months. Dear God, what was she going to do? Hannah had no answers. None. If her mother had been alive she might have been able to confide in her, seek her advice. But her mother had died when she was thirteen.
By rote Hannah set a roast in the oven and waited for her father to return from the church service. At twelve-thirty he walked in the back door, and his gentle eyes brightened when he saw her sitting at the kitchen table.
“So you’re feeling better?”
She offered him a feeble smile and clenched her hands together in her lap. “Daddy,” she whispered, her eyes avoiding his, “I…I have something to tell you.”
Chapter Two
Riley Murdock had been in one bitch of a mood for nearly three months. He’d done everything within his power to locate the mysterious Hannah and cursed himself a hundred times over that he hadn’t thought to ask for her surname.
Once he found her, he didn’t know what the hell he intended to do. Strangling her seemed like a damn good idea. The woman had driven him crazy from the moment she first stumbled into him on the festive Seattle sidewalk.
When he’d woken to find her gone that morning, he’d been devastated with self-recrimination. Then he’d grown furious. In the weeks since, his wrath hadn’t diminished. He didn’t know what game she was playing, but by heaven he intended to find out.
If there was anyone to blame in this fiasco, Riley noted, it was himself. He’d known from the first that she wasn’t like the other women who frequented waterfront bars. The story she’d told him about a couple of men following her was true. She’d been genuinely frightened, trembling with anxiety. The look in her eyes—damn, but she had beautiful gray eyes—couldn’t easily be fabricated. Why she had opted to approach him, he didn’t know. The woman was full of surprises.
If he was astonished by the fact she’d chosen to sit at his table, then he should have been a candidate for a heart transplant when he discovered she was a virgin. As many times as Riley had analyzed what happened between them, nothing added up right.
She’d approached him. She’d been the one to kiss him. Hell, she’d practically seduced him. Seduced by a virgin. No wonder the tally kept coming up inaccurate. He should have realized, should have figured it out. Instead, he’d been left to deal with this incredible sense of guilt. If only she hadn’t disappeared without explaining. Anger tightened his stomach every time he thought about waking up that morning and finding her gone. He’d damn near torn apart the desk manager trying to find out about her. But apparently no one had seen her go.
Riley blamed himself still. He feared he’d frightened her so badly that she’d fled in horror. Had he hurt her? She’d been so tight and so small. It was all he could do not to slam his fist into the wall every time he thought about their brief encounter, which was damn near every minute of every day. What had happened to her since? Was she sick? Alone? Frightened? Pregnant?
He’d been in control of their encounter until she’d kissed him. Now it was weeks later and he still reeled at the memory of the gentle, shy way in which she’d pressed her lips to his. He cursed how he cou
ld close his eyes and continue to taste her. How sweet she’d been. How warm and delicate. Her lips had molded to his, and her flavor reminded him of cotton candy. That alone was enough to torment him, but it wasn’t all. Her fragrance continued to obsess him. It wasn’t a commercial one he could name. The only way he could think to describe it was to imagine walking waist-deep in a field of wildflowers.
The woman had somersaulted into his life, sent his senses cartwheeling, and then, without a thought, without a care, had vanished, leaving him bitter and confused.
The hell with her, Riley decided rashly. He’d wasted enough time, energy and expense trying to find her. He’d return to his well-ordered life and forget her. Which was obviously what she intended to do with him.
If only he could forget her.
* * *
“Dad,” Hannah pleaded softly, fighting to hold back a sob, “say something.”
The truth was out, and Hannah hung her head waiting for the backlash of anger and disappointment. It was what she deserved and what she expected.
To her surprise, her father said nothing. He sat in the chair and stared into space, his face devoid of expression. Then he stood, laboriously, as if he were feeling old and beaten. Without a word he walked out the back door.
Tears filled Hannah’s eyes as her gaze followed him. He stood on the porch for several moments, his hand wrapped around the support beam, and stared into a cloudless October sky. Then, stepping off the porch, once again with slow and strained movements, he crossed the parsonage lawn and entered the old white church. Hannah sat at the kitchen table and gave him fifteen minutes before she followed him.
She found her father kneeling at the front of the church, before the altar, his head and shoulders slumped forward. Her heart constricted painfully at the sight of him there on his knees.
“Daddy,” she whispered, speaking to him as she’d done as a frightened child. She was frightened. Not of what he’d say or of what he’d do, but because the circumstances surrounding this pregnancy were so complex.
George Raymond opened his eyes and straightened. Placing his hand on his knee, he rose awkwardly to his feet. His gaze rested on her, and she watched as his Adam’s apple moved up and down his throat while he struggled to restrain the emotion. He tried to smile, a weak attempt to comfort her, then took her hand and together they sat in the front pew.
Hot tears brimmed in Hannah’s eyes, threatening to spill over. The lump in her throat felt as large as a basketball, making swallowing nearly impossible. Her father had every right to be angry with her, to rage at her for her stupidity. What she’d done had been the height of irresponsibility. In her anguish she’d rebelled against everything she’d been raised to believe—an incredible departure from anything she’d ever done.
If she could offer any excuse, it was that she hadn’t been herself. The hours she’d spent with Riley had been the first in days, in weeks, in which she wasn’t suffocating in her grief. She’d reached out to him, a stranger, needing his touch, needing to be held and loved and protected. Needing a reprieve from her pain to ease the frustration of having been cheated from this experience with Jerry, the only man she’d ever truly loved. She’d been despondent, and in her anguish she’d sought the comfort of a stranger. It had been sheer stupidity on her part. And now she was faced with the knowledge that the one major indiscretion of her life was about to bear fruit.
Even if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, even if she’d been able to bury the events of that night for what remained of her life, she had changed. Not only in the physical sense. It had taken her several weeks to realize the physical aspects of her experience were only a minor portion of their lovemaking. Her emotions had become involved. She didn’t know how to explain it or what to make of it. She’d assumed that once she left the hotel room, she’d never think of Riley again. But she did, almost constantly, against every dictate of her will.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered brokenly. “So sorry.”
Her father wrapped her gently in his arms. “I know, Hannah, I know.”
“I was wrong…. I was so angry at God for taking Jerry. I loved him so much.”
With a tenderness that pitched knives at her heart, her father brushed the hair from her face. “I needed a few moments alone to think through this situation. I’ve been reminded that God doesn’t make mistakes. This child growing under your heart was planted there for a reason. I don’t know why any more than I understand the reason God took Jerry home. Nevertheless you are going to have a baby, and the only thing we can do is make the best of the situation.”
Hannah nodded, not knowing what to say. She didn’t deserve so wonderful a father.
“I love you, Hannah. Yes, I’m hurt. Yes, I’m disappointed in your lack of judgment. But there is nothing you could ever do that would change my love for you or the fact you’re my daughter.”
Hannah closed her eyes and breathed deeply, clinging to her father’s strength and his love.
“Now, tell me his name,” he said, breaking away from her.
Keeping her gaze lowered, she whispered, “Riley Murdock… We met only once—the night of the torchlight parade. He’s in the Navy, but I don’t have a clue where he’s stationed.” Finding him now would be impossible, which was just as well. Hannah didn’t want to think about what Riley would say or do once he found out she was carrying his child. Frankly, she wondered if he’d even remember her.
Her father gripped her hand in both his own, and once again Hannah noted how frail he looked. The lines around his eyes and mouth had formed into deep grooves and there was more gray than reddish brown in his thick thatch of hair. Funny how she hadn’t noticed that earlier. The changes had come since Jerry’s death, but she’d been so consumed by pain and uncertainty that she hadn’t noticed he’d been dealing with his own grief.
“The first thing we have to do,” he said gently, “is make a doctor’s appointment for you. I’m sure Doc Hanson will be able to see you first thing Monday morning. I’ll give him a call myself.”
Hannah nodded. Unwilling to face the truth, she’d delayed contacting a physician longer than she should have. Doc Hanson was a friend of the family and could be trusted to be discreet.
“Then,” Hannah told him, drawing in a deep sigh, “we’ll need to decide where I should go.”
“Go?” Her father’s dear face darkened, the age lines becoming even more pronounced.
“I won’t be able to continue living here,” she said, her tone weary. She wasn’t thinking of herself, but of her father and of Jerry’s memory.
“But why, Hannah?”
She inhaled deeply. “Everyone will assume the child is Jerry’s.” With everything in her heart she wished her fiancé had fathered her child, but she had to deal with the cold, harsh facts. Riley Murdock—a stranger from the Seattle waterfront—was the father. Although it was tempting, very tempting, to allow her church family and friends to believe she carried Jerry’s child, she couldn’t have lived with the lie. Not when he’d always been so morally upright.
“We’ll simply explain to everyone that the child isn’t Jerry’s,” her father stated with one hard nod of his head, as if that alone would set everything right.
“Do you honestly think the congregation will believe me?” she asked him, the words tight in her throat. “I have to leave, Dad,” she said firmly, unwilling to compromise.
For her father’s sake she must leave Seattle. He’d been such a loving and kind parent, and there were sure to be those in the church who would malign him for her wrongdoings. There would be an equal number who would stand beside them both with loving support, but Hannah couldn’t bear to see her father suffer because of her mistakes.
“I’ll go live with Aunt Helen until after the baby’s born….”
“And then what?” her father demanded, sounding uncharacteristically alarmed.
“I…don’t know. I’ll cross that bridge when I reach it.” So many questions and concerns were coming at her,
like a spray of rocks from a speeding car. Hannah didn’t feel capable of fending off a single one, at least not now.
“We don’t need to decide anything yet,” he assured her after a moment. But he wore a thoughtful frown as they walked back to the house, where Hannah had left dinner simmering.
* * *
The frown didn’t seem to leave her father’s features from that moment forward. Hannah had been in to see Doc Hanson, who confirmed what she already knew. He ran a series of tests and prescribed iron tablets and vitamins because she was anemic. He’d been gentle and kind and didn’t ply her with questions, for which she was grateful.
It was Friday afternoon nearly two weeks after Hannah had first told her father about the pregnancy. Exhausted from her day’s work as an underwriting assistant for a major insurance company, she walked into the house and discovered her father waiting for her in the living room. He sat in his favorite chair, his hands curved around the faded upholstered arms, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Hannah called it his “thinking chair.” To discover him resting in the middle of the afternoon was highly unusual.
“Good afternoon, Dad,” she greeted with a smile, and walked across the worn beige carpet to kiss his weathered cheek. “Is everything all right?”
“It’s just fine,” he said, returning her smile with an absent one of his own. “Keep your coat on. We’re going out.”
“We are?” Offhand, Hannah couldn’t think of any appointment she’d made. Only infrequently did she accompany her father on house calls, and those were generally scheduled for Tuesday and Thursday evenings. George Raymond made it a point to visit every family in his congregation at least once a year.
His hand protectively cupped her elbow as he led her out the front door and down the steps. The station wagon was parked in the driveway.
“Where are we going?” Hannah questioned. Rarely had she seen her father look more resolute. It was as if he were marching with Joshua, preparing to face the walls of Jericho.
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