Vegas Sunrise (32 page)

Maybe one kid wouldn't be too bad. She could insist on a baby nurse and a full-time housekeeper. The family wouldn't cast her aside if she were pregnant. Birch's mother was very family-oriented. Another heir to the Thornton coffers would definitely solidify her position. She could play on Ruby's heartstrings, too. Ruby was filthy rich. She'd ask Ruby to be the godmother and name the child Ruby if it was a girl and Reuben if it was a boy. Ruby would eat it up and ask for dessert. Ruby would be a wonderful ally. All she had to do now was to make nice to everyone. Oh, yes.

Celia's face turned ugly when she thought of Jeff Lassiter and the pictures he'd taken. Where did he keep them? Somehow she had to get them back. But, how was she going to do that? If the pictures became available to even one member of the Thornton family, she might as well pack her glitzy gowns and head for the nearest women's shelter, if there was such a thing in Las Vegas.

Celia stood up and peeled off her tee shirt. She stared at her slim, rounded body. Soon her breasts would sag, her middle would expand, and her ass would broaden. Her ankles would swell, and so would her hands. The sharp planes of her face would fill in, and she'd look like a butterball. Well, that's why they had diets and gymnasiums. The thought didn't make her feel one bit better. When she was dressed, made up, and had a cup of coffee in her hand, she might be able to think more clearly.

While the shower pelted her, Celia formed Plan A, Plan B, and Plan C in her mind. A girl always needed backup and her ex-con friend Solly could always be brought in if it looked like she needed Plan D. For starters, though, she would find time today to go for a pregnancy test at the first lab she could locate. Following the test and what she knew would be positive results, she would call Birch and inform him of his new status of father-to-be. She thought about things like dark clouds, baby bottles, silver linings, and million-dollar bank accounts.

This new day would be whatever she wanted it to be. Jeff Lassiter was the only glitch on her horizon. She simply would not allow a blemish on this new horizon. No way, no how.

 

Birch Thornton yanked at the covers. Sometime during the night he must have kicked off the down blanket. He waited now for his body heat to warm the bed. What he should have done was throw some logs on the smoldering embers. He debated a moment. What the hell, he was freezing now, how much colder could he get? He sprinted from the bed and tossed three huge logs any old way onto the grate. Shivering, he raced to the bathroom and then back to bed. There would be no more sleep for him. The digital clock on the small radio the lodge provided told him it was 5:10. Three hours till breakfast. He eyed the small coffee machine on the dresser. When the room warmed up he might consider making coffee.

He yanked at the pillows to prop them up behind his back. He was never one to laze about in bed. Normally the moment he opened his eyes he was so wide-awake he just got up and started the day. He twiddled his thumbs as he stared at the empty length of bed next to him. He thought about Celia and their marriage for the space of a few seconds. Then his thoughts switched to Libby in the next room. Libby was real and warm, with the nicest crinkly smile that said she allowed him into her world. He felt something for her that he couldn't deny, something he wanted to pursue. He knew in his heart that he was capable of being unfaithful with someone like Libby. Did that mean he was like his father?

Birch was jolted from his thoughts when an evergreen branch whipped across his window. Shit, he'd forgotten about the storm. He threw back the covers and walked over to the window to open the drapes. Good God! The snowdrifts outside were halfway up his window. He listened to the howling wind as he strained to see past the window-high drifts. How much snow was out there? A foot? Two? He yanked the drapes closed and walked back to his bed. The room was too warm now for sleep, and he was wide-awake. Libby's fire was probably out the way his had been. He eyed the connecting door. Maybe he should make coffee and knock lightly on her door. If she answered the door, he would make up her fire, then invite her into his room where it was warm until her own fire took hold. Sunny and Harry had each other in their king-size bed and Sunny's tongue would blister him if he so much as dared to knock. Sunny always was and probably always would be a bumble bee when it came to privacy. More so these days because she didn't want anyone to see how difficult it was for her to get ready for the day.

When the coffee was ready, Birch tapped lightly on the connecting door. Libby opened it immediately. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. I was wondering if you wanted some coffee. My fire was almost out, so I woke up.”

“Mine too. It's toasty now. Coffee sounds good. What are you using for cream?”

“That powdered junk. It's better than nothing. Your room or mine?”

“Yours. I just threw my logs on. It's going to take a while for those logs to catch fire. If you don't mind, I'll close the door. It will warm up faster that way. Did you look outside?”

“The drifts are up to the windows. I've never seen snow like this. Harry is going to be so happy when he wakes up to all this snow.”

“Harry is a real sleepyhead. He can sleep for fourteen straight hours. I find that remarkable. Sunny's a good sleeper, too. Part of it relates to their medication. Were you thinking of waking them?”

“Not me. Sunny's whole day would be ruined if I woke her. I'm sure they'll both be up in time for breakfast. I hope it isn't cold cereal.”

“If it is, we'll revolt. I'm pretty handy in the kitchen.”

“Me too. What's your speciality, Libby?”

“Ham omelet with a little onion, a little cheese, and some diced tomato. At the end I add a few slivers of fresh garlic, just enough to give it flavor, and then I throw out the garlic. For the benefit of other people. I happen to love garlic and onions.”

“I do too. My mother always said frying onions, green peppers, and garlic were the best smell in the world. Our house always had the best smells in it. Mom would keep orange peels and cloves in a little pot on the pilot light. I used to love coming home from school, hungry as all get-out, and walk into our kitchen for homemade cookies and chocolate milk. It's one of my best memories. What is yours?”

Birch stared at Libby as she answered. He barely heard the words because he was so intent on how wonderful she looked so early in the morning. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but some of the wispy bronze curls framed her face. Her bathrobe was old and frayed at the sleeves but it looked warm and comfortable. Slipper socks that went halfway up her legs looked just as worn and warm. He wondered what she had underneath. To his own chagrin, he asked.

“A flannel nightgown. You haven't heard a word I said, have you?”

“Actually, no. I think I'm falling in love with you.”

“Don't say that, Birch. I shouldn't have come in here. I thought we agreed . . .”

“Yes, we did. Nobody ever told me how to turn off feelings. Do you know how? If you do, tell me.”

Libby's voice was so sad, Birch felt his eyes start to burn. “I didn't sleep much. In fact, I didn't sleep at all. I kept thinking about us. There is no us, but that's how I was thinking. When we go back, I'm going to hand in my resignation. I don't think I can be around you and not . . . what I mean is . . . damn it, you know what I mean and what I'm trying to say. When I go to bed with someone it has to be because it feels right and means something to me. I'm not a one-night-stand person, and I can't sneak in and out of motels for . . . trysts. That's not who I am. You're married, Birch. If we . . . if we give in, we'll both hate ourselves. At least I will.”

“You can't leave. What about Sunny and Harry?”

“I'll make sure my replacement is someone they'll both be comfortable with. The three of us discussed the possibility I might leave someday. It will be an adjustment for both of them in the beginning, but Sunny and Harry are realistic. It's the way it is.”

“Jesus. Why do I suddenly feel like some lowlife?”

“I don't know, but if it's any consolation, I feel the same way. The flip side of that coin is we hardly know one another.”

“I know all I need to know. My grandmother Sallie met the man she loved more than anything in the world at a funeral. She said the minute their eyes met, she knew she was staring at her destiny. That's how I felt when I first met you. My grandmother was married then, too. I'm not saying that was right. It wasn't. I'm trying . . . to . . .”

“Justify us going to bed together?”

“Yes.”

“I didn't even brush my teeth,” Libby said.

“I didn't either,” Birch said, reaching for her hand.

Libby's shoulders sagged under the plaid flannel robe. “Are we talking about just this once so we have a memory when we're old and rocking on some front porch in a retirement home?”

“Hell no. I'll get a divorce. I don't love Celia. I don't think I ever loved her.”

“I can't be the reason for your divorce. That's not who I am. It's not who you are either. People have to work at a marriage. I've seen so many marriages go bad because it's so easy to get a divorce. Then those same people marry someone like the person they just divorced and the same thing happens all over again. We shouldn't even be having this discussion. I'll go back to my room and lock the door. We'll meet downstairs for breakfast and pretend we never had this encounter.”

Birch's voice was hoarse when he said, “I don't want to do that. I want to carry you over to that bed and make love to you.”

“I want that, too, but we can't allow it to happen. The longer we talk about this, the worse it is for both of us.”

“No. No, I'm not going to let someone else control my life. I want you. You want me. I'm going to get a divorce. I want you to believe that.”

Libby stared at Birch, aware of how tormented he was. She tried to square her shoulders, willed her backbone to stiffen. She failed. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Her voice was little more than a whisper when she spoke. “Just this once. Then I'm out of your life. If you agree to that, we can . . . what we can . . .”

“Shhh. I'm not agreeing to anything except to loving you. We'll find a way to make it work. I swear we will. I want you to trust me.” He kissed away her tears. She crumpled beneath his touch, all her protective instincts rebelling against the idea.

“I need you,” Birch whispered. “I've wanted you since the day I met you. All I did was look in your eyes, and I knew we were meant for one another.”

The intensity of his emotions frightened her for a brief second, but her own need seemed so urgent that she nestled herself against him. “I want you to make love to me,” she whispered in a low, throaty voice he'd never heard before as she began to trail kisses along his jaw and down to the curve of his neck.

Birch moaned. “Libby, Libby,” he said as he brought his mouth down on hers, tasting the sweetness of her lips, drawing from them a kiss so steeped in passion he released her, his dark eyes searching hers in wonderment.

Libby watched Birch's thick, dark lashes close, heard her own breath in ragged little puffs as she lifted her head, her mouth searching for his.

Birch leaned forward, his hands feverish as his lips met hers in a scorching, searing kiss. The kiss was long, deep, and yearning. She drew away, her mouth trembling.

He picked her up, carrying her to the bed, where he nestled her between the thick, downy pillows. He sat beside her, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, down to the ridge of her jaw. He whispered words he later couldn't remember, words Libby had to strain to hear as she stretched out her arms to him.

The scent of him was clean and manly. The stubble of his beard scratchy against her face. She heard him mutter something about too many clothes as he shrugged out of his robe and the bottom of his pajamas. She did likewise, her gaze never leaving his face.

Birch felt his hands tremble as he touched the satiny skin of her shoulders and breasts. In the whole of his life he'd never experienced such intense feelings. He could feel himself feeding on the sight of her. The urge to paw the ground, to bellow like a bull was so strong he grabbed her to him, crushing her against him.

Libby felt her breath quicken as her pulses began to pound. She gently withdrew and rolled to the side, lifting herself into his arms, fitting each curve against his body, pressing him close to her. She drew in her breath when she felt his hardness. Her hands were as feverish as his as she once again rolled over, her grasp on his waist secure. “Love me,” she whispered.

Caught up in her passion, Birch found himself matching his own responses with hers as he sought to fill her needs, which were echoed in him. He wanted all of her, all at once. He caressed her hips, her leg, her flat belly knowing she was opening herself to him.

Libby rotated her hips against him with urgent, searching motions. She felt the hardness of him jolt against her thigh, and then her world exploded as he entered her. She threw back her head, lost in the tide and ebb of sensations she knew she would remember for all her days. Suddenly she cried out his name as she climaxed beneath his touch.

Drenched with each other's sweat, they rolled over together, their slick bodies glued to one another, wonderment registering in both their eyes.

“I want to fall asleep like this and know when I wake you'll be in my arms,” Birch whispered against her damp cheek. She nodded, her eyes already closed, but not in sleep. She held her tears in check until she was certain he was sleeping.

Libby moved slightly, her head against the pillow as she stared at the man who had just made her come alive. How was she going to walk away from him? How could something that felt so wonderful be wrong? How vulnerable he looked in sleep. She wanted to move closer, to smother his face with kisses, but was afraid he'd wake.