The Best Bride (17 page)

She turned her face away, breaking the kiss. “I wish you didn't know,” she said, inhaling the scent of his warm body, knowing he would soon remove his strength from her reach and she would be alone again. “I wish I didn't have to see the disgust and pity in your eyes.”

He touched her chin, forcing her to look at him. “What do you see in my eyes?” he asked.

She saw the flames that had been there the last time they'd kissed. She saw compassion, and something she couldn't identify.

“You haven't had time to think it through,” she said, not willing to believe it was that easy.

“Give me a little credit for knowing myself.”

She didn't say anything because she knew he was wrong. In time he would get angry at her for being so young and blind. Her friends had. She'd certainly gotten angry at herself. She was used to the weight of disapproval.

He rose and pulled her to her feet. Then he bent over and picked her up in his arms. She thought about protesting, but she didn't have the energy. She wrapped her arms around his neck and savored the feeling of being safe.

He carried her down the hall into his bedroom. She'd never been in here before. There was a large sleigh bed pushed against one wall. It dwarfed this room, but would look perfect in the master suite. An antique rocker stood in one corner. He settled down on the seat. She started to struggle.

“I'm not Mandy,” she said. “I don't need to be treated like a child.”

“Maybe not,” he said mildly, “but you need a good holding anyway and this is the best way I know to do it.
Relax, Elizabeth. Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”

“You can't make it all right.”

“Sure I can. Even if I can't make it right forever, I can fix it now. Close your eyes. Don't think about it anymore.”

He held her head against his shoulder. His other hand moved slowly up and down her back. The comforting embrace weakened her resistance. She felt the tears forming. She clutched at his shirt and gave in to the pain.

It filled her, surrounding her. All the days and nights she'd lived with her shameful secret, all the lies she'd told, willingly and unwillingly. She'd hoped for a fresh start in this small town. Nothing was the way it was supposed to have been. This shouldn't have happened to her.

Travis murmured quiet words of encouragement. Her sobs lessened. She drew in a ragged breath and turned her face toward his neck. His shirt was damp against her cheek, his legs hard beneath hers. Big strong hands held her gently, as if she were the most fragile of creatures. Something precious. She wanted to believe his embrace. She wanted to know that she was fragile and special, something of value.

“Better?” he asked when she'd been silent for several minutes.

Elizabeth nodded slowly. “Thanks for understanding. Sometimes I'm so overwhelmed by all of it. Not just what went wrong with Sam, but for everything we've lost. I wanted to give my daughter a perfect home with two loving parents.”

“Mandy is fine. You have a new job, you're healing from the surgery. You're both going to make it. So what's the problem?”

She stared at his neck, studying the way his evening stubble roughened his skin. She wanted to touch him there,
to see what he felt like against her fingers, but she couldn't. It wasn't right to repay his kindness with her own selfish needs.

“I can't marry again. I would never trust myself to pick the right man.”

“That's a big decision to make, based on one mistake.” She sat up and glared at him. “It was a hell of a mistake. Who are you to be telling me what I should think about marriage? You've had one bad experience, and you're never getting married again.”

One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I'm glad you're feeling better.” She tried to wiggle out of his lap, but he held her firm. “It wasn't just one experience,” he said, resting his hands on her waist.

She stopped fighting and sagged against him. “Does it hurt you, too? Does it hurt to know you'll always be alone?”

“Yeah. It hurts like hell.”

He reached down for her at the exact moment she raised her head toward him. Their lips met. Unlike their other kisses, there was nothing gentle this time, no soft exploration. It was hard and hot, hungry and desperate. She could feel her own pain and his pain. The hurt, the bleakness of their futures compounded one another, growing until they were both close to drowning in need.

She clung to him, to his arms and shoulders, shifting to move her body closer. His strength would be her salvation. Just for this night, just for this tiny slip of time, she would steal what she had to, give all she could so he would be saved, as well.

His mouth angled over hers, his lips parted. She welcomed him, welcomed the sensations he brought, the forgetfulness of pleasure. That is what she needed, she
thought, feeling his tongue with her own, tasting him, being tasted. She needed to forget everything in her life.

He touched her face, her hair, her shoulders, her back. Whisper-light touches that barely grazed her skin. They set her on fire. She moved closer so that her side pressed against him. Her breasts ached. She wanted him to touch her there, touch her everywhere. The heat of the fire helped her forget. She could get lost in the smoke. Disappear into the flames. He made her come alive in ways she'd forgotten existed.

His hands rested on her waist, then began to move higher. Her breasts swelled, her nipples puckered inside her bra. Against her hip she felt the hard ridge of his erection. An answering wanting moistened her panties.

“Travis,” she breathed in anticipation as his fingers stroked her rib cage.

He buried his face in her neck, kissing the sensitive skin under her jaw, nibbling on her earlobe, whispering her name like a prayer. His lips were warm and damp.

His hands moved higher still, at last cupping her full breasts, taking their weight into his palms. His thumbs swept across her nipples, sending sharp jolts of pleasure down to curl her bare toes. She arched against his caress, searching for more and more of his touch. But instead of assuaging her need, he moved his hands up to her shoulders, then slipped his fingers through her hair and held her head in place.

She opened her eyes and stared at him. The fire burning in his dark irises left no room for any emotion other than passion. She reveled in the need and desire that matched her own.

Never taking her eyes from him, she touched his face. Her fingers traced the straight line of his nose, the shape of his jaw. She heard the rasp of her fingertips against his
stubble, and felt the smoothness of his mustache. She touched his damp mouth, tracing the shape, enjoying the heat. He parted his lips and licked the tip of her finger.

She laughed. He smiled at the sound; then his smile faded and she saw the questions forming in his eyes. Questions that quenched the fire and overpowered the need.

The loss was more than she could bear. “Don't,” she whispered.

“Elizabeth, you're reacting. It's too soon.”

The disappointment tasted bitter. “I thought men always wanted to get women into bed. I guess it's not true.” She tried to slide off his lap, but he held her in place. She flushed. “Or it's not true with me.”

He thrust his hips forward, pressing his erection hard against her. “Do you need more proof that I want you? I'm trying to keep you from having regrets in the morning.”

“You're thinking about my past.” It hurt to be rejected out of hand. The feeling was made worse by the fact that he was the first man she'd been attracted to, or had even kissed, since Sam. She hadn't made love for over a year. She'd never once been tempted to stray, and since she found out the truth about her marriage, she'd been too ashamed to try dating. Nothing had changed. She was still the shy little nobody. The girl who didn't understand boys or know how to attract them. The boys had grown into men, but she was just as lost as ever.

“I'm sorry I embarrassed you,” she said stiffly, wishing she wasn't turning bright red.

“Damn it, Elizabeth, what do I have to do to prove to you that I'm trying to act like a gentleman?”

“Nothing at all— What are you doing?”

He placed one arm around her back and slipped the other
underneath her legs. As he rose to his feet, he pulled her against his chest. He walked four steps to the bed.

“You are the most stubborn woman,” he growled as he bent over and placed her on the comforter.

“Stop. You don't have to do anything. In fact, I'd rather you didn't.” She started scrambling off the other side.

He grabbed both her hands in his. One he held down at the mattress, the other he drew to his crotch and placed against him. Even through his jeans he was hard and hot. He held on to her wrist and moved her palm up and down. A tremor shot through his body, and he gritted his teeth.

“Had enough?” he asked, his eyes once again burning with the fire.

“No,” she said truthfully.

“Elizabeth, don't tempt me like this. You're still recovering from your surgery. You're upset about your past. I don't want you to wake up and hate my guts. I like you too much for that.”

If he'd promised to love her forever, she would have never believed him. If he'd said the truth didn't matter, she would have never forgiven him for the lie. But liking her she could believe. She liked him back. He was the closest thing in the world she had to a friend. He knew the truth about her and hadn't turned his back on her. He might tomorrow. He might pity her or get angry. But for tonight he was her friend.

She reached for the first button on his jeans. “It doesn't have to mean anything. It could just be about tonight.”

“Hell.” He brushed her fingers away and bent down and kissed her.

He didn't wait for an invitation, but thrust inside her mouth savagely, hungrily, as if he'd been given permission to devour that which he most desired. He sucked on her lower lip, nipped her chin, then moved lower to the neck
of her T-shirt. He paused long enough to slip off the offending garment and continue his journey of exploration.

His hands led the way, unfastening her bra to bare her breasts. The evening air was cool, in contrast to the heat of his mouth trailing ever closer. Damp kisses ignited her skin. His scent surrounded her, filling her with images of the man who touched her. She reached out to embrace his body, feeling the muscles in his arms and back, touching his short dark hair.

He murmured her name over and over again as if it were an incantation. His fingers reached for and found her puckered nipples, toying with them, readying them for his mouth.

He moved until he was straddling her. Their jeans slid back and forth creating friction. The bulging male part of him mated with her softer, damper center. Through the layers of clothing, she felt the promise of their joining.

Her hands fluttered against his chest and touched the buttons of his shirt. Before she could unfasten even one, he touched her right nipple with his tongue.

All rational thought fled. Her body awakened painfully to the joy of moist heat, the suckling that pulled exquisitely from her breast through her belly down to her swelling center. Her arms fell to her sides and her hands clung to the comforter. Her hips arched against him seeking the release of his touch.

Her breathing increased. She'd tried not to think about making love with Travis. She hadn't been as successful as she would have liked. She'd known he would be tender and patient, qualities she'd seen in him every day. She thought she might enjoy the feel of his body close to her, on top of her, his powerful strength reminding her of her femaleness. His broad shoulders made her feel fragile—and safe.
She'd known she would enjoy his attentions, but she hadn't expected to lose control.

His fingers toyed with her other breast, teasing the hardened tip with the flick of his thumb. His kiss on her deepened, then he drew back and moved his lips over her nipple. The individual hairs of his mustache swept over her sensitized skin, making her gasp and bringing her shoulders up off the bed. She reached up and grabbed his head, holding him in place. She'd never been aggressive in bed before. She'd never offered any comments on Sam's performance. He'd pleased her most of the time, and she'd been content with that. He'd occasionally asked her to be the aggressor, but she'd never had the courage to act without being acted upon.

But now, she had no choice in the matter. Those tiny prickling caresses made her breath catch and legs tremble. She couldn't bear for him to stop. He kept moving back and forth against her breasts, taunting her with the movement. Her hips flexed again and again, pressing harder against his arousal. She was more ready than she had ever been. So close it hurt to breathe hard, and yet he hadn't even touched her there.

When she thought she would explode or go mad, he slid down her body, trailing kisses to the waistband of her jeans. He sat up and unfastened the button and slipped the zipper down. She had enough awareness to raise her hips to assist him.

It was only when she felt his mouth on her thigh that she realized he'd taken off her panties along with her jeans. Before she could be embarrassed, he moved his hands between her legs and urged her to part them.

She willingly availed herself to him, anticipating the skillful touch of his fingers. Something warm fanned her most secret place. A breath of air. Her eyes opened. Before
she could react, his fingers drew her open and he kissed her moist, quivering center.

A thrill of pleasure shot through her. Her protest died unspoken. She'd read about this, of course, had even taken Sam into her mouth once, but he'd pushed her away telling her it was dirty. She'd wondered what it would feel like to have a man touch her so intimately. A thousand questions filled her mind. What exactly was he doing with his tongue? Did he like the taste and scent of her? Could he feel her muscle contracting as he—