Almost To The Altar

by Neesa Hart

  “Did you learn that in post-heart attack therapy?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  The blatant honesty of the comment surprised her. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right. I can still take a joke.”

  “I wasn’t trying to make light of it.”

  “I know. I spent a year trying to come to grips with what had happened to me. When you’re thirty-five years old and wake up to find yourself in intensive care, it tends to radically adjust how you view yourself. For months afterward, I was useless. I didn’t want to leave the house, because I was afraid I’d keel over dead.”

  Without thinking, she pressed her palm to his heart. Beneath his faded denim shirt, she felt the steady beat. “Is it all right now?”

  “It is if I treat it right.” He covered her fingers with his. “I learned an important lesson that day. It made me realize that everything we have in this life can be snatched away in less than a couple of heartbeats. The only thing that really matters is the people we care about.”

  Cautiously she met his gaze. “Wil—”

  He shook his head to interrupt her. “Not now,” he said, raising her hand to his lips to press a kiss on the palm.

  “Soon we’ll get into it, but not now. You need to work, and I need some time. It’s going to take me a couple of hours to psych myself up for this. Okay?”

  Hesitating, she tried to read the indecipherable look in his eyes. She couldn’t tell whether he was being deliberately facetious. Somehow she doubted it. Finally, she nod-!!ded. “All right.”

  Wil dropped her hand. “Now, you got a file on this auc-!!tion?”

  “A file?”

  “Sure. You’re the most organized woman I know.” He began shuffling papers on the coffee table. “I can’t believe you don’t have a file.”

  She pulled a manila folder from the bottom of the pile. “It’s here.”

  “Great.” He accepted it, then began thumbing through the contents. “Is there a list of things to do?”

  “First through third pages,” she mumbled.

  Wil removed the sheets, glanced at them, then looked at her computer. It sat on a small desk in the corner of her living room. “Do I need a password to get into that thing?”

  “No.” She frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you.” He strolled to the computer and flipped it on. “You work on the merger, I’ll work on the auction.”

  “But—”

  “I can handle this,” he assured her. “Most of what you’ve got on this list is memos and letters to family and buyers. I’ll rough everything in for you, then leave the blanks for you to fill. You can look over Devonshire’s contracts while I find—” he checked the list “—a caterer and a security company.”

  “I don’t expect you to do this,” she told him.

  “Piece of cake. I once helped a guy corner the market on goat by-products in less than three hours.”

  “Lovely.”

  With a slight wink, he said, “I think I can handle Chester Collingham’s yard sale.”

  Chapter Ten

  At eleven-thirty, Wil glanced up from the computer to see Elise lean back against the sofa with a quiet moan of exhaustion. As it had when he walked through her door, re-!!lief coursed through him in a heated rush. Elise still wanted him. He’d known it from the way she met his gaze with that wary hunger he found so addictive.

  Had he not insisted on delaying the inevitable conversation, he probably would have fallen at her feet and begged her forgiveness. Which, in retrospect, might not be such a bad idea.

  She looked more than a little run down, and he blamed himself, entirely, for what he’d done to her. He’d been so absorbed in proving to himself that he could live without her that he’d put her through hell. The stress she felt now was his fault, due to his selfishness and, as she’d so aptly pointed out to him the day before, his fear.

  The four-and-a-half-hour reprieve she’d given him had only served to heighten his guilt. They’d worked in com panionable silence. Despite the challenge of offices closed during nonbusiness hours, he’d managed to reach a reputable caterer, arrange for event security, inventory and list most of the Collingham collection and write Roger Philpott two twenty-page memos detailing Elise’s plans for the event. He’d been particularly eloquent on the topic of Larsen Restorations, and the outstanding bargain they were giving the firm. Somewhere in all the confusion, he’d even managed to order Chinese takeout for their dinner.

  The only thing he hadn’t managed to do was keep his gaze from straying in her direction. From the second he walked through her door, a strange sort of fever had begun building inside him. His body throbbed with aware-!!ness. Like the rise of high tide, the inner pressure had built until it took every ounce of reserve he had to keep from touching her.

  Elise seemed to sense his scrutiny. Her eyes drifted open. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I think I fell asleep.”

  Determined, he punched a few buttons to save the inventory list he’d been working on, then moved toward her with a measured sense of purpose. “Turn around,” he prompted.

  Something, maybe panic, flared in her eyes. “What?”

  “Turn around.” When she still didn’t seem to understand, he said, “I want to rub your shoulders.”

  Elise’s gaze searched his before she hesitantly turned her back to him. When his hands settled at the base of her neck, he felt the shudder that ran through her. In response, his heart beat an erratic rhythm. Slowly he began to knead the tight muscles in her shoulders. “You’re tense,” he told her, working her skin through her flannel pajama top.

  Elise moaned in luxurious response. “God, that’s won-!!derful.”

  He found a stubborn knot and worked it with his thumb. “You shouldn’t work so hard.”

  “Ummm…”

  Wil slid his hands along the line of her collarbone, over her shoulders. When his fingers settled in the warm vee of flesh at her throat where the flannel gaped open, he felt her go momentarily stiff. The feather-light caress of his callused fingertips left a trail of goose bumps in its wake. Wil flicked open the top button of her pajamas.

  Her hand pressed to his, stilling his relentless pursuit of the next button. “What are you doing?”

  He brushed her hair aside with his free hand, then pressed a kiss to her nape. “Relax. I can do a better job of this if I’m not hindered by your shirt.”

  “Why do I think this has nothing to do with my tension and everything to do with seduction?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he wriggled his fingers free of hers so that he could flick open the second button.

  “Wil, stop.”

  “I’m not going to take it off,” he assured her. “I’m just going to lower it so I can rub your shoulders.” He was glad she couldn’t see his face. Surely she’d notice the glistening beads of perspiration on his forehead, the way his lips had tightened into a thin line, the fever he knew burned in his gaze. He drew a calming breath as he lowered the blue-andred flannel to expose her shoulders.

  The top slid to rest on the full upper curves of her breasts, where it provided the unexpected benefit of pinning her arms to her sides. The blood rang in his ears as his vision momentarily blurred. On the edges of his sanity, he felt a mad rush of need begin to tear at his restraint.

  She seemed to notice his hesitation. “Wil?”

  His breath came in fits and starts as he studied the smooth lines of her shoulders. With a trembling hand, he brushed her hair over one shoulder, completely baring the other to his view. Without stopping to consider the consequences, he pressed his lips to the spot where her neck be-!!came her collarbone. She shuddered, and might have moved away from him, had he not captured her breasts in his palms. Elise gasped when he pressed her against his chest. “God, Aina. I need you.”

  Without waiting for her response, he thrust his hands beneath her flannel top. The warm curves of her breasts f
illed his palms, tormented him with visions of her, flushed and ready, spread beneath him. Like a man possessed, he rubbed his mouth over her skin, tasting, licking the tender flesh.

  He palmed her breasts, rotating the nipples until they beaded and pulsed against his hands. When he took each rosy peak between a thumb and forefinger, Elise moaned— a feline, throaty sound that stripped away his remaining layers of civility. With a guttural growl, he flipped her beneath him, pressing her into the cushions, covering her with the length of his aroused body.

  Elise’s eyes widened at the heated look in his eyes. The languor had left his body, only to be replaced with a crackling tension that made the hairs on her arms stand at atten-!!tion. In the shadowy light of her living room, his blond hair gleamed a burnished copper. He looked, she thought on a rare flight of fancy, every inch a ‘Viking prepared to conquer whatever stood in his path.

  The tenderness was gone. The gentle lover she remembered had been replaced by this driven, urgent man whose eyes gleamed with seductive promise and need.

  Her mouth went dry at the sight.

  He murmured something in Swedish, something hot and suggestive, seconds before he captured her mouth in a kiss that threatened to pull the soul from her body.

  There was nothing civil about the kiss. It bore no resemblance to the seductive caresses they’d shared before. This one rocked her to her toes. Its raw power excited. Its bare. need awakened an answering hunger. With her hands still pinned to her sides, while his large hands kneaded her breasts, she felt unbearably wanted.

  Needing his closeness, she wrapped her legs around his to wedge the hard heat of him firmly against her pulsing center. Wil tore his mouth from her with a low groan. Again, the softly spoken Swedish, the feral look in his eyes as his mouth lowered to take the aching peak of her breast between his lips. The scratch of his late-day whiskers sent erotic pulses singing through her blood. They’d leave marks on her, she was sure of it, and she welcomed the tender savagery.

  He sipped and tugged at her areola with his hot mouth. When his teeth grazed the taut peak, a cry ripped from her lungs.

  The sound seemed to galvanize him as his hands tugged at the remaining buttons of her shirt. Baring her to the waist, he trailed a wet path to her navel. “Aina.” He whispered against her sensitized flesh, “I want to touch you. Let me touch you.”

  Elise wriggled her hands free from the confining sleeves of her pajama top. Swiftly she moved her fingers to the buttons of his denim shirt. She found that her urgency matched his, the pressing need, the gnawing hunger. “I want to touch you, too,” she told him. Caught in the web of his desire, she ruthlessly pushed aside the warnings that screamed through her mind.

  One after another she flicked open the buttons, only to find her progress frustrated by his white cotton T-shirt. She was so intent on tugging the T-shirt from his jeans, she almost failed to notice when his hands plunged beneath the elastic waist of her pants to cup her bottom. Hard, he pulled her against his mouth.

  His teeth skimmed the line of her waistband, once, twice. Her back arched to give the marauding, insistent pressure of his tongue better access. He nipped her navel, then lifted her bottom in his hard hands so that he could place a kiss, shockingly intimate, scaldingly possessive, on the most intimate part of her. Even through the satin of her panties, and the flannel of her pajama bottoms, his mouth seared her. The rough texture of his whiskers seemed to brand her inner thighs. Moist heat to moist heat, the sensation sent the spiraling energy out of control.

  The drenching rush of sensation was on her like a sudden storm, breaking and ravaging whatever lay in its path. Her head dropped back against the sofa as a low cry tore from her throat.

  Between her legs, Wil held as still as a mountain pool on a breezeless day. Watching. The feel of his gaze, now char-coal-black, skimming her features, taking in the damp sheen on her flushed skin, the breathless parting of her lips, the goose bumps that peppered her flesh, the quivers and shudders that traveled through her, seemed to carry the sensations to unbearable heights.

  Elise sank into the sofa cushions with an exhausted gasp when the final wave had passed.

  Wil continued to watch. Seconds passed, and her languor changed to unease. “Wil?”

  Slowly he reached for her left hand. His fingers twined with hers as he pressed her palm to her belly. “What about this, Elsa?”

  Her gaze found her diamond engagement ring. Guilt, anger, frustration, raced through her with mind-numbing speed. Suddenly she felt open and exposed. With her pajama top spread wide, her body still feeling weakened, she felt raw. Pushing him away with an angry burst of energy, she clutched the lapels of her shirt together. “How dare you!”

  Wil took his time levering himself off the couch. “How dare I what? Stop before we made love? Refuse to sleep with another man’s fiancée?”

  “You did this on purpose.”

  “Come on, Elsa. You think I like walking around in an unfulfilled state of arousal? I’d tell you that you’re the one making this hard—” he paused, as if to let the double meaning sink in “—but that would be the understatement of the century.”

  To her horror, Elise found herself fighting tears. “So you set out to humiliate me? Is that what you wanted?”

  “No. You were the one hurling around accusations the other night. I just don’t think we should complicate matters any further by falling into bed.” He took two steps forward.

  Elise backed away from him. “Everything I said to you was true. You’re afraid.”

  “Cut the crap, Elsa. This isn’t about me.”

  “No? Then you explain why you felt like you had to get even with me tonight.”

  “Damn it—I was not getting even.” He advanced two more steps.

  “Not getting even?” She couldn’t contain her outrage. “Who are you kidding? You were furious with me last night, because I cut too close to the truth.” When he would have spoken, she shook her head. “Don’t even try to deny it. You were. Nikki told me.”

  “The bastard.”

  “That’s what brothers are for.”

  “I thought you said he didn’t want to get involved in this.”

  “Maybe he changed his mind. You were the one that called him. How the hell should I know why he decided to stick his nose in this?”

  She saw the flash of annoyance in his eyes. “For the record, I called Nick because I knew you were upset.”

  “Oh, spare me.” She quickly buttoned her pajama top. “That male-pride crap isn’t going to work with me. You were angry because I figured you out. Every time you tell me I’m running away from my problems, it’s because the same finger is pointing right at you.”

  “At least I’m not the one sleeping around on my fi-!!ancé.”

  The remark was deliberately cruel, and he knew it. Elise fixed him with a hard glare. Once again, he’d retreated behind a verbal attack. “Get out.”

  “If I walk out this time, Elsa, I’m not coming back.”

  “Well, I just can’t tell you how much that thought terrifies me.”

  “You’re acting like a shrew.”

  “And you’re an arrogant SOB. How dare you do this to me! What gives you the right?”

  His gaze flicked over her. The look on his face would have been impenetrable, had it not been for the anger in that gaze. “Contrary to what you seem to think, I didn’t come here tonight to argue with you.”

  “Then why are you here, Wil?” She pointed to the couch. “Why did you do that?”

  Long seconds passed. The only sounds in the quiet apartment were the hum of the radiator and the relentless ticking of the hall clock. Wil stared at her, his face a hard mask. At his sides, his hands clenched and unclenched, as if the monotonous motion gave him an odd sort of focus. “Don’t let it end like this, Elsa.”’

  She resisted the urge to turn her back on him. “We’ve both been fooling ourselves,” she told him. “It ended a long time ago.”

  The words hung between
them like a death knell. Elise felt their cold impact to the darkest place in her soul. Shivers that started on the inside, chilled her blood, then reached her skin, began to tear at her heart like ice-coated talons.

  A flicker of pain flared in his eyes. His mouth pressed into a taut line. The planes of his face seemed to sharpen as he studied her in the dim light. Lips parted, she sensed his denial before he uttered it.

  “I want you to leave, Wil,” she told him before he could speak. “Right now. And I don’t want you to come back.”

  With a defeated look that threatened to tear her heart out, he reached for his jacket.

  The shrill ring of the telephone sliced through the thick air like a fencer’s blade.

  Elise started, then glanced toward the insistent noise.

  “Are you going to answer it?” Wil asked.

  “It’s probably Parker.”

  He jerked on his jacket. “Then, by all means, don’t let me stop you.”

  Because it was easier than watching him walk out her door, she reached for the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Elise?” She didn’t recognize the voice.

  Something in the grim sound sent fear sluicing across her already sensitized nerve endings. Wil must have seen it reflected on her face. He paused, his hand on the doorknob. Elise clutched the receiver in suddenly numb fingers. “Yes?”

  “Elise, this is Bill Garrison. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  Bill Garrison, she knew, was Nikki’s partner. The fear in her gut turned to terror. “Bill, what’s wrong. Is Nikki all right?”

  “He’s been shot.”

  “Oh, my God.” She dropped onto the couch. Wil hurried across the room to squat in front of her. His hands rested on her knees. The anger had left his expression, and concerned eyes met and captured her gaze.

  “He’s in surgery now,” Bill was saying. “He took a bullet in the thigh and two to the chest.”

  “Oh, my God.” Her fingers gripped the receiver so tightly, the blood drained from them.

  “I don’t have any news yet, but he’s tough, Elise. He’s going to make it.”