by Jill Gregory
Josie could only gaze at him in helpless awe. This tall man with his piercing eyes and black aura of danger—what was he thinking? Feeling? Wanting?
The same as all men want, she told herself in a desperate surge of fury. To use you. To take his pleasure, satisfy it, and then move on. He’s going to divorce you in a matter of months. And send you away, forever.
That thought shot some fight back into her weakening senses. She gripped the table hard, and pressed her lips together, as if somehow signaling him to keep away, keep out.
Ethan saw it, and it made him want to seize her and show her that she couldn’t chase him away or shut him out so easily. It was only with consummate willpower that he kept his feet rooted to the floor, his arms clenched taut at his sides.
A violent restlessness had possessed him this entire night, growing more intense as the hours passed. The strain of watching her charm everyone at the party tonight, of knowing she was his but wasn’t his, had been bad enough. But then after hearing those cowards Cavenleigh and Willowton discussing her as if she were a common tart—something had twisted like barbed wire inside him.
He knew those were just the start of the rumors. It would get uglier.
Even punching those pompous bastards hadn’t eased the mounting tension inside him. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her the entire night, even when he was gambling, even when he’d talked of everything under the sun to dozens of people he didn’t give a damn about, eaten a tasteless dinner everyone else had raved over, even when he’d allowed himself only one waltz with her the entire evening.
And when he’d heard her light step on the stairs, glimpsed her nightgown-clad form from his study, watched her glide along the hall and into the kitchen, he’d felt as if someone had bashed him in the stomach.
There’d been no choice but to follow.
So now here he was, less than two feet from this tantalizing creature he’d wed in a judge’s study in Abilene, and he was locked in a bloody inner struggle for self-control that threatened to rage outward.
To keep from reaching for her, he raked his fingers through his hair. It was damned near impossible to rein in red-hot hunger and primitive urges when she looked lovelier than the most succulent peach, fresher than a rosy strawberry glistening with dew. He wanted to drown in those violet eyes of hers. Eyes that seemed to singe his soul. He wanted to bury his fingers in the soft, lush riot of her hair. Taste and stroke every inch of silken skin, the small, beautiful mounds of her breasts, every curve from her shoulder to the arch of her delicate little foot.
But he remembered how she’d run from him at the stream. Accused him of changing the rules. And from then on, she’d pulled back from him in every way. The whole damn week in London he’d felt the difference, felt her distance as if it were a block of ice lodged in his throat. That’s how she wanted it, he reminded himself grimly. And he’d be damned if he’d give her another chance to spit in his face, accuse him of breaking their bargain, and push him away yet again.
If it was cold and businesslike that she wanted, that’s what she’d get.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” he demanded, then swiftly amended it. “I mean, asleep. It’s the damned middle of the night.”
“I know that. I could ask you the same question.”
His mouth twisted. Her gumption was as much a part of her as the sweep of her cheekbone, and the voluptuous shape of her lips. He tried hard to be irritated by it, but it only inspired an amused warmth.
Unthinkingly, his gaze dipped lower, from those stubbornly set lips to the pale neckline of her gown and the twin mounds of her breasts clearly and saucily outlined beneath the whisper of silk.
And it was at that very moment that Josie herself suddenly remembered what she was wearing—and what she was not wearing.
She let out a squeak. Her arms flew to her chest, crossed there, clung to the wispy fabric of her nightgown. Ruby color rushed like fire into her cheeks.
She half turned her body away from him and started toward the door with as much dignity as a hasty exit could afford. “I couldn’t sleep. But I’m tired now. Think I’ll go to bed....”
He snagged her arm as she tried to scoot past him. “What’s your hurry?” he asked inanely, knowing full well why she wanted to get the hell out of there. But he didn’t want her to leave. Not just yet.
“It’s late. I’m tired. And I’m not properly dressed.”
Let her go. Just let her go. But he couldn’t release her arm.
“You’re dressed just fine.”
“No, Ethan, I’m not. Please let me by.”
“What are you afraid of, sweetheart?”
“Certainly not you! But it isn’t right... I’m in my nightgown—it isn’t proper.”
“Neither is pickpocketing.” He tried desperately to lessen the intensity of desire swamping him by attempting a joke. “But that didn’t stop you.”
She went still as death. Ethan could have kicked himself. What kind of idiotic thing had that been to say? He’d been rambling, trying to delay her going upstairs and leaving him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“Yes, you did.” Pain shimmered in her eyes. Her voice was a whisper. “You can’t ever forget that, can you? Or else you won’t. You still think of me as a—”
“No, I don’t. I swear.” Roughly he pulled her against him. “That’s the trouble, I’ve stopped thinking of you that way.”
“You just proved...”
“Proof? You’re looking for proof of how I feel? I can give you that easily enough.”
“Let me go.”
“Not until I’ve shown you how I feel.”
“I know all about the way you—”
Before she could finish the sentence his lips closed over hers, rendering her incapable of thought, much less speech. The kiss was deep and violent. Her throat shivered and her knees turned to soup.
“I could kiss you and kiss you and keep kissing you from now until the end of time,” Ethan groaned, and his hand wound through her hair, gripping it tight. The other held her against him, so that the whole length of her body burned against his. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, anything....”
Josie was trembling all over from the power of that kiss. Her lips felt bruised. Her skin was hot. She was clinging to Ethan even as she knew she should be pushing him away.
She had no defenses left. If he didn’t stop looking at her this way, touching her, kissing her... she was lost. Lost...
There was only one thing that might stop him, stop both of them before they made a horrible mistake.
As he lowered his mouth toward hers again, she gasped out a single word.
“Molly.”
It was Ethan’s turn to go motionless as a post. With one hand still entwined in her hair, and her body bent slightly back, he halted while leaning over her, his lips a breath away from hers.
“What did you say?”
“Molly!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “You wanted Molly more than anything. You loved her more than you could ever love... anyone,” she finished lamely, feeling her heart slice in two as she saw the rage in his eyes.
“Who told you about Molly?”
“What difference does it make?” She pushed him away, frantically, and this time he was so stunned at hearing her fling the other woman’s name at him at such a time that he let himself be shoved back.
“She’s here, between us. You loved her, you grieve for her still. She is in your heart.”
“So what the hell does that have to do with you?” he demanded. His bronzed skin had turned to ash.
She wanted to cry out to him: She’s where I want to be. In your heart. And there’s no space for me....
But the shreds of pride kept those words locked inside.
“I won’t be used.” How thin and hard her voice sounded, squeezing out those pathetic words. “Used... like a harlot. Like someone who doesn’t matter. Used only because you can’t have her,
but you want a woman’s body in your bed, someone who can be tossed aside when you’re done... conveniently forgotten...”
“Is that what you think?” He clenched his fists. Fury lashed through him. “Damn you, Josie, is that what you really think?”
He swung away from her and slammed his fist down on the table. The resounding thud echoed through the kitchen, making her jump, fear gleaming in her eyes.
His rage only mounted, a biting, wicked black rage that ripped through his chest, his gut. Every muscle bulged and quivered. “Get out of my sight while you can. Before I do something I’ll regret. Do you hear me? Get out!”
She hadn’t meant to stir such a reaction. “Ethan, it’s just that... someday I want more.” Her voice was quavering. “I want... to be loved by someone, the way you loved Molly. It may never happen but—”
He pushed her across the room with controlled force that cost him dearly. “Get out!”
The air of the kitchen vibrated with the depth of his fury. She saw the heat ignited in his eyes, the tension coursing through his tall frame, and fear at last penetrated even her pain and confusion. She fled past him with a stifled sob, dodging up the stairs.
Sweat burst out on Ethan’s brow. My God, that’s what she thought of him. That he still loved Molly, that he only wanted to take her to his bed—what? Once, twice, or for the duration of this ridiculous marriage, and then—what had she said—toss her aside? Conveniently forget?
He drove his fist down on the table again, heedless of the servants he might wake. To hell with them. To hell with her. To hell with everything.
And then something exploded inside him. Fury, hot and wild and flailing.
If that’s all she thought of him, if that’s how she saw him, maybe he should just prove her right. Prove how callous and ruthless and single-minded he could be. Prove how little he cared, that he was nothing but a selfish bastard...
He flung himself from the kitchen and into the hall. She had just reached the top step, and turning, saw him standing below.
Something in his eyes must have warned her. Her lips parted, fear filled her face. Even as he lunged for the steps, she was running.
Twenty
Josie bolted into her room, every nerve alive with panic. As she heard Ethan pounding up the steps after her, she slammed the door and locked it, then darted to the other door, the sitting room door that connected their bedrooms.
Her fingers shook as she twisted the lock. She backed away, hands to her throat, her heart slamming in her chest as she gazed fearfully back and forth between both doors.
Suddenly there was a crash. The sitting room door shattered inward, the wood splintering, flying across the carpet.
Ethan stood framed in the shattered opening.
A cry of terror lodged in her throat. She’d never seen him look like that. His eyes were narrowed and cold as daggers as he stepped over what was left of the door and stalked toward her.
She fled toward the other door, the one leading to the corridor, seeking escape, but Ethan lunged after, pinning her with his body against the door.
“You’re not going anywhere, Josie. Did you really think a lock could keep me out if I want in?”
“No, Ethan! Let me go! What are you planning to do?”
He gave a harsh laugh. “You know what I’m planning to do, sweetheart.” His breath rasped in her ear. His voice rang with a deadly purpose that sent broken shivers through her heart. “It’s not like you to ask idiotic questions.”
He spun her around in his arms, locked her hands above her head, and held her imprisoned between him and the door. Her breath came in ragged, terrified gasps, and her eyes shone with a panic that only increased his anger.
“Ethan, you promised...”
“I promised to love, honor, and cherish, and so far I haven’t done that, sweetheart. So let’s start with love.”
“This isn’t love—”
His mouth claimed hers. The kiss was savage. “Are you sure?” he grated, lifting his head for only a moment to stare into her eyes. Then his lips descended again. His tongue forced itself into her mouth, searching, plundering, driven on by the low moan in her throat.
Josie fought like mad. But she couldn’t budge him, stop him, free herself of him. She twisted and squirmed, but all the while her own body and senses were betraying her. She felt as if she were melting—no, igniting, was more like it. A flame caught hold within her, fanned out, flickering ever stronger.
“Ethan... no, please. Don’t... do this.” The plea was mixed with a sob wrenched from the depths of her battered heart.
She felt him stiffen at the sound of that sob. His lips froze just above hers. They were heartbeat to heartbeat, their bodies rigidly pressed together, and she could feel the huge, hard ridge of his manhood against her nightdress, feel every taut muscle up and down the length of his frame.
Another sob, one of mingled fear and craving, spilled out of her, and he raised his head and stared down into her tormented face.
“Are you so sure this isn’t love, Josie?” he asked hoarsely. Suddenly his eyes glittered with a fierce, agonized longing that slashed at the remnants of her heart. “Then maybe I’m not doing it right.”
And to her astonishment, he released her hands, letting them drop numbly to her sides. She was too stunned to move. She could only stare at him, her breath coming fast and hard in her chest.
Then his hands touched her lightly. They caressed her shoulders, her arms, then slid to just beneath the swell of her breasts. Staring into her eyes, Ethan ran his hands slowly down the trembling length of her until they spanned her waist.
Her lips were quivering. With a slight, tentative smile, Ethan sought her mouth again, this time brushing them with the gentlest of kisses, and then another, and another, each one hotter and sweeter and deeper than the one before.
Wonder swept over her like sun-warmed honey. She was melting, melting against him, into him, into herself. His violence hadn’t hurt her. It had frightened her, but not hurt her. But this sweetness, these tender kisses, were killing her.
“I’d never hurt you, Josie,” she heard him mutter against her hair, and then her arms went around him, clasping his neck, holding him every bit as tightly as she wanted him to hold her.
“I love you, Josie, don’t you know that by now? Or don’t you think I’m capable of it?”
There was bitterness and self-mockery and pain in his voice, and reflected in his eyes.
Josie cupped his face in her hands, her fingers trembling. “But you can’t.” Her voice cracked. “No one’s ever loved me. Not really loved me. You can’t possibly.”
“I not only can, you little fool, I do... I do....” He gave a hoarse laugh as he gripped one of her hands and pressed it to his lips. A thrill of fire raced down Josie’s spine.
“Sounds like I’m saying marriage vows again. Maybe, just maybe I am, Josie, for the very first time.”
And then as he read the wonder and doubt and, yes, disbelief in her eyes, anger swept through him again, warring with his efforts at patience.
“Molly’s ghost isn’t between us, Josie. Only your fears are, your doubts.”
“You loved her.”
“Yes, once, a long time ago. And she died.” Now it was his turn to cradle her face in his hands. It didn’t matter how she’d learned about Molly—maybe it was for the best that everything be clear between them. Her bones felt so fragile beneath his fingers. Her eyes were huge violet pools watching him with an unwavering intensity that ripped through his chest.
He struggled for words even as his heartbeat accelerated, even as the beauty and fragility of her soul and her spirit touched him. “We were young... she was lovely, sweet... and she was taken from me, by my own father and my brother, with help from Winthrop, because she wasn’t deemed good enough. Good enough! They weren’t fit to kiss her hand. And they killed her, and I could never forgive them for that. But... it was young love, Josie, new love, and I’ll never know if it was meant to
last. It was years ago, and she’s gone.” His eyes darkened with both sadness and acceptance. “She’s been gone. I’ve moved on. I never thought I’d love anyone else like that again—and I don’t.”
She drew in her breath, and his hands clamped down on her shoulders, gripping hard. His eyes blazed into hers. “I love you differently from the way I loved her. I’m different now than I was then... I love differently, feel differently. And, my sweet, foolish, beautiful little love—believe it or not, I’m prepared to spend this entire night making you believe it. Hell, the rest of my life making you believe it. I love you for you, because of you—because I can’t think of anything or anyone but you! You’re in my heart, Josie, you’re in my head, and you’re in my blood.”
He gave her no time to doubt, to question. He dragged her to him and his mouth covered hers. The heat from him flamed into her. Her whole body quivered with it. His mouth burned down her throat like hot silk. And his hands... Josie shuddered and trembled at the fierce exploration of those strong, demanding hands.
“Ethan, I want to believe you,” she gasped, her arms around him as the sensations washed over her in wave after delicious wave.
“Then believe.” His tongue caressed her lips. Her mouth parted, senses swimming.
“Don’t... lie to me....”
“Is this a lie?” Their lips met, clung, burned.
“Is this a lie?” He traced the outline of her breasts beneath the nightgown, cupped them gently but firmly, kneading them with his hands. When her eyelashes fluttered with delight and her head tilted back as she gave a quivering gasp, he grinned and slid one hand down her hip to cup her bottom.
“Is the way I’m looking at you a lie? Josie, can’t you see the answer? Look at me, sweetheart. Look into my eyes. My damned love for you is eating me alive.”
She couldn’t think anymore, but she could see. She saw the urgency and tenderness gazing back at her, and something else, something darker, more exciting. Need glinted at her, and a desire so ferocious, it had to hurt. She recognized the pain of aloneness in him—perhaps she’d recognized it all along, from the first time he’d kissed her in Judge Collins’s study.