Beloved

by Diana Palmer

  “I see.”

  “You don’t, but it doesn’t matter. I want to go home. I’m cold.”

  He searched her quiet face. “I could offer an alternative,” he said in a soft, velvety tone.

  She looked up at him with cool disdain. “I don’t do casual affairs, Simon,” she said bluntly. “Just in case the thought had crossed your mind lately.”

  He looked as if he’d been slapped. His jaw tautened. “Don’t you? Then if your affair with Charles Percy isn’t casual, why hasn’t he married you?”

  “I don’t want to marry again,” she said in a husky voice, averting her eyes. “Not ever.”

  He hesitated. He knew why she felt that way, that she’d been betrayed in the worst way. Her father-in-law had told him everything, but he was uncertain about whether or not to tell her that he knew.

  She glanced at him warily. “Does Jill know that you’re still grieving for your wife?” she asked, taking the fight right into the enemy camp. “Or is she just an occasional midnight snack?”

  His eyebrows arched. “That’s a hell of a comparison.”

  “Isn’t it?” She smiled sweetly. “I’m going home.”

  “Come to Jacobsville with me.”

  “And into the jaws of death or kitchen slavery?” she taunted. “I know all about the biscuit mania. I’m not about to be captured by your loopy brothers.”

  “They won’t come near you,” he promised. “Corrigan’s hired a new cook. She’s redheaded and she can bake anything.”

  “She won’t last two weeks before Leopold has her running for the border,” she assured him.

  It pleased him that she knew his brothers so well, that she took an interest in his family. She and Corrigan had been friends and occasionally had dated in the past, but there had been no spark between them. In fact, Charles Percy had always been in the way of any other man and Tira. Why hadn’t he noticed that before?

  “You’ve been going around with Charles ever since you left John,” he recalled absently.

  “Charles is my friend,” she said.

  “Friend,” he scoffed, his eyes insulting. “Is that what it’s called these days?”

  “You should know,” she returned. “What does Jill call it?”

  His eyes narrowed angrily. “At least she’s honest about what she wants from me,” he replied. “And it isn’t my money.”

  She shrugged. “To each his own.”

  He searched her face quietly. “You kissed me back the other night.”

  Her cheeks went ruddy and she looked away, clutching her purse. “I have to go.”

  He was right behind her. He didn’t touch her, but she could feel the warm threat of him all down her spine, oddly comforting in the chilly December air. “Stop running!”

  Her eyes closed for an instant before she reached for the door handle. “We seemed to be friends once,” she said in a husky tone. “But we weren’t, not really. You only tolerated me. I’m amazed that I went through all those years so blind that I never saw the contempt you felt when you looked at me.”

  “Tira…”

  She turned, holding up a hand. “I’m not accusing you. I just want you to know that I’m not carrying a torch for you or breaking my heart because you go around with Jill.” Her eyes were lackluster and he realized with a start that she’d lost a lot of weight in the past few months. She looked fragile, breakable.

  “What are you saying?” he asked.

  “That I don’t need you to pity me, Simon,” she said with visible pride. “I don’t really want a closer association with you, whatever Jill says or you think. I’m rearranging my life. I’ve started over. I don’t want to go back to the way we were.”

  He felt those words like a knife. She meant them. It was in her whole expression.

  “I see,” he said quietly.

  “No, you don’t,” she replied heavily. “You’re sort of like a drug,” she mused. “I was addicted to you and I’ve been cured, but even small doses are dangerous to my recovery.”

  His heart leaped. He caught her gaze and held it relentlessly. “What did you say?”

  “You know what I mean,” she returned. “I’m not going to let myself become addicted again. I have Charles and you have Jill. Let’s go our separate ways and get on with our lives. I was serious about the pistol and the mouse, you know, it wasn’t some face-saving excuse. I never meant to kill myself over you.”

  “Oh, hell, I knew that.”

  “Then why…”

  “Yes?”

  She turned her purse in her hands. “Why do you keep engineering situations where we’ll be thrown together?” she asked. “It serves no purpose.”

  His hand came out of his pocket and lifted to touch, lightly, her upswept hair. She flinched and he dropped his hand with a long sigh.

  “You can’t forget, can you?” he asked slowly.

  “I’m trying,” she assured him. “But every time we’re together, people speculate. The newspaper stories were pretty hard to live down, even for me. I don’t really want to rekindle speculation.”

  “You never cared about gossip before.”

  “I was never publicly savaged before,” she countered. “I’ve been made to look like some clinging, simpering nymph crying for a man who doesn’t want her. My pride is in shreds!”

  He was watching her narrowly. “How do you know that I don’t want you, Tira?” he asked deliberately.

  She stared at him without speaking, floored by the question.

  “I’ll pick you up at six on Saturday and drive you to Jacobsville,” he said. “Wear something elegant. It’s formal.”

  “I won’t go,” she said through her teeth.

  “You’ll go,” he replied with chilling certainty.

  He turned and walked to his own car with her glaring after him. Well, they’d just see about that! she told herself.

  It was barely a week until Christmas. Tira had the party for the children to look forward to on Christmas Eve, to help her feel some Christmas spirit. She had an artificial tree that she set up in her living room every year. She’d have loved a real one, with its own dirt ball so that it could be set out in the yard after the holidays, but she was violently allergic to fir trees of any kind. The expensive artificial tree was very authentic looking and once she decorated it, it could have fooled an expert at a distance.

  She had a collection of faux gold-plated cherubs and elegant gold foil ribbons to use for decorations, along with gold-and-silver bead strands and fairy lights. For whimsy, there were a few mechanical ornaments scattered deep within the limbs, which could be activated by the touch of a finger. She had a red-and-white latch-hook rug that went around the base of the tree, and around that was a Lionel “O” scale train set—the one she’d seen in the window of the department store that day she’d come across Simon on the sidewalk. She’d gone back and bought the train, and now she enjoyed watching it run. It only lacked one or two little lighted buildings to go beside it. Those, she reasoned, she could add later.

  She stood back and admired her handiwork. She was wearing a gold-and-white caftan that echoed the color scheme of the tree, especially with her hair loose. It was Saturday, but she wasn’t going to the Hart party. In fact, when Simon rang the doorbell, he wasn’t going to get into the house. She felt very smug about the ease with which she’d avoided him.

  “Very nice,” came a deep, amused voice from behind her.

  She whirled and found Simon, in evening clothing, watching her from the doorway.

  “How…how did you get in?” she gasped.

  “Mrs. Lester kindly left the back door unlocked for me,” he mused. “I told her that we were going out and that you’d probably forget. She’s very obliging. A real romantic, Mrs. Lester.”

  “I’ll fire her Monday the minute she gets back from her sister’s!” she snarled.

  “No, you won’t. She’s a treasure.”

  She swept back her hair. “I’m not going to Jacobsville!”

&
nbsp; “You are,” he said. “Either you get dressed, or I dress you.”

  “Ha!” She folded her arms across her chest and dared him to do his worst.

  The prospect seemed to amuse him. He took her by the arm with his good hand and led her down the hall to her bedroom, opened the door, put her in and closed it behind them. He’d already been here, she could tell, because a white strapless evening gown was laid out on the bed, along with filmy underthings that matched it.

  “You…you invaded my bedroom!” she raged.

  “Yes, I did. It was very educational. You don’t dress like a siren at all. Most of your wardrobe seems to consist of cotton underthings and jeans and tank tops.” He glanced at her. “I like that caftan you’re wearing, but it’s not quite appropriate for tonight’s festivities.”

  “I’m not putting on that dress.”

  He chuckled softly. “You are. Sooner or later.”

  She started toward the door and found herself swept up against him, held firmly by that damned prosthesis that seemed to work every bit as well as the arm it had replaced.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised softly. “But you’re going.”

  “I will…what are you…doing?”

  She’d forgotten the front zip that kept the caftan on her. He released it with a minimum of fuss and the whole thing dropped to the floor, leaving her in her bare feet and nude except for her serviceable white briefs.

  She gaped at him. He looked at her body with the appreciation of an artist, noting the creamy soft rise of her breasts with their tight rosy nipples and the supple curve of her waist that flared to rounded hips and long, elegant legs.

  “Don’t you…look at me!” she gasped, trying to cover herself.

  His eyes met hers quizzically. “Don’t you want me to?” he asked softly.

  The question surprised her. She only stared at him, watching his gaze fall again to her nudity and sweep over it with pure delight. She shivered at the feel of his gaze.

  “It’s all right,” he said gently, surprised by the way she was reacting. “I’m not even going to touch you. I promise.”

  She drew in a shaky breath, held close by one arm while his other hand traced along her flushed cheek and down to the corner of her tremulous mouth.

  What an unexpected creature she was, he thought with some confusion. She was embarrassed, shy, even a little ashamed to stand here this way. She blushed like a girl. He knew that she couldn’t be totally innocent, but her reaction was nothing like that of an experienced woman.

  His fingers traced over her mouth and down the curve of her pulsating throat to her collarbone. They hesitated there and his gaze fell to her mouth.

  The silence in the bedroom was like the silence in the eye of a hurricane. If she breathed the wrong way, it would break the spell, and he’d draw away. His fingers, even now, were hesitating at her collarbone and his mouth hovered above hers as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do next.

  She shivered, her own eyes lingering helplessly on the long, wide curve of his mouth.

  He moved, just slightly, so that her body was completely against his, and he let her feel the slow burgeoning of his arousal. It shocked her. He saw the flush spread all over her high cheekbones.

  “Tira,” he said roughly, “tell me what you want.”

  “I don’t…know,” she whispered brokenly, searching his pale, glittering eyes. “I don’t know!”

  He felt her hips move, just a fraction, felt her body shift so that she was faintly arched toward him. “Don’t you?” he whispered back. “Your body does. Shall I show you what it’s asking me to do?”

  She couldn’t manage words, but he didn’t seem to need them. With a faint smile, he lifted his hand and spread it against her rib cage, slowly, torturously sliding it up until it was resting just at the underside of her taut breast. She shivered and caught her breath, her eyes wide and hungry and still frightened.

  “It won’t hurt,” he whispered, and his hand moved up and over her nipple, softly caressing.

  She clutched his shoulders and hid her face against him in a torment of shattered sensations, moaning sharply at the intimate touch.

  He hesitated. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently. His face nuzzled against her cheek, forcing her head back so that he could see her shocked, helpless submission. He touched her again, easing his fingers together over the hard nipple as he tugged at it gently. The look on her face made his whole body go rigid.

  Her head went back. Her eyes closed. She shivered, biting her lip to keep from weeping, the pleasure was so overwhelming.

  If she was shaken, so was he. It was relatively chaste love play, but she was already reacting as if his body was intimately moving on hers. Her response was as unexpected as it was flattering.

  “Come here,” he said with rough urgency, tugging her to the bed. He pulled her down with him on the coverlet beside her gown and shifted so that she was beneath him. His rapid heartbeat was causing him to shake even before he found her mouth with his and began to caress her intimately.

  “Simon,” she sobbed. But she was pulling, not pushing. Her mouth opened for him, her body rose as he caressed it with his hand and then with his open mouth. He suckled her, groaning when she shivered and cried out from the pleasure. He was in so deep that he couldn’t have pulled back to save his own life. He’d never known an exchange so heated, so erotic. He wanted to do things to and with her that he’d never dreamed of doing to a woman in his life.

  His mouth eased back onto hers and gentled her as his hand moved under the elastic at her hips and descended slowly. Her legs parted for him. She gasped as he began to touch her, sobbed, wept, clutched him. She was ready for him, and he’d barely begun.

  Even while his head spun with delight, he knew that it was wrong. It was all wrong. He’d been too long without a woman and this was too fiery, too consuming, for a first time with her. He was going in headfirst and she wouldn’t enjoy it. But he couldn’t stop himself.

  “Tira,” he groaned at her ear. “Sweetheart, not now. Not like this. For God’s sake, help me…!”

  His hand stilled, his mouth lay hot and hard against her throat while he lay against her, his big body faintly tremulous as he tried to overcome his urgent, aching need for her.

  Chapter Seven

  Tira barely heard him. Her body was shivering with new sensations, with exquisite glimpses of the pleasure he could offer her. She felt him go heavy in her arms and slowly, breath by breath, she began to realize where they were and what they were doing.

  She caught her breath sharply, aware that her hands were still tangled in the thick, cool darkness of his wavy hair. She was almost completely nude and he’d touched her….

  “Simon!” she exclaimed, aghast.

  “Shhh.” His mouth turned against her throat. His hand withdrew to her waist and his head lifted. He was breathing as raggedly as she was. The turbulence of his eyes surprised her, because his usual impeccable control was completely gone. He saw her expression and managed a smile. “Are you shocked that we could be like this, together?” he asked gently.

  “Yes.”

  “So am I. But I don’t want you like this, not in a fever so high that I can’t think past relief,” he said quietly. He moved away from her with obvious reluctance and took one last, sweeping glance at her yielded body before he sat up with his back to her and leaned forward to breathe.

  She tugged the coverlet over her heated flesh and bit her swollen lips in an agony of shame and embarrassment. How in the world had that happened? If he hadn’t stopped…!

  He got to his feet, stretched hugely and then turned toward her. She lay with her glorious hair in a tangle around her white face, looking up at him almost fearfully.

  “There’s no need to look like that, Tira,” he said softly, with eyes so tender that they confused her. He reached down and tugged the coverlet away, pulling her slowly to her feet. “The world won’t end.”

  He reached for the strapl
ess bra he’d taken from her bureau and using the prosthesis to anchor it, he looped it around her and held it in place.

  “You’ll have to fasten it,” he said with a complete lack of self-consciousness. “I can’t do operations that complex.”

  She obeyed him as if she were a puppet and he was pulling strings.

  He held the half-slip and coaxed her to lean against him while she stepped into it. He pulled it up. He reached for the exquisite gown and deftly slid it over her head, watching while she tugged it into place. He turned her around and while she held up her hair, he zipped it into place.

  He led her to the vanity and handed her a brush. She sat down obediently and put her unruly hair back into some sort of order, belatedly using a faint pink lipstick and a little powder. He stood behind her the whole while, watching.

  When she finished, he drew her up again and held her in front of him.

  “How long have we known each other?” he asked solemnly.

  “A long time. Years.” She couldn’t meet his probing gaze. She felt as if she had absolutely no will of her own. The sheer vulnerability was new and frightening. She took a deep breath. “We should go.”

  He tilted her remorseful eyes up to his. “Don’t be ashamed of what we did together,” he said quietly.

  She winced. “You don’t even like me…!”

  He drew her close and rocked her against his tall body, his cheek pressed to her hair as he stroked the silken length of it. “Shhh.” He kissed her hair and then her cheek, working his way up to her wet eyes. He kissed the tears away gently and then lifted his head and looked down into the drowned green depths. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so tender with a woman. He remembered how her soft skin felt against his mouth and his breathing became labored. He stepped back a little, so that she wouldn’t notice how easily she aroused him now.

  She sniffed inelegantly and reached on the vanity for a tissue. “My nose will be as red as my eyes,” she commented, trying to break the tension.

  “As red as the highlights in your glorious hair,” he murmured, touching it. He sighed. “I want you with me tonight,” he said softly. “But if you really don’t want to go, I won’t force you.”