Surrender to the Fury (36 page)

“What was that all about?” Aimee asked as Nick set her carefully on her feet.

“Before I left headquarters, I arranged for Pinder’s capture. The men have been here for hours, waiting for a signal from me. They weren’t to show themselves or move until I had you safely away from the Reb.”

“I was so frightened,” Aimee sighed shakily as she leaned against Nick for support. “I should have known you’d find a way to outsmart Pinder. Take me home, Nick.”

“That’s exactly where I’m taking you, sweetheart. To the house I rented for us. The previous tenants moved just this morning, and it’s ready to move into. I’ll send for Brand and Savannah tomorrow.”

The brownstone Nick had rented was only a short distance from the railway station. When he ushered her inside, she grew warm at the thought of Nick spending the night in her bed. She couldn’t deny the fact that she missed Nick’s arms around her at night She had grown accustomed to the heat and strength of his big body, and sorely missed the comfort and protection of his nearness. But did he feel the same? she wondered as Nick lit a lamp and walked her up the stairs.

Nick threw open a door at the top of the stairs and stood aside so Aimee could enter. He watched
her carefully, his body tense, waiting. “I thought you’d like this room. It’s large and overlooks the garden.”

“It’s lovely,” Aimee said, hardly aware of the huge bed and comfortable furnishings. She had eyes only for Nick, waiting, fearing he no longer wanted her. “But …”

“But what?” Nick asked hopefully.

“I—don’t think I can sleep after everything that’s happened tonight.”

“Would you like me to rub your back?”

Aimee bit her lip in consternation. She’d like him to do more than rub her back, but feared such a declaration would be tantamount to admitting she loved a Yank and was ready to accept their marriage on his terms. Hadn’t Nick said he wouldn’t touch her unless she asked him?

“I don’t think …”

“Lie down, sweetheart,” Nick said. His voice was low, sensuous, softly cajoling. When she merely stared at him, he grasped her arm and led her toward the bed. He set the lamp down and lowered her to the soft surface. Then he turned her on her stomach and began massaging her back.

“This really isn’t necessary, Nick,” Aimee protested.

“Relax, sweetheart, it will help you sleep.” He continued his gentle pummeling, his teasing strokes moving from her shoulder to her buttocks.

It really did feel wonderful, and Aimee sighed in response to his soothing touch. She began to wish there weren’t a layer of clothing between them. Just when she began to doze, she felt his hands slide beneath her dress and move up the inside of her leg. It felt wonderful, and she sighed
contentedly. His hand traveled higher, higher still, stopping just short of that place between her legs that ached for his touch.

“Let me help you with your clothes,” he offered as he began undoing the fastenings on the back of her dress. Within minutes he had stripped her bare. When he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the soft mound of her buttocks, Aimee groaned. He slid his tongue upward along her spine, and she nearly flew from the bed.

“Nick! What are you doing?”

“You’re not sufficiently relaxed yet.”

Abruptly he flipped her to her back. Then his hands were kneading her breasts, moving lower to massage the satiny flesh of her belly and thighs, then returning to her breasts. Her nipples hardened into tight little buds as he paid special homage to them with the gentle friction of his thumb and forefinger.

“Does that feel good?”

Aimee could barely reply.

“Do you want me to continue?”

She shook her head no.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded her head vigorously.

Suddenly Nick’s hand searched the cleft between her legs, encountering the flooding moisture his teasing massage had created, and a knowing smile lifted the corners of his wide mouth. Unrelenting in his subtle seduction, he thrust a finger inside her. Aimee jerked and cried out.

“Are you absolutely certain you want me to stop?”

Aimee gulped convulsively.

Slowly, teasingly, he withdrew his finger, waiting for her to tell him what she desired. He had vowed not to make love to her unless she truly wanted it.

Aimee gasped. “No, don’t stop! Please don’t stop.”

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

His finger returned to her hot sheath, thrusting deeply, withdrawing, thrusting again—deeper.

“Oh, God, I want …”

“Tell me, Aimee. Unless you tell me what you want, I’ll leave and sleep in another room. Perhaps then you’ll have some idea what it feels like to ache for someone you can’t have.”

“Make love to me, Nick. Please.”

“Gladly, sweetheart. You deserve a proper wedding night. But before I do, I want to hear you say you love me.”

Sobbing in frustration, Aimee cried, “I love you, Nick Drummond. God help me, but I love you.”

“I
t seems I’ve waited half my life to hear you say that,” Nick groaned as the weight of his body shifted over hers. He was fully aroused, taut and heavy with his need. He had denied himself so long, he wanted to thrust into her again and again and stroke himself to climax.

But he didn’t He had learned perseverance long ago. Instead, he stretched full length atop her, rubbing his body against hers, making her aware of his arousal and how desperately he needed her.

“Oh God, Nick, hurry.”

“We’ve got all night, sweetheart. And all the nights to come.” The inflection of his voice registered a surprising vulnerability when he added, “This time surrender is forever.”

Aimee did not argue with him, too consumed with touching him, with holding him against her. She felt the warmth of his breath, sensed the heat and tension in him, felt his muscles flex beneath her fingertips, and realized how desperately she had missed him. Needed him. Wanted him.

When she pulled his head down to hers to kiss him, opening her legs in blatant invitation, Nick’s restraint shattered. Reaching down between his
legs, she guided him inside her, then clamped tightly around him. Her hips rocked in invitation, intensifying the delicious burning in her tender depths. Nick groaned as raging passion seized him and he could no longer control the fury that drove him.

He rode her hard, but not hard enough to satisfy Aimee, who urged him to even greater effort with her little cries and gasps. Her hands were never still as they committed to her memory every inch of his flesh. She knew the location of each scar that scored his skin, memorized every curve and indentation, instinctively knew where to touch him to give him the most pleasure. She closed her eyes when his stroking drove her close to the edge.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Nick gasped raggedly. “I want to watch your expression when I take you to paradise.” Her eyes, honey-warm and glowing, slowly opened, meeting the emerald green of Nick’s intent gaze. “Now, Aimee, oh God, now.”

He thrust hard.

“Nick!”

She grasped his shoulders and held on for dear life as his frenzied thrusts lifted her nearly off the bed. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she squeezed tightly, making the pleasure almost unbearable for both of them. The end came to her explosively, at the same time Nick arched hard and held. She felt the hot spurt of his seed and heard his cry moments before shattering into a million pieces.

Sweat blinded his eyes as Nick strained over her, holding his own climax under strict control until he was certain of Aimee’s rapture. Not until
he felt the tiny tremors squeezing him and felt her body convulse around him did he surrender to the clamor of his own pounding blood.

Aimee fell asleep almost immediately, content for the first time in many days. Nick stayed awake awhile longer, watching her sleep, pledging that he’d never allow her to refuse him her bed again. Whether she knew it or not, Aimee needed and loved him as much as he needed and loved her. One day, he vowed, she’d forget that he was a Yankee and remember that the location of one’s birth had nothing to do with love. It was what was in one’s heart that counted. True, they had had a rocky beginning, but all that was in the past They were married, had a son together and a bright future. He fell asleep dreaming of the day he could show Aimee what he would do for her in the name of love.

Aimee accepted the news that Sherman’s sixty thousand blue avengers left Savannah for their second march through the heart of the South with almost fatalistic calm. Nick had told her that Jefferson Davis had rejected unconditional surrender as degrading and humiliating. He explained that Sherman’s march into the heart of South Carolina and Alabama had two strategic purposes: to destroy all war resources in Sherman’s path; and to approach Lee’s rear guard, thereby crushing the Army of Northern Virginia in a vise between two larger Union armies and so wipe out Lee.

Aimee had little to keep her busy in the waning days of winter 1865. She knew for sure now that she was pregnant, but still hadn’t told Nick. She feared that once she told him, her surrender to
him would be complete, leaving nothing of her former self. It would all belong to Nick. Brand, the new baby, herself. That was what he had wanted from the beginning, wasn’t it—to own her body and soul?

One day in March Nick came home bursting with excitement. “My mother is coming to Washington to meet my new wife,” he said. Aimee had known that Nick had a close relationship with his family in Chicago but hadn’t concerned herself with the possibility of meeting them yet. She knew one day she must, but imagined it would be after the war.

“Mother is coming alone. My sister is expecting her first child in two months and doesn’t care to travel at this time.”

“How—wonderful,” Aimee said somewhat hesitantly.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, she’ll love you just like I do. I’ve written her so much about you, she decided to travel to Washington to meet you. We’ve plenty of room here for her.”

“How long will she stay?”

“No longer than two weeks. She wants to be back in time for my sister’s lying-in.”

“When will she arrive?”

“Day after tomorrow. The telegram just arrived telling me of her visit.”

“I know so little of your family,” Aimee said thoughtfully.

“That’s because you never cared enough to ask.” His mild rebuke made her aware that her callous disinterest in his family had hurt him.

“Tell me about them.”

Nick looked pleased as he settled down beside
her. “My mother’s name is Elizabeth. Father died ten years ago, leaving his munitions plant to me and my sister.”

“Munitions plant!”

“Does that bother you?”

“A little,” she said truthfully. “One of the bullets from your factory could have killed Beau. Continue, please.”

“There’s little else to tell.” Nick shrugged. “My sister’s husband is in charge now, and doing a damn good job of it. I’ve decided to sell out my share and invest in something else. Sitting behind a desk never did appeal to me.”

“You weren’t sitting behind a desk when we met aboard the
Dixie Bell
,” Aimee said with a hint of accusation. “I thought you were a professional gambler.”

Nick flashed a wicked smile. “I was on a business trip, and on the spur of the moment I decided to combine it with a little relaxation. Truth to tell, I boarded the
Dixie Belle
because I was intrigued by the notion of a woman gambler. I heard about you long before I ever set eyes on you. I had to see for myself if you were as lovely as they said. I never thought I’d fall in love with you.”

“Did you, Nick? Did you really fall in love with me?”

“How can you doubt me? I told you I searched for you for months afterward.”

“I know that’s what you said …”

“But you don’t believe me.”

“It’s possible,” she temporized. “But go on; you were telling me about your mother.”

“There’s little else to tell. You’ll like her. She’s most anxious to met you and Brand.”

*     *     *

Elizabeth Drummond was just as Nick had described her—a small, energetic woman who seemed to be in constant motion. She wore her graying dark hair in a loosely draped bun set askew atop her head. She still showed hint of the great beauty she must have been during her youth. Aimee liked her immediately. When Elizabeth Drummond met Brand for the first time, she appeared surprised, but quickly recovered herself, asking him to call her Grandma, though she hadn’t yet been told of his true parentage. Brand happily obliged.

Even Savannah was impressed by the woman’s charm and graciousness. Her presence seemed to take some of the strain away from the volatile relationship between Nick and Aimee. Nick had already told Elizabeth that Aimee was a southerner, so she was careful not to mention the war and the terrible things that were happening now to the oppressed and starving people of the South.

When Elizabeth suggested an outing on a sundrenched March day, Aimee readily agreed. They decided to stroll a bit since the weather was so mild. Elizabeth looked as if she had something on her mind, and Aimee waited patiently for Nick’s mother to say exactly what was bothering her. She didn’t have long to wait.

“You can’t believe how happy I am to see Nick settled down and so obviously in love with his wife.”

Aimee flushed, feeling a little guilty over the amount of anguish she had caused Nick.

“You’re just what Nick needed, Aimee dear. And that precious son of yours. The first time I saw him I could have sworn—well, never mind,
but he does look much like Nick did when he was a child. How old is Brand?”

“Nearly six.”

“Six. My, my, he certainly is a big boy for his age. Was his father a large man?”

“His father?” Aimee asked dumbly. She realized that Nick hadn’t told his mother that he was Brand’s father, and that she must be referring to Beauregard Trevor.

Aimee was quiet so long that Elizabeth hastened to add, “You need not speak of your dead husband if it’s too painful, my dear. I don’t mean to pry. I merely wanted you to know how pleased I am with you and Brand. I always knew that Nick would one day find someone he could love as much as he loved that— Oh, my, there I go again, talking too much.”