Forever Safe (Beacons of Hope)

by Jody Hedlund

  “So that’s why I think you should stop being my bodyguard. Then you’re free. You wouldn’t have to worry about me being your client and the implications from that.”

  He’d never stop worrying about her. Even if he wasn’t her bodyguard. From the moment he’d almost lost her in the carriage-ride kidnapping, he hadn’t been able to shake the terror of losing her. If he was honest with himself, he knew he never would have brought any other client home. He wouldn’t have suffered through the experience of facing his haunted past for anyone else.

  But he’d do anything for her.

  And yet, could he do this? Give up his position as her bodyguard? He hesitated. “I promised your father—”

  “All my father wants is for me to be happy. If I’m happy with you, he won’t object. In fact, I think he’d give us his blessing.” With that, she tightened her hold around him. His pulse picked up its pace at the thought of giving in to all the feelings that had been growing for Victoria since the first time he’d met her.

  No, he told himself sternly. He couldn’t give in to all of the longings. If he decided to explore a possible relationship, then he would start slowly and court her properly. It didn’t matter that they were already married and had shared a few passionate moments together. She deserved more than stolen kisses. They needed time to get to know one another, to explore and test their feelings, and to determine if they were a good fit or not.

  “Tom?” Her voice was hopeful.

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He didn’t want to let Mr. Cole down. But he had the feeling Victoria was right. Mr. Cole coveted his daughter’s happiness. If this was what Victoria wanted, then surely it wouldn’t hurt to take the next couple of weeks to discover if they really could have a future together.

  “Okay.”

  She released her grip and spun him so that they were facing one another. Her features were lit with a delighted smile.

  “But,” he said quickly, “we have to do things right.”

  “Like how?”

  “Like basing our relationship on friendship, not physical attraction.”

  Her smile widened. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Then if things don’t work out, you’re free to move on.”

  “They will work out.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. “I won’t want to move on.”

  A shiver of anticipation trailed up his spine, which he rapidly attempted to squelch. “I mean it, Victoria. We keep our hands off each other.”

  “But we’re married.” Her sights moved to his mouth and stayed there. The desire that blazed to life in her eyes was almost his undoing. He was sure she had no idea that her longing was so readable. If she knew, she’d be embarrassed.

  He took a step away from her to keep himself from crushing her in his embrace. He was certain that if he started kissing her right now in their bedroom, he would have a difficult time stopping. “At the end of this month, if we know we belong together, then we’ll have a proper wedding.”

  “Very well, Mr. Cushman,” she said. “If I agree to your conditions, then you have to agree to one of mine.”

  She sauntered away, so saucy, so full of life that his chest ached just watching her. When she glanced at him coyly over her shoulder, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist her condition, not even if he tried.

  “What?” he asked.

  She kept walking until she reached the bed. “We can kiss every once in a while.” As she spoke the words, a flush moved into her cheeks.

  He was glad she was on the other side of the room. If she’d been anywhere near him, he would have shown her his answer.

  He tried to find his voice to speak coherently. “Only once in a great while,” he managed.

  “Okay.” She turned away from him, but not before he caught her smile.

  With weak knees and his heart sputtering, he collapsed backward onto the sofa so that he was staring up at the ceiling. Then he allowed himself to smile too.

  Chapter 14

  Victoria peeked past the curtain of the studio window and finally saw Tom striding up the sandy path from the tower. His head was down against the wind that had begun to increase in ferocity as the afternoon passed. The clouds had been rolling in and growing darker by the hour.

  Her heart pattered in anticipation of seeing him. With a smile, she let the curtain fall back into place.

  “Tom must be coming for another break,” Zelma said, wearing a happy smile of her own.

  Victoria crossed toward the door of the closet-like side room that Zelma used as an art studio. “I’ll go see if he’d like a glass of the lemonade I just squeezed.”

  “You do that dear. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.” Zelma dipped her brush into the palette and focused on the canvas in front of her. “Although I’m fairly certain that’s not what he’s coming up to the house to get.”

  Victoria felt her cheeks heating, but she rushed into the kitchen to the pitcher and waiting glass. She poured one and garnished it with a slice of lemon on the rim.

  Then she ran a hand over her outfit, smoothing away any wrinkles. She’d spent the past week remaking Ruth’s skirts. With Zelma’s help, she’d resized them and added ruffles around the bottoms and bustles to the backs, as best she could. And today she’d finally worn one. Even though the garment was better than it had been, she still felt strange and somewhat out of sorts in the plain clothes. But she had to admit, like with the cooking and baking, she’d enjoyed learning to sew much more than she’d thought she would.

  She checked her reflection in the window and tucked a lose strand of hair back into the coil. After almost two weeks of having to do her own hair, she’d started experimenting with different styles and found several that were easy and rather becoming. She pinched her cheeks then hurried into the hallway and was waiting at the front door when Tom opened it.

  A gust of wind blew in ahead of him and threatened to push her back with its strength. He wrestled the door closed and turned with expectation. When his gaze landed upon her, his eyes darkened and his brows slanted in that magnetic way that never failed to turn her limbs to liquid.

  “Hi,” she said, suddenly breathless. She held out the glass. “I thought you might like some lemonade.”

  He took it from her and drank several long gulps without shifting his attention from her, which only made her stomach turn to liquid too.

  She loved when he took breaks from his work during the day. In addition to joining her and Zelma for lunch, he’d started taking a few minutes in the morning and afternoon to come back to the house. The reason for his visit was always different—to change his sweaty shirt, to get a snack or a drink, or to find a new pair of gloves. She wanted to believe those were all excuses, that he was really coming to see her. But she could never be certain. Either way, she was always impatient to see him and surprised by how much she longed to be with him when they were apart.

  “How’s your afternoon going?” she asked, admiring the way the muscles in his neck and jaw rippled as he finished the drink.

  He set the empty glass onto the half-moon console table near the door. Then he reached for her, his strong hands sliding up her arms possessively before winding around her waist and pulling her against his chest.

  “It’s going better now,” he whispered against her ear.

  She sighed and closed her eyes, pure contentment and pleasure coursing through her. She wrapped her arms around him and relished his strength. This was where she wanted to be. In fact, she’d started living for these few short moments every morning and afternoon when he’d hold her, when she’d breathe him in and listen to his heart beat, when his heat and solidness surrounded her.

  He’d hold her only for a few minutes, never long enough, before pressing his lips against her crown in a hard kiss that promised so much more and made her wish he’d kiss her lips that way. But he’d always pull back and set her away before she could work up the courage to lift her face and capture his lips with hers.

  His
grip around her was hard and unswerving. And his lips came against her hair too soon. She wanted to cling to him and make the moment last longer, but she knew he was trying to take things slow, and she wanted to respect his wishes.

  His lips were warm and his breath heavy against her head. His fingers tightened for a moment, and then he set her away from him as he usually did. She smiled and tried to pretend for herself and for him that she didn’t want more, that she was content with this tiny morsel of his affection.

  He reached behind him for the doorknob. “I have to get back to work.” But his gaze lingered on her face.

  “Okay. I’ll see you at dinner.” If only his dad would make Tom kiss her again.

  Tom turned away from her and began to open the door. Then he stopped. “Come with me to the tower.” His voice was tight. “I want to show you something.”

  Her breath caught at the invitation. All week, she’d been able to tell he was making efforts not to be alone with her. Other than their late evening talks on the sofa, he’d kept their time together out in the open and had exerted extra caution because of the undeniable attraction between them.

  “Sure.” She tried to keep her tone normal. “I’ll let your mom know where I’m going.”

  Of course Zelma waved her away with a smile and a knowing look. “Go have fun, dear. I’ll be fine here with my painting.”

  As Victoria followed Tom down the trail to the tower, the sand swirled so that it was almost biting. The roaring of the wind and the crashing of the waves made talking impossible. When they stumbled into the tower and closed the door, the silence was eerie compared to the clamor outside. The wind howled under the doorjamb, but the only other sound was their heavy breathing.

  She hadn’t yet been inside the tower. But it was similar to the ones her grandfather had worked in. Painted white bricks lined the walls, and a narrow metal staircase spiraled up with a landing every so often. The first landing had a small window that afforded enough light to guide their way.

  Tom started up the steps, his boots clanking against the iron. She followed after him, and the higher they rose, the more she could feel the power of the wind swaying the structure. It was sturdy enough to withstand a great deal of weathering and battering. Even so, she held onto the rail tightly as she ascended. When they reached the top, he climbed through the hatch first and then held out his hand and helped her up.

  As she straightened, she glanced around with interest. The lantern in the middle was unlit, but the glass prisms of the Fresnel lens shone like polished crystal. The windows, too, were perfectly clear, without a handprint or speck of dirt. Even the metal floor was scrubbed clean.

  Outside, the foaming ocean waves crashed on one side and the sandy hills with beach grass covered the other. The long grass was dry and yellowing from the hot summer and was bent nearly to the ground by the wind.

  “I’ve always loved being up in a lighthouse tower,” she said. “There aren’t too many other places quite as beautiful.”

  He took in the landscape too, his features softening with satisfaction. Then he reached for a brass nautical spyglass on a tall table that sat next to the galley door. He lengthened the mechanism and peered through the glass at the narrowed end. He was quiet and intent for a moment before speaking. “They’re still there.”

  He passed the spyglass to her, and she held it to her eye, pointing it in the same direction he’d looked just seconds ago. She held it steady, but all she saw were the daunting waves with their foamy caps.

  “Here.” He moved behind her so that his chest touched her back. He reached around and put his hand over hers on the spyglass. His fingers were both strong and gentle, and he tilted her to the north.

  “Do you see anything now?” His voice rumbled near her ear. For a second she was too distracted by his nearness to pay attention to what she was viewing on the other end of the spyglass. She could only think about the contours of his chest pushed against her, his arm brushing hers, and his breath tickling her neck.

  She tried to focus again. “What am I looking for?”

  He took the spyglass from her, looked into it for a minute, and then carefully, without moving his aim, lowered it to her eye.

  She attempted to be just as careful and focused as best she could. After a few seconds she saw a whale burst from the water and splash down on its back into the waves. “Oh, my!” Before she could say anything else, another whale, this one slightly smaller, arched out of the water and twisted, with its long flippers extended, exposing its white underside.

  “Incredible,” she whispered, awestruck.

  “They’re humpbacks.” His voice was laced with awe too.

  As she watched, one of the whales lifted its fluked tail out of the water and splashed it back down. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Some say they’re being hunted to the brink of extinction,” he said.

  She lost sight of the majestic creatures and handed the spyglass back. He didn’t move but relaxed against her, putting the spyglass to his eye and watching the distance.

  “Did you know they only eat in the summer?” he asked.

  She settled back into his hold. “How can they survive the winter?”

  “They feed off their stores of fat.”

  She couldn’t see the whales anymore but was content to rest in his arms and listen to him talk about the whales, their feeding habits, migration patterns, and the singing done by male whales and the fact that the songs could last for ten to twenty minutes.

  “Have you ever heard them sing?” she asked.

  “Plenty of times.”

  “Then sing one of their songs for me.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, please.” She craned her head and smiled up at him. “I’m curious to know what a whale song sounds like.”

  He took the spyglass away from his eye and cocked his brow. “Do I look like a whale?”

  She pretended to study him. “Maybe a little.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched with the beginning of a smile. “In what way?”

  “You’re big and strong.”

  His grin broke free. “I’m still not singing.”

  “Please. Please. Please.” She twisted so that she was facing him.

  “Never.”

  “Then you’ll force me to take drastic measures.”

  Again he lifted one of his brows, revealing the humor in his eyes. “I’d like to see what you think is drastic.”

  She smiled. Then before he could stop her, she tickled his stomach. He didn’t budge. She tried his sides, but he stood unmoving, completely unaffected.

  “You’re not ticklish?” she asked.

  “Not in the least.”

  “No fair.” She pretended to pout. But before she could complete the face, his hands came up to her waist and his fingers found the sensitive area there. She jumped with a gasp.

  “I see that you are.” He tickled her again, his eyes alight with humor.

  She couldn’t contain her laughter. As he tickled, she wiggled and shrieked. Finally, breathless, she called, “Stop! I surrender. I won’t ask you to sing the whale song.”

  His hands slid away from her sensitive sides and wrapped around her back. “Promise?”

  “For today.” She fell against him. “But I make no guarantees for the future.”

  He grinned down at her, and she couldn’t keep from admiring the strong chiseled lines and the dark handsomeness of his features.

  He languidly studied her face too, and as he did so, his mirth faded. He lifted a hand to her cheek, hesitated only a moment before grazing her skin and making her knees weak. For just an instant his eyes cleared, giving her a glimpse of his feelings for her—the intensity, the passion, and yes, even the love.

  As the truth of how much he cared about her sank in, a tremble started in her stomach and rippled to her legs. It wasn’t a tremble of joy. It was one of fear—the same kind of fear she’d felt on her wedding day when she’d been walking out to the carriage
and the reality of getting married to Nathaniel had become entirely too imminent.

  She turned back to the window, praying that Tom wouldn’t see the fear that haunted her, the fear that she tried never to think about. She forced her mind away from it with practiced ease, pushing any unwelcome thoughts into a closet where they would be contained and chained and forgotten.

  “Thanks for letting me see the world from up here.” She peered out the window again.

  He didn’t move or say anything for a moment.

  “The waves are so majestic and powerful,” she continued. “And the ocean is so endless.”

  Still he was quiet.

  “I don’t think I’d ever tire of this view.” She was rambling but she couldn’t stop.

  He touched her side. Then she felt his body with all its warmth and solidness move behind her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back into his chest. She breathed out the tightness in her lungs and relaxed against him. For a minute, they stood wordlessly watching the ocean, the waves rising and falling, and the dark clouds on the horizon blowing across the sky.

  When he brushed a strand of hair back from her neck, she released another sigh, this one of contentment. She’d silenced her fears, and now she basked in the satisfaction of being in his arms. He drew the rest of her hair behind her ear so that her neck and ear were laid bare.

  He dipped down, his chin brushing her cheekbone, the scruffy stubble a strange but pleasant sensation. His arms tightened around her, and he lowered his head until his lips skimmed her ear. The touch was feathery light, sending tingles across her skin.

  She crossed her arms over his and tilted her head to the side. It was an invitation to linger.

  Accepting her offer, his lips dropped to the hollow of her ear. He pressed a kissed there, his breath echoing loudly. It stirred her belly into a swirling whirlpool. After a long tantalizing moment, his lips moved to her earlobe and then grazed her neck.

  At the contact, she almost cried aloud. Even though she managed to bite back most of the cry, a small squeak slipped out.

  The heat of his ragged breath and the moisture of his lips moved to the arch between her neck and shoulder. This time she couldn’t hold back a gasp. Her small noises only seemed to inflame him. He released a soft moan before turning her and taking possession of her mouth. His lips settled over hers with the fervor she’d been dreaming about since his last kiss.