Lord Bachelor

by Tammy L. Bailey

  Just as his lips brushed hers, a pounding at his window yanked him around to find a blinding light shining in his face and Will stooped down, his lips twisted into a deranged smile.

  He motioned with his arm. “Power down your window.”

  Edmund shook his head, the movement causing his sodden hair to spray fat droplets around him. “I don’t care to get drenched.”

  “You’re already drenched!” Will screamed.

  Abby smothered a giggle against his throat, and he loved having her like this, beside him, happy. Just then, the rain let up, a streak of gold filtering through the angry gray clouds.

  “I’ll give you an hour to make yourselves presentable. We’ll be waiting at the Rose Gardens,” Will said, warning Edmund before giving the crew the wrap-up sign and pointing to their temporary makeshift cargo van across the street.

  When Edmund turned to Abby, she was staring down at her hands. He took them in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Can we call a truce?”

  She inhaled and then nodded. Ten minutes later, Edmund was trekking up the staircase behind Abby, enjoying her graceful movements and sweet scent. Atop the landing, it always amazed him how nice and neat she kept such a small space.

  “I still have some of Derek’s things,” she said, slipping out of her shoes. “You’re about the same size.” She paused to survey him. “You might be scrawnier than him, though.”

  “Looks can be deceiving, Miss Forester,” he said, sending her a devilish wink. Her fair skin blushed easily, and he found gratification that his point made its mark. For a brief moment, he did wonder why she clung onto things so tightly, even things that held such harsh memories.

  “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the small bathroom, just big enough to fit a porcelain sink and toilet, appearing two minutes later dressed in a pair of jeans and a green T-shirt. She dried her hair as she reentered, giving the canary yellow hand towel a fling in his direction as she passed by.

  He proceeded to watch her, the lithe sway of her hips while she padded to another narrow door close to her bed. She leaned in, a petite foot popping up and out as she fumbled for something inside.

  When she found what she was looking for, she closed the door and walked toward him, holding out a pair of jeans and an oatmeal-white T-shirt.

  To bait her, he shrugged out of his waterlogged jacket and yanked his shirttail out of his once-creased pants. He had every intention of undressing there, until she stopped him.

  “What…what are you doing?” Her long lashes fluttered at him as her anxious gaze dropped from his face to his chest as he began unbuttoning his shirt.

  He shrugged. “I’m disrobing.”

  She glanced around. “In the kitchen?”

  He stepped back one pace. “No, in the bedroom.”

  She cocked one feminine eyebrow. “Technically, you’re in the hallway.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, grabbing his zipper and attempting to see how far she’d allow him to undress right in front of her.

  She turned, the rustling of clothes causing her to falter between the sink and refrigerator. She refused to glance back, drawing a chuckle from him and a scoff from her. He continued to shove into the items she’d given him, the jeans fitting a bit too tight, the shirt, a tad too snug across his chest.

  Gently, he ambled to where she stood, reaching around to hand her the soggy clothes. She rotated around to him, cautious at first, taking what he offered before traipsing across the floor to her tub. On the edge, she spread his jacket, shirt and pants next to her dress and then pulled out a compact portable space heater to start drying them. When she returned to the kitchen, he was there waiting for her.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  She smiled at his offer. “There’s nothing much to do since Raify made everything to just heat and serve. I would have eaten it last night if I’d had more of an appetite.” He noticed she winced, maybe realizing she’d revealed too much. He refused to let it go.

  “And why haven’t you had an appetite, Abby?” He ambled up behind her, surveying the congealed meat sauce. While he waited for an answer, she dumped the contents of the ceramic bowl into a pan and added another for the noodles.

  Her head bobbed, and he knew she was trying to come up with an answer. Then she glanced behind him, her gaze traveling down the length of him and back up again.

  “You don’t wear many jeans and T-shirts, do you?”

  “My tailor forbids such things, so no. But to keep you from smirking at me all night, how do you suggest I wear this?”

  She sighed and leaned back, bringing her index finger to tap against her cameo-pink lips. “For starters, you have to untuck the shirt.”

  “Untuck my shirt?” He gave himself a quick glance. “What if I like it like this?”

  “You look ridiculous.”

  His chin lifted at a daring angle. “Then you untuck it.” The challenge of his request widened her eyes. She stood staring at him, her mouth soundlessly opening and closing several times. At last, her chin rose a tad higher and she stepped forward.

  “Fine.”

  With her hair tickling his cheek, she set about doing exactly what he asked her to do. As her nimble hands swept across his torso, he wondered who he’d meant to torture more—her or himself. Had he not learned his lesson with the blasted phone search the first night they met?

  She tugged, gently at first, until she realized how very wrong she’d been about his size.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, leaning in close. She swatted at him, sitting him back, and causing him to cough to disguise a chuckle.

  “I…didn’t…realize—”

  “How less scrawny I was?”

  “Yes!” she said as she yanked one last time, throwing both of them off balance. He went sprawling backward, the back of his knees hitting her bed, taking her with him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When Edmund had recovered all his faculties, he was looking straight into Abby’s alluring face. Their bodies lay flush, her hands resting atop his chest, her palms, like branding irons, searing through the thin fabric of his shirt.

  Her glorious hair, more amber than blonde and still damp from their spontaneous traipse in the rain, fell all around him. When she tried to maneuver away, the effort was more of a wiggle, sending a surging wave of blood straight to his groin.

  “For the love of God, don’t move,” he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment.

  She did as he said, lying perfectly still except for her breasts rising and falling over him and her sweet breath caressing his neck. His mind flashed back to their first night together and how he’d teased her about the bed. What he wouldn’t give at this moment to know what a splinter felt like as long as she remained on top of him, their bodies joined in a climactic dance of awe and delirium.

  “Did I rupture something?” she whispered, fanning the flames even higher. He let his head fall back, sucking in some much-needed air.

  “Rupture is a relative term at the moment,” he gritted out, trying to gain a respectable amount of control.

  He glanced back up at her, watching her beautiful features contort in confusion until she felt his meaning expanding where her thigh lay pressed against him. She started to scramble away. Not yet ready to let her go, his hands locked around her upper arms, keeping her in place. “This is what you do to me, Abby,” he said hoarsely, his body surging with a need so primal he almost growled.

  Her long lashes fluttered like a steady hummingbird’s wing. She was the loveliest creature he’d ever met, even with her hair a tangled mess. If she tried to fight, he’d let go. Instead, she relaxed, her body sinking deeper into his.

  In one fluid movement, he rolled her underneath him, her body still and yielding.

  Her firm breasts rose fast and shallow against his chest. If he thought to ease his passions in this position, he was greatly mistaken. His decision proved more ruinous when she arched up
ward, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut in both pain and pleasure.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he murmured in a rush.

  “I know,” she said, her voice shy and trembling.

  He caught his breath as she shifted her midsection up to meet his once again. This time, the fusion caused an explosion of white heat to surge through his tight body. Without contemplating the boundary between right and wrong, he wanted to take her and relieve the throbbing building up inside him. Fighting a battle he could not win, he fisted his hands in her shirt, her labored breath matching his as his palm slid down to cup under her bottom.

  She gasped as he lifted her deeper into his arousal. “Is this what you want, Abby?” His voice sounded labored and irrational. He thought she might try to push away from him, frightened by his bold question.

  When she didn’t answer, he opened his eyes to find hers glittering with unfulfilled desires and thrilling uncertainty.

  He didn’t know a lot of women with such little experience in bed. Two and a half, indeed. At least, she knew what it was like with a man, a man besides him.

  He sobered immediately from his musing, the thought of her with someone else wrapping like a cold metal wire around his heart.

  “Edmund?”

  The concern in her quiet voice caused him to glance into her perplexed features.

  “Your first time…was it with Tommy?” he asked, his hoarse words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. He never wanted to think about being anyone’s first, never wanted the burden it brought. She blinked up at him, her lips pursed and her body tensing from the answer she’d yet to give him.

  Angry at himself, Edmund eased off her. He lay flat on the wondrously uncomfortable mattress, staring into the angled ceiling.

  “No,” she answered him quietly.

  Relief washed over him. He didn’t want to imagine Tommy or her together, not ever. He understood how the man looked at Abby. He wanted her, just like Edmund wanted her.

  “A one-night stand?” He probed further, his breath stilled, waiting for her response. Of all people, he realized the ease of such a thing. After all, he’d awakened to the episode more times than he cared to count.

  “You’re impossible,” she managed to say through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t think…you’d like me any other way.” He knew how to throw her words back at her.

  She rotated toward him and sat up, her knee stabbing him in the ribs. “On the contrary, Lord Rushwood, how can I like a gentleman who believes my first time was with a man who just happened to find his way into my pants?”

  “I’m only trying to pry answers from you, and if I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who insisted on fixing my shirt, which was, quite securely, tucked inside my pants.”

  She pushed away from him, but he caught her wrist and dragged her back down beside him. She didn’t fight, not even a little. He turned onto his side and paused to glance down the length of her. Her rounded breasts, her tight stomach, her warm hips, stirred the fire raging inside him.

  He had no doubt if he took a little extra time, the hell with the consequences, he’d have what he wanted. Then again, she’d become more than a mere frivolous temptation, more than a wanton night of vague memories where he awoke to find her a nameless notch on his proverbial bedpost.

  He supposed she had had enough time to think of his reply, drawing an interesting conclusion to what he’d said. “Are…are you saying I was trying to seduce you?” She conceded his point.

  He presented her with a conceited shrug. “You would not be the first.”

  “Is that so?” she said curtly.

  He hid a smile, loving the subtle blush touching her cheeks. “Of course, you know if I had to think on it more, you are not the seductive type, really.”

  “Well…” She exhaled long and loud, as if hurt by his assessment of her. “Regardless, if you dressed yourself more often, we never would have ended up here.”

  Amused by her agitation, he propped his head onto his palm. “Since I plan on never again facing that dilemma, your opinion is greatly flawed.”

  “So…you have someone to dress you, cook for you, and hand you everything on a silver platter, literally.”

  “Yes,” he answered, reaching out his free hand to brush across her left cheek. “His name was Timmons, but, if I think of him more, I believe he was secretly trying to kill me with these god-awful concoctions he created for hangovers.”

  Then her breath heightened as Edmund slid his fingers along the delicate vein in her neck. He felt it pulse at his touch, finding great pleasure that he could elicit such a physical reaction. He continued to touch her smooth skin, gliding down to circle the locket at her throat.

  “Was?” she murmured, her gaze fixed on his face. He lifted to meet her, their noses close to touching.

  “There you go with those pesky questions.”

  He started to fall away again when her words stopped him. “I could be, you know.”

  He glanced at her from under his lashes. “Could be what, Abby?”

  Her chin rose at a haughty angle. “Seductive.”

  He didn’t like where this was going, but he found himself maneuvering in that direction anyway. “Is that so?” he said, echoing her words.

  ****

  Abby nodded. She’d never thought of herself as a vengeful person. Nevertheless, once, just once, she wanted to leave Edmund aching for her as he’d left her aching for him.

  With her heart in her throat, she rose slowly, lifting one leg and shifting over him until she straddled his lap. As a precautionary measure, she braced herself on her knees, giving herself more height and control.

  “Are you sure you want to do this,” he asked her, his gaze penetrating, his tone dissuading.

  “Shhh,” she warned him, lowering her mouth so that it lingered over his. The last thing she wanted was for him to talk her out of this or to realize what she was doing.

  So he wouldn’t see her nervousness, she braced both hands on his shoulders. He wasn’t overly muscular, but strong and sturdy. He smelled of rain and cedar, of warmth and sensuality, adding to the allure of him.

  She gazed into his eyes, their hued blue and green pools glinting like a moon’s ray on the sea. With a steady inhale, she eased closer and touched her lips to his. As always, her heart lurched from his contact. Slow and tender, she laid feathery kisses along the seam of his mouth, drawing a low groan from deep in his throat. She teased and taunted him, pulling back when he lifted forward.

  Empowered, she reached down and slid his shirt up, her fingers skimming his waist and his sides. She bent her head to his chest, her tongue darted out to savor the cleanness of his smooth skin. She drew lower, past the hardness of his stomach and to his tapered waist.

  He shuddered and called her name. “Abby,” he groaned, an anguished sound that caused her insides to flutter in chaotic fervor. She rose up again, to hover over him. At her hips, he wrapped his fingers into the belt loop of her pants. He pulled her into him, the evidence of her seduction expanded and throbbing. Her breath caught and she swallowed a whimper. With as much willpower as she could gather, she pulled away and unraveled herself from his grasp.

  She stood shaking, staring into his hardened and beguiling face. Her heart sounded like a thousand pounding hammers, the ordeal leaving her rattled and on the verge of sliding back into his arms.

  “Bravo,” he said finally, his eyes staring up at her, glazed with sexual tension.

  Unable to speak, she dropped into a curtsy, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling.

  “Remind me never to challenge you over such a thing again,” he said standing awkwardly to tower over her.

  “Never.” She sent him a coy grin before walking the short distance to the kitchen. She thought it was a good thing she’d neglected to turn on the stove, although this meant they had little time to eat before meeting Will and the others.

  She inhaled, her nerves tangling into a muddle
d mess at the thought of sharing an intimate moment with Edmund with three goggling onlookers present. She supposed he sensed her unease and sauntered up behind her.

  Sweet and tender, he wrapped his arms around her, laying a soft kiss at her crown. “You always smell so lovely,” he said, his mouth tickling her hair.

  She allowed herself to lean against his solid form, contentment enfolding her like a heavy blanket. However, did she dare relax? For so long, it had been only her. She’d liked it that way. Her heart remained unharmed, protected, caged. Now, she found herself outside the shelter her father had built, vulnerable to a man whose idea of commitment made her head spin.

  Worse than this, here she was, infatuated while he stood vying for the attention of not one, not three, but six females.

  Oh, God. Did she just put herself into the contest again? She glanced in his direction, her heart shuddering from the consequences.

  She shook her head and tried not to think; allowing herself to engage in light conversation as the noodles cooked and he helped her set the tiny table. Instead of a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine, she brought out a pitcher of apple juice and poured them some in a set of mismatched wine glasses, waiting for Edmund to say something sarcastic or subtly decline to drink what she offered.

  When they finally sat down to eat, he surprised her by raising his glass and lowering his aristocratic nose to waft the swirling liquid. “Hmmm, floral, with a hint of…sweetness.”

  Abby almost choked, so happy his teasing did not sound belittling or arrogant.

  “Shall we propose a toast?”

  She nodded and raised her glass to his. “Of course.”

  “To love and happiness, wherever that may be.”

  “Spoken like a true erratic romantic.”

  “Your compliments are so endearing, Miss Forester.” He clinked his glass against hers, gave her a salute, and drank like a man of great wealth and importance.

  For fifteen minutes, they took turns exchanging random memories of their childhood. He listened with attentive eyes, his expression always appropriate and never demeaning.