Just Imagine (27 page)

"Then I will." His voice grew husky and seductive. "But first we have something to settle between us."

She shook her head, but she didn't try to back away. Instead, she heard herself say inanely, "This isn't proper."

"Most improper." His smile held a gentle note of mockery. "And neither of us cares."

"
I
care," she said breathlessly.

"Then why don't you climb up on Temptation right now and ride away?"

"I will." But she didn't move. She simply stood there and gazed at the muscles of his bare chest burnished by the late-afternoon light.

Their eyes locked, and he drew nearer. Even before he touched her, she felt the heat of his skin.

"We both know this has been between us ever since the day you came here. It's time we put an end to it so we can get on with the rest of our lives."

Temptation whickered.

He brushed her cheek with his finger and spoke softly. "I'm going to have you now, Kit Weston."

His head dipped so slowly that he might have been moving in a dream. His lips touched her eyelids and closed each one with a soft, quieting kiss. She felt his breath on her cheek, and then his open mouth, like a warm cave, settled over hers.

The tip of his tongue gently played with her lips. It slid along them and tried to coax away the uncertainty that held them shut. Her breasts had been so cold. Now they crushed against the hard warmth of his bare chest. With a moan, she opened her mouth and let him in.

He explored every part of the velvet interior that she made so freely accessible. His tongue touched hers. Gradually, he coaxed her into his mouth until she finally took what he offered her.

Now she become the aggressor. She entwined her arms around his neck. Tasted. Invaded.

He made a muffled sound deep in his throat. She felt his hand slide between their bodies. He pushed aside the open V of her britches and flattened his palm on her stomach.

The intimacy inflamed her. She dug her fingers into his thick, tawny hair. He pushed his hand beneath her shirt and found her breast. As his thumb circled the small, tight bud at the center, she pulled her mouth away with a smothered cry. Would she go to hell for this? What she was letting him do… This man wasn't her husband but her dearest enemy.

She felt herself falling and realized he was taking her to the ground with him. He cushioned their landing, then rolled her onto her back.

The earth was soft and mossy beneath her. He tugged at the button between her breasts, pushed aside the wet fabric, and exposed her breasts.

"You're so beautiful," he said huskily. He lifted his gaze to her face. "So perfect. Wild and free." Locking his eyes with hers, he covered her nipples with his thumbs and began making a series of small circles.

She bit her lip to keep from crying out. The frenzied sensations spiraled inside her, growing hotter and wilder.

"Go ahead," he whispered. "Let yourself feel."

The sound she made came from a place deep inside her.

His smile was smoky and full of satisfaction. He kissed the hollow of her throat, then the nipples he was torturing so expertly with his fingers.

Fiery pinwheels whirled behind her eyes as he suckled her. Just when she knew she could bear it no longer, his mouth trailed to the patch of flat, smooth stomach exposed by the open V of her britches. He kissed her there, then drew them down over her hips.

Finally she lay beneath him, naked except for her open white shirt.

Every nerve in her body quivered. She was frightened. Ecstatic. Noises played inside her head.

"Open for me, sweet."

His hands guided her… pushing… separating… Oh, yes…

Feathers of air touched her intimately. Her thighs were spread. She was open to his gaze, and the first trickle of apprehension hit her.
Eve's Shame
. Now he would do to her this momentous, awful thing that men did to women.

There's pain… There's blood…

But this wasn't pain. He brushed the curls between her thighs, and it felt more wonderful than anything she'd ever imagined.

His breathing grew heavy in her ear, and the muscles in his shoulders quivered beneath her palms. Her apprehension returned. He was so powerful, and she was defenseless. He could tear her apart. Yet she lay here.

"Wait," she whispered.

His head came up, his eyes darkly glazed.

"I shouldn't be… I need…"

"What's wrong?"

Her fear of him evaporated, but not her anxiety. So much was wrong, and right then, she knew she had to tell him. "It wasn't true," she managed. "What I told you. I've—I've never been with a man."

His brow clouded. "I don't believe you. This is another one of your games."

"No…"

"I want the truth."

"I'm telling you the truth."

"There's one way to find out for certain."

She didn't understand, not even when she felt his hand between her thighs. She sucked in her breath as he pushed his finger inside her.

Cain felt her wince, heard her gasp of surprise, and something inside him twisted. The membrane was there, that tenacious survivor of her rough, unruly childhood. Taut as a drumhead, strong as she was strong, it protected her even as it damned him.

His vulnerability frightened him, and he hated that. He sprang to his feet and cried out, "Isn't there anything about you that's what it should be?"

She stared up at him from her bed in the moss. Her legs were still parted. Long and slender, they held the secrets she'd shared with no man. Even as he grabbed his shirt and hat, he wanted her with a ferocity that made him shake, and pain he refused to acknowledge consumed him.

He stalked across the patch of grass to the place where his horse was tied. Before he mounted, he washed all feeling from his face and turned to inflict some of his own torment on her. But he couldn't think of words cruel enough.

"This isn't over between us yet."

  13

Brandon proposed to her at the Wednesday night church social. She accepted his offer of marriage, but, pleading a headache, declined his invitation for a walk around the church grounds. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, took her back to Miss Dolly, and told her he would be calling at Risen Glory later the next afternoon to secure Cain's permission.

Kit hadn't lied about having a headache. She was barely sleeping, and when she did sleep, she'd jolt awake to the memory of the strange, tortured expression she'd glimpsed on Cain's face when he'd discovered she still was a virgin.

Why had she allowed him to touch her like that? If it had been Brandon, she could have rationalized it. But Cain… Once again she was plagued with the notion that there was something very wrong with her.

The next afternoon, she rode Temptation hard and then changed into an old dress and took a long walk with Merlin. When she returned, she met Brandon coming down the front steps.

Ridges of disapproval engraved themselves between his eyes. "I hope no one's seen you in that dress."

She felt a spark of irritation, then put the blame on herself, where it belonged. She'd known he was coming this afternoon, but she hadn't thought to save time to change. She really was hopeless. "I was walking in the woods. Have you spoken with Cain?"

"
No
. Lucy said he's in the paddock. I'll speak with him there."

Kit nodded and watched him walk away. Her stomach pitched with anxiety. She had to find something to do or she'd go crazy. She made her way to the kitchen, where she greeted Patsy, then began mixing ingredients for a batch of Miss Dolly's favorite beaten biscuits.

Sophronia came in while she was working and watched with a frown as she banged the wooden mallet at the dough. "I'm glad I'm not those biscuits. For somebody who's supposed to be getting married soon, you don't look too happy about it."

Somehow they all knew what was happening. Even Lucy had found an excuse to come into the kitchen right behind Sophronia, who took coffee beans from a burlap bag in the pantry and put them in the big wooden grinder.

"Of course I'm happy." Kit took another whack at the dough. "I'm nervous, that's all."

"A bride's got a right to be nervous." Patsy picked up her paring knife and began peeling peaches for a cobbler.

Lucy had stayed by the window, and she saw him first. "Mr. Parsell's comin' back from the paddock."

Kit snatched up a muslin towel and wiped her doughy hands, then ran out the back door and raced toward Brandon, but as she saw his expression, her smile faded. "What's wrong?"

He didn't break his stride. "Cain refused his permission."

Kit felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her.

"He said he didn't think we'd suit each other. It's insufferable. A Parsell being dismissed like that by a Yankee ruffian."

Kit grabbed his arm. "We can't let him get away with this, Brandon. It's too important. I have to get Risen Glory back."

"He's your guardian. I don't see what we can do. He controls your money."

Kit barely noticed that neither of them spoke of love, only the plantation. She was too angered by his resignation. "You may be ready to give up, but I'm not."

"There's nothing more I can do. He's not going to change his mind. We'll just have to accept it."

She wouldn't listen. Instead, she turned away from him and strode determinedly toward the paddock.

Brandon watched her for a moment, then headed for the front of the house and his horse. As he mounted, he wondered if it might not all be for the best. Despite Kit's captivating beauty and her fertile plantation, there was something about her that made him uneasy. Maybe it had to do with the voices of too many of his ancestors whispering to him.

She's not at all the right sort of wife for a Parsell
—
even a penniless one
.

Cain stood at the whitewashed fence, one foot propped on the bottom rail as he stared out at the grazing horses. He didn't bother to turn when Kit charged up behind him, although he would've needed to be deaf not to hear her angry footsteps.

"How could you do this? Why did you refuse Brandon?"

"I don't want you to marry him," Cain replied, not looking at her.