Michael pulled out her chair. “Leslie’s not embarrassed,” he said staunchly. “She just decided to make a few changes.”
“Michael,” Gaby said, “I love you. This is your doing. I always knew that my darling Leslie was really a butterfly.”
“Mama!” Gaby had always pushed and prodded, but Leslie knew her mother only wanted the best for her. Even so, it was time to call a stop to this. “I decided on a change for a lot of reasons. I’m glad you approve, but talking about how bad I was before isn’t doing my self-confidence a whole lot of good.”
“Leslie!” Gaby looked appalled. “That’s not what I was doing at all. I just thought...I mean, the contrast is so great...” She glanced at her mother-in-law for support.
Cory jumped in. “My mommy’s bee-oo-tiful. Don’t you think so, Andy-Paul?”
“Yeah, sure.” The boy shrugged; looks obviously weren’t all that important to him.
“Don’t you think so, Daddy?”
Michael’s smile warmed Leslie more than the Louisiana sun. “I’ve always thought your mother was bee-oo-tiful,” he replied. Leslie’s hands rested in her lap and he covered one with his own. “Why don’t you tell them the rest of it, honey?”
She was intensely aware of the feel of his knuckles on her thigh, heat passing easily through the thin silk of her dress. She licked her lips. “I’ve decided to go t-to the luncheon with Grandmère Friday.”
“And make the presentation?” Margaret asked with a quick, dubious glance at Michael. “Leslie, you really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We do love you. We never intended to force you.”
Michael’s hand squeezing hers gave Leslie courage. “I want to.” She darted a quick glance at the man at her side and added, “But only if Michael comes, too.”
“Michael?” Margaret was clearly taken aback. “I don’t suppose that will be a problem, if he really wants to go to a women’s luncheon.” She brightened. “Actually...yes, that’s a fine idea.”
“Thank you.” Michael shook out his linen napkin. “I don’t want to let my bride out of my sight. I’m sure the ladies will understand.”
Whether they did or not, Leslie did—and something inside her simply crumbled.
“OH, GOD!” HOURS LATER, Leslie paced around their suite’s master bedroom, wringing her hands. She turned agitated, excited eyes on Michael. “If I’d passed them on the street, I don’t think my own family would have recognized me.”
Trying to seem relaxed, which took enormous acting ability, Michael lounged in one of the comfortable club chairs beside a small table set before the French doors. He could understand her family’s reaction, because he was feeling much the same astonished confusion as he watched her tightly wound movements.
She looked like a completely different woman with red silk swirling around a body he suddenly recognized as...lush. She was behaving like a completely different woman, too. He’d never seen her so excited—or so exciting. Her brown eyes flashed and the masses of curls around her face were extremely seductive.
Belatedly he pulled himself back to the conversation. More and more of late he’d found himself thinking about her in ways inappropriate to their situation.
“Did their reaction offend you?” he asked.
“Offend me?” Her head snapped up and a deep breath made full breasts thrust up sharply beneath the brilliant silk. “I liked it. I’ve always said, if you’re going to do something, go all the way.”
That dragged a laugh out of him. “Is that why you clung to that old image of yourself? Because you were afraid to go all the way?”
She missed the wordplay entirely. “It wasn’t only an image, it really was me.” She sat in the other chair and leaned forward, her elbows on the table. The cleft between her breasts in the V-necked dress deepened. “I was never a beautiful child, not like Sharlee was.”
“I’ll bet your mama would disagree with you.”
“That’s what mothers do,” she said. “But I was a fat kid, Michael. Mama and Grandmère could call it whatever they wanted, but I knew. And I got flustered easily and I stammered. I was clumsy—”
“Did you bite your nails?” She sounded as if she was getting into a serious self-critique, and he wanted to head it off.
She gave a peal of laughter. “Sometimes. Oh, I was a mess!”
“Leslie, you weren’t a mess and you’re not a mess.”
“Then what am I?”
The air seemed to grow suddenly heavy and provocative between them. Only the small round table separated them, and he saw a wildness in her eyes, a glint that warned him he’d have to be careful. She was drunk with triumph, and it would be so easy to take advantage of her.
He wouldn’t, although he wanted to—wanted to like hell. Living in this confined space with her, spending so much time with her, seeing how much she’d come to love his daughter, recognizing how much fortitude it had taken for her to do what she’d done today...
“Michael,” she whispered, “I’ve led such a boring life. I’ve been a coward. Even when I was unhappy with myself, I was more afraid of trying to do anything about it. I’ve always been what Grandmère calls a homebody. I didn’t have a lot of friends or much of a social life in either high school or college. I spent all my time studying and reading except...” She hesitated.
She looked delectable sitting there, head down, her pouty lower lip thrust out. He told himself he had to stop noticing such details. “Except what, Leslie?”
She looked up abruptly and her gaze locked with his. “There was a boy in college. He made a big play for me and I...I...”
He felt a stab of alarm. “You don’t need to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
She grimaced. “This makes me very uncomfortable, but I need to tell you, anyway. I slept with him. I guess you could s-say we had an affair.” Her tone was almost defiant.
“Leslie—” he struggled to keep from touching her “—how do you expect me to react? Knowing you, I’m sure he must have been a great guy.”
“Not so great.” She shook her head. “As it turned out, he was much more interested in the Lyon name than in me.” The light went out of her eyes. “Anyway, I just thought you should know.”
Know that she’d been victimized by a fortune hunter? He rose, lost the fight with himself and leaned over to press a kiss into her soft hair. Why in God’s name had she ever pulled those curls back and pinned them down when they were so glorious?
“Half the world’s population is men and a few of them are fortune-hunting assholes,” he said. “No man in his right mind would want you for anything other than yourself.” He cupped his hand around her cheek. “Thank you for telling me. Now I think we’d both better get some sleep.”
“All right.” Her lips barely moved. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Sleep tight.” He turned away, hating to leave her but knowing it was the right thing to do. He also knew that if he didn’t get the hell out of here fast, he wouldn’t go at all.
HE THOUGHT she was telling him she’d been victimized by a fortune hunter when in fact, all she’d been trying to tell him was that she wasn’t a virgin.
Damn! Men could be dense!
She fumbled awkwardly with the buttonholes on the red silk. She should undress, take a cold shower and crawl into bed—God knew, she’d done it before. But tonight, of all nights! She dreaded being transformed back into plain old Leslie Lyon after such a triumph. It was like...like discovering she had a twin, she thought, a pretty, sexy twin who could say and do all the outrageous things the dull twin would never have the audacity to attempt.
Such as seduce her own husband.
The dull twin wouldn’t even know how to go about attempting such a feat. Which, now that she thought about it, was just as well. She already loved him too much. If she slept with him, heaven only knew how she’d feel afterward.
Shuddering, she crossed to the marble-topped chiffonier and yanked open the drawer containing nightwear:
faded, cotton-knit sleep shirts dating back to her college days and a couple of ankle-length white cotton Mother Hubbards.
And one long, semi-sheer, very sexy nightgown sent by Charlotte as a wedding gift. Thankfully, Leslie had been alone when she’d received the package. Just the sight of it had embarrassed her, as had Charlotte’s note: “They told me to get white because it matches all bedposts—which is where it’s supposed to be. Best wishes for a long and happy marriage from your obnoxious little sister.”
Leslie had never even tried the nightgown on. What was the use? It wouldn’t be hanging on any bedposts in this marriage.
Staring down at the fragile silk in frustration, she crumpled the folds between her fingers. She’d be damned if she’d let this day end on such an unhappy note. Even if she was the only one who knew it, for one glorious night she was going to keep her dull, good-girl image at bay and sleep in silk.
With trembling fingers, she stripped off bra and panties and pulled the slithery garment over her head. It floated down around her to her ankles, multiple folds hiding just enough to make the body beneath look sexy and mysterious.
Running her fingers through her hair, she fluffed the curls around her face. The eyes staring back from the mirror looked almost haunted.
Turning abruptly, she walked to the lamp on the bedside table and lowered the light. The bed had been turned back to reveal eggshell-colored sheets of Egyptian cotton and lavished with multiple rows of soft cotton lace. As soon as she removed her makeup, she’d climb in—and then toss and turn until sunrise.
Suddenly she couldn’t stand the sight of that bed any longer. Walking quickly to the French doors, she flung them wide. Fresh night air, redolent of flowers and dampness and unfulfilled dreams, enveloped her.
Crossing to the wrought-iron railing, she stood there motionless for a moment before letting her head fall back. Gazing up into the star-sprinkled sky, she murmured, “Star light, star bright...” She let her voice trail off but not her thoughts. If she could have the wish she wished tonight, what would it be?
“Leslie.”
Michael’s breath, warm and intimate, stroked across her bare shoulders like velvet. She straightened slowly but didn’t turn. Her heart began to pound in a slow, intense rhythm and she felt her nipples peak beneath the bodice of her gown.
“I thought you’d gone to bed,” she said.
“I...was too keyed up to sleep.”
“Me, t-too.”
His hands settled on her waist, hesitated briefly and then slid up to her rib cage. She didn’t move. His touch was just as she’d dreamed it would be, and extraordinary sensations streaked through her to the very limits of her consciousness.
He moved closer until his body was pressing against hers, lightly but intimately. At the same time, he raised his hands to cup her breasts. She gasped and fell back against him, her head bumping softly against his shoulder.
“It’s a beautiful night,” he murmured, kissing the curve of her shoulder. “I needed company. But I wouldn’t have...if you hadn’t come outside, I think I...could have kept my distance.”
She couldn’t speak, could only cling to the rail while tension coiled through her. With his hands finally curved around her breasts as she had so often fantasized, she nearly groaned with relief. His fingers moved insistently, kneading the flesh, tweaking the already aroused nipples. Her head was spinning and she felt lost and drifting through that canopy of stars.
“Look,” he said in her ear, “I have to tell you something.”
“Oh, God, now what?” She didn’t want conversation. She only wanted the rapture of his touch.
“I went to your mother and grandmother behind your back.”
“My...?” She gasped; his hands on her breasts were a glory that stole her breath, made his words meaningless.
“I know this isn’t the time to tell you, but I can’t go on until...” He groaned, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I told them to give you some space or we’d move out. They really didn’t understand, Les. I know you told me not to interfere, but I couldn’t just watch them hurt you any longer. I’m sorry, but I’d do it again.”
He’d stood up for her. She thought her heart would burst. She loved him for that, and for so much more.
“Leslie, say something.” He spoke roughly but his hands were gentle. They left her breasts to turn her around to face him. “I’ve got to know what you’re thinking. If you’re angry—about that or about this—I have to know. We made a bargain and this wasn’t part of it, but...” He stopped speaking and stared at her as if he’d never seen her before.
With the light spilling from the open French doors, she supposed she was fully illuminated beneath the filmy gown. Her arms jerked as if to cover her exposed body with her hands, but then she lifted her chin and gazed back at him defiantly. Let him look. She’d felt proud of herself today. She wasn’t going to deny that by getting all tongue-tied and embarrassed now.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed. “I already knew that, but seeing you like this—”
“Shut up, Michael.” She touched his mouth with her fingers. “You’ve talked too much already. I don’t care about any of that, just about us here and now.” She trailed her other hand down his bare chest to the very edge of low-slung pajama bottoms. Slipping her fingers beneath the drawstring, she gave a light tug.
This isn’t me, she thought hazily as he wrapped his arms around her and bent her back before his kiss. This is that other Leslie.
I’ll have to thank her.
A DOZEN KISSES LATER Michael scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. Depositing her on the lavish bed, he stripped off his pajama bottoms, then lowered himself beside her.
She waited with open arms. His mouth closed over one tight nipple and she let out a little gasp, followed by a moan of pleasure. Her head strained back on the pillow and she twisted her fingers through his hair to pull him closer.
He’d never dreamed she was so passionate, and if it hadn’t already happened, he would be instantly lost. Tomorrow he’d hate himself for his weakness, but tonight he was going to staunch the desire that had been building ever since they’d done this crazy thing and gotten married.
Still working on her breasts through the now-damp material of her gown, he skimmed impatient hands up her thighs beneath the gown. She was already prepared to accept him; he was already prepared to be accepted.
He poised above her, ready for the stroke that would claim her. Against the pillow, her face looked pale and rapturous framed by those unruly curls. Long lashes swept up and she looked at him, her eyes drugged with pleasure. Lips bruised by his kisses parted and she gasped a single word: “Now!”
“Are you sure?” he gasped. “Because there’s still time—”
“No, there isn’t!” She lifted her hips and slid her heels around behind his knees, at the same time pulling him down into hen waiting warmth.
And capturing him there until he was more satisfied...more guilty...more confused than he’d ever been before.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FIRST THING Leslie saw when she opened her eyes was sunlight streaming through open French doors.
The second thing she saw was her nightgown fluttering from a bedpost.
The third thing she saw wasn’t Michael, just the dent in his pillow. Then she heard the sound of water running in the bathroom and relaxed. He was up and showering. He’d be out soon and then...
She closed her eyes and snuggled back into the nest of rumpled sheets. God, she loved that man!
After last night, he must feel something for her, too. When he walked through the door she would...
He walked through the door, golden skin glistening with moisture, hair dark with dampness. The only jarring note was the thick white towel wrapped around his midsection.
He stopped short at the sight of her. “I’m sorry I woke you,” he said. “I thought I’d go for a jog before work.”
His tone was guarded and his ey
es wary. She felt her smile slipping. “You didn’t wake me.” Deliberately she yawned and stretched. Maybe he would take the hint and come back to bed. To hell with jogging. She’d keep him here all day if she could.
“You’re tired,” he said in that same detached manner. “Why don’t you stay in bed and I’ll send coffee up on my way out?”
This wasn’t going the way she’d planned. “But—”
“Don’t say anything, Leslie.” He looked miserable. “Let me do the talking.” He took a deep breath and his smooth, muscled chest lifted. “I owe you an apology,” he said at last.
“Are you kidding?” She sat up abruptly, belatedly hauling the sheet over her breasts. “Michael McKay, if you think you can get away with just an apology, you’ve got another think coming.”
“Yeah, I know, hanging’s too good for me.” He sounded as if he thought he was agreeing with her. “I shouldn’t have gone behind your back and I sure as hell shouldn’t have taken advantage of you last night. You were on such a high from dinner and you looked so great, and I really like and admire you so much—”
“You married me, you jerk!” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. “It’s too late for that let’s-just-be-friends routine.”
“I know, and you can’t possibly say anything to me I haven’t already said to myself. On top of everything else—” his face tightened into a mask of misery “—I got so carried away I didn’t even use protection. If I’ve made you pregnant, Les, I swear—”
“I’m not pregnant,” she said flatly, her heart transforming into a shriveled knot of misery at his words. Nothing could make her happier than to bear his child—except to have his love.
“You can’t be sure.”
“I’m sure!” She plopped back down on the pillows. “Just leave, all right? Go jogging and forget the whole thing.”
The Lyon Legacy Page 29