This Side of Heaven

by Karen Robards

  “You’re the one who’ll freeze, you foolish, feckless man! I’m telling you to come to bed, and I mean it!” She spoke to him in the same authoritative, scolding tone she would have used to John or Davey.

  He put the jug down, rested his arms on his knees again, and eyed her. “And am I now expected to say, ‘Yes, Aunt Caroline,’ and meekly do your bidding?”

  That he read her so accurately made her lips compress, but Caroline nodded. “Yes, you are.”

  He laughed dryly. “ ’Tis a pity that I’m more than ten years old, isn’t it?”

  Caroline looked him over. He still wore his hat, and he had to tilt his head back to see her as they conversed. His booted feet were planted firmly on the ground, and he seemed solidly settled in for the night. He was far too large for her to shift by force, and reason appeared to roll off him like water off a greased pig, so she would have to use guile if she held out any hope of getting him out of the cold.

  Accordingly she sat down beside him, her posture mimicking his exactly. He turned his head to stare at her.

  “What in the name of heaven do you think you’re doing?”

  Caroline smiled sweetly. “Joining you.”

  “I have no wish for your company.”

  “Now that,” she said, “is a shame.”

  She reached for the stone jug—she had to use both hands, because the thing was amazingly heavy—and raised it to her lips, tilted it, and swallowed. The warm, spicy fluid nearly burned her tongue with its strength; it slid down her throat with a fire so potent that her eyes watered when she lowered the jug again. So that was how he had been keeping warm! It was certainly effective, even if the searing heat the fluid provoked was more illusion than reality.

  “ ’Tis heady stuff,” Matt observed, his eyes narrowed as he waited for her to choke or cough. By superhuman effort Caroline did neither. Indeed, she managed an appreciative smacking of her lips along with a small slanting smile for him.

  “Now then,” she said, “what shall we talk about?”

  “Go to bed, Caroline.” He refused to rise to her bait.

  “I’ll not leave you sitting out here alone to brood and freeze.”

  “I am neither brooding nor freezing, I assure you.”

  “Fine, then.” Gritting her teeth at the sheer impossibility of the man, Caroline said nothing more. Instead she stared determinedly at the opposite wall as he sipped the rum and cast her sidelong, considering glances. After passing perhaps a quarter of an hour in this fashion, Caroline began to shiver.

  “You’re cold!” he declared accusingly.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Go to bed.”

  “I won’t without you. To sit up all night in such circumstances is so foolish that it borders on being lunatic! We can sleep front to back like spoons, if that is what’s bothering you. ’Twill be far warmer if we lie like that, with the covers piled atop us both, than if either of us sleeps alone.”

  “I can’t abide stubborn, shrewish women.”

  “Don’t abide me, then, and we’ll sit here until icicles form under our noses.” Caroline clicked her tongue in irritation as she settled in for what threatened to be a long, cold night.

  Matt grunted, took another swig of rum, replaced the cork, and got to his feet. “Come, then,” he said, reaching down a hand to her, a peculiar note of resolution hardening his voice.

  Suppressing a victorious smile, Caroline allowed him to pull her to her feet, then lay down at his direction on the horse blanket while he once again piled coverings atop her. She almost held her breath, waiting, but after only the briefest hesitation he doffed his hat, moved behind her, lifted the edge of the Indian blanket—the bottommost layer of their coverings—and slid beneath it.

  When he had settled himself, keeping as aloof from her as he could, Caroline could feel the whole hard length of him burning through the layers of her clothes to her skin. Like hers, his head was pillowed on a saddlebag, and he lay on his side, his front to her back. He seemed determined to keep a small space between them, but the rock wall was at his back and he had not much room to maneuver. Gradually Caroline allowed her body to soften and shift until she was lying full against him, her bottom curved into the hollow of his lap, her back snuggled against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin. One arm he disposed of by curling it beneath his head. The other, with nowhere else to go, found its way around her waist, where it rested, stiff as a board as he refused to allow himself to relax against her.

  Caroline snuggled closer yet. Unobtrusively he tried to inch away from her, but with his back literally to the wall there was nowhere for him to go. She sighed as if with oncoming sleep as she felt him slowly going rigid from his booted calves to his thighs to his chest to his head. Against her thighs she could feel ample evidence of the effect of her nearness on his body. He was hardly breathing now as he strove to minimize their touching. Though Caroline, feigning near-sleep, kept her eyes closed and thus could not be certain, she had the impression that he was gritting his teeth.

  With a wordless murmur she nestled her buttocks square against his swelling maleness and pulled his arm closer around her waist.

  Matt sat bolt upright, dislodging their covers and taking deep swallows of cold air as she looked around at him with feigned innocence.

  “I knew this was a mistake,” he muttered, glaring at her.

  At that Caroline decided to abandon all pretense. For good or ill he was the man she would have, and so she meant to show him. If her body shrank from the prospect of physical intimacy, why, her heart sang at the idea of having him for her own. And it was her heart that drove her.

  “No mistake,” she murmured and sat up too, rising to her knees and turning to face him as she looped both arms around his neck.

  His hands came up and closed over her wrists as if to pull her arms down. But then their eyes met, and his hands stilled. As he was sitting and she was on her knees before him, they were much of a height, and she could see every little detail of the emotions that flickered through his eyes: first wanting followed by resolve, then wanting followed by doubt, then just wanting. His eyes flared at her, hungry, bright-blue eyes that could have belonged to a predator, as his breathing quickened and grew uneven. For a moment longer Caroline allowed herself the luxury of looking at him, drinking in the way the firelight struck blue sparks in the tousled black waves of his hair, painted cinnamon his handsome face with its restless eyes and jaw-roughening stubble of a beard, danced over the broad shoulders and wide chest.

  Then she leaned closer, letting her breasts rest fully against his chest as she touched her lips to his.

  He quivered, and his hands tightened for one last moment over her wrists as his lids drooped shut.

  “May God forgive me,” he muttered against her mouth, and then his arms were coming around her and he was pulling her down into his lap, twisting her so that her head was cradled on his shoulder as he took her mouth with his.

  He kissed her as if he was starving for the taste of her mouth, kissed her as if he’d been hungry for eternity and, now, having been offered the sustenance he sought, was determined to have his fill. This was no gentle wooing, but a hard, needy taking, and Caroline could do nothing but cling to his shoulders and open her mouth to his and yield. His mouth was hot and wet and tasted of rum, and he was kissing her so fiercely that there was no room in her head for bad memories or indeed any memories or thoughts that were not of him. His hand sought her breast through the layers of her dress and shift. Its heat seared her flesh, making her nipple tighten deliciously. To her surprise, Caroline moaned against his mouth, and the moan was one of pleasure, not regret.

  At the tiny sound Matt stiffened, then shook all over as if with the ague. But it was not ague that ailed him as he twisted her down onto their makeshift bed, yanking her skirts up and fumbling at his breeches and coming into her before she could do more than obligingly part her legs. His claiming was hard and swift, and brought her no great joy except that of giv
ing him whom she loved what he craved, but it caused her no great distress either. She held onto him, and thought of what it would be like to have this man beside her all the days of her life, and even smiled faintly as, having driven inside her with a last strong thrust, he groaned and spilled his seed. Then, as he lay atop her, panting and spent, she found her own reward in that male-oriented act by stroking his hair back from his sweat-damp brow and running her hands with proprietary gentleness along the breadth of his still-clad shoulders and down his back.

  Finally he lifted his head to regard her searchingly. Caroline responded with a tender smile. Matt muttered something under his breath that sounded blasphemous, though she could not quite make out the words. He shut his eyes and then opened them again. Rolling off her onto his back, he pulled her against his side and stared up at the rocky ceiling for a long, pregnant moment before shifting his gaze to her again.

  39

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Matt asked wearily. He had battled his particular demon as long and valiantly as he could, and had finally, irredeemably, lost. Reality had to be confronted head on. Unless he was never to see her again—and that possibility was one he couldn’t face—he had to admit the fact that it was as close to impossible as anything he’d ever attempted to keep his hands off her. He would be making love to her again, and again, and again, and again, just as surely as the sun would rise in the east each morning. Given the inescapable nature of that, it behooved him to take the matter in hand.

  “Nary a bit,” Caroline answered, quite cheerful. Her head nestled against his chest while her hand stroked his jerkin in the general region of his heart. Even that muffled touch made his pulse—and more than his pulse—quicken. The coverings were twisted around and under them, blocking her view of his still unfastened breeches and what they normally contained. That was all that preserved his modesty as his unrepentant body stirred awake. Already he wanted her again, but the sharp, fierce urgency of his need had been blunted enough so that he could begin, by gentle degrees, to teach her that there was more to coupling than she had yet discovered.

  “I’m glad.” If there was a trace of irony in his words, he doubted that she would detect it. She lay against him as trusting as a child, unaware that there was anything amiss. He had to bear much responsibility for that, of course. Except for the bastard who had forced her—would that the filth roast forever in Hell!—he had been her sole tutor in the delicate art of mating.

  With an inward grimace Matt acknowledged that his lessons, as an educational tool for Caroline, left a great deal to be desired.

  He shifted up to one elbow, looking down at her pensively. With his movement, her head had fallen back to rest against a saddlebag. She was smiling at him, a faint, sleepy smile, and her great golden eyes were shadowed with fatigue. The delicate pale oval of her face was marked in places by his beard. Matt made a mental note, once he had her safe home again, to begin shaving in the evening as well as the morn so as not to mar her skin. At the thought of the twitting he would take from his brothers over that, a corner of his mouth twitched down. ’Twas the penalty one endured for having a large, irreverent family, and so long as they kept their teasing from Caroline’s ears he would suffer their barbs with what stoicism he could muster.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, leaning down to touch his lips to hers. She returned his kiss sweetly, that luscious pink mouth with its faint taste of rum soft and yielding.

  Before he could be tempted to linger awhile, and then bewitched into forgetting what he was about entirely, he got to his feet and did up his breeches enough so that he could move about without their falling down about his shanks. She watched with interest as he restored himself to minimal decency, nothing about her frank gaze speaking of distaste.

  She was healing, it was clear, and he thanked God both for her sake and for his own. If he was gentle with her, and careful, maybe he could yet teach her what a glorious thing the joining of a man and a woman could be. At the thought his body swelled against the restored restraint of his breeches, and it was all he could do not to drop back down beside her and commence her lessons at once.

  If it was cold outside their cozy nest, he didn’t feel it.

  “Matt?” It was a lazy question, uttered by one clearly anticipating sleep. Matt smiled rather grimly to himself even as he reached down to haul her to her feet.

  “What …?” Clutching his shoulders as he set her upright, she blinked at him.

  “We’ll be more comfortable if I straighten the bed,” he told her soothingly, and proceeded to do just that. But instead of leaving the prickly saddle blanket on the bottom, he covered the thick cushion of leaves with his fur coat. Then he took the few steps needed to reach the woodpile and from a safe enough distance threw a few stout limbs on the fire. For just a moment he looked beyond the blaze into the storm-ridden night, and then as the flames shot up to claim the new wood, he had perforce to turn away. As an after thought he picked up the jug of rum and rejoined Caroline.

  She still stood beside the pallet, her head cocked a little to one side, watching him. He set the jug down within easy reach, smiled at her, reached for her, and pulled her close. Then he bent his head to taste her lips as his hands sought the hooks that fastened her poor maimed dress up the back.

  “Matt?” It was more question than protest, he thought, uttered as she discovered what he was about.

  “We’ll be warmer if we take off our clothes and huddle together under the coverings to share body heat.”

  Women’s fastenings were infernal things, and he was sadly out of practice, but he managed to undo enough of them so that he could, he thought, get her out of the dress.

  “You mean lie together naked?” She sounded shocked, as if such decadence had never occurred to her. Matt had to grin a little at the innocence of that.

  “That was what I had in mind,” he confessed.

  “Oh,” she said on a thoughtful note, and as he started to slide the the dress off her shoulders, he saw that she was frowning.

  “Matt?”

  “Hmmm?” Unable to resist, he bent his head to press a kiss on the creamy shoulder he had just bared.

  “Do—is being naked the usual way?” She blushed scarlet as she asked the question, and her eyes dropped to study intently the toes of his boots.

  “Some people prefer it,” he told her gravely, pushing the gown down her arms. To his pleasure she helped him by pulling her arms out of the long, tight sleeves, and then, when he eased the garment down past her hips, she obligingly stepped out of it.

  Standing there, in her thin white shift and ragged-edged, foreshortened petticoat, she was so enticing that it was all he could do not to wrap his arms around her and kiss her senseless, before proceeding to other, more fulfilling matters. But chill bumps were dotting her soft skin, and he knew that, though he was not, she must be cold. Some day he would have an opportunity to remove her clothing piece by piece, kissing each part of her body as he exposed it, but tonight was obviously not the night. Keeping a firm hand on demon lust, he finished stripping her as quickly and efficiently as he could—though he was unable to resist planting a few stray kisses here and there as he did so. Finally he dropped down on one knee before her to remove her shoes, and then, gritting his teeth as he fought with himself to do no more than the necessary task, reached up to untie her garters and roll her stockings down her legs.

  Not tossing her on her backside and pumping out his lust between her legs there and then was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life.

  He touched the cool, pale slenderness of her thighs, and his heart raced. He slid the stockings down past dimpled knees and shapely calves, and he couldn’t breathe. It was all he could do to force himself back to his feet, to find her blushing and looking at his boots again while he allowed himself just a moment to indulge his eyes.

  Naked, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld in his life. Her breasts were full and firm and very white, with lovely small
nipples the color of strawberries. They jutted away from her narrow ribcage at a provocative angle, fiauntingly feminine above a tiny waist and luscious, curving hips. Her belly was just slightly rounded, her navel a shadowy circle in its center. Her legs were long and lissome, and the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs was as black and silky-looking as sable.

  Matt fought the impulse and was defeated. Breathing as though he’d run for miles, he bent his head and drew a pert nipple into his mouth.

  It didn’t taste of strawberries—it was infinitely better.

  She gave a little moan and twined her hands in his hair. His hands were on her waist, large and dark as they splayed over the satin skin. He could feel her fingers tighten against his scalp as he suckled her breast. The heat was building in his loins, scalding pressure that he knew would in a matter of an instant prove too strong to resist—and from somewhere he found the strength to drag his mouth away from her breast.

  Wordless, she lifted her face to him as he straightened, her eyes very wide and more amber than gold, her lips parted breathlessly. Looking down into her flushed, confused, and yet wondering face, Matt tightened his hands around her waist. He could not lose control yet.

  The chill bumps on her arms stopped him yet again. Gritting his teeth, he picked her up in his arms and lay her on the soft fur bed, kissing her ear and the side of her cheek when she kept her arms about his neck and would not let him go.

  “ ’Tis your turn to watch now, poppet,” he whispered into her ear, removing her arms from about his neck and then, though it pained him to do so, covering her nakedness with the Indian blanket so that she would not entirely perish with the cold.

  When she was snugly ensconced, he undid his own buttons, first the jerkin, then the shirt, then the boots—he had to hop from one foot to the other for that, which was scarcely dignified although he was too aroused to care much—then the stockings. Finally, bare-chested and barefoot, he unbuttoned his breeches, hoping that the unimpeded sight of a fully erect man wouldn’t daunt her too badly.