Though she’d been attracted to Link from the first moment she’d seen him, her lack of experience with men had made her hesitant to seek an introduction. And once they had been formally introduced, his cool indifference toward her had dashed any hopes that she might have clung to that the attraction wasn’t all one-sided.
Not long after their introduction, she’d begun to date Brad. Her fanciful dreams of Link should have ended with her engagement to Brad, but they hadn’t. She continued to dream of him almost nightly, wonderful dreams in which he’d hold her close while kissing her passionately.
At the thought of kissing him, she caught her lower lip between her teeth. Did she dare do so now? Would he awaken, if she did? To test the depth of his sleep, she drew a hand from beneath her cheek and touched two fingers lightly to his chest. When he didn’t flinch, or respond in any way, she increased the pressure, stroking her fingertips down between the twin pads of muscle on his bare chest, thrilling at the warmth of his skin, the softness of the hair that curled round her fingers.
When still he didn’t move, she grew braver and lifted her head. She drew in a long, nervous breath, then leaned to touch her lips to his. She withdrew, shivered deliciously at the taste, the textures she’d found there, and glanced up at his eyes. They were still shuttered, his lashes twin shadows brushing his cheeks.
Unable to resist, she leaned into him again, taking her tongue in a slow journey across the crease of his lips. She froze when his lips parted on a ragged sigh, his breath blowing warm and moist against her face. He shifted, hauled her hips closer to his. She remained frozen, paralyzed by fear, staring at his closed lids, waiting for them to open. When they remained closed, when his breathing returned to the steady rhythm of sleep, she all but melted with relief.
Nervously, she slicked her lips, wetting them, hesitated a moment longer, then raised them to meet his again. This time his response was immediate and thrilling. The arm at her waist tightened, drawing her hips hard against his, and his mouth opened beneath hers, his tongue arrowing out to tease hers in a slow, sensual dance. A shiver chased through her, one that fired each nerve and left it burning on its journey to her toes. She felt his manhood lengthen and swell against her abdomen, the slow curl of his fingers dig into her hip…and nearly wept as her bones melted, her mind clouded. A ball of heat formed low in her center, radiated outward, until she felt like one huge ache of long suppressed need. She curled her hands around his neck and drew his face closer.
She’d never kissed a man like this before. Never. Not and felt the way she did right now. All achy and needy, as if she were sure she would die if he stopped…and die if he didn’t. Brad’s kisses, though passionate, had never left her feeling so heady, so sinfully wanton. But, then, she’d never really liked kissing Brad. Never quite trusted him, either. And it seemed her instincts had been right.
But Link…
She’d dreamed of him, lusted after him in a way that made her blush, even now, as she reflected upon it. She’d spent hours weaving dreams of him holding her, kissing her, making love with her, and in the most exotic places and erotic ways. Not that she knew anything about making love. She didn’t. Only what she’d read or seen portrayed on a movie screen. She was a virgin. A fact that had frustrated Brad Rowan. Angered him, even, when she’d refused to sleep with him before they were properly married.
But she’d made love with Link, willingly, if only in her dreams. And he’d been a passionate lover. A satisfying one. Not selfish and demanding, as Brad had been when he’d tried to woo her into his bed. In her dreams, Link’s kisses had been gentle, tender, loving, turning hot and passionate. Just as they were now, she thought as his lips swept over hers. She could taste the passion in him, feel the heat that burned beneath the layers of control.
Even as the thought formed, she found herself dragging her mouth from his. She eased back to stare up at him, her eyes wide in shock. My God! she thought wildly. She’d kissed him, and him her. Link Templeton was lying in bed with her, both of them half dressed, and he was kissing her senseless. The very man who had arrested her brother! But even as the thought formed, she realized that whatever resentment she’d held toward Link for that act was now gone. By his own admission, Link had simply been doing his job in arresting Riley, and it was through his tireless efforts that Riley’s name had been eventually cleared.
As she stared, remembering again her wanton actions, he opened his eyes, their hazy color a sleepy, gray-blue as they met hers. She gulped a breath. Swallowed. Afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. Would he be angry that she had kissed him? Repulsed?
“I—I—” Before she could think of an excuse, even a lame one, to offer for her actions, he lifted a hand and laid it on her cheek. She closed her eyes at his touch, the warmth, the tenderness with which his fingers stroked over her skin, making her weak.
“I thought I was dreaming,” he said, his voice husky with sleep.
She wanted to laugh, cry, wasn’t sure which would come out if she dared open her mouth. Instead, she opened her eyes and simply stared.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, tracing just the tips of his fingers along her jaw. “So, so beautiful.”
She swallowed. Hard. Opened her mouth, then closed it again, unable to think of a single thing to say in return. She closed her eyes, arching instinctively, needfully as his fingers skimmed down her throat.
“Link,” she whispered, her voice trembling, then sucked in a breath when his palm slid down to cover her breast.
“What?” he murmured, shaping his fingers around her breast’s fullness and gently kneading.
She gulped, sure that the ball of fire that knotted low in her stomach would burst into flames at any moment and consume them both. “I…I…” She groaned, melting, when he dipped his head and opened his mouth over her breast, warming it with his breath. He flicked his tongue against the turgid nipple that budded beneath the thin silk, making it throb.
“You what?” he murmured.
“I—I knew it would feel like this.” She moaned, arching higher, when he nipped at her aching nipple, then soothed it with his tongue. “You. This.” She wove her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes, holding him against her. “I imagined it. Dreamed of it. But it’s better. So much better than I even dreamt.” She moaned, then shivered.
She felt him stiffen and her own body tensed in response. Then he lifted his head and cool air chilled the damp spot he’d left on the silk over her breast. She opened her eyes to meet his…and saw the cold fury that churned there. Stunned by it, she shrank away.
He slid his hand from her breast to her throat and closed his fingers around it. Not painfully, but her eyes widened just the same as the sleepy blue in his eyes turned to flint.
“You were going to marry him,” he said, his voice rough with accusation. “Less than twenty-four hours ago, you were going to marry Brad Rowan, yet you are lying here in this bed, making love with me. Why, Isabelle?” he growled, and tightened his fingers around her throat. “How can you love one man, and make love to another?”
She felt the tears spurt to her eyes, felt her throat tighten. “I don’t love Brad. I never did.”
“But you were going to marry him,” he insisted.
“Yes, but only because my parents expected me to.”
“Expected you?” he all but shouted at her.
“Yes,” she said, blinking back tears. “They thought Brad would make a suitable husband for me. And I wanted to give them the land,” she added, desperate to make him understand.
“Land? What land?”
“Lightfoot’s Plateau. Brad refused to sell it to my family, but at a dinner one night with my family, he said that he’d give the land to me, as a wedding present, if I’d agree to marry him. I thought that by marrying him, I could give something back to my family. Something to repay them for all the suffering, the pain I had caused them.”
He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, never once moving his gaze from hers.
“You’d give yourself to a man in exchange for a piece of land?” He stared at her a moment longer, then snatched his hand from her throat, as if touching her repulsed him, then rolled away from her and to his feet.
The tears she’d held back slipped over her lashes and burned a trail of shame down her cheeks as she watched him stalk away.
“A piece of land,” he muttered, then whirled back to glower at her. “You’d trade your heart, your body, to a man for a goddamn piece of real estate?”
Her temper flared to match his, and she pushed herself to a sitting position and swiped angrily at the tears. “You can’t possibly understand,” she cried furiously. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be pitied, all but smothered, fussed over as if you were a fragile piece of china that might break at the slightest jarring. My parents went through hell when I was kidnapped, both blaming themselves for something that was totally out of their control. And when they were unable to live with the guilt any longer, the fear of it all happening again, they sent me away to boarding school back east.”
She flung the quilt from her legs and swung her feet over the side of the bed, her chest heaving as she stood to face him. “I was a child when they sent me away. Felt as if I’d disappointed them, let them down. And every time I came home for a visit, it was the same. I could see it in their eyes. The pity. The regret. The shame. The fear that never seemed to leave them. And when I came home for good, a grown woman, they continued to treat me as a child. Protecting me. Hovering over me. Well, this was my chance to prove to them I was no longer a child, to give them something back. And if I sacrificed my heart, and in doing so, my body, then so be it. I’d gladly give them my life for all they’ve suffered and sacrificed for me. They sacrificed a life with me, their only daughter, spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to ensure my safety while providing me with an excellent education both back east and abroad.”
Shaking with fury, she waited for a response from him. Anything. When he continued to stare at her, his eyes narrowed in anger, his lip curled in disgust, she whirled for the bathroom, not wanting him to see the tears of shame that burned behind her eyes.
Link stood before the screen door, his thoughts as tangled as his emotions, staring out at the landscape and the evidence of the previous night’s storm. Moisture from the rain clung to the leaves, making them shimmer in the bright sunlight, while murky water pooled in the ruts that his Blazer had left on the dirt road leading to the cabin.
Isabelle hadn’t loved Brad. She’d told him so herself. She’d agreed to marry him out of a sense of duty.
Duty.
He snorted and lifted a hand to brace it against the door frame, narrowing his eyes on the view beyond the door. Link Templeton could write a book on the sacrifices made from a sense of duty, but not a one of them had involved his heart, his very soul.
He sensed Isabelle’s presence behind him and glanced over his shoulder to find her standing in the doorway to the bedroom. She’d changed from her nightgown and now wore a sundress, its thin straps exposing creamy shoulders, its hem brushing against the slender calves of her legs. Her chin was tipped high and there was a rosy flush to her cheeks, sure signs that she was still angry with him.
But anger was good, he told himself as he turned back to stare through the screen door. Much better than the flush of desire he’d seen there earlier. “I’m going to town,” he told her.
“I’ll get my things,” she replied tersely.
“I’m going alone.”
He heard her gasp of surprise but ignored it.
“You’re leaving me here alone?” she whispered in disbelief.
He rammed a hand in his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Just for a couple of hours.” He shoved open the screen door, anxious, desperate to put some distance between them. “Don’t make any phone calls while I’m gone,” he said, tossing the order over his shoulder. “And stay out of sight.”
“But can’t I go with you?”
“No.” The screen door slammed behind him, an exclamation point to his refusal.
Isabelle paced the main room of the cabin, darting nervous glances at the door, praying that Link would return soon. After he’d left, frightened at the thought of being left alone, she’d locked the door behind him and closed all the windows, pulled the drapes. As a result, the temperature in the cabin was sweltering, the very air stifling. Perspiration beaded her forehead, dampened her skin and trickled irritatingly between her breasts.
She jumped when a noise clattered on the tin roof overhead, then groaned, digging her fingers through hair she’d piled on top of her head to relieve the heat. “It’s just a pinecone or a twig hitting the roof,” she told herself.
Angry with her cowardliness and the fear that ruled her life, she forced herself to cross to the door she’d closed and locked behind Link when he’d left. Fingers trembling, she drew in a deep breath, flipped the lock and pulled open the heavy door. Sunshine flooded into the cabin, warming her already hot face, and nearly blinding her. Laying a palm against the rusted screen, she squinted up at the cloudless blue sky, then down at her wristwatch. An hour. He’d only been gone an hour.
And she’d go mad if she spent one more minute in the stifling cabin alone.
Ever since her kidnapping, she’d never truly been alone. Her parents had seen to that. They’d made arrangements for employees at both the boarding school back east and the finishing school in Europe she’d attended to escort her wherever she needed to go, while relatives and close family friends were recruited to supervise her holidays and whatever free time she was allowed.
As a result, a fear of aloneness had been as much a part of her education as the study of Socrates and the proper placement of silver for a formal table setting.
But she wouldn’t let fear rule her life any longer, she told herself furiously.
Setting her jaw, she pushed open the screen and stepped out onto the narrow porch. Feeling the fear prick at her, she hugged her arms beneath her breasts as she looked out at the circle of trees that surrounded the small cabin. Drawing in long, deep breaths, she forced the tension from her neck, her shoulders, her knees, the paralyzing fear from her body. Determined not to let the fear control her life any longer, she took that first timid step out into the world alone.
Link grabbed from the passenger seat the guest list Hank had provided him with and the sack of groceries he’d purchased, then shouldered open the door of the Blazer. Glancing around as he dropped to the ground, he headed for the cabin. He stepped inside, frowned as the heat struck him like a fist in the face and crossed to the table. He tossed the papers down, dropped the sack to the table, then turned, his frown deepening.
“Isabelle?”
He listened, his heart kicking into a faster beat when he didn’t hear a reply, then headed for the bedroom. “Isabelle!” he shouted. The bedroom was dark, the drapes drawn, the bed neatly made. He pushed the bathroom door open, then spun back around, swearing, when he found it empty. He raced for the front door and out onto the porch, forcing himself to stop, think, when he reached its edge. He hadn’t met any other vehicles on the way back up the mountain road, he told himself. There was no way anyone could have discovered their hideout, or reached it, without traveling that road.
Or could they?
Cursing himself for leaving her alone, he scanned the ground, looking for any signs that might indicate that someone, other than himself, had approached the cabin. Seeing nothing, he stepped out into the yard but kept his gaze on the ground. Not more than twenty feet from the cabin’s front door, he saw the impression of a footprint on a spot of ground washed free of vegetation. He hunkered down to examine the small indentation, noted its size, then lifted his gaze toward the woods.
Surely she wouldn’t have gone off alone, he told himself, even as he rose to follow the faint tracks that led him to the small opening between the trees. The thick branches overhead blocked out the sun, making it difficult, and at times impossible, to see her tracks on t
he forest floor. But he stuck to the faint path, knowing that there was no way that Isabelle would have been able to pierce the thick undergrowth that crowded both sides of the path to leave it.
With panic nipping at his heels, he jogged through the woods, slapping low-hanging branches out of his way as he played through his mind possible scenarios of what have might have happened while he was gone. The first and most terrifying was that Brad had discovered their hideout and had somehow lured Isabelle into the woods. A second, no less comforting theory, was that she had grown frightened in the cabin alone, and had run away into the woods to hide.
Either way, she was gone, and Link felt responsible.
Swearing under his breath, he broke into a run, his lungs burning as he fought his way higher up the rough path. He wanted to call her name, shout it from the top of his lungs, in hopes she’d answer him, but he kept his lips pressed tightly together, knowing he had to keep his presence a surprise, in the event that Brad did have her.
Up ahead, he heard the sound of running water and pushed himself harder. He broke into a small clearing that opened up beside a mountain stream and stopped, his chest heaving, the muscles in his legs burning. Swollen from the previous night’s rain, the stream swept past him in a wild torrent, crashing over rocks and pushing over the banks where the land had washed away. Limbs ripped from trees and other debris gathered by the storm bobbed in the fast-moving current, swept along by its strong force.
A moan rose from deep inside him as he searched the bank for a sign of her. The mournful sound lodged in his throat and burned there as he caught a glimpse of a thin leather strap, peeking from a pile of rocks mounded against the end of a tree trunk that stretched from one side of the bank to the other, creating a natural bridge. His heart pounding, he raced to the edge of the stream, snatched up the sandal and looked across the rushing water and down the far bank. A hundred feet or so downstream, he caught a glimpse of blue fabric, slapping wetly against the chiseled side of a boulder that jutted from the embankment. Recognizing the fabric as that of the dress Isabelle had worn that morning, he dropped the shoe.
Groom 0f Fortune (Fortune's Children: The Grooms Book 5) Page 5
