Sunrise Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Three

by Vivian Vaughan

  And she dared not ask Zanna. Momentarily she considered backing out, but Zanna had gone to such lengths to prepare for this outing, she knew she couldn’t disappoint her.

  Each person was given a basket, along with the admonition not to peek until they reached their destination. On the docks several drays awaited and Zanna from force of habit, Delta knew, began issuing stage directions.

  “Frankie, you and Iona climb aboard here. Albert, you go here. Elyse—” Pausing, she searched the group for Nat, but he had not arrived. “Climb in here Elyse. What do you suppose happened to Nat?”

  Without waiting for directions, Delta had started to climb up beside Elyse, when she felt her basket being slipped off her arm. Familiar fingers gripped her elbow, turning her insides queasy.

  Relief swept through her. She turned to smile at Brett. His smile was warm, and his black eyes flashed with a hint of arrogance, telling her unmistakably that he read her feelings like a preacher reads the Good Book.

  Except Brett Reall was no preacher. He was an outlaw.

  “We’ll follow you,” he called to Zanna, escorting Delta to a carriage behind the two drays. He helped her up, then slid onto the seat beside her and took up the reins.

  “I thought you had—” She stopped herself before she blurted out her fear that he might have left the boat for good. “I mean, I thought you weren’t coming with us.”

  “And miss a picnic?”

  She cast him a wary glance. “You don’t look the type.”

  “Looks can deceive.”

  They certainly can, she thought, flooded suddenly with trepidation over the things she planned to tell him today. But sitting here beside him, her senses buzzed, and soon all she could think about was the time he’d told her how much he wanted to make love to her.

  “Besides,” he continued, flicking the reins to follow Albert who drove the dray ahead of them, “I offered to show you Memphis.”

  She laughed. “I’ve already seen it.”

  “With that handsome kissing cousin?”

  “There’s nothing romantic between Cameron and me.”

  His eyes teased, but his face remained solemn. “In that case I’m sure I can show you some things in Memphis he missed.”

  The promise inherent in both his words and his tone of voice sent a thrill up her spine, a thrill she berated herself for feeling. But it did no good. Even though he kept the most proper distance, reminding her of Mama Rachael’s assessment of him as a gentleman, his nearness tongue-tied her, and they rode behind the wagon without speaking.

  Finally he glanced down at the basket at her feet. “We could break away from the group and have our own picnic.”

  Anticipation and panic vied for control of her senses. Her eyes darted to his. His grin revealed the truth.

  She laughed. “You’re teasing me.”

  His eyes held hers. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

  For a moment she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. She knew consent was written all over her face, consent and passion, and that he could read both clearly. In an effort to dissipate the charged atmosphere, she reached down and uncovered the basket.

  They laughed at the same time.

  “Only if we want to drink our lunch,” she mused, studying the basket full of wine bottles.

  He whistled through his teeth. “Zanna plans some kind of party.”

  And indeed Zanna had planned quite a party. They drew up behind the wagon on a grassy knoll ringed by a row of stately oak trees. Twenty yards or so away the Wolf River rushed toward the mighty Mississippi.

  Brett leaned toward Delta when he drew the carriage to a halt. “Did your cousin bring you here?”

  His lips were so close to her face she felt his breath hot against her cheek. She knew if she turned her head, he could see her want for him, so she kept her eyes on the river in the distance. “No,” she whispered.

  “Good.”

  They joined the group in time to be put to work. Zanna handed Brett a corkscrew and instructed him to begin opening wine bottles. While Albert and Frankie spread cloths on the ground in precisely the spot Zanna directed, Delta, Iona, and Elyse busied themselves unloading everything from veal loaves with dozens of biscuits to cold roast beef, a ham, corked bottles of stewed fruit, cheesecakes, and even a couple of blancmanges in their molds.

  “It’s a feast,” Delta sighed, standing back to the admire their handiwork.

  “What’s the celebration?” Brett asked.

  “Summertime,” Zanna replied. “Settle in and get started. We have to return to the boat in time to sleep off all this wine and food before the performance tonight.”

  Everyone laughed and plunged in, heaping plates with a little of this, a lot of that.

  Brett nudged Delta’s arm. When she turned, he handed her a glass of wine. Without a word he touched his glass to hers, his eyes twinkling with silent promises. She felt her heart flutter as she sipped the cool white wine and recklessly allowed herself to consider what lay ahead for her—for them.

  For him, she thought, jolted back to reality when Zanna wondered aloud where Nat could possibly have gone. Delta glanced toward Elyse, who sat doe-eyed, listlessly eating a sandwich of veal loaf and biscuit.

  Delta turned to Brett.

  “Don’t look at me,” he protested. “I don’t know where your leading man ran off to.”

  She thought about Cameron calling Brett her gambler. “He isn’t my anything,” she said in a low voice.

  He grinned. “A figure of speech.”

  Delta let him refill her wineglass, but knew she shouldn’t have, since her stomach was too much aflutter to allow her to do more than nibble at her meal. Finally, Brett took the glass from her hand, set it beside her nearly untouched plate, and pulled her to her feet.

  “Come on. Let’s walk by the river before all this food and wine settle and you fall asleep.”

  She started to protest, but her hand felt too good encased in his. When they were away from the crowd, he continued, “I want you wide awake the rest of the afternoon.”

  She didn’t dare glance at him. Her heart skipped to her throat and a longing began to gnaw deep inside her stomach; it spread quickly and she thought how she should have eaten more. She’d likely be hungry before dinnertime.

  Before she knew it they had strolled several yards away from the group. Weeping willows screened the view, and Brett gently drew her to a halt. She chanced a look and discovered his eyes searing into her face. Her lips parted involuntarily. She knew he intended to kiss her.

  For two days she had craved the feel of his lips against hers, of his arms around her. Who was this man who had materialized as from her dreams? Or from her nightmares?

  Zanna stepped into view. “Time to head back to the boat.”

  Delta tried to speak, but her heart was lodged in her throat.

  Brett’s eyes left hers, “We’ll be along in a little while,” he told Zanna.

  Zanna shrugged. “Fine, but—”

  Delta looked at her then and smiled. She thought about Cameron approving Zanna as a chaperon. Had he mentioned it to Zanna?

  “Your cousin won’t be—ah, waiting for you?” Zanna questioned.

  “No,” Delta said. “Cameron’s out of town. I’ll return in time to sell tickets.”

  Zanna seemed satisfied. “Good. I’ll count on you.” She grinned. “How ’bout I leave a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses under the tree?”

  “Thanks,” Brett replied.

  Then they were alone. The clatter of wagon wheels faded and silence fell around them. Even the buzzing in Delta’s ears stilled, leaving only sounds of nature—the river rushing by at their feet, wind whispering through the willows overhead.

  When Brett’s voice broke the stillness, she jumped.

  “Do you want some wine?” he asked.

  Suddenly self-conscious, she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to turn and run after the wagon. But she stood as though rooted to the s
pot.

  “Do you?” she asked.

  His eyes captured her darting gaze and held it. “You know what I want. I already told you.” His eyes grew darker, more intense. “What do you want, Delta?”

  As on wings of magic the weight of decision lifted and flew away, leaving her lightheaded, but certain of what she wanted. She moved into his arms.

  He embraced her as though they had been separated a lifetime. When he closed his lips over hers, she seemed to melt into him, opening her lips, threading her fingers through his hair, clasping his head, pulling his face nearer, nearer.

  All fear vanished. This was where she belonged. His lips, his tongue, his arms, his body. She pressed herself closer, feeling complete. Here in his arms her life merged into one, the past and the present, daytime and nighttime. Here in his arms she was whole again.

  Their tongues met, danced, delved. Their lips tasted, tempted, tormented. Passion reeled and pounded through her veins, throbbed at her throat, pulsated in the lower, intimate regions of her body, while his hands roamed and pressed and caressed.

  He drew her face back, laved it with kisses. At that moment a fish jumped in the river nearby, and her nightmare flashed through her brain—Calico Jack stepped off the plank.

  Fear swamped her. Fear for Brett. Fear for herself. Fear of losing him. If she lost him she would never be whole again.

  “Brett, Nat’s a bounty hunter.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  He kissed her eyes shut, then her lips. Her eyes flew open.

  “But he could be hiding out here right now. He could try to—”

  “Sh, you worry too much, chère. Pierre and Gabriel are taking care of Nat. They will keep him away from us.”

  Speaking, he trailed a finger over her eyebrows, down her cheek, her neck. She watched the vein in his neck throb and knew he felt the echoing throb in hers. His finger traced down her skin between the deep points of her open collar, coming finally to rest at the first button on her gown.

  She stood deathly still, but her body began to tremble beneath his gentle, probing touch. Her heart beat wildly and her bosom rose and fell, drawing the fabric of her bodice tight.

  He trailed his fingers over the taut fabric. Beneath it her breasts responded. Her face reddened.

  “Must be some demented monk who designs women’s fashions,” he commented. “Hiding nothing, yet concealing everything. Drives a man crazy, wanting to see what’s beneath all those layers, to touch.” She felt the top button of her dress slip open. “To taste.”

  “Brett, what did you do?”

  His fingers dipped into the top of her corset cover, and she would have sworn before a judge that her body was on fire.

  “I unbuttoned your dress.”

  She felt him dislodge her breast, felt it rest in his palm, his hot palm. His thumb rubbed tenderly across her nipple, causing a ripple of desire to spiral down her body. She caught her breath and felt her breast expand, pressing into the palm of his hand.

  “I mean, why are you running from the law?”

  With deliberate slowness he bowed his head and took her breast in his mouth. She gasped at the fiery passion that flooded her with new urgency. His teeth rolled back and forth over her nipple. He suckled her breast as though to pull forth her very soul.

  She grasped his shoulders, tugged him closer, felt herself drowning in the agony of wanting him.

  Then suddenly he lifted his lips and began repositioning her clothes.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered into his tumbled hair. “Please, don’t stop.”

  He raised solemn eyes to hers, eyes that spoke of passion as intense as her own. Scooping her in his arms, he headed for the hill where they had eaten lunch.

  “We have some talking to do,” he said. “Before we go any further, I intend to answer your questions. All of them.” He set her on her feet at the base of the tree, shrugged off his jacket, tossed it aside, bent and picked up the wine bottle. “Sit.”

  She did. He poured two glasses of wine, recorked the bottle, and sat beside her on the cloth Zanna had left behind with the wine.

  “Ask,” he instructed, handing her a glass of wine.

  “I don’t—”

  “Ask whatever’s bothering you. Get it all out.” His liquid black eyes commanded her. “When we make love, I intend to have you here with me. All of you. Your inquisitive brain, along with the rest.”

  His tone of voice was brusque, but she had grown accustomed to it. The intensity in his eyes as he searched her face was familiar, too. Familiar and reassuring.

  She sipped the wine. Finally gaining courage, she began with a question that had nothing to do with outlaws, everything to do with her and Brett. “Are you running away from a … ah …” She managed to shrug as though the answer didn’t mean anything. “… a bossy wife?”

  His mouth fell open. Finally he smiled. First with his eyes, like always. Afterwards his lips creased in a fine, playful line. “No.”

  She took a deep breath, felt it tremble in her chest. “Are you married?”

  His eyes turned to stone. With a jerk of his head, he looked away at the river. “I was married once. A long time ago.”

  “What happened?”

  He didn’t answer right away, and she regretted asking such a personal question. “You don’t have to answer that.”

  He turned back to face her. “She … uh, she died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Like I said, it was a long time ago. I’ve put it all behind me—the fact that she’s dead, anyway.”

  Delta set her wine glass aside and reached to touch his lips with her fingers.

  “What else?” he demanded.

  “Nothing.” Her hand moved to his jaw, which she cupped in her palm. Moving closer, she leaned and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

  “You wanted to know why I’m running from the law.”

  “Not now.” She kissed him again.

  “Yes, now.” With one hand he brushed a wisp of hair away from her face, tenderly, in contrast to his curt command. “I was raised in the bayou country of Louisiana,” he told her. “Ten years ago I left Louisiana ahead of the law. I’ve been in Canada ever since.”

  “Are you still … ah, wanted in Louisiana?” He shrugged. “I suppose. If folks haven’t forgotten all about it.”

  “Why are you going back, then, if—?”

  “Because of a blue-eyed woman.”

  Abruptly, she sat upright.

  He grinned, tugged on her chin, pulled her forward, and kissed her. “My mother,” he whispered into her lips.

  She scooted closer, working herself into his arms.

  “I didn’t commit the … uh, the crime,” he explained. “But I couldn’t prove my innocence. And I was responsible. I let it happen.”

  Delta kissed his lips. “That’s enough, Brett. I don’t need to know anything else. Not right now.”

  He pulled her into a tight embrace. She felt his stiff, unyielding body against her own. Drawing back, she looked into his implacable face.

  “My crime was one of omission,” he said. “I should have been more aware. I should have kept it from happening. I should have—”

  “Sh.” She covered his face with kisses. “We won’t have time for …” She left her sentence dangling, unable to make so bold a statement. But his startled expression told her he understood well enough.

  She grinned. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about what you want worse than anything in your grown life.” She watched his Adam’s apple bob.

  “Not a chance, chère.” His husky voice sent passion flowing through her veins again.

  Easing her back against the ground, his eyes followed her like a yo-yo being pulled up a string. His hand splayed against her gussied-up frame, cupping her breast, moving down to her nipped-in waist, across her hips. Then stopped.

  “Delta, chère, you’re enough to drive a man crazy. These clothes tease and tempt. They reveal everything
they hide so well.”

  She smiled, feeling her lips tremble from the passion rising inside her. “Mama Rachael made my wardrobe, not some demented monk. Ginny calls it my trousseau.”

  The word was barely out of her mouth when she felt his hand grip into the flesh at her waist. His eyes hardened. “I should have suspected,” he whispered. “You’re on your way to be married.”

  “Married? Of course not.”

  As though he hadn’t heard, he continued, “You have a bridegroom waiting in—where? Vicksburg? New Orleans?”

  Reaching around his neck, she drew his face to hers. “No man is waiting for me anywhere—except here.”

  And when his mouth covered hers, wet and hot and increasingly demanding, she knew she had spoken the truth. This man had been waiting for her. And she, for him.

  If not forever, at least for a long, long time.

  That he resembled the pirate in her dream wasn’t coincidental. Somehow, Brett Reall was the man in her dreams. But that bizarre, mysterious fact no longer frightened her.

  Then he startled her with, “Are you sure about this?” He had already undone several buttons down the front of her gown. The revers lay aside, exposing her corset and the lacy top of her corset cover. His hand poised, lightly fingering the narrow blue ribbon that tied it all together.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s your first time?”

  “Yes,” she answered. But it wasn’t. She had already loved him in her dreams.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

  She wasn’t afraid. She had experienced it all before. She knew exactly what to expect.

  At least that’s what she thought. In the next hour he proceeded to demonstrate how wrong she had been. With exquisite slowness he tugged at the little blue ribbon, then eased the gathers loose, allowing her breasts to lie softly against her chest.

  She watched him look at her, feeling heat creep up her neck. His fingers gently teased her nipples, until she felt them harden beneath his touch. When he looked back into her eyes, she blanched.

  “Don’t be embarrassed, chère. You’re beautiful. The things you feel right now are the same things I feel. Desire. Passion. They spread through your body like lightning, but they don’t fade away as fast. They grow brighter and stronger.”