The Seduction of His Wife

by Janet Chapman

  Sarah had to use her apron to dry her tears this time, and she gulped down the last of her lemonade as she made her way back to the counter. Good grief, she was going to be a bawling geyser tomorrow when Delaney and Tucker saw their daddy.

  “Sarah! Do you have any Band-Aids?”

  There he was shouting again, not two minutes after promising Grady he’d be a perfect gentleman.

  “Yes!” Sarah shouted back, only to slap her hand over her mouth. She never, ever shouted. She set her glass on the counter and reached into a top cupboard for the first-aid supplies, grabbed the box of Band-Aids and a tube of salve, and spun around to march into the great room before the jerk shouted again.

  But Sarah had to grab the counter instead when the kitchen suddenly started spinning. Uh-oh, she probably shouldn’t have had that third glass of lemonade. She took a deep breath, blinked several times to get back her focus, then slowly and deliberately walked to the door and opened it.

  “The whiskey went straight to my legs,” Alex said, giving her a lopsided smile. “Or I would have come into the kitchen and asked nicely.”

  Sarah could only stare, amazed at how a simple smile could change a man so drastically. Now Alex looked more like his girl-crazy brother Paul than his serious brother Ethan. “That’s okay,” she said, carefully walking up and dropping the salve and Band-Aids onto the couch beside him.

  She turned to leave, but Alex caught her by the hand and pulled her back to face him. Only she didn’t exactly face him but lost her balance and fell onto his lap.

  “Whoa!” he said with a grunt of surprise, catching her in his arms with a laugh. “Don’t run off. I want to tell you that I spoke with Grady.”

  “I-I heard,” she whispered, utterly mortified as she tried to scramble off him.

  His arms tightened around her, and his smile widened until there were two dimples showing on his cleanly shaven cheeks. “They’re going to leave Portland early, so they can be home by daybreak.”

  “I see,” Sarah barely got out, feeling heat climbing up her throat. Holy smokes, she was sitting on his lap! And he didn’t appear ready to let her go anytime soon.

  Her blush kicked up several notches as their eyes met, and just as she’d suspected, when Alex Knight decided to turn on the charm, the woman on the receiving end definitely got hot and bothered. Sarah was near burning up. And there wasn’t one weak muscle in his body, she quickly discovered; his arms around her were rock solid, his chest felt as hard as stone, and…uh-oh, his eyes had just lowered to her mouth.

  “I wanted to ask if you’ll wake me up in the morning,” he said softly, still staring at her mouth. “But I’ve decided to…I’ve decided…” His eyes finally lifted to hers. “To kiss you,” he whispered, pulling her against his stone-hard chest as he settled his mouth over hers.

  Some long-buried feminine instinct compelled Sarah to hold perfectly still. Now she understood why the women in historical romance novels swooned; she couldn’t seem to catch her breath! Tiny pinpricks of awareness shot through her, tightening her skin and making her heart race as Alex’s lips moved over hers. He tasted like pork gravy and whiskey and smelled of flannel and aftershave.

  Was he ever going to stop?

  Did she really want him to?

  Sarah suddenly surprised herself by softening against him and unpursing her lips.

  The moment she did, he broke free and leaned away—though he didn’t loosen his hold on her, and he was back to staring at her mouth. Sarah wanted in the worst way to squirm, but that same instinct kept her still again.

  His gaze finally rose to hers, his eyes a deep, dark blue under heavy eyelids. “I’m drunk, Sarah. Drunk on happiness from finally talking to my brother and dad, and drunk on the whiskey you’ve been pouring down me all evening. Don’t read anything into this.”

  The heroines in her books would have slapped his face. Sarah braced her hands on his shoulders and shoved off the arrogant jerk, smiling in satisfaction when she heard him grunt. She glared at him, her hands on her hips and her chest heaving over her racing heart.

  What in heck could she possibly say? No problem, I like a pulse-pounding kiss as much as any bimbo? Or Think nothing of it, Mr. Knight, I enjoy being mauled by a drunk?

  Sarah gave him one last narrow-eyed glare that should have sent him back to his grave, spun on her heel, and marched to the kitchen door as steadily as she could. Alex Knight’s quiet chuckles were the last thing she heard as she slapped open the door, only to have it swing closed behind her with a soft, anticlimactic swoosh.

  He was a bit more drunk than he realized. But damn it to hell, the woman was beautiful. Alex scrubbed his face with both hands, trying to rub away the feel of her lips. He’d only wanted a little taste to satisfy his curiosity, but he’d gotten a nuclear reaction that had nearly backfired on him. Sarah had felt like molten heat in his arms when she had softened against him. She had also tasted of lemonade that definitely had been laced with whiskey, which meant the woman had been pouring liquor down her own throat all evening, as well. Alex gazed at the still swaying kitchen door. Would she tell Grady tomorrow that he’d made a drunken pass at her?

  Alex had heard the protectiveness in Grady’s voice on the phone tonight. And as emotional as his dad had been to learn Alex was alive, dear old softhearted Grady hadn’t been so overwhelmed that he couldn’t warn Alex to be nice to Sarah.

  Alex frowned at the dying fire in the hearth. His father had been complaining for years that they needed a woman around, that Delaney needed a role model and Tucker needed mothering. So when it appeared his sons weren’t going to accommodate him anytime soon, Grady had gone out and found his own woman—whom he hadn’t hesitated to make a daughter-in-law not two days after getting the news of his son’s death.

  Alex scrubbed his face again, trying to think straight. Okay, he had to give his dad credit for picking a great housekeeper. But what had Grady been thinking to bring such a tempting woman home to his three bachelor sons?

  Unless…unless that was precisely why Grady had brought Sarah here. The wily old coyote. He’d been hoping to rile his sons, and likely hadn’t cared which one, as long as he got a daughter-in-law in the end.

  Alex threw his head back against the couch and stared up at the moose head hanging over the mantel. The whiskey was making him see the obvious benefits of staying married to Sarah. She hadn’t exactly fought his embrace, so he’d kissed her. And she’d been just about to kiss him back when he’d come to his senses. Maybe Sarah wasn’t as averse to this marriage as he thought. Maybe she had fallen in love with Delaney and Tucker and simply couldn’t give them up. After all, she’d quickly gone along with Grady’s plan to protect them. Maybe that was why she hadn’t run away for good, as any sane woman would have, instead of coming back from her walk and feeding him.

  The house had grown quiet, and the kitchen lights had been turned off. Sarah must be in her room off the kitchen, which had been turned from a sewing room into the housekeeper’s bedroom after his mother died.

  Alex closed his eyes and thought about heading to bed himself. He finally got up from the couch with an exhausted sigh, checked to make sure the dying embers in the hearth were banked, and headed upstairs. For eleven horror-filled days, he’d dreamed of falling asleep in his own bed to the sound of the breeze stirring the tall pines outside his window, and tonight he was finally getting his wish.

  Chapter Four

  “D o you remember what I told you in our workout room, right after you kissed me?” Keenan asked, reaching behind her and gently lifting her braid, pulling it over her shoulder.

  “I—” Rachel swallowed and tried again. “I don’t remem—what did you say?” she asked hoarsely, trying to see his face through the shadows. She couldn’t see a damn thing, so she looked down—and could only watch, mesmerized, as he deftly opened the clasp, pocketed her barrette, and then slowly twined the freed ends of her hair around his fingers.

  “I told you the next time we reached this p
oint, that I intended to finish it.”

  “And we…we’re at that point now?”

  Slowly, and with such gentle precision that Rachel tingled all the way down to her toes, Kee began undoing her braid.

  “We’re past that point, Rachel.”

  Her skin tightened in awareness.

  The braid slowly unfurled, and his hand moved higher.

  Breathing became difficult.

  And when his fingers finally reached the nape of her neck, he cupped her head, leaned down, and brought his lips to hers—not kissing her, not quite touching her—just close enough to bring every nerve in her body alive in anticipation.

  “Either smack me with your flashlight, Rachel, or kiss me.”

  The flashlight clattered to the floor.

  Sarah stopped breathing, her eyes glued to the page as the hairs on her body stirred. “Don’t do it, Rachel,” she whispered. “You go to bed with him, and there’s no turning back. He’s going to demand more than you’re wanting to give. Don’t do it.”

  But Rachel did do it, right there in the next sentence, when she threw herself at Keenan Oakes and kissed him with the urgency of a passion she could no longer deny. “Now you’ve done it,” Sarah muttered as she pulled her own hair over her shoulder, twisting it into a tail as she read on, her eyes widening in shock. Holy smokes, Kee was going to take her right there, right against the wall! And not only was Rachel letting him, she was demanding he hurry up!

  He shoved her jeans down to her ankles at just the same time she pushed his down. He lifted her up, moving her back against the wall like before. Rachel wrapped her legs around him, this time gasping at the shock of having nothing between them.

  Nothing but glorious, quivering heat.

  He positioned her higher, then stopped suddenly, the tight muscles of his arms twitching, his eyes closed, sucking breaths rasping from his lungs.

  Rachel realized he was fighting for control.

  She didn’t want that. She dug her nails into his skin to make him look at her, and stared up past the angular planes of his face in the moonlight, into dark blue eyes blazing with primordial need.

  “It’s not trespassing if you’ve been invited,” she told him, shooting him a crooked smile. “Or do I need to clarify that point as well?”

  A shudder ran through him, shaking them both.

  Rachel tilted her pelvis, relaxing her thighs to lower herself until she could feel the tip of his shaft probing the wet folds of her opening.

  And still, he held back.

  “I’ve always had a thing for cavemen,” she whispered.

  His eyes burned at her reference to their first meeting, his nostrils flaring and his hands biting into her thighs. He swore, hotly and crudely, grabbing a fistful of her hair as he braced one forearm on the wall behind her and captured her mouth in a hard and consuming kiss. He moved that kiss to her cheek, then her throat, then buried his face in the crook of her neck and thrust forward, and upward, not stopping until she—

  “Sarah. Sarah!”

  “What!” Sarah snapped, looking up with a glare. Then she gasped, slapping the open book to her chest. “What are you doing here? This is my bedroom. And where’s your shirt?” she squeaked when Alex walked up to the foot of her bed.

  “What in hell are you reading?” he asked, one eyebrow raised as he looked at the book covering her chest. “I’ve been calling to you, and I knocked on your bedroom door loud enough to raise the dead.”

  Sarah couldn’t stop staring at his chest, even as she felt a blush climb into her cheeks. He was…he…holy smokes, his shoulders were broad. And his muscular chest was dusted with soft-looking hair. And his belly was flat enough to—

  “Earth to Sarah,” he said, moving to stand right beside her. He waved a hand in front of her face, then bent at the waist and squinted into her eyes. “Exactly how much whiskey did you have?”

  “Wh-why are you looking for me?” she whispered, forcing her eyes up from his rippling stomach to his frowning face.

  He straightened. “None of the beds upstairs is made, and the mattresses have some mealy purple stuff all over them.”

  Sarah tried to focus on what he was saying and not on the fact that he was towering over her in nearly naked glory, until his words finally sank in. “Oh, I forgot. I stripped the beds when everyone left so the mattresses could breathe. That’s lavender buds all over them, to make them smell nice.”

  The face she was forcing herself to look at—so she wouldn’t look at his chest—slackened in disbelief. “You’re letting them breathe and making them smell like lavender?” he asked. He scowled. “What in hell for?”

  “It’s common practice to air mattresses several times a year,” she said, scowling right back at him. Where, oh, where was her blanket? Too mortified to actually find out, Sarah could only hope it was tucked up under her book and not crumpled down at her waist. Her nightgown was paper-thin, and she just knew she was blushing furiously enough to make it transparent. “I was taking advantage of everyone being gone.”

  “So where am I supposed to sleep?”

  “Ah…I-I’ll go make your bed.”

  He didn’t move, so she didn’t even try to get up. Instead, they stared at each other, until Sarah’s gaze slipped down to his chest again. She immediately snapped her eyes back up and found that his gaze had also lowered—and she doubted he was looking at her book.

  “You have a double bed,” he said ever so softly, slowly lifting his gleaming—or more likely whiskey-glazed—eyes to hers. “Maybe you could read to me until I fall asleep. I don’t think I have the strength to climb those stairs again.”

  Sarah pressed her book even harder against her breasts. What would Rachel Foster do? Throw her book at him? Carry him up the stairs if she had to?

  No, Sarah thought with a mental shake of her head. A smart, feisty, confident heroine would probably scoot over if a handsome man with gleaming blue eyes made such a provocative offer. Besides, what could the man possibly be capable of in his condition? He’d finished off half a bottle of whiskey, he was worn out from two weeks of running for his life, and he had said he only wanted to sleep.

  She was not such a shrinking violet that she couldn’t let him lie on top of the covers beside her, was she? Begin as you intend to go on, she was constantly reminding herself. Well, she certainly didn’t intend for Alex Knight to think she was some frightened little mouse, much less a twenty-nine-year-old prude. Maybe it was only the whiskey giving her courage, or maybe it was Rachel Foster whispering in her ear, but Sarah suddenly scooted over, smoothed out the blankets, and patted the bed beside her.

  Alex Knight didn’t move.

  Sarah took one of the pillows propping her up and set it in place for him—keeping her book pressed to her chest—then patted the bed again without looking up.

  “Do you know what you’re doing, lady?”

  Now what would Rachel say? “Sure,” Sarah said with a negligent shrug of one shoulder. “If you’re too tired even to climb the stairs, I think that says it all. You’re at least a foot taller than the couch is long, so that’s out. You stay on top of the blankets, and I’ll stay on my side of the bed,” she told him, giving the bed one more pat.

  When he still didn’t move, Sarah suddenly felt empowered. Was she really capable of making this man back down simply by calling his bluff? Whew, this heroine business was heady stuff!

  She shot Alex a grin that would have made Rachel proud. “I promise not to take advantage of you, Mr. Knight, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  The scowl Alex gave her should have sent Sarah running for the woods, but she merely widened her smile. With the shadows from the bedside lamp making his scowl look more cartoonish than menacing, Alex finally crawled on top of the covers and settled beside her, lacing his fingers over his flat belly with a tired sigh.

  Sarah went utterly still as she felt the hot weight of his body pressed against hers with only a thin blanket between them. I can do this, I can do
this, she repeated to herself over and over, until her racing heart finally slowed down enough that she could gently wiggle away.

  “Go back to your reading, but read out loud,” Alex said, closing his eyes as he settled deeper into the mattress with another sigh. “I like your voice.”

  She couldn’t possibly read the scene he had just interrupted; Rachel and Kee had been doing it!

  “I—ah—I’ll just read you the first chapter, since I only started this book this evening,” she said, marking her page and quickly leafing back to chapter one.

  “What kind of book is it?”

  “A…it’s sort of a mystery. Written by a woman who lives right here in Maine. It’s set on the coast.”

  She looked over to see that Alex had his eyes cracked open, looking at her. “You like gory mysteries?”

  She shook her head. “This is more of a woman’s mystery. There’s a bit of romance in it, too.”

  His mouth slashed into a grin, and one eye fully opened when he lifted his eyebrow. “Any good stuff? Any heavy breathing and groping?”

  Sarah tamped down the blush creeping up her throat. “It’s a mystery,” she repeated. She looked back at the book and started reading before he could say anything else. “Using her cane for support, Rachel Foster limped down the steps of the library and headed for her truck, eager to get home and take a long soak in a tub of steaming water. The torn cartilage in her knee was nearly healed…” Sarah read softly, her voice picking up the rhythm of the prose.

  She made it to page twelve before Alex’s breathing evened out and Sarah realized he’d fallen asleep. She stopped reading and smiled. Holy smokes, she’d done it; she had a real live man in her bed instead of a fictional hero! He was passed out, so she felt safe enough, and having a few drinks of her own appeared to have given her the courage to call his bluff. She only had to make sure she was out of bed and dressed by daybreak, so she could wake him up to greet his family.