The Defiant Hearts Series Box Set

by Sydney Jane Baily

  "Is something wrong, Mr. Malloy?"

  He grimaced. "You are, Miss Sanborn, without a doubt the most captivating woman I have ever met. You are also extremely frustrating to a man, being as naive as you are. But, saying that, I wouldn't change a thing about you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will retire."

  He went to the door, then turned to her just before he disappeared. "I'm looking forward to dancing with you on Saturday."

  Charlotte did not have time to respond. It occurred to her that this night, he had been the one to pull foot from her study, leaving his coffee cup and all. She sat in front of the fire a while longer, unraveling his words, sipping her coffee, and finally deciding he had been complimenting her in a strange fashion. She had never considered herself naive, but then, she had never dealt with such a situation.

  And she, too, was looking forward to the dance on Saturday and most especially to finally being held in his arms.

  Chapter 8

  Charlotte was determined to get all her work done before Saturday so she could spend all day getting ready for the dance if need be. With just a couple days to go, she was filled with a mixture of abject terror and thrilled anticipation.

  In the morning light, she grimaced at herself in the mirror hanging over her chamber set, while she dried her face and combed her hair. It probably would take all Saturday. And what would she do with her hair? What would Reed think of her dress? A thousand such questions knotted her stomach.

  Reed had occupied Lily and Thomas with an early outing that morning, even taking a picnic breakfast, so she could work in absolute peace, but she simply didn't want to work. She had wanted to go on the outing, too, but it seemed her lot was to stay cooped up inside the Sanborn house till she died—a shriveled old maid, a spinster.

  Charlotte fled her reflection at that thought and headed downstairs. The house seemed so empty with them gone. Her footsteps echoed in the silence in a way they had not done for the past few weeks. It reminded her painfully of when Teddy left, and she hugged herself tightly as she went down the hall into the kitchen.

  Skipping breakfast, she made herself a strong pot of tea to take with her into the study. She hadn't had to fend for herself in days as Reed always made sure she took an occasional break or asked her if she wanted a beverage in the afternoon.

  Charlotte stoked the fire in the stove until it blazed.

  This is how it will be when they're gone—for all the rest of your days.

  So what? It will be just as it was before they came.

  But you've tasted companionship, and now it'll be so much harder.

  It won't take as long to get over them as when Teddy left.

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  She tried to halt the conversation in her head as she poured the boiling water over the tea leaves in the pot, and then waited to pour the thin tawny liquid into her favorite cup. But the dreadful thoughts continued until Charlotte fairly ran to her study for sanctuary.

  As she entered, the image of Reed in front of the glowing fire came unbidden. He had looked mysterious and inviting, all at once, and he'd taken her breath away with his eyes, his touch. Then he'd left, and she'd given up trying to write, no longer feeling satisfied working late at night while everyone else slumbered peacefully above her.

  Today, instead of sitting straightaway at her typewriter, she opened the bottom drawer of her father's old desk and pulled out some of his manuscript—only half of the nearly one thousand pages written in his neat script. It had been a long time since she read it, a long time since she wondered how her life would be if he and her mother had lived. She flipped the pages, causing a breeze to lift wisps of hair curling by her cheeks.

  Suddenly, she snapped the pages down on her desk. This was getting her nowhere. She worked steadily for an hour, then another. Eventually, she lifted her head and stretched.

  Her neck ached. What she needed was someone to rub it, someone with strong hands and long, capable fingers. She jumped up, not liking the trail of her thoughts. No, what she needed was a bath—perhaps a cool one with some of her mother's best scented salts—just to clear her head while she had a moment's quiet time. No children screaming and running through the house... or laughing or playing.

  It took the usual ten minutes of hauling water to fill the claw foot tub. But as she eased herself into the soothing, aromatic liquid, only half-heated, she sighed and judged it to be thoroughly worth the effort.

  Ever since Reed had brought her pulse to racing two nights in a row, she'd felt hot at the mere thought of him. She needed to wash his touch right away, or she'd never be able to concentrate on her work for the rest of the day.

  She lingered in the fragrant water until it was cool and her skin began to feel chilled. By now, the sun had peaked though it was still high in the sky. Pulling her banyan round her damp body, she went downstairs and carried a porch chair into the yard, setting it in the full sunshine between the new rose bushes.

  Pulling the comb from her pocket, Charlotte began to work the tangles out. She didn't notice the door open to her right. She didn't notice the man staring at her, fixed to the spot by the sight of her, perched on her chair, one creamy-skinned leg exposed where her silken robe fell open, her hair gleaming like a copper waterfall. But then she heard his footsteps.

  Charlotte couldn't help the gasp that escaped her as she looked up to see Reed standing right in front of her, his head framed by the bright light as though a sun god in the flesh.

  At first, because of the angle, she couldn't make out his features. But when she shielded her eyes with her hand, she caught her breath at the expression on his face, pausing with the comb still in her other hand.

  "Reed?" She heard the unfamiliar word from her own lips and blushed, realizing how inappropriately intimate that sounded. "Are the children all right?"

  "We stopped at the Cuthins' home with Sarah's bowls and her platter, and she wants to teach them how to make butter. Apparently, it will take them a while." He trailed off and still hadn't moved.

  "Is something the matter?" Charlotte asked, catching sight of her own exposed leg, which she hastily covered.

  "You." His voice was low and rough and it brought her eyes directly to his. "Do you have any idea what a portrait of beauty you make sitting out here in your front yard?"

  She gulped aloud; if she could have blushed any more than she already was, she would have. "Oh, Mr. Malloy, I am not... I mean... Really!" She dropped her gaze away from his face.

  Unexpectedly, he laughed. "You are truly refreshing." He crouched down beside her on his haunches, and she nearly fell off her chair. His hand came up to take hold of a shimmering lock of her hair, still damp and gently curling.

  "You seem to have no notion of just how appealing you are," he continued. "Not just your fine face," he said, touching her cheek with his other hand, "or your glorious hair," he added, twisting it around his finger, "but coupled with your admirable intellect, Miss Sanborn, I can only believe the reason you've not been plucked off the tree of single womanhood by now is that you've hidden yourself in this backward place."

  She opened her mouth to defend Spring City as best she could, but she could think of nothing with him kneeling beside her in the grass. She could hear nothing more for the blood was pounding in her ears, and she could feel her heart beating an excited tattoo in her chest. She was silent, watching this man with his tousled hair, whose handsome face looked so earnest.

  "I'm wondering, Charlotte Sanborn, if right now you'd mind being kissed because at this moment, I have an incredibly strong urge—no, a compulsion—to kiss you."

  For a long moment, she could not find her voice, staring into his blue eyes, which had become so familiar, whether engaging her across the dining room table or flickering intelligently as they conversed in her study at night.

  There was a falling in the pit of her stomach as if she were sailing high on the rope swing she'd shared with her brother as a child.

  Reed Malloy was not smiling now; he l
ooked extremely serious and that fact, too, made her tremble. She did, at this moment, want desperately for him to kiss her. But she was ashamed to tell him that she had never been kissed by a man before, that she didn't know how to or what he expected of her.

  Yet when she opened her mouth to tell him this, all she said was, "Yes."

  A fire lit in his eyes, and the expression on his face turned sensuous at her acquiescence, anticipating what would come next. With him on his knees and her on the chair, they were face-to-face. He had merely to lean forward, and he did.

  Charlotte held her breath a moment, relishing the warm smell of him, the softly spicy sandalwood that always clung to his clothes and the male scent that she recognized as his alone. Her palms felt moist, and she dropped the comb as his face came closer.

  She locked her gaze on his until the last moment when she closed her eyes. She gave herself over entirely to feeling, both her hearing and sight lost in the sensation of his mouth pressing against her own.

  His lips were a sweet surprise, firm but gentle, slightly rough—and the roughness was an unexpected delight. His hands did not touch her at all, but enclosed her by resting on the arms of her chair, so she felt enveloped by him. His shirt brushed her arm as he leaned closer, and she shivered.

  She wanted this moment to last and last as his kiss grew firmer. He didn't hold her head, but she kissed him in fervent response, as if pressed from behind. For just a moment, she felt his tongue against her lips, and it sent shock waves that seemed to head directly to her most feminine parts.

  Then slowly, lingeringly, he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers as her eyes opened in wonder to look at him. She inhaled deeply to draw air into her starved lungs.

  "Oh," she said, still breathing heavily. He sat back on his heels with a mystified look lurking in his glittering eyes, and she noticed his own chest rising and falling rapidly.

  "Thank you for the honor, Miss Sanborn." His voice was honey thick and low, as if it stuck in his throat. Then, in a quick, fluid motion, he was up on his feet and walking toward the house.

  Charlotte sat in her chair, stunned by what had happened. It was as if she'd conjured him with all her thoughts that morning. But she half-suspected that he'd hurried off to hide his own turbulent emotions.

  She took in a deep breath and released it. How wonderfully welcome that kiss had been. She bent down to retrieve her comb from the grass, seeing the indentation where his knees had been.

  Had he really been there, just a moment ago, kissing her? It was incredible. And in another day, she would be going to the dance on his arm. She knew there was nothing she could think of that would be any better... except another kiss. How had her life swiftly become so exciting?

  She paused as a dark slash of loneliness cut through her thoughts, hinting at what was to come when he and the children finally left. Am I being a fool, playing with fire? She knew she was growing ever more attached to her new family, and soon they would be gone. Everything would be as it was before.

  She looked across at the house as it was now, silent and shaded, yet she could will herself to hear Lily's voice and Thomas's laughter as she'd heard them so often in the past few weeks, drifting down from the upstairs window.

  Yes, everything would be as it was before, everything except herself—her heart would be torn. She knew it as surely as she knew she was falling in love with Reed.

  When he left Spring City, her heart would ache, but she closed her eyes and smiled into the warm sun. Without a doubt, the pain was worth it. She'd hold nothing back and cherish every moment of their stay. She jumped up and hurried inside.

  After a few moments, she found Reed in her study, staring hard at the books on her shelves. She didn't think he'd noticed her at first. Then, without looking at her, he said evenly, "This is becoming intolerable." He snatched a book off the shelf at eye level as he spoke.

  Charlotte had expected anything but that. Since she didn't know to what he was referring, she moved into familiar territory. "Will Sarah bring the children home?"

  "Yes, later, or they may walk." He seemed to be scanning Ramsay's Life of George Washington with great earnestness, as Charlotte moved closer. He still didn't look at her. "It seems they needed a change from playing with 'Uncle Reed.'"

  She laughed, hoping to break the tension in his voice. "You've done an excellent job with—"

  "The hell I have," he cut in, finally swinging his brilliant blue gaze toward her. She thought she saw him flinch as he took in the sight of her, still clad outrageously in nothing but the garish banyan. Then his eyes met hers, and she saw all the pent-up passion barely hinted at in their kiss. It was there, sparkling in his eyes, and it almost seemed to be paining him.

  "Reed," she stepped forward, not thinking of the impropriety of using his given name, allowing her strong feelings for this man to guide her. She took the book from his hand and put it down on the desk. "What is intolerable?"

  "I can't stay here any longer. A decision must be made. That's why I came back here, to talk about—" Then he shook his head. "I'm lying. You know that, don't you? I came back to be alone with you."

  His eyes were raking over her face, and she could see the war he was waging. "I'm supposed to be a professional, handling the execution of my client's last will and testament. I knew you weren't 'Charles' Sanborn. I just didn't expect..." He reached out and ran his knuckles along her jawline. "I didn't expect you to be so irresistible."

  She felt a flush start in her toes and spread quickly up her already heated skin.

  "Damn," Reed swore softly, taking a step back from her as if his life depended on it but coming up against the shelves so hard he made all of their contents rattle. He shook his head, obviously trapped. "None of the women blush in Boston's social circles, Charlotte. They aren't able to anymore."

  She put her own hands up to her cheeks, hoping to cool them. She knew what he was saying without quite saying it. He wanted to be a man and woman together, but the proper, honorable Reed Malloy was warring with the freer spirit he'd found in himself here in the west.

  Her own inner battle was more easily resolved. He had already established a place in her heart, and she had no one to whom she had to answer or be held accountable. No worried relatives, no gossiping friends. No one who would ever care if she gave in to the feelings that had sprung up between them so strongly over the past weeks.

  She took another step toward him. It was her choice—to break out of her insulated world, to reach out to Reed, to all of the feelings she'd been denying herself capable of for so long.

  He groaned, reading the look in her eyes. And Charlotte could tell instantly that he was lost to the feelings, just as she was. His hand came out, gripping her around her slender waist and pulling her against him.

  Charlotte expelled the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. It was a physical and mental relief to finally find herself in his arms, against his broad chest, and she gave in to the desire to feel his thick hair.

  She slid her arms up over his chest and laced her fingers around the back of his neck for a moment before entwining them in the hair that curled just above his collar. One of his hands was still on her waist, holding her tightly, while the other roamed over her body, dipping low to gently sweep her buttocks.

  She gasped at the heat that coursed through her woman's core at the feel of his hand through her robe.

  Then he was grabbing a handful of her shining hair as she was doing to him. His other hand moved upward over her rib cage, to lightly trace the underswell of her breast.

  Charlotte caught the breath in her lungs and held it as Reed's hand moved farther up, splaying across her collar bone. He paused there a moment, before let his fingers travel down to the deep plunging neckline of her robe. Then he halted.

  She looked up, meeting his gaze; his eyes seemed on fire with blue flame. She thought she would melt if she stared into them too long.

  "Charlotte, I have a life in Boston. There is so much you don
't know. Do you understand? Do you want me to stop?" he asked, his voice a raspy whisper that sent shivers down her spine.

  His hand still rested at the opening of her robe. She could feel it shake slightly. It was knowing that he was as much in need as she was that calmed her fears.

  She couldn't speak. She tried, then licked her lower lip with the edge of her moist tongue. He groaned again. Ever so slightly, in response to his question, she shook her head.

  He bent down, lowering his lips to meet hers, and the kiss was more fervent than what they had shared outside, more like a rushing river, swollen after the rains, than the gentle stream of desire that had flowed between them before.

  As his mouth pressed on hers, forcing her lips open with his tongue, his hand behind her head urged her against him. It was carnal and powerful, and the excitement she felt was heightened almost beyond bearing.

  Charlotte knew she wanted to be wholly joined with this man, to assuage the madness that was coursing through her veins on account of him. She wondered how women survived such an encounter without fainting.

  Reed's kiss continued, even as he began to push her robe aside, slipping his fingers just inside the neckline to ease it open.

  "I want to make love to you," he breathed against her mouth.

  "I thought you already were," she told him, only to gasp a moment later as he swept her up into his arms.

  "Not here," he told her, "not among musty old books with reminders of barbed wire and farmers' meetings."

  He carried her up the stairs two at a time, down the hall into his room. His was smaller than the other bedrooms, the light dim due to the pulled curtains, and Charlotte felt safe and secure as he set her down and slipped her banyan off one shoulder, then the other. She felt it slide down her burning skin and pool at her feet.

  "You're exquisite," he told her, as he pulled her close again, out of the peacock blue puddle of cloth and toward the bed.

  This was right, Charlotte thought to herself; this was what she'd lain awake at night wanting ever since Reed had entered her life.