by Nic Saint
When he abruptly stepped closer, towering over her, she looked up at him, a tremble suddenly holding her in its grip that had nothing to do with the sudden chill the disappearing sun sent racing over the earth. She shook even more when he placed his hands on either side of her face, and then he was lowering his head, his lips tenderly capturing hers. A soft sigh escaped her throat as she stood on tiptoes, but the quiver in her limbs set in so unexpectedly she stumbled into him.
Catching her in his arms, Stuart had the sensation of capturing a small bird trembling against his chest, or was that his heart giving a sudden lurch? The sight of her dress dropping to her feet, revealing the curves and valleys of a body that was as close to perfection as any he’d ever had the pleasure to gaze upon had been enough to stir up the fires in his body to a frenzied fever pitch.
Like liquid fire traveling through his veins, need had pounded through him the moment her hands traveled up to release her beautiful breasts, the twin peaks of her nipples already straining against the soft cotton, her areolae on visible display, puckered and engorged with her own heating blood. The quick kick of his own swollen flesh had his hardness pressing against the confines of his boxers and when he finally lowered his lips onto hers, he was almost quaking with the self-control he had to exert not to sweep her off her feet and carry her into the bedroom from the moment his hands touched her bare skin.
To remove her undergarments was a task he’d reserved for himself, and as he knelt before her, he reverently plucked the flimsy bra from her trembling body, soon joined by her panties, and then his lips were on her, feathering heated kisses across her breasts.
She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself against the onslaught of his tongue and teeth as he sucked and suckled her nipples, his hands holding her steady by cupping her buttocks and then he was inching lower across her belly button, a trail of slick wetness covering her pale skin before he reached the softly bedewed triangle of her sex and her legs involuntarily parted before his touch. He stroked a delicate path along her thighs with his fingers, followed by his teasing tongue, and when he tenderly parted her outer lips and licked inside her, the sensation drove her to a bloom of quivering contractions, exploding into a torrent of bliss when he touched the tip of his tongue against the sensitively jutting bundle of flesh that was her clitoris.
“Oh, Stuart,” she cried, quaking so much she felt she was about to collapse into a heap of shuddering need. His hands digging into the flesh of her buttocks his tongue slid deeply into her most sacred place—the part of her body she’d never shared with any man before Stuart. His mouth covered her sex and she moaned with furious delight, the onslaught sending her soaring to new heights.
And when he lifted her up as easily as if she were a featherweight and carried her into the bedroom—their bedroom—she gasped as he placed her on the bed, the cool linen feeling delicately erotic against the fires he’d lit under her skin.
Stuart fought a heroic battle against the overwhelming urge to take possession of Kirsty—take possession of his wife in a fury of heat. Instead, he took things slow. His eyes devouring her as she lay naked before him, her legs parted enticingly, he stripped off his shirt, painfully aware of the confines of his trousers. When finally he shucked them, he emitted a low growl when Kirsty reached out a hand and wrapped her delicate fingers around his erect flesh, the veined girth responding to her caress by quickly expanding, the burgeoning, satiny head twitching against the palm of her hand.
His lips had returned to hers, and he was kissing her passionately, deeply, and so achingly possessive that she had the impression this was a different Stuart from the man she’d always thought she knew, a man possessed and so passionate she would have given herself to him a long time before if only she’d known this man existed. She licked against his mouth, as he stabbed deeply, plunging his tongue against hers, and as her hands traveled up from his twitching hardness to the pillars of strength that were his arms, now planted firmly on either side of her head, she placed both hands against his chest, relishing in the quivering mass of finely sculpted muscle, dusted with a feathering of dark hair. He lowered his lips along the sensitive smoothness of her neck along her collarbone and to the painfully peaking swells of her breasts, her dark nipples now flushed and straining to be sucked into his hot mouth.
“Make love to me, Stuart,” she whispered. “Make love to your wife.”
Something primordially possessive slashed through Stuart at these words. His wife. She was his now, and as he buried himself inside her flesh, he felt as if he were no longer one but a single unit consisting of two bodies now blissfully united. A long, slow thrust inside her slickness and then she was sheathing him, her flesh like a second skin, and then he was slowly, rhythmically moving inside her, soon moving at a fever pitch fueled by the soft keening sounds she emitted.
Her core was on fire as she bucked her hips, and she felt him sliding deeply within her aching belly. Kirsty had never known such pleasure, and even before Stuart entered her she’d been carried over the edge of her rising pleasure and had experienced the kind of peak contractions she now associated with the ultimate act of love. Oh, yes, she loved him, with all her heart and all her body and soul. She was his—his for all eternity, and even if his heart wasn’t hers, his body was, she knew on a surge of triumph as she cried out against his ear, her nails raking the taut ridges of his back as her hips bucked and ground against his and the spreading sense of fullness his pulsating hardness created inside her.
The moment Stuart spilled over into his own climax Kirsty crested over into hers, and he heaved a guttural groan as he felt the thick discharge spill hotly into her, her muscles spasming wildly around his pulsating length. Oh, yes, she was his woman now—his wife, a triumphant voice roared inside his head even as his orgasm roared inside his body. And even when the fires of passion settled to embers and she was cradled in his arms, his heartbeat struck a possessive drum, and for the first time in his life he knew that he was finally home. Not because of the house but because of the woman who was now wrapped up against him.
It came as a surprise, therefore, when the wetness against his skin alerted him something was wrong, and then the telltale jerking motion of her shoulders.
He lifted her chin and when he saw the tears in her eyes and the intense sadness reflected on her face his heart instantly hardened, and his jaw tightened into an expression of anger and hurt. Instinctively he knew that all the while they were making love she’d been thinking about Geoffrey. When she’d invited him to ‘make love to your wife’ she’d actually invited Geoffrey into their spousal bed and had imagined it was him taking possession of her body.
With a low growl that stemmed as much from hurt as anger, he pushed her away from him and leaped from the bed as if it were on fire. Stepping onto the balcony, the night air a cool blanket on his damp skin, he expelled a furious curse. Would this intruder—this invader—never leave? Would they always be in this marriage with three? He leaned both hands on the balustrade and gripped it so tightly he was afraid it would snap under his fingers.
That was it, he decided. From now on, Kirsty would sleep alone. He wouldn’t so much as touch her again. He’d rather be without her than continue this thankless task of acting as Geoffrey’s stand-in. And when he stormed inside he didn’t deign Kirsty another look, didn’t even notice her cry of distress, simply slamming the door behind him. He would take the guest room, a place befitting for a man who was only a guest in his own marriage.
Chapter 20
Kirsty watched Stuart storm out with a sickening sense of panic. A feeling of despair had blindsided her when she realized that the child growing inside her would never have a father who loved its mother. The memory of her own parents, who’d so lovingly raised her, had brought tears to her eyes. Stuart might find her sexually appealing, but how long would that last? Without love, sex would soon lose its appeal, she knew. Men grew tired of being with a woman they didn’t love and soon Stuart would find h
is sexual pleasure outside the spousal bed. Without love there was no way she could entice him to stay faithful to her. Like Geoffrey was already now in search of his next conquest, Stuart would, over time, find other women to satisfy his sexual needs.
The fact that he’d stormed out had confirmed her worst suspicions and fears. Now already he was growing weary of being with her. He wanted a sexually mature woman in his bed, not a weepy girl who let her emotions run riot and couldn’t be relied upon to know her place in this make-believe marriage.
Her heart breaking, she vowed never to reveal her true feelings to her husband from now on. She would simply play the part he expected her to play—just like he was playing his. At least she would have her child to love and to cherish, even if she had no husband to share this miracle of life with.
Over the course of the next few days, Stuart slept in the guest room, and Kirsty hardly ever saw him. He was up and about before dawn, and by the time she made it into the kitchen he was already gone. He worked late into the night, and she was forced to have dinner all by herself. She might just as well have lived alone, for the number of times she saw the husband she’d married.
Gradually she moved her stuff from her parents’ house into Stuart’s house—she kept seeing the house as Stuart’s, not one they shared as a married couple—and was glad she still had her job. At least that way she could momentarily distract herself from the painful reality of her life as it had turned out.
Ironic, she felt, that she’d loved one man for so many years, and now she loved another, the distance between them just as great. Only with Geoffrey she’d still had her girlish dreams, but with Stuart she knew exactly what her fate and future would be: bleak and with nothing to look forward to except the child that would soon enter her life and apply a measure of balm to her broken heart.
Stuart had told her his house was now hers, but as she sat in the family room one night, watching television while the sun set and shadows replaced the brightness of the summer day, she wondered if he knew just how alien this house felt to her. It was a house, not a home. To turn it into a home it needed a loving couple who shared their lives together—their joys and hurts.
Her mother had dropped by once or twice, and had eyed her with a worried frown, remarking how painfully thin she’d become, her face almost gaunt, her eyes shadowed by darkness. She’d laughed her concerns away, blaming it on the heavy workload she’d taken on at the store. She’d been promoted to business manager and it was now her task to train new salespeople in the art of offering Knights telecommunications solutions to potential business customers. She’d wondered briefly if Stuart would take her back as his PA now that they were married but obviously he didn’t want her close. Not in his life—not at work.
And so one day morphed into the next and when one evening Stuart arrived early while she was snacking on a pizza, she was so surprised that she almost spilled the can of coke she was drinking from. He eyed her censoriously, and grunted, “That’s no way to feed yourself. Not when you’re pregnant.”
She shrugged. She didn’t feel like cooking—not when she was feeling so forlorn. But then he took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet.
“Come on. I’m taking you to a restaurant.”
She pointed to her jeans and T-shirt. “I can’t go out like this!”
He ignored her protestations and before long they were driving to a posh restaurant just around the corner. Her cheeks flushed when she saw the smart evening dresses the other women were wearing while she was dressed like a frumpy college student. But Stuart didn’t seem to mind. He escorted her to a table near the window and dragged out a chair for her. Once seated he handed her a menu card and told her gruffly, “Pick anything you like as long as it’s nutritious.”
She nodded absently, trying to look away from the outrageously dressed pop starlet at the next table. The girl’s breasts were almost exploding from the dress she was wearing while her companion, whom she recognized as a popular TV show host, couldn’t stop ogling her. At least she was getting her date’s attention, she thought ruefully. Stuart hadn’t even looked at her once since they’d arrived.
There was a ruckus at the front door and she watched a taxi drive up, a famous fashion model arriving, but when she saw the man accompanying the skinny girl her jaw dropped. It was Geoffrey! Stuart looked over when he saw her gaze over his shoulder, and his face hardened when he noticed the couple.
“What—what is Geoffrey doing here?” she asked, flabbergasted.
“Didn’t you hear the latest gossip?” he asked curtly. “He’s already cheating on Giselle.”
She blinked when she watched Geoffrey follow the model around the restaurant like a lapdog until they were finally seated at the far end. This was apparently the place to be, for she recognized several other stars and starlets—faces she was only familiar with from the gossip magazines.
“I didn’t know—how horrible for Giselle!” she gasped.
“You don’t have to pretend for my sake,” he told her viciously.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “It must be terrible for her.”
“You’re only hoping it was you he was taking out and not that model,” Stuart growled as his fingers tightened on the menu card.
Her lips moved wordlessly as she watched the enmity in his eyes, but then she thought she saw something else too. Hurt. For a brief moment she thought she saw a flicker of anguish in Stuart’s face. And only now did she notice that he, too, had lost some weight. There were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and smudges of darkness under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Could it be that he was suffering too? But why? Trouble at work, perhaps?
“If you can’t stop staring at your favored lover I think we better get out of here,” he announced, and rose to his feet so quickly he almost upended the table.
Even though she’d wanted to get out of here the moment they arrived, Kirsty didn’t understand Stuart’s sudden insistence to leave even before they’d ordered.
“Look, now that we’re here at least we might order,” she insisted softly, looking around to see if others had taken notice of Stuart’s sudden outburst.
Stuart stood scowling at her for a moment, his face working, then finally he threw down his napkin, and announced, “I’ve had it with this travesty you call a marriage, Kirsty. If you want to be with him so very much, be my guest and go over there and make yourself available to him right now. I’m sure he’ll be only too happy to oblige you. God knows I’ve tried to protect you from that scumbag for far too long but now I see it’s simply no use.” And with a curt nod of the head, he snarled, “Give him my best regards and tell him the best man has won.”
When he started to walk away the sudden crack in her heart told Kirsty that this was the end. She lurched to her feet and sprinted after him. “Stuart!”
And then it happened. Her foot caught on the iron claw foot of the next table and before she could regain her balance she was being hurled toward the floor, her momentum carrying her well past the patron but toppling the table.
Stuart, who’d heard Kirsty’s cry of anguish, turned back, and when he saw that she was falling to the floor, taking the weight of the table along with her, he saw that the heavy marble tabletop threatened to crash straight into her belly. With a horrified roar, he hurled himself in her direction and could just manage to tip the table over and make it change direction so that it crashed into the wall instead. But he couldn’t prevent Kirsty from taking a bad tumble and hitting her head against the flagged floor. The moment he reached her he knew it was bad, for her eyes were closed and her body had gone limp. She was unconscious, and as he cradled her in his arms, instructing the nearest diner to call an ambulance, he watched with sickening dread as her face turned white as a sheet.
Moments later he was accompanying her in the speeding ambulance to the nearest hospital, telling the EMTs that she was pregnant and gritting his teeth against the folly that had made him turn his back
on her like that.
The first thing Kirsty saw when her eyes fluttered open was the face of the man she loved. She smiled weakly, and muttered, “Stuart,” placing a hand on his face. As if stung, he looked up, and hope illuminated his features. His hair was mussed and his shirt was rumpled and he looked like a million bucks, Kirsty thought groggily. She didn’t know what had happened but if Stuart was here with her she knew that everything would be all right. “Stuart,” she repeated, and when he curled her fingers in his, she whispered, “I love you,” but then was swallowed up by darkness once more, her eyes drifting closed.
When she next opened them, she saw that Stuart’s face had been replaced with that of her mother and father, who were now holding vigil at her side.
Mum gave her an encouraging smile, her eyes red-rimmed. “Oh, Kirsty, honey,” she said, and then to Dad, “Go and get Stuart. Tell him she’s awake.”
“Is…” She smacked her lips, her mouth so dry. “Is Stuart here?” she asked, straining to keep her eyes open. Then she frowned, noticing something was attached to her wrist. Some kind of tube. “What happened?” she asked, startled.
“You had a bad fall,” her mother announced, her face mournful.
“Oh, no,” she cried weakly. Her heart skittered with anguish. “The baby?”
Just at that moment Stuart came sailing into the room, and instantly knelt down beside her, burying his face into her hospital gown while he gripped her hand in his. She saw her mum and dad exchange a glance of understanding and then they both left the room to give them some privacy.
When Stuart looked up she saw that his face was streaked with tears. The sight of this strong man crying affected her powerfully, and she reached out a finger to dab at his tears. “Stuart?” she asked, her voice thick. “The baby, is it…”
He smiled, a sight for sore eyes. “The baby’s fine, Kirsty. The baby is fine and thank God so are you. You had a nasty knock and you’ll have to rest for a few days.”