The Bride Wore Blue (9 page)

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

She became unnaturally silent then and stayed that way throughout the remainder of the meal, no matter how hard he played for a reaction.

When it was over, he insisted: he washed, she dried. And in the homey intimacy of shared soap suds and softening daylight, he felt a slow and gentle relaxing of her guard again.

One step at a time, Hazzard, he cautioned himself later as he held himself in check with a painfully brief goodbye kiss on her cheek, collected Hershey and flew off into the sunset.

He had a plan, he kept assuring himself. And as soon as he figured out what it was, he was going to put it into action.

* * *

As it turned out, the plan developed kind of naturally. He kept showing up. She kept letting him. How could he not just fly with it?

Not a day went by during the next two weeks that he didn’t “drop in” to bring her more fish, or to see how she was doing, or to try to make her laugh or roll those pretty eyes of hers or to simply look at him as if she was trying to figure out how far she could let herself trust him.

He didn’t ply her for more information. He didn’t press for more intimacy. He talked and he laughed and he gave her time and room and his company. And he steered clear of any conversation about the poachers, and his niggling concern that her friend Abel Greene might still be involved.

Instead, he concentrated on her. He let her get to know him, get to like him, and more importantly, get used to having him around. They went on long walks together; sometimes they even ran together. He fixed a leaky water pipe with his duct tape, they gave a disgruntled Hershey a bath in the lake and one afternoon he actually brought her flowers instead of fish, then helped her plant them in the flower bed in the front yard.

Tonight, two weeks after he’d discovered her in the bay, he decided his slow and easy approach had been a wise choice of tactics. They sat side by side near the fire he’d made in the stone ring that he’d built for her by the shore. Hershey chased fireflies and made her grin as the moon rose high and full, reflecting its light like a shimmering yellow ribbon on the surface of the bay. It came to him as they shared the special night, that this was the first day she hadn’t reminded him it was getting late and suggested it was past time he headed for base.

He took great stock in that omission. Even greater in the soft looks and considering glances she kept casting his way when she thought he wasn’t looking. Hope rode high and
strong inside him as he let the land and the water and the night infuse the moment with the magic that had brought him back year after year and had led him straight to her.

The lake spoke its own special language at night. The sipping sounds of water lapped in an endless, gentle caress to mate with the welcome embrace of the shore. The occasional muted echo of a distant voice carried across the bay from a far-off cabin or campsite. Fallen leaves and dried pine needles rustled in the undergrowth as timid night creatures scurried across the forest floor. All were sounds inherent to the north, yet as elusive as the lake breeze that whispered around and between them, drawing them to a rich, new awareness of each other. The sensation was as unifying as it was unique. As was the color of the night.

But for the starlight and moon glow, the night was filled with infinite shades of black, from the inky ripples on the water, to the jagged tree line etched along a cloudless horizon, to the shadows dancing on the shore. Even Maggie, her famous profile silhouetted against those definitive, deep hues, was a part of it. Never more than this night, he sensed her affinity with the quiet, peaceful perfection, uncluttered by population and city noise, uncomplicated by pressure and pretense.

He also sensed her mood change as he watched her. Sensed a gradual lifting of her guard, a mellow yielding of her defenses.

“Are you for real, Hazzard?”

Her question filtered out of the darkness, soft, without preamble, starkly open and full of hope. She faced the fire and the lake, never looking his way, never giving any indication that he was even on her mind.

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. She was asking for something to believe in. She was asking him not to hurt her if she gave in to the needs she’d been denying and to the desire she’d been so determined to fight.

His answer was sure and uncategorical. “As real as it gets, Stretch.”

She let out a deep breath before turning to him, her eyes searching his in the moonlight. Searching, seeking, yearning to believe in the truth of his answer.

“I don’t know what—or who—happened to you to make it so hard for you to trust me,” he said carefully. “Maybe someday you’ll feel you can tell me.”

Her eyes hardened, then focused on some very real and well-remembered pain before she looked away.

“I don’t know what happened,” he repeated, “and right now, I don’t care,” he continued, wanting to assure her he was no threat to her privacy. “I only know I care about you.

“I want to be with you, Maggie.” He rose from his chair to stand in front of her. “I want to talk with you and laugh with you. But more than breathing, right now, I want to make love with you.”

She closed her eyes.

The silence thickened. The distance that he’d thought had finally been breached stretched into infinity as he watched her face and prayed he hadn’t blown it.

“You missed your cue, Stretch,” he said gently as he knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. “This is the part where you’re supposed to say, I want to make love with you, too.”

He tried to keep it playful. Tried to make light of something that had become more important to him than life. But even he wasn’t a total master of his emotions and he knew that when she met his gaze she understood he was nervous about this step, too. While his heart had never taken the beating that hers must have, he was making it vulnerable right now, giving her the power to bruise and bloody it.

Her voice was full of hesitation and regret when she finally spoke. “I need to be up-front with you, Hazzard. I don’t have anything to give to a long-term relationship.”

Her straightforward conviction made his heart clench. As admissions went, it was a whopper, both discouraging and enlightening. Discouraging because he knew she believed what she said. Enlightening because it revealed that she wanted to give and that she wanted to give to him.

He touched a hand to her hair where the moon reflected off the water, dancing along the fine strands, making it shimmer like raw silk.

“So what do you say we don’t look that far ahead? What do you say we take this in baby steps, one at a time? We could both be in for a nice surprise at the end of the journey.”

She swallowed hard. “Or a huge disappointment.”

“Possibly,” he agreed, squeezing her hands lightly then running his thumbs in a soothing caress along the backs of them. “Or it could be the best thing that’s ever happened to either one of us.

“There’s one thing about it, though,” he added when her hesitance told him she needed one final push. “We’ll never know if we don’t give it a try.”

“And what if it doesn’t work? What happens then?”

She tried to mask the urgency of her question. She didn’t pull it off, leaving him wondering why the beginning of their relationship seemed to hinge on what happened if it ended. It was not what he considered an auspicious note to start out on. But, as she searched his face, commanding him to give her question import, he realized how critical it was to her.

“What happens then,” he said levelly, and prayed they’d never have to deal with that particular dilemma, “is that we say nice try, admit it wasn’t to be and part as friends.”

The relief that washed across her face told him it was exactly what she needed to hear. The promise she extracted from him then made him all the more determined to find out why.

“Promise me,” she said, gripping his hands tightly in hers. “Promise me exactly that. When it’s over, we simply part. No expectations. No regrets. No postmortem.”

“
If
it’s ever over,” he said, correcting her but addressing her with the sincerity her intensity demanded. “I promise. The break will be clean.”

While he wasn’t particularly pleased by the entire turn of their conversation, he was relieved when the tension lines around her mouth eased and were replaced by a small, tentative smile.

He returned that smile, watching her eyes glitter like starlight, more determined than ever to make his promise moot. He wasn’t going to give her any reason to want to end it. He was going to give her a thousand reasons to go the distance.

“Are we square now, Maggie?” he asked softly.

She looked away, looked back at him, then nodded.

“Good.” He gave her hands a light squeeze. “Now… does this mean I finally get to see you naked?”

His outrageous question brought a light to her eyes. It was a light he’d caught fleeting glimpses of over the past couple of weeks but one she’d always fought giving in to. She didn’t fight it now. She shook her head and smiled with him the way he’d meant for her to.

“Has anyone ever suggested that finesse may not be one of your strong points?”

“Never,” he said, deadpan. “But, if that particular approach didn’t spin your propeller, I’ve got another one.”

“I can hardly wait.”

With their hands still locked together, he drew her to her feet. The moon held silent counsel, the water song urged him on as he wrapped her in his arms.

“Come with me, Maggie.” He pressed his lips to her hair. “Come with me to the cabin. Let me take you to your bed.”

He felt her heartbeat dance against his chest, rivaling the rhythm of his own as his hands glided down the exquisite slope of her back. Felt her shiver with wanting and go
boneless with desire as he cupped and enticed her hips into more intimate contact with his.

“Let me undress you, and touch you…with my mouth…with my hands.” He bent his head to her neck, whispering his wants, relaying his need as he tracked a string of soft, biting kisses along her skin. “Let me love you, Maggie…I promise, I’ll go as slow as you want…take as long as you need.”

He raised his head, meeting the shimmering passion that glimmered in her eyes. “And when it’s over,” he murmured, brushing his mouth to hers, “let me start all over again.”

Maggie searched the face of this man who had rekindled twin fires of hope and longing to burn warm and low inside her. She searched his eyes and saw straight through to his heart. What she saw there made the cynic inside her give way to the yearnings she fought every day to deny. Even though she knew she was making a mistake, even though she knew his good intentions might turn to bad in the stark, harsh light of day, she let the need to believe take over. Even if it was only for tonight.

He’d been so gentle the past two weeks. So patiently attentive, so sensitively and silently persuasive. She’d run out of arguments a week ago. She’d run out of conviction before then. He was too much to resist, offered so much more than she dared hope for. But hope won out as he held her in the moonlight and, with the promise of his words and the caress of his eyes, touched her heart in ways it had never been touched before.

It wasn’t wise to let it happen. And it wasn’t too late to stop this, she reminded herself in a last-ditch effort to court her fears. If she got a handle on things right now, she could still convince him it wasn’t what she wanted. She could convince him, but she couldn’t lie to herself. She liked how he made her feel. She liked the fact that he didn’t make any bones about his attraction to her. She’d had enough gameplaying in her life. More than enough coy innuendos and
power-motivated attention. An excess of walking a tightrope of uncertainty that had been orchestrated to diminish her sense of self-worth.

None of that would be a factor in a relationship with Blue Hazzard. A relationship with Blue would be both playful and provocative, sexy and sweet, sumptuous and soulful—just like the man. But while all those descriptions fit him, she also sensed an inherent goodness in him that would prohibit him from ever using any of those ploys against her. That was the ultimate promise she would not break. She would not be used again.

“I want to trust you,” she whispered, not realizing she’d spoken out loud until he drew her roughly and urgently against him.

“Then do.” His ardent words enveloped her, coarse and commanding, committed to persuade, determined to entice. “Look at me and know that you can.”

She did as he asked. She looked at him. Only him, blocking out the memory of another man’s self-serving promises and empty words. For too long, she hadn’t been strong enough to overcome Rolfe’s dominance. She’d let him use her and abuse her—all in the name of love. All for his love of power and
her
money.

Power and money would not be a motivating factor for Blue. The only power he believed in was the power of love and his ability to sustain it.

Blue was nothing like Rolfe. His motives, like the symmetry of his strong angular features, were as honest as his beauty. The desire burning in his eyes was for her as a woman, not as a commodity.

“I believe you,” she murmured, no longer caring that she might be chasing a pipe dream.

Letting the moment convince her she was strong enough to survive a relationship, she leaned into his heat and his hardness, giving herself over to his keeping in a major leap of faith. “At this moment, there’s nothing I believe more.”

S
hadows played along the knotty-pine-paneled walls of the bedroom. Moon glow and the lake breeze infused the room with soft shadings, the scent of the forest and the warmth of the Minnesota night.

“You’re shivering,” he whispered as he led her to the bed. “Do you want me to close the window?”

Her eyes caught the moonlight like glittering stars as she chafed her hands along her arms and shook her head. “I’m not cold.”

He touched a hand to her hair. “Nervous then?”

She lowered her head.

“Hey.” Curling a finger under her chin, he tipped her head up. “Don’t think you’re the only one with a case of the jitters.”

She smiled ruefully. “You expect me to believe that?”

His hands went to her waist and rested lightly there. “I’ve been talking pretty big, Stretch. And don’t forget who you are. If you think for one minute that I’m not worried about
disappointing you, you have no idea of the power you wield.”

Her eyes grew brittle with anger, then frosted over with a disappointment that was no less baffling. She turned away from him and stared out the window.

He stood there, head cocked in confusion, and took stock of their conversation. “What? What did I say?”

“This is about power?” she demanded, as if she already knew the answer and it sickened her. “This is about who I am?”

The tremor in her voice gave him pause, then relayed with aching clarity the source of her agitation. He should have known. He should have realized she’d spent the past several years guarding her feelings and protecting her affections against the predators and pretenders who prowled the world she lived in.

Walking up behind her, he cupped her shoulders in his hands. “It’s been pretty rough, huh?” he asked gently. “Everybody wants a piece of the superstar? Everybody wants something for nothing? Everybody wants to win your favor to add to their own importance.”

The stiffening of her slight frame beneath his hands confirmed his suspicions. He turned her in his arms to face him.

“There’s something you’ve lost sight of here, Stretch. There’s no one here but you and me. And there’s no one here who wants anything from you but who you are.

“Yes,” he continued when her eyes flashed fire.
“Who you are.
Maggie Adams, the same woman with the same qualities that have made you special to me since you were sixteen years old. I felt your power over me way back then. I still do.

“But what you’re forgetting, Stretch, is that I wanted you before the world ever knew your face or your name. I
still
want you,” he whispered, and knew his voice was less than steady. “I’d want you if you pumped gas. I want you
in spite of the fact that if I let it, your fame could intimidate me long before it would entice me.”

Cupping her cheeks in his palms, he tipped her face to his, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper. “I want you as a woman—just a woman. I always have and, God help me, I think I always will. And damn right I’m scared—right down to my toes—that I’ll let you down after finally convincing you I’m worth the effort.”

Her eyes glittered with aching measures of relief and guilt as they searched his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, touching her fingers to his jaw.

He turned his mouth into her palm and pressed a kiss there. “No need.”

“Big need,” she insisted. “I wasn’t being fair. You’re nothing like him. Even if you tried, you never could be.”

J.D. didn’t know who the “him” was that she referred to. He wasn’t even sure she was aware she’d spoken aloud. And while the thought of someone treating her as anything less than special knotted his gut with rage, right now he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to think about any other man in her life. He didn’t want Maggie to think about him, either.

He wrapped her protectively in his arms, hugging her fiercely, loving the way she nestled trustingly against him, reigniting the desire that had brought them both this far.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then laid his cheek against her hair. “This is nice,” he whispered, his bid for control making his voice gritty.

“Umm,” she agreed with a soft, indulgent sigh. “I can think of something nicer.”

If his heart beat any harder, he was afraid he’d bruise her. “Nicer?” he managed in a sandpapery rasp.

She tipped her head back, her eyes meeting his with a bold, enticing sparkle. “Let’s see some skin, Hazzard. Lord knows, you’ve taken every other opportunity you could to show it to me.”

A crooked smile tilted one corner of his mouth. “Anything to please the lady.”

His hands were shaking as he backed away far enough to peel his shirt over his head and toss it toward the corner of the room. A ragged, shuddering breath escaped him as her heavy-lidded gaze connected with his, then slid slowly to his chest. Her hands were quick to follow.

Her fingers were long and elegant, and paganly erotic as she skimmed them over the burning flesh of his chest. Exploring, enticing, driving him wild then taking him to the edge of control when she moved to the snap on his jeans and popped it open.

“Oh, damn,” he muttered on a groan and stilled her questing hands. “You…we…I…”

“Need to slow down?” she suggested huskily as he realized he was gripping her hands so tightly he’d made her wince.

“Yes,” he groaned, and dragged in a serrated breath.

With a self-deprecating smile, he released her. “We
definitely
need to slow down or one of us is going to be finished before the other one even gets started.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she offered softly.

Her unselfish offer unhinged him. And with those selfless, guileless words, J. D. Hazzard fell completely in love. Over the cliff, off the charts, to the core of the universe, in love. Oh, he’d known that was where this was heading. He’d just never realized how irrevocably committed he was to her until this moment when she, without hesitation, put his pleasure before her own.

“
I’d
mind,” he insisted, regaining his control with a determination that overrode his aching need for release. “I would mind very much. If my mother taught me anything, it was to err in the favor of courtesy. Ladies first, Stretch. At least it will be if you could find it in you to join me in that bed.”

“Somehow,” she said, her smile feminine and confident as she reached for the top button of her blouse and slipped it free, “I don’t think your mother had lovemaking in mind when she taught you that lesson.”

A shudder eddied through him. “And somehow I really regret bringing my mother into this conversation. As a matter of fact…” His hands dropped to help her with the remaining buttons, then peeled the blouse from her shoulders. “I don’t think conversation lends itself in any way to this moment.”

“No?”

“No,” he whispered, then stopped breathing when she reached behind her back, unfastened her bra and let it drift to the floor at her feet.

“Maggie…”

Nothing was more yielding than the sweet, lush haven of her body. Nothing was more giving or more inviting than when she finally lay naked beside him and her long, golden length was stretched out across the moon-kissed sheets of the bed.

Nothing was more sacred than her unqualified trust when he assured her, “You’re safe with me. I’d never do anything to hurt you, Maggie. I’d never put you at risk…and I’ve taken care that I’d never be at risk either.”

“In all the ways that count, I do feel safe with you, Blue…just as you can feel safe with me.”

J.D. leaned over her, bracing his forearms on either side of her ribs. “This is how I’ve imagined you,” he murmured, cupping one ivory breast in his hand, then lifting as he lowered his mouth to taste her. “For so long now.”

She made a soft, pleasured sound when he nuzzled his lips against a sweetly peaked nipple in acquaintance. She threaded her fingers through his hair, then sucked in her breath in an erotic little gasp when acquaintance transcended to a slow, thorough exploration with his tongue
and lips and teeth. And when he’d explored to his satisfaction and drew her deeply into his mouth to possess her as his body demanded, she arched, her abdominal muscles contracting, her heart dancing beneath the heel of his hand where it rested against her ribs.

“Hazzard.” She sighed and rolled into him, tangling those glorious silken legs with his and urging him closer.

He raised his head and met dark eyes glistening with desire, shimmering with need. Imploring, impatient, the look she gave him teamed with her body’s restless rhythm, urging him to complete the act he’d started.

“We’ve got all night, Maggie. There’s no rush.” To prove it, he brushed his thumb slowly across her parted lips. She caught the fleshy pad of the tip between her teeth, nipping him lightly before enticing it inside her mouth, where her tongue stroked with a rhythm that matched the one her hips had set against his.

“Then again,” he ground out as she rolled to her back, urging him to cover her body with his, and made a place for him between her thighs. “I could be wrong.”

He dropped his head to the silken hollow beneath her jaw and clenched every muscle in his body when she rocked her hips against him. “Have mercy, Maggie. I wanted to make this slow for you.”

“Make it slow later,” she whispered urgently, and reached between them to find him, clasp him in her hot, elegant hands and guide him to her welcoming heat. “Right now…just make it happen.”

He was more than willing to oblige her. Not so willing to drag himself out of the sensual fog enveloping him and take care of the business of protecting her. Not willing—there was nothing he wanted more than to have nothing between them—but bound by responsibility to do it anyway.

Separating himself from the delicious contact of her body, however, was not an option. He banded an arm around her waist and dragged her with him to the edge of
the bed. With haste and decided lack of patience, he reached down and groped around on the floor, found his jeans and wrestled a packet of protection from the pocket. He was shaking so badly from the effort to maintain control that she smiled crookedly and took it from his fumbling fingers.

“You’ll pay for this,” he promised as he tugged her back to the center of the bed. He groaned as with an agonizingly evocative touch, she rolled the condom into place. “You’ll pay dearly.”

“I seem to recall hearing that threat from you before.”

His breath stalled when she nudged her cleft against the tip of his straining arousal. “When I get done making a panting fool of myself over you,” he gritted out, “I’m going to make so good on that threat you’ll be begging for…mercy.”

Lacing her fingers behind his neck, she brought his mouth down to hers and whispered against his lips. “Anything you say, Hazzard. Only, please…say it later.”

He couldn’t have said anything at that point if his life had hung in the balance. She’d drained him not only of the power of speech but of every cognizant thought in his head but one: making her his.

He took her mouth with a deep, probing kiss, his tongue delving in and out in a sweet, enticing prelude to his body’s slow penetration of hers.

Making a cave of his arms around her head, he knotted his hands in her hair and tried to hold himself together as he sank deep. She was wet heat and sweet salvation as her body stretched to accommodate him, then clenched to welcome him home.

Until that point—when she clutched and caressed and called his name in a breathless cry of exultation and greed— he’d clung foolishly to the conviction that he still had a fighting chance of pulling out of this tailspin of mindnumbing, pleasure-induced oblivion to tend to her needs.
In truth, he’d never had a prayer. The moment she slid those long, supple legs along his, wrapped them around his hips and locked him against her, he surrendered completely to the pleasure of her body, to the wonder that was her own drugging passion.

He wanted to bury himself so deeply inside her he’d never find his way out. Yet the wild, delicious friction of sliding into her lush heat compelled him to withdraw slowly, relishing the burn, anticipating the molten sensation of his return.

Watching her face, feeding his flames, he plunged back into her with a series of hard, swift strokes that careened him straight over the edge of control. His breath hissed out of his body in a tortured groan when he ignited, then burst into a brilliant arch of white-hot flame. Burying deep, crushing her to him to extend the contact and the force of his devastating climax, he rode with the most excruciating pleasure he’d ever known. And in the moment when he exploded inside her, he died…an exquisite, glorious death, happily drawing his last breath before being born again to draw his first in the wonder of this woman’s arms.

Maggie ran her hands in a lazy, contented glide along the damp planes of Blue’s muscled back. His weight was glorious and heavy above her, his breathing labored, his heart pounding like thunder against her breast.

“For the record, Stretch…” His ragged breath fanned her cheek before he nuzzled, with tender exhaustion, beneath her jaw. “Even though it was your fault, that’s the first and the last promise I’ll ever break to you.”

She pressed a soft smile against his throat. “Do you hear me complaining?”

With great effort, he managed to brace himself on his elbows above her. His tousled blond hair, mussed beautifully by her hands moments earlier, fell across blue eyes still clouded with latent passion and raw regret.

“But I promised you so much more.”

She raised a hand to brush the hair from his eyes. “Like you said, we’ve got all night.”

With a contented groan, he rolled to his back, taking her with him, reversing their positions. As she looked down at his beautiful face, his gaze searched hers with a look of telltale guilt that made her heart swell.

“You all right?”

She blinked slowly. “I’m fine. In fact, I’m terrific. And you…” She sucked in her breath, stunned when she felt the sure, swelling length of his arousal growing against her belly. “You have amazing recuperative powers.”

His smile was slow, sly and seductive. “I told you I was going to make it up to you. Consider this the first installment in an effort to make it worth your wait.”