by Gina Wilkins
She giggled softly and reached up with both hands. Despite her disclaimer, she unfastened the dress easily enough. Shyly, she lowered the bodice, baring the creamy tops of her small breasts.
Almost reverently, Dean kissed her there. So soft, he thought with a groan. So warm. So incredibly beautiful.
“Dean?” Anna’s voice was a shaken whisper.
“Mmm?”
“I—I hope you don’t mind too badly, but I—I’m not a virgin,” she said in a brave rush. “Jeffrey and I—two times, we—”
He shushed her by placing a finger over her lips. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m not a virgin, either,” he said. “I was married, Anna.”
She smiled rather sheepishly. “I know that.”
He didn’t return the smile. “The past doesn’t matter. Somehow, we’ve found each other. And all I care about is our future—together.”
Her eyes gleamed in the lamplight. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
“Make me yours.”
“Yes,” he said hoarsely, drawing her close. “Mine. And I’m yours. Forever, Anna.”
With surprising ease, he removed her dress, her tiny sandals, her sheer stockings and quaint undergarments. He would study them and marvel over them later; for now, he had eyes only for her. His own clothes fell in a careless heap on the floor.
There wasn’t an inch of her he missed in his lovingly thorough exploration. The pulsing hollow of her throat. Her firm, coral-tipped breasts. Her sleek, flat stomach. A small, round mole at her waist. Her thighs. The softness between them.
She writhed beneath him on the bed, protesting only when she worried that he would hurt his arm. He felt the occasional tug at his stitches, but any discomfort was overwhelmed by the exhilaration of loving Anna.
Anna cooperated fully while he learned her body, her fingers clenching in the sheets beneath her as she arched and writhed, biting back her cries of pleasure.
And then she pressed Dean gently back into the pillows and began her own extensive exploration of his body, always careful of his injured arm. His teeth clenched, his muscles rigid, his skin damp and exquisitely sensitized, Dean wondered dazedly if he would survive the night.
The time finally came when he could wait no longer to be inside her. He rolled her onto her back, settling himself between her thighs.
“Your arm, Dean,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with her own need. “Please be careful.”
“Forget the arm. I need you, Anna.”
“Yes. I need you, too, Dean. I need—” Her words broke off in a gasp when he surged inside her.
She was hot and wet and tight, and when he joined with her, Dean knew he had never been truly alive until that moment.
He and Anna were one. Somehow, they had always been one, even when time and space and death, itself, had separated them.
IT WAS A LONG TIME LATER before they slept. Anna lay snuggled against Dean’s left side, her head on his shoulder, her bare, still-damp body entwined with his. His right arm throbbed, but he ignored the discomfort, choosing, instead, to savor the pleasure.
“Marry me, Anna,” he whispered into her hair.
She stirred. “But how—”
“We’ll work it out, somehow. Just say you’ll marry me.”
He felt her smile against his skin. “I’ll marry you.”
“Good. By the way, did you know it’s your birthday?”
She lifted her head in surprise. “It is? Now?”
“Yes. It’s after midnight on the fourteenth. Happy Valentine’s Day, Anna. And happy birthday.”
She groaned and lay back down. “I don’t even want to think about how old I am.”
He laughed softly. “We’ll start counting again at twenty-six. Oh, man,” he added, suddenly dazed all over again. “I’m still having a little trouble believing this.”
She murmured an agreement. “I know how you feel. It’s very strange. But it’s right.”
“Yes. It’s right.” He kissed her. And then, content, he closed his eyes and nestled her closer. “I’m almost afraid to go to sleep,” he murmured. “I’m afraid I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.”
She locked her arms around his neck, careful to avoid his bandages. “I’m not going anywhere, my love. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
And she was.
ANNA’S WHITE DRESS was wrinkled and dirty, and she refused to put it on to meet his aunt. Dean dug out a clean black sweatsuit for her to wear. The shirt hung almost to her knees and the pants swallowed her, but the drawstring at the waist kept them in place. The elastic bands at the wrists and ankles made the garments blousy, but wearable. She wore a pair of his thick white socks in lieu of shoes. When she saw herself in the mirror, she laughed.
“Do I look like a modern woman—or a modern boy?” she asked, her slender figure all but hidden in the folds of his sweatsuit.
“You look adorable,” Dean assured her, kissing the top of her head as he fastened the white cotton shirt he’d donned with a pair of jeans.
“Your family will think you’ve dragged home a vagabond.”
“My family will love you, just as I do.”
They had already prepared their story. Now it was time to test it. Anna couldn’t remember ever being more nervous. She had to take several deep breaths for courage before she and Dean stepped out into the real world, with one last, wistful look at the bed where they’d spent such a magical night.
Mae and Cara and Casey were already seated at the dining-room table, having breakfast. “We thought you would want to sleep in this morning,” Mae said, hearing the dining-room door swing open. “We—oh! Why, who—”
She stopped with a gasp, staring at Anna.
Anna’s hand tightened convulsively in Dean’s.
“Aunt Mae, Cara, Casey, this is Anna. My fiancée.” Dean spoke as easily as though he were merely bidding them good morning.
Mae was on her feet, her face pale, her eyes fixed on Anna’s with a mixture of fascination and disbelief. “Your—your fiancée?” she stammered. “But where? When? She looks like—”
Anna held her breath.
Dean never blinked. “Anna is the great-granddaughter of Nicholas Cameron, James Cameron’s brother, who stayed in London when James emigrated to America. That would, of course, make her a distant cousin of the Cameron twins. She came here out of curiosity, wanting to know more about her American family and the tragedy that struck them.”
“But—where did you meet? Where has she been staying? And you’re engaged?” Aunt Mae looked a bit dizzy.
Anna stepped forward and placed her hand in the older woman’s. “Please forgive us for springing this on you in such a way, Mrs. Harper,” she said sincerely, trying to sound at least slightly British. “It’s unforgivable of us, I know. Please believe that there were... circumstances that kept me from meeting with you sooner. I love your nephew very much, and I want to spend the rest of my life making him happy. I know how close he is to you. I hope you can accept me into your family.”
Mae’s face softened. She took Anna’s hand in both of hers. “Oh, my dear, of course. I was just taken by surprise, that’s all. I’m thrilled that Dean has fallen in love—why, just look at him. It’s written all over his face.”
Anna studied Dean’s face through tear-filled eyes. He grinned at her, looking as though he didn’t care if his feelings were written on his face in permanent ink. He loved her. And he didn’t care if everyone knew it.
What had she done, she wondered, to deserve this joy?
They spent the rest of the morning reciting the story they’d concocted so carefully, improvising when necessary.
Anna had told Dean earlier that she felt terrible about lying to his family, and he shared her qualms, but both of them had agreed that the only way they could hope to have a normal life together was to keep her true identity a secret, from everyone. Even Mae and Bailey.
“It’s such a shame that all your luggage was lost,�
� Mae fretted later. “Honestly, those airlines these days are so careless. We’ll have to see about getting you something to wear. And, Dean, you make sure she is compensated for her loss, you hear? Even if you have to hire a lawyer.”
“Yes,” Anna agreed with a smile for Dean. “I’m afraid all I have is one dress and a pair of heeled slippers. I can hardly go around in those or Dean’s sweatclothing all the time.”
“Sweatclothing?” Mae repeated with a puzzled frown, then looked at the fleece garments Anna was wearing. “Oh, his sweatsuit.”
“I have some jeans and tops you can wear while you shop for new clothes,” Cara offered shyly. “Shoes, too. You and I look to be about the same size.”
“How kind of you, Cara. Thank you.” Touched, Anna smiled. She thought she and Cara would become friends. It was nice to have a friend in this strange, rather frightening new world.
Mark stopped by that afternoon with a first draft of the article he’d written about his bizarre interview with Bill Watson. Cara, as usual, conveniently busied herself in the kitchen after escorting Mark into the sitting room with the others.
Mark was introduced to Anna Cameron, and given the same story Mae and Cara had heard earlier. Though he seemed to accept it easily enough, he looked at Anna very closely, and then at Dean.
He didn’t stay long. As he left, he shook Dean’s hand, congratulated him on his engagement, and then murmured within Anna’s hearing, “Something tells me I don’t really want to know the truth about your lovely fiancee.”
“Trust me,” Dean said, clasping his friend’s hand firmly, “it’s better if you don’t.”
“That’s what I thought. Umm, Dean—anything you need, er, you know, paperwork, certificates, whatever—well, I have sources.”
“Thanks. I’ll probably be giving you a call.”
Mark nodded, gave Anna one last, curious look, then smiled. “It’s been one hell of an adventure,” he commented as he departed.
Dean smiled and drew Anna close to his side. “The adventure is just beginning,” he said.
She smiled lovingly up at him.
DEAN AND ANNA WALKED in the garden that evening, just before dark. He wore a jacket, this time, and she was bundled into a coat that belonged to his aunt.
It would be spring soon, Dean mused, looking at the few plants that had survived his cleanup of the area. They would plant trees, flowers, rosebushes. The gardens would come to life again. He looked forward to seeing it.
They paused at the end of the path, near the old shack. Anna’s eyes were shuttered, her expression pensive as she looked around, lost in memories.
Dean wrapped his good arm around her waist. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I was just thinking—”
“Of Ian?”
She nodded. “Yes. I only wish I knew if he were still here, or if he’s gone on to be with Mother. I can’t bear to think of him being alone in the grayness.”
“You’ll see him again, Anna. Someday.”
“I know,” she said confidently. “Just as I know he would have wanted this for me. He always wanted me to be happy.”
“And are you?”
She turned to him, her face lifted to his, glowing with a deep contentment Dean couldn’t have missed. “Yes,” she murmured. “I’m happy. I’m going to be your wife. The mother of your children. We’ll have a wonderful life together, I just know it.”
“You have a feeling,” Dean teased her, his throat tight with emotion.
Her smile was radiant now. “Yes. I have a feeling. And my feelings are always right.”
“I believe you. I’ve learned to believe in a great many things since you came into my life, Mary Anna Cameron.”
There in the garden of their home, he kissed her. And he knew the most precious discovery he’d made was love. He would never doubt it again.
Epilogue
IT WAS a clear, late-summer night in the garden. A billion stars glittered brightly overhead, and the scent of fresh-blooming flowers hung heavily in the air.
There were lights burning in the windows of the inn. Recently opened for business, it wasn’t quite full, but several of the rooms were occupied, and the increasingly popular dining room had just closed after a busy evening. Silhouetted against the curtains in one downstairs bedroom window, two shadows merged in what might have been a passionate kiss.
At the end of the garden path, a solitary figure stood looking at that window, his usually hard, firm mouth curved into a very faint smile. An owl hooted above him, undisturbed by his presence.
The light went out in the bedroom, leaving its occupants in the quiet intimacy of darkness.
Outside, the man nodded in what might have been satisfaction, turned and faded silently into the shadows.
Alone.
Be sure to watch for the sequel to
A VALENTINE WISH, coming to Temptation in
the summer of 1996. Bailey Gates has a bad
habit of getting involved with guys loaded
down with emotional baggage. But even she
isn’t ready to take on Ian Cameron’s problems!
ISBN : 978-1-4592-7816-5
A VALENTINE WISH
Copyright © 1996 by Gina Wilkins.
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