The CEO's Accidental Bride

by Barbara Dunlop

  “I guess.” Though the last thing Zach cared about at the moment was the aesthetics of the cemetery.

  Then again, Kaitlin was fine. She was cold, and she needed a bandage. But she was with him now, and she was fine. He reflexively squeezed her shoulders.

  “I’m soaking your shirt,” she told him.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I feel stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid. It was nice of you to help Aunt Ginny.” It really was. It was very nice of her to traipse up to the cemetery to place the roses for Ginny.

  “The other cart’s still back there,” she told him in a worried voice. “It wouldn’t start. Did I do something wrong?”

  “The battery life’s not that long on these things.”

  She shivered. “Will it be hard to go and bring it back?”

  “Not hard at all,” he assured her. “But we’ll wait until the rain stops before we do that.”

  The rain was pounding down harder now, the lightning strikes and thunder claps coming closer together. The cart bounced over ruts and rocks, the illumination from the headlights mostly absorbed by the pitch-dark.

  “Thanks for rescuing me,” she said.

  Something tightened in Zach’s chest, but he ignored the sensation. She was his guest. And there were real dangers on the island. The cliffs for instance. He was relieved that she was safe. It was perfectly natural.

  “It was nothing,” he told her.

  “I was getting scared,” she confessed.

  “Of what?”

  “I’m here on a mysterious pirate island, in a graveyard, in the dark, in a storm.” Her tone went melodramatic. “The whole thing was starting to feel like a horror movie.”

  Zach couldn’t help but smile at her joke. “In that case, I guess I did rescue you.” He maneuvered around a tight curve, picking up her lightening mood. “And you probably owe me. Maybe you could be my slave for life?”

  “Ha!” She knocked her head sideways against his shoulder, her teeth chattering around her words. “Nice try, Harper. First you’d command I stop blackmailing you. Then you’d make me divorce you. Then you’d fire me and kick me out of your life.”

  Zach didn’t respond. That wasn’t even close to what he’d had in mind.

  Eight

  In Kaitlin’s guest bathroom, the claw-footed bathtub and homemade lilac candles were completely nineteenth century. While the limitless hot water and thick terry robe were pure twenty-first.

  She was finally warm again.

  Zach had brought Kaitlin straight to her room in the castle, where someone had laid out a tray of fruit and scones. He’d called Dylan on the way to let them know everything was fine. Half a scone and a few grapes were all she could manage before climbing directly into the tub, while Zach had disappeared into some other part of the castle.

  Now the second floor was shrouded in silence. One of the staff members had obviously been in her room while she bathed, because the bed was turned down, her nightgown laid out and the heavy, ornate drapes were drawn across the boxed windows. She guessed they expected her to sleep, but Kaitlin was more curious than tired.

  On her initial tour of the castle, she’d discovered the family portrait gallery that ran between the guest bedrooms and the main staircase on the second floor. She’d glanced briefly this morning at the paintings hanging there. But now that she’d read the family tombstones, she couldn’t wait to put faces to the names of Zach’s ancestors.

  She opened her bedroom door a crack, peeping into the high-ceilinged, rectangular room. There was no one around, so she retightened the belt on the thick, white robe and tiptoed barefoot over the richly patterned carpet.

  Chandeliers shone brightly, suspended from the arched, stone ceiling at intervals along the gallery. Smaller lights illuminated individual paintings, beginning with Lyndall Harper himself at one end. He looked maybe forty-five, a jeweled sword hilt in his hand, blade pointing to the floor. She couldn’t help but wonder how many battles the sword had seen. Had he used it to vanquish enemies, maybe kill innocent people before stealing their treasure and taking their ships?

  Of course he had.

  He was a pirate.

  She returned her attention to his face, shocked when she realized how much he looked like Zach. A few years older, a few pounds heavier, and there were a few more scars to his name. But the family resemblance was strong, eerily strong.

  She left the painting and moved along the wall, counting down the generations to the portrait of Zach’s father at the opposite end. She guessed Zach had yet to be immortalized. Maybe he’d refused to sit still long enough for his image to be painted.

  She smiled at the thought.

  She’d counted twelve generations between Lyndall and Zach. The paintings on this wall were all men. But she’d noticed the ladies’ portraits were hung on the opposite side of the room.

  She walked her way back, studying Lyndall all over again. The main staircase of the grand hall was behind him in the painting, so he’d definitely been the one to build the castle. It was strange to stand on a spot in a room, then see that same place depicted nearly three hundred years earlier. She shivered at the notion of the pirate Lyndall walking this same floor.

  “Scary, isn’t it?” came Zach’s voice, his footfalls muted against the carpet.

  For some reason, his voice didn’t startle her.

  “He looks just like you.” She twisted, squinting from one man to the other.

  “Want to see something even stranger?” He cocked his head and moved toward the wall of ladies’ portraits.

  Kaitlin followed him across the room.

  “Emma Cinder.” He nodded to the painting. “She was Lyndall’s wife.”

  The woman sat prim and straight at a scarred wooden table, her long red hair twisted into a crown of braids. She was sewing a sampler, wearing green robes over a thin, champagne-colored, low-cut blouse with a lace fringe that barely covered her nipples. Her red lips were pursed above a delicate chin. Her cheeks were flushed. And her deep green eyes were surrounded by thick, dark lashes.

  “Wow,” said Kaitlin. “You don’t think ten-times great-grandma when you see her.”

  Zach chuckled. “Look closer.”

  Kaitlin squinted. “What am I looking for?”

  “The auburn hair, the green eyes, those full, bow-shaped lips, the curve of her chin.”

  Kaitlin glanced up at him in confusion.

  He smoothed his hand over her damp hair. “She looks a lot like you.”

  “She does not.” But Kaitlin’s gaze moved back to the painting, peering closer.

  “She sure does.”

  “Okay, maybe a little bit,” she admitted. Their eyes were approximately the same shape, and the hair color was the same. But there were probably thousands of women in New York with green eyes and long, auburn hair.

  “Maybe a lot,” said Zach.

  “Where was she from?” Kaitlin’s curiosity was even stronger now than it had been in the cemetery. What could have brought Emma to Serenity Island with Lyndall?

  “She was from London,” said Zach. “A seamstress I was told. The daughter of a tavern owner.”

  “And she married a pirate?” Kaitlin had to admit, Lyndall was a pretty good-looking pirate. But still…

  “He kidnapped her.”

  “No way.”

  Zach leaned down to Kaitlin’s ear, lowering his voice to an ominous tone. “Tossed her on board his ship and, I’m assuming, had his way with her all the way across the Atlantic.”

  Kaitlin itched to reach up and touch the portrait. “And then they got married?”

  “Then they got married.”

  “Do you think she was happy here? With him?” For some reason, it was important to Kaitlin to believe Emma had been happy.

  “It’s hard to say. I’ve read a few letters that she got from her family back in England. They’re chatty, newsy, but they’re not offering to come rescue her. So I guess she must have
been okay.”

  “Poor thing,” said Kaitlin.

  “He built her a castle. And they had four children. Look here.” Zach gently grasped Kaitlin’s shoulders and turned her to guide her back to the men’s portrait wall.

  She liked it that he was touching her. There was something comforting about his broad hands firmly holding her shoulders. He’d kept his arm around her the whole ride back from the cemetery, his body offering what warmth he could in the whipping wind. And that had been comforting, too.

  “Their eldest son, Nelson,” said Zach, gesturing to the portrait with one hand, leaving the other gently resting on her shoulder.

  “What about the rest of the children?”

  “Sadie has their portraits scattered in different rooms. The other two sons died while they were still children, and the daughter went back to a convent in London.”

  “I saw the boys’ tombstones,” said Kaitlin. “Harold and William?”

  “Good memory.” Zach brushed her damp hair back from her face, and for some reason, she was suddenly reminded of what she was wearing.

  She was naked under the white robe, her skin glowing warm, getting warmer by the minute. She realized the lapels had gaped open, and she realized the opening had Zach’s attention.

  Their silence charged itself with electricity.

  She knew she should pull the robe closed again, but her hands stayed fast by her sides.

  Zach made a half turn toward her.

  His hand slowly moved from her shoulder to her neck, his fingertips brushing against her sensitive skin.

  “Sometimes I think they had it easy.” Zach’s voice was a deep, powerful hum.

  “Who?” she managed to breathe. Every fiber of her attention was on the insubstantial brush of his hand.

  His other hand came up to close on the lapel of her robe. “The pirates,” he answered. “They ravage first, and ask questions later.”

  He tugged on the robe, pulling her to him, and his mouth came down on hers. It was hot, firm, open and determined.

  She swayed from the intense sensation, but his arm went around her waist to hold her steady as the kiss went on and on.

  He tugged the sash of the robe, releasing the knot, so it fell open. His free hand slipped inside, encircling her waist again, pulling her bare breasts against the texture of his shirt.

  Her arms were lost in the big sleeves, too tangled to be of any use. But she breathed his name, parted her lips, welcomed his tongue into the depths of her mouth.

  His wide hand braced her rib cage, thumb brushing the tender skin beneath her breast. Her nipples peaked, a tingle rushing to their delicate skin. Her thighs relaxed, reflexively easing apart, and he moved between them, the denim of his pants sending shock waves through her body.

  He deftly avoided the portrait as he pressed her against the smooth stone of the wall. His hand cupped her breast. His lips found her ear, her neck, the tip of her shoulder, as he pushed the robe off. It pooled at her feet, and she was completely naked.

  He drew back for a split second, gazing down, drinking in the picture of her body.

  “Gorgeous,” he breathed, lips back to hers, hands stroking her spine, down over her buttocks, to the back of her thighs. Then up over her hips, her belly, her breasts. She gasped as he stroked his fingertips across her nipples, the sensation near painful, yet exquisite.

  His hands traced her arms, twining his fingers with hers, then holding them up, braced against the wall while his mouth made its moves on her body. He pressed hot, openmouthed kisses from her lips to her neck, found her breasts, drawing each nipple into the heat, suckling until she thought her legs would give way beneath her.

  She groaned his name in a plea.

  He was back to her mouth, his hands moving down, covering her breasts, taking over from his lips, thumbs stroking across her wet nipples.

  She tangled her hands in his hair, pushing his mouth harder against hers, kissing deeper, mind blank to everything but his taste and touch. One of his hands moved lower, stroking over her belly, toying with her silky hair, sliding forward.

  She wrapped her arms around him, anchoring her body more tightly against him, saving her failing legs, burying her face in the crook of his neck and tonguing the salt taste from his skin.

  His fingers slipped inside her, and a lightning bolt electrified her brain. She cried out his name, an urgency blinding her. She fumbled with the button on his jeans, dragging down the zipper.

  He cupped her bottom, lifting her, spreading her legs, bracing her against the cool wall.

  A small semblance of sanity remained.

  “Protection?” she gasped.

  “Got it.”

  One arm braced her bottom, while his hand cupped her chin. He kissed her deeply, their bodies pressed together, her nerves screaming almost unbearably for completion.

  “Now,” she moaned. “Please, now.”

  It took him a second, and then he was inside her, his heat sliding home in a satisfying rush that made her bones turn to liquid and the air whoosh out of her lungs.

  Her hands fisted and her toes curled as she surrendered herself to the rhythm of his urgent lovemaking. Her head tipped back, the high ceiling spinning above her. Lightning lit up the high windows, while thunder vibrated the stone walls of the castle.

  She arched against him, struggling to get closer. Her breaths came in gasps, while the pulsating buzz that started at her center radiated out to overwhelm her entire body.

  She cried his name again, and he answered with a guttural groan. Then the storm, the castle and their bodies throbbed together as one.

  When the universe righted itself, Kaitlin slowly realized what they’d just done.

  Bad enough that they’d made love with each other. But they weren’t locked up in some safe, private bedroom. She was naked, in an open room of the castle, where five other people worked and lived. Any one of them could have walked up the staircase at any moment.

  She let out a pained groan.

  “You okay?” Zach gasped, glancing between them and around them.

  “Somebody could have seen us,” she whispered.

  He tightened his hold on her. “Nobody would do that.”

  “Not on purpose.”

  “The staff are very discreet.”

  “Well, apparently we’re not.”

  “God, you feel good.”

  She couldn’t help stealing another glance toward the staircase. “I’m completely naked.”

  He chuckled low. “We just gave in, broke all our promises, consummated our marriage, and you’re worried because somebody might have seen us?”

  “Yes,” she admitted in a small voice. She hadn’t really had time to think about the consummation angle. More that they had, foolishly, given in to their physical attraction.

  “You’re delightful,” he told her.

  “That sounded patronizing.”

  “Did it?” His voice dropped to a sensual hush, and his mouth moved in on hers. “Because patronizing is the last thing I’m feeling right now.”

  His kiss was long and deep and thorough. And by the time he drew back, the pulse of arousal was starting all over in her body. She wanted him. Still.

  “Again?” he asked, nibbling at her ear, his palm sliding up her rib cage toward her breast.

  “Not here.” She didn’t want to risk it again.

  “Okay by me.” He gently eased himself from her body, flicked the button to close his pants, then lifted her solidly into the cradle of his arms and headed for the staircase to his bedroom.

  “My robe,” she protested.

  “You won’t need it.”

  Zach held Kaitlin naked in his arms, inhaling the coconut scent of her hair, reveling in the silk of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips. A sheet half covered them, but his quilts had long since been shoved off the king-size bed.

  “This is gorgeous,” she breathed, one hand wrapped around the ornately carved bedpost, as she gazed up at the scrollwork on
his high ceiling.

  “This is gorgeous,” he corrected, stroking his way across her smooth belly to the curve of her hip bone.

  She looked great in his bed, her shimmering, auburn hair splayed across his pillowcase, her ivory skin glowing against his gold silk sheets.

  “I never knew people lived like this.” She captured his hand that had wandered to her thigh, giving his palm a lingering kiss.

  “It took me a while to figure out some people didn’t,” he admitted.

  She released his hand and came up on one elbow. “Were you by any chance a spoiled child?”

  “I wouldn’t call it spoiled.” He couldn’t stop touching her, so he ran his palm over the curve of her hip, tracing down her shapely thigh to the tender skin behind her knee. “But I was about five before I realized everybody didn’t have their own castle.”

  Kaitlin’s eyes clouded, and she went silent.

  He wanted to prompt her, but he forced himself to stay silent.

  She finally spoke in a small voice. “I was about five when I realized most people had parents.”

  Her words shocked him to the core, and his hand stilled in its exploration. “You grew up without parents?”

  She nodded, rolling to her back, a slow blink camouflaging the emotion in her eyes.

  “What happened?” he asked, watching her closely.

  “My mom died when I was born. She had no relatives that I ever found.”

  “Katie,” he breathed, not knowing what else to say, his heart instantly going out to her.

  She’d never mentioned her family. So he’d assumed they weren’t close. He thought maybe they lived in another part of the country, Chicago perhaps, or maybe California.

  “She either didn’t know, or didn’t say who my father was.” Kaitlin made a square shape in the air with both hands. “Unknown. That’s what it says on my birth certificate. Father—unknown.”

  Zach’s hand clenched convulsively where it rested on her hip.

  “I never knew,” he said. Though he realized the statement was meaningless. Of course he never knew. Then again, he’d never asked. Because he hadn’t wanted to know anything about her personal life. He simply wanted to finish off their business and have her gone.