Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Notorious in the West\Yield to the Highlander\Return of the Viking Warrior (20 page)

Awed by her, made generous by her, Griffin pleasured her everywhere. He caressed her breasts and made Olivia sigh. He kissed her nipples and made her moan. He tongued her there and made her cry out...even made her clutch his head to her chest, where his wild, long dark hair spilled across her pale skin, turning him into nothing more than a conquering creature of passion and strength...and her into nothing less than a sweet, salvation-providing maiden—one who would fill his dreams forever.

Except
this
maiden was real.
This
maiden touched him boldly. She explored his chest and his shoulders and his midsection. She gazed at him with wonder and curiosity. She dared to kiss his neck. She pulled his hair, if that was what was required to make him kiss her where she most longed for him to. With him, Olivia was free and uniquely herself, needing and giving and taking in equal measure—and near equal nakedness.

Thrilled that her boldness met his own, Griffin matched her with every caress, every kiss, every new place to explore that which had once been forbidden but was now his to take. Moments flew past, barely noticed as he returned to Olivia's knee, then slid his hand higher. Her thighs felt silken and strong; her breath panted across his bare shoulder as he touched her.

“Oh!” In a low voice, Olivia cried out. “Is that...?”

Whatever she meant to say next was lost in a breathless moan. Griffin had found her most feminine secrets. Even as she tossed her head against the pillows, he went on touching her, wholly unable to hold back a moan of his own. Knowing Olivia this way, so intimately, was...
exquisite.
Knowing that she liked the way he touched her would live inside him forever. Striving to be gentle, determined to please her, Griffin caressed her.

Olivia arched herself higher in response, helplessly trying to get closer to him. Instinctively, she flexed her thighs. Her whole body trembled, already on the verge of something she'd doubtless never experienced and would not understand...but at the same moment as Griffin began to whisper comfortingly to her, he felt Olivia's hand swerve to the front of his underdrawers.

At her touch, his entire being went rigid. Gritting his teeth, Griffin released a groan of pleasure that would have scared him—had Olivia not made a passionately similar sound at the same moment. Acting on instinct and need, again mimicking him in a way that he vigorously approved of, Olivia stroked him.

She panted his name, and Griffin was lost. He lifted his face to hers. He saw Olivia's wide-eyed, marveling look as she went on stroking his manhood, and knew that he would disgrace them both if he let her continue. Her touch was simply too potent. Her eagerness was too arousing. Her love was too much.

Panting now, too, Griffin covered her hand with his.

“Wait,” he breathed. “Just...
feel.
”

Making himself go slowly, just for now, he went on caressing Olivia with his free hand. Her slick femininity unfurled beneath his touch, hot and pouting and desirous, and it was all Griffin could do not to lose control of himself as he felt Olivia tensing beneath him...as he felt her surrender completely.

“Oh! Griffin!” Her gaze flew to his. “I feel...”

Before she could say, Olivia came undone. Bucking wildly beneath his hand, she reached a height of pleasure he'd never imagined she would...and then, when her gleaming body finally quit shuddering, she stared at him in surprise. She breathed heavily, gave a giddy giggle then stroked his face.

“I don't know what just happened,” she said in a dazed tone, “but I just couldn't help myself. I'm sorry if I—”

Passionately, Griffin kissed her. “There's nothing to be sorry for.” Gently, he stroked her face, too. “If that hadn't happened, I'd be ashamed to call myself a man.”

“Oh. I see.” With her heart pounding, Olivia regarded him through dreamy eyes. Then, “Can that happen for you, too?”

Nearly overcome at the thought, Griffin only nodded.

But Olivia seemed to have found a new sense of liveliness. Wearing a brazen look, she examined him...all the way down to his underdrawers. She seemed startled to find her hand still atop his clothing—still atop the long, unyielding length of him.

“Oh! I quite forgot myself,” Olivia said. Then, wearing a look of pure discovery, she began stroking him again. First tentatively. Then interestedly. Then joyously...and
vigorously.

Her reaction was so uniquely her that Griffin found himself newly amazed. Filled with an indescribable sense of joy that a woman like Olivia had come to love him, he somehow found the strength to close his eyes, cover her hand with his, then stop her diligent, insanity-inducing ministrations a second time.

“I,” he said in a husky voice, “have a better idea.”

“Thank you, but I'm enjoying this one,” she protested.

Griffin wasn't having it. An instant later, he took control. He kissed Olivia into a fresh round of wriggling, moaning insensibility. He caressed her passionately atop her feather-filled mattress. Then he stood beside the bed, smiled at her and dropped his underdrawers. Bared to the midnight air, ready to make Olivia his at last, Griffin inhaled deeply.

Olivia leaned up on her elbow to look at him. Then...

“You're
very
thrilling to look at,” she mused. Her gaze roved over his shoulders and arms, past his chest and middle, straight down to...his feet. Then, shyly, it roamed higher.

Griffin felt himself react to her intensely interested scrutiny in a predictable way. His member throbbed. Then,
right then,
he needed Olivia to reach for him, to touch him...

And she did. As though divining what he wanted—or sharing the impetus of that desire—Olivia reached out. But Griffin knew he couldn't help reacting if she caressed him again. Eager and passion filled, he rejoined her on the bed. He brought himself down over her.

He gazed into Olivia's face and let the full weight of what they were about to share sink into him. After this, Griffin knew, they would always be part of each other. Forever.

With the same synchronicity they'd shared earlier, they came together. Olivia eagerly parted her thighs, urging him to settle between them. Griffin pulled her nearer and kissed her deeply, letting her know how remarkable this was between them.

“I want you, Griffin,” Olivia said then...and there was nothing he could have done, from that moment on, to stop himself from loving her fully. He simply needed her far too much.

With a single unerring stroke, he entered her. As readily as he'd ever dreamed it would, her body welcomed him. Hot and wet and shuddering, Olivia grabbed his back with both hands. She urged him on, tossing her head against the pillows again, and as Griffin reared up to look at her, as he went on plunging himself inside her, he knew that this was a night he would never forget.

Maybe, a small and unasked-for part of him knew, it was a night he would never forgive himself for, as well.

But Griffin couldn't think about regrets or mistakes or the honor and goodness that had slipped from his fingers like water past the banks of Morrow Creek in the moment he'd begun making love to Olivia. Because she was in his arms. She was moaning in passion beneath him. She was clutching his backside in a way that shocked him and drove him on, and Griffin simply couldn't hold on any longer. Thrusting again, Griffin felt himself losing control completely...and he could do nothing except give in.

Again and again, ecstasy shook him. Aware of nothing except the need to have more of it, Griffin lost himself in Olivia's arms. He'd never known such ferocious pleasure. He'd never experienced such a complete unraveling of what he knew to be true and real and right. In that moment, love was true.

Olivia was real. Being with her was right.

A heartbeat later, some of that started to change.

But Griffin felt too caught up in the aftermath of the storm they'd both shared to think about...much of anything at all. So he only set aside the unexpected, unwanted, unforgivable feelings that swamped him in that moment. Instead, he focused on Olivia. He pulled her close. He kissed her anew. He remembered the sound of her intimate cries as he'd brought her pleasure, and he tied up those memories with a sailor's knot too tight to be broken. Because, far too late, Griffin knew that this time, he'd made a mistake much too grave to ever be forgiven for it.

Especially—most of all—by Olivia herself.

Chapter Eighteen

A
wakening as the late-morning sunshine poked its way into her rooms through the closed but uncurtained window that Griffin had masterfully shut the night before, Olivia slowly became aware of the scent of clove-oil soap clinging to her rumpled sheets. Groggily, she sniffed it. Then, she smiled.

Griffin.
That was Griffin's unmistakable scent. Along with the aromas of stubbornness and passion—because, when Olivia was around him, she felt certain those qualities possessed enough tangibility to be inhaled—clove-oil soap was uniquely
him.

Drawing in another big lungful, Olivia stretched lazily. Eyes closed, she wiggled her toes beneath her coverlet. She made fists with her hands and stuck out her arms.
Ah.
Then, struck by a sudden and unfamiliar sense of vague soreness, she went still.

Oh. Yes.
Griffin had loved her last night.

She still had the slightly swollen mouth, giddier than giddy feelings and unaccustomed feminine aches to prove it.

Feeling butterflies anew over her recollection of it, Olivia sighed. After everything they'd shared, she and Griffin had cuddled. They'd talked. They'd washed themselves, laughing over the icy leftover bathwater they'd used for the sake of discretion among the hotel staff. Then they'd cuddled again, and then—after a tiny bit more elated canoodling—they'd slept.

It turned out, Olivia had learned, that being held in a man's arms had a remarkably soporific effect. Especially if that man was a woman's beloved. Because she had no sooner scooted herself into Griffin's arms, felt him kiss her cheek and heard him rumble a low-voiced
good-night
than she was fast asleep.

She'd dreamed of wedding bells and spiced wedding cake.

She'd awakened with thoughts of proposals on her mind.

That was only natural, Olivia told herself as she languidly prepared to begin her first morning as Griffin's official paramour—and he, hers. Griffin loved her. She loved him. The intimacies they'd shared last night were ample evidence of that.

She still couldn't believe she'd felt that way! She hadn't even known such sensations existed. Recalling it now nearly made Olivia blush—but that hadn't stopped her. With Griffin, she'd been downright shameless. She'd ogled him. She'd groped him. She'd wantonly let herself be thrown on her own pine-framed bed and ravished until she'd begged for more. Given all that, if Griffin
didn't
propose to her... Well, Olivia couldn't imagine it.

Of course
Griffin would propose to her. A decent man did not make love to an innocent woman and then not suggest marriage! Olivia knew that. She had married friends. Most of them had indulged in certain...intimacies with their husbands before tying the knot. People got carried away, like Olivia and Griffin had done. Or they just couldn't wait. Some women arrived at their own weddings with twice-let-out dresses concealing their newly fruitful figures. Most people in town understood that. As long as the gentleman in question behaved honorably and the lady in question remained decorous, things worked out fine.

On the other hand...

Olivia had also known fallen women, some of whom had come to Morrow Creek to make a fresh start. Some claimed to be widows. Some kept to themselves and let the gossips decide what their pasts might have involved. Either way, it wasn't entirely unusual in the Arizona Territory to encounter an unmarried woman with a pregnant belly or even with a baby in tow.

Not that Olivia wanted to be one of them! Shivering at the very thought, she stretched again, then inhaled another lungful of Griffin's signature spicy scent. It was fortunate she liked it, she thought in a burst of cheerfulness, because it was probably all over her...exactly the way Griffin himself had been. She doubted a single square inch of her had escaped his loving attentions. From her ears to her toes, from her fingertips to her... Well, to the rest of her, Olivia felt tingly and loved.

She felt as though she'd shared something momentous.

Now she was ready for the next step. Because after everything that had happened over the past few weeks, Olivia felt more indomitable than ever. She'd taken on the challenge of Griffin. She'd successfully impersonated a chambermaid. She'd introduced Griffin to Morrow Creek, attended a whirlwind of activities with him and found the courage to step into her own lady's rational cycling skirt and play a game of baseball.

From here, she reasoned, there would be no stopping her.

Smiling at that, Olivia finally popped open her eyes. At the same time, she swept her arm to the side, intending to tease Griffin. He possessed a few sensitive, surprising spots that were most fun to tickle. If she played her cards right...

She would find herself alone in bed?

Confused to find the opposite side of the bed unoccupied, Olivia frowned. She sat up in the selfsame shaft of sunshine that had awakened her, then looked around. From her bed, she could easily glimpse her entire set of rooms. Her settee and lamp were still in place. Her revolving bookcase and prototype toothbrush were right where they belonged. Her bathtub stood where she'd left it, holding much less water, now even colder.

Draped across it was her abandoned floral wrap. Nearby, her chemise had been flung inelegantly across an armchair. Olivia couldn't remember how it had gotten there. She was too busy noticing that although her discarded clothing was still strewn about, Griffin's underdrawers and dressing gown were not.

Hmm.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Olivia looked again. The view didn't change. Apparently, sometime during the night, Griffin had left her rooms and quietly returned to his own.

Well. Undoubtedly that was because he wanted to help her retain her modesty and her reputation, Olivia told herself.

After all, if a member of the hotel staff came upstairs to retrieve her zinc-lined wooden tub, empty it of its water and move it downstairs—as they should have done last night—it would be better for everyone if Olivia and Griffin weren't in bed together. That was only sensible, wasn't it?

Assuring herself it was—despite the sense of prickly unease that filled her at Griffin's absence—Olivia slipped out of bed.

After hastily washing her face and brushing her hair, she pulled on her wrap again. Trying to ignore her increasing sense of disquiet, she opened her door. She padded down the hall to Griffin's suite. Her hotelier's keys admitted her. Most likely, Olivia assured herself as she opened the door, Griffin would be dozing in his own bed, rightly exhausted from pleasuring her.

Or...perhaps he would
not
be in bed at all?

With rising concern, Olivia trod farther into the room. Immediately, she saw that things had changed overnight.

Griffin's trunks and possessions were gone from the foot of the bed. His suit coat no longer occupied the dressing rack near the bureau. His long overcoat wasn't on its hook; his toiletries weren't beside the washbasin and pitcher. His books and valise were packed and gone. Even the imprint of his body was missing from his bed, which had been made up and smoothed as though by a professional chambermaid's hands.

Hmm. Evidently, Griffin's skills with housekeeping weren't limited to sweeping, Olivia realized. He was apparently an adept bed maker, as well. Undoubtedly, he hadn't wanted to malign her pathetic abilities by displaying his own. Until now.

Until the day he left.

Fraught with disbelief, Olivia stared at Griffin's bed.

More than anything, seeing it uncharacteristically made up confirmed all her worst fears. He'd left The Lorndorff. He'd left
her.
And he'd done so secretly, in the worst way possible.

Probably, he hadn't been able to face her, Olivia reasoned. Last night, Griffin had
seen
her. He'd
known
her in the most intimate and complete way possible...and, just as she'd feared, he'd ultimately found her empty. In a way no one else ever had, Griffin had gotten to know her absolutely—for her appearance and for her nascent inner qualities—and he'd rejected her.

Griffin, like everyone else, had decided Olivia really was nothing more than a face on a patent remedy bottle. His only fault was lacking the strength of character to tell her so in person—to behave as forthrightly as everyone else in Morrow Creek had and be honest with her about her own limited appeal.

Not that she should have expected more from The Boston Beast, Olivia tried to tell herself. He was notoriously bad. He was known to be cruel, known to be harsh and unforgiving...

But Olivia didn't believe that. She knew this was her fault. She had tried to be fully herself with Griffin—philosophy books, inventions and baseball playing included. He'd obviously not appreciated those aspects of her. Unlike everyone else in town, Griffin knew her...and he didn't want her. If he had, he'd have been there, greeting her with a kiss and a smile, pulling on his hat and preparing to accompany her on another outing.

But he wasn't. He was gone. And she'd been a fool.

Feeling increasingly stunned, Olivia walked closer to the bed. She touched its coverlet, hoping against hope that its smooth appearance was a trick of the light. If she could glimpse a slight crease, if she could detect Griffin's presence...

But it was no use.
He'd gone.
There was no changing that.

In a sense, his leaving had been inevitable. Griffin had never promised to stay. In fact, he had always been evasive about his plans in Morrow Creek. Whenever Olivia had pressed him about it, she'd been met with outright caginess. She'd figured his equivocation owed itself to his scheme to take over the hotel and his reluctance to discuss The Lorndorff with her.

Now she realized Griffin had been evasive not because of the hotel, but because of her. He'd been too kind to reject her attentions immediately. But eventually, as time wore on...

As time wore on, he'd had to reject her. The alternative was to commit to her. Griffin clearly hadn't wanted to do that.

With a sharp sense of despair, Olivia remembered yesterday's baseball game.
That
must have been the limit for Griffin. He'd goaded her into playing and, when confronted with her true rebellious and unladylike nature, had found her unsuitable for him. Just as she'd guessed, he had been testing her. She'd failed. Just as she should have known she would.

Truthfully, it hadn't been fair for Griffin to use his greater sophistication and considerable intellect against her—all while tempting her with fiddle music and dancing, inventions and their prototypes, athletics and women's baseball playing. But he had. And she'd fallen for it entirely. Gullibly and trustingly, Olivia had allowed herself to be led.

She had allowed herself to
love.

Now what was she supposed to do?

Woodenly, Olivia sank onto Griffin's abandoned bed. She felt its soft mattress give way beneath her weight, felt its plush coverlet bunch up around her fingers and knew there was nothing she could do. She'd taken a chance on love. Foolishly, she'd taken a chance on loving a man whom the whole world should have warned her against. Of course, she should have known better.

Of course, she should have resisted him.

But remembering Griffin just then—recalling his smile and his gruff voice and his disarmingly attentive ways—Olivia knew she could not have resisted him. She'd been too smitten, too awestruck...too skirts over chignon for a man who had appeared to
want
her, just as she was. A man who had appeared to need her, to care for her, to know and appreciate her innermost being.

She was intelligent, Olivia reminded herself ruthlessly. She could not have been utterly wrong about Griffin. Could she?

Looking back on their time together, Olivia considered the evidence. In this, as in most things, perhaps scientific thought could save her. She couldn't risk becoming caught up in grief and sentiment—not if there was a way around it. After all...

You're so beautiful,
she remembered Griffin saying last night.
So beautiful, and so much more than beautiful.
Those weren't the words of a man who had judged her and then found her wanting. Those were words of love.

I keep telling you,
he'd said before that.
You don't have to do anything except be you.
Those were words of acceptance.

A beauty like you should have more than a beast like me,
Griffin had said.
But if you'll have me, Olivia, I promise to try to protect you.

Those...well, those were words of self-disdain, mingled with words of strength and loyalty and protectiveness.

Reminded of something similar Griffin had once told her, Olivia squinted. She knew he'd expressed a comparable sentiment—one that, at the time, she'd not given much further thought to.

Then she recollected it.

I'll leave before endangering you,
he'd sworn to her that lazy afternoon when they'd been lolling in the sunshine beside Morrow Creek after paying their social calls.
I swear it.

It seemed, all at once, that Griffin had done exactly that.

It seemed that Griffin had sacrificed himself—sacrificed them both—for her. His view of himself as irreparably flawed had prevailed in the end. His wrongheaded sense of honor had made him leave...had made him try to protect her from himself.

What a foolish,
foolish
man he was, Olivia realized.

She didn't need anyone to protect her! If Griffin had truly been paying attention, he'd have known that all she needed was someone to
love
her. The rest was just sketchbooks and sparrow sightings, quilting bees and quiet times...getting herself through her days as best she could, just like everyone else she knew.

Unlike everyone else she knew, though, Olivia realized, she wasn't afraid of uncertainty. She was excited by it. She hadn't been daunted by wrangling with The Tycoon Terror. If anything, she'd been drawn to Griffin even more strongly because of the danger inherent in him—because of the courage he'd made her reveal and the facets of herself she'd uncovered in the process.