Simmer All Night (29 page)

Upon learning Hartsworth had a fishing pavilion and visiting it for the first time last week, Chrissy fell in love with the place. Positioned at one end of a small, ornamental lake, and flanked by a pair of boathouses, the stone structure was the size of an average Texan house, but much more richly appointed. From its plasterwork ceiling, to walls hung with gilt-framed oil paintings depicting sea serpents and sirens, to furnishings fine enough to grace a palace and a thick, rich carpet that stretched from wall to wall, the fishing room was a world away from the muddy river bank where Chrissy was accustomed to throwing out her line.

The earl had joined her on her third visit in as many days, and she had mentioned how much she enjoyed the peaceful privacy of the place. Anxious as always to spoil her, he issued instructions that the building be kept for Chrissy's exclusive use every afternoon. Because safety's sake required she have company whenever she took a boat out onto the lake, most often she contented herself to cast her line from the fishing room's central Venetian window, which extended out over the water.

On those days, an attendant accompanied her to the pavilion, fired up the boilers that supplied hot water to the adjacent plunge bath, lit the fireplace, and then departed, leaving Chrissy to delight in her privacy. Today was one of her solitary days and she reveled in the pleasure of being alone.

I'll catch one more fish, then head for the plunge bath,
she thought, casting her line through the window into the water below.
The water should be warm by now.

The plunge bath had quickly become Chrissy's favorite amenity at Hartsworth. From the fishing room, the bather entered an antechamber with tiled walls and an elaborate mosaic chimneypiece depicting Poseidon's kingdom. From there, double doors led into the skylit plunge pool chamber where a double staircase swept around a central plinth holding a statue of a bathing Diana. Two circular flights of steps with curved ends led from there down to an oval-shaped pool.

It was such a cozy, inviting place that Chrissy contemplated bringing a bed down from Hartsworth and moving in. Here she had the quiet to think and to dream. Here she had no memories of Cole leaning against a fireplace or flipping through a book taken from library walls. Here she could literally let down her hair and don her most comfortable clothes without risking her reputation.

Sunshine beamed through the open window and glinted off the threads of gold woven through the scarlet sash she wore tied around her waist. Setting her fishing pole aside, she lifted one end of the sash and held it up, moving it forward and backward, playing with the sunlight. How good she felt this afternoon, dressed in her Chili Queen clothes without a corset or bustle in sight. She'd slept well last night, too. For the first time in over a week—ten days to be exact—her dreams had been innocent fancies rather than restless, erotic tales with Cole Morgan cast in the starring roll.

"Oh, don't think about him," she grumbled softly. "It's too nice an afternoon to spoil."

Thinking about Cole would definitely spoil the day. She still couldn't believe he'd left without a by-your-leave to her. The shock, the fear, that gripped her when her grandfather announced his departure had shaken her very foundation. Thank goodness Welby knew of his plans and had been able to assure Chrissy that he'd left only on some mysterious errand and had promised to return to Hartsworth as quickly as possible. The scope of her relief had appalled her and sparked an anger that had brewed ever since. When she wasn't dreaming about him, that is.

Searching for a distraction, she rearranged her chair until it sat scandalously in the sun. "You wicked woman," she said with a grin, kicking off her shoes and pulling off her stockings. One of the main purposes of the fishing pavilion was to allow ladies to dabble a hook without subjecting them to sunshine.

Happy to risk the scandal of a few freckles, she propped her bare feet up on the window sill, the fishing line threaded between two of her toes, and tipped her chair back so that it rested on only two legs.

Warm rays of sunlight kissed her skin, soaked into her bones. "Hmm..." she murmured, stretching languidly. Confident of her privacy, she tugged up the hem of her scarlet-colored skirt and the white petticoat beneath, baring her legs to the sun's heat. From the fireplace behind her drifted the pleasing aroma of chili as it cooked in the Dutch oven she'd appropriated from the kitchen at Hartsworth.

Shutting her eyes, she allowed her mind to wander and soon found herself at home in Texas. She was reclining along the bank of the San Antonio River on a beautiful autumn afternoon. Floating along on the soft, gentle breeze came the scents and sounds of the Plaza de Las Armas a short distance away. Chili con queso and patent medicine hawkers and music—bold, soul-stirring notes that seeped into a woman's blood and made her feet want to dance. And Cole, the man she loved, talking to her. Scolding her. Whipping her skirt down over her legs as he said, "Dammit, woman. Anyone could come walking by and get a right fine eyeful. Don't you have any sense?"

Everything happened at once. She jerked open her eyes, a fish yanked on her line, and she lost her balance and tumbled to the floor, landing hard on her behind. "Cole!" she exclaimed, staring up in astonishment.

His gaze shifted from her bare legs to her naked shoulders then back to her legs. "Oh, Bug."

Tension flared like a match flame between them. A part of Chrissy wanted to cover herself and demand to know where he'd been. For ten long days now her anger had simmered. He'd left without a word, without so much as a note, and she'd be hanged if she'd allow a man to treat her so rudely.

Yet for those same ten days, another newly awakened side of her had done its share of simmering. That Chrissy wanted to lie back and beckon him to follow, to use her mouth for things other than talking.

"Oh, Bug," he breathed again.

Time hung suspended, finally broken by the clatter of her fishing pole falling to the ground. Cole jerked as if he'd been hooked himself. "You have a catch, Christina. Do something with it."

Oh,
don't I want to.

When she didn't move, he gave an exasperated snort and reached for the pole himself, grumbling beneath his breath all the while. "Fool woman. Won't pay attention. Waste a good bait." He reeled in the fish, a nice two-pound trout, then removed the hook and tossed the fish out the window and into the stream as he continued his complaints. "Doesn't have the sense God gave a goat. Brand new Castaway Musky Minnow. Makes it all the way across the Atlantic then dang near gets lost in a Derbyshire stream. No business fishing if you can't pay attention."

He propped the pole against the wall, washed his hands in the nearby marble sink provided for that purpose, then grabbed a towel and glared down at Christina.

Feeling needy and itchy and oh-so-glad to see him, Chrissy reacted in her natural manner. She yanked back her foot, then kicked him in the shin.

"What do you think you're doing, sneaking up on me like that? And that was my fish. You had no right to throw it back."

"I beg to differ," Cole fired back. "You were torturing the poor thing with your inattention. You were asking to lose your lure."

"I was not. I still have my lure. I have plenty of lures."

"Then learn how to use them right."

"You don't think I can use my lures properly?"

"I sure haven't seen a sign of it so far."

"Keep talking and I'll lure you."

He snorted. "I'd like to see you try."

Chrissy had no other choice. Taking hold of the round neckline of her white linen blouse where it hung below her shoulders, she tugged downward and bared her breasts. "Come here, Cole."

"Oh, Bug," he said a third time, his blue eyes burning. "Every fish in the sea would be begging to climb on your hook."

Then he was down on the floor with her, kissing her. Touching her. Part of Chrissy was appalled by her actions. Part of her knew she should stop this reckless behavior. Part of her sensed that whatever business had taken him away for the past ten days wouldn't be business she liked.

But another part of her, the heart of her, reveled in being in Cole Morgan's arms once more.

When his mouth fastened around her nipple and sucked, she shivered. When his hands delved beneath her flowing skirt, sweeping up her thigh, she shuddered. When his fingers found her woman's flesh and worked her, fast and frenzied, driving her higher and higher and higher until she tumbled over the peak, she shattered.

While she lay trembling, boneless and sated, he entered her, claiming her in one long, hard stroke. Then he took her up again.

Cole. Cole. Cole.
His lips on hers were hungry. His manner desperate. He had the way of a man fighting a tide, battling a demon. And the devil was his own desire.

Chrissy gave herself. Swept along on a flood of senses that surged and crested, then surged and crested again, she sank into the rolling, boiling heat. It was a magnificent hell.

Again and again he pounded into her, driving deep, gloriously deep. Her name tore from his lips, a cry, a groan, a prayer and the sound of it filled her with power.

Her hands swept over his sweat-dampened skin, her nails digging into his back as she arched her hips and met him stroke for stroke. Her mouth raced boldly across his body, licked him, nipped him, explored him until another climax ripped through her.

But still, he didn't stop. They rolled across the floor, thrashing, writhing. Violent. His mouth and his hands were merciless. It was torture now. He was killing her. She wanted it to end. She never wanted it to end. Pleasured pain. Painful pleasure.
Oh, Cole. I love you... love you... love you.

"Mine, Lady Bug. You are mine."

This time when she fell, he plunged with her.

Chapter 12

Cole tried to feel bad about falling on Christina like a man possessed, but he didn't succeed. He felt too good to feel bad.

Rolling onto his back, he lay with his eyes shut as he tried to catch his breath and took stock. He had intended to go about this a little more smoothly. Seduction was a significant part of the plan he'd put together to woo Christina to the altar, but it looked like he'd miscalculated his own response in the area of sexual intimacy. In hindsight he realized he should have known better. One taste of Christina Delaney was like one sip of water on a blazing summer day. It fell far short in quenching a man's thirst.

Beside him, he felt Christina stirring. He was just starting to reach for her when she asked, "Where have you been?"

Cole grimaced. "C'mon, honey. Can't we enjoy a little stretch of peace before the war starts in again? Couldn't we start with a hello or something?"

"Excuse me," she drawled in a dry, rueful tone, "but I do believe we just took care of the 'something'."

She did have a point there. "Yes," he said smugly. "Now that I think about it, that's about the nicest 'hello' I've ever had."

"Me, too," she replied, her lips stretching into a slow, satisfied smile.

He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. "You sure are something else, sweetheart. In addition to being delectable and delicious, you are always a surprise."

"Why do you say that?" she asked, her gaze warm and tender.

"Well, for one thing, I thought you'd be angry at me when I returned to Hartsworth."

"I am." She closed her eyes and gave her body a sinuous stretch. "If I ever get my energy back, I'll light into you for leaving without so much as a word to me."

Cole lifted her hand to his mouth and nipped at it gently. "Honey, if this is the way you react when you're angry, maybe I should go away more often."

She cocked open one eye. "Maybe you should go away—period."

"Ah, Lady Bug." He rolled toward her and nuzzled her neck. "That's not a very nice thing to say."

She bent her head, offering him more surface to kiss. "You make me cranky. I don't like being left behind. Where did you go, Cole?"

He sighed heavily, then debated how much to tell her for just a little too long.

Impatience brewed in Christina's eyes as she tugged her blouse back up over her shoulders, ruining the magnificent view. "You have no room to talk about being nice. Leaving like you did was downright mean." She punctuated her sentence by flipping down her skirt to finish covering herself.

Next time get her
clothes
off, Morgan, instead of just out of the way.
Obviously the sex hadn't taken the bite out of her temper like it had his. Sitting up, he reached for his trousers. "What do you mean 'like I did'?"

"As soon as Grandfather announced Lana and Welby's betrothal you stormed out of the Great Hall and left Hartsworth without a word to me."

"Actually," Cole drawled in his driest tone as he stood and pulled on his pants, "I left the Marble Hall when he announced I was gonna marry a man."

That brought a flash of a smile to her lips, though he'd have missed it had he not been watching closely. No real surprise she found that amusing. When it had happened, even Cole had seen the humor in the moment. For a second, there, the entire Marble Hall had gone quiet, as if the guests had been transformed, joining the ranks of marble statues.