by Jo Robertson
An hour later his fever broke and he woke drenched with sweat. Weak as a kitten, he lay in the dark a few minutes, marshalling up the strength to toss off the covers and drag himself from the bed.
He slowly stripped off the linens and threw them into a corner. By the time he finished, the fever had started to rise again and with it, the racking chills.
With considerable effort he bathed his face, neck and upper body, using the tepid, but fresh water from the basin, hoping it'd bring the fever down. Examining the wound on his thigh, he realized the swelling had increased and the bandage now seeped with yellow fluid.
Damn! An infection, he thought. Dr. Bailey would be irate that Gage had forgotten to dress it properly. He washed the area, applied ointment and a clean bandage, and swallowed the remainder of the opiate given him by the logger.
After he'd cleaned his teeth, he found fresh drawers in the dresser, and exhausted, threw himself face down on the plain mattress ticking. His last thought was for the queasiness in his stomach. He should've eaten something.
Gage imagined he'd sleep the slumber of the dead, but instead he dreamed of Bailey.
Dreamed the fever burned through him like hot lava while her cool, perfect hands roamed his body, soothing, caressing. Arousing him even through the heat of his body. He trembled under her smooth touch, groaned as she pressed her mouth to his hot flesh. Shuddered as he pushed himself into the tight, wet warmth of her.
At first the knocking was so faint he thought it was part of his dream. No, don't interrupt such a perfect fantasy, he groused, and drifted back into it. Once again the sound pierced his slumber, confusing him as he hovered between reality and the promised release of the dream.
In his imagination, Bailey whispered his name. "Tucker," she moaned while her beautiful body writhed beneath him. He groaned her name aloud as he tumbled into Heaven.
At last the rattle of the knob and the harsh whisper broke through his sleep. "Gage, are you in there?"
More knocking and the shuffle of footsteps in the corridor. "Tucker, it's Bailey."
#
Meghan knew she risked her entire reputation, as well as her teaching position in the community, by being here at Gage's boarding house – by being here right outside his door. Risked not only her good name, but her father's as well.
When she'd awakened after sleeping only an hour, she realized she wouldn't rest further until she saw Gage. Till she knew for certain he was sufficiently recovered.
She couldn't seem to help herself fretting about him, and the compulsion irritated her. She'd worried about the dratted fool since Sergeant Henderson had described how ill he looked.
She wasn't fooling herself, though. Deep in her heart, she knew that more than fear for Tucker's health drove her.
All these years she'd considered the feelings she'd harbored for Gage were childish crushes, but that night in the Swamp shack had turned her mind around. Had changed everything.
She wanted to explore what lay beyond the fierce beating of her heart and the longings that made her restless and sleepless and utterly willing to sacrifice anything to see him again. To touch him again.
She'd dressed once more in trousers, a coat and cap, but standing outside his rooms, she now found her courage had deserted her. Her heart pounded like a marching band in her chest and she couldn't breathe properly. She rubbed her damp palms on her trousers.
No one had seen her sneak into the side door of the boarding house, creep through the empty kitchen and up the stairs to the long corridor, but if she stood here much longer, screwing up her courage, she'd be caught.
She knocked quietly, wanting nothing so much as to turn tail and run. When he didn't answer, she grew more worried and twisted the knob.
Suddenly there he stood, mere feet from her. Hair mussed and wild, eyes hard and angry, he wore nothing but drawers and miles of beautiful muscled flesh.
Her heart notched up another beat.
When he recognized her, he reached out, grabbed her wrist in a painful grip, and jerked her inside the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. His hand on her wrist was dry and hot and the room had a fetid odor.
Gage turned around and leaned back against the door, eyeing her warily. She saw the raised bumps on his arms and chest, watched him clench his teeth against their chattering.
This close she could hear his panting, harsh and heavy as though he'd been running a great distance. A faint sheen of sweat glimmered on his brow and his eyes were stormy and savage.
"What the fuck are you doing, Bailey?" he growled at last, dragging her across the room and shoving her into a chair.
She'd never heard him swear so violently before, and that along with the shock of his half-clothed body and his ill look set her heart to skittering. She stood and stepped closer to him.
"I came to check on you," she whispered.
As if by compulsion, he smashed her against him. She stared up at his chin, unable to meet his eyes, crazily aware of every portion where his taut body met hers. The places where her softness met his hardness took on a remembered hunger of blazing lust that befuddled her mind.
Gage scowled at her, lifting her chin to peer into her eyes. "Why are you here? What do you want, Bailey?" She heard the effort to calm himself in the deliberate evenness of his voice. Heard, too, the rasp of weakness there.
He skimmed his other hand down her hair where it'd loosened when her cap fell to the floor. "Don't you know what would happen if you were – were caught – here – in my room?"
"I don't care," she murmured and stood on toes to reach the underside of his jaw where her lips rubbed against the rough whiskers. She shuddered and hugged him fiercely. "You're still ill and I'm not leaving you."
Chapter 32
I'm not leaving you.
Christ, Bailey clearly had no idea what wild need she stirred in him. If she did, she'd run like the devil was on her heels. No, he corrected, not need, lust.
He didn't really need Bailey, did he?
He hadn't had a woman in so long that every nerve in his body reacted to her breasts flattened against his naked chest, arousing him even through the fever's confusion. Beast that he was, the urge to take her here, now, burned his veins.
But, surely, just lust. Anatomy. Biological needs.
He backed her against the edge of the bed, let his hands roam possessively over her body. She was his, he thought irrationally, knowing Bailey would never belong to anyone. Still, she'd been his since he could remember although he'd been too young and foolish to realize it.
Was it the fever addling his brain? Or was having her come to him like this in the middle of the night a confirmation of the truth?
His flesh blistered and his blood ignited as his erection jutted at her through the trousers she wore. Christ! Inhaling deeply, he pushed her away, groped for the basin, and splashed water on his face and chest.
He felt her move behind him to the window, saw her throw open the sash, welcomed the night air on his fevered flesh. She chose clean linen from the armoire and made the bed with her small, efficient hands.
"Leave it!" he snarled and caught her expression in the mirror. "Get out of here!"
If she didn't leave, he'd have no defense against her, he thought madly. He leaned heavily against the dresser, staring at her with wary weariness.
Why did she torment him? What did she want from him? He had nothing to give her, and yet, he wanted her like an addiction.
She finished with the bed and rearranged the extra blankets at the end. Slapping her hands together in finality, she spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. "I'm not leaving, so you can get that silly notion out of your addled brain."
"Bailey – "
"And stop calling me that!" she snapped. She scowled and braced his arm over her shoulder while guiding him to the bed.
"Meghan." She turned into him, lifted her face, her voice tender and breathless, a sweet caress against his jaw. "Call me Meghan," she whispered.
He allowe
d her to put him to bed like a child, too exhausted now to care that the fever was rising again, pounding at his muscles and bones like wild waves against a battered ship.
She was here. For the moment that was enough. He'd worry about the rest tomorrow.
"You're burning up," she declared, the practical nurse once again, but he heard the tremor in her voice like a healing balm as he dropped into senselessness.
#
When Gage woke an hour later Meghan could see the fever had subsided. His eyes were bright and clear as he observed her where she sat in an old rocker she'd pulled up to the bed.
He wet his lips. "How long have you been here?"
"Not long." She lifted his head so he could sip from the glass of water she held to his mouth. His skin beneath her wrist felt considerably cooler. "How do you feel?"
"Better." He shoved up in the bed and leaned his head against the headboard.
After a moment he looked embarrassed and mumbled, "Necessary." Pulling on a robe that hung in the armoire, he padded barefoot down the hall.
While he tended to his ablutions, Meghan fluffed the pillows and straightened the linens. She'd brought a small satchel of food from Clare's kitchen which she now laid out on the circular table by the window. Bread, butter, fruit, a bottle of wine.
"What's this?" Gage asked when he returned, looking much more lively. He sat on the edge of the bed while she prepared a small plate and laid it on his lap. "A picnic?"
"Eat," she commanded. "You'll feel better."
Now that Gage was clothed, now that his sickness had ebbed, she felt awkward, nervous. She darted a glance toward the door. She ought to leave now, return home lest Papa find her missing and worry again.
Pouring a glass of wine, she gave it to him. "I should go now," she murmured, unnerved by the smoldering look that darkened his eyes to the color of a sky black with a hurricane.
She reached for her jacket.
"Stay." The word was nearly inaudible. She turned from the door and stared at him across the room. "I don't want you to leave."
"But – you said – why – ?"
"Just stay." He set aside the plate and goblet and reached for her. "I said a lot of foolish things I didn't mean."
She dropped her jacket to the floor and let him slowly unbutton the shirt she wore. What was he doing? Had he changed his mind?
Her hands trembled at her side as his eyes flared when he saw she wore nothing beneath the shirt – no chemise, no corset, no bodice. Was her plan all along to seduce him, she wondered?
A ripple of shock raced through her as his long fingers ran down the center of her torso from neck to waist. She'd left the window open and now shivered in the cool room.
"You're cold," he murmured, those clever hands cupping one breast, thumbing the nipple until it tightened and she inhaled audibly.
He stared at her as if she were a wonder, a treasure, then dipped his head to cover her breast with his mouth. Her blood simmered and when he ran his tongue over the nipple, ignited to the boiling point.
"Oh, God! Gage, what are you doing to me?" She closed her eyes and savored the moment.
"Touching you," he whispered against her flesh. "Loving you." He eased the shirt off her shoulders, unfastened the trousers and pulled them down to her ankles. Her drawers were plain white cotton that hid nothing from his view.
"Christ, you're beautiful," he murmured against her neck, trailing his fingers down her spine to cup her bottom possessively. "And mine, all mine."
She sensed his robe drop to the carpet and his drawers follow quickly and her eyes fluttered open. She hadn't seen him fully aroused last night, had only felt the wide expanse of his chest, the tautness of his thighs, the persistent swelling of his member against her body.
Now she drank it all in. How beautiful he was! And large. She ought to be afraid, but instead curiosity and longing filled her as she reached for him.
#
By the wide roundness of her eyes, Gage knew Bailey had never seen a man's erection. He led her to the bed, tumbled her back onto the sheets, and lay down beside her. He'd enjoyed her body last night, had pleasured her, he knew, but tonight he'd move slowly, initiate her carefully to proper lovemaking.
He propped himself on one elbow, using his hand and fingers to touch her, caress her, bring her to a shivering mass of need. He enjoyed the power he had to bring her to fulfillment. His mouth covered hers as she moaned and writhed against him, impatient, he knew, to reach the same sweet peak of release as before.
Fondling her with one hand, he twisted his fingers in her rich mane of hair with the other and kissed her hard and long and deep. His tongue invaded her mouth, tangling with hers. His teeth nipped her lips, and still she pressed her body against his, demanding more.
Rolling over, he covered her body with his great bulk, nudged her legs apart and lay between them. He leaned on both elbows and cradled her head between the palms of his hands.
"There'll be no going back from this, Bailey," he warned, staring into eyes the color of a stormy sea. "Nothing will ever be the same if we go through with this."
"I don't want to go back," she urged, her voice husky with desire. "I want you inside me. Now."
"All right, then." He stroked her hip and thigh, her belly and lower to the dark curls between her legs. She was wet and ready, and still he wanted more for her.
She gasped as his fingers invaded her body and she came quickly with a jerky violence he hadn't anticipated. He held her tight, working her body with his fingers, savaging her mouth hungrily as she climaxed in one long, hard shudder.
More, he thought, I want more from her.
When she would've rolled away, he pulled her back and continued the assault on her senses until he felt her ready and willing again, trembling with need. He held himself at the entrance of her body, prepared to breach her at last.
He wanted to make her deflowering as painless as possible. "This may hurt a bit," he cautioned, "but only for a moment, my love." He rubbed himself against her and felt the friction of their bodies arousing them both nearly to peak.
He strained to hold back.
"What – oh, God – no, don't stop," she commanded and arched her back to bring her sex closer to him.
God help him not to go off too soon.
He pressed and probed, the head of his cock manic with intent. God, she was so small, so tiny, so tight. His great beast of an organ would surely rip her in half. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and their bodies stuck slickly together.
She lifted her hips. "Do it, Gage, please. Now. I need you inside me now."
In one powerful thrust he entered her, feeling the violent breach of her maidenhood like a knife to his gut. He covered her mouth with his, but felt her scream rip through his conscience.
But though she froze a moment beneath him and whispered, "It burns," soon she writhed again as if in a fever pitch of agony that begged for release.
He rode her hard, feeling her orgasm build madly once, twice in wild ferocious climaxes until he shuddered, his own release pumping his seed into her.
He thought he'd died and gone to heaven.
Until he felt the wetness of her cheeks against his shoulder.
Gage rolled off her and drew her close, pulling a blanket around them.
"I'll speak with your father straight away about – about the marriage," he said, avoiding Bailey's eyes.
She swiped at her cheeks as she shoved him away. "Good grief, Gage, this isn't the Dark Ages. You're not obliged to marry me because you've taken me to your bed."
"Why are you crying, then?"
She frowned at him. "You think I'm weeping because I'm afraid you won't offer me marriage?"
"Well, no. Nevertheless – "
"Fiddlesticks. I'm not going to wed just because I lost my virginity. I'll marry when I find a man I've a liking to."
Did that mean she had no liking for him, then?
God help them both.
He hadn't meant to
pounce on her, but her waspishness flamed his temper. "Fine," he snapped, "when you find that husband, he can keep you out of trouble."
Pity, he brooded. For the brief time he'd lain in Bailey's arms, the Chippewa Brave's shattered face and empty eyes had receded to a far corner of his conscience. Would he ever know that kind of peace again?
"I'm too tired to argue with you," he said wearily. "Come, I'll see you home."
"No need." She jerked on her drawers, covering that lovely ass, but leaving her breasts bare. "Since I found my way here, I can certainly get home under my own power."
"Why did you come here?"
"Foolish as it sounds, I was worried about you. It appears I was correct. You're still sick." She sounded in no way sympathetic. "But apparently your illness hasn't compromised your virility."
"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Bailey."
"Oh, for God's sake, stop calling me Bailey." Tears shimmered in her eyes and he felt momentarily ashamed.
He reached for her hand. "I'm sorry, Meghan."
She dashed at her damp face with shaky fingers. "Don't get sentimental on me, Gage."
She sniffed and swiped her hand on the shirt she'd just put on. Pity to cover those magnificent breasts, he thought, fighting his continued arousal for her.
"I've ridden the bicycle so I'll be home quickly enough." Finally dressed, she arranged her hair under the cap again and reached for the door knob.
"Oh," she said, turning back, "I also wanted to tell you what Mrs. Jolly said about the altercation she witnessed at the Swamp. But it can wait, I suppose."
Whether from the thought of her leaving or the residual effects of the snake bite, he felt ridiculously weak all of a sudden.
Knowing he shouldn't, he called her back. "Don't go, Ba – Meghan. Stay a while. Tell me Mrs. Jolly's sinister tale."
He smiled and sank onto the bed, closed his eyes. "Don't leave me just yet."
Chapter 33
How could she resist when Gage begged her so sweetly to stay? When such a strong man looked so weak and vulnerable? Meghan glanced at the pocket watch on the nightstand. Scarcely past midnight, plenty of time yet to sneak away before the boarding house patrons were up and about.
