Just a Little Misgiving (Shades of Deception, Book 3)

by Mallory Rush

  "Just a little snip here, a little snip there and we'll patch this baby together."

  "I can't—oh, God, please. Enough!"

  He threw the scissors down.

  "What's wrong, Faith? Artistic prerogative? You want to do it by yourself? Okay. I'll just sit and watch."

  Her legs were shaking. Forcing herself not to drop her face into her hands and weep, she commanded her unsteady feet to take one step at a time until she stood in front of the credenza. Her hands were trembling as she closed the gaping album.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, unable to bring herself to look at him, feeling the biting glare of his eyes fixed on her bent head.

  "Are you? Are you really?"

  "Yes!" she said. "Of course I am. It was a horrible thing for me to say."

  "It was, Faith. And totally unworthy of you."

  "All right, Myles. I'm ashamed I let my temper get the better of me."

  "Is that all it was? Temper?"

  She made herself look at him levelly. With desperation she sought to protect her emotional nakedness, her dark need for secrecy.

  "What else could it have been? I was angry. I lashed out. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

  "You did. You hurt me deeply."

  She looked away, cringing inside, hurting for them both. But mostly for Myles, for inflicting a wound on the man she loved more than life itself.

  "It wasn't... intentional." Unable to stand the censuring silence, she asked, "Why didn't you just tell them the truth, Myles?"

  "What, that you were a surrogate for Gloria, and leave it at that? Or maybe just pretend you weren't pregnant at all while Carol shot questions like hoops?"

  "You could have let them think what they wanted."

  "Oh, just act like it wasn't mine, then. What kind of man do you take me for, Faith? I could shout to the world you're having my baby while you're trying to hide it like an out-of-wedlock minor."

  "That's ridiculous." She raised her chin up and glared at him, all of her horrible suspicions boiling to the surface. She couldn't ignore them anymore. She had to know.

  "Do you know what I think, Myles? You want a baby maker, not a woman. You want me because I'm carrying your baby, not just for myself. Go ahead, admit it."

  "That's not true. I do care about you. Both of you."

  "You couldn't prove it by me. It's always the baby this, the baby that. Never just about us."

  "Maybe if I could quit worrying about my child being born illegitimate, I'd have a lot more room in my brain to think about just us."

  "That's it, isn't it?" She smacked her forehead as though a light had just come on. "How stupid of me not to guess. You want the baby to have your last name, don't you? Don't you?" she accused.

  "Of course I want my baby to have my last name. Joint custody and written permission to use it on the birth certificate don't cut it either. I provide for my own. As far as I'm concerned, a man who doesn't own up to his responsibilities—especially a wife and child—isn't fit to breathe. I couldn't hold my head up if I let that happen. It turns my stomach to think about my child being born a bastard."

  "The only bastard around here is you, Myles Wellington. You made me think you wanted me, when it was nothing but an act to get me to sign on the dotted line."

  His eyes glittered with fury. "I haven't lied to you about my feelings to get my way."

  "Does that mean when you came to Denver, you didn't have plans to do just that?"

  Her breath caught, waiting... waiting...

  "Yes," he said, flustered now. "No. I mean at first maybe, when I thought we could keep it platonic, I was going to get you to agree to a short marriage—in name only. But that changed. I didn't just want the baby to have my name. I'd hoped you might want it too. Only you just keep throwing it back in my face."

  "And only because you didn't offer it to me first."

  "Not offer it to you first?" he repeated. "Do you care to clarify that statement?" His eyes narrowed to a slit.

  "No! I—" How could she have said such a stupid thing? Faith blanched, then said in a strained voice, "You make me feel... incidental. Icing on the cake in a nice, tidy two-for-one package. Face it, if it weren't for the baby, you wouldn't have come for me. And for that, I almost wish it was any man's baby but yours."

  "How can you say such a thing?" he said sharply. "After we nearly drowned in disease and death, we're given this incredible miracle like it was a kind of light leading us to the end of a black tunnel, helping us to find each other and make it through."

  His eyes sought hers, piercing and full of troubled emotion. "Together, Faith. Not you and the baby. Or me and the baby. The three of us surviving. Committing. Being a family." He shut his eyes, sighing tiredly. "No wonder you never got married, woman. You make it so damned hard for a man to propose."

  The ground seemed to open up and swallow her whole. She was suddenly dizzy, trying to keep her balance, hanging tenuously to the edge of the world by the strength of her nails.

  "You..." she whispered. "You mean..."

  "What do you think I've been trying to get to all night?" He looked down at her. His eyes were guarded as though he were waiting for a rejection. "I want you to marry me. For the baby, yes. But in this case. Faith, it's the baby that's... incidental."

  She was shaking. She could feel tears streaming from her eyes and running down her face. His fingertips traced them as his expression turned tender, expectant.

  "You... you want to marry... me?"

  "You. Sleep, fight, love, grow old with me."

  "I—" her voice caught on a sob. "I don't know what to say."

  "Say yes, Faith. A simple yes will do."

  She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest, rubbing her tears into the warmth of his skin, the crispness of his hair.

  "Yes," she said, the word muffled. She raised her head, her face beaming with joy, and cried ecstatically, "Yes!"

  A slow smile spread from his lips and ended in a laugh.

  "I could strangle you for making this so difficult. I feel like I've just trekked down a hot path through hell. The scenery's lousy, and the sound effects are even worse."

  "You want to marry me," she said again, not caring if she was babbling. "When? When do you want to marry me?"

  Myles tilted his head, considering. "What say... next month."

  "Only we don't have a date picked out yet." She chuckled.

  "We could..."He paused and grew serious. "We could send Carol pictures."

  Her mouth trembled. "I'm so sorry for what I said. Forgive me, Myles."

  "Not only forgiven. Forgotten." He nodded toward the album. "I took that a little too far. If it bothers you, I'll pack it away."

  "No." She looked from the album to Gloria's portrait, feeling for the first time unthreatened, able to accept. "She's part of your life. And part of mine. I think it would be very wrong of us to pretend she never existed."

  "We exist." His hand lowered to stroke over her stomach. On cue, the fluttering came. Myles cupped her face and whispered, "We do exist, we three."

  Their mouths met, hungry and gentle, injured and mended, seeking assurance and receiving it. Their kiss was fire and pure spring water. Life.

  "Dance with me," he murmured.

  "I'd rather make love."

  "Who said we couldn't do both?" He threaded his fingers through her hair and moved sinuously against her. "The dance I have in mind starts with music and you in my arms, but it ends between the sheets."

  Chapter 10

  He picked her up effortlessly and moved down the hall to the stairs. Her arms were looped around his neck, her fingers stroking the corded muscles. When he stopped at the open door of his room, she tensed.

  "Is something wrong?"

  Faith looked from his heavy-lidded gaze to the massive bed. She shook her head in apology. "Not... not here, Myles. It's—"

  "I should have realized. Not very perceptive on my part, I'm afraid."

  She touched he
r fingers to his lips, soothing him. "I understand. Don't feel bad."

  "I'll move it to the guest room." He caught her lips in a sweetly fierce kiss. "How would you like to pick out a new one tomorrow? Our first piece of furniture—it'll be like starting new."

  "A wedding present? From you to me?"

  "From us to us." He turned and carried her to the next room, relieved that the strained moment hadn't cast a shadow on their joy. He was absolutely drained, and he knew Faith had to be too. They needed sustenance, not old reminders.

  He moved through the darkness of her room until he reached the side table with the nursery lamp.

  "Do you mind?"

  She reached down and fumbled for the switch. They were suddenly bathed in shadows and a peach-tinted glow. A lullaby began to play softly in the background.

  They smiled at each other, the tinkling melody no longer keeping them estranged but joined, as they should be.

  Once the song had played twice, Myles shut off the music-box control.

  "Sweet," he said. "But not the kind of music I had in mind."

  "Good. At the moment I'd rather be a woman than a mother. Though, Myles..."

  "Hmmm?" he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

  "What I said about almost wishing it wasn't yours... nothing could be farther from the truth. I'm thrilled I'm having your baby."

  "And not the other man's?" Jealousy nipped at his heels again, tightening his chest with the need to possess her. And he would.

  Faith hesitated, studying his face. She seemed to want to say something, something important.

  "What?" he said. "I'm being ridiculous. I have no right to those years or the feelings you had for someone else. But no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get past it. You bring out something in me that makes me hate the thought of sharing you with another man, even a mystery man buried in your past."

  "You're the only man who matters to me, Myles. No one ever mattered to me the way you do."

  "In that case I'll put my jealousy aside." He slid her down his length and plucked the few pins left in her hair. "And get on with finishing what we started earlier."

  Her cheeks were flushed with anticipation, but she looked away, suddenly shy.

  "I'm nervous," she admitted with a small laugh.

  "Then I'll have to put you at ease, won't I? Let's see," he murmured as he kneeled and removed a gold pump. "First the shoes." He lifted her other foot and kissed it before sliding the heel off. "You'll dance much easier without these."

  His palms moved up her calves, then drew slow, intricate circles around her knees. He could feel a fine tremble in response to his light touch.

  "And I'll want to feel your bare skin while we move, so you don't mind if I take this off, too, do you, dear?" He didn't wait for permission but glided his hands upward over the cool silk of her hose, feeling the warmth of her flesh beneath.

  He was aching. He'd been aching all night, all month, and maybe even for years, only he'd refused to acknowledge its existence. The hunger was too great, and he was bent on taking her slowly, not trusting himself to unleash the force of passion that was already gnawing at his resolve.

  He hooked his fingers into her hose and panties and peeled them down, feeling her shake. Feeling himself begin to shake.

  Once they were off, he rose and stared at her face, tilted backward, eyes closed, lips parted.

  "Now we dance," he whispered roughly.

  "I already hear the music," she murmured, and swayed into him.

  A groan caught in his throat. His teeth clenched while his body demanded that he take her immediately. Furiously. Without gentle persuasion or time to savor.

  "This is just the intro. I think we need some lyrics to make it last." He forced himself to go to the sound system they'd set up after unpacking. The disks in the CD player were familiar to him; they held sensual, fluid music, perfect for a night of erotic discovery.

  He pressed a button.

  Sound filtered through the room, weaving its magic web as he took her in his arms. Her own lifted, and he felt one hand brush over the back of his neck while the other sifted through his hair. Her nails against his scalp caused him to shiver, and he pulled her closer as he imagined them sinking into his back.

  They danced easily, naturally, with motions that suggested they'd been partners for a very long while. His hand moved over the lamé covering her back, and he pulled the zipper down. As smooth as a whisper, it obliged him and parted, giving him access to her bare back.

  He fanned his fingers over the smoothness of her skin, exploring it until she moaned and began to release the buttons of his shirt. Quickly he shrugged it off, then drew down the bodice of her dress. They danced, bare-chested, rubbing lightly against each other until he could feel the tautness of her nipples brushing against him. Her sighs of arousal were more delicious and heady than the strains of music.

  He bent her back just far enough to nip and suckle her until she cried for more.

  "I'll give you more," he promised, then tensed as his unruly body demanded he stop the play and take and take and take without regard to her condition. "There's a problem, though. I might be more than you bargained for."

  "Never. I want too much. I want it all."

  He inhaled the feminine scent from her neck, her wrists, her hair.

  "Torture," he murmured, sipping at her lips. "The sweetest torture I've ever endured. I want you to pay for making me suffer."

  "Gladly," she answered. "Take any price you want."

  "I won't be fair," he warned, his heart pounding too hard and fast. His control unraveled to a slender thread as he lifted her up and rubbed the moisture from her breasts on his chest. "I'll make you cry for me. And when you do, I won't be able to stop. Even if you ask for mercy."

  "I don't want mercy. I want you. Take me to bed, Myles. Enough."

  He turned her until her back was against him and her buttocks pressed intimately against his groin. He lifted her dress, grasping her, learning how lovely she was made, touching her however he wanted. If she was shocked, she didn't protest.

  He ground against her, no longer able to think as he struggled with his raging passion. He was so dangerously close to losing the battle.

  But he loved her enough not to give in.

  He played with the hair guarding her feminine heat, hearing her rasping breath, feeling the springy texture that was moist. He couldn't stop himself from imagining how she might taste...

  Her legs nearly buckled. "I can't wait... Let the dance be over. It's time, Myles. Past time."

  She rubbed frantically against him, shameless in her own want. A hoarse groan tore from his throat. He turned her around, clenching her tight.

  "Oh, God, Faith. You don't know. It's tearing at me, it's been building for so long. I haven't hardly touched you and I'm half out of my mind wanting to drive into you as hard and fast as I can." Staring into her eyes, he saw the urgency of her need. "Don't you understand? I'm afraid of hurting you."

  "You won't hurt me. The doctor said—"

  "In this case the doctor could be wrong."

  "She wouldn't have given us permission if she'd had any doubts."

  "But I have doubts." He grasped her behind and rubbed between the cradle of her thighs. "Faith, you have to listen to me. I... have... no... control."

  The starkness of his primitive need bore into her consciousness. She wanted Myles this way, driven by a desire that could shake even a man like him with its force. Shutting her mind to the tiny voice of apprehension, she insinuated her hand between their meshed bodies and kneaded the rigid flesh straining against his fly.

  He continued to look at her through slitted eyes, breathing in harsh gasps.

  "I want this to last."

  "There'll be other times." She found his buckle with her other hand and began to undo it.

  "I want to see you naked. I want... I want to see what I've only felt."

  "You can," she whispered, her fingers curving over the shape of him. "
Soon, Myles. Soon..."

  "I've imagined kissing you there, tasting you."

  "You don't have to imagine anymore. It's yours, yours for the taking." The sound of his zipper rasping open mingled with their choppy breathing.

  "Oh, God," he groaned, his head falling back, his face taut with agony.

  Their fevered hands shed the remains of each other's clothes. There wasn't time to admire his physique. He was a blur of rough hair, hard muscle, and tensing strength. Myles pulled her along the short distance to the bed, touching her wherever he could as they frantically rubbed and grappled, nearly stumbling in their haste.

  He tumbled her down and stretched out over her, his hardness pressing against her belly.

  "I didn't want the first time to be like this," he rasped. "But there's no other way."

  "We make our own way." She couldn't control the shivering of her body or her questing hand from reaching for him.

  He caught her wrist in a steely grip.

  "Later," he growled in warning. "For now, just trust me. Do what I say, and we'll be all right."

  "Tell me what to do. I don't know what you want."

  "This..."he answered.

  He slid back and forth against her, pretending it was enough.

  "It's not enough," she whimpered, straining toward him.

  "It has to be," he insisted. He ground his mouth over hers, letting his tongue glide rapidly and mate with hers in a way he could not.

  "No. Inside," she pleaded. "When you're inside."

  "Not this time." He began to move more frantically, allowing the contact to deepen just a fraction.

  He was only making her ache worse, and she could have wept with his refusal. She arched, opening her thighs wider, silently begging for more.

  "We do it this way," he groaned between a plea and a command. "Next time, next... time. When I have some kind of control."

  "Damn you," she cried. "Damn you for doing this to me, leaving me hurting like this. It's not enough, not half enough." She locked her legs around his hips, tilting upward. "Can't you feel my body crying? Can't you feel me shake? Take me, all of me. Lose your damnable control."

  With an anguished groan, he grasped her hips, his fingers biting into her skin. He took the weight of his belly off hers while his head dropped forward and he stared down at her with a glittering fury that was wild and consuming.