Carter

by Joan Johnston

  She had spent two hours lying there pretending to sleep. Maybe a cup of hot chocolate would help. She opened the door to her bedroom and swore again. Apparently Carter had turned off the light she always left burning in the living room. It was her own fault, because she hadn’t told him to leave it on. But that meant she either had to brave the dark or turn on a light upstairs in order to see and take the risk of waking Carter.

  Frankly, the darkness was less terrifying than the thought of facing a rudely awakened Carter when she was wearing a frayed silk nightgown, a chenille robe and tufted terry-cloth slippers. Desiree knew her naturally curly hair was a tumble of gnarled tresses worthy of a Medusa, and since she had washed off her makeup, her scar would be even more vivid.

  She knew the spots on the stairs that would groan when stepped on. She had learned them as a child so she wouldn’t awaken her parents when she snuck down to shake her Christmas presents and try to determine what they were. She slid her hand down the smooth banister, walking quietly, carefully. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned on the tiny light that was usually always lit.

  With the light, it was easy to make her way to the kitchen. The old refrigerator hummed as she opened it, and there was a slight clink as the bottles of ketchup and pickles on the door shifted. Even though she was careful, the copper-bottomed pot she planned to use to heat the milk clanked as she freed it from the stack in the cabinet beside the sink.

  She was standing at the stove with her back to the kitchen door, when she heard footsteps in the hallway.

  Someone was in the house!

  Her heart galloped as she searched frantically for somewhere to hide, a place to escape. Then she realized Nicole was trapped upstairs. In order to get to her daughter she would have to confront whoever was in the house. She was halfway to the kitchen threshold, when she halted. Her hand gripped her robe and pulled it closed at the neck. She stared, wild-eyed, at the man in the doorway.

  When she realized it was only Carter, bare-chested, barefoot, wearing a half-buttoned pair of frayed jeans that hung low on his hips, she almost sobbed with relief.

  “Desiree? It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing down here? Are you all right?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I—”

  He didn’t wait for her explanation, just crossed the distance between them and enfolded her in his arms.

  Desiree stood rigid. She was aware of the heat of him, the male scent of him. She was appalled by the way her nipples peaked when they came in contact with his naked chest. She became certain that he must be able to feel her arousal, even through the layers of cloth that covered her, when she felt the hard ridge growing in his low-slung jeans.

  “Desiree,” he murmured.

  As his arms tightened around her, memories of the past rose up to choke her. And she panicked.

  “No! Don’t touch me! Let me go!” Desiree struggled to be free of Carter’s constraining hold. She slapped at his face, beat at him with her fists, shoved and writhed to be free. But his hold, although gentle, was inexorable.

  Desiree didn’t scream. She had learned not to scream. There was no one who would come to her rescue; she would have to save herself. She continued fighting until she finally realized through her panic that although he refused to release her, Carter wasn’t hurting her. At last, exhausted, she stood quivering in his arms, like a wild animal caught in a trap it realizes it cannot escape.

  “There, now. That’s better,” Carter crooned. “Easy now. Everything’s gonna be all right now. You’re fine. You’re just fine.”

  As Desiree recovered from her dazed state, she became aware that Carter was speaking in a low, husky voice. She was being held loosely in his arms, and his hands were rubbing her back as though she were a small child. She looked up and saw the beginning of a bruise on his chin and the bloody scratches on his face and froze.

  “I hurt you,” she said.

  “You’ve got a wicked right,” he agreed with a smile. He winced as the smile teased a small cut in his lip.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He looked at her warily. “Would you like to explain what that commotion was all about?”

  “No.”

  His blue eyes narrowed. “No?”

  “No.” For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to let her evade his question.

  Then he sniffed and said, “Something’s burning.”

  “My hot chocolate!” When she pulled away, he let her go. Desiree hurried to the stove, where the milk had burned black in the bottom of the pan. “Oh, no. Look at this mess!” She retrieved a pot holder and lifted the pot off the stove and settled it in the sink.

  “You can make some more.”

  “I don’t think I could sleep now if I drank a dozen cups of hot chocolate,” Desiree said in disgust.

  “I heard a noise, and I came down to check it out,” Carter said in a crisp voice. “You’re the one who went crazy.”

  “I didn’t—” Desiree cut herself off. Although she didn’t like the description, it fit her irrational behavior. She shoved a hand through her long brown hair and crossed the room to slump into one of the kitchen chairs. “Good Lord! I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

  Carter joined her at the table, turning a chair around and straddling it so he was facing her. “Do you think it would help to talk about it?”

  Desiree wondered how much she should tell him. And how little he would settle for knowing. “My first marriage was a disappointment,” she admitted.

  “I guessed something of the sort. How long were you married?”

  “Two years. Then we divorced.”

  “I was married for five years.”

  “You were married?” Desiree didn’t know why she was so surprised. But she was. Suddenly she had a thought. Perhaps there was a good reason, after all, for Carter’s strange, distant behavior toward Nicole.

  “Do you have children?”

  “I have…had a five-year-old daughter. She died along with my wife in a car accident six years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.” No wonder he didn’t want to be around Nicole! Her daughter must be an awful reminder of his loss. Desiree knew there really was no comfort she could offer, except to share with him her own grievous loss. “My parents died the same way.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  A tense silence fell between them. Both wanted to ask more questions. But to ask questions was to suggest a willingness to answer them in return. And neither was ready to share with the other the secrets of their past.

  It was Carter who finally broke the silence between them, his voice quiet, his tone as gentle as Desiree had ever heard it.

  “If I’m going to get anything accomplished tomorrow I ought to get some sleep. But I don’t feel comfortable leaving you down here alone. Is there any chance you could sleep now?”

  Quite honestly, Desiree thought she would spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling. But she could see that Carter wasn’t going to go back to bed until she was settled. “I guess I am a little tired.”

  “I’ll follow you upstairs,” he said.

  Desiree rose and headed for the kitchen door. Before she had taken two steps, Carter blocked her way.

  “I don’t know what to do to make you believe that I’d never hurt you,” he said.

  “I…I believe you.”

  Nevertheless, she flinched as he raised a hand to brush the hair away from her face.

  His lips flattened. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Desiree cringed at the sarcasm in his voice and fled up the stairs as fast as she could. Behind her she heard the steady barefoot tread of her husband. She hurried into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. She leaned back against the door and covered her face with her hands.

  I hate you, Burley. I hate what you did to me. I hate the way you made me feel. And I hate the fact that I can never be a woman to the man I married today.

  Hating didn’t help. Desiree had learned that lesson o
ver the six long years since she had divorced Burley and gone on with her life. But she hadn’t been able to let go of the hate—or the fear.

  Because she knew that when he got out of prison in two weeks, Burley would be coming back.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHRISTMAS WAS A bittersweet event. They went to the candlelight service on Christmas Eve as a family and received the warm wishes and congratulations of the congregation on their marriage. Some of the women with whom Desiree had worked on the Christmas pageant over the past couple of years knew that Burley was due to be released from prison soon. Desiree saw the knowledge in their eyes of why she had so hurriedly married a man she barely knew. She was grateful that none of them mentioned the fact to Carter.

  Nicole fell asleep on the ride home, and Desiree carried her right upstairs to bed. Carter didn’t offer to help her, and Desiree didn’t bother to ask. She had seen how uncomfortable he was in church, and from the moment they left the service he had been uncommonly silent. She knew he must be remembering his family—his first wife and his daughter.

  While she dressed Nicole for bed and slipped her daughter under the covers, Desiree debated whether to join Carter downstairs. She pictured his face as it had looked when lit solely by candlelight during the church service. He must have loved his wife very much to still be so sad six years after her death. Of course, Desiree could identify with his despair at the loss of his daughter. After all, hadn’t she been willing to make any sacrifice to ensure Nicole’s safety?

  By the time she had finished her musings she was already at the bottom of the stairs. She took the few steps farther to the parlor, where the wonderful-smelling spruce Christmas tree forced an acknowledgment of the season, expecting to see Carter there. But the room was empty.

  Desiree went in search of her husband. It amazed her to realize that she had been so wrapped up in her own agony over the past six years that she hadn’t focused on the fact that there must be others in similar straits. In fact, she had seen with her own eyes that Carter Prescott was fighting demons of the past equally as ferocious as her own. Her heart went out to him. Comfort was something she could offer in repayment for the security she hoped this marriage would provide for her and her daughter.

  She found Carter in the kitchen. Desiree couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that escaped when she realized he was fixing the dripping faucet.

  “What’s so funny?” Carter demanded.

  “You. It’s Christmas Eve. What on earth are you doing?”

  “Fixing the faucet.”

  “I can see that,” Desiree said as she approached him. “What I want to know is why now?”

  Carter shrugged. “You were busy. There was nothing else to do.”

  “You could have sat down in the living room and relaxed.”

  “I don’t like sitting still. It leaves me with too much time to think.”

  “About your wife and daughter?” When Desiree saw the way his shoulders stiffened she wished she had kept her thoughts to herself.

  “They were killed on Christmas Eve,” Carter said in a quiet voice. “They were on the way to church. I…I wasn’t with them. I was at my office when I heard what had happened.” He gave a shuddering sigh. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that night.”

  Desiree followed the impulse to comfort that had brought her seeking Carter in the first place. She put a hand on his arm and felt the muscles tighten beneath her fingertips. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He threw the wrench he was using on the counter and turned to face her. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said brusquely.

  “You aren’t the first man to put business before family,” she replied. “It wasn’t your fault the accident happened.”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

  His voice was harsh and his face savage. Instead of fleeing him, Desiree stepped forward and circled his waist with her arms. She laid her head against his chest, where she could hear the furious pounding of his heart. “I’m glad you came to Wyoming,” she said. “I’m glad you agreed to marry me. I’m glad you’re here.”

  She could feel his hesitation and knew he was trying to decide whether to thrust her away or accept the comfort she was offering. She had her answer when his arms circled her shoulders, and he pulled her snug against him.

  Desiree forced herself to relax. There was nothing loverlike in his demeanor or in hers. She was simply one human being offering comfort on Christmas Eve to another.

  Only it wasn’t that simple.

  She should have known it wouldn’t be. He was a man. She was a woman. As much as she tried to ignore the fact, as much as she was appalled by it, her body responded to the closeness of his.

  Desiree had believed, after her experience with Burley, that there was something wrong with her, that she was defective somehow, that she didn’t have whatever was necessary to make her physically responsive to a man. But ever since she had met Carter, she had been discovering that her body was more than responsive. Her blood pumped, her body ached deep inside, her breasts felt heavy and her nipples peaked whenever she was close to him. All the signs of arousal were there.

  She was simply too terrified of what might—or might not—happen to allow anything to go forward. What if she was wrong? What if she couldn’t respond?

  “Thank you, Desiree,” Carter murmured. “I didn’t know how much I needed a hug.”

  The feel of his warm breath in her ear made her shiver. “I guess I know a little of what you’re feeling,” she murmured back.

  He chuckled. “If you knew what I’m feeling right now you’d run up those stairs and lock your bedroom door behind you.”

  Desiree took a tremulous breath. “Carter?”

  “What?”

  “You can kiss me, if you want.”

  She heard him catch his breath, felt the tenseness in the muscles of his back where her hands rested. He lifted his head to look at her, but she lowered her gaze so he couldn’t see that there was as much fear as anticipation lurking in her brown eyes.

  “What brought this on?”

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I just thought—”

  “I guess I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  Before Desiree had a chance to change her mind, his fingertip caught her chin and tipped her mouth up so it could meet his.

  As with each of their two previous kisses, his mouth was gentle on hers. He cherished her with his touch. There was none of the pain she had come to expect from Burley.

  “Desiree?”

  She looked up at him through lids that were heavy with desire. “Yes, Carter?”

  He smiled. “I keep waiting for the scratching tiger to show her claws. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Could we just kiss, Carter? Without the touching, without anything else? I think I would like that.”

  She could see the rigid control in his body as he considered the scrap she had offered him in place of a Christmas feast. She wanted to offer more, but it was taking every ounce of courage she had to stand still within his embrace.

  “All right, Desiree. Just kisses.”

  She expected him to focus on her mouth, but his lips dropped to her throat, instead.

  “Ohhh.” She shivered at the warmth and wetness of his lips and tongue against the tender flesh beneath her ear. He sucked just a little, and she felt her insides draw up tight. “Ohhh.”

  He chuckled as his mouth wandered up the slender column of her throat toward her ears. “You sound so surprised. What were you expecting?”

  “Nothing like this,” Desiree assured him with a gasp. “It feels…I never…”

  She felt him pause. She was afraid her confession might make him stop, so she quickly said, “I like what you’re doing. Very much.”

  His teeth caught the lobe of her ear and nibbled gently.

  Desiree thought her knees were going to buckle right then and there. She laughed in delight and grabbed handfuls of Carter’s
shirt. One of his arms slipped around her waist and tightened, while the other remained around her shoulders. Instead of feeling imprisoned, she merely felt supported.

  Now his tongue was tracing the shell of her ear, then dipping inside, before his teeth found her earlobe again. She shivered once more and realized it was becoming harder to catch her breath.

  “Shouldn’t I be kissing you, too?” she asked.

  “In a minute,” Carter rasped.

  Desiree wanted to reciprocate in some way, and if he wasn’t going to let her kiss him back, that left her with the option of caressing him with her hands. She felt at a distinct disadvantage. Burley hadn’t been much interested in foreplay, so she didn’t have any experience in arousing her partner. She wasn’t sure what would please Carter. If she’d had more nerve, she would have asked him. But that was more than she could handle. She decided to experiment.

  Desiree began by letting her hands slide up his back, feeling the play of muscle and sinew as she went. The sound of pleasure he made deep in his throat was all she needed to assure her that he enjoyed her touch. To her relief, although his grip on her tightened, his hands remained where they were.

  His lips kissed their way across her unblemished cheek toward her mouth. He kissed one edge, then the other, then pressed his mouth lightly against hers. His tongue slid along the crease, which tickled and tingled at the same time.

  “Desiree, open your mouth for me.”

  She felt his lips moving against hers as he spoke. She opened her mouth to answer him, but he must have thought she was responding to his request, because the instant her lips parted, his tongue slipped inside.

  Desiree jerked her head away. She was panting, as though she had run a long race. And ashamed, because she had let her past fears rule once again. When Burley had kissed her like that, his tongue had thrust so hard and deep into her mouth that it had nearly gagged her.

  Because she still had her hands on Carter’s waist, she could feel the rigid displeasure in his body at her retreat. “I…I don’t like to be kissed like that,” she explained.

  “What is it you don’t like?”

  Desiree’s eyes flashed to his. She hadn’t expected to be asked for details. It was too humiliating to tell the truth. “I…I just don’t like it.”