He hesitated for a long time, then slowly laid her back on the bed. He reached down to take off his shoes, then tucked the covers tightly around her. He stretched out his legs as he sat back against the headboard and scooped her close to his side.
She released a soft sigh and snuggled close. The heat from his body seeped into hers, and she closed her eyes, melting against him. She felt the urge to be closer yet and stretched her arm around his waist. She needed his love, his touch. Just enough to push the hurt away. She trailed her hand across the broad expanse of his chest, then lifted up to kiss the crook of his neck. She could feel his pulse as her lips explored.
"Charity, what are you doing?" His voice was a strangled mix of harsh and husky. He fisted her hand. "Don't start this."
She pressed in closer. "Mitch, I need your affection tonight. There's this frightening loneliness inside of me. I need your kisses, your love, to chase it away." She heard the catch of his breath as she skimmed her hand down the side of his leg.
He pushed her away and lunged from the bed. His voice was a hiss. "Charity, no! If we start, I won't be able to stop. And this is wrong."
"Please, just hold me and kiss me, nothing more. We'll be man and wife in the morning, eight or nine hours, at the most. God would understand. He knows I need to be close to you tonight. Please!"
He stared at her in shock, his chest heaving as the heat of his anger warred with the heat of his passion. Dear God, he wanted her, but not this way. Not in the throes of lust, where sin could taint a love already too fragile.
He closed his eyes. But she needed him. And he needed her. They wouldn't make love, his mind argued. But he knew better. Every touch, every kiss would set his body ashiver and his soul ashamed. His passion was intense, pent up and bottled far too long. But in the light of day-or the dark of night-when his fervor finally cooled, there would be nothing left but the burden of sin.
His. And hers.
He opened his eyes and watched as she pushed the covers aside, the pull of her invitation melting his resolve.
"Mitch, please ... ," she whispered, and his gaze trailed from the deadly source of that plea to the soft curve of her nightgown as it clung to her body. Lust invaded his mind, bidden by thoughts of what lay beneath, and against his will, he found himself moving toward the bed.
All at once, he thought of her sister in a room down the hall, and his ragged breathing stilled. Faith had given him a glimpse of something holy and rare, a passion most pure. And despite the raging desire pumping through his veins at the moment, he meant to have it as well. With-or without-the woman before him.
He turned and ripped the cover off the other bed and retrieved his shoes. "I can't do this, Charity. I'm sleeping downstairs."
She sat up. "Mitch, wait, please ... don't go!"
He ignored her and stormed toward the door, his anger resurging as his desire died down. He heaved it open with a whoosh of cold air, then closed it quietly, padding through the hall to wend his way down the steps. Blarney met him at the bottom with a wet nose to his hand. He absently scratched him under his chin and moved into the dark parlor to drop on the sofa. The glow of the waning fire did little to warm the chill within. He tugged the blanket closer and stared in the dark, his mind muddled with confusion and his stomach roiling.
He'd made love to scores of women, but never encountered this sick feeling inside at the mere temptation of it, the regret of passion so strong, his body had craved to relent. And this was a woman he loved, a woman who would be his wife in a handful of hours. Not even consummated, no matter how close. Why?
He closed his eyes, and grief pierced his heart.
Because he knew the truth. It had set him free despite the chains of conviction that now tethered his soul. There'd been no guilt before, but no freedom either. He had been chained to sin, ignorant of the goodness of God or the blessing of obedience.
He pressed his hands to his face and closed his eyes, a low groan issuing from his lips. "God, forgive me for all the times I gave in to my lust."
For the hundredth time he searched his heart, wondering if he was making a mistake. He'd committed himself to marrying a woman with a heart for God, a woman he could trust. Charity was neither. Yet she needed him. And so did her baby.
He sucked in a deep breath, feeling closed in and desperate for air. His eyes flicked open, and his heart pounded in his chest. He swallowed hard, licking his dry lips. His eyes scanned the ceiling. Am I making a mistake? Please, God ... show me.
He closed his eyes and sagged into the sofa, hours of fatigue finally having their way. Sleep hovered at the edge of his mind, and he felt a release. Tension slowly siphoned from his body. "Thank you," he whispered. And with gratitude yet warm on his lips, he sank into the folds of the couch and slept.
"Trouble in paradise?"
Mitch's eyelids barely peeled open. A blur of navy serge towered over him. He blinked. Patrick O'Connor stared, newspaper tucked under his arm and a compressed smile on his lips.
Mitch's brain kicked into gear. He lurched up on the sofa. The bedspread slithered to the floor in a heap. "Mr. O'Connor, I must have fallen asleep."
Patrick stooped to retrieve the blanket, letting it dangle in his hand. His brow jagged up in blatant curiosity, the faintest glimmer of a smile threatening.
Mitch tunneled his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat. "It's not what you think, Mr. O'Connor. I have a snoring problem."
Patrick nodded and tossed the cover back on the sofa. "Marcy wants to know if you'd like a cup of coffee."
Mitch shifted his legs to the floor and began kneading the back of his neck. That sounds wonderful. What time is it?"
"Eight. We leave for Mrs. Gerson's at ten. I'll get that coffee."
"Mr. O'Connor?"
Patrick turned.
Mitch rose, quickly tucking in his wrinkled shirt. "Charity and I have plans ... I'd hoped to buy her breakfast out." Heat singed the back of his neck. "Errands to run, you know."
Patrick nodded, eyeing him with a narrowed gaze. "No problem. I'll tell Marcy." Patrick headed toward the kitchen, then stopped to face him at the door.
"You know, Mitch, Charity is what I've always lovingly referred to as a handful. More than any of my children, with the exception of Katie, she's always needed more attention. You know, a firm hand coupled with a firm heart. I've struggled over twenty years to understand her, and I haven't mastered it yet. Don't let a marriage of a few days derail you."
Mitch swallowed. "Yes, sir. Thank you."
"You're welcome." Patrick's eyes traveled the length of him. "It might be good to clean up and get into some fresh clothes. Those look like you've been wrestling with the devil all night."
Heat bloodied his cheeks. "Yes, sir."
"Hot coffee will be waiting when you come down." Patrick smiled and left the room.
Mitch released a shuddering breath. Wrestling with the devil. And then some.
A soft moan of contentment drifted from her lips as she dreamed, snuggling against her husband-to-be. Her hand dropped to the emptiness beside her, and she jolted up. Her gaze shifted to Faith's empty bed, bereft of its bedspread, and she chewed on her lip. He'd actually done it-slept downstairs, just as he said. Riddled with guilt, no doubt.
Over nothing.
She leaned back on her pillow and tugged the covers to her chin. She bit the nail of her thumb as her lips curved into a shy smile. She thought of the way he'd looked at her last night, his eyes glazed like a man possessed. Delicious heat braised her cheeks. If it weren't for her own nagging guilt over tempting him-and his refusal to give in-today, the day of her wedding, would be perfect. She sighed. But her condemnation-and his-would be gone once the vows were said, she reminded herself.
Tingles of excitement raced through her. They would be man and wife today. She bit her lip as she thought of her promise to Faith. No, telling him now was way too risky. She would tell him tonight. She slid deep under the covers, the warmth in her cheeks traveling to the tips of her
toes. Right after he made mad, passionate love to her. A giggle rose in her throat, the sound of it muffled from the weight of the spread. Preferably enough times to seal his fate. She grinned. And his heart.
Mitch reread the headline for the umpteenth time, not comprehending any better than the first. He dropped the newspaper to his chest and closed his eyes, shifting to adjust his cramped legs on the sofa. The scent of pine needles drifted in the air along with a hint of cinnamon from Marcy's Christmas pinecones, soaked for days and then dried with care. They now graced the tree, along with a wealth of homemade ornaments and cranberries on a string, a subtle reminder that Christmas was less than a week away. The fire in the hearth cracked and popped, the only sound in a house where everyone had long since gone to bed.
A key rattled in the front door.
Mitch scowled. Well, almost everyone.
He snatched the paper back up and gave the headline another go. He heard Faith's gentle laugh followed by Collin's low rumble. And then nothing. Mitch scowled again, staring at the headline longer than he cared to.
"Hey, what are you still doing up? We thought you'd be in bed at dusk."
Mitch dipped the paper enough to peer over the top, his eyes narrowed in annoyance at Faith's teasing tone. "It was closed."
She blinked. The smile faded on her face. "City Hall?"
The paper rustled back up, accompanied by a grunt. "Nope, that was open. The marriage license window. Closed up tighter than a wedding band on a chubby girl's hand. Seems they pick and choose their hours at random."
Faith moved to his side and stared down at him with sympathetic eyes. "I'm sorry, Mitch. But you only have to wait till Monday, right?"
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "So they tell me."
Faith bent and kissed him on the cheek. "The wait is almost over, my friend. Besides, you should be happy. This was a big step for Charity. I'm proud of her. And you too." She stood and stretched. "Well, I'd tell you to sleep well, but I don't think it would do much good. Good night, Mitch."
He squinted over the top of the paper, confused by her comments. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped when she stood on tiptoe to give Collin a quick kiss on the lips. "Good night, Collin. See you tomorrow."
"Good night, Little Bit. Love you."
"Me too."
Mitch heard the sound of her steps retreating up the stairs. He returned to his paper.
"I'm going to get a drink of water before I go. You want anything?"
Mitch didn't bother to glance up. "No, thanks."
Collin headed for the kitchen and then returned a few moments later, apparently standing at the entrance of the parlor. Mitch buried himself behind the Herald. He was in no mood to chat, but the silence ate at his gut. He exhaled and lowered the paper. "Is there something you want?"
"Yeah, there is." Collin shifted a hip and pushed his hands deep in his pockets. He ambled into the room and straddled the edge of the loveseat, arms folded across his chest. He avoided Mitch's eyes and stared at the tree as if seeing it for the first time.
Mitch gritted his teeth. "Yeah?"
"Sorry about City Hall."
"Yeah, well, they can't work around me, I guess."
"Nope."
Irritation twitched in Mitch's jaw as he studied him. "You got something on your mind, Collin?"
Collin drew in a deep breath and finally looked at him. "Yeah, I do. I wanted to apologize. For being such a jerk."
"Okay."
"I had no right to be jealous. I trust Faith. And you've never done me any harm."
A scowled tainted Mitch's lips. "Practically threw her in your lap. Been kicking myself ever since."
"I know. Can't say I would have done the same."
Mitch tossed the paper aside and sighed. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "Seemed like the right thing to do at the time."
Collin stood up. "It was. We were meant for each other."
He looked up with regret in his eyes. "Yeah, I know."
"So are you and Charity. I didn't think so at first, but I've changed my mind."
"Why?"
Collin pulled his gloves from his coat pocket and shoved them on, tugging them tight. "Because you're strong. She needs that."
"Yeah, right. My 220 pounds could take her 120 anytime."
"I meant spiritually."
His laugh was hollow. "Don't bet on it."
"Not many men would do what you're doing, forgive and forget. I'm not sure I could."
The muscles in Mitch's stomach tensed. "Yeah, that's me. An atypical guy." He swung his feet to the floor and stretched his arms high over his head. His heart pounded in his chest. "So, Faith told you, then?"
"Yeah. She said Charity promised to drop the bomb last night. I was pretty shocked."
"Not as much as me."
Collin laughed. "No, I guess not. I admire you, though. I know you love her, but honestly, if she'd lied to me about being raped and pregnant, I'd be long gone."
Mitch felt like he'd been gut-punched. He forced himself to breathe. "Yeah, I'm a real sucker for punishment."
"You okay?"
He looked up, the air thick in his throat. "How did Faith find out? Do you know?"
Collin shook his head. "Female issues, from what I gather. I think Faith confronted her and Charity confessed. Made her promise to tell you the truth before you got married." Collin headed for the door. "Of course, I guess you could look at it that she loved you enough to lie."
Mitch stared. "Yeah. Just not enough to tell the truth."
Collin turned. "What?"
"Good night, Collin. Thanks for the apology."
"You're welcome. Get some sleep. You look like you just lost your best friend."
Mitch dropped back against the sofa and closed his eyes. "Yeah, I will."
A sick feeling clogged in his throat. And I have.
She stretched in her sleep, the curved steel headboard cool to the touch as she grazed it with her hand. The sound of movement stirred behind her, and she rolled over. She yawned with a sleepy smile on her face. "Good morning."
He ignored her, his broad back bent over the bed.
"Mitch?"
Silence.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up, noticing the suitcase. "What are you doing?"
He adjusted a few things, then snapped it closed. He jerked it off the bed and turned, his face as hard and cold as her castiron bed. "Leaving."
All air suspended in her throat, and the blood rushed from her face, making her dizzy. She put a hand to her head. "Leaving? But, why? What happened?"
He stared, eyes slitted and void of all warmth. "You've lied to me for the last time. It's over." He started for the door.
She cried out and lurched from the bed, attempting to stand on both legs. "Mitch, no! At least talk to me. Don't leave like this. Please!"
He spun around. "Get back in that bed; you're going to strain your silly leg."
She hobbled forward, a fiery sting shooting the length of her cast. She grimaced and blinked. His face floated before her in a wash of tears. "Not unless we talk. You owe me that."
He hurled the suitcase against the door and charged toward her, swearing under his breath. He heaved her up and tossed her back on the bed, his eyes dark with fury. Towering over her, he clenched his fists at his sides. "I don't owe you a blasted thing, you little liar, but the back of my hand."
"Who told you ... ," she whispered. Her fingers shook as she pushed hair from her eyes.
The cords of his neck pulsed as he glared. "You mean instead of you? The woman I gave my trust ... poured my heart out to?"
She closed her eyes. Tears glazed her cheeks. "How could she? Faith promised-"
His laugh was savage. "And we both know Faith doesn't lie, now don't we? Unlike you. No, don't hang this one on her, Charity. Collin tripped you up."
She looked up at him, fear shivering through her. "I did it because I love you. I didn't want to lose you."
His face
was hard. "Big mistake, little girl. You didn't just lose me as a husband and a lover. You lost me as a friend." He strode toward the door.
"Mitch, no! You love me, I know you do."
He stooped to pick up his suitcase and paused, his back rigid as ice. "You're right, I do." He slowly turned. "But I'll get over it. Out of sight, out of mind. You'll be here and I'll be there. With Kathleen. She's seen me through more than one heartache; I suspect she'll see me through this. Only this time, she'll do it as my wife." He jerked the door open and flung it against the wall with a loud crack. He hurried down the hall.
She screamed. A horrendous ache seared inside. "Please, God, no! Faith! Mother!" She started from the bed and collapsed on the floor, her body wracked with sobs. She heard footsteps running and screamed again, keening in pain.
"Charity, what's wrong?" Faith hurried to her side. She knelt to hold her in her arms.
She could barely get the words out for weeping. "Mitch ... he ... left me. Collin told him ... and he's leaving. Faith, stop him, please."
Faith grabbed Charity's shoulders, her eyes wide with shock. "You mean you didn't tell him? He didn't know?"
I w-was afraid. A-afraid of this. And now he's gone." She clutched her sister's hand. "He trusts you, Faith, stop him. I love him and I need him. Please?"
Faith stared, then jumped to her feet. Charity shuddered as her sister fled the room. With a moan, she crumpled to the floor in a heap. A piercing wail escaped her throat. Dear God, what have I done?
Mitch dropped his suitcase with a resounding clunk and butted the kitchen door open with his fist. The swinging door squealed on its hinges, banging against the wall with an ominous thud.
Patrick jumped up from the table while Marcy stood at the stove, eyes round with shock.
"What the devil's going on up there?" Patrick demanded.
Anger pumped in Mitch's chest. "Charity's upset."
Patrick threw his newspaper on the table. "What the blazes for?"
"I'm leaving."
A Passion Redeemed (The Daughters of Boston, Book 2) Page 32