The Notorious Groom (Desire)

by Caroline Cross

  “No, it’s not. I feel—I feel so strange...” She squirmed, rubbing up against him.

  The sinuous movement had him gritting his teeth with need. That didn’t stop him from sliding a hand up and tracing the delicate line of her narrow back, however. “God, you feel good.”

  “Oh, Eli...so do you. I need...I want...oh, please, don’t stop....”

  Eli didn’t intend to. He knew exactly what she needed. First, he would peel down her dress, pressing kisses to the fragile line of her throat as he bared her to the waist. Then he would lower his head and let his lips brush her collarbone and explore the tender swells of her breasts, taking his time before he settled in to suckle and feast on one small, straining nipple. Not until she was crying out, begging for more, would he finally unzip his jeans, shove her panties out of the way and slowly, slowly ease himself inside her, all the time watching her face.

  “Oh, Eli, yes...”

  Her soft, throaty murmur jerked him back to reality.

  What was he thinking? More to the point, what was he doing? This was Norah Jane, who was probably a virgin, for cripesake And even if she wasn’t, even if she’d had years of experience—which he knew damn well she didn’t—he was thirty-four, not fourteen. He didn’t have sex in cars anymore, although at the moment he was having a little trouble remembering why, what with her lips trailing up his throat, her nipples brushing against his chest and her sex rubbing against his.

  Still, that didn’t mean he ought to give in to his baser urges.

  Did it?

  Perspiration dampened his forehead and the base of his spine Part of him—the part that was threatening to pop the rivets on his jeans—answered with a resounding and unequivocal yes. Go for it. She wants you. She needs you. Hell, you’d be doing her a favor, helping her relieve a lifetime of pent-up tension, providing a much-needed education.

  Yet even as he stroked her bare back and felt her arch against him, even as he gritted his teeth against the need to find out if she was as wet and slick as he suspected, he knew he wasn’t going to do it.

  Because all of a sudden the damn proprietary, protective, part of him was kicking up a fuss. Get a grip, lover boy. What kind of lowlife are you? You’re not really thinking about having sex with Boo in the front seat of a car, are you? What about making it special? What about being safe? Heck, if nothing else, what about getting naked?

  He swore under his breath, unamused. Of all the inconvenient times to develop a conscience...

  And yet, this was Norah Jane. For whom he felt increasingly responsible, for some inexplicable reason he didn’t want to consider. At least, not now, when he already had an armful of trouble.

  Sighing, he raised his head, blinking as he got a good look at Trouble’s face. At the moment, with her lips swollen from his kisses, her cheeks pink from his beard, her hair tangled from his hands and her eyes smoky with desire, she didn’t look all that naive or mexperienced. She looked like a temptress. A siren. A woman ripe for lovemaking.

  But she wasn’t, he reminded himself yet again, easing his hands out from under her dress. She might think she was—heck, he couldn’t help it if he had certain, undeniable talents—but the truth was she didn’t have a clue what she was asking for.

  Chances were, she would be appalled by the hot, sweaty, down-and-dirty reality of sex. And even if she wasn’t, even if she really, really liked it, she would probably jump to the wrong conclusion and confuse the basic, biological need to get it on with something fanciful like love. Hell, she would probably expect to hear a celestial choir when she climaxed. And even if he were willing to have her follow him around adoringly for the next few weeks, where would that put them when it was time to put an end to their marriage?

  Because it would end. Although he couldn’t deny he was attracted to her, it wasn’t as if they were madly in love with each other. How could they be, when they were all wrong for each other? She was ultrarespectable; he was far from it. She had money; he didn’t. She was educated, a librarian, while the only thing he ever read cover-to-cover were auto repair manuals.

  Besides, she was innocent in ways he’d never been.

  With a sigh, he sat up a little straighter and pushed her gently but firmly away.

  “Eli?” Her eyes dazed with passion, she leaned bonelessly against his palms and trailed her hand across his chest. “What’s the matter?”

  He caught her by the wrist. “We’d better stop.”

  Slowly she straightened. “But...why?”

  Because I’m an idiot. He shrugged. “I just think we should.”

  “Did... did I do something wrong?”

  “No.”

  “Because if I did, I—I can do better.”

  Great. Just what he wanted to hear. As if there wasn’t a part of him—a very stiff, very uncomfortable part of him—that was already painfully insistent he was making a very bad mistake. “Look, Boo, it’s not that. You did...fine. It’s just that things are getting out of hand.”

  “They are?”

  “Yeah.”

  Damned if she didn’t look pleased. “But that’s all right—”

  “No, it’s not.” It was clearly time to take off the gloves and put an end to this once and for all. “Do you want me to strip off your dress and have you right here where anybody could see us?” He made the words deliberately crude, thinking the least she could do was look shocked or offended...or something.

  She didn’t. Instead, as if she were deliberately trying to drive him crazy, she worried her lower lip, which was pink and swollen from his kisses. “Well, I—” She glanced uncertainly out the rear window toward the road- “I suppose not.”

  He pressed his advantage. “Yeah, really. I mean, maybe that’s your thing, but it isn’t mine. And even if it was...” He tried to look like a man caught in the throes of disillusionment.

  “What?” she said immediately, her gaze filling with concern.

  He shrugged. “I guess when it comes down to it, you don’t feel obligated to honor our agreement.”

  “Our agreement?”

  “You know, the one about ours being a platonic relationship .”

  She stared at him. “But I thought... that is—”

  “What? That it only applied when you wanted it to?”

  She was silent. And then slowly, she nodded. “Yes.”

  “That’s what I thought. And I’ve got to say, I’m...disappointed in you, Boo.” Doing his best to look as though it was his feelings that were hurting him and not his too-tight jeans, he reached for the door latch, knowing he had to get out of their intimate situation before she started apologizing. He shoved open the door and scooted sideways, carefully sliding her off his lap and onto the seat.

  “But...where are you going?”

  “To the other side of the car. I’ll drive us home.”

  “Oh. Of course.”

  He looked down at her subdued face and felt a foreign pang of guilt, which was really stupid, since he hadn’t done anything—except save her from herself. Shaking his head at the irony, he shut the door and stalked around the hood.

  He was doing the right thing. Although things might be a little awkward between them right now, sex would really complicate matters. Norah was bound to be relieved and grateful once she had time to think about it.

  As for him, well...he’d be all right. After all, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t resist her. He’d been doing fine the past few weeks. And she wasn’t exactly a woman who advertised her charms. Given her propensity to stay quietly in the background, dress in prim little dresses and mind her own business, everything would be fine.

  Or it would be as soon as he got home. Half an hour or so in a cold shower and he’d be back to normal.

  With that thought fixed firmly in his mind, he opened the driver’s door, climbed in and turned the key in the ignition.

  “See, Sarah,” Chelsea said, beaming as Norah took the final bend out of a wire coat hanger, stuck a marshmallow on the end and handed it to he
r friend. “I told you Norah would think of something.”

  “Yeah, you did. Thanks, Mrs. Wilder,” Sarah said.

  “You’re welcome, Sarah.” Norah picked up a second hanger and began to repeat the straightening procedure.

  “This is so cool,” Sarah went on. “We never get to stay up late or sleep outside on a weeknight at my house. My mom says we’ll keep her and Daddy awake, and then they’ll be too tired to go to work the next day. Are you really going to stay out here with us tonight, Mrs. Wilder?”

  “Yes.” She nodded and handed the second transformed hanger to Chelsea. “If you two are sure it’s all right.”

  “Of course it is,” Chelsea said immediately. “It’ll be fun.”

  “Yeah,” Sarah said, agreeing as she always did with her best friend.

  Norah suppressed a smile. “I think so, too.”

  Chelsea accepted a marshmallow and stuck it on the end of her skewer. She glanced briefly toward the door into the kitchen, then carefully positioned her marshmallow over the barbecue pit. “Norah?”

  “Hmm?”

  “When do you think Eli’s going to get here?”

  Norah found herself glancing over at the door herself. “I don’t know, sweetheart.” An understatement. Since their passionate interlude in the car three days ago, Eli had been so occupied with the garage she’d barely seen him, much less been informed of his schedule.

  Chelsea had obviously noticed, too. “He’s sure been busy lately. Usually he never has to work late. I hope he gets here soon. It’s almost dark.”

  Norah realized the child was right. Occupied first with getting the girls’ dinner and then with the search for something to use for makeshift barbecue skewers, she hadn’t paid much attention to the time. Now a glance at her watch showed it was going on nine. A look around showed that a flotilla of stars was emerging out of the deepening twilight while a slice of silver moon hung in the eastern sky. And the usual insect and frog chorus was tuning up, providing background music for the occasional breeze that whispered through the tree leaves.

  It was turning into a lovely summer night. One that would have been perfect if not for Eli’s absence. An absence that was her fault, Norah thought guiltily.

  For one never-to-be-forgotten half hour, Elijah Wilder, once the baddest boy in Kisscount, had found her desirable. Although part of her still found it hard to believe, she knew it was true, and she cherished the memory of every single moment. Just as she recognized that it had changed her in small but significant ways, the most profound being a burgeoning sense of confidence. After all, if Eli could want her, then anything was possible.

  Yet she also realized that in some very important ways she’d been kidding herself. Over the years, she must have read thousands of books about men and women and physical passion. And though she’d known her lack of firsthand knowledge was a disadvantage, she’d always believed she understood what was involved. After all, one did not have to be a rocket scientist to understand the principles of lift or propulsion. Or actually give birth in order to experience maternal feelings. She’d been sure she knew what she was missing.

  She’d been wrong. Incredibly, acutely wrong. Nothing had prepared her for the depth of physical pleasure she’d felt when Eli had touched her. Nor had she ever imagined the kind of emotional connection such touching would generate. It had been sublime, frightening, exhilarating—and life altering.

  Heaven knew, it had certainly altered her view of Eli. Not because he was different, but because she was.

  For as long as she could remember, she’d told herself she was afraid of him. Afraid of his looks, his irreverence, his dangerous reputation. Only now could she see that what she’d really been afraid of was his blatant, unapologetic masculinity—and her attraction to it. He’d fascinated her, so much so that for years she’d willingly endured his teasing for the chance to be close to him.

  Obviously nothing had changed now that they were adults, either. When Mr. Lampley suggested she marry to save Willow Run, she’d refused to consider it—until that fateful conversation with Chelsea. And though she’d constructed a plausible rationale for why it was acceptable for her to ask Eli, on some deeply buried level she must have known she was attracted to him—no matter how much she’d consciously denied it.

  Well, she wasn’t trying to deny it now. Not since she’d finally admitted that she was hopelessly in love with him.

  Norah squeezed her eyes shut for an instant. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but it had, she thought, as the now-familiar combination of exhilaration, tenderness, terror and uncertainty rushed through her. Nor did she regret it, although she had to admit it wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d always envisioned loving someone as being warm and sheltering, like a sturdy, well-insulated house during a wild winter storm. Yet loving Eli was more like the storm itself—rash and tempestuous, an overpowering emotion that blew caution and tranquillity out of its path.

  None of which made the knowledge that she’d let him down—or her suspicion that his recent absences had more to do with a desire to avoid her than a sudden upsurge in business—any easier to bear. The question was, what could she do about it?

  “Eli!”

  Chelsea’s exclamation slammed the door on her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to get her emotions under control before she slowly looked over to find Eli standing at the French doors that opened off the kitchen. His hair still damp from a shower, he’d never looked more handsome as he stood barefoot, dressed in a pale blue shirt open down the front and a pair of ancient jeans that clung to his hips and thighs. Although she knew it wasn’t wise, she couldn’t stop the way her pulse picked up at the sight of him.

  Chelsea, however, was made of sterner stuff. Her expression reproachful, the child pointed her skewer at him. “It’s about time you got here,” she said. “You missed dinner. Again.”

  Just for an instant his eyes met Norah’s. He gave her a brief little nod, then turned his attention back to his daughter, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m sorry. Please don’t stab me with that thing. I’m too young to die.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Eli. Be serious.”

  “Oh, Chelsea,” he retorted, making Sarah giggle as he rolled his eyes in exactly the same way. “I can’t.”

  His daughter gave a gusty sigh and glanced at her friend with a classic see-what-I-have-to-live-with expression. Then, with a haughty sniff, she placed her skewer back over the fire.

  Eli ambled across the patio, stopped beside his daughter and slung his arm around her shoulder, giving her a little squeeze. “Missed me, huh?”

  “Not hardly,” she retorted, although her saucy reply was contradicted by the way she promptly leaned against him. “We’ve been having a really good time.”

  “You have, huh?”

  “Yes. This afternoon, Norah and I went shopping and she got me this cool outfit.” She took a step back so he could get the full effect of her new lavender shorts set.

  “Nice,” he murmured.

  “Yeah. And I got new pajamas and this really neat nail polish that sparkles. See?” She stuck out her hand for him to inspect.

  He eyed her fingers. “Pretty cool.”

  “Sarah’s wearing it, too.”

  “Umm.” He dutifully admired Sarah’s fingertips as she also held up a hand for him to see.

  “And Norah got some new stuff, too. Some shorts and jeans—and oh!—she got a new dress. Isn’t it pretty?”

  Norah forced herself not to move as his gaze flickered over her, taking in the slim, ice green tankdress that ended daringly several inches above her knees. “Very nice,” he said politely.

  “And you should see her ankle! She got a tat—”

  “Chelsea, I think your marshmallow is done,” Norah hastily interjected, even though she knew it was too late.

  “—too!” Chelsea finished.

  Eli’s gaze sharpened as he glanced down at the small red rose on her leg, then back at her face.
“A tattoo?”

  “A temporary one,” she murmured, embarrassed and yet also perplexed by his tone. Although it was subtle, there was a note of affront in his voice, as if she’d somehow let him down. “It’s just for fun.”

  Oblivious to the air of strain between the adults, Chelsea inspected her marshmallow, which was gold on one side and black on the other. “You’re right, Norah. It’s perfect. You want it?” she asked her father.

  Eli shook his head. “I think I’ll have some dinner first.”

  “I’ll go fix you a plate,” Norah said quickly.

  “That’s all right. I can do it.”

  “No, please. I insist.”

  He shot her another impossible-to-define look, then shrugged. “Fine.”

  She hurried inside, grateful for the chance to collect herself.

  By the time she returned to find the girls had had enough marshmallows and were keeping Eli company at the patio table, she felt much calmer. She set the tray down at the empty spot, bemused to discover that Chelsea was still chattering on about their day.

  “And then Sarah came over and we had dinner. Oh, except I forgot to tell you the best part. Norah is going to sleep out with us.”

  “She is, huh?”

  “If it’s all right with you,” Norah said quickly, handing him his plate.

  “Of course it is,” Chelsea answered for him. She reached out and scooped a fingertip of potato salad off his plate and popped it in her mouth, as if she hadn’t just had half a dozen marshmallows and a huge dinner before that. “Maybe you’d like to sleep out with us, too?” She looked at her father hopefully.

  “Not tonight, doll face.” Eli dropped his napkin in his lap and picked up his fork.

  “How come?”

  “Because I have to be up early in the morning.”

  “So? So does Norah.”

  “Look, I just can’t, all right?”

  “But—”

  “No.”

  There was a finality in his tone that made it clear the discussion was over. Unable to decide whether she was relieved or disappointed, Norah walked over toward the quartet of chaise longues and began to gather up the odd assortment of clutter that always seemed to collect in Chelsea’s and Sarah’s wake.