Finn frowned. “Are you ill?”
She shook her head. “It’s crazy, but I’m so nervous. You’d think we’d never done this before.”
Finn smiled—a slow, very sexy smile. It was almost the same smile he used to bestow so easily. The only difference was the distinct note of sadness in it.
She thought of his sister’s words. He’s not happy. He always used to be happy. What did you do to him?
“Oh, Finn. Are you all right?”
He winked. “Exceedingly so.”
Beside him stood a shield-backed chair. He dropped to the damask seat and removed his soft black boots. Then he stood and shrugged out of his velvet wedding coat. The fine ruffled shirt came next. He tossed both on the chair.
Liv’s breath got stuck in her chest. He was truly a beautiful man, so lean and strong, the muscles of his arms and shoulders sharply defined, his chest broad and deep, tapering to a tight, hard waist. And then there was that wonderful silky trail of hair that ran down the center of his torso, pointing the way to the delights below.
“Why do you smile?” he asked.
“Because you are so very gorgeous.”
He looked at her sideways. “As are you—though the blankets obscure the view.”
Liv lifted the covers and tossed them aside. Then she dropped back to the pile of soft pillows and wiggled her toes. “Better?”
“You have the most attractive toes.”
“Why, thank you, sir.”
His gaze caressed her, from those wriggling toes all the way up to her blushing face. “The gown is lovely. It clings in a most provocative manner.” There was such heat in those amber eyes. Heat and knowing and humor…and tenderness.
The truth she already knew came suddenly poignantly clear: Tonight was their first night as man and wife and also, essentially, their last.
She would leave for America tomorrow. Perhaps, in the future, there would be passionate reunions. After all, she couldn’t get enough of his touch and he seemed to feel the same about her. Such heat would not fade swiftly. It could burn on for years, this fire between them, rekindled whenever they met again, which, given the baby she carried, would be bound to happen now and then.
She stared into his gleaming eyes. Yes. Such heat…
But it couldn’t last.
And it would never grow deeper.
For a true bond to develop, they would need time. They would need a daily striving together toward shared goals.
With a continent and an ocean between them, what might have been would never have a chance to happen, let alone to grow.
And eventually, untended, the fire between them would fade.
Strange that she would think of this now, that she’d find herself missing what she hadn’t even really considered before—a life with Finn, as his wife.
He asked quietly, “What has happened to your smile?”
Liv ordered the sadness away. They did have tonight. And she would make the most of it. “Why don’t you…come closer?”
He didn’t move, only murmured, “From sadness to siren, in the blink of an eye.”
“Oh, Finn. Please.” She held out her arms. “Won’t you come here?”
Still he held his ground, but the gleam in his eyes said much. In a low voice, he suggested, “Take off the gown.”
From her nest of pillows, she looked down the length of her body at the gown in question, then up at him, one eyebrow lifted.
He chuckled. “Yes. That one.”
She slid her hands to her hips and took the fabric in either fist. Slowly she began to gather it up. He watched her.
And she watched him.
She felt the silky slide of the cloth whispering upward, over her shins, her knees, the length of her thighs.
“Stop,” he whispered, when the gown lay across her hipbones and the soft curls between her legs were revealed to him. He started for her.
She let go of the gown and reached for him.
It was very late, nearly morning. The heavy curtains were drawn across the jewel-paned windows, letting in only a sliver of twilit glow from outside.
Liv woke with a sigh and for a moment wondered where she was. Then she remembered. She slid her hand over to Finn’s side of the bed. Nothing.
She sat up. “Finn?”
He appeared from the shadows, a denser darkness within the gloom.
“Where were you?”
“Right here. Sitting. Watching.”
“Watching me?” He made a low noise. She knew it for a yes. “Is something wrong?”
“Not a thing.”
She didn’t believe him, but he gave her no chance to argue the point. He caught the edge of the blanket and tore it back. His gaze swept over her, burning where it touched.
His eyes had that predatory, feral look in them, the look she’d first seen in his gray prison cell. She stared back at him, unafraid. Slowly she held out her arms.
With a low, hungry sound, he came down to her, clutching for her.
She enfolded him, wrapping her legs around him, accepting eagerly his first hard, deep thrust, crying out again as the thrusts continued, a glorious volley of them. She met each one.
Seated within her, he stilled. His head was tucked into the curve of her shoulder, his arms banded tight around her, stealing her breath, crushing her ribs. He thrust hard again with a guttural moan.
She was moaning, too, at the feel of him so deep inside her. His arms loosened just enough that she could breathe again. She sighed in relief.
He rose up on his elbows. She met his eyes.
Below, he began to move once more. She moved with him—a liquid dance of heat and need. The pleasure was so exquisite, so intense, she could only just bear it.
And then it became too much. She let her eyelids droop shut and tossed her head on the pillow.
“No.” The command seemed dragged up from far down inside him. He captured her face between his hands and held it still until she looked at him again.
“What?” she cried. “Yes. Anything…”
But he said nothing, only continued to look at her as he moved within her, until she thought she might go mad with the sheer erotic agony of it.
She was…
Sea grass on the ocean floor. The sun would never reach her. Blind and swaying in the velvet darkness, only the deepest and most powerful currents moved her, caressed her….
She was a white bird flying into a summer storm. The warm, hard rain was in her eyes, slicking along her feathers. Lightning flashed too close, brightness flaring all around her. Thunder rolled away through the dark sky.
She was a waterfall—a waterfall in a secret rain forest, tumbling hard and joyfully over mossy rocks, white spume glistening, falling.
Falling…
He thrust in so hard. She surged up, closing tight around him. All of her—arms, legs, everything, holding him, claiming him, as the pulsing of their mutual release began.
Chapter Sixteen
Her flight left at quarter past noon. Finn, freshly showered and dressed in a casual shirt and dark slacks, sat in the shield-backed chair and watched her gather her things.
“You don’t need to rush. And you don’t need to put up with the inconvenience of commercial flights. Your father would gladly give you the use of one of his jets.”
She finished folding the shirt she had in her hands and tucked it carefully into the open suitcase. She didn’t want to cancel her flight, to ask her father to provide transportation for her. She didn’t feel up to dealing with him and she was afraid to linger. Every moment she stayed only made her want to stay longer.
“I’ve got my flights all arranged. I’d just as soon go ahead with what I’ve planned.”
What she planned was to leave immediately. She should have been ready hours ago, really. But Finn was too tempting. They’d stayed in bed too long. She had no time now—not to see her father, not to kiss her sisters goodbye. Phone calls later, from stateside, would have to do.
F
inn seemed to have no more to say. The big room seemed far too quiet as she finished her packing—quiet and somehow shadowed, though the bright light of a clear day shone in the windows.
It didn’t take long. She zipped both suitcases shut and engaged the combination locks. “There.”
He stood. “All right, then.”
“You don’t have to—”
He put up a hand. “Don’t say it.” He took the larger of the two bags. “Let’s go.”
At the airport, Finn had the driver take the car right out onto the tarmac. Airport security saw who they were and waved them ahead to where the small commuter plane was waiting with the boarding stairs down and the passengers filing on.
Finn caught her arm when she reached for the door handle. “We have a moment. The driver will see to your luggage.”
The man behind the wheel got out and went around to the trunk.
Finn pulled her to him. His mouth hovered above hers, his breath sweet and hot on her face. “Viking tradition calls for a morning gift—a man gives his wife the keys to all his houses and holdings. A Viking’s wife will need the keys—Viking men, after all, are prone to row off in their dragon-prowed ships and not return for months at a time.”
She ached all over at the reality of leaving him. “Just kiss me. Please…”
He obliged her, his mouth hard at first and demanding, and then softening, turning gentle, his tongue delving in.
He ended it too soon. “I suppose there’s no point in giving you the keys to a castle you will never see.”
She looked at his eyes and his mouth, at the fine, strong line of his jaw. Not to touch him could not be borne. She laid a hand against his cheek. “Oh, Finn.”
“Stay.” His breath came ragged, as if he’d run a hard race.
“I can’t. Come with me.”
He pulled back. “Why?”
“Because I can’t bear for you not to.”
He looked at her for a long time. And then he shook his head. “Here.” He held out a white box, perhaps four inches square. The box was tied with a midnight-blue satin ribbon. “I never did find the moment to give you this.” He put the box in her hand. “Open it later, when you’re safely home. And now, kiss me once more.”
She lifted her mouth and for one last, shining, too-brief span of time felt herself melting into him.
And then he reached behind her and pushed open her door. “Go. Now.”
She turned quickly and slid out onto the pavement, standing tall on shaky legs, a cool, sea-scented wind blowing against her face. She whirled for the plane and didn’t look back in spite of the small knot of reporters shouting her name behind her. She couldn’t look back.
If she did, she knew she would throw over everything she’d ever dreamed of to stay in Gullandria with the beautiful playboy prince who had somehow managed to steal away her heart.
There was a delay at Heathrow. Mechanical difficulties. A scheduling snafu. The excuse changed every time a longer wait was announced. The afternoon wore on into evening.
Finally Liv learned that the flight was canceled altogether. She shuffled from airline to airline, but she couldn’t get a guaranteed flight until the next day.
She went on standby. A couple of intrepid reporters had appeared by then. They hovered several yards away, waiting, no doubt, for her to do something newsworthy. She got rid of them by granting a quick impromptu interview.
Yes, she and Finn had married. And she was utterly thrilled to be his bride. But her darling husband understood she had a summer job commitment; he himself had his duties at his estate in Gullandria. They were parting for a time, but they’d be together again soon.
It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Soon, after all, could mean just about anything.
She gave them permission to snap few pictures and then, at last, they went away. She sat at the gate and she waited, watching the other standby passengers: the executive types with their pinched expressions, their laptops always open and their phones permanently glued to one ear. And the retired couples, holding hands, looking pleased with themselves, off to see the world in their waning years. And the harried mothers on vacation with their little ones—little ones who too quickly grew weary of Game Boys and picture books.
One woman had a baby—how old? Three or four months? Liv really didn’t know. She’d never been one to hover over other people’s infants, making silly cooing noises, declaring, “Oh, what an angel—and how old is he?” She left that kind of stuff to Elli, who was born to be a mother.
And the plain fact was, she didn’t feel any more like cooing right then than she ever had. It was just another of those shocking moments when the truth she already knew decided to make itself painfully clear.
In nine months or so, she’d be like that woman, holding her baby in her arms, swaying gently back and forth, making small, soothing noises, looking down at the scrunched-up red face within the blankets, absurdly in love the way mothers always seemed to be with their newborns.
She thought of the birth then, of giving birth. Oh, God. She was going to be doing that. In nine months or so.
She put her hand over her flat stomach and wondered how the two of them were going to survive it.
They would. Of course they would. Women and their babies rarely died during labor anymore. The two of them were going to be fine.
But what about Finn? Okay, they didn’t have the kind of marriage that most people had. But now that she had let herself think of it, she definitely wanted him to be there. Really, he had to be there for the baby’s birth. He had the right, as the baby’s father, and besides, she truly couldn’t bear the thought of going through all that difficulty and pain and sweaty unpleasantness without him.
She fumbled in her big shoulder bag, looking for her phone. Finn had given her a couple of numbers—to his cell and to the main line at Balmarran—in case she ever needed to reach him.
Well, what could be more important than a father’s presence at a baby’s birth? Nothing. Nothing at all. She found the phone and flipped it open and started to dial his cell number.
Halfway through, she stopped. She flipped the phone shut and let it drop to her lap.
She was being ridiculous and she knew it. There was no need to call Finn right this moment about something that wasn’t going to happen for months yet.
It was only…
She missed him. Terribly.
A few hours away from him and all she wanted was to get back to him, to see his face, hear his voice, feel his touch.
Oh, this was bad. This was very, very bad.
She put the phone in her bag again and took out the little white box he’d given her. He’d said to open it when she got home. She should probably follow his instructions.
But she’d never been all that good at following instructions. She always had to make her own rules, do things her own way. He had to know that about her by now.
And really, how much could it matter if she opened it now or later?
She took the end of the bow and gave it a tug. The ribbon went loose. She pushed it out of the way and removed the lid and found…her blue satin panties. The ones she’d lost that fateful night.
Liv sat back, vaguely irritated. Really now. What kind of morning gift was that? She’d been hoping for something sweet and romantic.
A love poem.
Jewelry.
Jewelry, a man like Finn with all his amorous experience ought know, was never amiss as a gift for a lady.
But her own panties?
Uh-uh.
She lifted them by the elastic and held them high, scowling at them, not stopping to think that the travelers around her might find the sight of her dangling a pair of satin panties distinctly odd.
“Ahem.” A white-haired lady in the seat opposite her coughed into her heavily veined, beringed hand.
Liv shoved the panties back into the box and replaced the lid.
Right then, the boarding call began for her prospective flight. Ten minutes later, al
l the confirmed passengers had filed through the doorway. They began calling the standbys. Hers was the third name on the list. Liv heard it and didn’t move.
More names were called. Still Liv sat where she was.
Finally the attendant shut the door. Liv watched out the window as the plane taxied off toward the runway.
A long time went by. A whole new group of travelers surrounded her, more aging tourists and young families and busy type A’s. Another plane landed. The doors were opened and the passengers spilled out.
They were just starting to board yet another flight when Liv rose and returned to the ticket counter. She bought a ticket for the next plane to Gullandria.
It would depart tomorrow at 9:45 a.m.
In a daze, she caught a shuttle and found herself deposited at the Crowne Plaza hotel. She checked in and went to her room and ordered room service. She ate sitting on the plaid bedspread, channel-surfing and wondering if she might have, just possibly, gone out of her mind.
Time after time, she picked up the phone and then set it down again. What was to say?
“I’ve gone insane. I’m throwing over my internship and coming to see you at your precious Balmarran.”
Oh, it was impossible. What about her plans for her life? She really did have to be crazy, to be thinking what she was thinking.
In the end, she called her mother. Ingrid picked up on the third ring.
“Mom?”
“Livvy? Where are you? Are you—?”
“I’m in a hotel right outside London. And yes, I’m okay. I’m stark raving nuts, but I’m okay.”
“The wedding? Did you—”
“Yes. I did it. I married Finn.”
“Oh,” said her mother. Liv could hear the tears in her voice. “I’m glad, I truly am, but I thought you were supposed to be on your way home now.”
“I am. I was. But I couldn’t do it. I’m going back.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“I just, well, I can’t seem to leave, you know? I want to be with Finn.”
“I know.”
“It’s so unlike me. Throwing my internship over, for a man.”
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