The Matchmaker

by Kay Hooper

  The clean smells of new wood and rain, the shadowy, lamplit room, unfinished though it was, and the pallet on the floor all seemed perfect to Julia. There was so much newness in this place, such a feeling of vigorous beginnings. She no longer saw it as eerie. She wanted to lie with Cyrus where there were no bedroom memories of pain and humiliation.

  Even to the storm outside replenishing the parched earth it was an ideal place for her to start afresh.

  “I don’t want to wait,” she whispered.

  He kissed her again, then murmured against her mouth, “You deserve better.”

  She hesitated, then slid her hands down over his broad shoulders and reached for his tie. There was a part of her still capable of being shocked by the brazen action, but the compelling hunger she felt was too powerful to fight or deny, and she met his eyes steadily as she unknotted the cloth. “I don’t want to wait,” she repeated, beginning to unbutton his vest.

  He was still for a moment, but when his vest hung open and she had reached the third button of his shirt he groaned softly and bent his head to kiss her again. He removed her dark tie by touch alone, then just as blindly worked to release the tiny buttons down the back of her blouse.

  He drew her to her feet, shrugging out of his vest and shirt, allowing them to drop carelessly to the floor. Julia unfastened her skirt and let it fall, then fumbled at the tight cuffs of her blouse. Oddly enough, she didn’t feel at all the way she did while undressing in front of Adrian, a fact she hardly noticed at the time. All she was aware of was the need to rid them of the barriers of clothing. She had to be closer to him.

  Still, a pang of nervousness shot through her when she saw his imposing torso. He was so big, so obviously strong. His strength had been noticeable under layers of clothing; without those civilized veils he was so starkly powerful it took her breath away.

  And he was so undeniably male. Golden skin taut over hard muscles. A mat of thick black hair, almost like a pelt, covering the broad expanse of his chest, narrowing over his flat stomach. She wanted to touch him, and yet at the same time nagging little fears were pricking at her.

  He could hurt her with such dreadful ease….And even though his desire seemed to her both strong and genuine, what if Adrian had been right about her? What if there were something in her that would destroy any man’s desire before it could be fulfilled? Would Cyrus turn from her, horrified and sickened, his skin clammy with disgust, when she caused his passion to wither? Would he find that ironically, fate had cursed him to want a woman he could never possess even though she offered herself to him?

  Please, God, don’t let it happen. Not with him. I couldn’t bear it to happen with him.

  For a brief instant Julia wanted to run to avoid discovering what could be an agonizing truth. But then he kissed her again, his fingers taking over the job of unbuttoning her cuffs, and the heat of her own response held the stinging fears and desperate anxiety at bay. She felt the blouse slip free of her, then her petticoat, and a slight tug as he unfastened her stockings and began working to release her corset.

  “Damn these things,” he said, lifting his head reluctantly so that he could see what he was doing.

  She helped him, more adept through sheer daily experience, and drew a breath in relief when the constrictive garment fell to the floor. “Fashion,” she murmured huskily, then gasped when he pulled her closer and her aching breasts were pressed to the hardness of his chest.

  His lips were trailing over her throat, and she felt the vibration of his words when he muttered, “Fashion can go to hell.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tighter against him.

  Julia slid her arms around his lean waist, her fingers probing the smooth, rippling muscles of his back. She felt him removing pins from her hair until it tumbled freely below her waist, and then his hands slid down to guide her hips firmly to his loins. Her head fell back to bare more of her throat to his caressing mouth, a hot shiver going through her when she felt the shockingly intimate sensation of his hard manhood nestle against her softness.

  That evidence of his passion reassured her, if only for the moment. He wanted her. He did. Nothing about her would change that. She tried to push Adrian and his bitter condemnation out of her mind, frantic to convince herself he’d been wrong. This was passion, not his frenzied, desperate fumblings in the dark. This was so incredibly pleasurable, fate couldn’t be cruel enough to take it away from her….

  A little moan of stunned desire escaped her trembling lips, and she couldn’t breathe properly. The sensations were so acute, and she felt so vibrantly alive…so overwhelmed by something she couldn’t begin to control. Frightening. Yet wildly exciting. She was dizzy and felt drugged, feverish. Her breasts were throbbing, and the worst of the heat had settled deep in her belly, where it burned almost beyond bearing until she wanted to cry out some desperate, wordless plea.

  It was difficult to think, but there was something she had to tell him, something he needed to know before he made her his. With her mind dazed and her body in the grip of these strange, maddening sensations, it wasn’t until he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the pallet that she tried to get the words out.

  “Cyrus…” She caught her breath as his big hands glided down her legs, removing her stockings and shoes, and the warm touch affected her peculiarly. Her heart was pounding so rapidly she thought it might burst, and her entire body was quivering. Lying back on the quilts that were surprisingly comfortable, she forced her eyes open, not realizing until then that they’d been closed.

  “What is it, sweet?” He was raised on an elbow beside her, looking down at her with eyes that were tender despite their burning. One of his hands brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, while his other hand lay, warmly heavy, over her stomach.

  The last thing she wanted to do, especially now, was to bring up the subject of her husband, but she had little choice. She had a superstitious urge not to tempt fate by confessing the truth, terrified her own words would cause Cyrus to see whatever it was Adrian saw in her and make him draw away from her in aversion. Even the possibility sent a chill through her aching body.

  She was glad she was still wearing her chemise and knickers; partially clothed she felt a trifle less vulnerable. But she was nervous, apprehensive, painfully embarrassed—and though her body still throbbed feverishly, she was so aware of the suspension of his caresses and her own terrible fears, she felt almost sick with dread. Her gaze skittered from his, and she said diffidently, “There’s something I—I have to tell you.”

  Cyrus had kept a tight rein on the clamorings of his body, fiercely determined to make certain she would have nothing to regret in giving herself to him. But at her words an entirely new kind of tension clenched in him. The way she looked away from him, and sounded so anxious. God, she couldn’t be pregnant! He didn’t know if he could bear even the idea of Drummond’s child growing inside her body.

  But as he looked down at her, so delicate and lovely, her beautiful face framed by bright hair tumbled loosely over the quilt, he knew he would bear it if he had to. He loved her. He leaned down to kiss her, then drew back. “Then tell me. You can tell me anything, sweet.”

  She bit her lip, her eyes meeting his again, then took a breath and said softly, rapidly, “I—I’ve never—my marriage was never—consummated.”

  It was the last thing Cyrus had expected, and for a moment all he felt was shock. “Drummond didn’t…”

  Heat burned in her face, and Julia looked nervously away again. “He—he couldn’t,” she said in a stifled voice. “He tried, because he wanted a son. But he said it was my fault, that I made him ill.”

  Cyrus gathered her into his arms and held her against him, still so shaken he could hardly think, but hearing in her voice the damage Drummond had done to her confidence as a woman. “Shhh. It wasn’t your fault, my darling.”

  Her voice was muffled against his neck as she clung to him, but he heard the words all too clearly. “It did make him il
l to touch me…it was horrible when he tried. I felt so ugly and ashamed. I didn’t want him to—to do that to me, but he was my husband, and I knew he had the right to, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. And he said things to me that hurt worse than the strap….”

  Cyrus held her tighter, his emotions chaotic. He hated Drummond for what he’d done to Julia, for her pain and for the healing that might take years. But he also felt an almost numbing surge of primitive pride and crushing responsibility. He, he alone would initiate this woman who was his heart’s desire into the mysteries and beauties of making love.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” he murmured huskily, easing her back down onto the pallet.

  “He said I was repulsive,” she whispered. Her face was white now, her eyes anguished.

  Cyrus kissed her trembling lips very gently. “No sane man could say that to you.” He touched her cheek with tender fingers, and his soft words were fervent. “You’re so beautiful, Julia, so amazingly lovely. The first time I saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. And I couldn’t stay away from you. You’ve haunted me, awake and asleep, every moment since.”

  Almost against her will, she believed at least that he found her attractive and desirable. He had certainly pursued her with a single-minded intensity. Still, she had to force the difficult words out. “But passion can change, can’t it? It can…wither.”

  Cyrus was certain she had never talked of this to anyone, and even though just the thought of Drummond in bed with Julia sickened him, he was determined her marriage not become a kind of Bluebeard’s chamber between them. Trust began with honesty; Julia had to believe there was nothing she couldn’t say to him, no subject she couldn’t discuss with him, no matter how painful it was to either of them.

  He made his voice gentle but matter-of-fact. “My sweet, there are a number of reasons a man might be physically unable to make love to a woman even if he feels desire for her.” He hesitated, then said, “His sexual organ has to be erect to enter a woman’s body. You understand that?”

  Julia half nodded, her face burning again with embarrassment. Since she’d grown up in the country, with animals about, she had at least a basic knowledge of the mechanics of reproduction, but Adrian had confused her about sexual relations between men and women in addition to everything else. Since he’d always attempted to take her in the dark, she hadn’t been certain what had gone wrong at first. Then she had realized he became aroused when he hurt her, but not when he tried to possess her. He hadn’t been able to enter her, no matter how frantically he’d pushed and prodded. Even when he seemingly aroused himself—she judged that by his changing voice and movements beside her—before touching her, his arousal had vanished as soon as he did touch her.

  “I—I understand,” she murmured, unable to meet his eyes except fleetingly. “But you said—he might not be able to even if he wants to?”

  Cyrus nodded. “Reasons like exhaustion or illness. If he’s upset about something that has nothing to do with her, and yet affects his own body. Or if he’s emotionally disturbed—like Drummond. His problems have nothing to do with you. Any man would find you desirable.”

  Part of Julia’s mind was shocked by the conversation, but her painful confusion drove her to try to understand, and Cyrus didn’t appear to mind. “But when Adrian…when he tried, he seemed to…arouse himself without even looking at me, or touching me. In the dark. And when he did touch me, his passion just…died. How could it not be my fault?”

  Cyrus hesitated, praying he could find the right words. He’d never been so conscious of how young she was, how terribly young to have such wretched questions. “His passion was empty. Hollow. It wasn’t the desire of a man for a woman; if it had been, touching you would have made it grow stronger. He isn’t normal, Julia. What he taught you of men is distorted, unnatural. You have to believe that, because it’s the truth.”

  “Men don’t…beat women?”

  “Normal men don’t,” he said flatly, his heart filled with pain because she should never have even imagined that question.

  Julia hesitated, then said, “Sometimes he—Adrian makes me touch him. But not because the touch pleases him, or even arouses him. It’s to hurt me, to—to shame me. That’s why he does it. Do all men—”

  “No.” Cyrus leaned down and kissed her gently. “Sweetheart, touching between men and women should be nothing but pleasure. I want to touch you because it’s a need inside me, because you’re so beautiful and I want to be as close to you as I can. I want to please you, more than anything, to show you how wonderful lovemaking can be.”

  Almost without thinking she lifted a hand and touched his cheek with unsteady fingers. A little shy now, still uncertain, she said, “Before you touched me, I didn’t know I could feel desire. Or pleasure. I’m sorry to be so stupid about it, but there was no one I could ask—”

  “God, don’t be sorry.” He kissed the inside of her wrist softly. “You can ask me anything, my sweet.” His smile was warm and gentle. “And you aren’t stupid, don’t think that. Just young, and even though you’ve seen more cruelty than anyone should, you’re innocent as well.”

  Her fingers were stroking his cheek of their own volition, almost compulsively, and she loved the way his skin felt under her touch. “My mother never talked to me of such things,” she murmured. “I promised myself I’d talk to Lissa.”

  “I hope you’ll be able to tell her a man can bring her pleasure with his passion,” Cyrus said quietly. “I hope you’ll be able to say to her that she never has to be afraid of a man who loves her.”

  Julia was puzzled. Love?

  Cyrus took her free hand and carried it to his chest, where she could feel the strong beat of his heart. Even as she felt the steady thuds, the tempo of them quickened, and his voice grew taut with intensity. “To make love to you isn’t just a desire in me, it’s a need. Do you understand, sweetheart? Not just passion. Love. I love you.”

  Chapter 8

  That shocked her more than anything he’d said or done, and pushed all thoughts of Adrian out of her mind. She searched his face with bewildered eyes, seeing the tenderness stamped in his hard, handsome features, seeing a glow in his black eyes she’d never seen before, as if they were lit from within.

  It was beautiful, what she saw. It even moved her in a way that was almost instinctive, as if the ancient core of her female being recognized and valued the primitive conquest of a male heart. But she couldn’t feel anything except surprise and disbelief.

  Love? He loved her? It wasn’t possible. She’d heard tales of him while she was still in the schoolroom, and even allowing for the exaggeration of gossip, one fact had stood out: His attachment to any one woman, if there even was an attachment other than passion, had never been more than fleeting. A single woman, she thought, could never hold him, not for long.

  Then again, perhaps his definition of love existed only in the moment. Perhaps he loved all his mistresses.

  In any case, Julia wasn’t foolish enough to assume anything from the declaration. She was a married woman on the point of leaving her husband; Cyrus was a man who wanted an affair with her. If it pleased him to say he loved her, then so be it.

  Finally, hesitantly, she said, “You don’t have to say you love me. I didn’t expect you to.”

  His expression didn’t change, except for the curve of his mouth, which turned a little wry. “I said it because it’s true. I’ll never lie to you, Julia. Never. I do love you. I know you don’t believe it, but you will one day.”

  She didn’t know how to reply, so she said nothing.

  He leaned down and covered her mouth with his, the first gentle touch deepening with hunger. Her arms went around his neck, and she was suddenly aware that the interruption had only held desire at bay, not destroyed it. Her body was throbbing again, feverish, and her response to his intense kisses was as fervent as it had been before. She heard herself murmur a protest when his lips left hers, and her own unexpected wantonness was no more than a t
iny shock this time.

  “I need you so much,” he said huskily, his eyes burning down at her again.

  Her heart was thudding, her breathing quickened, and the yearning inside her was so strong she was only dimly aware that the storm had intensified in its fury. She didn’t hear the booming thunder or wailing wind, or the heavy drumming of rain on the roof; all she heard was his voice. His wonderful, black velvet voice.

  “Yes,” she whispered, because she had a peculiar feeling he had asked her a question, even though she’d thought it had already been answered.

  He hesitated, then said, “Sweetheart, the first time for a woman…there’s pain. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  Julia had known too much pain not to be wary of more, but common sense told her women could hardly have been blessed with desire and cursed in the same breath with an agonizing consummation of it; God wasn’t that cruel, surely. Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “Only the first time?”

  He nodded and touched her cheek gently. “Only the first time, and only for a moment.”

  She wouldn’t realize it for a long time, but the first grain of trust for him formed inside her then. She wanted to believe him, so she trusted he was telling her the truth, trusted he wouldn’t hurt her more than he could help.

  Her arms tightened around his neck, and there was no hesitation in her voice when she said, “I want you, Cyrus.”

  He made a soft, rough sound, kissing her again and again. He could feel the banked desire inside him flare up hotly, his entire body burning and throbbing with need for her, and forced himself to concentrate fiercely on the even greater need to teach Julia the pleasure that was possible between a man and woman.

  Love gave him patience; he doubted anything else could have.

  Julia felt one of his hands touching her side, then her stomach, and realized he was unbuttoning her chemise. She was glad he was doing that, because even the thin barrier of sheer cotton was suddenly a torment to her. The primitive desire to lie naked in his arms, such an unfamiliar urge, was so strong in her she didn’t try to examine it. She simply obeyed the demands of this incredible need she felt, and stopped thinking at all.