Housebound

by Anne Stuart

  “Your language, Anne,” Mrs. Morgan reproved. “And you don’t need anything else. You’ll look quite charming in the green dress—I expect you’ll even surprise yourself. Holly is not the only one in need of a change, my dear. When I was your age I had already been married twice.”

  Humor born of despair bubbled forth. “But that dress is hardly suitable for an old maid.”

  “Fortunately such things as old maids are passé,” the Merry Widow observed serenely from her perch on the coveted bed. “If you have the right attitude you’ll look glorious in that dress. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Wilson decided he can’t wait till this fall.”

  Anne ignored the reference to Wilson. By that time he and Holly should be happily in love. But where would she be? “I don’t suppose I have any choice,” she said doubtfully, eying the silky creation. She had always loved the color, after all. Perhaps it was fate. And what would Wilson say when he saw her in it? Even better, how would Noah react?

  WILSON CHOKED on his martini, staring at her, red-faced, when his coughing fit had passed. Holly, firmly attached to his arm and looking radiantly innocent in the purple dress, peered at him through worried eyes, and Anne knew she was having second thoughts about having filched the wrong dress.

  Indeed, she realized with a trace of smugness, catching a glimpse of her reflection above the bar, the dress couldn’t have suited her better. The deep green darkened her eyes to a clear emerald, artfully enhanced by the Merry Widow’s eye shadow. The front clung gently to her unbound breasts, the back dipped enticingly low, and her black hair was a cloud around her animated face. She would never have dared wear such a thing, but she could only be grateful that fate and her acquisitive sister had forced it on her.

  Music was throbbing through the room, an artful accompaniment to Ashley’s bold canvases. It was a strange mélange—the Pointer Sisters fading into Vivaldi and then on to Bruce Springsteen. Anne peered over the edge of her champagne glass, content to eye the wandering crowds, ever alert for Noah’s entrance. In the end it was he who found her, coming up behind her when she least expected it. She had just stepped out into the back hallway to catch her breath, away from the suffocating clouds of cigarette smoke and the chattering clatter of high-pitched voices. The hallway was dark, empty and depressing, and she was just about to rejoin the crowds.

  “What are you trying to prove in a dress like that, Annie?” His voice was low and seductive just beside her ear, and she could only be glad she was in enough control not to jump.

  She turned slowly, looking up into his faintly scowling face and smiling—a slow, sure smile. “That you can’t resist me?” she suggested lightly, taking another sip of the champagne she’d brought with her. His own glass was half full.

  There was a blessed trace of a smile lighting his dark Gypsy face, and his hand reached up lightly to brush her cheek, the touch sending a tiny shiver down her exposed backbone. “You’re probably right. I’m glad to see your bruise faded.”

  “There are still some lovely yellow traces beneath the makeup,” she murmured, trying to still the sudden uprush of hope at his casual words.

  “What have you been doing the last two weeks? Falling off roofs or racing into power lines?” He kept his voice light.

  “Missing you.”

  The champagne in his glass spilled slightly, and his eyes darkened. “Did you?” he replied noncommittally.

  He wasn’t about to give in, she realized in sudden despair. No matter how much he wanted her, he wasn’t about to admit it. And there was no way she could be sure he even wanted her. “Yes,” she said, turning away.

  She had forgotten the effect of her back, or the lack thereof. Before she could move away there was a sudden intake of breath and his hand caught her almost bare shoulder.

  “Good God, Annie,” he groaned. The silent, empty hallway surrounded them with a velvet solitude. At any moment the door to the crowded exhibit could open and part of that spectacularly plumaged crowd could spill out after them. But for the moment they were alone. His strong hand burned into her shoulder, holding her turned away from him, that long, narrow back exposed to his heated gaze.

  Before she could divine his intention she felt the cool, silvery drops of champagne slide down the curve of her back. A moment later his mouth followed, his tongue snaking out to catch the drops he’d showered on her back, slithering down the warm, sensitized skin, its rough texture a soul-destroying caress.

  Anne swayed, and it was only the strength of his hand that kept her standing. A helpless little moan of desire had escaped her, but there was no one around to notice.

  “Damn you, Annie.” His voice was low and almost anguished. “What do you want from me?”

  “A two-night stand?” she suggested, not daring to turn around.

  The hand released her, reluctantly, the fingers clinging to the silky material for a long moment. When he said nothing she turned around, only to see him disappearing back through the doorway.

  It took her a moment to follow him. “How do you like it, Anne, darling?” Ashley weaved his way up to her, and for a moment all thought of Noah Grant fled. Her brother looked absolutely horrible. That he was already very drunk was without question—his eyes were bloodshot from days or weeks or months of constant drinking. His tan had faded to a dissipated yellow, his hair was limp and in need of a cut, and his face was puffy.

  “Very impressive,” she said vaguely, taking one slender hand in hers. “Are you all right, Ashley?”

  “Of course I am, dearest.” He withdrew his hand quickly, but not before she recognized the deathly chill in his skin. “Why shouldn’t I be? Another smash success, with all my dear, dear friends to celebrate my triumph. Not to mention my glorious family. You’re looking quite ravishing, my dear. How did you get Holly to part with that magnificent dress?”

  “It was her choice.”

  “I must say I’m surprised. Maybe she’s trying to prove to Wilson how subdued she can be.”

  “That was my theory,” Anne agreed with a forced smile.

  “So you finally know about that, do you?” Ashley shoved a nervous hand through his lank blond hair. “I wondered how long it would take you.”

  “Too long, I suppose. I still don’t know whether Wilson realizes it.” The two of them eyed the couple in question. Wilson was leaning over Holly, lecturing her very intently, and Holly was listening meekly enough, her slender hand still on his arm.

  “I think he might be catching on,” Ashley said dryly. “I wonder where that leaves you.”

  “Splendidly celibate.”

  “Best way to be,” Ashley said sadly. “Listen, darling, Proffy has told me you’re desperate for money. I can’t help.”

  “But Ashley, the house is going to fall into rubble if we don’t do something!”

  “Let it,” he said. “Best thing for it, and for you. Really, Anne. I’d like to help, but I simply can’t. I’m already up to my ears in debt.”

  “But how could you be? I know you live rather well, but you also make quite fabulous sums of money. I just need a loan, or if you could cosign a loan with a bank—”

  “I’m afraid my credit is worthless, darling, and I haven’t even got the money to pay for the reception tonight.” He grimaced, draining his glass. “You see, not only do I have expensive…friends, but I’ve also discovered the myriad pleasures of gambling. Atlantic City is just a little too close for me, I’m afraid.”

  “Ashley!”

  “Sorry, darling. I’m afraid you’ll have to count on Holly for help.” He turned and walked away.

  Elvis Costello had faded into Mozart during the last few minutes, but anything less like Mozart’s delicate fantasies would be hard to imagine in her current state of mind. The world seemed to be closing in on her, and wherever she turned, doors slammed in her face.

  Plastering a social smile on her face, Anne wandered through the exhibition, barely touching her champagne, longing to escape back to the hotel, and hoping agains
t hope that the Merry Widow might be indiscreet enough to share her father’s single room. If there ever was a night when Anne needed her privacy, tonight was it.

  She would have made it through with flying colors if it hadn’t been for Marvin Gaye, she realized later. Keeping away from the champagne helped lessen her self-indulgent state of mind. Ignoring Noah’s presence also aided her in her resolve. If she could still feel his tongue dancing along her backbone, she sternly ignored it. She was on her way out of the door, heading back to the hotel and a blessed few moments of peace in her room, when the silky, sensual strains of “Sexual Healing” replaced Chick Corea on the sound system. Anne felt her knees melt as the music wove its familiar, seductive spell around her, felt her breasts tingle and a fire begin a slow, escalating conflagration in her loins.

  She couldn’t go back through that room, the music throbbing at her from strategically placed speakers. Someone would find her cape and fetch it later—at the moment all she needed was escape.

  She made her way blindly to the door, but Noah was there ahead of her, her cape over his arm. Startled, she looked up into his face, her eyes meeting his for a long, fiery moment.

  “I give up,” he said. His hands lingered for breathless moments as they draped the cape around her. “Come on.”

  She followed him blindly out into the spring night, oblivious to the curious, troubled glances they left behind. When they reached the sidewalk Noah pulled her hand into his, tucking it close to his body as he took off down the street. Without a word she followed him, her feet rushing to keep up with his long stride as they crossed the blocks that led back to the Elgin Hotel. He didn’t say a word until they were behind his bedroom door, the lock securely turned.

  And then he reached for her, pulling her against his lean, muscled body, his hands firm but gentle as he held her there. “I warned you, Annie, love,” he whispered against her midnight-black hair. “I did warn you.” He pushed the cape off her shoulders, and it fell in a shimmering pool at their feet as his hands molded her pliant back to his tense frame. And with a sigh she gave herself up to the magic of his embrace, closing her eyes to doubt and the prospect of tomorrow. Her hands were on the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with desperate haste to break through that rough cloth barrier and feel the warmth of his flesh against her. Eagerly she pulled his shirt free from his pants, sliding her hands up inside, her fingertips trailing along the smooth, warm hide of him. And suddenly she couldn’t get enough—reaching up, she sought his mouth, desperate in her need for him.

  His hands were deft at the back of her gown, and a moment later it followed the cape onto the floor, leaving her standing in the circle of his arms, wearing nothing but a thin wisp of silk panties.

  He groaned, deep in his throat, his tongue exploring her mouth with an almost savage thoroughness as his hands traced her curves, cupping her full breasts as they pressed against the frustrating shirtfront. And then his hands joined hers, ripping off his jacket, his shirt, as they tumbled toward the bed.

  Anne fell backward across it, Noah’s body sprawling across hers, and she looked up at him, breathless with laughter and excitement. “In a hurry?” she murmured, brushing her lips against his, her tongue darting out to trace the contours of his mouth.

  “God, yes!” he groaned as her hands slid across his chest. He caught one of those hands, pressing it against his raging desire, and she gasped.

  “You’re a witch, do you know that?” he whispered hoarsely as she quickly divested him of the rest of his clothing, until he was completely, gloriously naked. “All my good intentions were completely worthless.” He quickly stripped away the last barrier, her peach silk panties, and before she realized what was happening he had rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him.

  She lay stretched out across his body, her hair a curtain of black silk around him, and a sudden wave of shyness swept over her. But the fever pitch of their emotions was too high. And after only a token resistance she let him arrange her pliant body over his poised, waiting one.

  His fingers reached down to find the hot, needing core of her, but she was ready for him. Firm hands caught her hips, levering her forward so that his massive strength rested just outside its haven. And with a desperation born of need, he pulled her down onto him, his glorious hardness filling her to the depths of her very soul.

  A helpless little wail of agonized pleasure escaped her lips, and she looked down at him with complete amazement and wonder, her pale face transfixed.

  His hands still firm on her hips, he began to move, arching up into her, then slowly pulling back, and then again, each time filling her more completely. She could feel her body shivering atop his, feel the rigid control in his arms and legs as he tried to slow the pace, to bring her along with him. But she was far ahead, her body shuddering with spasms of need that were rapidly taking over.

  And then abruptly his tenuous control abandoned him, and he arched into her as her body went rigid in his arms. And he followed her, locked together through a mindless eternity, his breath hoarse and rasping in her ear as she sobbed against his damp, heaving chest.

  His arms went around her, holding her shivering, sweat-damp body against his, both of them still shaking from the hasty, animalistic coupling that had left them both barely sated. His hands were gentle and trembling against her back, and she placed a shy, longing kiss against the warm, tense cord of his neck before trying to slide away.

  “Don’t you dare,” he whispered on a sudden breath of laughter. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “But I’m too heavy,” she protested weakly, leaning her head back on his shoulder, the soft wisps of hair tickling her nose.

  “I think I’m strong enough to bear it, Annie love,” he replied, one hand slowly massaging its way up the length of her backbone, the fingers deft and almost as arousing as his tongue had been earlier that night. She stretched into that hand like a luxuriating kitten. “That was only a preliminary. I don’t know what sort of witchcraft you used, but I haven’t been so inept since I was seventeen years old. I have to retrieve my reputation.”

  “I wouldn’t have called that inept.” She groaned beneath the practiced kneading of his fingers.

  “Perhaps not.” He allowed himself a small, satisfied grin. “But far too brief.”

  Anne could feel her body melting into his, feel the slow stirring of the coals of passion that had never been completely banked in her still-trembling loins. “But shouldn’t we get back to the others? Everyone will be at dinner by now—they’ll miss us.” Her fingers trailed lightly up to his muscled arms, and she gave in to the temptation and allowed her tongue to gently taste the salty tang of his skin.

  “Let them,” he murmured, one hand cradling her head against his chest, encouraging her shy explorations.

  It was her first chance to enjoy a man’s body in full light, and with a sudden shedding of inhibitions she threw herself into her discoveries with zest, her mouth trailing sweet, nibbling kisses down his lean torso, her fingertips tracing delicate, random patterns on the flesh her mouth couldn’t quite reach. She would have preferred greater access to the unquestionably beautiful male body beneath her, but his hands still held her captive, still filled her with the renewed proof of his desire.

  She had just reached his flat male nipples, her tongue gently teasing them, when she felt her body lifted. A moment later she was flat on her back in the soft bed as Noah leaned over her, his hips pinning her to the bed. His mouth caught the rosy tip of her breast in a glorious retaliation of her sensual explorations, and with an inarticulate cry she arched up against him, against his mouth and his hips, as once more he began to move within her.

  This time his control was absolute, now that the white-hot urgency of their desire had been partially slaked. Slowly he moved, pulling away from her, then returning to fill her completely, so that she cried out with the glory of it.

  Slowly, inexorably, the tension began to build as a slow, burning fire that quickly flamed
out of control began to engulf her. That passion was swiftly climbing to a fever pitch once more, and desperately she tried to increase the pace, to quicken those slow, driving thrusts that were leading her to the edge of madness. Oblivion was just beyond her reach, shimmering beyond her grasp, and desperately she reached for it. But it eluded her and she fell back, sobbing beneath his measured control.

  “I can’t,” she wept against him, hiding her face against his shoulder. “I can’t, Noah.”

  The hands that were bracing his body shifted to gently cup her face, forcing her tear-drenched eyes to meet his. Softly his mouth brushed hers. “Of course you can,” he whispered against her trembling lips. “I’ll help you.”

  Slowly he pulled away, separating their bodies, and she clutched for him, emitting a low wail of anguish at his sudden desertion.

  Quickly, deftly he turned her over, one arm under her waist, holding her up as he returned to her with a sure, deep thrust that seemed to reach even deeper to the center of her being. She tried to lurch away in sudden shyness and panic, but he held her firmly.

  “Don’t be frightened, Annie love,” he murmured in her ear, his body covering hers, warm and protecting. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He began raining gentle, reassuring kisses across her shoulders as he once more began to move in that slow, sweet rhythm of love. “I don’t get to kiss you this way,” he continued, his warm, deep voice soothing her initial fright much as his body was once more exercising its mesmerizing effect on her. “I don’t get to watch your beautiful eyes when I fill you.” Action suited words, and Anne felt that overwhelming tension begin to build once more. “But it still has definite advantages.”

  The hand that had been supporting her around her waist slid downward, his clever fingers seeking and swiftly discovering their partially hidden goal.

  And with the force of a cannon she was catapulted over that edge of oblivion, flung out into the velvet darkness of love. Somewhere in the darkness she felt his arm support her sagging body, heard her voice sobbing her release into the rumpled sheets. And then he followed her in a blaze of glory, and she heard his voice calling her, calling her name, and it was filled with love and wonder.