Read His Wicked Dream (Velvet Lies, Book 2) Online

Authors: Adrienne deWolfe

His Wicked Dream (Velvet Lies, Book 2) (45 page)

BOOK: His Wicked Dream (Velvet Lies, Book 2)

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She tried to appear innocent. Nonchalant. He'd have none of it.

"I believe I heard tiptoeing up here," he drawled. "Those footsteps wouldn't have been coming from this room, would they?"

"Absolutely not."

"And the taffy wrapper Vandy's chewing?"

Her face warmed. "Good heavens. Wherever did he get that?"

Michael's dimples peeked, even though he tried to look stern as he closed the door and crossed to their bed. "You're supposed to ingest your medicine on an empty stomach."

"Have I told you you're a tyrant?"

"Frequently."

"Has it sunk in yet?"

His lips twitched. "You're a terrible patient."

"Now there's the pot calling the kettle black. Perhaps you should find some other poor, unsuspecting patient to bully."

"Oh no. You're all the torment I can handle."

"Michael Jones"—she rolled her magazine and smacked him on the knee—"that's a horrible thing to say to your wife!"

"Hmm." He sat beside her on the bed, displacing a disgruntled Stazzie. "Does that mean you plan to stay for a while?"

Her laughter died in her throat. He was serious. Beneath the playful manner, he was still deathly afraid that she would walk out of his door and never return. She'd tried to reassure him, of course, but he'd sensed she was hiding something and, unfortunately, he'd been right. Professional ethics and personal honor had kept her from confessing that on the day that she'd walked out of his door, her deepest fear had been that Michael had fathered Bonnie's child.

Luckily, Jamie had leaked the news yesterday that Bonnie had finally agreed to marry Luke Frothingale. Eden hoped that meant Bonnie had decided to bear her baby.

"Oh, Michael." She stroked his jaw, and evening stubble pricked her fingertips. "I told you I was home to stay."

He kissed her palm, pressing it fervently to his chest. "I hope so, Eden. We've been given a second chance. And this time, I want to do it right."

The sincerity in his voice tugged at her in a way no apology ever could. She knew he spoke from the heart. They'd taken the last two weeks to rediscover one another, to understand each other's needs and feelings.

Now that he was rested, without the burden of secrets and illness to weigh him down, she'd learned that he was a bit of a chess sharper. That Ancient Greece and modern-day steam engines fascinated him. And that he was enormously gifted as a craftsman. He'd carved, from memory, a miniature wooden bust of her father, complete with stethoscope, spectacles, and thinning hair. When she'd unwrapped his gift, she'd cried, recognizing Papa's likeness instantly.

"My dearest love," she whispered. "I just want you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted. To see you well and joyful."

"Then you know what's in my heart, Eden. Because that's all I want for you."

A tear slipped down her cheek. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Michael."

He caught the droplet on his thumb. For a moment, those sapphire-blue depths misted over. She couldn't bear to know her letter had caused him so much pain.

"I love you," he said huskily. "The rest is behind us."

He swam before her in a rainbow of tears. In the last two weeks, their marriage had been reborn. He'd become more than her hero, more than her husband; he'd become her friend. He'd encouraged her to tell him what she envisioned for their future. She'd spoken shyly of her newfound hope that they might travel beyond Blue Thunder, healing the sick and restoring their faith in medicine-show doctors.

He'd conceded that with Claudia to watch over Sera—and Collie to watch over Claudia—such a lifestyle might be possible. But only, he'd added, until their first child was born. She'd been delighted to know that he wanted babies as much as she did; in truth, the way she pined for even his most innocent caress, she suspected their traveling days would be short-lived.

"Aren't you going to ask me who was at the door?" he murmured, that sensual, off-center smile she so loved flirting with his mouth.

"Well..." She couldn't quite hide her own smile. His manner suggested mischief. "Do I want to know?"

"Most definitely."

"Who, then?"

"Lydia Witherspoon's brother," he drawled, tugging gently on the ribbons that tied her bodice. "William is an alternate judge for the county court circuit. Lydia pulled a few sisterly strings, I'll wager, but William agreed to hear Collie's case. Once he read the evidence—or perhaps I should say, the
lack
of evidence—" Michael's smile turned Cheshire cat-like, "William threw the case out of court and scolded Truitt for wasting his valuable time."

"Thank God," Eden whispered.

"There's more."

"Th-there is?" Her pulse quickened as the lace of her gown parted like petals beneath his fingers.

"Apparently William suffers from palpitations. He's eager to sample your heart tonic. So is my colleague, Dr. H. C. F. Meyer. No doubt you've heard of Lloyd Brothers of Cincinnati?"

Eden nodded, mystified. The Lloyds owned a well-respected pharmaceutical company.

"Well, I wrote Doc Meyer two months ago, because I respect his opinion. I asked for his advice about your father's remedies. Meyer frequented numerous Indian reservations in his early years, and he is rumored to use their recipes in his medical practice. While you were entertaining Sera earlier tonight, his response arrived. You know what he wrote?"

She shook her head, anticipation shortening her breaths as he peeled a panel of lace off her breast.

"He wrote that the Lloyd Brothers paid him a small fortune to distribute an Echinacea recipe, one which he got from the Sioux. Apparently, it's not like typical nostrums. This patent medicine really works."

"You mean like Talking Raven's?" she teased him gently.

"Er... yes." His ears pinkened in the most endearing way. "I think we should mix a fresh batch of your father's heart tonic and visit the Lloyd Brothers in Cincinnati—by way of a certain Louisville hotel we know."

His smoky innuendo wasn't lost on her.

"A splendid idea," she said breathlessly. "When do we leave?"

"When you're feeling up to it."

She groaned inwardly, hard-pressed not to make a face. "Michael, I've
told
you. I'm perfectly well enough to leave this bed."

"Are you sure?" he purred.

"Quite sure."

His eyes slitted, gleaming twilight-blue as her gown at last fell away. "Perhaps I'm not being persuasive enough."

When his head lowered, a delicious shiver tiptoed down her spine. It was hard to think of protests, much less to speak them, when the moist heat of his mouth fastened on her breast. Sighing, she let her head drift back; she let his calloused hands stoke the hunger that only seemed to smolder, never bank, when he was near.

She loved the way he kissed her, loved the way he touched, and when he pressed her down, she sank eagerly, reveling in the hardness of belted ribs and corded sinews against her softest places. His throaty growl of pleasure made her female parts yearn. Stripping off his clothes, she mapped his beloved ridges and contours with reverent hands, as if she were beholding him for the first time. She would never forget—could never forget—how casually death had knocked at their door.

"Promise me, Michael," she whispered against his lips. "Promise me no matter what we may face, you'll make each moment worth living."

He raised his head, and the love that poured from his eyes was like sunshine to her soul. "I can promise," he said huskily, "because you've taught me how."

He loved her until they knew the sweetest rapture, the tenderest bliss. She marveled that each joining could be better than the last. To know him so deeply, so intimately, had been her most cherished hope and yet, she had never dared to dream their romance could be as wonderful as this.

She snuggled against his chest as he tucked the quilt around her.

"Will you marry me?" he whispered against her hair.

She blinked, tilting her head back, surprised by his question in the most heart-stirring way. "I thought we already were."

"I never got to ask you. Not the way I always wanted to."

His confession almost made her cry.

"Yes," she murmured, her chest swelling beyond the bounds of every feeling that she'd ever known. "I will marry you. For better or worse, for richer or poorer—"

"'Til death parts us not."

"Oh, Michael. Can heaven really be better than this?"

Starlight feathered over his beloved features. Half man, half angel, and completely hers, he smiled.

"Now that I have Eden in my arms, that's a tough question to answer. Why don't you ask me again after a couple billion years?"

The End