"I told you, I changed my mind about that. I said you could visit him as often as you liked, if you just let me out of this marriage."
"If I just let you go running back to Baltimore, you mean."
"It's my home. It's where my job is. Where my job was, until you came along and decided to play God. Didn't you care that I had a life there? A home? A career? Friends?"
"Friends," he growled, and the way he said the word put all her senses on alert.
"What," she said carefully, "is that supposed to mean?" "Men friends. That's what you're talking about, baby. A woman like you doesn't have any other kind."
"You don't know anything about a woman like me."
"I know all I need to." His smile was feral. "Or am I supposed to forget how we met?"
"I don't believe this," Lara said, with an incredulous laugh. "You picked me up, remember?" She poked a finger into his chest. "You asked me to go to that hotel. And you were the one who went out of your way to make it clear all you were interested in was that one night... and now you're acting as if I was some sort of-of immoral seductress?"
"You picked me out of the herd, Sugar, like you were a mare in heat."
"A mistake I'm evidently expected to pay for the rest of my life."
"How many times had you done that before, huh?" Slade clasped her jaw, tilted her head up and held it fast. "Come on to a guy, wiggle that pretty little behind and bat those thick lashes and make him think you're offerin' him a piece of heaven when all you want from him is to get laid. How many men were there before me?" His mouth twisted. "A dozen? A hundred?"
Lara stared up into Slade's furious face. For one crazy minute, she wondered what would happen if she told him that the wild sexual history he'd created for her was so far from the truth it was laughable, that she was a woman who never so much as kissed a man on a first date...
"Too many to count?" he said, and anger mixed with hurt made her lift her chin, look him straight in the eye and give credence to his accusations with a lie.
"That's right. Far, far too many to count."
Slade's eyes went black and he smiled like a wolf baring its fangs.
"I see. Well, we're making progress, at least." His hands slid into her hair. She'd braided it and secured it with a clip but one rough tug and she felt it come undone. "The lady's decided to be truthful."
"Look, there's no point to this. You've admitted we made a mistake by coming here. Let's just get back into the car and-"
"How many after?"
"I don't understand."
"Come on, Sugar. You're a smart girl." He moved closer to her, until his body brushed hers. "How many men have you been with since me?"
None. The word begged for release and yet she held it back, knowing he wouldn't believe her and knowing, as well, that it would be dangerous to give him that information.
"None of your business."
He laughed softly, tilted her face up to his, bent his head and brought his lips to within a whisper of hers. Her heart kicked in her chest. Something terrible was going to happen; she knew it. The air had turned thick; the night was supernaturally still. All she could hear was the beat of her own heart.
"Of course it's my business, considerin' that you're my wife."
Lara tried to pull away but it was useless. Slade was almost leaning against her now, his body touching hers everywhere from her breasts to her thighs. Heat swept through her blood as she felt him, hard and erect against her belly.
"Don't," she whispered.
"Don't what? Ask you about all the men you've slept with?" He bent his head, gently bit her neck. She closed her eyes, held back a moan. "Okay. I won't. You're right. They're the past." His voice roughened. "Unless there's somebody you left behind, in Baltimore."
"Slade. Slade please, don't do this..."
"Is there?" He moved, shifted his weight, caught her wrists and drew her hands out to the sides so that she was helpless. Vulnerable-vulnerable, and, oh God, suffused with desire. For him. Only for him. "Just tell me that, damn you. Was there a man when I took you away?"
What was the right answer? What would protect her, not from his anger because she knew, even now, that he wouldn't hurt her. Not physically. What she needed was protection from her own feelings...
"Tell me," he said, and before she could find an answer, he kissed her.
His mouth was hard on hers and when she cried out and tried to turn her head away, he let go of her hands and clasped her face, holding her imprisoned for his kiss. She struggled, tried to tear free, but he was relentless, his mouth and hands taking what he needed...
What she needed.
She didn't want to fight him, or herself. She wanted Slade. She wanted her husband. She loved him, she couldn't lie to herself anymore. She knew now that she'd loved him from the beginning, but she could never tell him that. If she did, his power over her would be complete. He would truly own her, body and soul.
She could only give herself to him, and be taken by him. It wasn't enough, but it was all she could have.
Tears rose in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "Slade," she whispered, her voice trembling, and she lifted herself to him, wound her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to his. "Make love to me, Slade. Please, make love to me now."
Slade drew back and looked down into Lara's upturned face. She was weeping, but the smile that curved her lips filled his heart with happiness.
"Yes," he said, only the one word but it was enough. Then he lifted his wife into his arms and carried her through the cabin, to their bed.
* * *
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT was a wide bed, with soft pillows, and as Slade brought Lara to it, he thought how right it was that he should make love to her here for the first time since they'd married. He'd never brought a woman to this place, or this bed. It held no memories, no past. There was only the future, and what he and she would make of it.
He put her down beside the bed and began to undress her, pausing to kiss each bit of skin as he uncovered it. Moonlight stretched a pale finger through the windows and touched Lara's face with the softest ivory hue.
Slade lowered his head and pressed kisses along the trail of moonlight until his mouth found hers.
"You're so beautiful," he said softly, and when she smiled against his lips, he drew her close and touched the tip of his tongue to hers.
Her clothing fell away under the brush of his fingers, baring her body to his mouth and his hands. He was taut with the need to take her, to bury himself inside her, but everything had gone too fast between them from the day they'd met.
This time--this time, he would savor each moment
He dipped his head, kissed Lara's throat. Her head fell back and he felt her pulse race against his lips.
Slowly, he told himself again, go slowly. She was his and the night had only just begun.
But he could feel his urgency growing, feel the blood thundering through his veins. She was so lovely, his wife. So perfect, standing before him dressed, at last, in nothing but moonlight. He cupped her breasts and felt their exquisite weight against his callused palms, watched her face when he brushed his thumbs across the rosy tips.
"Oh," she whispered, "oh, Slade..."
"Do you like that?" he said thickly, and she moaned and slid her hands under his T-shirt, her fingers cool against his fevered skin.
He bent his head, kissed her nipples, teased them with his teeth and tongue. Her knees buckled and he swept her into his arms and laid her on the bed.
"Now," she said shakily, "now, please..."
He came down beside her, stopped the breathless plea with a kiss and traced the lush contours of her naked body with his hand. The softness of her breast. The feminine curve of her hip. The slight convexity of her belly and then, at last, the hot, wet heart of her.
The sound she made when he touched her there was almost his undoing.
My wife, he kept thinking, this is my wife.
She was e
verything a man could dream of, and more. And she was kissing him, touching him, holding him as if he were all her dreams come true, as if were the only man who'd ever mattered.
God, if only it were so.
Stop thinking, he told himself furiously. Just feel. It wouldn't matter how many men there'd been, not after tonight. From now on, she would belong only to him. She would dream of him, as he'd dreamed of her for the last eighteen months. She'd whisper his name in the darkness. And when he took her in his arms, she'd look into his eyes and she'd say-she'd say…
Slade drew back and stripped off his clothing. Lara lifted her arms, sighed his name and he came down to her and kissed her again and again, each kiss hungrier, deeper, more passionate than the last.
"Now," she said, her mouth trembling against his, "please, Slade, now."
He moved over her, knelt between her thighs. He took her hands in his, their fingers laced tightly together, and drew them out to the sides. He shifted his weight and she moaned when the tip of his engorged member brushed her labia. Her hips lifted, her body arched like a bow, but still he held back.
"Look at me," he said roughly. She opened her eyes. They were black and deep with need, and he fought to hold his hunger in check. "Now say my name," he whispered. "Say it, as I come into you."
"Slade," she said, her voice breaking, "Slade, my husband, Slade..."
Slade groaned, pressed forward and lost himself in the softly yielding body of his wife.
It was late. Very late, somewhere in the darkest hours of the night. The moon had set but dawn had yet to touch the eastern sky.
Lara lay with her head on Slade's shoulder, her hand splayed across his chest, and thought how lucky she was, to have found this- man ... this man who was now her husband.
He had made love to her with wild passion and then with such sweet tenderness that she'd wept in his arms. Then he'd drawn her close against him and she'd tumbled into sleep, still safe and protected in the warm confine of his embrace.
Lara sighed, turned her face against Slade's shoulder and brushed a soft kiss against his skin.
She'd been such a fool, fighting against this marriage, thinking that Michael was all she needed to complete her life. Her child was the joy of her existence and always would be, but Slade-Slade was the blood, flowing in her veins. He was the warmth of her soul, the beat of her heart...
Oh, how she loved him. She knew that now, without question. She'd loved him since that first moment he'd walked into her life, all those months ago, and now-now, she was even willing to hope there might come a day she could tell him she did.
The time would have to be right. Saying "I love you" to a man who didn't love you could be a burden instead of a blessing, even if the man were your husband. Slade had married her because of Michael. He'd brought her here to convince her that they could work things out and make a good life together, that they could deal with each other with civility and certainly find pleasure in bed, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear her say, Slade, I've fallen in love with you.
It would be so sweet to say it, though. To lean over her sleeping husband, wake him with a slow, gentle kiss, to smile into his eyes when he opened them and say...
"Sugar?"
Slade's middle-of-the-night voice was husky and soft. Lara smiled as he lifted her hand from his chest and kissed it.
"Hi," she said softly. "I'm sorry if I woke you." "Don't be." He turned onto his side, brought her against him and kissed her mouth. "I was dreaming about you."
"A good dream?"
"A wonderful dream, darlin'...but what's a dream compared to wakin' up and findin' you right here, in my arms?" He kissed her again and rolled her beneath him. She looped her arms around his neck. His body was warm against hers, and excitingly aroused, and already she could feel the thickening of her blood as he moved against her. "Mmm. That feels-oh, that feels-"
"That's how it feels to me, too," he whispered, and moved again.
"You can't. I mean, how could you? Not so soon. Not after... Oh."
"Oh, indeed, Mrs. Baron."
Lara gave a soft, sexy laugh. "I guess that's one of the benefits of marrying a younger man." "A younger man, huh?"
"Didn't you see it on our marriage license? I'm two years older than you are."
Slade chuckled. "My birthday's next Friday. So for a little while, anyway, there won't be such a huge gap in our- Hey!" He laughed while she struggled in mock fury. "I like older women."
"You do, huh?"
"Sure." She felt him smile against her throat. "It takes so little to make them happy. For instance..."
Lara wanted to tease him, to say she had no idea what he meant. But he kissed his way slowly down her body, lingering over her breasts, her thighs, tasting her essence, then moving up over her and entering her, slowly, slowly, rocking against her...
And she was lost to the night, to the world, lost to everything but him.
The first blush of dawn light woke Slade from a sound sleep-that, and the sounds of mice in the kitchen.
That was his first thought, anyway, as he lay listening to the faint clink of metal and glass. A couple of field mice had come wandering in when he'd first built the cabin, but mice didn't cook bacon, he thought, as he sniffed the air. They didn't play the radio or sing, either. And if they did, he doubted it would be in such a soft, sexy alto.
He pulled on his jeans, zipped them up. Barefoot, he made his way silently through the house, to the kitchen, and paused in the doorway.
Lara was standing at the counter, her back to him. Coffee dripped through the filter into the glass carafe; as he watched, she forked crisp strips of bacon from a skillet onto a paper-towel-covered platter. The griddle was heating on the stove, and a bowl of what he hoped was pancake batter stood waiting alongside.
Slade grinned, folded his arms and leaned back against the door frame. His wife had a domestic streak. That was nice to know. She was bustling from refrigerator to sink to stove with an efficiency he hadn't expected-and boogying to an old Elton John tune, while she did. Her hips and backside were in gentle motion.
And what a sweet backside it was.
He suspected she wouldn't like knowing he was watching her. She might even haul off and try to slug him again but it was a risk worth taking. A man would have to be a saint not to want to hang around a while and admire the view. Lara, with her strawberry-blond hair streaming over her shoulders, wearing his discarded T-shirt and her lace panties...
This was ridiculous. He was watching his wife and getting turned on and
Lara swung around, saw him and shrieked.
"Hey." Slade held up his hands. "I didn't mean to scare you." He laughed at the look on her face, walked across the room, cupped her elbows and lifted her to her toes for a slow, thorough kiss. "Good mornin', darlin'."
Lara smiled. "Good morning. Breakfast is almost ready."
Slade reached past her and stole a strip of bacon from the platter. "Mmm. Crisp. Just the way I like it. And is that pancake batter I see?"
"It is," she said, turning to the stove. "You do like pancakes, don't you?"
Slade grinned and hitched a hip onto the edge of the counter. "Show me a Baron who doesn't, and I'll show you an imposter."
Lara smiled and began pouring batter onto the griddle. "How many of you are there? Barons, I mean."
"Well, let's see. There's the old man Jonas, our father. And there's Travis and Gage, my brothers. And our stepsister, Caitlin, although she's really not a Baron..." He paused, and his voice softened. "You'll like them all, Sugar, even my old man. And they'll like you."
"I hope so," she said, with a nervous laugh. "Have you told them yet? About us?"
"No. Not yet. My brothers have been having some problems of their own. And everything happened so fast with you and me..." Slade reached for another strip of bacon. He didn't want to talk about the unpleasant circumstances of their marriage, especially now, after the night they'd shared. "How about you? Have you
told anyone?"
Lara flipped a row of pancakes. "No." Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear it. "There's only my mother and my sister. And-and I'm not close with either of them."
"Oh," he said, and waited for her to say more, but she didn't. He tried to imagine not feeling close to Trav or Gage but it was impossible. "So, uh, where do they live?"
"Outside Atlanta." Lara began stacking pancakes on two plates. "My mother's on her third husband. Or maybe he's her live-in. I'm not sure. All I know is that he treats her like dirt. My sister's married." She looked up, her eyes suddenly bright with defiance. "Her husband treats her the same way."
"Hey." Slade eased off the counter edge. "Lara, darlin
She brushed past him and put the plates on the table. "Breakfast is ready. Let's eat before it gets-" 'Lara."
He felt her shudder as he took her in his arms. She stood rigidly within his embrace and he knew she wanted him to let her go but he didn't. He couldn't, not once he'd glimpsed the pain she carried. Instead he gentled her as he would a spooked filly, running his hands lightly up and down her back, letting his warmth surround her. After a long time, she put her arms around his waist and buried her face in his neck.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be." He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Would it help to talk about it?"
She never did, never had. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her mother ... well, maybe she was, just a little. But if she told Slade about her, and how hard she'd worked not to repeat her life, he might understand...
"Sugar?"
Lara looked up at her husband and wondered if her mother had ever felt this way. It didn't seem possible but perhaps her mother had once loved her father, almost as much as she loved Slade. Maybe she'd put her trust in her husband, the way she was tempted to put her trust in Slade.
Love, and trust. That was what it took, to make a marriage.
Sandra Marton - Slade Baron’s Bride Page 15