Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (26 page)

“And”—her lips drew near, teasing him with her minty breath—“it’s no longer just my cheeks that burn for you.”

A fragile flicker of hope kindled deep inside of him. But no, she’d given her heart to Devane. He didn’t want it,
didn’t want her. Not anymore. There’s no going back after betrayal…No way to mend that breach…

Gently she nibbled along his jaw, his neck and his earlobe. “I no longer jump away like a frightened rabbit,” she whispered, her breath teasing inside his ear. “I want you and I’m not scared of it, Marcus. I’m no longer afraid of how you make me feel.”

Hope suddenly blazed higher, tempting him to believe. Despite himself, he asked, “But Devane—”

“I don’t want Prescott.” She bit his lower lip between sharp teeth and released it, declaring, “I want to dance in
your
flames.”

The ice encasing his heart cracked. “But I saw him—”

“There is no one but you, Marcus. You are the only man in the world for me and there can be no other.”

The fissure in his chest erupted and he began to thaw. He wanted to believe, oh how he wanted to believe.

“I would never betray you, Marcus.” Her velvety cheek brushed his. “I am still untouched by any man. And quite anxious for you to remedy that situation.”

Her words caused the most incredible feeling of fullness in his chest.

Her lips claimed his—open, wet,
possessive
. He opened his mouth with an eagerness born from despair.
I’m not a lone wolf,
he thought.
I have my mate.
Her tongue glided, played, enticed, drawing him in as a bee is drawn to sweet nectar. Her fingers splayed across his chest, warm and enthralling. She was spring, melting the wintry frost frozen inside of him over so many years. She’d given hope rebirth, when he’d thought he’d lost it forever.

Pulling slightly away, Cat wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close. “I’m so glad you came back to me, Marcus,” she murmured. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

“I
’m coming in,” came a call from behind the door. The entry opened and Dr. Winner stood in the threshold. His loose lips were rounded into an “O” and his brown brows almost reached his receding hairline.

Catherine tried to pull back from Marcus’s embrace, but he held on, keeping her close. She peered over Marcus’s shoulder and cleared her throat. “Uh, hello, Dr. Winner.” Her cheeks burned, but she wasn’t half as embarrassed as she knew she should have been. She was an unmarried woman kissing a man, obviously not her husband…

The thought brought an ache to her heart, but she pushed it away. Today. He was hers for today. She couldn’t think of tomorrow.

“I need the laudanum for Evie.” Winner scooted past them and retrieved the bottle from the bedside stand.

Catherine knew for a fact that the good doctor had three more bottles in the other room. She appreciated Winner’s concern, but wished that everyone wouldn’t judge Marcus so harshly. If only they knew how much horror he had to
face. If only they could see how sweet he truly was.

“Evie?” Marcus blinked. “What’s wrong with Evie?”

Dr. Winner waved a hand. “You tell him, Catherine.” Then he exited the room, considerately closing the door behind him.

Concern flashed in the sea blue depths of Marcus’s gaze. “What happened to Evie?”

Catherine sighed. Marcus was back to himself, and it was time, she supposed, for her to get back to reality as well. “There was an accident. Evie was playing in the kitchen. Her gown caught fire.”

“How bad?” his voice cracked.

Recalling the frightful red marks and Evie’s cries, she shuddered. “Dr. Winner says that it will be a difficult recovery, but that she should be all right. It could’ve been so much worse.” She shook her head. “So much worse. Prescott stamped out the flames with his hands. Thank heavens he was wearing gloves.”

Marcus’s face fell as realization dawned on him. He released her and sank onto the bed in a daze. “Dear Lord, I threw him to the floor.” He groaned, covering his eyes with his hands.

Gently she stroked his black hair. “You weren’t yourself—”

“I almost hate myself for asking, but I have to know. What were you two doing when I came in?”

“I was scratching his back. With his hands bandaged, he can’t scratch his itches.”

“Oh.” He dropped his hands, self-loathing filling his gaze. He shook his head. “I’m a fool. There’s no excuse for behavior like that. I owe a round of apologies.” He shook his head. “To Devane. And Winner. And oh, dear Lord, Mrs. Nagel. They must think I’m a monster…”

Catherine sat down beside him. “Marcus,” she started,
trying to keep her tone mild and nonjudgmental, “why did you attack Prescott?”

He took her hand, pressing it between his palms. “I thought you’d left me for him. When I heard that he’d moved into my father’s room and was sleeping in my father’s bed—”

“Who told you?”

“Timmy.”

She shook her head. “Blast, how that lad likes to kick up the dirt and see what sticks.”

“He said the oddest things about you and Devane’s clothing…”

Her cheeks heated and she realized that Timmy’s flair for the inflammatory was almost a talent. He’d seen her holding Jared’s clothing wound around the satchel of jewels.

She wasn’t ready to talk about her nocturnal activities. Marcus was too raw and in many respects, so was she. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering spilling everything to him.

“So you have no feelings for Devane?” Marcus asked, vulnerability lacing his tone.

She blinked, refocusing on Marcus. “Prescott is my dear friend. But he and I…” She shook her head. “We don’t fit.”

Knowing it might lead to his own downfall, he garnered his courage, and voiced his fear, “I believe that he loves you.”

She thought about it a long moment. “I don’t think that he does. We’re like…chums.” She shrugged. “Don’t misunderstand me, I love him, but we’re better off as friends, is the only way I can put it.”

“I need a word with you when you come up for air, Cat,” Prescott demanded from behind the closed door.

So Winner had told Prescott about her kissing Marcus.
Why did she suddenly feel guilty? Because, she realized, even if she understood that Prescott didn’t love her, he was very fond of her still and might be hurt, if only a little.

Marcus glanced from the door back to her. “You still believe he doesn’t love you?”

“He’s just worried about me, I’m sure. We watch out for each other.” Brushing aside his raven hair, she kissed his cheek, loving the scent of sandalwood. Sighing, she rose, sorry for her reconciliation with Marcus to end.

Marcus stood. “I owe him a monumental apology. And my thanks, for Evie, for taking care of you…He’s a good man.”

“Don’t look so surprised. People do grow up.”

He nodded. “Leopards do change their spots sometimes.”

They shared a secret smile. Something tender fluttered in Catherine’s chest, then it spread over her, like a blanket, warming her to her bones.

Marcus leaned over and kissed her gently. “One more for good luck.” Then he walked over to the door.

Taking a deep breath, he opened it.

Prescott stood in the threshold, his golden-hued face molten red. It looked as if his bandages were fresh and thank the heavens he didn’t look too much the worse for wear. The ferocity she saw in his gaze reminded her of the angry child he’d been, and worry suddenly sprouted in her middle.

Marcus opened his hands in supplication. “I’m so sorry for how I treated you, Devane. I was under a gross misimpression. But that’s no excuse.”

Prescott started, as if surprised. Then his eyes narrowed. “Afraid I’ll call you out?”

“There’s no need, Devane. It was my fault entirely. I apologize.”

Prescott’s lips pressed into a stubborn line that Catherine knew well. “And if I don’t accept it?”

Fearful, Catherine stepped over and gently grabbed his arm. “You must be feeling terrible. Let me help you to the bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed,” Prescott growled, “I want to rip his bloody head off.”

Catherine shot Marcus a meaningful glance. “Why don’t you go look in on Evie. I want a word with Prescott.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ll see you later.” With an inward sigh, she watched Marcus turn and walk out the door. The man had no right to be that gorgeous.

Gently she eased Prescott into the armchair by the window. Then she lifted the footstool that had brought her so close to Marcus and carried it over to Prescott’s chair.

While she turned and grabbed a blanket, Prescott placed his bare feet on the stool. She laid the blanket across his lap and pulled up a chair facing him.

He watched her every move, like a hawk does its prey. “Do you love him?”

“Yes.” She was surprised by her lack of hesitancy.

“It’s not some lingering infatuation from when you were a child?”

She shook her head. “No. This is real.”

He swallowed, turning to stare out the window. “How can you be so sure?”

Exhaling loudly, she shook her head. “I just know.”

“Will you marry him?”

“I can’t leave Andersen Hall, especially when things are so unstable. And I can’t leave my brother.”

“I didn’t ask that, Cat. I asked if you would marry him.” His green gaze met hers. “You’ve always sworn that you’d never wed. Servitude you’d called it.” He jerked his chin toward where Marcus had gone. “What about him?”

“He’s going back. I can’t leave.” She shrugged with a
helpless smile, trying to ignore the ache in her heart. “It’s not an option.”

“So what will you do?”

She sighed. “Love him until he leaves.”

Prescott pursed his lips, looking out the window. The cries of children playing wage-war could be heard outside. “Cat?”

“Yes?”

“I have a confession to make.” His gaze met hers and the strain she saw in it tore her heart. “If the roles had been reversed. If it had been me coming in and finding you with him…Well, I wouldn’t have stopped at tossing me to the floor.” He grimaced. “I was milking it, I’ll admit it.” A glimmer of mirth entered his green eyes. “The old nursing sympathy ploy works almost as good as the knight in shining armor tactic.”

She smiled, so glad to see the tension in him ease. “You always have one trick or another up your sleeve, Prescott Devane.”

“Yes, well, someone has to keep things interesting around here.”

Oh, if only he knew how very interesting things had been…

“You haven’t insulted me in days.” He sighed. “I wonder that this love business isn’t dulling your sharp tongue.”

“Don’t fret, honey.” Standing, she patted his shoulder. “I will always have an insult handy just for you, Prescott.”

“Thank heavens, I was worried.”

They shared a smile. Seeing how his eyes were red-rimmed and drooping and how the crease was back between his brows, she gently tucked the blanket. “You look dreadful.”

“I wasn’t begging for one now, Cat.” His voice was thin with pain.

“No, really, you look wretched. Try to get some sleep.”

“You just want to rush to your lover,” he muttered.

She grimaced, her cheeks heating. “Guilty as charged.”

Prescott tried to keep his voice light, “Oh, go on. I just hope he knows what a lucky bastard he is. If not, I might just have to kill him.”

With a dreamy smile on her face, Cat planted a kiss on his temple. “I’ll be back to look in on you soon.”

“Not too quickly, I hope,” he muttered.

Marcus had never wanted anybody this much in his entire lifetime. Cat had come to him at the guesthouse as she had before, but she was different this time. Oh, she had her usual double dose of passion that, as a rule, had him bounding eagerly like a hound after a bone. But this time, something had altered for her, and hence, for him as well.

Gone was the hesitation of a naïve woman exploring her passion. Cat was truly the lioness, aggressive in taking the lead and demanding her pleasure. Nothing in all of his years could match the effect of Cat’s alteration on him. She made him feel so desired, so electrifyingly
wanted
,
needed
and
loved
, that he felt like a true Adonis.

And like any true god, he was panting after the mortal woman who had him begging on his knees for her.

He was breathless, his body throbbing, his skin afire with desire for this one woman who made him burn. Catherine Miller was the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth and touching her, kissing her, and listening to how she whispered his name was making Marcus happier than he’d ever thought he could be.

She lay stretched out naked before him, her arms en-twined above her head in a golden halo of tresses. Her gray eyes were hooded, her pert nose glossy with sweat and her rosy lips open and swollen from his kisses. Her
back was arched, emphasizing the roundness of her exquisite breasts and the curve of her luscious waist and derriere. Her porcelain skin was rosy with heat, enhanced by the play of golden sunlight washing in from the open window. She took his breath away. She was a masterpiece; but only his to savor.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, bending forward on hands and knees to plant kisses along her bare collarbone. “My little lioness…”

She smiled, a slow, wicked grin that caused his rod to jump in anticipation.

“Me-ow,” she purred, leaning up and licking his nipple.

Her tongue traced the hard nub, going around and around in electrifying circles. Then she took it whole into her mouth and suckled. He felt his groan all the way down to his shaft.

“Marcus,” she moaned and it rippled through her tongue to his nipple.

He closed his eyes, wallowing in the desire pulsing through him. “God, I’ve missed you.” It was a guttural cry.

Her hands traced his lower back, grazing over his bottom. With both hands, she grabbed his buttocks and squeezed.

“I love how you feel,” she murmured, releasing him and gliding her hands up to his shoulders.

His mouth claimed hers and she tasted sweet, intoxicating, divine. He adored her, he realized, and couldn’t get enough of her.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, she rocked her hips, propelling him toward that sacred crevice between her thighs. He pulled up, desperately fighting the urge to drive himself deep into her hot core.

“I want you inside of me, Marcus,” she breathed. “Filling me.”

“But…”

She pushed him aside and rolled on top of him, straddling his waist. “I’m not asking you, Marcus. I’m telling you.” Lifting her hips, she arched her back and guided his shaft to the opening of her womanhood.

Her velvet heat tormented the head of his rod, making it stiffen even more with desire. He’d never been this hard in his life.

He knew that he should stop her, but for some reason he couldn’t remember why.

Slowly she sank downward, sheathing him partway. It took every ounce of his self-control not to buck, not to ram himself full inside of her and mark her as his.

Sweat lined her upper lip and her body was taut with tension. She eased down with excruciating slowness.

He felt it, then. The tightness. The barrier that proved that she’d never been touched by any man, save for him. For all of her assertiveness, she was an innocent. His innocent. Guilt washed over him. He should be protecting her, especially from an undeserving cad like himself.

She wouldn’t leave Andersen Hall; he understood her sense of duty and admired her for it. What would happen when he returned to the Peninsula? What would happen if she became with child? His child…

Was there a way? Cat was his, as clearly as if she were crafted by the gods just for him. If they could only just—

Her inner muscles clenched, driving all thoughts of the future from his mind. She plunged downward with a harsh gasp, sheathing him within her so wholly he saw stars. She felt fantastic, embracing him with her molten heat. No woman had ever felt better.

Cat dropped forward, her hair falling in golden waves. She was breathing hard, her arms quaking.

“Are you all right?” he cried, terrified that he’d torn her in
some irreparable way. It shouldn’t feel that bloody fantastic for him. He bit his lip, desperate not to move for fear that he would harm her further. He was a monster, a beast—