Maternal Instinct (23 page)

For a moment she stood completely still, her mouth unresponsive. He took a ragged breath and nipped her lower lip. Nell made a small, sobbing sound and flung her free arm around his neck, her lips parting and her body molding to his. The kiss deepened, becoming slow and heated. Somewhere along the way he let go of her hand and gripped her buttock to press her up against him where he ached. "I want you," he growled.

"You … meant it?" she whispered. He heard the crumbling disbelief in her tone. "When you said you'd been, um…"

"Lusting for you?" He nipped her earlobe. "Oh, yeah. I meant it."

She made that throaty purr he loved. "Oh-h," she breathed.

He had to kiss her again. He was about ready to lay her on the wet sand and ravish her when a wave struck, knee-high, and laughing and cursing at the same time, he led her higher on the beach. "Damn it, now I'm wet!"

"Me, too." She giggled. "You should have rolled up your jeans."

The soggy denim flapped against his legs as they walked. His pace had picked up considerably, not because he wanted to change but because he had visions of getting out of his jeans—and her out of hers.

"Oh," she murmured, and he focused on the sunset. Only a tiny sliver of incandescent orange remained, with the moon eerily rising above in a sky that appeared deep purple. Even the sound of the surf seemed hushed. "We should have gotten married here," Nell said softly.

He grunted his agreement.

They were nearing the trailhead and the cabins along the bluff. Flames shot up from several brisk beach fires nestled in alcoves of driftwood, sparks dancing against the darkening sky like fireflies. Somewhere down the beach a woman with a rich soprano voice sang "Music of the Night" from
Phantom of the Opera.
She sang softly, he guessed, but the haunting music carried, causing Nell's fingers to curl against Hugh's palm.

"How lovely," she whispered.

They retrieved their shoes and made their silent, groping way up the zigzag trail to the grassy bluff and along the loop road to the lodge. Delicious smells and the clink of cutlery from the restaurant followed them up the stairs to their room beneath the roof.

"Are you hungry?" Nell asked brightly. "Shall we go eat next?"

He was hungry, all right, but knew when to bide his time. "Sure," he said agreeably.

Once again, they separated to change clothes, but this time he only smiled at her shyness. Her kiss had given her away. "You can run," he murmured, "but you can't hide."

She came out of the bathroom. "What?"

"Nothing. Shall we go down?"

They were seated by the window, but the sunset show was over. The big window framed only darkness. Even in here, however, the roar of the surf was a presence, a never forgotten reminder of the powerful ocean just outside.

In candlelight, her face was mysterious, her eyes big and shadowed, the curve of her lips and the strong line of her cheekbones enhanced. Hugh found himself watching her mouth, remembering her feel and taste. It was all he could do to maintain his side of a conversation he suspected was inane.

Pauses became longer. Damn, he was hard just thinking about the night ahead. Their wedding night. Would he yet be able to feel the swell of their child?

When the waitress stopped, smiling, at their table to ask, "Have you looked at the dessert menu yet? Or can I get you coffee?"

Hugh shook his head. "Not for me. Would you like something, Nell?"

Her eyes not leaving his, she shook her head. "No. Thank you."

He jotted down their room number on the check and rose to his feet, holding out a hand. Nell came to him. He couldn't tell if she was being obedient or eager, but at least she hadn't been coward enough to ask for ice cream or a cup of coffee to be slowly sipped as a way to delay.

Alone in their room upstairs, Hugh locked the door and turned her to face him. Now he saw how wary her expression was, and dismay and frustration grabbed his throat.

He swallowed, hard. "We don't have to do this. If you want to wait, get to know me better…"

Nell made a ragged sound. "I'm pregnant with your baby."

"Still, I'm offering." Wishing like hell he weren't such a gentleman. "I don't want you if you're giving yourself as payment for a wedding ring."

Her eyes narrowed and her voice became silky. "Is that what you think? I wanted your name for this baby, so I'm sacrificing myself?"

Harshly he said, "I want to be sure you aren't."

She was silent, complex emotions crossing her face. Finally she said, "Down on the beach, did I kiss you as if I were offering myself up?"

"I felt your reluctance." Right this second, he hated himself for his insistence on bluntness. Why couldn't he have just taken what was his? "I want to be sure, it wasn't repulsion."

There it was, out in the open, his plea:
Tell me you don't find me distasteful.

"Repulsion?" she echoed in obvious astonishment. "That's what you think?"

He didn't think, he feared.

He didn't say anything.

She started to laugh, softly at first and then so hard she sagged onto the edge of the bed and clutched her stomach.

His jaw clenched.

"You think I'm repulsed!" She laughed until tears sprang into her eyes. At last, wiping away the tears, she said, "Hugh McLean, you are the most beautiful man I've ever seen. I have spent years envying all those … those Kelly
Nordstroms
and Roberta
Vangels
. Because you
looked
at them." Her voice became the faintest bit tremulous. "But never at me."

Hoarse with disbelief, he said, "You didn't like me."

Pink touched her cheeks, but her smile was mischievous. "Maybe not, but women lust, too, you know."

For a moment, he couldn't move, taking it in. She wanted him.

"You looked at me."

She gave a tiny nod. "I looked at you."

"Good." He knew his smile was wolfish as he advanced on her. "Keep looking, lady. This time, I intend to see you."

She started to rise from the bed, and he let her, but only so he could lift her into his arms.

Nell squeaked. "What…?"

He let them both fall, legs tangled, arms holding each other tight. "I want you," Hugh muttered, and claimed her mouth.

He meant to take it slow, a night of memories to supplement the blurred, disconnected images of their first time. He hadn't counted on the ferocity of the desire that clawed at him. How had he endured
months
after having her once? He wanted to rip her clothes off and bury himself in her
now.
They could savor later.

He had to stop kissing her long enough to tear her T-shirt over her head and drink in the sight of her tall, slim body. Her bra was tiny, a delicate confection of midnight-blue lace that he never would have suspected her of choosing.

"Pretty," he said huskily.

"I bought it for you," she whispered.

He kissed her chest, rubbed a cheek against the soft swell of breast above the lace. This was their wedding night. She'd bought sexy lingerie for him. He couldn't take her like some kind of animal. Voice thick, he told his wife, "That's the kind of gift I like." With one hand he sought the snap of her jeans. "Let me unwrap the rest."

"No fair." She tugged at his shirt.

He willingly helped her pull it off without losing sight of his main goal. Unzipping her jeans was incredibly erotic, her skin pale and silky, the deep-blue lacy panties veiling and teasing in a way that wrenched a groan from him. His self-control wasn't helped any by the way she lifted her hips so that he could take her jeans off. He wanted her legs wrapped around him and her hips rising eagerly to meet him.

But he was almost distracted by her legs. She had the most gorgeous legs he'd ever seen, unbelievably long, slender and taut with just enough muscle. He dropped the jeans, kissed the arch of her foot, and said—tried to say, "You're gorgeous." Given the rasp of his voice, who the hell knew what she heard?

He kissed and nipped his way up those incredible legs until he reached that scrap of silk and lace, where he nuzzled her until she moaned and moved restlessly, one of her hands gripping his hair.

"No fair," she said again. He thought she said. She didn't sound like herself, either.

"All's fair in love," he reminded her.

"And
war." For just an instant, she was her tart self, provoking a grin from him.

"Which is this?"

Her smile was deliciously sexy. "We can decide later."

He laid a hand on her belly. "You don't show."

"I'm only a little over two months along. Even so, my pants are all getting tight. I used to be, um, concave when I laid on my back." She eyed herself ruefully. "There's something in there."

He kissed her stomach and murmured, "Hi, baby."

"This means we're not alone," she reminded him. "Maybe what we're going to do isn't appropriate."

"What's the kid know?" He suckled first one breast and then the next through the silk, feeling the hard nub of her nipples.

"Nothing," she whispered, arching. "Oh. Don't stop."

With a flick of his finger, he released her bra and brushed aside the dark silk to expose breasts that just filled his hands. "Nothing," he promised her huskily, "will stop me now."

He made love to her as slowly as he could bear, watching her relax, then tense, seeing her eyes darken and become desperate, feeling her kneading fingers dig into his muscles. He explored in turn her breasts, her pale throat, her swollen mouth. Between kisses, Nell reached for his belt.

"Your turn."

He let her fumble for a minute, but his patience was eroding like the cliff in a winter storm. Pushing aside her hands, he yanked down his jeans and discarded them.

She stared until he moved uneasily. "You've seen a naked man before. Hell, you've seen
me
before."

"Can't I enjoy looking?"

"No, damn it!" he growled, and bore her down.

This kiss was damp and drugged, a white-hot melding of mouths and tongues. Her legs twined with his, so that finding his way between her thighs was as natural as breathing. More necessary, right now.

He entered slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, feeling her shuddering tightness. Every muscle in his body locked with the effort to hold back, not to thrust hard and deep with a guttural, animal cry of triumph—as he vaguely remembered doing that night in the Explorer.

"Don't … stop," she panted once, then again when he hesitated too long.

Voice raw, he said, "I don't want to hurt you."

She laughed, a husky, high sound that stirred a chord deep in him. "Why would it hurt? Anyway, I don't care … if it hurts … a little."

He groaned, and buried himself the last few inches, watching her eyes glaze.

"Yes. Oh, please," she whispered. "Do it again."

Hugh lost it then. He pulled back, then thrust, gripping her buttocks to lift her to meet him. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders, an exquisite pain that sharpened every sensation.

Waiting for her was the single hardest thing he'd ever done. Waiting for tonight, waiting for her to find the completion that begged to rip through him.

His reward came when she shuddered around him and gazed at him with astonishment and wonder. "Hugh?" she asked.

He buried his body one last time in hers and groaned, all the answer he could give her.

Those three days
were the best of Nell's life, shadowed only a little by anxiety about the future.

It wasn't that she didn't love Kim so deeply she ached with it, but raising a child alone had always been scary. She'd breast-fed her tiny daughter in one pathetic rented room after another, potty-trained her in a shabby duplex with the landlord beating on the door wanting to know where the rent was. She'd read Kim library books, tucked her in each night only to go to bed in terror herself over where tomorrow's grocery money would come from. Even when she finished school and was hired on by the department, getting by was hard. Her fear of being on the street again was always there. Not until the day she paid off the mortgage would she believe no one could throw them out of their home. Single days here and there shone in her memory, but always she lived with the knowledge that she was responsible for her child's health and happiness and hope for a secure future. How could she relax and just enjoy?