“God, yes.”
She grinned. One of the scarves lay across his stomach. Picking it up, she brushed it across his face. “Perhaps my slave should be blindfolded.”
He opened his mouth, yet no sound emerged. Then he shook his head in defeat. “All my fault,” he whispered, more to himself, as she tied the scarf around his head. “Sultans and slaves. I’m an idiot. A fool. Igloos next time. Furs and fires and a nice big polar bear rug. No scarves. No cords. No ropes.”
“Fur and fire, huh? Sounds interesting.” Kat captured his lower lip between her own, effectively cutting off his tirade. “I shall hold you to it. Tonight, however, you’re mine to take.”
She kissed him again, catching his groan of frustration. Soon, though, his groans turned to growls, and Kat knew that even tied up and blindfolded, her husband was a man to be reckoned with. For a brief, wary moment, Kat’s breath caught. Her husband. Her lover. Her man.
Hers. How wonderful that sounded. To belong. To be cherished. To be loved.
Her hands shook as they stroked his skin. She touched, teased, tantalized. Even slightly shaky, he seemed to be enjoying himself, if that shameless smile quirking his lips was any indicator. Thank heaven he was blindfolded, else he’d see the anxious look on her face.
Love wasn’t part of the agreement.
The marriage, the honeymoon, it was all just a blissful wink in time. Once they left Paradise Lodge, reality would return and Kat’s normal life would commence again.
Normal. Right. Married to a man who intended to leave her. Again. A man who didn’t love her. Again. Only this time, she’d be left with the responsibility of five children. And she’d walked into it with her eyes wide open.
Unless, of course, she could convince him to stay.
“Kat?” His voice drew her back. “Why did you stop?”
“I didn’t,” she lied. Dipping the tip of her finger into his navel, she taunted, “I’m just letting you catch your breath. We’ve a long night ahead of us.”
Tracing tiny circles on his breastbone, she kissed the skin beneath his copper-colored nipple with renewed vigor. His swift, sharp intake of breath made her smile against his skin.
He pulled hard on the cord. “Kat?”
“Not yet.”
She took her time. Touching, caressing, teasing. Enjoying every sound he made, every curse, every shiver. He ordered, cajoled and demanded to be released from his bonds.
Yet she gave him no quarter.
Making a man tremble with need was the ultimate female power, and Kat reveled in her accomplishment. She wasn’t about to give over her power just yet. Instead she pressed a kiss to his lower belly, and was sure he’d yank the chest right off the ground.
Oh, there was no doubt he’d make her pay for this later. There was no telling what he’d do when she finally decided to untie him. But for now the moment belonged to her.
Leaning toward him, she lifted a breast and teased the corner of his mouth with her nipple. With a determined lunge, he briefly captured the peak between his lips and smiled at Kat’s surprised hiss.
“You’ll pay for that,” she told him.
She glanced down at his straining desire. Boldly, she ran a finger down the length, then upward. She cupped his fullness, then glided a hand up the shaft until she reached the tip.
His entire body shook. “Careful, woman.”
Taking pity on him, she abandoned her sweet torture and brought her breast to his mouth once again, then moaned as his tongue circled her nipple. He ticked, nibbled, even bit. She arched her body toward him, and he opened his mouth to take what she offered. He suckled her tenderly at first, then increased his ardor.
Kat stroked the back of his head with her free hand. Running her fingers along his nape, she combed the silky locks that rippled down his neck. It should be a sin for a man to have hair such as this. So soft, so silky. So…decadent.
The heat between her thighs quickened, her body eager to be joined to Jake. Slipping her leg over him, she eased herself downward, impaling herself upon him. In an instant Kat found her rhythm, rocking to and fro, enjoying the keen sensation of controlling her own desire. “Have me, slave.”
The demand was easily met. Jake surged upward, moving faster within her, his hips rising in measured thrusts. Digging her fingers into the strained muscles of his shoulders, she held on for both purchase and support. The sweet feeling inside her grew hotter, tighter, piercing her womb and soul, melting her heart and bones. He’d reached the very core of her.
Liberated, Kat threw back her head and rode him.
She arched and strained and journeyed through time and space itself. Clinging to the moment Kat drove herself further into the fantasy until reality was no more. She clung to him, feeling him drive deeper and deeper into her, carrying her higher and higher, further and further into a blur of soft sands, of night sky, of wild torment.
Crashing into the blinding light, she shattered like a million stars and answered his hoarse cry of surrender with one of her own.
SNUGGLED WARM and relaxed, spooned against the furnace of her husband’s body, Kat awoke to the music of birdsong, and she smiled. Then memories of the previous evening came rushing back, and she flushed with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment. Had that truly been her? Had she really done those wild and wicked things last night?
She pried open her eyes and the first thing she saw was a transparent blue silk scarf dangling from the hilt of the knife buried in the center pole. The second thing she spied was Jake’s hand sprawled in front of hers, his fingers stained purple from the juice of the grapes. Yes, she’d really done those wild and wicked things last night.
She wondered if Jake’s skin felt sticky, too.
Oh, my. She closed her eyes in mortification. What had possessed her? Three times? Or was it four? Good heavens. Why had she lost all sense of propriety? She didn’t even have the excuse that it was Jake’s fault. He’s not the one who used a drapery cord as a hog-tie.
Where had such thoughts come from? She’d never imagined such things before last night. But last night she not only imagined them, she acted upon them! Kat was mortified.
Her grandmother would be proud.
Jake let out a little snore against her ear. He certainly hadn’t seemed to mind that he had a wanton for a wife. Even tied up and blindfolded, he’d been smiling. In fact last night her husband had acted as if he’d died and gone to heaven. He’d even said exactly that at one point, sometime between the grapes and the honey pot.
Oh, yes, the honey. Leave it to a man to decide his dessert needed more sweetness. Well, she’d asked for that, she supposed.
Kat felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment, and yet along with it came a sense of…well…pride. It made a woman feel good to know that she could make her man so happy. And, after all, wasn’t that part of her bigger plan? To make him so happy, so content, he’d want to stay with the children? And, whispered a soft voice in her head, with you.
“Good morning,” Jake’s voice rumbled in her ear. Those grape-stained fingers flexed, then moved toward her, trailing a path from her shoulder to her waist. “Did you sleep well?”
“I—” Kat broke off abruptly when the sound of a man’s panicked shout intruded.
“Mr. Kimball? Mr. Kimball!”
In a flash, Jake had rolled to his feet and donned that white desert robe he’d worn briefly the night before. Kat scrambled for clothes as he exited the tent. “Here!” she heard him call. “Is that you, Wilson?”
Wilson. Chatham Park’s stable master. Kat’s stomach sank. Something was wrong.
She pulled on the costume, such as it was, then wrapped herself in a large, fringed coverlet and dashed after Jake. She caught up with him just as the stable master began his tale.
“We’ve a problem, Mr. Kimball. It’s bad. It’s the young lordship. Apparently, he climbed out of his bed and went exploring before anyone else awoke. He was quiet, slipped right past Miss Parker. He took a bad tumble down the
stairs.”
Kat gasped and Jake grabbed her hand, gripping it hard.
“He’s still alive, sir, but he won’t wake up. We sent for the doctor right away.”
“Broken bones?” Jake asked with an edge to his voice.
“Nothing’s sticking out. But the little guy is so small, we can’t really tell. He has a big old knot on his head. His arms and legs have twitched a bit, but he didn’t let out a peep when we moved him.”
Though Jake’s grip on Kat’s hand tightened, he showed no emotion as he instructed, “Saddle horses for Mrs. Kimball and me, please, Wilson. We’ll be right down.”
They hurried into the house and climbed the stairs two at a time. Jake threw off his robe the moment he entered the master suite. Reaching for trousers, he said, “Kat, I intend to ride fast. If you’d rather wait and return with Wilson, that’s—”
“I’ll go with you. I’ll keep up, Jake.”
“Good. I know this isn’t the sort of thing you…” He dragged a hand down his face. “Hell, he’s just a baby.”
Kat didn’t respond. No one knew better than she that being a baby was no protection from disaster.
They rode hard without exchanging more than a word or two. Kat spent a good portion of the ride arguing with herself, telling herself that she couldn’t, wouldn’t, turn the horse around and ride the other way.
Nausea rolled in her stomach. She didn’t want to deal with another injured child, another—God forbid— dying child. She didn’t think her heart could bear it. Again. This was why she hadn’t wanted to be responsible for these or any children.
She could deal with the small things, the little accidents. Skinned knees, scrapes and scratches. She could handle illnesses, too. Head colds and stomachaches from eating too much taffy. But incidents like this left her helpless. The serious things. The heartbreaking things.
Disaster was always one step away.
She prayed they’d find the toddler awake and well when they reached Chatham Park. But if Robbie’s condition failed to improve, then Jake was about to get a firsthand lesson in disaster.
The idea made Kat shudder. She recalled holding Susie’s lifeless body in the middle of a dusty street.
How would he respond? Would he find it difficult to leave the children once he’d witnessed the reality of a guardian’s responsibilities? Or would he find it easier to go?
Would he run as far as he could go to protect himself? After she’d climbed from her bed months after Susie’s death, in essence, that’s what she’d done. She’d turned away from the sight of Mari’s children. She didn’t hold them, didn’t touch them. She’d run.
She couldn’t do that this time. Whatever Jake did or however he reacted, she needed to take care of her own responses. If the worst occurred, she needed to be ready to be strong for those girls. They’d need her. They’d need her desperately, and Kat needed to be ready to help them.
Think positively, Kat, she silently chastised herself. These children have suffered enough bad luck, losing their parents the way they did. Surely they’re due a break. She wanted desperately to believe that.
They rode the last hundred yards to Chatham Park at a gallop and dashed up the front steps. The sight of the four Barrett girls seated on the staircase, silent and serious and teary-eyed, stopped the adults in their tracks. Jake cleared his throat “Girls?”
“Robbie is hurt Uncle Jake,” Theresa said.
“He climbed out of his crib and fell down the stairs,” Miranda added.
“I know. Is the doctor here yet?”
Miranda nodded. “He and Nanny Parker- are in the nursery.”
Big fat tears welled up in Caroline’s eyes, and Belle sniffled and said, “We’re so scared!”
The girls all nodded.
Kat’s heart melted. She glanced at Jake and said, “Go on up. I’ll speak with the girls a moment first.”
He nodded and started up the steps, pausing just long enough to give silent little Caroline’s head a comforting pat. Kat took a seat on the staircase just below the girls. She eyed them each in turn, then said, “It’s a scary thing, I know, but we must have faith. It’s—”
“Our fault!” Miranda cried. “It’s our fault he fell!”
Caroline reached over and clasped Miranda’s hand. As the girls shared a guilty look, Kat’s stomach clenched. “Why do you say that?”
Belle chewed on her fingernail. Miranda picked at a loose thread on her skirt. Theresa twirled a curl around her finger. Caroline squeezed her eyes shut. Two plump tears rolled down her face.
“Girls?”
Without looking up, Miranda said, “This morning we sneaked into the nursery. We played peekaboo with Robbie and made him all excited and giggly, and then we left. I’m sure he tried to follow us, Miss Kat. We left the door open and he tried to follow us and he fell down the stairs! He won’t wake up. What if he never wakes up? It’s all our fault and we’ll go to hell and we’ll never see Mama and Papa again in heaven!”
“Oh, girls.” Kat’s heart wrenched at the pain in their expressions. “Listen to me, all of you. You cannot blame yourselves for Robbie’s accident. You didn’t pick that baby up out of his crib and leave him teetering at the top of the staircase, did you?”
“No!” Theresa exclaimed.
“Did you have a reason to think he could get out of his crib by himself?”
“He lifted his leg a time or two, Miss Kat,” Belle said, “But I thought he might be winkling ‘cause that’s how boy dogs winkle.”
Kat’s gaze trailed up the staircase as she smiled at Belle’s comment. Part of her was anxious to learn what the doctor had to say. Another part of her wanted to turn around and walk right back out the front door. However, right now, these little girls needed her. “I don’t think that was a good enough clue, honey,” she assured Belle. “Was there anything else?”
The girls gave it a moment’s thought, then shook their heads.
“Then you shouldn’t feel guilty.”
“But it’s hard!”
“Oh, I know. I know that very well.” Kat rose gracefully to her feet, then helped the girls stand, too. “Why don’t the four of you go to the chapel and say some prayers for your brother?”
“That’s a good idea,” Theresa said.
Miranda asked, “Will you let us know as soon as he wakes up?”
“I promise.”
Kat left part of her heart with the girls as she continued up the stairs. Those poor children. She knew the agonies of doubt that plagued them. She understood the guilt, the regret. She looked at them now and saw herself, her sisters, the McBride Menaces of old. She didn’t look at them and see Susie.
Maybe she could do this thing after all.
Infused with a new strength and confidence, Kat made her way to the nursery. She told herself she’d be strong and ready to help if she arrived to find it time for the family to mourn. Of course, if the little one was awake and babbling, she’d join the rest of the family in celebration. If Robbie’s status remained unchanged, she’d act as a calm, sturdy support for anyone who needed her. Kat approached the opened doorway prepared for whatever she’d find when she arrived.
Or so she thought.
Jake sat beside the bed, holding the baby’s limp hand in his. Noting Kat’s arrival, he said, “The doctor doesn’t know a damned thing. He says if Robbie doesn’t wake up pretty soon, he may never regain consciousness.”
“Oh, Jake.”
“It’s his head. There’s a lump the size of a hen’s egg on the side. Miss Parker said he did move his arms and legs, though, so that’s a positive thing.” He looked at her then, anxiousness in his eyes. “Don’t you think?”
“I think that’s a wonderful thing.” She glanced around the empty room. “Where is the doctor?”
“Bastard wants breakfast. Miss Parker took him down the back stairs. Robbie looks pale to me. Does he look pale to you, Kat?”
“A little, yes.”
“I heard somewhere, I
don’t know where…hell, maybe I dreamed it.” Jake shoved his fingers through his hair. “Anyway, I heard that having a lump is good. It’s when you’ve bonked your head and you don’t have a lump that you need to worry. Have you heard that?”
Panic lurked in his words and in his movements. Kat didn’t want to tell him no. “My youngest brother fell out of a treehouse when he was just a little boy.”
“He did? Was he hurt? Was he knocked unconscious?”
“Yes. My parents were frantic. He was out for almost half an hour, but when he woke up, he was his old mischievous self.”
“A half an hour,” Jake murmured. “It’s been three times that long. Oh, God.” He buried his head in his hands. “This is my fault.”
Kat reached out to touch him. “Now, Jake…”
“No!” Violently he shoved to his feet and paced the floor. “See, this is why I’m not cut out to be a father. I should have been here. Instead, I’m out pretending to be the fucking Sheik of Araby while yet another family member of mine suffers a potentially fatal accident. Goddammit, what’s wrong With me? Why am I such a failure when it comes to family? I let my sister down. Just like I let my brother down. Who else is going to die on my watch? See, Kat? This is why it’s better for me to wander the world. When you start to grow roots, something yanks them up. Somebody dies.”
“Stop it,” Kat snapped. “I know you’re upset, Jake, but panic and self-pity serve no purpose here. They do neither you nor Robbie any good.”
“I guess you ought to know,” Jake snapped, striking out in his pain. “You’re the one whose self-pity makes you blanch when you have to hold a baby.”
Kat sucked in a breath as the barb struck home.
But it was the agony on his face, the guilt gleaming in his eyes when he looked at the baby boy lying so still and pale against the crisp white sheets that pushed Kat to reach out to him once again.
“You’re right, Jake,” she said calmly, reasonably. “I do know about children and accidents. They are frightening things. Sometimes horrible things. My brother fell from the treehouse and suffered no serious consequences. My daughter darted out into the street after a dog and died. Your nephew, our nephew, took a tumble down the stairs, and the outcome of that is yet to be known.”
Her Scoundrel, Bad Luck Wedding #7 (Bad Luck Brides trilogy book two) Page 20