Safari Moon (20 page)

Hell, what was the matter with him? His
moral code, which until now had served him well, had scattered to
the four winds.

He turned back to the house, his usual long
strides short and indecisive. The four steps to the front porch
loomed in front of him. A deep, long sigh at this point that was
meant to give him the answers he craved, didn’t.

The creaky front door didn’t enlighten him
either, nor did the short trek to her bedroom door. His first
thought was to run and seek solace in the bedroom loft.

Solo St. John you are a
coward
.

When he peeked into the room, she was
asleep. Hallelujah, his prayers had been answered. Yet instead of
turning and walking away he did the exact opposite.

He strode to the bed.

For several seconds, Solo
stood over her. Her hair was spread out on the pillow, her hand
tucked beneath her chin. Without his help, she’d taken her dress
off and now she was clad in very little.
Damn little
.

Solo smiled to himself. He
couldn’t decide if she looked prettier now or when he’d first seen
her walk down the aisle in her wedding dress, his grandmother’s
gown. The significance of his thoughts stunned him. His grandmother
would not accept an annulment well.
Hell
.

The room was warm and she’d pushed the
covers off. He could see the tops of her white silk stockings and
the tiny pink roses that formed a perfect border. One strap of her
chemise had fallen off her shoulder and he could watch her breasts
rise and fall. She had a sexy shoulder. He wanted to touch her so
damn bad he could barely restrain himself.

She purred, a soft sound, seductive and with
that he smoothed a lock of her beautiful hair from her face. He was
so close, so tempted, so needy. This was his wedding night.

A wedding night he had no claim over.
Seemingly on their own volition, his fingers traced the contour of
her jaw, down the slope of her neck across the creamy swell of a
perfect breast.

She purred again and Solo smiled once more.
At least in her sleep she was not indifferent to his touch, to the
man she married. No, if he thought back on the last few days, Nyssa
had been anything but indifferent.

He pulled his hand back and rested it on her
hip. She rolled onto her back. With the movement, his hand slid
across her hip until his fingers lay on her stomach. Her eyes still
closed, she made a sleepy sound, her hand coming to settle on his
own.

“Solo?” she asked in a soft sexy voice.
“Wouldn’t you like to come to bed?”

Chapter Ten

Now that was an invitation no saint, or
human male could resist but he forced himself.

“Solo.” Her voice, sultry and provocative,
beckoned him. “What’s taking you so long?”

What could he say? Just a
minute and I’ll ruin you for your real fiancé? Just a minute and
I’ll ravish you? Before he lost his courage and fell victim to the
seductiveness of her voice, he removed his hand from hers and rose
from the bed.
Coward
.

“Be right back.”

He stood in the middle of the room, sweat
trickling down his back and desire pulsing through his veins. All
his patience, all the willpower he possessed, vanished along with
his list of good intentions.

She looked down for a brief second and
stared at her hands. They were folded in her lap, fingers entwined,
tense and a few seconds later they slipped apart.

He watched, entranced as her hands moved
provocatively up her arms and back down. Nyssa’s eyes fixed on him,
heated his body, and fired every nerve to the extreme.

In a calculated yet innocent gesture, she
untied the little bows that held the shoulder straps of her
camisole together. The strings dropped seductively, one fell across
her breast the other down her back. Part of the material slid away
as she reached out to him, reached out in the silent emptiness of
their wedding night. And Solo felt miserable.

With tremendous effort, he turned away from
temptation, strained for control yet when he spun back, it became
apparent he had none. He stretched out beside her and told himself
he would hold her, nothing more. Reminded himself that to feel the
length of her against him would be enough, but he was wrong.

Nyssa wrapped her arms around him, pulling
him closer and tugged at his shirt so the tails came free. He heard
the contented noises she made when she ran her fingers across his
back, his stomach, hesitated at the front clasp of his waist
band.

He was only human and she was a beautiful
woman.

Yet in the far recesses of his mind, he knew
he couldn’t let this happen. He met her hands with his own, holding
them still. Her fingers, small and fragile, were engulfed by his
and he wondered at the vast differences between them. Slowly he
brought her hands and wandering touches away from his zipper and to
his mouth. He kissed each knuckle and every fingertip.

But that gesture opened new gates of
soul-damning temptation. When he lowered her hands, he saw
revealing curves, creamy skin, and one rosy crest peeking
negligently from white silk, begging for his attention.

“Nyssa.” He held himself in check as he
cupped her chin. “We can’t do this.”

“I don’t understand.”

Her voice was so damn sexy, so
beguiling.

Hell!

“Of course you don’t darling. I’m leaving
now.”

Before he knew what she planned, she was on
top of him, straddled across his stomach. His hands had found their
way to the soft curves of her bottom and met soft--soft, rounded
flesh. A picture of white lace stockings and panties that were
barely there greeted him. She looked wanton and anything but
innocent sitting over him, her hair wild and disheveled.

He wanted to paint this image into his mind
forever.

Nyssa bent over and kissed him, long and hot
and he couldn’t think straight. She had the sweetest, most velvety
mouth imaginable, and she kept purring.

He tried to stop himself, tried to count
backward from one hundred but only got as far as ninety-seven. A
futile endeavor. What mortal man could have accomplished more? With
her small, warm hands sneaking up and down his chest, her round,
enticing bottom molded to his fingers, he didn’t have a prayer.

He was so hard it was painful. Aching for
fulfillment, he knew he had to remove her from on top of him or
he’d explode.

Solo tried to lift her away but she fell
against him, the tips of her breasts brushing against his naked
chest. One quick turn and he could have her beneath him. Another
swift move and--

“Oh, darlin’.” He let his fingers rove,
storing up all the memories he could.

Before he argued himself out of making love,
Solo swept her beneath him, his body pressing down on hers.

“Nyssa, sweet, innocent darlin’, you feel so
wonderful,” he said. “What am I going to do?”

“Make love to me, I hope.” Through his
trousers, her fingers encircled the hardest part of his body.

She wasn’t drunk. He knew that. But he had
filled her glass a few too many times, and considering all that he
knew about Nyssa Harrington, he couldn’t account for the boldness
she displayed right now in any way except the alcohol.

Her smile was seductive, her hair was spread
across his pillow and over her breasts in a wild tangle of blond
curls; her eyes were wide deep pools of smoldering heat.

Solo had never felt so frustrated and
confused before, never wanted and desired someone he couldn’t have.
And he’d never had a wife before. A wife he was afraid to touch. A
wife who crawled all over him and begged him to make love to
her.

His attempt to ignore her
didn’t work. He nipped hungrily at her neck, up higher to her
delicate pink earlobe and her sexy little sigh egged him on,
tugging at his restraint.
One
kiss then I’ll stop. One more
--

Solo couldn’t leave though he tried. Bracing
his hands on either side of her head, he really did push away, but
Nyssa wound her hands around his neck and pulled him back. He gave
in and lowered his head to feather kisses across her cheeks and
nose. He couldn’t remember finding so much pleasure and desire in a
woman as right now--with Nyssa Harrington.

This was a terrible time to regain a
conscience and an awful time to remember a fiancé, hers. Jealousy
ripped through him. He couldn’t bear the thought of old Robert
seeing her like this, holding her the way he did, touching her.

Yet while he used every argument he could
think of to curb his own desires, she tore at his clothes--pushed
them away. Her arms warmed his back, pulling him closer and she
wouldn’t give him the opportunity to stop. Still his inner voice
raged at him, condemned what he wanted so desperately.

“Nyssa,” he said, with barely controlled
desire. “Don’t touch me.”

“You don’t like this?”

Her hand delicately stoked and cupped him
once again. Hell, he couldn’t stand much more.

“Nyssa, we agreed on a hands off marriage.
You remember?”

She must not have because she kissed him,
roughly, and her tongue invaded his mouth. Exploring. Nyssa was hot
but he felt hotter, his restrained simmer reaching a hard boil. He
pulled back, his forearms resting by her head. She looked at him,
her eyes bottomless pools of steamy sensuality.

“Nyssa, I won’t do this with you.” He heard
the quiver in his voice and despised his weakness.

She looked confused and vulnerable.

He’d hurt her but what else could he have
done? He’d tried to do this gently, attempted to ease the
situation. Suddenly she not only closed her eyes to him, he felt as
if she’d closed her heart and mind to him too.

That was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? If
she’d carried on like this for one minute longer he could not have
turned back.

“You all right, pumpkin?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and a small tear slid
from one corner and moved down the side of her face. He brushed the
moisture away with his thumb but he wanted to kiss it away.

“I don’t like--pumpkin.”

Her tone was matter of fact, resigned and he
felt like the lowest of low.

“I’m supposed to be in control here. I’d
blame myself if anything happened that you’d regret. I won’t cause
you more problems.” He caught himself before he blurted out how
much he loved her. Instead, “I’ll be gone in the morning.”

She appeared cold. The ice maiden was back.
She detached herself from him with an elaborate show of pride and
some hostility. “To the wolves?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t know what to say. This was a new
and different Nyssa. Before he could understand what was going on,
she was at the door, holding it open for him. She didn’t look at
him again, just stood there--waiting.

“I’ll see you in a week with pictures to
catalog.”

***

Nyssa spent a restless night. She wasn’t
tipsy enough for the alcohol to put her to sleep. Everything she’d
done the evening before embarrassed her, and she remembered how he
felt, the taste of his kiss, all of him in perfect detail. When she
thought about what happened, how she responded. She would never
forget his rejection of her.

Not once had she thought of Robert--good old
Robert. Oh, yes, she felt guilty but not because she hadn’t thought
of Robert but because she didn’t want to think of him. She’d wanted
Solo to make love to her.

As for Stephen Oliver Lawrence O’Neil St.
John, he could go on his little adventures. He could go anywhere he
damn well pleased, but she wouldn’t do him any more favors.

Solo had left the room with
the admonition that he’d see her in a week.
Because the wolves make better company than I
do
.

Maybe she should leave right now. That
thought didn’t help her disposition. She’d never run out on Solo or
anyone before. When she pushed the covers aside, she realized for
the first time what she had on, or more accurately what she didn’t
have on.

She’d never thought about it before--Solo
seeing her in something like this--never considered the
possibility.

Unable to find a robe, she wrapped a hand
made quilt around her, each square, symmetrical and colorful.
Padding to the window, she looked out on another dreary wind-blown
day, a day that without Solo would stretch out in front of her
forever.

His jeep sat in front of the house, engine
purring but he wasn’t in the driver’s seat. If she ventured out of
her room to the kitchen, she might run into Solo. She might share a
cup of coffee or breakfast with him before he left for the more
tolerable company of his wolves.

Nyssa sat down on window ledge and burst
into tears.

A few seconds later, the door opened. Before
Nyssa could stop crying, Solo was beside her on one knee, poetic
justice, surely not. Quickly she jumped from the seat, a toppled
lamp following with a crash. “Solo,” she said. If she looked wild
and deranged from a sleepless night, he didn’t give any indication
that he noticed.