by Natasha Tate
“Yes, I chose you. And I told myself it was with my head. I told you the same thing, praying you’d believe it. That you wouldn’t run away. You were smart, you were a good mother to our child, and you worked hard. I liked you and you weren’t needy. I respected you and I enjoyed your company. You seemed like the perfect choice.”
She remained silent, bracing herself for the truth.
“But I lied,” he said, his flinty blue gaze returning to roam over her face. Her body. The distance between them became charged, like the expectant silence suspended between the strike of lightning and the clap of thunder. He closed the distance between them, his breath hot against her ear. “I lied to you and to myself. Because my head had nothing to do with my choice.”
An awful shaking took up residence in her legs.
“Tonight proved it to me. When I thought I might lose you. When I saw myself repeating the mistakes of my father and not caring.” His voice trembled and he braced his arms against the glass behind her, his head dipping low against her cheek. “I married you because I’d be lost without you. I married you because I need you, more than I think I’ve ever needed anyone. I’ve been blind with needing you, so much that I couldn’t sleep at night.”
A crazy blend of doubt and joy filled her heart, winnowing its way through her body and making her hands itch to touch him, to lift his face so she could read the truth in his eyes.
“But I knew you’d never marry me for me. You deserved better than a wretch like me, and I knew it. That’s why I didn’t hold on to you with both hands when I had the chance. I wanted to spare you the hell of being married to a Whitfield. Of being married to me. But then Emma gave me the perfect excuse to claim you, to take what should never have been mine,” he whispered fiercely. “And I’m sorry.”
“Stephen—”
“It’s not you who isn’t good enough,” he interrupted. “It’s me.”
“You’re wrong,” she said into the trembling silence between them.
He lifted his burning gaze to hers, chips of burning blue ice within a haggard face. A face she loved. “Don’t,” he ground out. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Oh, Stephen, you know I’m a terrible liar.” Forcing lightness to her tone, she reached to cup his lean cheek. “It’s one of my flaws, I’m afraid.”
He closed his eyes, turning his mouth to the center of her palm. He rested his lips against it for a moment, his throat bobbing with his swallow before he straightened. “I know I don’t deserve to ask this, but I’m going to ask anyway …”
“Yes,” she answered, her heart in her throat.
“Yes?” His brow creased with bewildered doubt. “But you don’t even know the question.”
She reached to cup his dear face between her hands. “It doesn’t matter what you ask, Stephen, because I love you. My answer will always be yes.”
“You love me?” he asked, his voice a rough, pleading rasp.
“Yes.”
“But why?” He shut his eyes, and the words worked within his throat. “Why would you love me when I’ve given you no reason to do so?”
Colette’s heart ached for the lonely boy who’d lost both his parents too young, for the lonely man who couldn’t associate love with anything other than loss and pain. She dropped her hands to his chest and splayed her fingers wide. “Because inside here, beneath the walls you throw up to keep the world at bay, there’s a fine, loyal, good man. Because when you touch me I come alive inside. Because you want to make me happy, even when I frustrate you. Because you’re patient and kind and generous. Because you’re a wonderful father. You’re the other half of me. And because the thought of being without you makes me feel like there’s a hole in my chest.” She hauled in a breath, feeling the steady thrumming of his heart beneath her palms. “I love you because you’re you, Stephen, and because when I’m with you I can be me.”
“I love you too,” he said in a soft rasp. “God help me, I love you too.”
The deep confession from his beautiful mouth, those three little words she’d waited a lifetime to hear, set her heart singing with joy. “Tell me again.”
“I love you, Colette.”
It was so much easier to say than he’d thought it would be. As if the simple exchange of those three tiny, bare words stripped him of all the insecurities and doubts that had plagued him since childhood. And then she smiled at him, renewing his resolve to be the man she wanted. The man she needed him to be.
Stephen gathered Colette up against his chest, hauling her close enough that he could feel her heart beating against his. “I love you,” he repeated, the words, now freed, clamoring to be said again and again. Shouted from the rooftops. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”
Nothing he said would be enough to demonstrate his depth of feeling. He’d simply have to show her. Now. And every moment of every tomorrow they ever shared. Dipping his head, he hovered over her sweet lips, sensing her warm smile that curved in response. He backed up just enough to see her hazel eyes, a smile of his own catching at his mouth.
“Don’t tease me like that,” she breathed, looping her long arms about his neck and trying to pull him back down. “You know I’ve been wanting for days to kiss you again.”
He bent toward her, until nothing but their heated exhalations separated their lips. “Not nearly as much as I,” he said. “I’ve been starved for your kisses, aching for you every hour, every minute, every second that we’ve been apart.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” she gasped breathily.
His laugh rumbled low and deep. “I’m trying to decide whether I want to kiss you shallow, slow or deep.” He lifted his hands to her lovely face, cupping her fragile jaw within his palms. “I’m trying to decide whether to start here,” he murmured against her trembling mouth, “or here.” He slid west, his lips and breath hovering near her dainty earlobe. “Or here,” he breathed as he moved his hands to the back of her head, angling her head back and nuzzling the juncture between her neck and shoulder. He rubbed his whiskered chin against the delicate ridge of her collarbone. “Or even here,” he teased, and her little gasp sent an arrow of need straight to his groin.
He withdrew enough to peer into her face. Her eyelids had drifted to half mast, her rosy lips parted and her breath coming in shallow pants. He felt her arousal, the eager responsiveness of her body, with every hungry inch of his. And still he tarried.
“I plan to kiss you from head to toe,” he promised. “To lick every freckle, taste every crease, and savor every delectable inch of you until you squirm and shout and beg me for more.”
She shuddered within his arms, and the fan of her lashes lifted. He felt the heat of her gaze to his knees. “I’m waiting,” she whispered.
“I’m here,” he said, dipping to gather her up into his arms for the second time that night. “And we’re not coming up for air until Emma’s got a little sister to torment and tease.”
EPILOGUE
“DADDY’S home!” squealed seven-year-old Emma as she launched herself off her stool and raced from the kitchen out onto the tiled marble that led to the front door.
“Daddy, Daddy!” echoed Evie as she raced her older sister toward her father’s knees, her sturdy, stocking-clad legs churning fast beneath tiers of red and pink ruffles.
Colette grinned, wiped her hands on her apron, and strode, albeit a bit more slowly than her daughters, to welcome Stephen home. Seeing him at the door, his arms filled with giggling girls and snow dusted over the shoulders of his dark wool coat, she felt a rush of longing and love for the man who’d turned their imposing East Hampton mansion into a home.
Despite all her worries, despite all her fears, she and Stephen had found a way to merge their two visions of what a family and home should be. The warmth and trust between them had transformed the giant colonial house into a happy place full of love and security, where their children could grow, laugh, learn and thrive.
“Daddy, you’re cold!” the girls squealed, squirming and sh
rieking with laughter as Stephen pretended to feast on their necks.
Catching sight of Colette over their daughters’ heads, he bent to release the little hellions and they scampered off to the kitchen, calling over their shoulders, “Come and see what we made with Momma!”
“Hey,” he said as he slowly straightened, his blue eyes filled with tenderness and love as he leaned to brush a kiss against her cheek. The scent of winter clung to him, a sure sign that autumn had finally relinquished its hold on New York, and the tip of his nose was cold where he nuzzled beneath her ear. “You smell good.”
She shivered and arched back with a breathless laugh, pressing her splayed hands against his chest. “And the girls were right. You’re cold.”
“Care to warm me up?” he asked with a wicked grin, hauling her close enough to bump the hard mound of her belly against his.
“Mmm. That sounds good,” she said, threading her arms beneath his coat and around his warm ribs. “Do you think the girls will notice if we disappear for a little while?”
“You know they’d start looking before we got halfway up the stairs.”
She snuggled closer. “Parenthood does have its drawbacks, doesn’t it?”
The low rumble of his laugh shook his chest beneath her cheek, and she heard the promise of later, after the girls were asleep, in his voice. “How was work today?”
“Perfect,” she said, leaning back within his arms and beaming up at him. “The girls and I created a lovely new recipe for chocolate pecan squares that Henri is sure to love. And we made enough to send to your mother’s family, too.”
“Did you, now?” he said with a smile, lifting a hand to brush a stray curl behind her ear.
At the gentle touch, another thread of hope and longing wound itself around her heart, tugging deep within her chest. It amazed her how her reaction to him never seemed to lessen, how her love for him never seemed to dim. “I think they’ll like them. I used a splash of Irish Crème in the batter.”
“You missed your calling,” Stephen murmured, his blue eyes going soft as he stared at her from beneath a fan of black lashes. “With those desserts of yours, you could broker peace for the entire world.”
“Oh, I don’t know. The girls do far more for peace than my pastries ever could,” she said, remembering their first Christmas in London last year.
Their blue-eyed angels had helped ease the transition back into Stephen’s maternal family and they hadn’t looked back once. The tribe of loud, robust, grudge-holding O’Fallons had been cool and distant—until they’d caught sight of Emma and Evie. One look at their Maggie’s adorable grandchildren and the broken bridges and regrets over the past had been set aside forever.
“Those two can melt even the most reluctant of Irish hearts.”
“Only because they inherited their mother’s beauty.”
“I suspect it has far more to do with their father’s charm.”
“I know better than to argue with a pregnant woman,” he teased. The corners of his eyes crinkled as his hands dropped to rest against the burgeoning swell of her belly, idly tracing the ample evidence of her seven-month pregnancy. “How’s this little one treating you?”
“He’s been kicking up a storm, but I’m holding strong.” She placed her hands atop his and waited until he met her eyes again. “He reminds me a bit of his father, you know.”
“Me?”
“Mmm hmm,” she said with a slow smile. “He has no qualms about letting me know what he wants, when he wants it. I suspect he’s going to be a holy terror.”
Stephen’s mouth hitched in a grin. “Somehow I think you’ll be able to handle whatever he throws at you.”
“You sound so confident.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, pulling her back into the warm circle of his arms. “You handle me.”
“I do, don’t I?” she teased, tipping her head back and staring up into his smiling blue eyes.
“Oh, yes, you most definitely do,” he said, before he bent to catch her mouth in the homecoming kiss she’d been waiting all day to receive.
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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First published in Great Britain 2011
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
© Natasha Tate 2011
ISBN: 978-1-408-92608-6
Table of Contents
Cover
Excerpt
About the Author
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Copyright