Shattered Rainbows (40 page)

As she had lost herself in fear. "I'm horribly sorry that I lied to you," she blurted out. "I hated doing it, but I felt I had no choice. I didn't think I would ever be able to speak of what was wrong with me."

"Forgiven and forgotten." Michael lay on his side and held her close with one arm. His velvet robe was soft on her hypersensitive skin. "Less and less do I believe you're abnormal. Apart from being abnormally wonderful, that is."

"You make me feel so
good
." She rubbed her face against him like a cat. "Where did you learn such compassion?"

He sighed, some of his happiness dimming. "By making truly abominable mistakes."

"You said once that you loved—or were obsessed by— a married woman," she said hesitantly. "Was that one of them?"

"The worst." He hated speaking of his criminal folly, but it was only fair when he had forced Catherine to reveal her deepest shame. "She was the wife of a close friend. Devastatingly beautiful and utterly unscrupulous, though I didn't learn that until years later. She betrayed every man who loved her. From sheer malice, she did her best to poison the friendship between her husband and me, and very nearly succeeded."

His throat closed as he remembered the years of hell, and of the child Caro had been carrying when she died— the child that was probably his. The memory haunted him. "She said she feared her husband would kill her, and that I must avenge her if she died suddenly. Thinking she was exaggerating, I agreed. Then she died in a suspicious accident, and I was left with the choices of killing my friend, or breaking a vow made to the woman I loved."

"How ghastly." She propped herself on her elbow, her face reflecting his own anguish. "But you didn't do it, did you?"

"That was more from weakness than wisdom," he said painfully. "I ran away to war, half hoping I would be killed and never have to fulfill the vow I'd made. But eventually I had to come home. In my madness, I came within a hair's breadth of killing my friend. If it hadn't been for the generous spirit of the man I had betrayed, I would have ended by destroying both of us, and damning myself for eternity."

"But you didn't." She gave him a kiss of aching sweetness, the silken fall of her hair gliding across his throat. "For that I will be eternally grateful. No one else could do for me what you have done, Michael. Thank you from the bottom of my soul."

By giving Catherine the kindness and patience she had not received as a bride, he was being rewarded a thousand fold. What had he done to deserve such luck? He swore that she would never regret trusting him. "I still haven't finished that massage. Would you like more, or would you prefer to sleep?"

She rolled onto her back and stretched with innocent provocation. "Finish the massage. I want to learn how, so I can give one to you."

He was surprised to feel a stirring of arousal. His long years of celibacy, combined with his passionate attraction to Catherine, had guaranteed that he would recover swiftly.

He retrieved the bottle of lotion and warmed some between his hands. Then he resumed what was a task of pure pleasure. In the firelight, her body was warm cream, her hair a dark glossy cloud around her face. His hands glided over her shoulders and arms, then down her torso and waist. Her eyes were closed, but she smiled dreamily when his fingertips traced the contours of her ribs. He took his time, repeating each stroke over and over, paying special attention to her magnificent breasts.

She was no longer wary when he touched her below the waist. A good thing he was still wearing his robe so she did not realize that he had ceased to be as harmless as a chick.

He sat by her feet and used a gentle, wringing motion on her legs. She made a muted, purring sound. Drawing her left leg up so that it bent at the knee, he circled her thigh with his hands. His lotioned hands slid effortlessly over her sleek skin.

She laughed a little when he did the right leg. "I feel like a lamb being basted so it can be baked for dinner."

"Not a bad idea. I think I'll taste you a little now."

He bent forward and licked the tender skin of her abdomen, drawing teasing circles around her navel with his tongue. Jarred from languor into vivid awareness, she exclaimed, "How can I be feeling like this again so soon?"

"Some women have the ability to reach fulfillment several times in rapid succession. Perhaps it's nature's compensation for the fact that it takes females longer to get there in the first place." He exhaled his warm breath into the soft mat of hair between her thighs.

Her fingers curled. "That feels very wicked."

"It isn't," he said peaceably, "but I'll stop if you like."

Her hand clenched on the folded blanket beneath her hips. "I… I think I'd rather be depraved. Sometimes I
hated
being Saint Catherine."

He kissed the inside of her thigh, triggering ripples of reaction in the acutely sensitive places he had found earlier. His firm lips moved higher, higher, until his heated mouth touched her most secret places. She gasped with shock.

His tongue stroked into the delicate feminine folds. The pleasure was indescribable, intense beyond any sensation she had ever known except pain. She whimpered, a long, drawn-out, racking sound. Dizzily she knew that after this night, she would never be the same. Sober Saint Catherine was gone forever, consumed by the flames of ecstasy. Yet even as she hovered on the edge of dissolution, she felt a queer hunger, a sense of incompleteness.

His hand replaced his mouth, his fingers inflaming, teasing, sliding inside her. She gave an inchoate murmur of protest when he stopped. A moment later, he caressed her again, pressing inward with a new, blunt kind of pressure.

It was another searing shock to realize what he was doing. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him. He had braced himself over her, a tremor in his broad shoulders and arms. Their gazes locked. There was a question in the depths of his eyes as he paused on the brink of full possession.

Suppressing her memory of those other, horrible times, she gave a faint, fearful nod. Her breasts rose and fell frantically as she waited for agony.

But when he pressed into her, there was no pain. Only a not-unpleasant stretching and a luscious, sliding friction as he advanced, a fraction of an inch at a time. When he had buried himself inside her, he panted, "Are you all right?"

"Yes." Her eyes were wide and startled. "
Yes
."

Her hips lifted against him gingerly. The sensation of him moving inside her brought stunning delight.
This
was what she had craved to fill her emptiness—this joining of two bodies to make them briefly one.

Her face blazed with joy as she wrapped her arms around him, bringing the length of his body against hers. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Her hips moved again, this time swift and hard so that he was driven more deeply. He locked his arms around her with a harsh groan and began thrusting uncontrollably. This time she was no prisoner, but his partner in madness. Heat was building, building, threatening to consume her soul. She clung to him as the one source of safety in a world gone mad.

Fire blazed through her in glorious wildness, searing her with shattering force. He spilled himself inside her as she twisted against him, shuddering. This was true fulfillment, as far surpassing the simple physical release he had shown her as the sun surpassed a candle.

She was his, he was hers. Her man, her love, her mate.

After the turbulence of their lovemaking, they both dozed. Michael woke when the fire burned out and coaxed a drowsy Catherine into bed. She came willingly, and promptly twined herself around him, trying to get as close as humanly possible.

He smiled and stroked her head. "That was worth waiting six years for."

She blinked at him sleepily. "Six years?"

"That's how long it's been since I've lain with a woman."

She came awake, her eyes wide with surprise. "You've been celibate since that horrible affair with the married woman?"

He nodded. "At first, I was an emotional shambles—far too crazed to be a fit bedmate for anyone. Celibacy was aided by the fact that I seem to have spent half the time since recovering from wounds, or fever, or being in the wilds of Spain, or some damned thing." He kissed her on the tip of the nose. "Also, I hadn't met anyone like you."

"I'm glad it's been so long for you," she said softly. "That means that perhaps tonight has been a little special for you. I hope so, because it was miraculous for me."

"Tonight was equally special for me," he murmured. More so than he had words for. He continued petting her until she fell asleep again. It was amazing how completely she had been transformed. This was the passionate, loving woman Catherine was meant to be. He wanted to stay awake to savor the sweetness of it, but he was too tired.

He drifted off, only to jolt awake, covered with sweat.
She was not for him
. Such joy was too good to last. Always in the past, his happiness had been crushed by some unexpected blow.

Fiercely he told himself that such thoughts were mere superstition. What could come between him and Catherine now?

But it was a long time before he slept again.

Pearly morning light shafted through the window when Catherine woke to find her head resting on Michael's shoulder, and her arm draped over his chest. He was also awake. His eyes held a certain wariness, as if wondering what she would feel about the events of the previous night.

She gave a slow smile. "That wasn't a dream, was it?"

He relaxed and smiled back. "The realest experience of my life. No regrets?"

"Nary a one." She made a face. "Except that I wish I'd realized sooner that I wasn't hopelessly flawed. It isn't going to be easy untangling the mess I've made by my deception."

"It doesn't have to be done instantly. Wait a bit. One of us might have a burst of inspiration if we think about it for a few days," he suggested. "Speaking of messes, Kenneth wrote that Colin's death left you with a number of problems."

"An understatement. When we married, we both had a little family money, but it's long gone now. I didn't know how bad things were until he died. Most of his creditors in the regiment were willing to overlook his gaming debts, but there were trademen's bills that had to paid before leaving France." She sighed. "Worst of all, he'd gotten one of his current mistresses, a housemaid, with child."

Michael winced. "How wretched for everyone involved."

Wretched did not begin to describe how she had felt when she had learned the news. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Marie was a country girl with no idea what to do. I told her to go home to her parents and say she was newly widowed after a brief marriage. An inheritance would make her story more believable, so I sold my mother's pearls and gave her half the proceeds. With that as a dowry, she should be able to marry and raise the child properly."

His brows rose. "You'll never get rid of the name Saint Catherine if you keep doing things like that."

"I could hardly let the girl and her baby starve, could I? It was the least I could do for Colin's sake." A shadow of old guilt fell across her. "God knows I wasn't a good wife to him."