by Jill Barnett
He slammed the door so hard the wall screamed, and he walked in the middle of the kitchen and stood, glowering at the ceiling.
Hallie rushed into the room, and at the sight of him, skidded to a stop. Her hand grasped her robe and she said, “Oh! I thought you’d left!”
Kit looked at her, then glanced at the door, then looked at her again. She was panting, he assumed from running down the stairs so fast. Why should she care if he’d gone? Why was she being so . . . agreeable?
She wants something, he decided. That was why she was buttering his bread, serving him coffee, and waiting up for him . . .
He crossed his arms. “What do you want, Hallie?”
She shifted from one bare foot to the other. “Want?”
“Yes, want. All this sudden wifely care must be for a reason.”
She shifted again and nodded.
“What do you want?”
She bit her lip in hesitation.
Growing impatient, he prodded, “Fallen out of any trees lately?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she took her belligerent stance. “Crawled into any strange beds, lately?”
They squared off.
“It was not a strange bed. It was my own bed.”
Hallie’s hands plopped onto her hips. “Oh yes, your precious bed. How could I forget it? Especially when I was foolishly trying, with all this wifely care, to lure my husband back into it!”
“What?”
“You are the most stubborn, bull-headed, inconsiderate man I have ever met. Why I would even try to make this marriage real is beyond me!” Her hand waved in the air with each shouted word. “I don’t know why I was thinking you—”
Kit crossed the room and had a grip on her waving wrist before she could finish. His eyes bored into hers. “What were you thinking?”
“Nothing! Let go.”
“Hallie, what did you want?”
“Forget it!” She tried to pulled her hand away.
He wasn’t going to let her go, not until he heard her say exactly what she meant by “luring” her husband. She pulled her hand again, and he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to his chest so she couldn’t get away. Her hair fell over his arms. She wiggled like a hooked worm, forcing him to tighten his hold. She looked up at him, glaring, and her hair spilled downward. He was lost.
His lips met hers, and she stilled. He released her hands, and suddenly they were around his neck, clinging to him the same way her lips clung to his. His hands closed over her bottom and he lifted her higher, held her even tighter against his body. Her soft breasts pillowed against his chest and her lips parted, an invitation to his tongue, so he tasted her.
As they kissed—deep, tongue-stroking kisses—he reveled in her flavor and his hold relaxed, letting her slide in slow, slow inches, back to the floor. Her arms wrapped tighter around his neck and her tongue mimicked his, swirling in the recesses of his hot mouth, licking and sending his want of her to new heights. Against his ribs her breasts rubbed slowly with the motion of their kiss, and hot, sweet desire bolted through him. His kiss moved from her sweet mouth to her ear, where he knew his tongue could make her quiver.
“You want me . . . don’t you? I can feel it.” His tongue flickered into her ear, dampening it, and then he whispered, “Tell me, sweet, tell me you want me. Tell me you’re not afraid . . .”
Hallie moaned, and pressed her ear harder against his open mouth.
“Tell me with words. I need to hear the words,” he said, breathing his plea into her ear.
“I want you . . . but I didn’t know how to show you. I—”
“Show me now,” he murmured against her damp lips, and kissed her with a kiss so powerful he ached with need. He filled his hands with clouds of her hair. He filled her mouth with his tongue, stroking her teeth, her mouth, her tongue. Her hands moved, tentatively, into small, stroking circles on the tight muscles of his back. Her tongue joined his, and she rubbed against him. He was in heaven.
No, he was in the kitchen. Kit pulled his mouth away and tilted her head up to his. Her eyes, closed in passion, opened as his thumbs lightly stroked her jaw.
“Are you sure?” he asked, praying that she would say yes.
Her eyes, misty and moist, gave him the answer he wanted, but as if to create no doubt, Hallie’s lips melted against his, her body moved against him, and her hands, wedged between their bodies, rubbed rhythmic circles on his chest.
Kit stilled her teasing hand, threaded it through his own and pulled her from the room. They ran upstairs, and once in their room, he pulled her against him, kissing her hard and using his back to shut the bedroom door. His hands covered her bottom and he lifted her, pressing her against his aching, hard length. Holding her against him, he walked to the bed and sat, draping Hallie over his arm while his mouth closed over a cloth-covered breast.
She moaned and threaded her hands through his hair, instinctively pulling him closer while she pressed her breast against his open mouth. He kissed her neck, along a trail to her mouth while his hands pulled the clothing from her shoulders.
He pulled away, driven to see her breasts bare. She saw the direction of his gaze and tried to cover herself.
“No,” he said. “Please, you’re beautiful. Let me look at you . . . all of you.” He set her on her feet and his fingers fumbled with her belt. He loosened it and shoved her clothing down to the floor, seeing for the first time the wonder of her bare body. Her beautiful white breasts were so full, he would have to use both hands to hold one. Never, never would he think of her as a young girl again. Her body was a woman’s body, and so stimulating that he could almost feel his blood run thick.
His eyes roved downward, past her small waist and full hips, to her legs, and he stopped. The inside of one thigh was scarred a bluish-red, and the mark ran from mid-thigh all the way down to her calf.
His eyes met hers. “What happened?”
Tears streamed from her eyes and she turned to the side, hiding the scar from his view and shaking with shame.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and bent to try to pull up her clothes.
“No!” Kit tore the fabric from her hands, and pulled her to his chest just as her tears burst into sobs.
“The f-fire. I b-burned it.” Her fists knotted against his shirt front. “It’s s-so ugly. I’m sorry,” she whispered between crying breaths.
Kit brushed her tears away with his thumbs. “No, Hallie, it’s not ugly. It caught me by surprise, that’s all. I thought you came out of the fire unharmed. Why didn’t you tell me you’d been hurt?”
“Why? The doctor said no one but my husband would see it.” Hallie tried to pull away, but Kit held fast.
He was her husband, but he sensed that logic wasn’t what she needed to hear. She needed to know that he didn’t care one whit about the scar. She needed reassurance.
“It doesn’t matter, sweet. I’d want you if you had a hundred scarred legs.”
She laughed softly. “If I had a hundred legs I’d be a centipede.”
“And I would kiss every single one of those hundred legs, Hallie-girl.” He kissed her, long and deep. His hands roved over her, soothing the tension from her taut muscles, and his mouth moved down to the tip of her breast, closing over it and flicking his tongue against her distended nipple until she was again limber with passion. He laid back on the bed, pulling her with him while he drew the tie from his collar.
“Help me, sweet,” he asked, struggling between kisses to remove his shirt. He moved her hesitant hands to his shirt studs, and while she removed them, he held her face in his hands and buried his tongue in her mouth. Her skin touched him as his shirt opened, and he turned with her, onto their sides, so he could get free of the cloth barrier.
In passion, he turned again, pressing his chest against her and feeli
ng her nipples bead through his chest hair. When the hard tip of a breast brushed his own nipple, desire shot through him like a bullet.
He sat up, removing his boots, and then tore free the buttons of his trousers, pulling off the last of his clothes. Then he was kissing her deeply while their naked legs tangled. His hands stroked lower and lower with each caress, until his fingers threaded through her pale body hair. She moaned and turned her head to kiss his own ear with her small, flicking tongue. His fingers teased over her, grazing lightly against the point of her desire. She cried out, and the sound was so sensual, so exciting, that he touched her over and over again just to hear it.
In invitation, she pressed against his hand, and his finger entered, buried to his knuckle. She moved against it, her damp tightness wanting more. Her tears of desire wet his cheeks as he kissed her mouth and moved his finger in the very core of her. His hips burrowed between her legs and his hand left her body and grasped her thigh, pushing it outward and spreading her leg wider for his entry. He rose up on his elbows, poising at her entrance, and he looked at her. “Open your eyes, sweet. I don’t want to hurt you again. Your eyes will tell me if I am.”
Her lids opened, and their gazes met. Kit inched inside, slowly, watching for any sign of pain with each enveloping penetration. He took two deep, controlling breaths and penetrated more. When he was fully seated, he threaded his fingers through hers and bent to kiss her softly, with eyes open.
Her eyes drifted closed, and he pulled back. Her eyes opened.
“Watch me, sweet, watch me.” With gazes locked, Kit’s hips began the slow beat, drumming in and almost out of her hot core until the friction drove him faster and faster. Crying with passion, she strained toward him, innocently signaling her need, and he thrust hard, touching that elusive trigger that sent her release throbbing so hot around him that he came.
He lay there, spent and drained, but still looking at her. He unthreaded a hand and brushed a bit of hair away from her damp temple.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his lips feathering her hairline.
“No,” she whispered, her voice raspy from her cries.
Her chin and cheeks were bright pink from the dark stubble of his beard, and he traced the rashes gently with a finger.
Then she smiled, the sated, sensuous smile of a woman well-loved.
He looked at the love there on her expressive face, and something deep within him called out, as if his soul were crying. He closed his eyes tightly, fighting the emotion, fighting the feeling, and fighting against the chains that would bind his heart. Instead, he bent and kissed the deep crevice between her breasts, laying his head on her breast while her hand tentatively stroked his head. He laid there, wrestling with the hopeless feeling that he was no longer in control of his life.
Her fingers grazed his cheeks, his nose, and then his chin, feeling the dark, rough growth of his thick beard before those same slender fingers traced his lips. Her touch was so innocent, so gentle, that his desire quickened.
He opened his lips and stroked her fingertips with his tongue, which must have surprised her, for she lifted her head to better see him. He raised his head and his lips closed over hers as his hands held her ribs, stroked her breasts, and once again he was deep within her, driving their bodies over the edge. Again, and again.
Chapter Twenty-two
Hallie floated down the stairs, smiling. It was something she did a lot lately. She paused near the walnut hall tree to pinch some color into her pale cheeks, but it wasn’t necessary. The face in the mirror glowed from something that went much deeper than her skin.
Three weeks, Hallie thought. It had been three weeks since the night in the kitchen and, she smiled, in the bedroom. Every night since had been more and more wonderful.
She looked in Kit’s study, but the room was empty, except for the cats, who had made the study their home. Liv had moved them, at Kit’s request, into the back room of the kitchen, but it hadn’t been a successful move.
Hallie grinned at the memory of Mrs. Skunk, parading past the dinner table, carrying a kitten in her mouth over and over, as she methodically moved her babies back into the study. After that display, Kit relented and shared his study with the cats.
She entered the kitchen, but Kit wasn’t there either. Maddie sat at the table, braiding Dagny’s hair and talking away to her just as the doctor had advised, but still there was no change in her sister. Liv was at school, but the twins were there, sitting with their noses wedged into separate corners. It was Maddie’s latest punishment.
She glanced from one to the other. “What did they do now?”
Maddie looked at Knut and called out, “Knut, turn around and show Hallie what you did.”
The little boy swirled around on his fanny and looked innocently at his oldest sister—as innocently as he could without any eyebrows.
“How?” she asked Maddie, biting back a laugh.
“Kit’s razor. It seems they’ve watched him shave and asked him why he did it—”
“He said lots of men shave the hair off their faces,” Knut interrupted. “But we don’t have any hair ‘cept out the hair on our eyebrows, so Gunnar shaved them off me!”
“You did it too!” Gunnar turned around. He was only missing one eyebrow.
“Turn around, boys, your time’s not up yet,” Maddie commanded, and the twins immediately obeyed.
Hallie had just poured herself a cup of coffee when the back door opened and Duncan came in. He went straight to Hallie.
“Captain Prescott sent his man over with a message that you were to come to his ship right away. Some kind of emergency, I gather. I’ve got the carriage out front so we can leave as soon as you’re ready.”
Hallie looked at Maddie as she got up. “You think it’s Kit?”
“I don’t see how. He just left here himself a few minutes ago. He said he had a meeting with some banker at ten.”
Hallie ran and got her hat and cloak. She stuck her head back into the kitchen. “I’ll send a message if it’s anything urgent,” she told Maddie, then left with Duncan.
Half an hour later Hallie and Duncan boarded the Wanderer, and while Duncan waited on deck, she was taken to the captain’s quarters. They entered the small cabin and her gaze met Lee Prescott’s.
“I found something of yours,” he said, nodding across the room.
Hallie turned, and there was Liv, sitting on a bunk, dressed as a boy.
“What in the world . . . ?”
“She tried to stow on board a clipper leaving for the Orient this morning,” Lee informed her.
“You did what!” Hallie ran to Liv and grabbed her by her ridged little shoulders. “You could have been killed, young lady! What are you doing, stowing on ships?”
“Running away,” Liv announced, obstinacy radiating from her face. “And I don’t care if I do die!”
“For God sakes, why?”
Liv was silent.
Hallie looked to Lee, but he shrugged.
“I’ll leave if you want to be alone,” he offered.
“No, thank you, Lee,” Hallie said, grabbing Liv’s grubby hand and pulling her to the door. “I’ll take care of this at home. But thanks for saving her ornery little fanny.”
He waved them off, and Hallie continued to drag Liv behind her, ranting at her along the way and walking so fast that even Duncan had trouble keeping up with them. They walked down the ramp, heading toward the carriage, when Hallie stopped. She looked over to the next wharf and saw the empty mooring.
The Sea Haven was gone.
She looked at Liv. “Isn’t that where Da’s ship was moored?”
“Yes,” Liv answered, then clammed up again.
Hallie marched toward Duncan, dragging Liv along. “Duncan, do you know anything about my father’s ship?”
“No. Why?”
“It was moored right there,” Hallie pointed to the empty mooring. “Would you put Liv inside the carriage? Oh, and watch her, she’s got some fool notion about running away. I’ll just be a few minutes. I want to ask about the Sea Haven.”
Duncan helped Liv inside while Hallie went to question some of the dock workers. After a few minutes she located a warehouseman who was said to know everything about anything that happened near the Broadway Wharf.
When Hallie asked him about the ship, he answered her immediately. “Oh, the Sea Haven, that’s the Howland ship, right?”
“No,” she corrected. “It’s the Fredriksen ship.”
He tipped back his hat and scratched his forehead. “You don’t say. Hmm. Well, some feller named Howland and some other feller, can’t remember who, had her hauled away.”
“Hauled away?” Hallie whispered, hoping that what she was thinking was not true. But something deep down inside told her Kit had lied and sold the ship for fill.
Heartbroken and confused, she ran away from the stunned warehouseman, not stopping until she reached the carriage. Sobbing, she begged Duncan to take her right home, jerked open the carriage door and crawled inside.
Liv looked at Hallie’s tears and turned her stubborn face away, as if she couldn’t stand the emotion in her sister. On the silent ride home, Hallie tried to tell herself that it wasn’t true, that the man she loved and had married hadn’t done this to her. But it was the only answer. That bastard had lulled her into a sense of acquiescence with his lovemaking, then turned around and sold the ship—her ship—for fill.
The carriage pulled to an abrupt halt in front of the house, and in the blink of an eye the carriage door flew open and Kit blocked the doorway. “I heard what happened.” His angry glare was directed right at Liv, who scooted even farther into the corner.
“You’re coming with me!” he ordered, and lifted Liv out, carrying her up the stairs before Hallie could get out of the carriage.