"Good night." He wrapped his arms around Carter's neck in a quick hug.
"Good night," Carter whispered, his throat suddenly tight.
* * *
Hilary smoothed the thin blanket over the edge of the bed and cleared a spot for her friend to sit. Outside, cooling winds blew through the village, but their huts trapped oppressive heat inside. They planned to stay only long enough to rest their tired muscles before going back out to help distribute the food rations.
"Do you really think we look alike?" her friend asked with a laugh. "All day long they've been calling me Hilary."
"I don't know. I guess there's a slight resemblance. We could pass for cousins, maybe. But I think it's our hair and skin color that throw them off. They aren't used to the lighter shades." Hilary stood up and stretched. "God, am I sore."
"Me, too." Her friend flopped back on the bed and threw one hand over her forehead. "Wake me up when it's time to go home."
"Have a nice nap, Rip Van Winkle." Hilary laughed. "I'll be right back." She left the hut and started for the well to fetch a bucket of water they could boil and drink later. She wasn't fifty feet away, when an explosion sounded behind her, pitching her face first into the dirt.
Tiny rocks scraped into her hands and knees. Scrambling around, she gaped in horror at the sight of orange and red flames lighting up the black sky.
Her hut was ablaze in the night.
"No!" she screamed, stumbling to her feet. But the winds were already sweeping the conflagration through the village. "No!" she screamed, running into the inferno. "Marly!"
* * *
Marly bolted upright in bed, her entire body drenched with perspiration. She was shaking so hard she didn't trust herself to get out of bed without falling. Every breath she drew prickled her lungs like wooden splinters.
She looked beside her and noticed the other side of the bed was empty. Her gaze combed the darkened room for Tyler, and detected his small form on the couch next to Carter. They were speaking in hushed tones. With the pounding of her heartbeat filling her eardrums, she couldn't decipher a word.
She leaned back against the pillows. Thank God she hadn't screamed in her sleep. She didn't need to frighten poor Tyler any more than he already was. And Carter. She'd caught a break this time, but her luck would run out before long. They would marry soon, and naturally, as husband and wife, they would sleep together. That was part of matrimony.
He would find out about her nightmares, and knowing Carter's logical mind, she would have to provide a rational explanation. She wondered how much he knew from the background check. And how much she dared to supply.
She couldn't risk any additional scrutiny, lest Carter discover the horrible truth of that fire.
Oh, God. If the wrong people ever knew … if it ever got out… Marly shriveled down under the covers, securing the blankets all around her. She forced herself to calm down. There was no point getting worked up over nothing. Eight years had passed. If they didn't know by now, chances were they never would. And when the time came, she would tell Carter what he needed to know about the fire. Just enough to appease him, to justify her recurring nightmares, and nothing else.
Slowly, her heart rate slowed until it sounded somewhat normal again. She took a deep, cleansing breath. From the other side of the room, the whispers continued, only now, she could discern the words.
"Carter, do you still miss your mama?"
"I sure do. I miss her all the time. I always will."
"I wish my mama was here."
"She is here, Tyler. She's right here, in your heart."
"What's that mean?"
"It means just what Miss Marly said. That you'll always remember your mama, remember the fun times you had. That she'll live in your memories."
"I remember one time when Mama and me went to Carowinds. You ever been there?"
"No, but maybe you can take me sometime."
"'Kay, but you gotta drive, 'cause I'm just a kid."
"Deal, but in the meantime, I want you to think about all the good times you had with your mama. Don't ever forget them."
"I won't. I wish … I wish she would come back." He sniffed.
"Tyler, your mama's an angel now, and she's gone to a place where there aren't any drugs."
"Heaven?"
"That's right. Your mama's healthy and strong again. And you know what else?"
"What?"
"She's watching over you now."
"She can see me from Heaven?"
"That's right, and it's okay for you to be sad, but she doesn't want you to be sad for too long."
"Can she hear me?"
"Umm-hmm."
"Mama?" he said with wonder.
"She can't talk to you, but you go ahead and tell her whatever you want. She can hear you."
"Mama … I love you." He sniffed. "I wish you didn't take them drugs from Daddy's men. I … miss you." He paused. "Carter, do you talk to your mama?"
"Every night. In my prayers. And I ask God to make sure she's okay and to look after her."
"You think He listens?"
"Yeah, I do."
Marly smiled into the shadows, relief mixing with, an equal amount of fear. For all his logic, Carter King had a deep sentimental side. She never would have guessed, and almost wished she didn't know. From the beginning, her feelings for him had thrown her off balance, but the attraction had run only skin deep. These glimpses of the man beneath the veneer warned her of far more dangerous threats.
In time, Marly might allow her future husband into her bed, but never, ever could she allow him into her heart.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
"I got the bags. You get the door," Carter said, tossing the keys to Marly.
She caught them with one hand. Once inside, she pressed the buttons that disarmed the security system. She propped the door open with one of Carter's boots and stepped inside, coming up short as a sudden rush of sensations threatened to overcome her.
The first time she'd entered Carter's house, she'd come as a complete stranger. Everything had been new—the sight, the smell, the feel of the house. This time it wasn't so new. Stored impressions hurtled back at her, recent memories giving rise to a strange feeling of familiarity. They wrapped around her, enveloping her in their warmth, as if welcoming her home.
Marly's purse slid from her grasp, dropping to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her middle, embracing the feeling of coming home as something dear to her, yet so elusive in her life.
"You okay?" Carter asked, coming in with their bags.
She nodded.
He stared at her for a long moment, before whispering, "Welcome home."
"Thank you." Her attempt at smiling failed. "Need help with those?"
"No, I'm fine."
As he took their bags down the hall, Marly held up a hand in protest, then let it fall to her side without uttering a word. In the past twenty-four hours, she had softened, like a wax doll left too near a flame.
A false sense of security, a voice warned.
But they were going to be married. Tomorrow, no less. What sense did it make to prolong the inevitable? Carter would find out about her nightmares sooner or later, and when he did, she'd have to provide a satisfactory explanation. There was no getting around it.
* * *
That night, she took a long bath, letting the whirlpool jets pound the tension from her muscles. She changed into a cotton nightshirt, pulled on her robe and padded down the hallway to the study. Carter sat at his desk, staring into the flames of the fire in the fireplace.
"I'm going to sleep," she told him.
He nodded. "Good night."
"Aren't you coming?"
"In a while. I have some work to do."
"Oh, okay. Good night, then." She started to leave, then turned back. "Um, Carter?"
He glanced up, and she thought she caught a troubled look in his eyes, but then it was gone, and he was just looking at he
r expectantly.
"What side of the bed do you sleep on?" she asked.
"The right."
"The right if you're facing the bed, or the right if you're in the bed?"
"Facing."
"Okay, thanks. Good night."
"Good night."
She turned and closed the door.
* * *
Carter opened the bedroom door and peered inside. Marly slept on the far left side of the bed, by the windows. Wearily running a hand through his hair, he crossed to the closet and undressed. Last night in the motel room, he'd worn sweats to bed and practically burned up in the night. He wasn't used to wearing anything when he slept in his own bed. Reluctantly, he reached for a pair of boxers. It was the best he could do.
Moonlight filtered through the French doors, revealing Marly's pale arm where she hugged her pillow. Carter pulled back the comforter and maneuvered underneath the covers, careful not to disturb her. He turned on his side, his back to her, and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come quickly, before he could think too much about the woman in his bed.
He'd seen her nondescript robe earlier and had tried, with little success, to keep from wondering what she wore underneath. He imagined dowdy flannel, with buttons up to her neck; only, that didn't help, because he liked buttons, and he liked unbuttoning buttons.
He imagined shapeless sweats; only, that reminded him of how he'd broiled last night, which led to other thoughts, and eventually he was wondering whether she wore panties to bed. Finally, he conceded defeat. In his mind, all paths led back to the same place. He wanted Marly naked. Underneath him. Plain and simple. There was no getting around it.
Carter punched the pillow and turned it over, trying to shut off his mind. He pictured a blackboard, visualized numbers written slowly, one by one, backward from ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. Ninety-seven. Ninety-six…
He continued the methodical countdown as long as he could. The numbers eventually became garbled, disjointed. A dull, gray haze seeped through his consciousness.
Carter didn't know how long he'd been asleep, when he heard a loud thump and bolted upright. Marly's side of the bed was empty, and his bleary gaze combed the bedroom for some sign of her.
He heard her before he saw her, a cry of agony that snapped him up out of sleep before he fully understood what it was. Heart hammering, he leaped from the bed in time to see her rolling across the floor.
Rolling like a person with her body on fire!
"Marly!" he cried as she hit the wall. In three quick strides, he was kneeling beside her.
"No!" She patted at her body frantically. "Go away!"
He realized she wasn't talking to him, but trying to smother imaginary—or in this case, remembered—flames.
"Marly…" He gently caught her shoulder. "Wake up, Marly. It's just a dream. It's over now. The fire's gone. You're safe, sweetheart. Can you hear me?"
"Put it out!" She threw her head back and screamed. And then in the next breath, she was awake, her eyes wide and filled with terror.
Carter pulled her toward him without really thinking about what he was doing until he had gathered her trembling limbs in his arms. "You had a nightmare," he whispered against her temple. "It's over now. You're safe." Carefully, he reached out and touched the back of his hand to her heated forehead. Tears coursed down her face, and he brushed them away with his knuckles.
"The fire," she said in a shaky voice. "It was so hot. It burned … my hands." She lifted her hands up as if to inspect the scars.
Carter reached for one hand to cradle it against his cheek. He turned the palm over and pressed it to his lips. "Shh … I know. But it's over, sweetheart. It's over."
"You know?" she whispered.
He nodded, and she shivered, laying her head against his shoulder, her body dewed with perspiration. After a while, they were encircled in each other's arms. Carter leaned his head back, against the wall, content for the moment just to hold her.
His unease didn't start until it dawned on him she was all but naked, dressed only in panties and a thin cotton nightshirt. He tried not to think about it—this wasn't the right time—even though he could feel the imprint of her breasts against his bare chest, her bottom against his thigh, her silky legs…
She moved just then, a slight shift of her body that made him grit his teeth. Too late. With a grimace, he realized he was more than a little aroused—his body's swift response to the wanderings of his mind.
"I think," he whispered, "that we'd better get you back in bed." On your own side, with me far on the other.
"No!" The circle of her arms tightened. "No, please … not yet."
"Marly…"
Her whispered plea was just a warm breath of sound against his throat, and Carter felt his gut pull tight as she shifted again, this time turning more toward him. "Just a few more minutes."
"Just a few," he managed to whisper, his voice sounding as hoarse as it felt.
Her hair tickled his shoulder, but he tried to block the sensation, tried to force his mind from imagining the erotic way it would look fanned across his pillow. He clamped his eyes shut and tried to ignore the smell of flowers, musky in the aftermath of her nightmare, musky as he'd imagined she would smell after they made love, damp, bare skin against skin.
Damn it! It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to feel this way, not about Marly. He vowed to be a gentleman, even if it killed him.
But he could feel the slow rhythm of her breathing, her heartbeat. He could feel her take a deep breath, feel her breast brush against his chest. And then he felt the touch of her fingers on his cheek and made the mistake of looking down and into her eyes.
He had seen that look before, and he knew that in her current state, Marly would follow wherever he led. He clenched his teeth so tightly they ached, because he knew he couldn't do it, couldn't take advantage of her, and risk losing himself in the process. Not tonight. Not when she was this vulnerable, when her own defenses were lowered, when it would be so easy to let go and never come back.
"Carter?" she whispered, trailing her petal-soft fingertips over his lips.
God help him. He was going to die.
He swallowed. "Tell me what you want, Marly."
She shook her head. "I don't know."
That's what he was afraid of. He had vowed to give her whatever she wanted, but to take only what she offered, never to push her further than she wanted to go. Tonight he wouldn't need to push. Tonight there would be no boundaries if he gave in to the fierce desire inside him. Tonight there would be no return.
Carter closed his eyes, struggling with indecision, finally opening them and meeting her stormy gaze. He knew what he had to do. He knew what she needed, and he knew he could give it to her, without compromising either of them. There were ways, and he knew them all.
He eased her down, off his thigh and onto the carpet. At her whimper of protest, he closed his mouth over hers, drawing her into a hungry kiss. Her whimper turned into a soft moan as she turned partway in his arms.
His hands circled around her rib cage, under her nightshirt, to cup her breasts. He kneaded them in his palms, teasing the nipples between his thumb and forefinger, while his hungry mouth moved to her neck.
Carter inhaled deeply. He loved the way she smelled, the way she felt in his arms, the small noises she made in the back of her throat.
"Carter…" Her voice sounded sultry in the sudden heat of their bedroom.
"Shh. Just relax." He brushed his lips over hers again and again, until her resistance wore and her hands threaded into his hair. "Yes, like that." He trailed one hand down to her waist, and then lower, slipping underneath the elastic waistband of her panties. "Like this."
She gave a sudden gasp as his fingers found her warm, wet and ready. Oh, so ready. Her bottom pressed against him, the muscles rubbing his swollen flesh. He wanted to turn her around, to pull her over him, to guide her hips until they found a perfect fit. He wanted to bury himself deep inside he
r, over and over again, until he lost himself in her warmth.
He pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat and whispered her name, but it came out a ragged moan. He sucked in a breath and clamped his eyes shut. He wanted her so badly at that moment that it bordered on pain.
"Carter, are we going to…?"
"No," he reassured her, responding to the glimmer of fear in her eyes. Not tonight. He swore it. "Just you. Just … you."
He brought her to the edge swiftly, held on to her as she gripped his arms, tumbling over the precipice and into oblivion. Again, he sent her soaring and felt her release as she convulsed around him. Again and again, like a puff of milkweed tumbling on the wind, until he was certain he'd eradicated all coherent thoughts from her mind. Until she writhed against him, and he could stand no more. Until she cried out his name and went limp in his arms one final time.
Only then did he gather her up from the floor and into his arms, and carry her to the bed, where he laid her down, then covered her damp body with the sheet.
"Carter?" she whispered, but her eyes were already closing.
"Right here." He bent down to kiss her eyelids, grazing her cheek with his knuckles. Something shuddered through him, a wave of desire mingled with tenderness, so raw and unexpected it made him take a step back, followed by another, until he'd safely rounded the foot of the bed.
He took his place, far on the other side, where he lay perfectly still, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe, every inch of his body hard and aching for her.
It sure was hell being noble.
* * *
Carter shaved and showered while Marly slept. Flinging a towel around his waist, he used the bedside telephone to call the office and check his voicemail.
Twelve messages waited. The first eleven came as no surprise, but the twelfth one raised an eyebrow. It was the P.I. he'd hired for Marly's background check. Although the message wasn't anything more than a request for Carter to call back, he strode down the hall to the kitchen phone and dialed the number with wary apprehension.
"Mike. Carter King here. Returning your call."
"Hey, thanks for getting back to me, Mr. King. Something's turned up. I don't know if it's a big deal or not, but I thought you might want to know. Seems someone's poking around town, asking a lot of questions about that woman you had me investigate, Marly Alcott."
CINDERELLA BRIDE Page 15
