by Kimberly Nee
Her back arched. Her fingers tightened in his hair. And when he lifted her up to meet him more evenly, she groaned.
That soft, airy groan pushed him over the ledge. His blood surged thick and smoking through his veins to his loins. His groin tightened, his erection swift and steely, and as he sucked hard on her tongue, he pressed his hips into her.
He backed her toward his bed, nature and desire combining to urge her onto the mattress.
She didn’t fight. Instead, she melded to him, her airy breath hot on his ear.
He pulled away to whisper, “Emma…”
“Mm…that sounds so…so wicked when you say it that way,” she murmured, her lips pouty and swollen from the force of his kiss.
Those words, with her sweet voice made throaty with passion, fired his lust until it threatened to physically scorch him from the inside out.
His eyelids drooped when she brought up a hand to sweep his wet hair back over his temple. The motion was so intimate, and he thought nothing of it as he turned to press a kiss into the pulse.
Then her palm came to rest against his cheek. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. A tickle rippled through his lower lip. Her hand at his nape tightened to pull him back to her eager mouth.
He kissed her thoroughly, deeply, his tongue teasing hers to draw it back into his mouth.
To his surprise and delight, she needed no tutoring but knew how to kiss him back, and did so with abandon. Her fingernails grazed the back of his neck to send a rush of pleasure surging through him. She slid her fingers up, back into his hair, and even that aroused him further.
She gasped as he broke the kiss, but that protest became a soft moan of acceptance as he devoured her neck. Her head tilted back to offer him even more delectable flesh to explore, and when he dipped the tip of his tongue into the hollow of her throat, she arched to meet him, her breasts pressing back into his chest.
He kissed down, down into the shadowy swell of her décolletage, the lace edge of her bodice scraping his nose. Shifting to bear most of his weight on one arm, he let his now-free hand skim over the slight rise, and when his thumb rubbed over the hard nub of her nipple, her gasp was as sensual as a caress.
He teased her nipple, circling it slowly, then sliding over it. With each pass, her fingers twisted in his hair and she whispered, “Yes, oh, yes.”
Her breast fit perfectly in his palm as he curved his hand beneath it to knead it, and a lustful smile lifted her lips. Dear God, she was beautiful, with her eyes half-closed, her lips swollen and red from the ferocity of his kiss.
“Why did you stop?” she murmured, gazing up at him with sleepy blue eyes. Until that moment, he never realized how her eyes could change. They were always a dark blue, but now that blue seemed deeper still. She was a wide-eyed innocent, and he was on the edge of losing himself entirely.
“Because I should.” That wasn’t what he intended to say, nor was it what he wanted, but the reality of the situation was simple. She was not his wife. They were in her parents’ house. The door was not only unlocked, but ajar and anyone could happen upon them. The risk of moving any further was too great. Dunstan was due at any moment now.
But damn it if he didn’t hate himself for pushing her away. Just the feel of her eyes on him was enough to make him feel as if he’d go up in flames. How was it possible this one woman, who should feel more like a sister than a temptress, could wreak such havoc on every one of his systems? When had she gone from being his best friend’s little sister to the woman who haunted his most erotic dreams?
“No—” she shook her head, that teasing smile still on her lips “—You most definitely should not.”
God damn if stopping himself, stopping them, wasn’t the most difficult thing. He didn’t want to stop any more than she wanted him to stop, but he had no choice. “Emma—” he rose up onto his elbow and removed his other hand from her “—I have to. We can’t do this.”
He expected another protest, but it never came.
Instead, she tucked a loose lock of hair behind her left ear. “No, I don’t suppose we can.” Her voice was just barely audible, and the color that crept into her cheeks looked uncomfortable. “I beg your pardon, Julian. I shouldn’t have come up here.”
“No, wait, Em—” He reached for her, but wasn’t fast enough as she darted up from the bed. He expected her to throw open the door and run out of the room, but to his surprise, she didn’t.
She paused about halfway across the room, her back to him. He tried again. “Emma, it’s all right.”
“No. It isn’t.” She kept her back to him, her shoulders stiff, her head bowed.
He wanted to go to her, to pull her back into his arms, but knew better.
Despite the arousal still swirling through him, and the frustration that went hand in hand with it, he stood. “Emma, it’s not that I don’t want this, because God knows I do, but not like this. Jumping at every noise and hoping like hell we don’t get caught. I’d much rather do it the right way.”
Her head rose a fraction of an inch. “The right way?”
Now he did cross to her, letting his hands come to rest on her shoulders. He couldn’t help himself. The need to touch her rumbled through him, with the need to feel her against him right on its tail.
She stiffened as he touched her, but he didn’t pull her close. Instead, he bent to press a kiss against the top of her head. “The right way.”
Her dress rustled as she turned to face him. Her cheeks were still pink, and her eyelids lowered when he cupped her cheek and let his thumb graze over her soft skin. For the first time, he wondered if perhaps he was an idiot for believing he couldn’t consider a future with her.
He brushed her lips with a gentle kiss, but before it deepened, she broke away with a murmured, “I should go.”
She pulled free and he didn’t stop her as she hurried toward the door and disappeared around it. Instead, he pushed the door shut behind her, letting it catch with a soft click. Not five minutes later, Dunstan appeared. And as Julian sent him on his way, his mind whirled as he tried to find the perfect words to ask Captain McKenzie’s permission to court Emma.
Chapter Eight
WHAT HAVE I DONE? Emma stared at the woman in her mirror. The one with the bright eyes and flushed cheeks. The one with the redder than normal lips. And would anyone else notice how puffy they were? Would they guess what had happened with Julian? Did it show on her face, or could she see it only because she knew?
She brought her hand to her lips. They didn’t feel swollen, although they did tingle from the force of Julian’s kiss. And he wanted her. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Her lips curved up. Emma, it’s not that I don’t want this, because God knows I do, but not like this. She could still hear his low voice uttering those words. And this after she shoved her way into his room, risking scandal for them both. He wasn’t angry with her. He wanted her. Did he think her brazen for responding to his kiss so enthusiastically, for letting him touch her the way he did? Did that make her a harlot, like Molly Wallace? Everyone in Brunswick knew what she did, although they never discussed it in proper circles, only whispered about it behind raised fans.
Her cheeks grew warm. Every time she passed Molly Wallace’s innocent-looking white house, she wondered what went on within those walls. Well, perhaps wondered wasn’t the right word, as she knew what went on inside, but she always wondered why. Until she felt Julian’s hands on her body, she didn’t know what sort of pleasure could be found in another’s touch, didn’t know how desire could sting so badly and yet feel so amazing. And her curiosity was every bit as aroused as her body. She knew what came next and wondered what that would be like as well.
Emma, it’s not that I don’t want this, because God knows I do, but not like this. Jumping at every noise and hoping like hell we don’t get caught.
A shiver coursed through her. He wanted to make love to her. She wanted the same. Now it was only a matter of his asking to court h
er.
The flush in her cheeks remained bright as she thought about what was to come. What would it be like? Now that she’d felt that part of him pressed into her, her mind reeled. Amazing, how men and women were designed to fit together. That didn’t frighten her. It wouldn’t matter that that part of him swelled so. After all, that was what that part was meant for. Surely Mother Nature wouldn’t be so cruel, would she?
Emma, it’s not that I don’t want this, because God knows I do.
She hugged the delicious secret close. It was the culmination of every dream she’d had regarding Julian since she was thirteen years old. That they were now all coming true was almost overwhelming, and she wouldn’t have believed it if not faced with the evidence in her mirror.
“Emma?”
She jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice and glanced in the mirror to see Momma standing in the doorway behind her.
Her forehead creased, her brows pulled together in that look of worry she wore whenever one of her children was ill.
Emma twisted to peer over her shoulder. “What is it, Momma?”
“Is everything all right? Mary said you were coming down for breakfast, but that was almost forty-five minutes ago.” Momma came into the room and walked over to press her hand against Emma’s forehead. “You don’t feel feverish.”
Emma pulled away, taking care not to topple backward off her bench. “I’m not sick, Momma. Just moving a bit slower than usual this morning.” She rose, willing what color remained in her cheeks to fade as quickly as possible. Her mother knew she ran no fever, and there weren’t many other plausible explanations for being flushed left.
But it must not have worked, for Momma’s eyes narrowed, the way they did whenever she suspected one of her children was not being completely honest with her. It was a look Emma had seen, although not in many years. Not since she’d outgrown the need to tell harmless fibs to her mother, usually to protect one of her brothers, lest they no longer let her follow around after them.
Drat it all. When she passed Mary in the corridor, she didn’t think twice about it. How was she to know her sister was going to say anything about her coming down soon? Or that her mother would come up to see if she was ill?
Suddenly her delicious secret didn’t seem quite so delicious any longer. If she wasn’t careful, her secret would be revealed, and it was madness to even think she’d find some way to sneak off to meet Julian. Her mother was like a hawk, lazily circling overhead, until she thought one of her children was courting trouble. Then she’d swoop down and snatch up whichever offspring did the trouble-courting. Being late to a family meal was the catalyst for sending Momma into hawk-mode.
“So why the delay?” Momma asked, her voice mild.
The last time Emma heard that mild tone, she had spent two days sequestered in her room, having been caught sneaking a sip of brandy from the decanter in Papa’s office.
“I was just about to come down, was on my way, when I remembered I’d forgotten to put my laundry in the basket. Amanda always grumbles when she has to go around and pick up all the things I’ve forgotten to add, so I wanted to gather them up before she could.”
She wanted to kick herself. Her rambling made her mother’s brows rise a good half an inch above their normal position. Next, she’d pierce Emma with an unblinking stare. Then, the final blow—a pointed question that she already knew the answer to, and would know any other answer was a lie. And Emma did not want to be on the receiving end of that question.
Rose often remarked wistfully how nice it must be to have one’s mother so concerned. Her own mother expended all of her energies on Rose’s younger sister, but paid Rose little mind at all.
For the first time, Emma envied Rose. Her mother wouldn’t notice any odd behavior on Rose’s part. Rose could skip backward through her mother’s formal parlor while reciting Shakespeare in the nude, and no one would even notice. Sometimes, being ignored had to have its advantages.
No, that wasn’t fair. Or at least not entirely fair. Emma smiled as she slipped her arm through her mother’s. “Is everyone below now?”
“They are. Or, they were.” She gave Emma an odd look. “With the snow, no one is going anywhere for a while. Are you certain you’re all right, Em? You look a little flushed. Perhaps you should go back to bed and I’ll have Anna bring you a hot brick.”
“I’m fine, Momma. I don’t need it. I just hurried back to move the basket.” She pasted a bright smile on her lips and squeezed her mother’s arm. “And I’m hungry, so shall we?”
“I suppose.” Her expression still hinted that she wasn’t accepting Emma’s excuse, but thankfully, she let the matter drop.
She escorted Emma to the breakfast room, and as they neared it, Emma’s belly came to life in a series of flutters and flips. How was she going to get through this meal, with all the prying eyes and curious minds?
Never mind what would happen when she faced Julian.
What would happen when she saw him? Her body grew tight at the thought of seeing him. Surely her damned flush would give her away within minutes of laying eyes on him. How on earth would she ever explain that?
And what would Julian do? This was all so new for her, but for him? Somehow, she didn’t think this was unfamiliar territory for him. And all she could do was pray that he’d be discreet.
Emma heard her brothers before she saw them, and she braced herself for whatever would happen next.
A shout of laughter burst out, making her jump. She cursed her giddiness when Momma asked, “And nothing is troubling you?”
“Momma, I’m fine.” She bit off the last word and straightened herself to add, “It’s been a while since I’ve had to contend with them all at once.” She took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. That breath was a joke. It calmed nothing.
“Well, look who decided to join us.” Drew lifted his coffee cup in her direction. “Aren’t you the early bird of the family?”
Emma made a face at him as she sat between him and Mary.
“Where did you vanish to, Em? You told me you were on your way down almost an hour ago,” Mary leaned close to keep from being overheard. “Then you never showed up.”
“I know. And now Momma knows it. You didn’t have to say I’d told you I’d be right down. Momma heard that and assumed I was but an hour away from death.”
“She wanted to bring up a hot brick, didn’t she?”
“Yes!” It came out a little louder than she’d mean, earning her a queer look from Drew. She ignored him, tilting her head closer to Mary’s. “Yes. I’m not sure she isn’t convinced I still don’t need it.”
“Sorry, Em. I didn’t think that far ahead. I didn’t mean for her to come barreling upstairs.”
Drew dipped his bacon in the syrup puddling in the middle of his plate. “You both should know better. Momma becomes a nurse at the slightest sniffle. What?” He cast a feigned look of innocence at them both. “You’re not as quiet as you think. And besides, you both know better. You both know exactly why she throws herself so headlong into nursing. You shouldn’t be all that surprised by it now.”
Guilt touched her insides like pins, and she didn’t feel the need to keep arguing.
“Now, you do look a little flushed, Em,” Drew continued, taking a bite of the bacon before dipping it back into the sticky puddle. “Perhaps Momma should confine you to bed with that brick.”
“I’m not sick and I don’t need the bloody brick!”
As soon as she said it, she wished she could take her words back. That desire intensified as Drew arched one brow and offered up a knowing look as he chewed his bacon. “Flushed and no fever?” he managed around crunches. “Do tell.”
Then he swallowed and held up a hand. “On second thought, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to be in the same room with him—” he pointed his stump of bacon at Garrett, perusing the morning newspaper, oblivious to their conversation “—or even in the same state, if that’s an ‘I’m in love’ flu
sh.”
“Perhaps,” Garrett broke in over his newspaper, “she was out in the storm last night. Did you go out last night, Em?”
“Stop it,” Emma ground out. “I’m not sick. I’m not in love. And I was out, but only briefly, and it has nothing to do with anything. I simply didn’t sleep well.”
Mary reached for the butter dish to spread some on her toast. “Why not?”
“Because I had strange dreams.”
“Strange dreams?” Drew reached for his coffee mug. “Makes perfect sense, as I know I’m always red-faced when I’m dead on my feet. You do realize Momma is going to confine you at any moment, and you’re going to spend the next three days cuddling up to that warm chunk of masonry, whether you like it or not. She has that look.”
Emma resisted the urge to peer down the table, where her mother sat, most likely sipping her tea and peering back at her. “Does she?”
“Absolutely.” Drew’s chair squeaked as he rose to refill his plate. “You know the one, where it’s like she can see the nasties inside you.”
“Wonderful.” She also rose and followed him to the sideboard, where breakfast had been laid out. All the while she filled her plate, she swore she could feel her mother’s eyes on her back. She sniffed, almost expecting to smell her hair burning or her dress melting.
As she made her way back to her chair, she forced herself to meet her mother’s stare. Dear God, she did have that look. Before the day was over, she’d find herself tucked into her bed, with, as Drew phrased it, “a warm chunk of masonry.”
Mary chirped, “Good morning, Mr. McCallister!”
“Good morning, Miss McKenzie, everyone.” Julian’s low voice sent a shiver down her spine. With her back turned, she didn’t know where he looked, but her back felt much warmer than it had only a minute earlier.
The floor creaked behind her and the hairs along the nape of her neck prickled. Julian’s arm brushed her shoulder, sending a shower of tingles spilling through her. A sidelong glance up at him told her his hair was now dry. And he smelled wonderful—like soap and cold winter air.
