The Gentling (14 page)

Katy looked beyond the airplane's wing to the faint, rosy glow on the horizon, where the ocean met the sky. They had been chasing the sun for hours, but it had steadily outdistanced them, and the fiery ball had sunk majestically into the blue Pacific only moments before. Pulling her eyes away from the gathering dusk of early evening, Katy sighed.

As though drawn by a magnet, her gaze lowered to the rings on her left hand. She touched a finger to them gently, almost fearfully. Well, she had done it. That morning, on her father's arm, wearing her mother's creamy white wedding dress and her grandmother's veil, she had walked down the church aisle and joined her life, irrevocably, to Trace's. She was committed now. There could be no turning back.

Of the ceremony she remembered very little. The sea of faces watching her had not registered, nor had the profusion of flowers in the church, nor the stirring chords of the wedding march that had thundered from the organ. The only thing she had been aware of was the tall, incredibly handsome man waiting for her at the end of the aisle, watching her approach with an intensity that made her already shaking knees go weak as water. If it hadn't been for her father's support, she would have crumpled to the floor in a little heap of satin and lace and quivering flesh. From the moment she stepped into the church, Trace's eyes had seemed to pierce right through the misty cloud of tulle that billowed around her head and shoulders, his expression so warm and tender, so blatantly, proudly possessive that her heart had leaped up into her throat and stuck there.

Katy supposed she must have spoken her wedding vows, though she couldn't recall doing so. When Trace had taken her icy, trembling hand in his, her mind had gone blank. It wasn't until he lifted the veil over her head and kissed her softly on the lips that she had come out of her daze.

The reception afterwards had been an ordeal, and she had been profoundly grateful when Trace had suggested that they leave.

Katy sighed and returned her gaze to the window. Now, here they were on their way to Hawaii to begin a honeymoon that wasn't to be a honeymoon at all. She hoped.

There was a soft ping, then the stewardess's voice was informing them that they were beginning their descent into the Honolulu airport and asking everyone to please buckle their seatbelts. Immediately Katy stiffened.

She had never flown before. Earlier, during the short flight from Tyler to Dallas, she had been pale and shaken. But when the jumbo jet had roared down the Dallas runway and strained into the sky, she had been petrified.

Katy felt the plane slip downward and closed her eyes tightly, then jumped as Trace's warm hand covered hers.

"Relax, darling," he whispered. Smiling, he gently pried her white-knuckled fingers from the armrest. Still holding her hand, he slipped his other arm around her and pulled her close. "Just shut your eyes and lean on me. We'll be down before you know it."

Katy complied gratefully, feeling ridiculously secure with his arm wrapped around her, her face pressed against the fine material of his dark, three-piece suit.

After receiving the traditional Hawaiian greeting, Trace guided them through the hustle and bustle of the airport with a minimum of fuss. Within minutes, Katy was sitting in a taxi, fingering the lei of white ginger blossoms that encircled her neck.

The hotel Trace had chosen for them was one of the most plush on Waikiki Beach. When they entered the lobby, Katy was pleased to see that it was moderately full. Somehow she felt safer with other people around. Which was why, when Trace left the choice up to her, she had elected to come to Hawaii for their honeymoon. It was beautiful and exciting, but more important, it was packed with people. She didn't want to be alone in some isolated, romantic spot with Trace.

Katy stood nervously by and watched as he signed the register, a satisfied smile curving his mouth as he wrote "Mr. and Mrs. Trace Barnett" in a clear, bold hand. By the time they entered their ninth floor suite her stomach felt as though it contained a thousand butterflies.

The suite was elegant and beautiful, but Katy was too keyed up to notice. She was acutely aware that this night would prove whether her father's trust in Trace was justified, and with every second that ticked by, her doubts grew, stretching her nerves to breaking point.

What if he had been wrong? What if ? . . .

When Trace and the bellboy disappeared into the adjoining room, Katy stumbled to the balcony doors and tugged them open. Her breath was coming in short gasps as she crossed to the waist-high railing and clutched it desperately. A soft breeze gently lifted the heavy tumble of hair off her shoulders. The moon painted the midnight-blue ocean with streaks of silver, illuminating the frothy, lace-edged waves as they slid onto the sand far below.

Katy stared blindly at the romantic scene. God! She'd been a fool to enter into this crazy arrangement! What did she really know about Trace, other than that he wanted her and seemed willing to go to any lengths to get her? Even her father didn't really know him. After all, Trace had been gone for four years, and people could change a lot in that time. No! No, she wouldn't think that way. She couldn't! She'd go mad if she did.

Taking long, deep breaths, Katy forced herself to remember how tender Trace had been with her, how considerate, how concerned. Yet on the heels of that thought she recalled how violent he could be when angered, his fury a cold, frightening menace. So far he had only shown her his gentle side, but she knew there was another. She had glimpsed it the night of their engagement party.

"So this is where you disappeared to. You had me worried there for a minute."

Katy flinched at the sound of Trace's voice, just behind her, then flinched again when his hands closed warmly around the curves of her shoulders. She held her breath and fought to control her trembling body. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the railing. The slow movement of his hand, though meant to be soothing, did little to help.

"There's nothing to be frightened of, Katy," he murmured softly as he felt her reaction. "You must believe that."

Unable to speak, Katy swallowed hard and nodded. She felt brittle, ready to shatter.

There was a moment of tense silence, then Trace continued in a deliberately lighter tone. "You hardly touched your meal on the plane. Would you like to go downstairs for dinner?"

"No, thank you. I'm really not hungry."

"Well, in that case, why don't you go in and get ready for bed. I know it's fairly early here, but our bodies are still on Texas time. I suggest that we get a good night's rest, so we'll be in shape to start our tour of the islands in the morning."

Katy turned slowly to search his face, and met only tenderness and understanding in the hazel eyes. Her heartbeat began to slow to normal. "I—I think I will," she stammered weakly. "I'm very tired. It's been a long day."

Smiling, Trace put his arm around her shoulders and led her inside, releasing her as they reached the bedroom. Katy gave him a wan smile and stepped through the door, only to come to a skidding halt just inside, color draining from her face at the sight of the huge, king-sized bed that dominated the room.

There was a loud roaring in her ears as the blood began to pound through her veins. Dizzy with fear and rage, she whirled around to find Trace's large frame filling the doorway. He was very still, watching her intently.

"You lied to me!" she screamed, backing away. "You've been lying from the very beginning."

"I didn't lie. You've known all along that I meant for us to share a bedroom."

"A bedroom, yes! But not the same bed!"

"Yes, Katy, the same bed. Both here and at home."

Panic clawed at her. She took another step backward, her head moving slowly from side to side, her face distraught. Her heart was beating so hard she was almost suffocating. "No! No, I won't do it! I won't let you do this to me! You promised you wouldn't. . . ."

"Stop it!" Trace covered the distance between them and grasped her by the shoulders, shaking her gently. "Stop it, right now. You're becoming hysterical. I have no intention of breaking my word to you. I'm not going to make love to you, Katy, until you ask me to. But I am going to hold my wife in my arms when I go to bed at night." He pulled her close and wrapped her in an unyielding embrace, holding her terrified eyes with an intent, unwavering look. "Oh, darling. Don't you see? If our marriage is ever to have a chance we've got to get you accustomed to being close to me, to touching and being touched. It's normal and natural." He stopped and gave her a teasing smile, lifting one hand to trail his knuckles down the line of her jaw. "And once you get used to it, I think you'll find it quite enjoyable."

Katy swallowed hard. Her heart was still banging away at her ribcage. "Th-that's all? You won't ..."

"No. I'd never take advantage of you," he assured her quickly. He stared at her, willing her to believe him. The sincerity in his expression was unmistakable. "I don't just want your body, my darling. I'm greedy. I want your love, and I want you to give it to me freely."

He released her and turned her toward the adjoining bath. "Now, get ready for bed, woman. We have a busy day ahead tomorrow."

Katy stumbled into the bathroom on rubbery legs. She showered, slipped into her nightgown, brushed her teeth and hair and creamed her face, all in a frozen daze. The thought of spending the night in Trace's arms made her feel faint. How could she possibly do it? Yet, what choice did she have? She had accepted his terms six weeks ago, and so far he had lived up to his side of the bargain scrupulously. She could hardly do less.

Katy slid the white silk and ecru lace negligee over her matching gown and tied the bow just under her breasts. Then, her throat dry, she reached for the doorknob.

Only a dim pool of light from the bedside lamp lit the room, but it was enough for her to see that Trace was already in bed. His muscular chest was bare, and in the soft Sight, the curling mat of hair that covered it gleamed like burnished gold. Against the white sheets his skin was a deep bronze, his shoulders unbelievably broad. Katy's heart took off like a jackhammer. She stood rooted to the spot.

A slow smile curved Trace's mouth as he turned back the covers and held out his hand invitingly. "Come to bed, my darling," he whispered.

As though pulled by an invisible string, Katy walked slowly toward him, unable to look away from that intent, hazel stare. Trembling violently and flushing a deep crimson at the appreciative gleam in his eyes, she took off the thin negligee and dropped it across the end of the bed, then slid in beside him. At once Trace's arms closed around her.

Her body stiffened as she felt herself drawn against his hard length, but when she tried to strain away his arms tightened.

"No, don't tense up like that, sweetheart. Just relax and put your head on my shoulder." The encircling arm held her close, his hand cupping her hipbone and rubbing it rhythmically, while the other gently, but firmly, curved around the side of her head and pushed it down until she felt the warmth of his skin beneath her cheek.

Katy could scarcely breathe. The incredible intimacy had every nerve in her body wound to violin-string tautness. The warmth of his flesh seared her from forehead to toes. The musky, masculine scent of him was all around her, invading her body with every shallow breath she drew, making her giddy. She felt warm and protected, and cold and afraid, all at the same time.

The lamp clicked off and the room was flooded with darkness. Trace's breath stirred the hair at her temple as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "Good night, darling. Sleep well," he murmured.

She almost giggled hysterically. Sleep well? Sleep well? How on earth could she sleep when she felt as though she were about to explode into a million little pieces?

Long after the caressing hand at her hip had ceased its motion, Katy lay rigid at Trace's side, staring into the darkness, listening to the slow, strong thud of his heart beneath her ear, feeling the steady rise and fall of his massive chest. How could he sleep? She certainly couldn't. But then, Trace was probably used to sleeping with a woman in his arms. The thought was painful, and Katy's mind immediately shied away from it.

For what seemed like hours, she lay perfectly still, not daring to even blink. But finally, little by little, her taut muscles began to go slack, and her lashes fluttered downward, brushing against the bronzed shoulder that cradled her head. The small, tight fist which lay across the masculine chest slowly uncurled. Smiling, Trace covered the delicate hand with his own larger one, and pressed it tightly to him.

When she opened her eyes, the room was filled with sunshine, and Trace, propped up on one elbow, was smiling down at her.

"Good morning, wife," he greeted cheerfully, then laughed aloud as a tide of deep color rose from her neck all the way to her hairline.

Flustered by his nearness, and acutely aware of her vulnerable position, Katy's eyes darted around in a frantic effort to avoid the muscular chest, just inches from her nose. It was an impossible task. Finally she gave up and focused intently on the hollow at the base of his throat.

"Good—good morning."

Her stammered reply brought another chuckle from Trace. Then he reached out a hand and brushed the tousled strands of hair away from her face. "Do you know you're even more beautiful when you're asleep? You look so soft and cuddly with your face scrubbed and clean, and all that glorious hair spread out on the pillow." The words seemed to be drawn out of him slowly, a low husky passion roughening his voice.