“You OK?” I asked, pulling Talisman up. She held her right arm tight to her body, but other than that she seemed to be OK, despite having obviously taken a tumble.
“My arm hurts,” she answered sullenly.
“Ah. Fell off, did you?” I asked as I slid off Talisman’s back into the long grass.
“Are you always so clever?” she retorted.
There were still tears in her eyes, so I ignored her mutinous lower lip and gently took her arm. “Hmm. Looks like a sprain. Can you wiggle your fingers?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see you do it.” Her fingers wiggled. “Good enough. It’s not too bad, it’ll probably just be sore a couple of days. If I get you back up on Penny, can you ride?”
She glanced over at where Penny was cropping at the grass and hesitated.
“OK, how’s this: We’ll both ride Talisman, and I’ll lead Penny.”
“You don’t have a saddle,” she replied, frowning. “You’re supposed to have a saddle when you ride a horse.”
“Like father like daughter,” I sighed, turning to Talisman. “All right, let’s see if I can still do this.”
It took me a few minutes of jumping, but at last I managed to hoist myself up onto Talisman’s back and get a leg over him before he started off. “Come on, give me your good hand.”
Melody looked at my offered hand, and shook her head, backing up. “No.”
“You’re not afraid, are you?”
That stopped her, but it didn’t get her to come forward. “I’m not afraid. It’s not safe to ride like that.”
“Sure it is. I used to ride bareback when I was younger than you. Took a lot of spills, too. The thing is to not let the fear take over. Come on, you can use my foot as a stirrup. I won’t let you fall.”
“I’m not afraid,” she repeated, chewing on her lower lip for a minute. She must have decided looking like a coward was worse than possibly falling again, because eventually I got her up in front of me.
“You’re not going to go fast?” she asked, her nervous voice belying the nonchalance she was so earnestly striving for.
“No, we’ll go at a nice sedate walk. Can you feel the rhythm of how Talisman moves? You’re too stiff, you’re fighting the movement. Just relax, and let your body move with his. You won’t fall.”
Max was the first one to see us as we headed back toward home. He was driving down one of the side roads next to the field. I waved when he stopped the car, getting out to peer across the field at us. I doubt if he could hear me bellow that we were going straight to the stable, but evidently he figured it out because he got back into the car and went roaring off toward the road that led to the house.
“Dad’s going to be mad,” Melody said.
“Yup. Probably wasn’t the smartest thing going off on your own, huh?”
“I wanted to go riding, and you already showed me how. I knew he’d never let me.”
I couldn’t see her face but her voice held a familiar sullen tone.
“There’s a lot more to riding than just walking around a stable yard, squirt, but I guess you found that out.”
She turned around enough to scowl at me. “I’m not a squirt.”
“It’s that or a spoiled brat. Take your pick.”
Her back stiffened as she faced forward again, indignity visible in every line of her body. We rode in silence for a few minutes before she said, “Dad’s going to be mad at you, too, because you showed me how to ride, but you didn’t do it good enough and I fell off and now my arm is hurt. He’s going to yell at you. He’ll probably hate you.”
I looked down at the top of her head, the yellow ribbon tying back her braid smudged with dirt and leaves. A sudden pang of sympathy reminded me how unhappy I was when my parents divorced. It wasn’t enough to keep me from wanting to make her walk the rest of the way, but it was enough to keep my comment confined to a simple, “And I’m sure that’ll make you delirious with joy.”
“Maybe,” she answered, her back straight, her thin little shoulders rigid as she stared forward.
I grinned at the back of her head. She was just as obstinate as her father, a realization that for some reason amused me greatly.
Until we got back to the stable and met Max.
He came unglued when he found out that Melody had hurt her arm, hustling her off to Roger’s car without even waiting for me to tell him it was only a sprain, without even saying thank you for finding his daughter. He just shouted something about the hospital, and off he went.
They were gone for several hours, and when they did return (it was only a sprain, and a pretty mild one at that, or so Roger told me), Max spent the rest of the evening in the nursery with Melody.
I wanted to talk to him, to explain again that I didn’t tell Melody to go riding, but the way Max cut me out brought home the fact that I had no real right to interfere. Max and Melody were just my pretend family, and no matter how much I wanted to help them, I couldn’t.
“This is what happens when you get involved with people,” I told my sad reflection that night as I was preparing to go to bed. “No matter how much you want to make things better for them, sometimes you have to leave them alone.”
My reflection stuck her tongue out at my words of wisdom.
The following morning, which, in case you’re keeping track of these things, is this morning, I was downstairs at the stables promptly at seven.
Imagine my surprise when the first thing I saw was Max.
Imagine my surprise when the first words out of Max’s mouth were “I thought I’d find you here.”
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t have to be the Amazing Kreskin to figure it out. I told you yesterday I was going to go riding this morning.”
He ignored my smile and glowered down into my hopeful little face. “I wanted to say something where no one in the house could hear us.”
“Oh, really? How very interesting. Is it something naughty? Were you having smutty thoughts about me all night? Do you want to do wicked things to me with that intimate tongue of yours?”
His eyes blazed sapphire. “I don’t want you to see my daughter again. Clearly, you’re a bad influence on her. You incite her to reckless and dangerous acts. You are a threat to her well-being.”
“I didn’t incite her to do anything, Max.” His scowl grew. I hurried on before he could storm away without letting me say what I had to say. “Look, I’m sorry I put her on Talisman’s back and walked her around the stable yard the other day. I didn’t think it would hurt, but I realize now that you have every right to do what you think is best for your child. In the future, I promise to respect your orders.”
His brows rose in surprise for a moment before descending into their familiar scowl. “You’re apologizing? Admitting it was your fault?”
“I’m apologizing, yes, although I truly did not encourage or incite Melody into going off on her own.”
“Oh. Good. Just so you know my feelings.”
“I know. I understand. I swear I won’t ever take her riding without your permission.”
His jaw tightened. “That won’t be an issue, since I have forbidden her to be alone with you.”
Frustration mingled with something a whole lot warmer. I ground my teeth for a moment, fighting the simultaneous urges to argue with him and kiss the scowl right off his face. “I know you’re upset, and I understand why you’re upset, and I’ve apologized. I’ve turned over a new leaf. But, Max, Roger said it was just a little sprain. Melody’s not seriously injured. Maybe you should lighten up this overprotective father bit just a smidge?”
“Maybe you should mind your own business.”
Ouch. Now, that one hurt. I took a step away from him, my heart compressing into a painful lump. He wasn’t my husband. I didn’t have any right to interfere. But oh, how I wanted to make things right between them, between us. If I could just get him to see how much I had to offer them both. That’s what my brain was thinking—unfortunately, my mouth bypassed
all those deep thoughts and went straight to what it wanted. “Do you know that you’re incredibly sexy when you’re angry? It’s too bad you’re so mad at me, because I’ve been rethinking my objections to intimacy, and I’ve decided I really want to know what you taste like.”
He stood impassive for a moment, his eyes cold as the North Sea, then heat shimmered in them, a blue flame that licked along my skin until it stirred an answering fire deep within me. “I can’t leave you alone,” he growled, his jaw as tense as his words. “God knows I try, but I can’t. Do you have any idea what you do to me, woman? Do you have any idea how you make me feel?”
“Other than furious, you mean?” I asked, a brief little flicker of hope stirring inside me.
Max ran a hand through his gorgeous hair. “Part of the time I want to strangle you, the other part I want you writhing beneath me, and all the times in between I just want to . . .”
He wanted me writhing beneath him? That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
“What do you want to do?” I asked, wondering about the way anger was so often mixed up with sexual desire, even if the two had separate origins.
“Kiss you,” he snarled, crushing me up against his chest.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the kiss he gave me. His mouth took possession of mine in a dominant, I’m going to check and recheck every tooth in your head, and you have nothing to say about the matter manner, his tongue not even pausing to ask permission, just pushing its way in and immediately taking over, ordering my tongue around, conducting a check of the perimeter, doing an amazing tongue dance all around my mouth that had me moaning and clutching Max’s shoulders because my legs once again gave out on me.
I rubbed myself against him as his tongue twined around mine, then swallowed his groan of pleasure when I sent my tongue out on a little exploratory mission of its own. He made a seductive, primitive noise deep in his chest that pushed me over the edge, making me wild with the need to get closer to him, to join with him, to feel him not just in my body, but in my blood and soul and all those hidden little areas of my heart.
He pulled back for air and we stood, panting, staring at each other. My lips felt wonderfully abused and swollen, the taste of him still on my tongue.
“Does this mean you forgive me?” My words were jerky as I struggled to regain my breath and calm my madly beating heart.
His jaw worked for a few seconds, his eyes dark with unreadable emotion. “No.”
Without another word he turned and went back into the house. He left me, he walked away and left me standing there, all breathless and bemused by his kiss and frustrated as hell. He just left me.
“You rotter, Max!” I yelled after him. “You can’t kiss me like that and walk away!”
He kept walking, never once turning around to look back at me.
“Fine! Have it your way! That’s it! This is war!”
There was a noise behind me. I spun around, ready to give whoever had been spying on us the lecture of a lifetime. Matthew and Tabby stood next to the door to the kitchen.
“Double or nothing?” Matthew asked Tabby.
She frowned and considered me for a good minute or so, then she nodded. “You’re on.”
I pointed a finger at Matthew. “You’re going to lose that bet, buster. I just hope you can afford it.”
He grinned.
Max pretty much avoided me the rest of the day, which was spent going over the linens with Mrs. Peters (who extolled the virtues of all the ghosts who wandered the halls of Worston as we counted sheets and towels), meeting Barbara’s cronies, who all came for her At Home dressed in excruciatingly correct dress, a fact she didn’t hesitate to point out often, and trying to settle arguments downstairs that seemed to be breaking out with increasing frequency.
Roger was of no help, telling me I was mistress of the house, I had to handle the servants’ problems myself— as long as I didn’t break the rules, of course. I thought guiltily about the bottle of dishwashing soap, but dismissed it as not being worth the trouble to fret over.
Max was polite but distant at meals. I thought about his kiss all day. I tried not to, but it kept coming back to me, and finally I just gave in and sat on the verandah and thought about it for a long time. I’ve come to the conclusion that although Max is pigheaded and obstinate and doesn’t know a good thing when it’s kissing him, I wanted him. I wanted all of him, not just his lips and his body, but all of him. I wanted him to trust me, I wanted him to talk to me, I wanted to know what he was thinking about, what he was feeling, what sorts of silly things made him laugh, and where all the tender spots of his heart were located.
I wanted his tongue to ravish mine again. And more. I wanted the whole enchilada, and everything that went along with it, all the emotional ties and the baggage and the heartache. Well, hopefully not the heartache.
I have a plan. I’m putting it into action tonight. Wish me luck.
Saturday
September 4
6:14 A.M.
Fainting couch in my bedroom
Mmmrowr!
Saturday
September 4
6:16 A.M.
Dressing table
Is it possible to die of happiness?
Saturday
September 4
6:25 A.M.
Bed
Oh, baby!
Saturday
September 4
11:47 A.M.
The darling, darling escritoire
VERY IMPORTANT NOTE TO SELF: REMOVE THE FOLLOWING SMUTTY ENTRY WHEN HANDING THE JOURNAL OVER TO ONE OF THE MANY PUBLISHERS PIERCE SWEARS WILL BE BEGGING FOR IT.
I’ve had some really good sex in my life. There was the time that Peter tried Viagra, and he turned into the Energizer Bunny and just kept going and going and going until I wanted to knock him on the head with something big because I mean, really, there is a limit to the number of times you can make love during one night.
However, last night with Max . . . well, let’s just say he brings new meaning to the word sated.
It didn’t start out all that well, however.
On the way upstairs to get dressed for dinner, I ran into Max, apparently doing the same thing. He said nothing but waited for me to precede him up the stairs. I stuck my nose in the air and marched up the stairs.
“This is stupid,” I said as soon as I reached the top. “I don’t want to be mad at you, and I really don’t want you mad at me. I want to kiss you again. Can’t we call a truce? I’ve apologized. I’ve promised not to take Melody riding without your permission. Can’t you forgive me so we can move on to the point where we do wicked, naughty things to each other?”
His beautiful eyes narrowed. “There can be no truce.”
Lord, how I wanted to shake him! “Why, because you are afraid to forgive me? Is that it, Max? You’re afraid of intimacy, and you’re using your anger to mask the real reason you don’t want to move on?”
“I am not the one with admitted intimacy issues,” he said in a low growl. “My anger is justified. Any father would feel the same. The fact that I desire you and dream about you and want to touch every inch of your body until you’re squirming with pleasure, those delicious breasts of yours heaving up at me as I thrust myself into your fiery heat again and again, your muscles rippling around me, gripping me in velvet fire, tightenting and tightening until I know I’m going to explode deep within you . . .”
I stared at him, swallowing hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Max blinked a couple of times, a look of horror dawning as he realized what he said.
“Good god, what have you done to me? You’ve bewitched me somehow! Well, I won’t let you do it! You can take away your lush, tempting, delectable body with all its glorious curves, because it will have no effect on me! My mind is made up. My daughter’s life is more important than a few fleeting moments of pleasure.”
It took me a moment, but at last I had a grip on my tumultuous emotions. Aware that Teddy was watching
us from the hall below, I turned and walked down the hallway toward our rooms, Max following behind. I paused before the door to my room and looked back at him. “A few fleeting moments, huh? Doesn’t sound like you are overly confident about your staying power.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but I just smiled sweetly and slipped into my room.
Ellis was there waiting for me. “I thought the navy blue faille dress would do for this evening—”
The door to the bathroom was thrown open before she could finish the sentence. “Just so you understand, if I were to make love to you, I am not the one whose staying power would be in question.”
“Oh!” I said just before he returned to his own room, slamming the door behind him.
Ellis looked at me strangely for a minute, then silently went around to my back and started unhooking the dress. I let her slip it off me, then, while she was turned to get the evening dress, I marched over to the bathroom, flung open the door, stomped through the bathroom, and threw open the door to Max’s room. He was in the process of taking off his pants, Reg Crighton standing next to him with a pair of pants hanging over his arm, and an extremely shocked expression on his face.
Max scowled when he saw me.
“Are you implying that I can’t keep up with you sexually? Because if you are I have one word to say to you: ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
I turned on my heel and flounced my way back to my room, feeling wonderfully vindicated.
“What—” Ellis said, then stopped when Max appeared in the doorway sans pants.
“That was seven words, not one. You might try using your fingers to count next time.”
I was right behind him as he stormed back into his room.
“I did use my fingers, buster. On you! Not to mention my mouth. And you loved it! So don’t give me that line about me not being able to keep up with you. If we were to have sex, I’d wipe the floor with you!”
Corset Diaries Page 15