by Monica Burns
The seductive words escalated the desire unfolding inside her. Sweet Lord. When he talked like that, it excited her. Despite every logical reason not to, she relished his masterly behavior, the way he commanded her to kiss him or touch him.
He did so in a way that convinced her he was also thinking of her pleasure, not just his. Tiny frissons skated over every inch of her as his hands undid the front of her dress. Warm fingers stroked her skin, and she shuddered beneath the touch. She didn’t want to feel this desire, this craving, but it was impossible to shut her feelings off where he was concerned.
A familiar, wet heat settled in the sensitive area of her sex, and her belly tightened with desire. As he unbuttoned her dress almost to her waist, she whimpered at the way her breasts ached for his touch. Dear lord, she was desperate for his mouth on her. He nibbled at her skin where the tops of her breasts rounded up at the edge of her corset.
“Christ Jesus you taste good,” he rasped. A large hand tugged her closer until his erection pressed intimately through the layers of clothing against her thigh. “See what you do me, Julia. I know you want me as badly as I want you.”
There was a note of confidence in his voice that broke through the haze of passion clouding her head. Her arousal was blinding, but a tiny voice of reason whispered through the fog of desire. If she didn’t stop him now, there would be no turning back. The struggle to give in to her passion tore at her heart. If only she could give herself to him once more. If only she had the courage to take that risk. To do as he asked.
But she didn’t. She had to stop this mind-numbing passion from consuming her entirely. If it continued, she’d be lost for certain. She would lose the small wedge of independence she’d achieved since Oscar’s death. That, she would not give up.
Desperately she tried to push her way up out of the depths of the passion engulfing her. His hands moved against her skirts and a cool brush of air blew across her calves. Frantic to stop him and end this blissful, but dangerous interlude, she tried to push his hands away from her.
Her resistance simply resulted in him pressing her against the wall with his body. With ease, he caught her hands and pinned them over her head. It was a position of complete control. Utter domination. Exactly like her husband had enjoyed tying her up before—
Her mind went numb.
Desire fled in a heartbeat. Morgan’s action revealed him for the man he was. He intended to take what he wanted. He was no different from her husband. The thought clutched at her chest painfully. For the first time she understood just how much trust she’d placed in him. It was why she’d been able to be with him as she had last night. Somehow, he’d made her feel safe, but she’d been wrong to trust him.
Frantic to escape, she tried to pull her hands free of his strong hold. His strength overpowered her. The futility of it struck her like a cold bucket of water dashed in her face. It was happening all over again. The pain. The humiliation. The degradation. Harsh emotions ate away at her and whirled a chaotic path through her body. She’d thought Oscar’s death had meant she would never feel this sickening feeling again, but here it was, welling up inside her like a flood.
Tears she never thought to shed again welled up inside her, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight. She would not shed tears over him. How foolish she’d been to think he wasn’t like Oscar. And she had. She’d actually thought him different. When they’d made love last night—no, she didn’t want to think about last night. It had been nothing more than a dream.
Revulsion and fear gnawed at her as she froze beneath his touch. His mouth sought hers, and she didn’t respond to his kiss. He could dominate her physically, but he would never rule her thoughts. Helpless to stop him, she knew the only way to shut out the pain and humiliation was to close her mind off to everything around her.
Self-preservation forced her to wrap an all too familiar cloak of indifference around her heart and soul to wait until the storm had passed. It was a form of mental survival she’d practiced far too many times with Oscar. She didn’t protest. Protesting only increased the pain and cruel torment. She simply went limp in his arms. Turning her face away from him, she waited. It would be over soon enough.
Chapter 10
Nibbling at her ear, Morgan pressed his hips into Julia’s bared thigh. Damn, he was ready to spill his seed any minute. His cock throbbing for release, he drank in her faint lavender scent. He would never be able to smell lavender again without thinking of her. If he could only make her see how much she meant to him. How the sight of her made him want to forget the world completely.
Falling asleep with her in his arms this morning had given him a peace he’d never experienced before in his life. It had felt as though he’d been on a long, difficult voyage and had finally reached safe harbor. Eager to show how much she meant to him, he sought her mouth with his. She didn’t turn her head to meet his kiss. Instead, she remained motionless.
A thread of surprise wove through him as he explored the soft skin of her cheek. With his free hand, he tenderly caressed her throat down to her shoulder and paused. Something was wrong. He lifted his head, and frowned. Her profile resembled a skillfully crafted marble statue, while the tension in her muscles held her rigid and unyielding.
Concern rapidly suppressed his desire as he realized how icy her skin was beneath his fingertips. Pulling away from her slightly, he captured her chin and turned her face toward him. Her gaze was glassy—devoid of emotion. She’d retreated from him. Physically and emotionally. Fear coiled tight in his chest as he stared down at her. God help him. Had she really meant what she’d said? Had last night meant nothing to her?
“What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”
“Do what you like then release me.”
“What?” He jerked his head backward as if she’d slapped him. “Christ Jesus, I’m not going to take you against your will, Julia.”
“Aren’t you?” There was an inhuman vacancy to her voice as she stared right through him. “You pin me against the wall. Confine my hands. What else am I to think?”
His blood ran cold, and he quickly put several feet between them and watched her slowly lower her hands from over her head. How could she think all he wanted to do was rut? He’d been excited—eager to touch her. Eager to assuage his desire, and hers. It would always be like that for him. He’d never be able to get enough of her. Whether in bed or just being close to her, she was everything to him.
“I’d never hurt you.” He bit out with a growing fear that held him stiff as he studied her pale features.
Guilt pounded him at the thought he’d made her think he would force himself on her. She turned her head away from him and remained silent. One hand clutching her wrist, she rubbed it in a manner that enhanced his shame. The expression on her face was one of shock, and his body ached as if he’d taken a punch to his midsection.
He’d hurt her, and he’d just said he never would. His throat closed up at the thought. Last night she’d been warm and passionate in his arms, but today he barely recognized her. Where had the woman in the portrait gone. What had made her disappear? His mind raced along in search of an answer.
Westgard. Her husband was behind this. He was certain of it. Over dinner, every time Julia had mentioned her dead husband, there had been a tension in her that said her marriage had been less than happy. But her reaction just now suggested there was something else behind the strain he’d witnessed in her last night at the brief mention of her husband. What the hell had Westgard done to her?
“How did he hurt you?” His harsh demand made her flinch, and she avoided his gaze as she shook her head.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.”
“The hell it doesn’t.” He grimaced at the way his fierce tone made her recoil. “Tell me what that bastard did to you.”
Not looking at him, he watched as she inhaled a deep breath. “He would to tie me to the bed, while he…”
“Christ Jesus,” he rasped at the expression of torment
on her lovely face.
A violent fury welled up inside him that he knew had to be visible on his features. He quickly turned away afraid he might frighten her more than he’d already done. Westgard was fortunate to be dead. If the man were still alive, Morgan would have slowly tortured the man to his death for abusing Julia. He’d always known there was something driving her to hide behind her cool exterior, but he’d never imagined this.
A chill swept through Morgan. He’d been the catalyst for bringing her painful memories to the surface. He shoved a hand through his hair. The idea that she associated him with her bastard of a husband twisted his gut with excruciating precision. It was little wonder she’d fought him every step of the way over the last few weeks. He would have to tread carefully. Making her understand that he wasn’t like Westgard would take every bit of diplomacy he possessed.
Morgan turned to face her, and the look of pain on her face made him ache. He wanted to go to her, pull her in his arms and simply hold her. But the tension holding Julia rigid told him any attempt to touch her would drive her further away from him. It was clear she was near a breaking point, and he had no wish to cause her any more pain.
“Julia, I’m not like Westgard.” She didn’t answer, her gaze focused on the floor. He tried again. “I want to marry you. I want to make you happy.”
“No.” The harsh rejection was a painful as a kick in the teeth would have been.
“Listen to me,” he pleaded. “I will never do anything to hurt you. I swear it.”
“I…I cannot. Please don’t ask it of me.” The hint of indecision in her tone gave him hope. Perhaps he could persuade her. Her hesitation was enough for him to risk everything.
“Would it make a difference if I told you—if I—” He cleared his throat. “If I said I loved you.”
For a moment, he didn’t think she was even going to look at him. Silently, he willed her to do so as his taut muscles ached from the tension flowing through him. She lifted her head slowly to meet his gaze, and his mouth went dry with fear. The hazel eyes looking at him were dull and vacant.
“I will never marry again.”
“Julia, you can’t—” Even to his ears, he could hear the desperation in his voice as she lifted a hand to stay his protests.
“I want you to go now. I don’t want to see you any more.”
The flat, emotionless words lashed out at him like a bullwhip. He wished they had been a whip. The sting would have been far less painful. What the hell was he going to do? How was he going to make her understand that he wasn’t like Westgard? That he’d never harm her. Dazed, he shook his head.
“I’ll go, for now—but I’ve not given up on us.”
“I’m sorry, Morgan. I won’t change my mind.”
He flinched at the finality of her words. The resolve on her face was just as unalterable. He flexed his jaw with frustration. This wasn’t over as far as he was concerned. She needed time. He’d give her that. But in the end, he’d find a way to make her see they were meant for each other. He had to. If he didn’t, the world held little for him without her.
Chapter 11
The Lyceum Theater was hot and noisy as Julia took her seat next to Catherine in the Westgard box. Mrs. Langtry was performing in Antony and Cleopatra tonight, and the theater was more crowded than usual. With a flick of her wrist, she opened her fan and stirred the air in front of her.
Peacock feathers brushed across her nose as she leaned forward to see if Prince Edward was in the Royal Box. She chided herself. It wasn’t the Prince she was hoping to see. She knew Morgan had a box at the theater, but she wasn’t certain where. It had been little more than a week since that terrible scene in her salon.
At the time, she’d not been able to separate Morgan’s behavior from her experiences when Oscar had been alive. But in the days that followed, she’d come to realize how pained Morgan had been at having caused her distress. As if he understood how upset she’d been, he’d made no effort to contact her until this morning when a large arrangement of hyacinths had arrived.
The meaning of the purple flowers were not lost on her, and that Morgan recognized how his desire had triggered unpleasant memories made her wish that she had the courage to accept his proposal of marriage. His declaration of love had made her hesitate when she’d refused him, but it was the one thing she kept coming back to over the past few days.
Was it possible he really did love her? She dismissed the question. It wouldn’t change her thoughts on marriage. It wasn’t a risk she was willing to take, no matter how much she loved him. Sinking back into her chair she sighed softly.
“You’ve been quite the hermit this past week.” Catherine sent her a look of curiosity. “Is there something wrong?”
“Not at all.” She forced a serene smile to her lips.
“I see. Then perhaps you could explain why St. Claire is watching you from across the way with such pained hunger.”
Startled, she stared at her cousin for a moment before Julia followed the other woman’s gaze to the boxes on the opposite wall of the theatre. Morgan sat almost directly across from her, his eyes watching her every move. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of his handsome face. Even from this distance, she saw the tension in his body. He looked tired. Sweet heaven had he had another migraine episode? She hated the thought of him suffering.
Her gaze met his, and the intensity of his look warmed her body in a brief second. A flood of emotion surged through her, and she hastily turned her head away. How she wanted to give in to impulse and go to him.
“Well?” A gentle concern darkened Catherine’s eyes. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on between the two of you?”
“There’s nothing between St. Claire and me. I’m simply an investor in his company.”
“Really, my dear, you can try convincing yourself of that fact, but I saw the look you just gave him. You’re in love with the man.”
Stunned, she stared at Catherine in horrified amazement. If her cousin could see she was in love with Morgan, would he be able to tell as well? A layer of ice skimmed over her skin. It had been difficult enough to send him away, but if he knew she loved him, he would be relentless in his pursuit.
“You’re mistaken. I am not in love with Morgan St. Claire.” Even to her ears, the words sounded hollow.
Catherine studied her for a long moment, her eyes sympathetic. “He’s not Oscar, dearest.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned her head away and fanned herself a trifle too quickly before she realized how it might appear and slowed her hand movement to maintain her stance of indifference.
“Morgan St. Claire is a good, honorable man, Julia. He’s far and away a better man than your husband ever was.”
“That may be true, but I refuse to let him, or any man, dominate me again. The humiliation of it…” She closed her eyes at the painful memories swirling in her head.
“Oh, Julia, you cannot allow Oscar’s beastly behavior deny you the chance for some happiness. That monster turned a young, vibrant girl into a reserved woman who’s afraid to live, but I’ve seen glimpses of that girl since his death.”
“I am not afraid to live. I’ve been quite adventurous of late—scandalous, in fact.” There was a note of bravado in her words that made her cousin send her an arched look.
“Having an affair is not the same thing as living,” Catherine said quietly.
Silence filled the theatre box as she met her cousin’s sympathetic gaze. She swallowed her embarrassment as she tried to find her voice. “How did…who else knows?”
“There’s been a small amount of talk, speculation really. I wasn’t even certain myself until just a few moments ago when I saw the way the two of you looked at each other.”
“It’s over,” she said tersely.
“Is it?” Catherine reached over and touched her arm. “From your reaction, I’d say it was far from over.”
“I cannot and will not allow myself to let a
ny man control me ever again. The price is too high.” She bit her lip at the thought of giving herself up to Morgan’s control, his masterful lovemaking, the safety of his arms. He was different from Oscar. Logic told her that. But emotionally, she did not want to face the prospect of giving up command over her own destiny.
“Is that what really frightens you, or are you afraid to risk trusting him and yourself?”
Turning her head toward Catherine, she shook her head in disbelief. “Are you suggesting that I open myself up to such a risk?”
“What I’m suggesting is that you trust yourself to be with him simply because he makes you happy.
“It’s…it’s impossible.” She snapped her feathered fan closed with an abrupt movement.
“Happiness is never impossible once you choose to accept it.” Catherine smiled at her gently as the house lights dimmed. “It’s the trusting that’s difficult.”
The soft words whispered through her head as the curtain rose and she tried to focus on the performance. Catherine had no idea how difficult it was for her to trust. Once she had been able to trust herself and others, but Oscar had changed all that. She wanted to trust Morgan. It was something she wanted desperately. But trusting him meant believing he would never hurt her. She wasn’t certain she had that much trust within her to give.
But if that were true, then how had she been able to trust him each time he touched her. In her heart, she knew he would never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. He was first and foremost a gentleman. Last week, he could have easily taken her by force, but he’d stopped.
A lesser man would have seen her submissive behavior as a signal to do as he liked. Not Morgan, he’d known something was wrong by her lack of response. Time and again, he’d proven how considerate he could be toward her. How attuned he was to her pleasure. Although it had taken several days to recover from the shock of that last encounter, he’d clearly demonstrated his respect for her feelings.
