by Metsy Hingle
He kissed the long slim column, pressed his lips against the pulse point beating in her neck. He heard something hit the carpet, realized it was the bear. Then he couldn’t think because Lily was holding on to him, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, scoring his shoulders. The sensation was erotic and reminded him of their one night. He had never experienced that type of passion with anyone before. He’d even told himself that making love with her couldn’t possibly have been as wonderful as he remembered. He must have been wrong, he realized because being with her now was so much better than he’d remembered. This time he knew the woman in his arms—not just her body, but the woman she was. The woman who clung to a teddy bear from her childhood, the woman who gave of herself and her heart to the teens she worked with, the woman who carried and loved his child, the woman who was now his wife.
His wife.
There had been a time when the idea of taking a wife had sent panic racing through his blood. It was the reason, he figured, he’d managed to dodge the altar for all thirty-three of his years. But he hadn’t dodged it today—even when she’d given him every chance to back out. He hadn’t taken it. He’d told himself it was because of the baby. He had a responsibility to the baby and to Lily, and he’d never been one to shirk his responsibilities. But he hadn’t felt just responsibility and a sense of duty when he’d spoken those vows today. He’d felt…more.
Lily slid her arms around his neck and looked at him. It was the same way she had looked at him that night of the ball—with need and longing and loneliness. And desire. It set off an answering need in him, a need so intense it shocked him. He skimmed his hands down her back, cupped her bottom and pressed her against him. He could feel the swell of her belly and the knowledge that she carried his child made his chest feel full, his heart beat even faster. He wanted to lay her down on the floor, peel away her gown and make love to her right there. Instead he slid his arms beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms. He started toward the bed.
“Jack, what are you doing?” she asked, her voice dazed, her eyes cloudy.
“I’m going to make love to my wife,” he told her and stopped in front of the bed. Gently he lowered her to the bed. The first time they’d made love it had been fast and frantic. He could feel that raw need clawing at him again, the need to feel her body beneath his, the need to bury himself inside her. But this time he wanted more than just the heat. He wanted sweet. He wanted slow. He wanted to savor her, savor them.
Ignoring the hot need rushing through his blood, he took his time. He started with her hair. Pulling the pins out one by one, he watched in wonder as the deep red waves tumbled down around her face and shoulders. He slid his fingers into all that thick red silk and, holding her head in his hands, he kissed her. He took his time, savoring each kiss, the shape and feel of her lips, the sounds of protest she made when he lifted his head. Never taking his eyes from her face, one by one he began to unbutton her dress. When he unfastened the last button, he opened the folds and eased it off her body and tossed it to the floor. The shapeless ivory satin-and-lace slip she wore cupped her breasts, sloped along her waist and over the bump in her middle.
Lily crossed her hands over her breasts.
“I want to see you,” he told her. Unlocking her arms, he placed them on either side of her. She looked like a siren, he thought, lying with her head on the pillow, her hair a tumble of copper waves surrounding her face, her lips swollen from their kisses, her body ripe and womanly. Her breasts were fuller than he remembered, milk-pale and smooth, spilling over the lace cups. “You’re so beautiful,” he told her. He kissed her shoulder, moved south. He kissed the swell of one breast, then the other. Then he returned to the first breast and closed his mouth over the nipple. When he felt the tip harden beneath the satin, he caught it between his teeth.
Lily gasped, arched her back and it sent desire thundering through him.
Jack kissed his way down her torso, lingered over the swell of her belly. Then he moved lower, past her hips, down her legs. When he reached her ankle, he removed first one ivory heel, then the other. Then he reversed his journey by kissing the instep of one stockinged foot before easing his hand up her leg to kiss her calf, the inside of her kneecap. Pushing the satin slip higher, he continued his journey.
“Jack,” she began and moaned as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh.
He slid his fingers up to the lacy edge of her stocking. Bless the person who came up with the lace-topped stockings to replace panty hose, he thought, as he slipped his fingers inside the edge of lace. He took his time, easing the stocking down her leg. When she trembled beneath his touch, his body tightened and he struggled to keep control while he repeated the process on her other leg. With desire burning in his gut, he kissed his way back up her torso, along her breasts to her shoulders, to her mouth. Then he started working his way down again. When he reached her slender shoulders again, he began easing down the edge of her slip.
Suddenly Lily went still beneath him. “No,” she said and caught his hand. She scrambled to sit up. “I can’t.”
Jack froze. “What’s wrong?”
She yanked at the coverlet on the bed and clutched it to her like a shield. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I can’t do this.”
“Lily, what is it?” He could see the stress swimming in her eyes, noted her hand on her abdomen. “Is it the baby?” he asked, panic dousing desire faster than a water hose. “Did I hurt you or the baby?”
“No. No,” she said again in a ragged breath. “The baby’s fine. And you didn’t hurt me.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and gulped in air. He felt somewhat relieved—until he saw the expression on Lily’s face. She looked horrified. And miserable. And gathered by the way she was hugging herself, she’d rather chew nails than look at him. He started to touch her cheek, but thought better of it. “What’s wrong?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it. But you need to tell me what’s the matter.”
“I…I need some time, Jack.”
“I see,” he said, and he did. The explosion of chemistry between them hadn’t been planned. It had simply happened. It had caught him off-guard, too. While he would have to be a saint to have not wanted to make love with her, he understood her reservations.
“I know we talked about this being a real marriage and a real marriage includes the two of us sleeping together. I mean, it’s not like it would be the first time, right?” she said with a self-deprecating laugh that made him hurt for her. “I mean, it’s what happened the last time we slept together that got us into this mess in the first place.”
“I hardly consider having a beautiful woman become my wife a mess.”
“Except that I wouldn’t have become your wife if I hadn’t gotten pregnant.”
It was true, he admitted silently. He wouldn’t have gotten married—at least not now—if it hadn’t been for the baby. Yet he didn’t regret any of it—not the night that led to her pregnancy, not the wedding or the baby on the way. “No one held a gun to my head or yours, Lily. I have no regrets about marrying you or the baby.”
“You’re a good man, Jack Cartwright. And a kind one,” she told him. “And I’m grateful for everything—the trusts you set up for me and the baby, for not making me feel immoral and irresponsible for getting us both in this fix in the first place.”
“I seem to recall I had a hand in that,” he told her, hoping to ease her anxiety.
“But a lot of men wouldn’t have felt that way. Most men in your position wouldn’t have accepted the responsibility and if they did, they wouldn’t have offered marriage.”
“I’m not most men, Lily. What I am is your husband and I want to be a real husband to you in every way.”
“I know,” she said as she knotted her fingers in the coverlet. “And it’s what we agreed to.”
“But it’s too soon for you,” Jack said, unable to bear seeing Lily torture herself further.
“Yes,�
� she said and there was such relief in her voice that Jack didn’t know whether to be insulted or hug her. “You have every reason to be angry, Jack. I never should have let things go so far just now.”
“I’m not angry. Just disappointed.”
“I’m sorry,” she told him.
“You don’t need to be sorry. I’m as much to blame as you are for what almost happened just now. Probably more so. I want you, Lily. I have from the first time I set eyes on you at that ball. Nothing that’s happened during the months in between or in these past two weeks has changed that. You needing time to get used to the idea of me being your husband won’t change it either. I still want you, but I can wait until you’re ready.”
“Thank you. For being so understanding.”
He nodded. “I want this marriage to work, Lily. I intend for this marriage to work,” he amended. If the business world had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that he was the one in control of his destiny. He was the one who was responsible for whether he succeeded or failed. He didn’t intend for his marriage to fail. But right now Lily needed time and he needed patience. He stood. “Are you hungry?”
“A little,” she admitted.
“Then why don’t you freshen up while I go downstairs and see what I can put together for our dinner?”
“That sounds good.”
And as Jack left the room and headed downstairs, he couldn’t help thinking that this was turning out to be one hell of a wedding night.
Lily sat up in bed with a start. She looked around the room at the strange surroundings and for a moment she forgot where she was. Then the moonlight spilling in through the windows caught the ring on her finger. She stared down at the diamond ring and wedding band on her left hand. And it all came rushing back—the wedding at Jack’s parents’ home, the drive out to his house, the two of them almost making love. She could feel her cheeks heat as she remembered allowing him to undress her, to touch her and then pulling back. It had been unfair of her to do that to him, she admitted. Just as it had been unfair of her to accept his offer that she take the room and he move to the spare bedroom next door.
She attempted to pull her knees up to her chest to hug them, but had to settle for resting her hands atop her belly. Heavens, what a mess, she thought. By all rights, Jack should have been furious with her. Regardless of the reasons for their marriage, they were man and wife. And he had never pulled any punches with her about their marriage, including sex. She knew from experience that there was nothing wrong with Jack’s libido. Nor hers apparently, she thought, still somewhat embarrassed by her actions. Yet as much as she had wanted him, she admitted, she hadn’t been able to follow through. Some voice deep inside her had caused her to pull back, reminding her about Sister Dorothy’s lecture when she had had her first serious crush and found herself pressured to have sex.
“Remember, Lily. Sex without love is like tossing a lit match into the sea,” the nun told her. “It dies out in an instant and all you’re left with is the cold, empty sea.”
It was crazy, Lily told herself. Worse, it was foolish. Jack Cartwright was handsome, wealthy and sexy as sin. He was also a good man, an honest man who was kind and gentle, a man you could count on. He was a man who was sensitive enough to recognize that an old battered teddy bear was more to her than just stuffing. Reaching for Bentley, she held him close and buried her face in him.
She could all too easily fall in love with the man. In fact, it wouldn’t take much for her to do just that—especially when he looked at her. Jack had a way of looking at her as if she were the only woman in the world. And when he held her in his arms, he made all the years of disappointment melt away. In his arms, she felt like she was…like she was home. He had made her feel that same way the night of the ball. That night she had felt so alone and unwanted. Then he had come to her, taken her in his arms and during those hours she’d spent in his room, he had made her feel less alone. He had made her feel loved.
And how had she repaid him? By asking him to spend his wedding night alone in the next room. Some way to start off her marriage, she thought, guilt nagging at her. Jack deserved so much better. He deserved so much more. He deserved to be married to a woman he loved. That woman wasn’t her.
The baby chose that moment to kick a fifty-yard field goal—or at least that’s what it felt like, Lily thought. The little angel also was having a good old time pushing on her bladder and reminding her it had been a good three hours since she’d been for a potty visit. Laying Bentley aside, she pulled off the covers and headed for the bathroom.
By the time she’d washed her hands and returned to the bedroom, she was wide awake. And she was hungry. A glance at the clock told her it was not yet four in the morning. But she knew from experience there would be no going back to sleep for her. She’d concluded some time ago that her baby was a night person, since it seemed to be most restless between the hours of midnight and dawn. Of course that meant she spent a great deal of her day feeling tired and wishing for a nap.
Fortunately, her workload had begun to decrease, as it always did at this time of year. She reached for her robe and slipped it on over the peach-colored gown. Evidently the school system—or perhaps it was the number crunchers who employed the school counselors—figured troubled teens didn’t need guidance during the summer months, because most of the students discontinued their sessions. Those who did come were usually referred from state agencies. It concerned her, she admitted as she belted her robe and dug under the bed for her slippers. That’s why she’d always tried to make herself available for any of the kids who needed her. But with her pregnancy progressing, she was glad she had been able to get a graduate student in family counseling as a volunteer to help fill in for her.
After pushing her feet into her fuzzy slippers, she gently closed the bedroom door and gave herself a moment to get her bearings. Pleased to see the night-light in the hall, she padded down the carpeted hallway and practically held her breath as she passed Jack’s door. The last thing she wanted to do was to wake him up so early, she reasoned. He’d been so sweet and wonderful to her over dinner. He hadn’t pressured her or even commented again on the halt she’d called to their lovemaking. Instead he had gone out of his way to make her relax, telling her silly stories about his mother’s cooking fiascoes and making her laugh at his tales of growing up with two annoying younger sisters. Never once had he mentioned what had to have been on his mind—that this was his wedding night and instead of doing what most grooms did with their brides, he was sitting in the kitchen serving her milk in a champagne glass and feeding her leftover wedding cake for dessert. And the more understanding and patient Jack had been, the more miserable she had felt. It was the reason she had cried herself to sleep. Or at least that’s what she’d told herself because she didn’t want to think, not even for a second, that her tears had anything to do with the fact that she had married a man who didn’t love her.
She made her way down the grand staircase and when she reached the bottom, she was struck once again by the beauty of the house. And it was a big house, she reminded herself as she tried to remember in which direction was the kitchen. After only one wrong turn, she found it. She flipped on the light switch. The room was a cook’s dream, she thought, noting the Sub-Zero refrigerator, the six-burner stove and grill, the convection oven and chopping block. She walked across the tiled floor to the refrigerator and opened the door. The thing was packed. In addition to the shelf filled with containers of leftover food from the reception, there were three kinds of juice, milk, fresh vegetables, eggs, cheeses, cold cuts and tons more. It didn’t take much in the way of deduction to realize that Jack had stocked the place with food in anticipation of her moving in. One more thoughtful thing he had done with her in mind.
Not sure whether she wanted to whip up an early breakfast for herself or indulge in a very-late-night snack, she pulled open the freezer. And she could have kissed Jack when she saw the two gallons of butter pecan ice cream. A late-nigh
t snack it was, she decided as she pulled out the container of ice cream and made her way to the table.
But one-third of the way through the bowl of ice cream, she was struck with a major craving for eggs. An omelet to be precise—one with tomatoes and cheese and ham and some of the peppers and onions she’d seen in the fridge. She gathered all the ingredients, put them on the counter by the stove and checked out the cabinets in search of a skillet. She found it and went to work.
Fifteen minutes later, she had the fixings simmering in butter in the skillet. She whipped some milk and a spoonful of mayonnaise with the eggs and added them to the skillet. When it was ready, she folded the omelet over. Turning off the burner, she put the cover on the skillet and set it aside. There was only one thing she needed to complete her omelet feast—some tuna fish and peanut butter on the side. She found the peanut butter and was scouring the pantry for a can of tuna. She spied it on an upper shelf and was just reaching for it when a hand reached over her and scooped it from the shelf.
“Here you go.”
Lily took the can with the white-and-green label and slowly turned around. Her stomach fluttered as she looked at Jack. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt or shoes. He wore only jeans slung low at the waist with the top button undone. His chest looked strong, his shoulders incredibly broad and there were just enough muscles to inform her that Jack didn’t spend all of his time behind a desk or arguing in a courtroom. His hair was mussed. A dark shadow covered his jaw reminding her of that TV hunk Patrick Dempsey who played a doctor on some prime-time show. But it was his eyes, those smoky blue eyes, staring at her that made her feel like a clumsy school girl. She dropped the can of tuna.