She sighed and slid her arms under his and around him, giving him her weight.
He actually shivered.
She lifted her head and looked up, curious. His face was light, his eyes brilliant with feeling. She didn't need a crystal ball to understand why. His very vulnerability knocked down all the barriers. She knew how proud he was, how he hated having her see him this way. But it was part of loving, a part he had yet to learn.
She took his hand in hers. "Come on," she said softly. "I can fix what's wrong with you."
"How do you know what's wrong with me?" he taunted.
She tugged at his hand. "Don't be silly." She pulled him along with her out of the kitchen to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She was a little apprehensive. Despite the pleasure he'd given her, the memory of the pain was still very vivid.
He took a slow breath. "I'll always have to be careful with you," he said, as if he read the thoughts in her eyes. "I'm over-endowed and you're pretty innocent, in spite of what we did together."
She blinked. "You...are?"
He scowled. "You said you'd seen centerfolds."
She colored wildly. "Not...of men...like that!"
"Well, well." He chuckled softly and moved closer to her. "I feel like a walking anatomy lab."
"Do you, really?" She drew his hand under her sweater and up to soft, warm skin, and shivered when he touched her. Her heart was in the eyes she lifted to his. "It won't hurt...?"
He drew her close and kissed her worried eyes shut. "No," he whispered tenderly. "I promise it won't!"
She let him undress her, still hesitant and shy with him, but obviously willing.
When she was down to her briefs, she began undressing him, to his amusement.
"This is new," he mused. "I've had to do it myself for a number of years."
She looked up, hesitating. "All that time," she said. "Didn't you want anyone?"
"I wanted you," he replied solemnly. "Sometimes, I wanted you desperately."
“You never even hinted...!"
"You know why," he said, as if it shamed him to remember. "I should have been shot."
She lowered her eyes to the bare, broad chest she'd uncovered. "That would have been a waste," she said with a husky note in her voice. Her fingers spread over the thick hair that covered him, and he groaned softly. She put her mouth against his breastbone. "I've missed you," she whispered, and her voice broke. "I've missed you!"
He bent to her mouth and kissed her slowly, tenderly, while between them, they got the rest of the obstacles out of the way. When she reached for the strap of the prosthesis, his fingers stayed her.
"We'll have to find out sometime if you can do without it," she said gently. Her eyes searched his. "You can always put it back on, if you have to."
He sighed heavily. "All right."
He let her take it off, the uncertainty plain in his dark face. It made him vulnerable somehow, and he felt vulnerable enough with his hunger for her blatantly clear.
She stretched out on the pale pink sheets and watched him come down to her with wide, curious eyes.
Amazingly he was able to balance, if a little heavily at first. But she helped him, her body stabilizing his as they kissed and touched in the most tender exchange of caresses they'd ever shared for long, achingly sweet minutes until the urgency began to break through.
It was tender even as he eased down against her and she felt him probing at her most secret place. She tensed, expecting pain, but it was easy now, if a little uncomfortable just at first.
He turned her face to his and made her watch his eyes as they moved together slowly. He pressed soft, quiet kisses against her mouth as the lazy tempo of his hips brought them into stark intimacy.
She gasped and pushed upward as the pleasure shot through her, but he shook his head, calming her.
"Wh...why?" she gasped.
"Because I want it to be intense," he whispered unsteadily, nuzzling her face with his as he fought for enough breath to speak. His teeth clenched as he felt the first deep bites of pleasure rippling through him. ''I want it to take a long time. I want to...touch you...as deeply inside...as it's humanly possible!"
She felt him in every pore, every cell. Her fingers clenched behind his strong neck because he was even more potent now than he'd been their first time together. Her teeth worried her lower lip as she looked up at him, torn between pleasure and apprehension.
"Don't be afraid," he whispered brokenly. "Don't be afraid of me."
"It wasn't like this...before," she sobbed. Her eyes closed on a wave of pleasure so sharp that it stiffened her from head to toe. "Dear...God...Simon!"
"Baby," he choked at her ear. His body moved tenderly, even in its great urgency, from side to side, intensifying the pleasure, bringing her to the brink of some unbelievably deep chasm. She was going to fall... to fall...
She barely heard her own voice shattering into a thousand pieces as she reached up to him in an arc, sobbing, wanting more of him, more, ever more!
"Oh, God, don't...I'll hurt you!" he bit off as she pulled him down sharply to her.
"Never," she breathed. "Never! Oh, Simon...!"
She sobbed as the convulsions took her. It had never been this sweeping. Her eyes opened in the middle of the spasms and met his, and she saw in them the same helpless loss of control, the ecstasy that made a tight, agonized caricature of his face. It faded into a black oblivion as the pleasure became unbearable and she lost consciousness for a space of seconds.
"Tira? Tira!"
His hand was trembling as it touched her face, her neck where the pulse hammered.
"Oh, God, honey, open your eyes and look at me! Are you all right?"
She felt her eyelids part slowly. His face was above hers, worried, tormented, his eyes glittering with fear.
She smiled lazily. "Hello," she whispered, so exhausted that she could barely manage words. She moved and felt him deep in her body and moaned with pleasure.
"Good God, I thought I'd killed you!" he breathed, relaxing on her. He was heavy, and she loved his weight. She held him close, nuzzling her face into his cool, damp throat. "You fainted!"
"I couldn't help it," she murmured. "Oh, it was so good. So good, so good!"
He rolled over onto his back, carrying her with him. He shivered, too, as the movements kindled little skirls of pleasure.
She curled her legs into his and closed her eyes. "I love you," she whispered sleepily.
He drew in a shaky breath. "I noticed."
She kissed his neck lazily and sighed. "Simon, I think I really am pregnant."
"So do I."
She moved against him sinuously. "Are you sorry?"
"I'm overjoyed."
That sounded genuine, and reassuring.
"I'm sleepy."
He stretched under her. He'd used more muscles than he realized he had. "So am I."
It was the last thing she heard for a long time. When she woke again, she was under the sheet with her hair spread over the pillow. Simon was wearing everything but his jacket, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed just looking at her.
She opened her eyes and stared up at him. She'd never seen that expression on his face before. It wasn't one she could under-stand.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
His hand went to her flat stomach over the sheet. "You don't think we hurt the baby?"
She smiled sleepily. "No. We didn't hurt the baby."
He wasn't quite convinced. "The way we loved this time..."
"Oh, that sounds nice," she murmured, smiling up at him with quiet, dreamy eyes.
His hand moved to hers and entangled with it. "What? That we loved?"
She nodded.
He drew their clasped hands to his broad thigh and studied them. "I've been thinking."
"What about?"
"It shouldn't be a quick ceremony in a justice of the peace's office," he said. He shrugged. "It should be in a church, with you in white satin."
"White? But..."
He lifted his eyes. They glittered at her. "White."
She swallowed. "Okay."
He relaxed a little. "I don't want people talking about you, as if we'd done something to be ashamed of—even though we have."
Her eyes opened wide. "What?"
"I used to go to church. I haven't forgotten how things are supposed to be done. We jumped the gun, twice, and I'm not very proud of it. But considering the circumstances, and this," he added gently, touching her belly with a curious little smile, "I think we're not quite beyond redemption."
"Of course we're not," she said softly. "God is a lot more understanding than most people are."
"And it isn't as if we aren't going to get married and give our baby a settled home and parents who love him," he continued. "So with all that in mind, I've put the wheels in motion."
"Wheels?"
He cleared his throat. "I phoned my brothers." She sat straight up in bed with eyes like an owl's. "Them? You didn't! Simon, you couldn't!"
"There, there," he soothed her, "it won't be so bad. They're old hands at weddings. Look what a wonderful one they arranged for Corrigan. You went. So did I. It was great."
"They arranged Corrigan's wedding without any encouragement from Dorie at all! They kidnapped her and wrapped her in ribbons and carried her home to Corrigan for Christmas, for heaven's sake! I know all about those hooligans, and I can arrange my own wedding!" she burst out.
Just as she said that, the back door—the one they'd forgotten to lock—opened and they heard footsteps along with voices in the corridor.
The bedroom door flew open, and there they were, all of them except Corrigan. They stopped dead at the sight that met their eyes.
Cag glared at Simon. "You cad!" he snarled. "No wonder you needed us to arrange a wedding! How could you do that to a nice girl like her?"
"Disgraceful," Leopold added, with a rakish grin. "Doesn't she look pretty like that?"
"Don't leer at your future sister-in-law," Rey muttered, hitting him with his Stetson. He put half a hand over his eyes. "Simon, we'd better do this quick."
"All we need is a dress size," Leopold said.
"I am not giving you my dress size, you hooligans!" Tira raged, embarrassed.
"Better get it one size larger, she's pregnant," Simon offered.
"Oh, thank you very much!" Tira exclaimed, horrified.
"You're welcome." He grinned, unrepentant.
"Pregnant?" three voices echoed.
The insults were even worse now, and Leopold began flogging Simon with that huge white Stetson.
"Oh, Lord!" Tira groaned, hiding her head in the hands propped on her upbent knees.
"It's a size ten," Rey called from the closet, where he'd been inspecting Tira's dresses. "We'd better make it a twelve. Lots of lace, too. We can get the same minister that married Corrigan and Dorie. And it had better be no later than three weeks," he added with a black glare at Simon. "Considering her condition!"
"It isn't a condition," Simon informed him curtly, "it's a baby!"
"And we thought they weren't speaking." Leopold grinned.
"We don't know yet that it's a baby," Tira said with a glare. "She was having a milk shake for Christmas dinner," Simon told them.
"We saw it. Goes well with the cabinets, I thought," Rey commented.
"Don't worry, the mouse will eat it," Tira muttered. "Mouse?" Cag asked.
"He can't be trapped or run out or baited," she sighed. "I've had three exterminators in. They've all given up. The mouse is still here."
"I'll bring Herman over," Cag said. The others looked at him wide-eyed.
"No!" they chorused.
"About the service," Simon diverted them, "we need to invite the governor and his staff—Wally said he'd give her away," he added, glancing at Tira.
"The governor is going to give me away? Our governor? The governor of our state?" Tira asked, aghast.
"Well, we've only got one." He grimaced. "Forgot to tell you, didn't I? I've accepted the attorney general slot. I hope you won't mind living in Austin."
"Austin."
She looked confused. Simon glanced at his brothers and waved his hand toward them. "Get busy, we haven't got a lot of time," he said. "And don't forget the media. It never hurts any political party to have coverage of a sentimental event."
"There he goes again, being a politician," Cag muttered.
"Well, he is, isn't he?" Rey chuckled. "Okay, boys, let's go. We've got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. See you."
Cag hesitated as they went out the door. "This wasn't done properly," he told his brother. "Shame on you."
Simon actually blushed. "One day," he told the other man, "you'll understand."
"Don't count on it."
Cag closed the door, leaving two quiet people behind.
"He's never been in love," Simon murmured, staring at his feet. "He doesn't have a clue what it's like to want someone so bad that it makes you sick."
She stared at him curiously. "Is that how it was for you, today?"
"Today, and the first time," he said, turning his face to her. He searched her eyes quietly. "But in case you've been wondering, I'm not marrying you for sex."
"Oh."
He glowered. "Or for the baby. I want him very much, but I would have married you if there wasn't going to be one."
She was really confused now. Did this mean what it sounded like? No, it had to have something to do with politics. It certainly wouldn't hurt his standing in the political arena to have a pregnant, pretty, capable wife beside him, especially when there was controversy.
That was when the reality of their situation hit her. She was going to marry a public official, not a local attorney. He was going to be appointed attorney general to fill the present unexpired term, but he'd have to run for the office the following year. They'd live in a goldfish bowl.
She stared at him with horror in every single line of her face as the implications hit her like a ton of bricks. She sat straight up in bed, with the sheet clutched to her breasts, and stared at Simon horrified. He didn't know about John. Despite the enlightened times, some revelations could be extremely damaging, and not only to her and, consequently, Simon. There was John's father, a successful businessman. How in the world would it affect him to have the whole state know that John had been gay?
The fear was a living, breathing thing. Simon had no idea about all this. He hadn't spoken of John or what he thought now that he knew Tira wasn't a murderess, but the truth could hurt him badly. It might hurt the governor as well; the whole political party, in fact.
She bit her lip almost through and lowered her eyes to the bed. "Simon, I can't marry you," she whispered in a ghostly tone.
"You what?"
"You heard me. I can't marry you. I'm sorry."
He moved closer, and tilted her face up to his quiet eyes. "Why not?"
"Because..." She hesitated. She didn't want to ever have to tell him the truth about his best friend. "Because I don't want to live in a goldfish bowl," she lied.
He knew her now. He knew her right down to her soul. He sighed and smiled at her warmly. "You mean, you don't want to marry me because you're afraid the truth about John will come to light and hurt me when I run for office next year."
Chapter 11
She was so astonished that she couldn't even speak. "You... know?" she whispered.
He nodded. 'I've known since that night at the gallery, when I spoke to your ex-father-in-law," he replied quietly. "He told me everything…" His face hardened. "That was when I knew what I'd done to you, and to myself. That was when I hit rock bottom."
"But you never said a word..." Things came flying back into her mind. "Yes, you did," she contradicted herself. "You said that you were glad John couldn't have me...you knew then!"
He nodded. "It must have been sheer hell for you."
"I was fond of him," she said. "I would have tried to be a good wife. But I married h
im because I couldn't have you and it didn't really matter anymore." Her eyes were sad as they met his. "You loved Melia."
"I thought I did," he replied. "I loved an illusion, a woman who only existed in my imagination. The reality was horrible." He reached out and touched her belly lightly, and she knew he was remembering.
Her fingers covered his. "You don't even have to ask how I feel about the baby, do you?"
He chuckled. "I never would have. You love kids." He grimaced. "I hated missing the Christmas Eve party. I watched you on television. I even knew why you kept your back to the camera. It was eloquent."
"Jill has been a pain," she muttered.
"Not only for you," he agreed. He sighed softly. "Tira, I hope you know that there hasn't been anyone else."
"It would have been hard to miss today," she said, and flushed a little.
He drew her across him and into the crook of his arm, studying her pretty face. "It doesn't bother you at all that I'm crippled, does it?"
"Crippled?" she asked, as if the thought had never occurred to her.
That surprise was genuine. He leaned closer. "Sweetheart, I'm missing half my left arm," he said pointedly.
"Are you, really?" She drew his head down to hers and kissed him warmly on his hard mouth. "You didn't need the prosthesis, either, did you?"
He chuckled against her lips. "Apparently not." His eyes shone warmly into hers. "How can you still love me after all I've put you through?" he asked solemnly.
She let the sheet fall away from her high, pretty breasts and laid back against his arm to let him look. "Because you make love so nicely?"
He shook his head. "No, that's not it." He touched her breasts, enjoying their immediate reaction. "Habit, perhaps. God knows, I don't deserve you."
She searched his face quietly. “I never knew you were vulnerable at all," she said, "that you could be tender, that you could laugh without being cynical. I never knew you at all."
"I didn't know you, either." He bent and kissed her softly. "What a lot of secrets we kept from each other."
She snuggled close. "What about John?" she asked worriedly. “If it comes out, it can hurt you and the party, it could even hurt John's father."
Books By Diana Palmer Page 199