Page 48 of Megan's Mate
“So I went. There was candlelight, and we danced. I felt so grown-up. I think you only really feel that way when you’re seventeen. We went to museums and window-shopping and to shows. He told me he loved me, and he bought me a ring. It had two little diamond hearts, interconnected. It was very romantic. He slipped it on my finger, and I slipped into his bed.”
She stopped, waited for Nathaniel to comment. When he didn’t, she worked up the courage to continue.
“He said he would come to Oklahoma, and we’d make our plans for the future. But, of course, he didn’t come. At first, when I called, he said he’d been delayed. Then he stopped answering my calls altogether. I found out I was pregnant, and I called; I wrote. Then I heard that he was engaged, that he’d been engaged all along. At first I didn’t believe it, then I just went numb. It took me a while before I made myself believe it, made myself understand and deal with it. My family was wonderful. I never would have gotten through it without them. When Kevin was born, I realized I couldn’t just feel grown-up. I had tobegrown-up. Later on, I tried to contact Bax one last time. I thought he should know about Kevin, and that Kevin should have some sort of relationship with his father. But...” She trailed off. “When there was absolutely no interest, only anger and hostility, I began to understand that it was best that that didn’t happen. Today, maybe for the first time, I was absolutely sure of it.”
“He doesn’t deserve either of you.”
“No, he doesn’t.” She managed a small smile. Now that she’d said it all, for the first time in so very long, she felt hollowed out. Not limp, she realized. Just free. “I want to thank you for charging to the rescue.”
“My pleasure. He won’t touch you again, Meg.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips. “You or Kevin. Trust me.”
“I do.” She turned her hand in his, gripped. “I do trust you.” Her pulse was starting to skip, but she kept her eyes on his. “I thought, when you carried me in and upstairs... Well, I didn’t think you were going to make me tea.”
“Neither did I. But you were trembling, and I knew if I touched you before I cooled off, I’d be rough. That it wouldn’t be right, for either of us.”
Her heart stuttered then picked up its pace. “Are you cooled off now?”
His eyes darkened. “Mostly.” Slowly, he rose, drew her to her feet. “Is that an invitation, Megan?”
“I—” He was waiting, she realized, for her to agree or refuse. No seduction, no pretty promising words. No illusions. “Yes,” she said, and met his lips with hers.
When he swept her up this time, she gave a quick, nervous laugh. It slid back down her throat when she met the look in his eyes.
“You won’t think of him,” Nathaniel said quietly. “You won’t think of anything but us.”
Chapter 8
She could hear her own heartbeat pounding, pounding, in counterpoint to the rain that pounded against the windows. She wondered whether Nathaniel could hear it, too, and if he did, whether he knew that she was afraid. His arms were so strong, his mouth was so sure each time it swooped down to claim hers again.
He carried her up the stairs as if she weighed no more than the mist that swirled outside the cottage.
She would make a mistake, she would do something foolish, she wouldn’t be what either of them wanted. The doubts pinched at her like fingers as he swept her into his bedroom, where the light was dim and the air was sweet with wisteria.
She saw the spear of purple blooms in an old bottle on a scarred wooden chest, the undraped windows that were opened to welcome the moist breeze. And the bed, with its sturdy iron headboard and taut cotton spread.
He set her down beside it, so that she was all too aware of the weakness in her knees. But she kept her eyes on his and waited, terrified and aching, for him to make the first move.
“You’re trembling again.” His voice was quiet, the fingers he lifted to stroke her cheek were soothing. Did she think he couldn’t see all those fears in her eyes? She couldn’t know that they stirred his own.
“I don’t know what to do.” The moment the words were out, she closed her eyes. She’d done it already, she realized. The first mistake. Determined, she dragged his head down to hers for an aggressive kiss.
A fire kindled in his gut, flames leaping and licking at the ready fuel of his need. Muscles tensed in reaction, he fought back the urge to shove her back on the bed and take, take quickly, fiercely. He kept his hands easy, stroking her face, her shoulders, her back, until she quieted.
“Nathaniel.”
“Do you know what I want, Meg?”
“Yes— No.” She reached for him again, but he caught her hands, kissed them, fingertip by fingertip.
“I want to watch you relax. I want to watch you enjoy.” His eyes on hers, he lowered her hands to her sides. “I want to watch you fill up with me.” Slowly he began to take the pins from her hair, setting them on the table beside the bed. “I want to hear you say my name when I’m inside you.”
He combed his fingers through her hair, contenting himself with the silky texture. “I want you to let me do all the things I’ve been dreaming of since I first laid eyes on you. Let me show you.”
He kissed her first, his mouth soft, smooth, seductive. Endlessly patient, he parted hers with teasing nips and nibbles, with the persuasive caress of his tongue. Degree by torturous degree, he deepened the kiss, until her hands clutched weakly at his waist and her shudders gave way to pliancy.
The lingering taste of brandy, the faint and very male scrape of a day’s beard against her cheek, the patter of rain and the drifting scent of flowers. All this whirled in her head like a drug, both potent and possessing.
His lips left hers to journey over her face, to trace the line of her jaw, to nuzzle at her ear, waiting, patiently waiting, until he felt her slip over to the next stage of surrender.
