An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One) (13 page)

She felt a flush start in her toes and spread quickly up her already heated skin.

“Damn,” Reed swore softly, taking a step back from her as if his life depended on it but coming up against the shelves so hard he made all of their contents rattle. He shook his head, trapped. “None of the women blush in Boston’s social circles, Charlotte. They aren’t able to anymore.”

She put her own hands up to her cheeks, hoping to cool them. She knew what he was saying without quite saying it. He wanted to be a man and woman together, but the proper, honorable Reed Malloy was warring with the freer spirit he’d found in himself here in the west.

Her own inner battle was more easily resolved. He had already established a place in her heart, and she had no one to whom she had to answer or be held accountable. No worried relatives, no gossiping friends. No one who would ever care if she gave in to the feelings that had sprung up between them so strongly over the past weeks.

She took another step toward him. It was her choice—to break out of her insulated world, to reach out to Reed, to all of the feelings she’d been denying herself capable of for so long.

He groaned, reading the look in her eyes. And Charlotte could tell instantly that he was lost to the feelings, just as she was. His hand came out, gripping her around her slender waist and pulling her against him.

Charlotte expelled the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. It was a physical and mental relief to finally find herself in his arms, against his broad chest, and she gave in to the desire to feel his thick hair.

She slid her arms up over his chest and laced her fingers around the back of his neck for a moment before entwining them in the hair that curled just above his collar. One of his hands was still on her waist, holding her tightly, while the other roamed over her body, dipping low to gently sweep her buttocks.

She gasped at the heat that coursed through her woman’s core at the feel of his hand through her robe.

Then he was grabbing a handful of her shining hair as she was doing to him. His other hand moved upward over her rib cage, to lightly trace the underswell of her breast.

Charlotte caught the breath in her lungs and held it as Reed’s hand moved further up, splaying across her collar bone. He paused there a moment, before traveling down to the deep plunging neckline of her robe. Then he halted.

She looked up, meeting his gaze; his eyes seemed on fire with blue flame. She thought she would melt if she stared into them too long.

“
Charlotte, I have a life in Boston. There is so much you don’t know. Do you understand? Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice a raspy whisper that sent shivers down her spine.

His hand still rested at the opening of her robe. She could feel it shake slightly. It was knowing that he was as much in need as she was that calmed her fears.

She couldn’t speak. She tried, then licked her lower lip with the edge of her moist tongue. He groaned again. Ever so slightly, in response to his question, she shook her head.

He bent down, lowering his lips to meet hers, and the kiss was more fervent than what they had shared outside, more like a rushing river, swollen after the rains, than the gentle stream of desire that had flowed between them before.

As his mouth pressed on hers, forcing her lips open with his tongue, his hand behind her head urged her against him. It was carnal and powerful, and the excitement she felt was heightened almost beyond bearing.

Charlotte knew she wanted to be wholly joined with this man, to assuage the madness that was coursing through her veins on account of him. She wondered how women survived such an encounter without fainting.

Reed’s kiss continued, even as he began to push her robe aside, slipping his fingers just inside the neckline to ease it open

“
I want to make love to you,” he breathed against her mouth.

“
I thought you already were,” she told him, only to gasp a moment later as he swept her up into his arms.

“
Not here,” he told her, “not among musty old books with reminders of barbed wire and farmers’ meetings.”

He carried her up the stairs two at a time, down the hall into his room. His was smaller than the other bedrooms, the light dim due to the pulled curtains, and Charlotte felt safe and secure as he set her down and slipped her banyan off one shoulder, then the other. She felt it slide down her burning skin and pool at her feet.

“You’re exquisite,” he told her, as he pulled her close again, out of the peacock blue puddle of cloth and toward the bed.

This was right, Charlotte thought to herself, this was what she’d lain awake at night wanting ever since Reed had entered her life.

“Stop looking at me that way,” he fairly growled as he began unbuttoning his shirt “or you’ll be my undoing.”

She laughed at the sight of him struggling with his shirt buttons and then sobered up quickly as he began to unbutton the snug denim trousers that had been driving her wild. Suddenly, a noise that was unmistakably a horse’s whinnying sounded outside the window. She froze. He froze.

She started to sit up, but Reed paused only a moment to glance between the curtains before climbing onto the bed beside her. He gathered her against him.

“
Only Alfred and my horse moving about.”

Charlotte had already forgotten, too distracted by the rough feeling of his denims against her skin. It was heaven. As she pressed her lower body against him, Reed looked down, realizing what she was doing, and his mouth curved.

“You are so sensual,” he breathed against her hair and treated her to a grinding of his hips against hers, deftly holding her in place with his strong hands on her hips. “Is that what you want?”

But she could not answer; her eyes closed, her lips parted, it seemed a struggle just to remember how to breathe. Her loins were on fire and dampened at the same time by the identical moist heat that seemed to be pulsing through her veins.

She felt the hard ridge of his desire straining against his trousers as he pressed deeply between her legs, brushing the silken flesh of her woman’s core.

“
Ohh,” she breathed, gripping his shoulders with tense fingers, knowing that there was more, that she should be patient and let him remove all his clothes. Instead, she shuddered, knowing instinctively that she was already so far along a path, there was no stopping.

She didn’t want the pressure on her mound or the rasping between her thighs to stop. She thought she said that, thought she heard her own voice, breathy and thick, in her ears, pleading something.

Then there was only Reed, speaking softly, reassuringly, not only continuing the gentle assault on her body but heightening it with increasing speed of his hips, and then his head bent to touch her breast and she felt as though she had shattered.

She cried out, raising her hips off the bed and grasping his bent head, as his lips nibbled on her breast. She was far away, light as a fall leaf, lifted away on a breeze, and she thought she would keep drifting endlessly farther away on the ripples of pleasure when finally it stopped and she began to settle back into herself.

She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice. “Are you all right?” he asked her. What a question! “But I . . .,” she felt a momentary pang of selfishness, “I did nothing but take from you. I didn’t even let you finish getting undressed.”

He laughed then, a raspy male sound that made her shiver.
“You have no idea how intoxicating it is to watch a woman as she first discovers the sensuality that is inside her. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

She digested his words:
Was that what she had just done?
Discovered her own sensuality, and in Reed’s arms?
She stretched and felt as if she could purr. He had never experienced that before. She didn’t want to ask what he meant, though he had hinted at the jaded and cynical women of his acquaintance.

Could it be true that she was the first innocent he’d ever bedded? It seemed to her as if virgins would be lining up for the privilege of having Reed Malloy deflower them. Then she remembered that she hadn’t even been deflowered yet and she felt the familiar heat of a blush spread through her.

He bent to kiss her again. Then they both heard the unmistakable sound of a wolf’s howl.

They froze.
“The horse,” she began. “Alfred—”

“
They should be able to take care of themselves,” Reed assured her, but he was already kneeling on the bed and throwing open the curtains. The sunlight streamed in and he scanned the meadow beside the house. “Have you seen any wolves around lately?”

“
No, only during hard winters, not usually this late in the spring.”

She sat up beside him on the bed, grabbing at the blankets to cover herself.
“If they can’t find deer, they go after livestock. But we don’t have a lot of cattle around here, so they just pass through.”

Then they heard it again, a lone cry that made the hair stand up on Charlotte’s neck.

“I don’t know much about them,” Reed said, “but I’m a little worried about—”

“
The children!” She was off the bed in a flash and heading down the hall to her bedroom. She heard Reed go down the stairs moments later, as she hastened into her chemise, skirt and blouse, before running to catch up with him. He was in her front parlor, taking the gun down from above the fireplace.

“
An old Sharps,” he murmured, looking over the single-shot rifle. “Does it work?” he asked as she stopped in the doorway.

“
It used to. My father used it. I know Thaddeus did, too.” She closed her mouth, realizing she was babbling in her fear. “The bullets are on the whatnot.” She hurried over to the corner shelves and reached up to the highest one. “I’ve got them.” She handed the small box to Reed.

“
Let’s get going,” he said. Charlotte watched him change from the passionate lover of a moment ago to the steely, collected man who had first knocked at her door, ready to slay dragons for these two children..

As they saddled up their horses, there was no embarrassment. It was almost as if the intimacy between them had never happened. They rode toward the Cuthins’ homestead, less than a mile away. Charlotte, tense, leaned forward, looking ahead for any signs of a timber wolf pack, while Reed scanned from side to side.

They heard the wolf howl again, nearer now. It sent shivers down Charlotte’s spine and caused Reed to urge his horse to a gallop.

And then, loudly, plainly, bloodcurdlingly, they heard Lily scream. Charlotte felt her heart jump into her mouth and stay there. Terrified, neither of them spoke. There was no point, no time. They simply headed for the sound, and then they heard it again.

“It’s good,” Reed called to her above the sound of the galloping hooves. “Lily’s voice will keep it at bay. Thomas should call out, too.”

She knew they shared the same fear—what if something had happened and Thomas wasn’t able to yell anymore? She shuddered at the thought, but she also knew that they were close, and she trusted that Reed was a capable, intelligent man. Everything would be all right.

She caught herself at that instant—unable to believe she was relying on someone else, and such a foolish reliance at that! Reed could no more guarantee the children’s safety than could she, but it was comforting to share the responsibility, nonetheless.

“
There,” he yelled. “Over by those pines.”

Charlotte looked to where Reed gestured. Sure enough, there was Lily, her back against a tall pine tree, a small branch in her hands, and a lone gray wolf, with its broad head and long body, sitting nearby. Thomas was nowhere to be seen.

She’d never seen anything similar before, never feared for her safety in all these years. Why now? Charlotte sent up a silent prayer that they would all get out of this safely.

Reed halted his horse and, in quick succession, slid off, braced himself, his feet slightly apart, and fired the rifle up in the air. The wolf barely took a second to look their way before it took off at a dead run.

Charlotte kicked Alfred forward, riding straight for Lily and was on the ground at a stumbling run before her horse even came to a standstill. She knelt down, gathering the little girl into her arms, tears coursing down Lily’s pale face.

“
It’s all right, honey,” she said, cradling Lily, who wrapped her arms tightly around Charlotte’s neck.

Charlotte heard Reed’s horse approach and he was beside them in an instant, joining them on the ground and reaching out to touch Lily’s arm.

“Sweetheart, where’s Thomas?” Reed asked, his voice remaining steady.

“
He . . . he fell in the ground,” Lily said between sobs, “we were together and then . . . I don’t know,” she wailed.

“
Sshh,” Charlotte hugged her tightly again and stroked her hair, trying to quieten her.

“
What do you mean?” Reed asked. “Did the wolf chase him?” Charlotte could hear the tension in his voice as he struggled not to frighten Lily with the urgency of finding her brother. “Think, Lily, which way did he go?”