Born in Mystery

by Susan Kearney

  He sat on the floor, then leaned back against a pillow in front of the fire. “Now this is better than some stuffy party.” He patted the pillow next to him. “Come have a seat.”

  She clenched her jaw until a muscle throbbed in her neck. Still, she did as he asked, handing him the cocoa, which he set down beside him, then sliding under the blanket next to him, close, but not touching.

  Casually, he slipped an arm across her shoulder. When he reached with his free hand for the cocoa instead of her, she relaxed, but only a smidgen.

  “You found marshmallows.” She didn’t answer. Apparently, he’d have to be more direct. “I won’t attack you like some sex-starved kid. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

  “I know.” She set her cup down on the floor and twisted her hands in the blanket. “It’s just that—”

  “You needn’t explain. Once I start touching you, I’ll stop when you ask. You can change your mind. Do you understand what I’m saying? If I kiss you, it can be a goodnight kiss, the first of many kisses, or kisses that lead to taking off your clothes.”

  His assurances drew the first smile he’d received from her since the attack that night and warmed his insides. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “That will depend . . .”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you’re ever going to kiss me.”

  She rubbed her brow, looking cute and confused at the same time. “I’ve already kissed you.”

  “I initiated the kiss. You haven’t kissed me.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do. Do you know how hard making the first move is for a man? If you’d rejected me, I might not have worked up my courage to try again . . . for, oh, at least an hour or two.”

  She chuckled, and he adored the deep, throaty sound hovering in the air between them and beckoning like a Siren’s call. More importantly, she’d relaxed against him. But relaxed wasn’t what he had in mind for Bianca Warren, no, Bianca Braddack, he corrected, reminding himself she was his legal wife.

  “Women have this love business easy,” he continued. “Men have to plan the seduction, guess at the timing, the words, the movements. Men have to risk rejection. Women only have to decide yes or no.”

  “That’s not easy, either. Men can so easily separate the act of making love from their emotions.”

  “Plenty of men walk around with broken hearts, too.”

  “I know. Gran tells me all the time that if I don’t take chances, I may never win the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”

  He cupped her chin, resting his thumb on the pulse in her neck. “Love isn’t won. Love is a journey. Love is deciding you want to spend your life with someone. Love is a feeling that comes from inside and enriches what you see, say and do. Love is a part of you that you nourish because it’s special and rare.”

  “How do you know when you’ve found it?” she asked, her voice low, husky.

  He released her chin and dropped his hand to his knee. “You won’t have to ask, because you’ll know.”

  She tilted her head, considering his words. For a moment, his heart skipped a beat when he thought she might stand up and leave.

  But, she scooted over until she’d draped herself across his lap, going from innocent to vamp. The little minx. What was she up to?

  Her eyes twinkled, brimming with unshed emotions. “Don’t be afraid. I’m going to kiss you now.”

  He needed every ounce of concentration to hold perfectly still as she ran her hands through his hair, across his brow, over his lips to the pulse at his neck, all the while staring deep into his eyes.

  Idly, he smoothed back her hair—her wig, he amended—and he wondered if she’d trust him enough tonight to reveal more of her secrets, perhaps her real hair color.

  She tugged his head down. Her lips nibbled his, firing his blood, his imagination, his hopes. Wrapping his arms around her, he encouraged her to find her own pace, realizing what a difficult task he’d set himself.

  He longed to run his hands along her spine, inch down the long zipper of her dress and expose the soft skin of her back. But he sensed she was not yet ready. He ached to tug the dress from her shoulders and reveal her full breasts. Most of all, he wanted her to trust him enough to tear down her defensive walls. He wasn’t after a physical conquest, but a spiritual fusion. He wanted her trust.

  She deepened their kiss. Together, they slid onto the pillows, the hot cocoa all but forgotten except for the lingering sweet taste of marshmallows on her lips. He lay on his back, she on top of him, controlling their tempo.

  Her kiss sent singing heat directly to his groin. Forgetting his vow, he reached for the zipper of her dress.

  “Not yet,” she murmured, gently braceleting his wrists and placing them above his shoulders.

  He laced his fingers tightly together behind his head and urged her to have her way. Straddling him, she unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, sensuously, exploring the ridges of his chest muscles and the hollows of his stomach.

  Her tongue swirled over a nipple, and he sucked in a gasp of air. When she nipped him lightly, he flinched, unable to control his ragged breathing. Or the tingling in his groin. Already, he was granite hard. His slacks tight.

  He thought she’d next draw down his zipper. She surprised him by rising gracefully to her feet.

  “Don’t move,” she ordered, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “It’s getting warm in here.”

  “You’re definitely heating up the room,” he agreed, wishing she’d hurry and do whatever she intended—preferably take off her clothes and return to him. But she was in no hurry to end his suspense.

  She had him partially sit up, then she bent over to place a pillow behind his head before easing him back down. Leaving him in a comfortable position to watch her, she stepped back and ran her tongue over her lips. With slim fingers, she untied her scarf, removed the giraffe pin and tossed the wisp of silk onto his chest.

  He swallowed hard.

  Her feminine scent wafted up from the garment, heightening his desire. He started to sit up and gather her back.

  She stalled him by turning around, kneeling and lifting her hair. “Could you please help?”

  He wanted to take his time, but she was killing him with her slowness. His shaking hands managed the job somewhat clumsily. Just as he finished unzipping her dress and reached to tug it from her shoulders, she leaned away and escaped his reach. For a moment, he thought she might flee. With her back still to him, she shimmied out of the dress, leaving a pool of black crepe at her feet.

  He sucked in air. And his mouth went dry. Beneath the dress, she wore a black bra, matching panties and dark stockings with garters, perfect foils for her firm, creamy curves. She strode to the fireplace, hips swaying enticingly, and the tight ache in his groin turned painful.

  Raising one knee and propping her foot on the stack of logs, she slowly rolled down one stocking then the other, prolonging the act as if she knew exactly how she made his pulse race.

  “Bianca?”

  “Hmm?” She glanced over her shoulder at him, a saucy look on her face.

  “I lied when I said I could stop at any time. If you remove one more article of clothing, I won’t be able to account for my actions.”

  Her bottom lip jutted into an adorable pout. Her gaze wandered to the bulge in his trousers, then back to his face. She bit her lower lip.

  “Are you trying to hurry me?” she asked.

  Suddenly, he knew everything was going to be all right. She might tease him unmercifully, but she intended to feed his raging fire.

  “Around you, I don’t have as much willpower as I thought.”

  She chuckled at his admission. “In that case, I suggest you take those pants off while I dim th
e lights.”

  A moment later, she joined him under the blankets. She hadn’t just dimmed the lights, she’d turned them completely off. He could see her only by the flicker of firelight, and although he found the intimate darkness sexy, he felt her tensing.

  “Let’s take this slow and easy,” he whispered into her ear. “Tell me what you like.”

  “Kiss me.”

  “Anything to please a lady.”

  He claimed her lips, not hard and demanding as he wanted, but soft and coaxing in an attempt to delight her.

  During the kiss, he slipped off her underwear. Modestly, she kept the blanket up, but she never broke the kiss, never stopped kissing him, never stopped running her hands over his neck and shoulders and back, driving him wild.

  He lazily caressed her thighs, his hand drifting down between them. When she stiffened, he pulled back.

  Slow down, boy.

  Ah, waiting had never been so difficult. Or so intense.

  His blood hummed. His heart simmered. His thoughts raced. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

  But his instincts made him wait.

  She had to be ready.

  No, not just ready.

  He wanted her eager.

  Impatient.

  Mindless.

  He broke their kiss, and she groaned. “I’m ready.”

  “Ready isn’t good enough.” He traced a path of kisses down her neck, tasted the dip at her shoulder, outlined the delicate line of her collarbone. He listened to her breathing to judge when she wanted more, when to hold back.

  “Is that so?”

  “You may have made love, but I’m betting you’ve never been made love to before.”

  “Huh?”

  “The difference is subtle. The difference is everything that matters.”

  “Mmm.”

  Her breasts spilled into his hands, and the softest of caresses brought a delicate moan to her lips. When he took first one nipple into his mouth then the other, she whimpered.

  Aware of her building restlessness, he nuzzled a path from her breasts to her still-flat stomach. She reached down and tugged his hair. He’d gone far enough. For now.

  Teasingly, he floated his fingers over her. This time, her thighs parted to welcome his touch, and he found her slick, heated, ready. Biting back the rising urgency to be inside her, he kissed her mouth again, letting her know how much he wanted her.

  Finally, he couldn’t hold back for even the space of another breath. Lifting his hips, he centered her beneath him. Entering her slowly an inch at a time was sweet delicious torture.

  “You feel wonderful.” Her welcoming warmth had him frantic with need. Fighting for control, he withdrew slowly, waiting for her to raise her hips and meet his return.

  Instinctively, she understood his silent question. Her hips danced, matching his move for move. Tiny groans came from the back of her throat. She clutched his back, wound her long legs around him and urged him on.

  Her wild, uninhibited movement stoked the heat until he could barely contain the mounting pressure. He could hold back no more.

  “Come with me, Bianca.”

  He reached down between their bodies to help her over the edge, but she shifted away. Her movement was his undoing, and he exploded, clutching her shoulders and murmuring her name.

  As his heartbeat slowed, she remained silent. Too silent. He gathered her close, sorry she hadn’t been able to trust him enough to let go. Maybe next time. He intended to make the next time happen quite soon.

  At least he thought she’d enjoyed herself. He snuggled against her, reveling in her feminine scent, in the softness of her skin, in the sound of her panting as her breathing returned to normal.

  He caressed her arm, running his fingertips from elbow to shoulder. “Give me a few minutes, and then we’ll—”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The flatness in her tone chilled him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Bianca wrapped herself tightly in the blanket. “I don’t want to talk.”

  Now what?

  She had him completely puzzled. As stiff as a virgin, she averted her eyes from his face, staring into the fire.

  No way would he let her shut him out. “Am I supposed to guess what upset you?”

  “Talking makes me feel worse.”

  “Then let me hold you.” He reached for her, but she lay so rigidly, her body language said as clear as any words that she rejected his touch.

  What had he done to turn her from warm, welcoming and willing to cold and remote? She’d been eager, her body fully aroused. He didn’t understand. He sensed that if he let her shut him out now, she’d close up on him for good.

  No way would he let that happen. Leaving her the blanket, he rolled back on top of her, supported his weight on his elbows and looked directly into her eyes. He wished he could see better. Was that pain he saw on her face? Her cheek glinted, and he kissed away a salty, silent tear.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked again.

  She sniffled. “It’s just the hormones. Gran told me when she was pregnant with my mother, she often found herself crying for no reason.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  The fire crackled, and the wood popped while he waited for her to say something. Anything. She remained silent. He’d never run up against a wall like this.

  “When we made love, did I do something to offend you?” he asked.

  “You were wonderful. The problem isn’t you.” At least she’d answered, but her tone was flat. “Making love with you was . . . nice.”

  The hair on his neck stood up. “Nice?”

  “You aren’t going to drop your embarrassing questions, are you? You’ll chisel away until your curiosity is satisfied.”

  “Talk to me. I can’t help when I don’t understand what’s wrong.”

  “What’s wrong is me.”

  “You?”

  “I never respond like I should. If we keep making love, you’ll begin to feel cheated.”

  “Because it wasn’t as good for you as you’d hoped?”

  She nodded.

  Craig swore savagely under his breath. Kendrick, that bastard, must have put these ridiculous notions in her head, and she’d been inexperienced enough to believe him.

  Shoving his anger to the back of his mind, he forced himself to transmit a calm he didn’t feel. He rolled off her and clasped his hands behind his head. How could he make her understand?

  “Someone is stalking you. In addition, you almost died tonight. You’re pregnant. To top it off, this is the first time we’ve made love. I don’t know about you, but I certainly was nervous. If stars didn’t burst in your head and this wasn’t the most fantastic experience of your life, that’s understandable under these stressful circumstances.”

  “The circumstances don’t matter. I’ve never . . .”

  “So what?”

  She turned on her side, facing him for the first time. “What do you mean, so what?”

  He could bring up how close she’d come or the little matter of her shifting away from his hand at the last moment—but he didn’t. He’d heard the disappointed anger in her voice and mentally smiled. Rage was better than the icy calm she’d tried to convey. He wanted her fighting for what she wanted, not giving up and withdrawing into silence. “Did you enjoy making love?”

  Raindrops found their way down the chimney and hissed and sizzled as they struck the flames. She was silent so long he didn’t think she’d answer. The fire highlighted her cheekbones, but he couldn’t read her shadowed eyes.

  She laid her hand on his chest, the first time she’d touched him since she’d gone so quiet. “I did. I liked kissing and touching.”

  Unable to resist a grin at her words, he was gra
teful for the darkness. “Good. Practice makes perfect, you know. Can we do it again?”

  She arched her brows. “I’m kind of worn-out.”

  “Okay, but I insist on a hug.” As much as he wanted another chance to make love, recalling what she’d been through tonight, he didn’t press her. This time when he reached for her, she came to him easily, snuggling against his side.

  He held her all night. When she wakened in the morning, he realized that he still didn’t know her real hair color. She’d remained hidden beneath her blanket, the wig still on.

  Suddenly, her hair color didn’t seem so important. The rain had stopped. They had an entire day ahead of them. And the stalker didn’t know their new location.

  WHILE CRAIG TYPED away on his computer, Bianca was grateful he could work from anywhere. Since she’d messed up every other aspect of his life, she’d hate to ruin his business, too.

  While she set the table for breakfast, her thoughts returned to last night. Craig had been so sweet. He’d certainly given her a lot to think about. Her head spun with new thoughts, even hope for her future. If only they could discover the stalker before he found her again, she might find peace—maybe even love.

  She found aqua placemats in a kitchen drawer, cereal in the cupboards, and was grateful they’d stopped for groceries on the way back last night. Reaching for her orange juice on the kitchen table, she knocked her purse to the floor. Craig stopped typing and bent over.

  God, no. Don’t let him see it.

  Her wallet spilled open. Several credit cards and her driver’s license fell out.

  Her heart battered her ribs.

  Don’t read.

  Look at the picture.

  Don’t read.

  While she held her breath in dread, he picked up her fallen license. And glanced at her picture. She’d worn her hair short and dark back then. More important than the color of her hair was the placement of his thumb over her last name.

  Surreptitiously, she scooped the damning credit cards back into her wallet. Now to retrieve her license.

  “Come on. Hand it over. Why do you need to look at a picture when you have the real thing?” she teased, attempting to keep her tone easy.