by Jillian Hart
What type of man was he, deep down, on the inside? Why did she want him to kiss her again? Ashamed of how she needed him, she closed her eyes. Tried to hold back a tide of feelings she didn’t understand. Didn’t want. Refused to act on.
If she wanted a second kiss, all she had to do was to sit up and she knew he’d take her into his strong arms. And give her, for a moment, the chance to be alive again.
A knock sounded on the door, and Dillon snapped the book shut.
“It’s the doc.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. A hot caress that made her dream.
Dream that a woman like her could be loved. Even just a little.
“I’ll be waiting outside.” He laid her hand on her stomach with care, with authority.
She couldn’t look at him as he walked away. Hated that the ring of his boots permeated her senses and made her aware of him. Only of him. Of his low mumble to the doctor and the squeak of a board beneath his foot. Of the creak of the door he closed. She could feel him in the hallway, like an unseen source of heat radiating only to her.
She faced the doctor with a weak smile. Answered his questions. Endured his examination. Listened to his advice.
“The weakness will continue for a while.” The doctor drew up a chair. He was a kind man, meek but not weak. He pushed his spectacles back into place and studied her somberly. “That’s to be expected from so much blood loss. From the birth.”
She nodded. She knew that. “I know it will take time to regain my strength. But how much longer?”
“You’ve had a setback, traveling as you did. It will take a long time to heal from such trauma. But my worries are your emotional recovery. The loss you’ve suffered is the worst a woman can face, I believe.”
Tears abraded the backs of her eyes. Tears she refused to let fall. “I am managing.”
“You need time for that as well.”
The compassion in the doctor’s voice was meant to be kind, she knew, but somehow it made her hurt more. “You didn’t answer my question. I have a mounting hotel bill to worry about and your fees. I need to be able to work.”
“You need to heal. I told you. At least two more weeks, is my guess. You have no fever, no other complications to worry about. I’ll come back in a few days to check on you. Let me know if your condition worsens.”
He rose to leave. Katelyn steeled her hopes, protected them, even as she asked the question, “Is it your opinion, too, that I cannot bear another child?”
The doctor froze. His face saddened. “It is certain there will be no more children. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
She waited until the door closed before she let the first tear fall. It was the emptiness of it, the finality. The knowing she’d never hold her own baby in her arms. She’d never be a mother. Never have a family. She’d lost her only chance.
What was she doing wanting another man’s kiss? She buried her face in the pillows, hiding from him when the door opened again, and it was Hennessey’s gait rolling toward her. Hennessey’s touch to her back.
His comfort she did not acknowledge as the blizzard howled outside. Her heart cooled and her hopes froze until both were as glacial as the relentless north wind.
She’d let him kiss her. Dillon couldn’t think of anything else as he watched her sleep. As the hours ticked by and she lay on her stomach, her face turned toward the wall, buried in her pillows.
Just seeing the fall of her luxurious hair down the fragile column of her neck and the glimpse of creamy skin at the flannel collar of her borrowed nightgown made him weak. Like a blow to his knees. Like having the wind knocked right out of him.
She sure is special. How a man could have set her aside, he couldn’t figure. Couldn’t imagine it. She was beautiful and smart and kind. She had a heart of gold and an invisible halo crowning her head. He was sure of it, for when they kissed, the instant his lips had met hers, the desire he kept banked roared like an inferno feeding on kerosene.
What more could a man ask for?
There was no single woman on this earth as special as her. And she might be his. There was a good chance she would say yes when he proposed. Be at his side, as his wife and lover-
The thought of climbing into her bed nearly tore him to pieces. What would it be like to claim her completely? To loose the ties at her throat and pleasure her breasts and thrust deep inside her sweet woman’s body? To make her completely and everlastingly his?
The doc had said she would be strong enough to be up and around some tomorrow. In a week, maybe two, she’d be strong enough to buy a passenger ticket and leave him forever on the afternoon train. He had to work fast. He’d kissed her and she’d accepted it. She’d kissed him in return.
That meant he kept moving forward with his plan to make her fall in love with him. To show her the man he was, heart and soul. He might not be an educated, rich man, but he was decent and he’d love her better than any man could. If he showed her that, would it matter to her?
Or, if he gave her his heart, showed her his soul, would she leave anyway?
On the other hand, how did a man hold back when everything he ever wanted was right in front of him? So amazing and precious, he’d spend the rest of his days mourning her loss?
Chapter Ten
“Good morning.” Dillon’s thundering baritone boomed over the crackle of the brown-wrapped packages in his arms. He dropped at least a dozen of them on the foot of her bed.
Katelyn’s hand stilled, and her grip tightened around the wooden handle of the hairbrush. She simply stared. Eight days had passed and she was stronger. But she wasn’t ready for this. The way he stood so proudly over her and the steady, measuring way he studied her made her stomach ball into one huge knot. “What is this?”
“Necessities for you, ma’am. Mrs. Miller had a hand in that. She told the seamstress what you would be needing.” Bits of snow clung to his dark hair, turning to ice and then translucent as they melted.
One thing was for certain. She would not melt. She could not relent. “You are a thoughtful man. But it wouldn’t be right for me to accept gifts from you.”
“And why the hell not?” He quirked one brow, not angry but determined to know. “You need clothes, it’s that simple.”
“Then I can worry about procuring them.”
“The doc wouldn’t want you to be up and around shopping for hours. He said you’re to stay indoors. I thought I could help make it more enjoyable for you.”
“You took that burden upon yourself, huh?” She frowned, as if trying to figure out what he wanted from her.
That’s one worry you don’t need to have, angel. His chest filled with the certainty, the responsibility of it. He would not hurt her or use her. She didn’t believe it now, but she would. “I don’t mind taking up the reins and seeing a task gets done. You needed more clothes, since you didn’t have the foresight to pack a bigger bag.”
“I didn’t think I was strong enough to carry one.”
“Did you think you were strong enough to walk to town in a snowstorm?”
“Yes, if I wasn’t weighed down by heavy baggage. Besides, there is nothing I want from that house. It’s my past, and it’s behind me.” Her chin shot up, all fight. There was no self-pity, but strength and unwavering determination.
He liked her spirit. “Ready to start a new life? Maybe you’d be willing to accept a helping hand with that.”
“And you’re willing to help me, is that it?”
“I am. I’m the right man for the job, and I intend to convince you of that. You’ll see.”
He sure looked like the right man. In every possible way. Katelyn felt a sudden, expanding sensation in her chest. A sensation she refused to name. Refused to feel. She did not find the horseman attractive. Truly, she didn’t.
To make a liar of her, her body warmed. Her senses filled with him. Her hand ached to lie at the base of his strong neck, where his shoulder and back met, and feel the heat of him against her sk
in. Her mouth tingled, remembering and yearning for the taste of his kiss and the power of it. She ached deep inside for him.
It wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want another man dominating her. Controlling her life. Withholding affection because he had the power to.
“Unwrap these, go on.” He nudged a half-dozen packages toward her. The largest he set in the corner. “We’ll keep this one for last. Go on. I’ll be right back.”
What she ought to be was wary. Guarded. Hadn’t Hennessey admitted to trying to earn her affections? She had to put a halt to this. She had to make him understand she was a woman strong enough to stand on her own feet. That she’d been married once. And never again.
She didn’t need gifts from a man. What she needed was to be strong enough to find work. She shouldn’t be wondering what was in these packages, what the horseman, who’d stood so proud and pleased, had bought for her.
It doesn’t matter. Leave the packages alone, Katelyn. It was the right thing to do, but she wanted to open them.
It was weak of her, she supposed.
A clatter in the hallway tore her away from her thoughts. Was that Hennessey? What was he up to?
The metallic clanging came closer until a big steel tub filled the threshold, hefted by the brawny, capable horseman. His sleeves were rolled back to display the ropes of muscle cording beneath his brown skin.
He placed the tub on end in front of the fire, leaving it balanced against the wall while he moved the wing chair out of the way.
She watched him work. How could she not? He was a sight to behold, the magnificence of him, the elemental maleness of him as he worked. His intensity of concentration, the care he took with his task, the masculine grace as he moved and bent and tugged to fit the big tub into a narrow space. The fall of hair over his brow, the curve of his neck as he knelt, the line of his back so wide and strong.
She wanted to put her hand there, between his shoulder blades, and run her fingers down the deep furrow of his spine. To feel the heat of his skin. To kiss him there and taste his salty male heat.
It wasn’t what she wanted, not rationally. But the woman in her craved something that did not exist. Or was so rare, it might as well be nonexistent.
He simply looked wonderful. Of course her basic humors would respond to this example of male perfection. What woman wouldn’t want to be held safe in his arms? What woman wouldn’t want to believe there was comfort and love and tenderness to be found snuggling against his impressive chest?
“You’re not opening your packages.” He tossed her an infectious grin-he had to know how charming he was-and disappeared through the doorway and into the hall, his steps fading away into silence.
Stop trying to see a man as good as Papa in him. Her father had been a rare individual. Protective and strong and gentle with her, and the memories made dim and fuzzy from time remained powerful enough to still the pain inside her. A brief remembrance of a man who had spoken softly, acted deliberately and hurt no one.
There were good men in this world, but how scarce they were.
Hennessey burst into the room carrying two steaming ten-gallon buckets as if they weighed nothing at all. “Hope you like your bathwater hot.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this. I could manage to make it to the necessary room downstairs. Where the bathtub belongs.”
“Sure, but then I can’t be your hero by bringing a hot, soothing bath to you.”
“I can arrange my own bath.”
“Sure, but then I wouldn’t be here to help you.” He emptied the heavy buckets handily.
Had she heard him right? “I don’t need help getting a bath ready.”
He strode from the room as if he hadn’t heard her.
As if she couldn’t have gone downstairs and asked Mrs. Miller to heat bathwater. Katelyn rescued her hairbrush from the folds in the quilt and brushed her hair until it crackled, and tried not to watch Hennessey every time he entered the room. Every time he hefted the buckets with ease and rippling muscles and quiet competence. A competence her spirit admired, even as she set her mind against it.
“You’ll need this.” He ripped open a brown-wrapped bundle and a snowy white robe tumbled to the covers. So soft and luxurious looking that it made her fingers itch to touch the fabric.
“Let me help you.” He lifted the brush from her hand and set it aside. His pupils grew huge until there was a tiny ring of brown around the black as his knuckles grazed her chin. There was a tug and a yank and the top button at her throat released.
“I can do this myself.”
“I know.” He loosened the next button and the next until the flannel placket fell forward, gaping, offering him a view of the top slopes of her breasts.
His gaze pinned hers as he continued unbuttoning. The pad of his thumb pressed into the inner curve of her right breast. She shuddered deep inside.
“This is wrong. You need to leave.” She couldn’t seem to summon up enough strength to make the words sound forceful.
“I suppose that would be the proper thing to do.” Hennessey released the last button and the fabric fell free.
Air danced across her exposed nipples. They pebbled, tellingly, and heat crept up her face. She was strangely aroused. Liquid, spreading heat curled deep in her abdomen. Her breathing quickened. Her skin felt alive and craving his touch.
She’d never felt this way before. What she ought to do was send him from the room.
Slowly, as if destined, he lifted her hair away from the side of her neck and pressed his kiss there, hot and thrilling, beneath her earlobe.
Want flickered through her like fire.
She knew what he wanted. She’d been married. The quiet horseman might have little experience with women, but she didn’t doubt he had experience of a different sort.
Here she was, alone with him, half-undressed on the bed. If she allowed it, he would have her out of her drawers, too, and naked beneath him spread out on the mattress.
Her stomach turned, remembering what that was like. The lovely heat in her midsection cooled into a faint disappointment.
“I can’t.” She couldn’t look at him.
“Do you think I’d try to take advantage of you?” His hand curled around her neck, so much strength and latent force, but his touch felt soothing and heavenly. “Damn that sorry excuse of a man for what he did to you. But you’re with me now. You’re about to find out what a real man is like.”
“A real man? Are there any of those left in this world?”
“A few of us sainted souls still roam the earth.” He winked, acting cocky, trying to make her smile.
It almost worked. The sudden tension in her eased a little. The hard knot she didn’t know was in her stomach loosened a bit.
He changed, softening the way a rugged granite mountain range softened with the dawn, and leaned his forehead to hers. Close. Intimate. As if he were suddenly a part of her flesh and bone.
“You’re with me now, Katelyn.” A promise, as sure as the earth and sky. As dependable as the floor at her feet. “Trust me, all right? If you do, you’ll see how a man treats a woman.”
His hand sneaked beneath her hair and cradled her head in his palm as his lips slanted over hers. A tender, heartrending brush of steel and heat and desire. A man’s loving kiss that left her stunned, her senses spinning. Her entire body quivered with awareness.
“Come with me.” He took her hand, so small in his, and helped her to her feet.
She was too dazed to argue. He drew her forward and she moved. She felt the heat from the water and the heat from him and burned, wholly, deeply.
He smoothed the nightgown from the curves of her shoulders and the fabric fell in a whisper down her arms, over her hips to pool on the nubby carpet beneath her feet. He moved behind her, his fingertips digging into the curve of her hip, holding her as he fit against her, his kiss to her nape, his hand in her hair. As if he belonged there.
He doesn’t belong with me. She willed the wo
rds into her mind, but they were not strong enough to stop the power of his touch. It sifted through her like snow from a benevolent sky, fragile and stunning and unstoppable and so peaceful she closed her eyes and wished it would never end.
His fingertips scraped down her ribs, skimmed lower and caught the cotton waist of her drawers. His breath fanned her nape as he tugged the bow loose and the fabric hung at her hips, ready to fall at any moment.
Naked, exposed, vulnerable, she shivered, but not from fear. Hennessey’s kiss traveled from her nape to her earlobe. The tug of his lips on sensitive skin felt like paradise. His palms caught her hipbones and his fingers interlocked over the curve of her stomach, trapping her against his steeled chest and the hard, impressive manhood jutting against the small of her back.
“I have never seen such beauty.” His confession was a low caress against the sensitized shell of her ear.
She broke then, like snow from the face of mountain, crumbling apart, unable to stop. Inevitable, fated, she closed her eyes and leaned into his strength. She allowed his arms to hold her up as her heart tumbled. What was he doing to her?
“The bath is waiting for you.” His words skimmed the curve of her earlobe. “I’ll just turn around while you, uh, take off the rest of your things.”
Was that shyness she heard in his voice? she wondered as she let the cotton slip to the floor. She laid one hand on the back of his shoulder as she dipped one foot into the steaming water. The lap and caress of the hot water melted her very bones. She brought her other foot into the tub and eased all the way in.
Heaven. She rested her head against the hard rim and closed her eyes. When was the last time she’d felt this good? She couldn’t remember. The delicious water comforted her soreness. Her worries drifted away on the rising steam to evaporate into nothing.
“Does it feel good?”
“Hmm.” She couldn’t speak. That’s how good it was. She was like a hunk of butter melting on a stove. Grateful tears ached in her throat.