“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Father Nabokov proclaimed solemnly. He raised his right hand, blessing them both. “You may kiss the bride.”
Wife? Kiss the bride? Caroline was completely shocked. She tried to smile but couldn’t. “What’s he talking about?” she muttered.
Paul didn’t answer. Instead, he turned her in his arms and his eyes narrowed longingly on her mouth. Before she could voice her questions and uncertainties, he lowered his head. Caroline’s heart thundered nervously and she placed her hands on his chest, gazing up at his bearded face. Surely he could tell how confused she was. A wedding ceremony! She must be dreaming. That was it—this was all a dream. Paul’s blue eyes softened. Gradually, as though in slow motion, his mouth settled warmly over hers. His touch was firm and experienced, moist and gentle—ever so gentle. Nice dream, Caroline mused, very nice, very real. She hadn’t expected a man of his size to be so tender.
Enjoy it, girl, she thought, kissing him back. Dreams ended far too quickly. The world began to spin, so she slipped her arms around Paul’s neck to help maintain her balance. Bringing her body closer to his was all the encouragement he needed. His hands slid over her hips, pressing her body invitingly against his own. Caroline surrendered willingly to the sensual upheaval. Ever since Larry had left her at the altar, she’d been dying to be held in a man’s arms, dying to be kissed as if there was no moment but this one.
Father Nabokov cleared his throat, but Caroline paid no heed to the priest’s disapproval. She might have had her doubts about Paul, but she had to admit he was one great kisser. Breathless, they broke apart, still staring at each other, lost in the wonder of their overwhelming response.
Paul draped his wrists over Caroline’s shoulders. A slightly cynical smile touched his mouth. “For a minute there, I didn’t think you were going through with it.”
“Is this a dream?” Caroline asked.
Paul gave her a funny look. “No.”
She laughed. “Of course you’d say that.”
His eyes were as blue as anything Caroline had ever seen, and she felt as though she was drowning in their depths. She managed a tremulous smile, her mouth still on fire from his kiss. Involuntarily, she moistened her lips and watched as his eyes darkened.
“Let’s get out of here,” he growled. Without another word, he hauled Caroline into his arms and stalked toward the door.
Caroline gasped at the unexpectedness of the action, but the villagers went crazy, resuming their dancing and singing. “Where…where are we going?”
“The cabin.”
“Oh.”
By now his lengthy strides had carried him halfway across the floor. The guests cleared a path and Walter stood ready, grinning boyishly as he opened the large wooden doors. Walter chuckled as Paul moved past him. “Don’t be so impatient. You’ve waited this long.”
Paul said something under his breath that Caroline couldn’t understand and continued walking.
“How far is the cabin?” she asked.
“Too far,” Paul said with a throaty chuckle. Her response to his kiss had jolted him. He’d thought he should progress to their lovemaking with less urgency—court her, let her become acquainted with him first. Yet the moment her mouth had opened to his, he’d realized there wasn’t any reason to wait.
Leaning back in his arms, Caroline sighed wistfully. “Why is it dark?”
“It’s October, love.”
“Love?” she repeated, and sudden tears sprang to her eyes. She hadn’t expected to be anyone’s love—not after Larry—not for a very long time.
Paul went still. He could deal with anything but tears. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she murmured, sniffling. She should know not to drink champagne—especially after her aunts’ special tea. Champagne always led to tears.
“Tell me.” He smoothed the hair from her temple and softly kissed her there.
If he hadn’t been so gentle, Caroline could have fought the unwelcome emotion. As she felt hot tears sear a path down her flushed face, she bit the corner of her bottom lip. “He left me,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“Larry.” She turned abruptly, wrapping her arms around Paul’s neck, and sobbed into his shoulder. She wouldn’t have believed she had anymore tears, but her aunts’ tea and the champagne had weakened her resolve to put Larry from her mind.
“You loved him?”
She nodded. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever stop.”
The words stabbed his heart with the brutality of an ice pick. He’d known, or at least he should have known, that a woman like Caroline Myers wouldn’t have agreed to marry him and live in the Alaskan wilderness without a good reason. Her letter had been so brief, so polite, unlike the others who’d tried to impress him with their wit and entice him with the promise of sexual fulfillment.
To his utter amazement, the response to his brief advertisement had been overwhelming. Dozens of letters had poured in that first week, but he hadn’t bothered to read any once he’d opened Caroline’s. Her picture had stopped him cold. The wheat-blond hair, the blue eyes that had spoken to him as clearly as the words of her letter. She was honest and forthright, sensual and provocative, mature and trusting. Her picture told him that, and it was confirmed by her letter. The next day he’d sent her the airplane ticket and for the past two weeks had waited in eager anticipation.
“In time, you’ll learn not to love Larry,” he said, kissing her temple again.
With her arms around his neck, Caroline nestled her head against his chest. “I don’t know why I told you about Larry. I don’t want to think about him anymore. I really don’t, but he’s there in my thoughts every minute.”
“I’ll chase him away,” Paul teased.
“But how?”
“I’ll find a way.”
Silently they approached a log cabin, and Caroline smiled at how quaint it looked with a huge set of moose antlers above the wooden door. A stepladder leaned to the right of the only window and there was a woodpile that reached up to the eaves beside it. An oblong, galvanized steel tub hung to the left of the door, along with a pair of snowshoes.
“It’s so homey. You must love it here,” Caroline said as she saw the soft light in the lone window.
“I do.”
“I’m sure I’ll like it.” She sighed deeply. She wasn’t dreaming, after all—or at least not anymore.
Paul bent awkwardly to turn the door handle. The warmth that greeted them immediately made Caroline feel that this tiny cabin was the perfect place for her vacation. “It’s adorable,” she said, looking around.
Without question, the cabin was small—so compact that the living area and kitchen were one room. Bookcases stood beside a large potbelly stove, and a kitchen counter lined the opposite wall. A doorway led to another room that Caroline assumed would be her bedroom. Everything was spotlessly clean.
Reluctantly, Paul released her from his arms. Her feet touched the floor and she stepped back. She barely knew the man, yet she’d spilled her deepest secrets to him as though he was a lifelong friend. “Are…are you staying?”
“Would it embarrass you?”
She blinked twice. Once again they were having a conversation she didn’t quite comprehend. It had to be the alcohol. Caroline shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed.”
One side of Paul’s mouth edged upward. “I was hoping you’d suggest that. Would you feel more comfortable if I left?”
“Perhaps that would be best. I have lots of questions for you, but I’m too sleepy now. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?” She took a step toward the doorway and her peripheral vision picked up the sight of the silky nightgown that had been a gift from her aunts. It was spread out across the large brass bed.
“I’ll give you some time alone, then,” Paul said, heading for the door.
It closed after him and Caroline stood in the middle of the cabin, puzzled by the event
s of the day. She’d traveled thousands of miles and participated in some strange Alaskan ceremony. For a while she’d thought she was dreaming, but now she realized she definitely wasn’t. That meant she’d actually kissed a man whose name she hardly knew and then wept in his arms.
Moving into the single bedroom, undressing as she went, Caroline paused to admire the thick, brightly colored handmade quilt. The small lamp on the table illuminated the room, and Caroline recognized her clothes hanging in an open closet beside those belonging to a man. She assumed they were Paul’s. He was a gentleman, letting her use his cabin for the week and going somewhere else to sleep without complaint.
Caroline had a hazy memory of the word wife and wondered what that craziness was all about; she’d figure it out in the morning. She might even be married. A giggle escaped her as she sat on the edge of the bed. Married! Wouldn’t Larry love that? Well, if she was, Paul would understand that there’d been a mistake. Her initial impression of him had been wrong. He’d intimidated her at first, but he was gentle and considerate. She’d witnessed that quality in him more than once in the past hour.
Her clothes fell to the floor as she stripped. With complete disregard, she kicked them under the bed. She’d pick them up in the morning, since she was too tired to do it now.
The sheer gown slid over her outstretched arms and down her body. The faux fur tickled her calves and Caroline smiled, recalling John’s comment about how it would keep her warm. Alaskan men obviously had a sense of humor, although she hadn’t been too amused at the time.
The gown did look like part of a wedding trousseau. Wedding? Married? She couldn’t be…When she woke, they’d straighten everything out.
The bed looked soft and warm, and Caroline crawled between the sheets. Her head was cushioned by a feather pillow, and her last thought before she flipped off the lamp was of the mountain she’d seen from the plane—Denali. Somehow its magnificence comforted her and lured her into sleep.
Outside, Paul paced in front of the cabin, glancing at his watch every twenty seconds. He was cold and impatient. With the music from the reception echoing around him, he refused to return to the meeting hall. Caroline had wanted some time to prepare herself and he’d reluctantly granted her that, but he wasn’t pleased. Eventually she’d learn to be less shy; there wouldn’t be room for modesty when winter arrived.
Once he was sure she’d had as much time as any woman would possibly require, Paul went back into the cabin. The bedroom light was off and he could see the outline of her figure in the bed. His bed. Waiting for him. He recalled the way her body had felt against his. With vivid clarity he remembered how she’d looked at him, her blue eyes huge, when she’d suggested going to bed. Then she’d asked him if she was dreaming. The woman was drunk—drunk on her wedding night. From the day he’d received her letter, Paul had decided to wait for the rewards of marriage. Yes, he’d wait until she was ready. But, oh boy—that kiss. For a moment he’d thought she was as eager as he was. He wanted their lovemaking to be slow and easy, but hadn’t anticipated her effect on him. The restraint he needed not to rush to her side made him feel weak. The taste of her lips lingered on his own and left him craving more. He took a deep breath and leaned against the counter.
Hoping to gain some perspective, Paul took down the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cupboard and poured a stiff drink. He had to think things through. He suspected she didn’t believe their marriage was real, yet she had to know he’d brought her all this way for exactly that purpose. During the wedding she’d looked so confused and unsure. As her husband, he expected to claim his marital rights—only he preferred to wait until she was sober. He wanted a wife and had made that evident in his letter. This was to be a real marriage in every way, and she’d come to him on his terms. Yet he couldn’t help feeling nervous.
He sat at the table and gulped down the drink, hoping to feel its numbing effect—fast. But if anything, imagining Caroline in his bed, dressed in that see-through silk gown, had the opposite effect on him. He’d hoped to cool his passion with sound reasoning and good whiskey but had ended up fanning the flames.
Standing, Paul took his empty glass to the sink and saw that his hands were trembling. He felt like a coiled spring, tense, ready. Oh yes, he was ready.
He moved into the bedroom and undressed in the dark, taking time to fold each piece of clothing and set it on the dresser. For a moment he toyed with the idea of sleeping at Walter Thundercloud’s place, but he quickly rejected the thought. He’d be the laughingstock of the entire community if he spent the night anywhere but with Caroline.
She was asleep, he realized from the evenness of her breathing. He was grateful for that. Much as he wanted her, he felt certain she wasn’t ready and he needed to respect that.
The mattress dipped as he carefully slid in beside her. She sighed once and automatically rolled into his arms, nestling her head against his chest. Paul’s eyes widened with the force of his resolve.
She stroked her fingertips over his lean ribs. He swallowed convulsively against the sweet torture of her touch and strengthened his self-possession by gently removing her hands. He wished she could appreciate what he was giving up…
“Love,” he whispered in her ear. “Roll onto your side, okay?”
“Hmm?” Caroline was having the sweetest dream. And this time, she felt sure it really was a dream.
“I know you’d prefer to wait.” Paul found it ironic that he was telling her this; she’d come so willingly into his arms.
“Wait?”
“Never mind,” he whispered. “Just go back to sleep.” Unable to resist, he kissed her forehead and shifted away from her.
Unexpectedly, the comforting, irresistible warmth beside her moved and Caroline edged closer to it. With a sigh of longing, she buried her face in the hollow of his neck.
“Caroline, please, this is difficult enough,” he whispered, inhaling harshly. She flattened her hand against his abdomen and slowly brushed her lips over his.
With every muscle, Paul struggled for control. Seconds later, he was lost—irrevocably and completely lost. Their kiss was unlike any he’d ever experienced…But Paul was the one to break contact, twisting so that he lay on his back. His control, such as it was, seemed to be slipping fast; another minute and he wouldn’t have been able to stop.
Caroline felt unbearably hot, as if she was sitting directly in front of a fireplace. The thought was so illogical—she was in bed, wasn’t she?—that she bolted upright, giggling, and tossed the blankets aside. She fell back onto the pillow and raised her hands above her head, intertwining her fingers. The ceiling was spinning around and around. In an effort to block out the dizzying sight, she closed her eyes and sought anew the security of the dream.
Again Paul tried to move away from her, but Caroline wanted him close. She couldn’t understand why he kept leaving her. If he was part of her dream, the least he could do was stick around! She reached for him, locking her arms around his neck, kissing him.
“Caroline, stop it!”
“Why?”
“Because you’re drunk,” he hissed.
She giggled. “I know.” Her fingers roamed over his shoulders. “Please kiss me again. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a great kisser?”
“I can’t kiss you.” And remain sane, he added silently.
“But I want you to.” She sounded like a whiny child, and that shocked her. “Oh never mind, I wouldn’t kiss me, either.” With that she let out a noisy yawn and rested her cheek against his chest. “You have nice skin,” she murmured before closing her eyes.
“You do, too,” he whispered, and slid his hand down the length of her spine. “Very nice.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to kiss me?”
Paul groaned. His nobility had limitations, and he wasn’t going to be able to hold off much longer if she asked him to kiss her every ten seconds.
“Good night, love,” he whispered, hoping his voice had the ring of finali
ty. He kissed the crown of her head and continued to hold her close, almost savoring the sweet torture.
Caroline smiled, content. Just before she gave in to the irrepressible urge to sleep, she felt his kiss, and she prayed that all her dreams would be this real and this exciting.
—
Snuggling closer to the warm body at her side, Caroline woke slowly. Her first conscious thought was that her head ached. It more than ached; it throbbed with each pulse and every sluggish heartbeat as her memory returned, muddled and confused. She rolled onto her back, holding the sides of her head, and groaned aloud. She was in bed with a man she barely knew. Unfortunately, he appeared to be well acquainted with her. Extremely well acquainted. Her first inclination was to kick him out of the bed. He’d taken advantage of her inebriated state, and she bit back bitter words as a flush of embarrassment burned her cheeks.
Opening her eyes was an impossible task. She couldn’t face the man.
“Good morning,” the deep male voice purred.
“It…wasn’t a dream, was it?” she asked in a tone that was faint and apprehensive.
Paul chuckled. “You mean you honestly don’t remember anything?”
“Some.” She kept her eyes pinched shut, too mortified to look at him.
“Do you remember the part about us getting married?”
Caroline blinked. “I’m not sure.”
“In case you don’t, I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Paul Trevor, your husband.”
Chapter 3
“Then it was real!” Still holding her head, Caroline struggled to a sitting position. Gradually her eyes opened and she glared down at the bearded man beside her.
Paul was lying on his side, watching her with an amused grin. He rose up on his elbow and shook his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t expect to be married.”
She felt as though the heat in her face was enough to keep the cabin warm all winter. “I knew at the time you…you weren’t completely a dream.” She had to be honest, even at the expense of her stubborn pride.
Mail-Order Bride Page 3