❧
Kate rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She'd been lying in bed for over an hour but, so far, sleep had proved elusive. She closed her eyes. If she could just stop thinking for a little while. But her brain refused to cooperate. With a hiss of frustration, she threw the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed.
Gareth's visit had effectively cracked the tidy little shell she'd built up between her and the real world these past few weeks. She'd been drifting along without thinking too much about anything. It had been remarkably pleasant, but she couldn't continue that way forever, she thought with a twinge of real regret Seeing Gareth—now part of her past—had made her wonder about the future. Or maybe it was the fact that Nick had almost kissed her in the garden that was making her feel so restless.
Kate pushed her feet into a pair of pink backless slippers and pulled a soft robe over her plain white cotton nightgown. She snugged her belt around her thickened waistline as she pulled the door open and went into the hallway. Hesitating at the top of the stairs, she listened to see if she could hear any indication that Nick was still up. It was after midnight but he often worked much later than this. The big old house was quiet around her and the only light she could see was the one always left burning in the entryway.
She hadn't heard him come up to bed, but he moved quietly for a man his size, so that didn't mean much. She glanced down the hall toward Nick's bedroom, which was on the opposite side of the staircase from hers. From here, it was impossible to tell whether the door was shut or just pulled against the frame. There was nothing to stop her from tiptoeing over to get a closer look. Nothing except the fear that Nick would hear her and open the door to find her creeping around in the hall like a junior-grade spy.
What difference did it make, anyway? She wasn't going to turn into a pumpkin if she saw him after midnight. Irritated with herself, Kate started down the stairs, automatically avoiding the center of the third step from the top, which had a tendency to creak loudly if asked to bear any weight She glanced at the archway into the living room as she crossed the entry hall. Nick had been working in there earlier this afternoon but it looked dark now. And that was the last thought she was going to give to his whereabouts, she told herself as she went into the kitchen.
Maybe some warm milk would help her relax. She could take it to her room and sip it in bed. There was a new catalog from White Flower Farms on the nightstand that she hadn't had a chance to read yet. She reached for the refrigerator door.
"Everything okay?" Nick asked from behind her.
With a stifled shriek, Kate spun to face him, one hand pressed to her chest, as if to still the sudden pounding of her heart "I thought you were in bed," she said, fright making her tone accusing.
"Sorry." Nick's brows rose. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"That's okay." She waved one hand dismissively. "I didn't mean to snap."
"No problem. You feeling okay?" His dark eyes skimmed down her body in a searching look that made her skin tingle and made her aware of the bareness of her body beneath the thin cotton layers of robe and nightgown.
"I'm f'ne. I couldn't sleep and thought some warm milk might help."
He grimaced. "I always figured that, if the only way I could get to sleep was by drinking warm milk, I'd rather stay awake."
"It's not so bad." She pulled open the refrigerator door, grateful for the excuse it gave her to turn away from him for a moment and get herself together.
"I've heard people say a root canal isn't so bad but that doesn't make me want to have one," he said as she set the milk on the counter and got a small pan out of a cupboard near the stove.
"I'm not sure you can put warm milk and root canals in the same category."
"I can."
Kate glanced at him out of the comer of her eyes, trying to judge his mood. He'd been quiet at dinner. Even Harry had commented on it. Nick had shrugged off the old man's concern, smiling and saying he was tired from working so hard trying to get the house ready so Harry could put it on the market. The comment had made Harry grumble that there was no rush and it had also kept him from pursuing the subject, which was, she suspected, exactly what Nick had intended.
She hadn't bothered to turn on the overhead light, only the small task light over the stove, which left most of the room in shadow. She could make out Nick's form, the familiar length of denim-clad legs, a soft gray T-shirt that clung to the flat plane of his stomach and outlined the solid width of his chest and shoulders. His face remained in shadow, his expression unreadable.
She sought for a casual topic of conversation but found her mind uncooperatively blank. She wondered what he was thinking.
Nick watched Kate pour milk into a pan and set it on the stove. She turned the burner on and he caught the faint, sharp scent of heat as the flame came on. He'd been sitting in the living room, staring at the empty fireplace and contemplating the mistakes he'd made in the past few months, starting with coming home in the first place. He wondered if he should add marrying Kate to the list, but something inside him insisted that he hadn't been wrong there. He'd been trying to decide whether it was instinct or stupidity that made him feel that way when he'd heard her go into the kitchen.
Holdng at her, he felt a sharp wave of possessiveness rise in him. She was his. And the child she carried was his. Both of them. His and his alone. It wasn't an enlightened attitude. It sure as hell wasn't politically correct, but it was how he felt. It occurred to him that he'd never felt this way about Lisa, but he shied away from the thought. He didn't want to think about the past, not tonight.
What was it about her, he wondered, almost despairingly. She stood there, wearing a virginally simple robe, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, doing absolutely nothing that could be construed as seductive, and he wanted her so badly, he ached with it. Swallowing a sound that might have been either a laugh or a groan, he lifted the glass of Scotch he'd carried in with him.
Kate had been trying very hard to pretend that she'd nearly forgotten his silent presence but it was difficult to convince herself when her entire being seemed focused on his every move. She glanced at him in time to see him take a swallow from the old-fashioned glass she hadn't even been aware he was holding. It was only the second time she'd seen him drink anything stronger than beer. The first time had been the night their child was conceived, and that was a memory that brought mixed feelings.
Nick saw her stiffen and caught the look of dislike she shot the glass as he lowered it. He raised his brows in question. "You don't like Scotch?"
Kate shrugged and looked away, pretending an interest in the milk she was warming on the stove. 'I'm not particularly fond of alcohol in general. I've seen what it can do to people."
Nick's brows climbed higher, "Do you think I have a drinking problem?"
"No." She shrugged again. "At least, I don't know that you do. It's just— I know how easy it is to start using it as a crutch." She glanced in his direction but her eyes veered away as if she didn't want to look at him directly. "My father drank," she said, and the words startled her. She'd never said it out loud, had hardly even let herself think it. But now that it was out, she felt compelled to add to the flat statement. "He always drank—a glass or two in the evenings after work, maybe a little more on the weekends, but after my mother died, he started drinking more and more until he was drunk most of the time. I guess it was his way of dealing with the pain."
"Not exactly the best way to handle things, especially when you've got a child dependent on you." A ring of tiny bubbles had begun to form around the edge of the milk and she shut the burner off. She didn't reach for the mug immediately but stared into the opaque liquid as if viewing the past on its surface. "It was a... difficult time." She seemed to shake herself and shrugged again. "I guess it just left me with a permanent distaste for alcohol, but I shouldn't have said anything to you. It's none of my business whether you do or don't drink."
"I think a marriage license gives you som
e say," he said mildly. He glanced at the glass in his hand, shrugged and set it on the counter. "If you don't like it, I won't drink."
The pan Kate had just picked up hit the stove with a thud, sloshing milk dangerously close to its rim. Ignoring it, she turned her head to look at him, her eyes wide and startled.
"You don't have to do that."
"If my drinking worries you, I'll quit."
"You'd do that for me?" She obviously found the idea astonishing and Nick's smile took on a rueful edge as he moved toward her.
"Much as I'd like to let you believe that I'm making a terribly noble sacrifice on your behalf, Kate, I don't really drink all that much anyway. I've been nursing that glass for a couple of hours. Giving it up won't cause me more than a mild pang of regret. I reserve the right to an occasional beer for ceremonial purposes, however."
"Ceremonial purposes?"
"Watching football, eating ribs—profound moments like that. As long as you don't mind."
"I...I don't mind." She stared at him uneasily. The idea that he was willing to change his life for her, even in this small way, bothered her, though she couldn't put her finger on the exact reason. And when had he gotten so close? She tried to shift casually away but found herself trapped by the counter at her back. "I don't want you to give up something you enjoy for me," she muttered.
"You're my wife, Kate. I'd give up a hell of a lot more than an occasional glass of Scotch for you."
That was it. That was what bothered her about this. It made their marriage seem real. Permanent. Permanence wasn't something they'd talked about.
"I...I just—" She broke off, shivering as his hand slid under her hair, cupping her nape and pulling her subtly forward.
"The problem is, I think we've both forgotten," he murmured.
"Forgotten what?" She stared, mesmerized, as his mouth dipped toward hers.
"That you're my wife. Mine," he whispered as his mouth covered hers.
For an instant, less than a heartbeat, she held herself stiff, half frightened of the way he'd simply walked through her defenses as if they didn't even exist. His tongue slid along her lower lip, and Kate felt her knees weaken. It had been so long since he'd held her. Kissed her. What harm could it do to give in to the desire rising inside her? They were married. No one would be hurt by it. No one but herself, and she'd take care not to let that happen.
Even as the justifications argued themselves out in her mind, her hands were coming up to rest against his chest, her fingers curling into the thin fabric of his T-shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath. She'd been aching for this. Aching for him. Her mouth opened to him and she let her body sway against his, giving in to the hunger rising in her, a hunger only he had ever ignited in her.
The feel of her surrender exploded through Nick, burning away his already tenuous self-control. Arousal was instantaneous and powerful. His tongue plunged into her mouth as his hands slid down her slender back, pulling her so close that not even a shadow could have come between them. His fingers curved around the yielding softness of her bottom, lifting her against the hard length of his erection. He heard her whimper and then her legs parted to cradle him against the feminine heart of her.
It was just like it had been before, he thought. The hunger raging through him, burning away everything but the need to have her, the need to sheath himself in the damp heat of her. She rocked forward and a groan tore from his throat. He was hard as steel, aching with need. He had to have her. Now.
Kate felt the edge of the counter dig into her back and for one delicious, half-terrified moment, she thought he was going to take her right there in the kitchen. With her pulse beating in her ears, her whole body thrumming with hunger, she wouldn't have offered so much as a word of protest.
But Nick gathered the last shreds of self-control and lifted her. Kate's legs parted automatically, twining around his hips, her arms circling his shoulders as he carried her from the kitchen. The full skirt of her nightgown caught between her legs, offering her tender flesh protection from the rough denim of his jeans, none at all from the rigid bulge beneath. Every step rubbed his swollen length against the aching softness of her, intensifying her arousal so that, by the time he'd reached the top of the stairs, she was nearly frantic with it
Nick was in no better shape. It had taken a considerable effort of will to keep from having her on the damned stairs or pushing her against a wall and taking her standing up. He wanted her anyway, anywhere, as long as he could be inside her. Kicking open his bedroom door, he carried her inside and set her on the floor next to the bed, keeping one arm around her waist when her knees threatened to buckle.
He stripped the robe away from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. His T-shirt ripped as he jerked it over his head. An instant later he shoved his jeans and shorts down and kicked them aside. He reached for her nightgown again, only to stop, his breath leaving him on a strangled groan as her hand closed over his naked shaft. He froze, his entire body going rigid as her cool fingers explored his burning flesh. It was the sweetest torture imaginable.
Too sweet.
Groaning, his control in shreds, he grabbed her hand and drew it away and then stripped her nightgown off before lowering her to the bed. Moonlight spilled in through the open curtains, gilding the room with soft, silvery light. Nick wanted to linger over her, wanted to trace the changes his child had made in her body, wanted to explore every inch of her, taste the heat of her arousal. But his heart beat like a drum and his entire body ached with the need to have her now. Kate reached for him, her face taut with need, and he was lost.
Kate's legs parted for him, her hand reaching to guide him to her. Nick fisted one hand in her hair, tilting her head and lowering his mouth to hers, even as his body surged into her welcoming heat. He tasted her pleasure, felt it in the way her body arched to take him deeper, not just accepting his possession but demanding it.
In the months since he'd last held her like this, he'd tried to convince himself that it hadn't been as extraordinary as he remembered. It was just sex, after all. He'd lied. Sweet Jesus, how he'd lied. Nothing had ever been like this.
It was too intense to last long. They strained together, their bodies moving toward a shared goal. The room was full of the harsh sound of their breathing, the rhythmic thud of the headboard against the wall and the earthy scent of sweat and sex.
When it came, the peak was hard and fast as the climb toward it had been. Kate sobbed with the force of it, her fingers clinging to Nick's shoulders as the only solid thing in a world that spun madly around her. The feel of her completion called up his, and Nick thrust deep into her welcoming heat, a ragged groan tearing from his chest as pleasure washed over him.
It was a long time before either of them moved, and then it took every bit of Nick's strength to ease himself onto the bed next to Kate. She made a soft sound of protest but it ended on a sigh of pleasure when he slid his arm under her shoulders and pulled her against him. She cuddled into the hard warmth of his body, her head on his shoulder, one hand nestled in the soft mat of hair on his chest.
Nick thought vaguely that there were probably all kinds of profound things that needed to be said right about now but he couldn't think of what they might be. He ran his hand up her back and felt a shiver of awareness run through her. As if it was a signal, he felt hunger stir in his gut. A moment before, he'd felt drained, sated. But the need was still there, a warm pulsing in his veins. He shifted his hand, sliding it up her side until his palm rested against the soft globe of her breast. He felt her nipple harden against his side, heard her breath catch and knew it hadn't been enough for her, either.
With a muttered curse, he came up on his elbow, pressing her flat on her back as he leaned over her, staring into her eyes.
"Two things," he said as his hand closed over her breast.
"Two?'' she repeated unsteadily.
"No more separate beds.'' He bent to trail soft kisses along the line of her collarbone while his thum
b stroked the sensitive peak of her breast.
''O—okay." Kate gasped as his tongue flicked across her other nipple, rousing it to instant attention. "What's the other thing?"
"This time, we make it last all night," he said and closed his mouth over her breast.
She moaned, her fingers curling into the silky dark thickness of his hair, pressing him closer. Against her thigh, she could feel him growing hard again. Her last coherent thought was that he was probably going to have to settle for one out of two.
❧
Sharing a room was only the most tangible change in Kate's life after that night. The other changes were more subtle, yet in an odd way even more profound. Suddenly her marriage was real, no longer words on a piece of paper she could barely remember signing.
It wasn't possible anymore to think of Nick as her roommate. He was her husband, in every sense of the word.
She'd always considered herself one of the least impulsive people she knew, especially when it came to making major life changes. Yet, in the past few months, her life seemed to have been ruled by impulse—sleeping with Nick, marrying him and now making their marriage real. There were moments when she thought that perhaps she should be very worried about her uncharacteristic behavior but she couldn't seem to whip up any real concern.
Nick was not only a passionate lover, he was fun. She laughed more with him than she ever had in her life. He had a deep appreciation for the absurd, wherever he happened to find it.
She came home from work one afternoon and found him sprawled on the sofa, his attention riveted on the soap opera playing on the television. Kate stared in disbelief, but when he looked up, he showed no trace of embarrassment.
"You wouldn't believe what these people are up to," he said, as if continuing a conversation they'd been having.
"You watch soap operas?"
"How else does anyone learn about life?" He gave her a surprised look. "Where else can you find out how to behave when you find out that your fiance is possessed by the devil and has been stalking your sister, who's also his sister because his father was once married to your mother only they're divorced now and your father is married to your other sister who's not related to him by blood because she's a product of your mother's first marriage? Only the truth is that she's really your mother's sister, which no one knows yet."
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