Each Time We Love (40 page)

Throwing her towels aside, she slipped the negligee over her
head, sighing as the incredibly delicate fabric whispered over her
skin. Heedless of her damp hair falling in wild disorder around her
face, she raced over to the cheval glass in one corner of the room, her
mouth forming a startled O at the sight reflected in the glass. The
negligee clung lovingly to every line of her body, every curve, every
swell of her lush form clearly outlined, the milky whiteness of her
smooth flesh intensified by the rich color of the garment. But it was
the placement of the inset that caused her the greatest alarm—her bosom
was covered only by a flimsy band of lace, and through the hazy
material the tips of her rosy nipples could be glimpsed.

As she stood there confused and undecided, she heard the outer
door to the suite open and shut, and with something akin to panic she
grabbed the peignoir and slipped it on. If the negligee clung and
revealed, the peignoir was voluminous, almost modest, the fabric a
heavier, totally opaque silk which completely hid the seductive garment
beneath it. Mindful of the disheveled state of her wet hair, wishing
bitterly she had not given in to temptation to try on the garments,
Savanna nervously pushed the fiery mane back from her face.

At least the peignoir effectively hid the disgraceful negligee
and gave her some degree of composure. But only
some
degree. She had always taken her own body for granted, but she was
suddenly aware of herself in a way that she had never thought possible.
The friction of the negligee against her flesh made her remember the
feel of Adam's hands on her body and she shivered, liking the sensation
of the silk rubbing next to her sensitive skin far too much.

Hearing the measured footsteps coming toward the bedroom, she
froze, her heart beating thunderously in her breast. Embarrassed and
uneasy, Savanna faced the doorway, her chin lifted pugnaciously, one
hand gripping the neckline of the peignoir tightly together almost as
if her life depended upon it.

Adam paused in the doorway, the sight of Savanna standing
there as he had imagined her so often in his dreams stunning him. He
had partially expected to find his gifts torn to shreds and lying on
the floor; that she had been unable to resist the allure of the
garments pleased him inordinately. She was utterly adorable as she
stood there, half poised for flight, half eager to fight, and Adam was
suddenly fiercely glad that she was his wife—no matter what underhanded
schemes he'd had to concoct to marry her!

Desire pulsed through him as he stared at her, knowing that
under the concealment of the voluminous peignoir she was wearing the
oh-so-seductive negligee he had ordered from the modiste. The lace of
the peignoir framed her lovely features, caressing the clean lines of
her cheek and jaw, the heavy silk falling in graceful lines to the
floor, where her bare feet peeped out from underneath the lacy hem. The
glow of her red-gold hair was tempered just now by dampness, but here
and there the flickering candlelight picked out the gleam of fire in a
drying tendril. Even with her hair falling in damp disorder about her
slender shoulders, Adam was certain that she had never looked more
beautiful or desirable
than
she did at
this moment, and his heart swelled.

They stared at each other wordlessly for a long moment, and
then, fighting to act normally when his every instinct cried out to
take her in his arms and kiss her passionately, Adam said prosaically,
his voice oddly husky, "Ah, I see you found the clothes. I trust that
you like them? If you don't, we can always order something else."

Savanna swallowed, grateful that he was making this so easy
for her. Her hand caressed the heavy silk and, almost shyly, she
admitted, "They are lovely. I—I've never seen anything so 1-1-lovely.
Thank y-y-you."

Another silence fell. Adam couldn't take his eyes off her, and
the desire to make love to her was nearly overpowering, but he was
exceedingly aware of the way he had taken her that last time by the
pond and he didn't want to repeat it. He wanted desperately to erase
that shameful memory from her mind, for her to remember his lovemaking
with pleasure. Pouncing on her and ripping the clothes from her body
and burying his flesh deep within hers at the first opportunity was
not, even he knew, the way to accomplish his aims—despite the urgings
and readiness of his body to do just that!

Manfully ignoring the ache in his groin, clearing his throat
nervously, Adam finally said, "Well. I'm pleased that you liked them. I
shall leave you to complete your toilet. When you are finished, let me
know and I shall order up my own bath." Mentally cursing his own inept
tongue and knowing that he was babbling like a fool, but unable to stop
himself, he went on. "Our meal will not be served for some time yet, so
I shall be able to bathe and refresh myself also before it arrives."

Adam had never felt this way before, had never found himself
groping for conversation with a woman, and he was as gauche as any
youth falling in love for the first time. Gone was his famous address
and sophisticated patter, and feeling very much like a backwoods oaf
suddenly faced with a queen, he muttered some other inane comment and
beat a hasty retreat to the outer room.

Savanna had been too confused by her own conflicting reactions
to him to realize that he was not acting in his usual confident manner,
but she was unbearably aware that something vital and exciting had left
the room with him. He had looked so handsome and dear standing there in
the doorway, the unruly black hair curling rakishly near his temples,
the blue eyes bright with some undefined emotion as he had stared at
her. She had been both thrilled and ashamed that he had found her
wearing the negligee and peignoir—one part of her wanting to flaunt her
body in front of him, wanting to let the peignoir fall open, giving him
a glimpse of her nipples straining against the lace inset, eager as she
was to see the flame of desire leap into his gaze; the other part
wanting furiously to fling the garments at him and hurl all her pent-up
anger and resentment at his high-handed blackmail back into his
arrogant face.

But it was too late to throw the clothing at him. Disgusted
with her wayward emotions, she walked over to a satinwood dressing
table with a matching mirror and, seating herself on the velvet-covered
stool in front of it, proceeded to stare glumly at her reflection. What
the devil was the matter with her?

Savanna looked away, not seeing the lovely room in which she
sat. She knew the answers to her questions. It was all tangled up with
the way her mother had loved Davalos and what she had endured for
loving the wrong man. There wasn't much that frightened Savanna, but
right now she was terrified of being weakened by love, of allowing her
love to let her be utterly controlled by a man who had married her only
because she was carrying his child.

She sighed and absentmindedly picked up the silver-backed comb
and began to bring her rapidly drying hair into some sort of order.
Adam was being exceedingly kind to her, she couldn't deny that. Having
ruthlessly engineered their wedding for the sake of the child, he could
still have been cold and cruel to her, but he hadn't—the very clothes
she was wearing and the room she sat in were proof of his kindness and
thoughtfulness. She tried desperately to remind herself how
lucky
she was. A bitter smile curved her full mouth. Oh, she was lucky, all
right—at least she wouldn't have to endure the hell Davalos had
inflicted upon Elizabeth, but wasn't she letting herself in for the
same thing by falling love with Adam? Hadn't it been
because
Elizabeth had loved Davalos that he had been able to hurt her so deeply?

Savanna stood up abruptly. Dwelling on the past, brooding over
events that she could not change, accomplished nothing—except to make
her feel even more dejected and trapped than she already did. Women had
faced worse fates than the one that lay before her, and she was just
going to have to make the best of things!

A resolute gleam in her eyes, she stared at herself in the
mirror. She
would
make the best of things!
Shoulders squared, chin lifted proudly, with queenly grace she walked
from the bedchamber into the sitting room, the peignoir flowing grandly
about her bare feet.

Those bare feet were the first things that Adam noticed and a
smile touched his lips. Laughter glittering in his gaze, he looked at
her, his expression inviting her to share his amusement as he murmured,
"I believe that in the morning we shall have to go shopping for some
slippers and perhaps some more items to add to your wardrobe… although
I must admit that I find the sight of those pink toes of yours vastly
appealing."

Savanna glanced down at her toes peeking out from underneath
the lacy hem, a smile touching her own mouth. "Good! Because I doubt
that my normal footwear would compliment such lovely clothing." The
words left her mouth before she'd had time to think about them, and she
could have bitten her tongue off. It was bad enough that she had
allowed herself to be seduced by the lovely garments, but here she was
boldly agreeing to let him buy her other things. Having forced her into
marriage because of the child, was Adam now attempting to
buy
her compliance?

Angry with herself and reminding herself grimly that it had
only been moments before that she had sworn to make the best of things,
Savanna managed, barely, to keep a smile on her face.

Seeking to change the subject, she came further into the room
and asked lightly, "Have you ordered your bath?"

"Yes, some minutes ago," Adam answered. "After last night's
accommodations, I am looking forward to it."

Even as he finished speaking there was a tap on the door.
Adam's bath had arrived. Left alone in the large salon while he
disappeared to bathe, Savanna moved restlessly about, wishing that the
conflict within herself would abate. She was suddenly dreading the
evening ahead of her and she wondered how she was going to endure years
of Adam's lovemaking, knowing that it was merely lust that brought him
to her bed, that there was no love in his possession of her body.
Worse, she admitted bitterly, was that while her heart yearned for
love, it didn't matter to her treacherous flesh that he did not love
her—all he had to do was reach out and touch her and she was lost, her
body turning into liquid fire, rapturous to experience again the
sorcery of Adam's possession.

But it
did
matter, Savanna thought
desperately. It mattered almost more than anything else in the world to
her…

Adam returned refreshed from his bath to find Savanna curled
up in one corner of a sofa, her feet tucked under her, her expression
grave. A quizzical smile lurked at the corners of his mobile mouth, and
seating- himself at the other end of the sofa, he asked easily, "Why do
you look so? Have you found disfavor with the robe? If you have, throw
it away and I shall buy you another that pleases you."

Adam meant to tease her, to bring a smile to her face; he was
also a generous man—
his
wife would never want for
anything, and knowing the poverty of her childhood, he was looking
forward to indulging Savanna and himself in the process. He certainly
hadn't expected the reaction he got!

Her face paled at his words, the invidiousness of her position
twisting painfully through her. Rather than let him realize how easily
he could hurt her, she took refuge in anger, and leaning forward, her
eyes blazing, she said, "I am not a child to be pacified with presents!
You may have forced me to marry you, but since ours is not a normal
marriage, I see no reason for you to be so bloody
generous
with your fortune!"

Adam's jaw tightened, but he said evenly enough, "But you are
wrong, my dear. Make no mistake, our marriage will be normal in
all
facets!"

Savanna glared at him, glad of the rage that was coursing
through her veins, glad that she could hide her love behind a facade of
angry disdain. Rising to her feet, she glanced coolly at him. "Forgive
me, but I think it is
you
who has made the
mistake!"

Adam surged to his feet, and jerking Savanna into his arms, he
kissed her with an angry, urgent passion. Lifting his head, he stared
grimly down into her face, his hands tightening on her shoulders. "No,
sweetheart, I don't make mistakes, and you have erred badly if you
think that I don't intend to avail myself of one of the
few
pleasures of marriage— making love to one's wife!"