For the Love of a Soldier (26 page)

Her words restored his humor, for he grinned. “Is that what happened?”

“Yes. The storm, the secluded lodge, the fire…” His plea to her.
Make me forget.
“But it won’t happen again.”

“Pity,” he murmured. He studied her in his infuriating manner. “At my home, when I can’t sleep, I read. It keeps the worst of the images at bay. So I’ll be all right with these.” He glanced at the books and then to the window. “And the worst of the storm has died down. Thank you.”

She shook her head. “Slide over.”

“What?”

“Come on, move. I haven’t read a novel in years.”

Garrett stared at her and then slid over. “Damn bossy woman.”

She climbed onto the bed. “Have you hoarded all the pillows?”

Grinning, he leaned forward, snatched one from the stack behind him and tossed it to her.

It still held the warm heat of Garrett’s body. If she hadn’t killed her reputation already, sharing a bed with a man shredded it to pieces even without more sultry kisses and naked tussles and…“What book did you choose?”

“This has potential.”

“
Tom Jones
?” She read the title. “By Henry Fielding.”

“Have you heard of it?”

She glanced up and saw a gleam in his eyes. A warning bell rang in the back of her mind. “No, is it any good?”

“It’s entertaining.”

“Why don’t I read a chapter, and you read the next. Shall we begin?”

He smiled at her. “I’m looking forward to it.”

He certainly seemed pleased about something. But feeling pleased herself, she shrugged off her misgivings. Tonight they had won a battle.

Later, she planned to win the war.

And so she began.

G
ARRETT
watched Alexandra sleep. She lay on top of the covers, her body aligned with his. Sighing, she snuggled closer, rolling to her side and flinging her arm over the quilt across his waist. Her cheek rested on his bare chest. He sucked in a sharp breath as his body responded with a powerful surge of heat to his groin.

Dear God, she was killing him.

Usually after one of his episodes he awoke with a throbbing headache. It was a novel change to feel the throbbing farther south. It was…normal. He hadn’t experienced normal in a long time. Not until Alexandra’s arrival.

She had seen a side of him that he had dared show no one.

I won’t leave you.
And she hadn’t.

You’re safe.
And he was.

He had been stripped bare before Alexandra, both literally and figuratively, and yet when he awoke this morning, the anger and shame he expected to feel wasn’t present.

Ever since he had looked up from his cards at Hammond’s and met those enormous pools of blue across the table,
Alexandra had been tipping his world onto an angle. Perhaps such a drastic action was what he had needed to shake the dirt and blood of Balaclava free.

His eyes dropped to Alexandra’s parted lips, feeling her breath stir against his chest, warm and intimate. She was magnificent. He desired her, but now he wanted so much more than her body.

He feared he wanted her heart and soul as well.

She was already stealing pieces of his, but she wanted to force him back onto the battlefield to fight his demons. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t go back. Refused to do so.

She had seen how it tore him apart, so she should understand. As he had told her the prior evening, what he had given her had to be enough for now. He needed time to regain his footing. And lest he forget, he needed to find the bastard who was trying to kill him. They might have a plan to do so, but until it succeeded, there was no point in contemplating a future when he might not have one. His eyes opened and he frowned, wondering why choosing to confront a killer rather than his past made him feel like a coward?

He had no answers for himself. However, before tomorrow arrived, he had today. And Alexandra was beside him…in his bed. Warm, and with a bit of gentle persuasion, perhaps willing.

A
LEXANDRA ROLLED ONTO
her back in the bed. Lifting her arms over her head, she stretched as she blinked to clear her befuddled thoughts about food and Garrett. And not necessarily in that order. Before she could untangle her thoughts, her gaze fastened on Garrett. He leaned over her with a devastating smile on his lips and his black hair deliciously sleep-disheveled. His gray eyes stared knowingly into hers.

Good Lord, she was still in bed with Garrett!

She scrambled to a sitting position and yanked her robe closed around her throat. She must have fallen asleep while he was reading the end of the chapter. It was scandalous. She was a wanton hussy.

She recoiled when he sat up as well, the sheet slipping to
his waist and baring his naked chest. She needed to leave. And she would. She would flee just as soon as the blood restored to her limbs and her legs could support her.

“Good morning,” Garrett drawled, flashing that slow, lethal smile.

“What time is it?” She gasped, shifting her attention to focus on anything but on him. Naked. In bed with her.

“It’s late, very late. Do you know what you whispered in your sleep?”

That brought her attention back to him. “Nothing. I said nothing!”

He simply cocked a brow. “How would you know? You were asleep, so you wouldn’t hear it. But I did.”

She clutched her nightgown tighter together and stared at him balefully. He was teasing her. Had to be. She did
not
talk in her sleep. Or did she? Would she betray herself so?

He leaned close and dropped his voice to a murmur. “You said my name. You sighed it twice.”

Her cheeks flamed. “I most certainly did not!”

“You did, too!”

“I don’t believe you,” she protested.

“That’s your choice.” He shrugged, lifting a bare shoulder and sitting back.

She scowled at him, and seeing the teasing gleam in his eyes she paused, for two could play at this game. “I think I heard you as well.”

“Oh? What did I say? Your name?”

She pursed her lips and looked thoughtful as if trying to recall his words. “It wasn’t very clear the first time, but then you said it again. You said, ‘Champion.’ Clear as day. Is that not the name of your horse?” She gave him an innocent look.

He laughed. “It is indeed, but a cavalry soldier and his horse become like one. My life depended upon him.” His eyes roved over her. “It’s little surprise that we call out to the one we feel closest to or need.”

“So you say.”

“I do.”

“Mmh. As edifying as this has been, I find that it is late and I’m rather hungry. So, if you’ll excuse me.”

“That’s Mr. Fielding’s doing.”

“Mr. Fielding?” Confused, she stared at him.

“The author of
Tom Jones
. Remember? The narrator was a restaurateur who called his work a feast and the reader a patron to dine on the cuisine of human nature. It makes one hungry.” His eyes roamed over her. “Very hungry.”

The husky timbre of his voice sent shivers spiraling throughout her body. He was very close. Crowding her. She leaned back. Clearly, he was feeling much better this morning. “His squire, Allworthy, also spoke of virtue,” she primly replied.

“Yes, he was a bit longwinded about that. But I liked his point about lust.”

“Lust?” Her voice squeaked, mortifying her.

“Don’t you remember?”

She shook her head, leaning close to him as he lowered his voice.

“He compared lust to a person’s appetite for a good chunk of white flesh.”

Her mouth dropped into a round
O
. She felt it do so, for how was one to respond to
that
? And Garrett’s naked flesh within a finger’s reach.

She now understood the wicked gleam in Garrett’s eyes the prior evening when he had chosen Mr. Fielding’s wretched book.

“Don’t you have any biscuits hidden away in that god-awful nightgown of yours?” Garrett teased.

Her eyes flew open when she felt Garrett’s hand prodding at the fabric of her gown.

“Stop that!” She slapped at him, but he leaned over her, forcing her back into the pillows. His eyes locked on hers and her pulse skipped in response.

His hand slid up from her waist, and she caught his wrist as he cupped her breast. But she didn’t push him away, wanton hussy that she was.

“No, biscuits. But there is some fruit.” He opened her gown, lowered his head and pressed his lips to her bared nipple, his tongue stroking her, arousing her. “Apples complete with stem.” He lifted his head, “or perhaps peaches. Very nice, ripe peaches.”

He slid his arms around her, flattening his body to hers. His
mouth moved over her lips, devouring them. She should have pushed him away, but she opened her mouth and groaned, for that was what wanton hussies did.

For the second time in her life, she caressed the smooth, warm skin of a man. Not just any man, but Garrett. Her heart thudded and her pulse raced in anticipation, for it was what she had secretly yearned for ever since their tryst at the hunting lodge and Garrett had awakened her to the passion that slumbered within her.

With a mixture of wonder and solemn reverence, her hands moved over him, her pulse skipping. She slid them over his strong back, liking the feel of his bare skin, liking the feel of his body, hard and pressed to hers. It felt decadent. Delicious. She dared to slide her hands over his bare buttocks, eliciting a masculine groan.

Her robe parted, so the thin layer of her linen gown provided the only barrier between them. And it was an old, flimsy, weathered gown.

He lifted his head and smiled into her eyes. He grasped the collar of her nightgown. Before she could decipher the gleam in his eyes, he ripped the gown in two, rendering her speechless.

“I owe you a nightgown. This one has to go.” He swallowed her protests in a demanding kiss.

He was a feast for her senses. He tasted so good as his tongue thrust and parried with hers. Her hands slid into his hair and she arched against him, an intoxicating heat building to a fervent pitch. His hands touched her everywhere, leaving tingling heat in their wake as they caressed and kneaded her breasts, her abdomen, and slid to her thighs. When his head lowered to draw her nipple into his mouth, she closed her eyes and arched, yearning to get closer, to merge her body with his.

In a haze of delirium, she felt his hands urging her thighs to part, and his hips press intimately against her. She gasped at the feel of his erection, hard and dangerous against her. A molten wave of desire coursed through her. When Garrett’s hand slid between them to cup her, the protest she had lodged the other day stuck in her throat. A growing need she could no longer deny silenced it.

When no denial came, he moved his fingers, increasing their
pressure and pleasuring her as they found her most sensitive spot, the key to her passion. As his fingers worked their magic, she writhed and gasped, yearning to reach something that was just beyond her grasp.

“Shh, relax. It will come,” he breathed against her lips. “Trust me.”

And she did. Trusting in his words, his touch, and him, she let her body open to the emotions flooding her. His fingers slid inside her and her hips bucked against the invasion, a whimper escaping as his fingers moved, tipping her into a wild frenzy. Oh, God. His touch did things to her that should be forbidden.

She grasped his wrist, wanting to stop him, but then just…wanting.

Anticipation exploded within her, building until she felt her body erupt in an explosion of sensation. Like smoldering embers of a fire bursting into flame. She cried out with the force of it, digging her nails into Garrett’s sweat-slicked back as her body bucked and arched against his hand.

Good Lord. She didn’t think she had ever felt anything like it. It was like a taste of heaven, but better. Like the richest brandy coursing through her body in a hot, liquid warmth. After a few more spasms, she collapsed beneath Garrett. She savored the feel of his hard body pressed to hers, his ragged breathing matching hers, and his heart pounding wildly against her ear. It wasn’t until she felt the twitch of his manhood, still large and very much alive against her thigh, that awareness returned and her eyes flew open.