Running Wild (29 page)

“No,” she whispered.

A shudder ran through his body, sparking a corresponding one
in hers. “I want you to touch me,” she blurted out, both shocked and titillated
by her own audacity.

Another shudder coursed through him and he slipped his hand
downward. His fingers glided through the folds to the wet, aching emptiness
hidden there. He entered, and her body convulsed around his fingers.

He tensed and withdrew his hand. His face hardened in sudden
determination. “No,” he said. “No. Damn it, Star, this is
wrong
.”

“I don’t
care
,” she protested through gritted teeth,
for she was now more desperate for release than she’d ever been in her life.
And she was going to get it, here and now, and he would
not
leave her
this way!

She reached for his erection. As he tried to pull away, she
stroked it with one hand, while using the other to rub more of that marvelous
fluid over the head. He groaned and stopped struggling, eyes closed, face
creased in tortured ecstasy. The pulsating center between her legs, just inches
from where his fingers were, swelled in wonder while she watched his jaw
tighten and felt his thighs shake.

“Enough,” he breathed. He knelt between her legs and pushed
her hands away. Touching her with one hand, he guided himself to her entrance.
Her body stretched as he breached that aching, liquid need. Leaning forward, he
placed his free hand beside her head and shoved in a bit deeper. Her eyes
widened. The stretching became discomfort, mixing with that wicked craving.
Bemusement marking his face, he hovered over her, balancing on both hands now,
and then gave a mighty shove, driving home.

Stinging, rending pain shot through her, tearing a yell from
her throat.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed, even as he pulled out and
thrust back in, bringing renewed agony. Oh good God, he was tearing her apart.
He withdrew again, and her body tensed before the next terrible thrust, pulling
another tiny scream from her. Oh, it was wrong. It had to be wrong . . . how
could he . . . how could
it
. . .

He withdrew again. She gripped the blanket, squeezing her
eyes shut as she awaited the onslaught. This time, however, he pulled all the
way out.

“
Sonuvabitch
!”

Relief, sweet relief!

Her body still begged for release.

But not that. Oh
not
that.

Yes, for that.

She opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, his face
creased in alarm. “You’re a
virgin
?”

He was angry, she was hurting, and neither one of them had
found the culmination of love and passion she so dearly longed for. Oh but this
was not the way she’d imagined it at all!

“Why,” she said licking her lips and forcing back tears of
disappointment and frustration. She must try for mirth, laughter, anything.
“Why no, not anymore, I suppose.”

He stared at her, still propped in what now seemed like a
ridiculous position. With a graceful twist, he moved so that he was sitting
next to her, leaving her suddenly cold. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, running his
hands through his hair distractedly. “What the hell have I done?”

Star stared up at the sky, at the stars bright and winking,
as she tried to reason it out. She’d known about the pain, naturally, from
secreted books and magazines, and from what Mother had told her. She’d expected
it to be minor, however, and end quickly, followed by the pleasure that years
of petting had promised.

“I’m sorry,” Nicholas said.

She looked at him. He’d re-fastened his pants and was
staring at her, his face creased, his eyes hidden in shadow. The simplicity in
the tone of his voice, though, told her what she couldn’t read in those
beautiful eyes. “You’ve no reason to feel guilt,” she replied. Pushing her
skirt down over her legs, she sat up. “I started it, and we both know full well
that this is what I’ve wished for since our first meeting.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I doubt
that’s
what you
wanted. I expect you were hoping for something a whole lot more enjoyable.”

A tiny bubble of amusement climbed up her throat. “I
confess, I expected you to at least finish.”

He shook his head. “Not after that scream.”

“Now that’s too much. It wasn’t a scream.”

“It sure wasn’t pleasure,” he said reaching into his pocket.

“No,” she confessed. “It wasn’t that either.”

He handed her a handkerchief. “Here, I reckon you’ll need
this.”

“How remarkably thoughtful of you,” she said sardonically,
taking it from him. He winced and she added, “I’m sorry. That was uncalled
for.”

“Probably not.” He looked toward the ocean as she lifted her
skirt. “If I’d known,” he started hesitantly. “If you’d told me—”

“You’d have been gentler?” she asked hopefully.

“I wouldn’t have done it at all.”

Which was why she had not informed him. She looked at the
stains on his handkerchief, black in the starlight. Ruined. A glance at her
chemise proved that it was stained as well. She’d never thought about how to
conceal her lost virginity from prying eyes; she’d been far too occupied with
plotting the losing of it. The only loss, she thought miserably, that she’d
ever cheerfully anticipated.

“Don’t worry,” he said as if reading her thoughts. He
reached into his pocket and pulled out a jackknife. As she stared in shock, he
flipped open the blade and, with scarcely a wince, drew it across his left
palm. A line of blood followed.

“And how,” she asked in a high, trembling voice, “how will
that help?”

He held out his uninjured hand. “Handkerchief?”

Wide-eyed, she handed it to him. “It’ll explain the blood on
my handkerchief.” He wiped the blade, and then, with hard-learned expertise,
bandaged his injured hand. “If anybody asks, like your maid, we say I fell and
cut myself on a rock.” He closed the knife and stuck it back in his pocket.
“You offered the use of your skirt to staunch the flow while I fished out my
hanky.”

He’d cut himself for her, and for all that she prided
herself on being an independent, highly civilized female, her stomach fluttered
as some primitive part of her thrilled to it. “Do you honestly think anyone
will believe that?” she asked, shakily watching him rise.

“Nope,” he said, holding out his right hand. “But it’s an
explanation and most people won’t question an explanation if the real one is
gonna make ’em uncomfortable.”

She took his hand and rose. “You’re a very astute judge of
character, Nicholas McGraw.” She leaned over to retrieve the blanket.

“No, ma’am,” he said, buttoning up his shirt. “Just read a slew
of books is all.”

“Are we back to ‘ma’am’ again? Considering the situation,
don’t you think addressing me by my first name would be more appropriate?”

Nicholas shrugged into his coat. “I think,” he said as he
knotted his tie, “considering the situation, ‘ma’am’ is
exactly
the
thing I ought to call you. Maybe it’ll keep us both out of trouble.” When he
finished with his tie, he held out his hand. “Come along. We’d best get back to
the house. With any luck we can sneak you through the back door and up to your
room before anyone returns from the festivities.”

She hesitated. “Shouldn’t we discuss this? I can’t agree
that ‘ma’am’ is correct at all.”

“No, ma’am,” he said taking her hand in spite of her
hesitation. “You never have.” He grabbed the basket and started them over the
sand. “We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise.”

Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

John Fletcher, Rollo, Duke of Normandy

Nick’s hands trembled as he straightened his tie in the
mirror. Time to face the music: breakfast first, followed by a talk with Star.
He’d spent half the night lost in a fog of confusion and unfulfilled desire.
He’d taken care of the need in the usual way, but the desire, he thought
brushing lint off his shoulders, stuck like flies to flypaper. Nothing he’d
done since he’d come East, hell since he’d met Star, had really eased it.

Because he was in love with her.

It hadn’t take more than ten minutes after returning to his
room the previous night to admit it. Truthfully, he’d known it for a long time,
but he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her, no way, no how. Not open his
heart to a woman who went through fiancés like water through sand. He’d seen
enough to know that a high-society woman like Star, who hobnobbed with the
Vanderbilts and Astors, wouldn’t—couldn’t—settle for a rough ’n ready rancher.
Not that she’d marry anybody. Star was dead-set against settlin’ at all, proven
by six broken engagements. Yup, he’d found real love for the first time in his
life and it was hopeless. He should’ve stayed in Colorado.

Sighing, he sat on the bed and rubbed the back of his aching
neck, while thoughts of Star pranced through his mind. Of her laughter, her
smile. The way she brought out the silliness in him. She made him feel funny
and smart and charming, too. When he was with her he felt like he was
fun
and, oh, hell, reckless. Nah, he shouldn’t have stayed in Colorado. He wouldn’t
have missed this for all the world.

Taking her as a lover, though, that was another matter
altogether. The heartbreak headed his way when he returned to Colorado was
daunting enough. Lying with her would make it a hundred times worse.

And it was wrong. Wrong, wrong wrong. Betrayal of Ward and
Morgan, of Lee and Port, and even of his own heart.

He set his jaw. Yeah, he’d do the right thing, the honorable
thing, behave like the man his parents had raised him to be, and end it. It’d
be hard as hell, and a full night of contemplation hadn’t given him the right
words. He wasn’t sure there
were
right words, but he’d do it anyhow.

He rose and left for the breakfast room.

The entire Montgomery clan and their guests had gathered
around the table, talking with the typical Montgomery animation. Seated next to
her father, Star lifted her head to catch his gaze as he entered the room. Her
face was pale, her eyes sorrowful and rimmed in dark circles. Dressed in yellow
and white, with her hair pulled back in a simple knot, she looked as innocent
as a newborn kitten. But they both knew she wasn’t. Not anymore.

Because of him.

He swallowed and turned to fill his plate at the sideboard.

“Did you enjoy the fireworks last night, Nicholas?” Morgan
asked as he sat down. She looked at ease and a glance at Ward proved that he
was the same, oblivious to Nick’s betrayal. Guilt filled Nick’s stomach. It was
going to be damned hard to fit food in it, too.

He took a bite of a sticky bun and chewed it as slowly as he
figured manners would allow, while fighting down the urge to holler a
confession. By and by, he managed to swallow both and answered, “Prettiest
thing I ever did see.” His voice came out, miraculously normal.

Because he refused to look at Star. The truth was that
she
was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, which only proved that love had made
him loco. He’d seen some spectacular sights these last couple of months,
including several incredibly beautiful women. That’s what his eyes told him,
but his heart said different. With his heart in control, he could watch Star
for hours just to drink in her beauty. Yup, loco for sure. She’d made him as
mad as if that rabid cougar had bitten him; he was just shy of foaming at the
mouth.

“You could see them from the beach, then?” Lee asked.
Glancing Lee’s way, Nick noticed that instead of his unusual carefree demeanor,
his face was pale and grim. For the first time he marked Jess’s absence. “Jess
and I should have joined you.”

Ward’s eyes flickered over his son. “The doctor said she’s
fine, Leland.”

Nick frowned. “Is Jess sick?”

Lee fooled with a sausage and didn’t answer.

“She fainted,” Jane interjected, “halfway through the
fireworks. I daresay she caused quite a commotion.”

Lee’s face tightened, and his eyes threw bullets at Jane. He
opened his mouth, but Ward interrupted him. “A touch of heat and the
excitement, Jane,” he said smoothly. “That is all. Morgan fainted once or twice
while she was carrying Port.”

Port’s eyebrows lifted. “Why, Mother, I had no notion that I
caused you so much discomfort.”

With that, Lee guffawed. “Indeed? Did you think you were
always
the perfect child, Port? No doubt you imagined yourself born with stunningly
perfect table manners as well!”

Star chuckled, which eased the tightness around Nick’s heart
a mite. “Oh no, I recall vividly Port with apricots smeared across his face!
And
his hands in his dish, as he readied to toss what was left against the wall!
Have a care, Meredith! He is not always the urbane man you believe you married,
especially should you serve him apricots.”

Smiling, Meredith answered in her light voice, “I shall most
certainly take your advice, Sister!”

“Please do, for there is nothing quite so despicable as
apricots,” Port said, giving his wife’s hand a squeeze. “And I shan’t apologize
even at this late date, for against the wall is where they belonged!” The
family laughed, dispersing the tension in the room. Relief lightened Nick’s
heart, followed by a profound sense of belonging. His liking and respect for
these Montgomerys, whose meticulous manners covered ambition, integrity and
honor, had grown into love, too. He’d never warm to Society in general, but
with them, he felt at home. They were family, minus the heavy weight of duty.

If only
, a little voice whispered in the back of his
mind
, if only Star would rethink marriage. I could have it all—parents,
brothers,
her
, for life.