He looked utterly forbidding, Sophie thought.
“Why did you come? Does Doc need me?” he asked.
“No. I came to talk to you.”
“About?”
“About whatever is going on with you. Sarah said—”
“Sarah sent you?” He made a sound of disgust and pushed away from the door. He wrenched off first one boot, then the other, and dropped them to the varnished wooden floor. She shrank aside as he approached her, but he went to the sink and started washing his hands. He stared out the window while he dried them, leaving a bunch of dirty streaks on the kitchen towel, she noticed.
Finally, he looked at her again, his lustrous eyes so deep she could fall right into them. “What did Sarah say?” he asked.
She couldn’t tell him all that Sarah had said, in case Doc’s wife was plain wrong about Riley’s feelings.
“She said you’re acting differently than you did before you went away the last time.”
He sighed. “We went over this at Ada’s last night. I’ll talk to Doc later.”
She hugged herself. “It may be too late for that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Webster has an open invitation to any doctor who’ll come fill the position. And already someone’s coming to answer his request.”
“Well, damn.” He ran his hand up the back of his head. “I don’t think Doc’s going to replace me, but I owe it to him to do better. I’ll paste on a smile, if that’s what people want.”
“Riley,” Sophie tried again. “What the people of Spring City want is for you to be happy.”
“Well, that’s not going to be easy.”
“Why?”
He dismissed her question. “Are you staying long? ‘Cause I need to take a bath.”
“Are you refusing to talk to me?”
“Suit yourself and stay.” He put on a large kettle and two pots of water to boil. Then he opened a cupboard and dragged out a tin washtub. Sophie’s mouth opened.
“No bathroom upstairs,” he drawled. “My parents weren’t quite as modern as the Sanborns or about everyone else in town, for that matter.” He removed his dirty neckerchief with a tug.
Poor, unfortunate Mrs. Dalcourt, the elder, was all Sophie could think. Or the younger, for that matter, knowing that whomever Riley took for a wife probably would be expected to live here. Certainly, she couldn’t picture Eliza bathing in the kitchen, but then they would most likely have lived in the Prentice home in town, not his. His parents still lived here sometimes, didn’t they?
She had no more time to ask questions because he was stripping off his dirty shirt faster than she could blink. Suddenly, she was staring at his rippling flat stomach and the barest amount of dusky hair tapering right down to his—
“Riley,” she said with a warning, as he undid his belt and put his hands to his button fly. He shrugged and opened a button, then another, and she started to see more dark hair.
Sophie fled before any more skin or anything else was exposed. She was sure she heard him laugh at her. Well, he wouldn’t get rid of her that easily. From the front hall, she listened for the sounds of water hitting the tin tub and then splashing as he bathed. She paced the hall, sat a moment in the parlor on a well-worn chair, and then paced some more. At last, she heard his footsteps and turned as he opened the kitchen door.
“Christ Almighty!” she muttered, as he stood there in nothing but a small bleached white towel, damp brown hair curling everywhere on his head at once. Everything else was flesh and muscle. She hadn’t seen this much of him in any of their previous encounters, and she couldn’t stop staring. He was like the statue of David she’d seen in Florence or any number of paintings of Adonis. Not that she’d ever say such a thing to fill his head.
Even the light hair on his strong legs and muscled arms fascinated her. She wanted to run her hand over it and over his sculpted chest, where it ridged down to his waist. She recalled the feel of his firm chest from their encounter in her hotel room. That was all she’d had the chance to caress when he’d deflowered her.
He didn’t look like he wanted her to caress him now, though. If she had to name his expression, it would be annoyance.
“It’s not polite to stare,” he rasped, and she thought she saw his towel move, all on its own accord.
“If you’re going to prance around—”
“—in my own house. And, Sophie, I don’t prance.”
“Still,” she said, flushing red and unable to keep her eyes from roaming over his body and her brain went blank.
“I was in such a hurry to get clean, I didn’t get any clothes from upstairs, or even a bath towel. Besides, I wasn’t sure you were still here.”
“I think you knew I was here,” she countered.
He tilted his head. “Maybe I hoped you weren’t.”
That stung and without warning, she felt tears in her eyes. Crying was the last thing she wanted to do in front of him. He didn’t want her here. He didn’t want to talk to her. She couldn’t help him anyway, and she had no idea what would make a man happy.
Turning away, she was already blinded by her unshed tears, but she made it to the door, hand on the knob, when she realized he was close behind her. He touched her, his fingers resting very lightly on her shoulder, then he pulled away quickly.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice so low and rough, it sounded raw. “You shouldn’t have come here, not alone.”
She nodded, but she had no idea what he was talking about. She didn’t fear him. How could she? But she couldn’t face him either, not while on the verge of breaking down. She pressed her free hand to the door frame and rested her forehead against it.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, but he hadn’t moved an inch away from her.
She knew she had to leave before she broke down completely and embarrassed herself. But in the next instant, she was enveloped in Riley’s arms, pulled back against him, his torso plastered against her back. She felt him press his face into her hair and then he was still—except for the throbbing of his warm body, answered by the strumming in her ears of her own blood. Despite his bath, he held the scent of leather and sunshine, mixed with his vanilla soap. She found it intoxicating and she nearly relaxed into his embrace. Then his words replayed in her brain: Maybe I hoped you weren’t.
She dashed at the tears that were falling with the back of her hand. Damnit. No more tears over men, she told herself, sternly, trying desperately to get control. He turned her so gently in his arms, then raised her pale face to his, groaning at what he saw.
“Sophie, don’t cry,” he whispered. And he kissed the path of a tear down her face until he was at the corner of her mouth. “Not over me. I’m not worth it.”
Shocked that he would say such a thing, she pulled back. “Of course you are.”
“I’ve treated you badly,” he said, “from beginning to end. You were an unattainable shooting star, and I had no business roping you in.” His eyes stared into hers, warm, intelligent, and haunted. “But I couldn’t leave you alone. I had to know you and talk to you.” He paused and then he ran his hand over her cheek. “And touch you.”
She could barely breathe. He slipped his other hand behind her head, cradling her in his large palm; he pulled her mouth against his, his kiss sweet and desperate, and filled with all the yearning they both felt.
His words filled her ears but made no sense. The only thing that made sense was how she felt in his arms. She returned his kiss, returned his touch, slipping her hands into his damp hair. Then his towel moved again, low against her stomach. She pressed against his erection and moaned, hearing his answering growl.
In a swift movement, he lifted her into his arms. Silently, he carried her up the stairs to his room. She didn’t notice the surroundings, until she felt the bed under her back, then his fingers at the buttons of her blouse. She did notice that he’d lost his towel along the way and was, for the first time, buck naked in front of her.
She
sucked in her breath. Was a more magnificent sight ever beheld?
In a few minutes, she was as naked as he was. He’d even removed all the pins from her hair, so it fell around her shoulders and pillowed her head. They had nothing between them but what they’d come into the world with. And then they started to explore.
He was bolder than her, at first. Kissing a tingling trail down her arched neck and between her breasts. He didn’t linger at her nipples, but went down to her bellybutton, dropping a kiss on it before inserting his tongue. She giggled.
She sobered up with lightning speed when he went lower. His mouth explored her, as if she were a delicacy, dropping kisses all along one thigh and calf and ankle and all the way up the other side; all the while, he rested one hand almost lazily over one of her breasts and with his other hand, he began to play her body with earnest, until she breathed out his name.
Feeling as though she were sizzling with her desire for this man, she tugged at him, demanding to feel his whole hard body over her. It was the only thing that stopped her from floating away, she thought, parting her legs so Riley could settle between them.
He covered her mouth with his own, kissing her deeply, and she grabbed his hair with both hands, holding him, afraid that he would disappear, or change his mind, the moment she let him go. Until she looked in his eyes and knew he wasn’t going to change his mind.
No words passed between them as he rose and put on protection; she couldn’t help watching, her gaze roaming up and down his body and settling on his shaft. She saw him swallow hard.
Rejoining her on the bed, he ran his hand over her taut stomach and then bent to kiss her nipple, stopping to suck first one, then the other, as his fingers played over the curls between her legs.
“Mm,” she said, pressing up against his hand
“Mm,” he answered against her breast. His finger slipped inside her channel, and she gasped. She was plainly ready for him and he didn’t make her wait any longer. Moving over her body, he pressed his erection against her core and worked his way gently inside.
“Mm,” she sighed again. And then, “ohh” as he went in farther, filling her, stretching her.
He was resting on his forearms, his body moving back and forth, and she easily matched his pace, delighting in the sensation as he pulled back almost all the way out of her and then surged forward. He kissed her again, moving his tongue in sweet mimicry of his lower body.
The feelings swept over her like chords of music, vibrating through her entire frame. And then the tempo increased and she had to hang on to him. His lips found the pulse at her neck, rasping her skin with his teeth.
“Sophie,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse and strained to her ears.
“Yes?” she asked, equally breathless.
“God knows I love you.”
She heard an eagle cry overhead as their crescendo built and her whole body was coiling like a spring for him. He glided his hand between their bodies and lightly slid a finger between the petals at the apex of her thighs, touching her where she throbbed. She climaxed, fully and sweetly, her body clenching and unclenching, squeezing around his shaft. A moment later, she felt him pump a little faster and then stiffen and hold still as he peaked.
Afterward, his whole body seemed to grow even warmer and become spineless, as he melted onto her, seemingly spent. When she thought she might have to poke him to let her breathe, he rolled to the side. She watched him remove the protection and place it on his bedside table.
Her heart was quivering along with the rest of her, on the brink between joy and sadness. All the pain he’d given her. “You lied,” she said to him. He did love her. “Why?”
Riley lay back down and pulled a blanket over them both.
“You know why,” he said. He rolled on his back and put his arm over his eyes. “Can you imagine living here?”
“With you?” she asked, surprised.
“Yup, right here in Spring City.”
She hesitated, and he laughed abruptly and without humor.
“That’s what I thought,” he said.
“Wait. You didn’t give me a chance,” she protested, trying to think through the idea. No San Francisco Symphony, no exquisite grand piano, no orchestra to play with. The thoughts stole her breath away.
On the other hand, she’d have Riley, every day. His smile, his eyes, his sense of humor, his intelligence, his company. Could she live for him alone?
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“No,” he fairly grunted his reply. Then silence, but he wasn’t trying to hurt her. Her whole body still tingled with how much he loved her.
“You won’t ask me to marry you?”
“That’s right. You might talk yourself into it and then you’d hate me.”
“I wouldn’t,” she protested.
“Well, I’d hate me. I’ve seen you perform. That’s where you belong, on the stage. That’s what you’re supposed to do with your life.”
She’d always felt that way, but still, she didn’t like him making the decision for her.
“I could perhaps teach piano here.”
He snorted. “Where? On Charlotte Sanborn’s old piano? Or, maybe you didn’t notice the little upright at Ada’s. The only time I’ve heard it is when some guy drinks too much and backs Ada up against it. Her butt plays two octaves.”
She puffed out her disapproval. He wasn’t making this easy. “I could have my own piano shipped from Boston. I could set up a music school.”
He rolled over onto his side and rested his head on his arm, looking directly at her. “Sophie, I know you would try to make that work. But, in case you haven’t noticed, Spring City has a couple hundred people. Plenty to keep me busy, but very, very few who will be interested in piano lessons, or who could afford it.”
“So you lied to get rid of me?”
He traced a finger over her cheek and down her throat, stopping in the hollow between her breasts before he looked up at her again. “Yup. I figured if you knew how I felt, you would sacrifice your dreams for mine, like a sweet, selfless martyr. It killed me to hurt you like that. You know that now, right?”
She couldn’t speak; she could hardly think with his finger still resting between her breasts. Then he added, “You’re a huckleberry above most people’s persimmon.”
She chuckled. “You sound like Charlotte.”
“Do I?” he asked.
“So you do love me?”
Slowly, idly, he circled each of her nipples and she felt them pucker. “Yup.”
“And you know I love you?” she asked.
He broke into a slow, broad smile and leaned down to kiss her, sending warmth sparking through her body clear down to her toes.
“Yup,” he answered.
“And you’d like me to be your wife?”
His face darkened and he sighed. “Nope.”
“Damn it, Riley!” She sat up in bed, then realized her own nakedness and grabbed the blanket as she stood, not caring that she left him entirely exposed. She wished there was a bathroom she could storm into. She ought to be over the moon—the man she loved and had yearned for all these months loved her, too. Instead, Sophie was angry.
“Turn around so I can dress,” she ordered and, with a bemused expression, he complied.
“Seems a bit late for that,” he muttered, facing the wall.
“It’s never too late for courtesy,” she said, putting on her stockings and her shift before hauling on her skirt and then her blouse, starting to work on her buttons with shaking hands.
“Can I turn around now?” Riley asked.
“Yes,” she said, sitting on the bed to lace up her ankle high shoes. She couldn’t do much with her hair without a brush and a mirror.
She felt him move and then heard him pull out a dresser drawer. When he came around to her side of the bed, he was wearing a clean pair of jeans and was pulling on a shirt. It was easier to address him after he was covered.
“I’m going now,�
� she said.
He nodded.
“Well? Don’t you have anything to say?”
“I told you, Sophie, you shouldn’t have come.” He ran a hand through his still-damp hair that was already standing up in a million different directions. “I guess I should tell you again that I’m sorry. But, hell, if the woman I love is going to show up in my kitchen like a fanciful spirit, looking so damned beautiful, then I’m going to make love to her in the middle of the afternoon.” He dropped to his knees in front of her. “And I’ve missed you so much, Sophie. It’s hard to be sorry about what we just did.”
The anger deflated right out of her.
“I missed you, too.”
He closed his eyes a moment before his soft, tawny gaze fixed on hers. “Now for that, I am sorry. I tried to be such a bastard you’d hate me and not miss me at all.”
“You’re not very good at being hateful.” Actually, he had been pretty darn convincing, but that was neither here nor there.
“Tell that to the good folks of Spring City.”
She could think of nothing more to say, except “I’m willing to stay here and be your wife, Riley. I want you to know that.”
He stood up and pulled her with him, holding her close and then he kissed her, a gentle caress across her lips. All too brief, and then he stepped back. “I won’t let you throw your gift away, Sophie Malloy. How could any man who loved you do that?”
He grabbed her by the hand and led her downstairs. She found herself out on the front step before she could say “boo.” She was being shown the door most certainly by the most grim-faced Riley she’d ever seen.
He didn’t even let her say goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sophie’s heart felt about as light as lead. She cried herself to sleep and woke up feeling beyond desolate. She desperately wanted to get back in front of her piano and heal herself with its magic. Charlotte’s untuned upright was simply not doing the trick. She needed the rich soul-soothing sounds of her grand on stage at the concert hall.
On the other hand, she couldn’t face the idea of the train trip that would take her away from Riley. Again. Perhaps forever. She didn’t really want to live here. She felt out-of-place, and the one person who could make it feel like home wouldn’t ask her to stay anyway. Still, he was hers, clearly he belonged to her body and soul, as she did to him, and to be alone without him in San Francisco was far worse than being here without her orchestra.
An Irresistible Temptation Page 25