by Kimberly Nee
Her bodice loosened, the fabric slipping over her shoulders and pooling about her waist. His fingers were more nimble than they’d ever been as he worked the laces of her corset free.
She almost screamed as he turned her and caught her breast through her chemise. Her fingers thrust into his hair, twisting and yanking as he swirled his tongue about her nipple. She arched against him, moaning softly, “Yes…”
He pulled away and the sight of her nipple, hard and dark beneath the wet fabric, was almost his undoing. He wanted to see her, though, without anything between her body and his eyes, and with a single tug, yanked the ribbon holding her chemise closed.
The fabric clung to her. Her gaze met his and never wavered as he pressed his hand against her breastbone and slid to push the linen away from her skin. She bit down on her bottom lip, her eyelids lowering.
His erection grew steelier as he watched his hand, skimming out, over her breast, and her nipple tightened further. Dear God, he wanted her. Wanted to just throw her down and find relief in her depths.
But he didn’t. Primal urges be damned, he was going to feast on her and savor her as she should be savored. Ignoring the demands of his own body, he carefully eased her chemise from her shoulders and then grasped the folds of fabric gathered about her waist.
She didn’t resist, but let the gown and chemise slip from her hips to pool about her feet. With her hair still tied away, there was nothing to hide her from him, and she blushed as he let his gaze roam slowly over her.
He bent, kissing the valley between her breasts, and she draped her arms about his neck, her fingernails gentle against his nape. He kissed downward, sinking to his knees as he nuzzled the triangle of dark hair between her thighs.
“Oh!” Her cry echoed through the cabin as he teased her, tasted her, and swirled his tongue over the small nub that had her shivering and shaking against him. She was sweet and exotic, and when she exploded, he caught her, bringing her gently back to earth.
“Julian…” Her voice was breathless and wanton as he gathered her in his arms to press her down into the mattress. Her fingers caught the fall of his trousers, and it was his turn to shiver as her hand closed about him.
“Oh, no, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice ragged and hoarse. He shoved her away and hurriedly shed his trousers, threw off his shirt, and settled back against her. Her thighs parted, and her wet heat offered up an invitation he couldn’t possibly refuse.
He slid deep inside her and went still, savoring the pulses of bliss that darted through him. She gasped, her legs wrapping about his waist as she murmured, “Julian…”
The sound of his name in her passion-thickened voice spurred him on. Each thrust was slow and teasing, as much for her as it was for him. She held his gaze, although her lashes fluttered as if her eyes wanted to close. The tips of her breasts rubbed against his chest, and her tight sheath sent sweet delight coursing through him.
Her hips rose to meet him, and he groaned as the need for release crept over him. Again and again he thrust, harder, swifter. He drove into her, sweat rising up on his back with each surge. She cried out, pulsing all around him to drive him over the edge. And this time, he didn’t fight it. He didn’t want to come into the sheets. He wouldn’t. Damn it all, he was going to come inside her, inside the woman made for him.
“Emma!” Every muscle seemed to snap, and he ground up into her as he hit that amazing peak and white-hot bliss tore through him. Her legs tightened about him, holding him deep inside her as he surrendered and allowed her to devour him.
Her fingernails bit into his flesh, her voice husky as she cried out his name as well. His back arched, and he shuddered as he spilled inside her in a climax sweeter than anything he’d ever felt. His mind went blank, and when he had nothing left to give, he sank into a blissful fog, collapsed into her arms, and gasped for breath.
“Oh, dear…” she murmured, stroking his hair away from his temple with tender fingers. “Oh, Julian…oh…oh, my…”
He nestled against the soft warmth of her breast. But the peaceful haze gave way to a more foreboding feeling. What have I done?
He did his best to shove the black cloud out of his mind. No. He didn’t want to think right now. Just wanted to lay there with her and forget about the rest of the world. Wanted to lay there with her, just as they were, until they reached St. Kitts.
But that foreboding feeling wouldn’t leave him be. And he couldn’t help but think he’d just made the gravest mistake of his life.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE ISLAND OF ST. KITTS rose up from the seas like a pearl, and Emma sighed as she leaned on the railing and watched the island grow larger. A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see Julian brace his arms on the railing beside her.
She bit down on her bottom lip. He looked troubled. In fact, he’d worn the same troubled frown for the last week. He didn’t seem angry, but something definitely lay heavily on his mind. And she had the feeling it was because the last time they made love, he didn’t withdraw from her.
For several days, she wondered how to broach the subject. She knew that each time they were intimate, he didn’t finish inside her. Perhaps she didn’t realize it that first time, but the evidence left behind in subsequent encounters cleared it up quickly. And since he was so adamant about not having children, and his seed was what was needed in order for her to become pregnant, he had to be berating himself for his slip in judgment.
And how did she convince him that the world might not end if she did end up with child?
“Julian?”
He glanced down at her. “We’re almost there, Em. By nightfall, we’ll be on dry land.”
“I know.” She looked over at his hands resting on the railing. She wanted to touch him, wanted to cover one of those strong hands with her own and assure him that everything would be fine. Somehow, she thought that if she was pregnant—and of course, she wouldn’t know for several weeks—it would be a good thing, not something to fear.
Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “Julian, about that night—”
“It’ll be nice to feel dry land beneath my feet again,” he cut her off, his voice somewhat gruff as he stared across the water, toward the shore.
Now she covered his hand with hers. “It will be fine.”
“No, Emma. It won’t.” He turned to her, his jaw tight and his eyes hard.
“I would like a child.” Her hand curved against her belly, as if she already knew she carried one. “And I won’t be sorry if I am pregnant.”
“You won’t be? Really?” He let out a mirthless bark of laughter. “Of course not. At least, not at first. But when I snap, and when you realize I’ve passed that madness on—”
“Oh, stop it already!” She jerked her hand away from his. “I’ve had quite enough, Julian. As I said, you don’t know what happened that night—”
“But I do,” he broke in darkly, his scowl hardening. “I do know what happened.”
“You…you do?” The fight went out of her, and she grabbed at the railing as her knees threatened to buckle. “Julian?”
“I do, and that’s all I’m saying.” He turned to walk away, but not before adding, “Be prepared to go ashore within the next few hours.”
And with that, he walked away, leaving her to stare after him. Even with the sun beating down upon her, Emma felt a seeping chill creep over her. He knew what happened the night of his parents’ deaths. He was there?
She shivered, wrapping her arms about herself, and tried to shove the words from her mind. He was there. He was there. He was there.
Julian disappeared below deck.
She sighed as she turned back to the water. Every time she thought they were growing closer, something happened to drive them a little further apart. Perhaps she was a fool for wanting to keep trying. And to make matters worse, now there was the chance she was courting death in the process.
No. She didn’t want to believe she’d been wrong. She frowned, squi
nting as the water sparkled and threw off flashes too bright to look at.
He was there.
He knew what happened.
Did anyone else?
What did happen?
Those thoughts whirled through her mind relentlessly, even after she went below to make certain everything that should be in her sea chest was in her sea chest. Julian wasn’t in their cabin. She didn’t know where he was, and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to know. And that troubled her almost as much as Julian’s confession did.
She was just stowing the last of her chemises when the ship bumped against something. A dock, most likely. She closed the chest and waited for Julian to return to escort her ashore.
When he did, he made no mention of what he’d said. In fact, he said little, although he did offer her his arm. “Shall we?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
He remained silent as they emerged into the afternoon sun. Emma glanced up at him. He stared straight ahead, the wind ruffling his hair in the way she loved. No. His confession changed nothing in how she felt about him. Nothing would change how she felt about him. It couldn’t.
At the dock, a carriage awaited them, and it was the first time she could recall rolling through the wrought iron gates that marked the entrance to Windemere with a smile.
She peered out of the coach as they rolled up to the front of the house. Every window lining the pink stucco house’s three floors were open, with white draperies fluttering in and out with the pull of the breeze. It didn’t look to be in such a state of disarray that time was of the essence in their arrival, but just because the house looked fine didn’t mean the sugar plantation itself was.
Julian stepped down from the coach and stretched, arching his back as he said, “So this is Windemere.”
She nodded, accepting his hand and climbing down. So little had changed about the house, that for a moment, she felt as if she’d stepped back in time and was a little girl once more. Only this time, she didn’t feel that same sense of dread at being there. Grandfather Windemere wasn’t there to frighten her any longer.
Julian’s hand came to rest atop hers. Was it her imagination, or did his fingers tighten about her hand?
She glanced up again. His glower was gone.
As if he felt her stare, he looked down and managed a small smile as he reached for the door handle.
The house’s shadowy interior offered a bit of relief from the heat of the blazing sun, and with every window opened, cross-breezes made the temperature quite comfortable.
“Who’s there?” Emma recognized Mrs. Holland’s voice and she smiled. The caretaker’s wife was also the housekeeper, and Emma remembered her being every bit as warm as she sounded.
Her face had a few more lines, and her hair was more silver than brown now, but Mrs. Holland hadn’t changed otherwise. She hurried toward them, a smile splitting her broad face. An old-fashioned white mob cap held back most of her iron-gray curls, but several still peeped out around her forehead. For as long as Emma could recall, Betsy and Jonah Holland were there, treating Windemere as if it belonged to them. She couldn’t imagine them not being there.
Mrs. Holland skidded to a halt before them, her smile replaced by a more curious look. “Miss McKenzie? Who is this?”
Emma glanced up at Julian and then back to Mrs. Holland. “Papa’s letter is sure to arrive soon, explaining everything in greater detail. This is my husband, Mr. McCallister.”
“Husband?” The smile returned, only wider now. “How wonderful! Mr. McCallister, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Holland.”
“Well, don’t just stand there. Come in out of the heat. It’s dreadful today. Usually the breezes blow in from the east, but I don’t know where they are today.” Mrs. Holland held out one arm to take Emma’s traveling cloak. “How was your voyage?”
“Rather nice, actually,” Emma replied as they followed Mrs. Holland further inside. “The weather remained friendly practically the entire way here.”
Mrs. Holland clicked her tongue against her teeth. “The skies were red this morning. I’ve a feeling we’re in for a storm sometime today. We’ve had some terrible ones over the last few weeks. Yesterday was the first dry day we’ve had in two weeks. I thought the island might just blow away. It was awful.” She turned her smile to Emma. “Miss McKenzie—that is, Mrs. McCallister—how are you? I haven’t seen you in so long. It seems as if the last time you were here, you were this little girl, and now look at you. All grown and married besides. It’s going to take some getting used to, your new name and all.”
Emma laughed. “It’s certainly taken some getting used to for me.”
“Where is Mr. Holland?” Julian broke in. “Captain McKenzie was very specific that I address his concerns at once.”
“Oh, Jonah is in his office—” Mrs. Holland let out a soft cough, and amended herself “—that is, your office, I suppose. What, exactly, are Captain McKenzie’s concerns?”
“You needn’t worry about those, Mrs. Holland,” he replied. “Where is this office?”
“I’ll show you,” Emma said, tugging on his arm. “It’s down this way.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer to freshen up?” Mrs. Holland asked. “Especially after such a strenuous journey. I will show Mr. McCallister to his office, and then I’ll have tea and pastries brought into the drawing room.”
“Oh, that won’t be—” Emma started to say, but Mrs. Holland cut her off.
“Eve!” The housekeeper bellowed, making both Emma and Julian jump.
A slender woman with dark skin hurried down the dark hall toward them. “Yes, Mrs. Holland?”
“Eve, take the Mrs. McCallister to the Blue Room. Then go find Maria and have her bring tea to the drawing room.” She shooed Eve toward the stairs. “Go on now, up you get.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Emma said, shaking her head. “I’ll take tea, but I’m going to show Mr. McCallister to his office before I go upstairs.”
She half-expected Mrs. Holland to argue, but the housekeeper knew her place and didn’t. Instead, Mrs. Holland bobbed her head. “Of course, Mrs. McCallister.” Then, to Eve, who still stood there, she snapped, “You heard Mrs. McCallister. Off you go, then.”
As Eve darted off, Emma gave another tug on Julian’s arm. “This way.”
The last time she’d seen her mother’s childhood home had been two years earlier, when Grandfather Windemere died. It was also the last time they’d traveled as a family. Although her relationship with her father hadn’t been a close one, Rebecca insisted it was only proper that they all come to St. Kitts to pay their respects.
But still, nothing had changed since Emma’s last visit. The frightening masks still hung along the walls of what had been her grandfather’s office, and they were just as eerie now as ever. She hated those masks, with their eyeless visages and twisted, grotesque faces. Made up to resemble fierce warriors of some exotic tribes, they stared down at her as she and Julian stepped into the office.
Mr. Holland sat at the massive teak desk, the top of his bald head glowing pink, as if burned. He looked up, his eyes appearing huge behind the thick lenses of his spectacles. He always reminded Emma of an owl. A small, pink owl.
“Miss McKenzie?” His chair creaked as he shot up from it, his expression a mixture of confusion and happiness. “Well, I’ll be—I had no idea Captain and Mrs. McKenzie were coming to call.”
“My mother and father are still in America,” she replied, and then gestured to Julian. “This is my husband, Mr. McCallister.”
“An honor to meet you, Mr. McCallister.”
Emma turned to Julian. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business.”
“Of course. I’ll be up when I’m finished,” Julian said.
As Julian turned to Mr. Holland, Emma let herself out of the office and went upstairs to the room that was usually reserved for her parents. It felt odd, standing there in the Blue Roo
m, knowing it was now hers. It was by far the biggest set of rooms in the house, complete with a separate chamber reserved strictly for dressing. The airy room overlooked the front of the plantation, with an amazing view of the ocean in the distance from the immense marble terrace. The glass doors to that terrace were all opened along that wall, the white gauzy draperies fluttering gently in the wind. Beyond the terrace, palm fronds and palmetto leaves rustled, as did the riotously blooming flowers climbing up the hillside.
She stepped out onto the white marble and breathed deep. A spicy sweet perfume filled her nose. Delightful. Heavenly. A bit of the weight lifted from her shoulders, and a sense of peace descended.
A door clicked closed and Eve called, “Mrs. McCallister?”
Emma turned toward the house. “I’m out here. It’s beautiful.”
“Tea is being served, as you requested.”
A gauzy drapery fluttered over her shoulder as she came back into the room. “I’ll be down in a minute or two. I need to change into something cooler.”
“Of course, Mrs. McCallister. Shall I help you?”
Emma nodded and stood as still as she could and allowed the maid to undress her down to her corset. She shivered as the breeze blew a cool, silken kiss over her bared flesh, and as she caught sight of the mirror in the corner, she smiled. On its own, her hand came down to rest against the curve of her belly. She couldn’t help it. No matter how much Julian might fear it, she wouldn’t be upset to learn she was pregnant. Just the opposite. She hoped she was. She’d always wanted children, and Julian’s loss of control meant she wouldn’t have to resort to something underhanded in order to conceive the child she so desperately desired.
Finally, Eve finished, and Emma smoothed her hands down the cool muslin of one of the summer-weight gowns she’d brought with her. Would Julian join her for tea? She hoped so. While they were aboard the Amelia, Julian had little to do but now, with everything that needed to be done at Windemere, he had enough to keep him so busy that days could go by without her seeing him.