Sweet Surrender (26 page)

She could have wrestled with him, but he was bigger and more powerful.  What was the point of bickering?

The energy went out of her, and she sagged against the mattress.

"Before I met you," she murmured, "I’d never lain with a man."

"I realize that fact."

"I can’t watch you with your sister-in-law.  It would kill me."

"So you weren’t listening, were you?"  He pulled her to him so they were pressed close and, oblivious to the noise he was generating, he shouted, "I loathe her!"

"All right, all right," Grace swiftly agreed, "you loathe her."

"She was desperate to seduce me.  My brother left me in charge of her son and his money, and she’s developed this bizarre notion that she should get me to marry her."

"I see…"

"No, you don’t
see
, you little fool."

He undid the clasp on her cloak and pushed it off her shoulders.  It dropped to the rug.

"Don’t make me stay, Jackson.  Your mother and sister-in-law don’t want me here.  I don’t want to be here. 
You
don’t actually want me here."

"Are you mad?  I’m wild for you, and you’re not departing until I decide you can."  He gestured to the bed.  "Let’s try something more pleasurable than quarreling."

"What?" Grace sputtered with shock.

"We fornicated yesterday, and I assumed we would spend every second since then doing the same.  You have avoided me and sulked and stewed.  For no reason!  I insist you set aside this ridiculous pout and focus on what matters between us."

"On what…
matters?"

"Yes.  It’s not my mother or Susan.  It’s us—and how good we are together."

"You are deranged," she mumbled, shaking her head.

"Yes, I always have been.  At this late date, why should I behave any differently?"

"I have no desire to get into bed with you."

"Yes, you do."

He bent down and captured her lips in a kiss that was sweet and hot and lush.  It promised heaven; it promised hell, and to Grace’s eternal disgust, she just stood there and let it occur.

She was so alone and so lonely, and when he was kind, she had no defense against him.  She couldn’t remain strong or deflect his advances.

"I don’t know the right answer, Jackson.  I don’t know what’s best."

"
I
am best, you crazed woman.  We’ll deal with my mother and with Susan tomorrow.  For tonight"—he grinned wickedly and tugged on the blankets—"we’re busy with more important things."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jackson tumbled onto the mattress and brought Grace down with him.  He didn’t give her a chance to refuse.

She was staring at him as if she didn’t know him, as if he was an alien creature who frightened her.  But he didn’t want her looking at him like that.

He wanted her happy and smiling and sassing him. 

Earlier, he’d told Duncan that he didn’t like bossy women, but Grace had changed his mind.  She was funny and ridiculous, and he was starting to realize that intelligent banter and strong opinions weren’t so bad in a female.

At least not in
her
. 

When she chided and chastised, she was speaking because she had something worth saying.  Occasionally, he actually listened to her, and it occurred to him that he’d miss her yammering once they parted.

The notion of her going away, of his never seeing her again, shot like an arrow straight into his heart.  He couldn’t imagine being separated from her, which was terrifying and odd.

She fascinated him, and he was definitely lusting after her, but that sort of intensity always faded.  In another month, he’d scarcely remember why he’d been captivated.  In another year, he probably wouldn’t remember her, at all.

She was lying on her back, her limbs limp as a ragdoll’s, and he shifted so he was on top of her, so he could gaze into her beautiful face.

"I can’t believe you were sneaking off again," he scolded.

"I wasn’t
sneaking
.  I was simply leaving."

"Call it what you will.  What must I do to keep you here?  Shall I bind our wrists again?"

"If you try it, I’ll kill you."

"You’re too small to kill me, and I’m too tough to die."

He reversed them so he was beneath her, and she was on her knees and straddling his lap.

"Stop pouting," he said. 

"Don’t tell me how to act."

"I hate the way you frown.  You resemble a grumpy nanny I had when I was six."

She rippled with exasperation.  "Oh, you exhaust me."

"No, I don’t.  You exhaust yourself.  You are the most hasty, impulsive person I’ve ever met.  You jump to conclusions and dramatize each little incident, and it immediately pitches you into a catastrophe.  Then you blame everyone else for your troubles."

"Thank you for that lovely assessment of my failings."

"You’re welcome."

She glared down at him, her temper flaring, and he relished her altering mood.  Any disposition was better than a sulk. 

"Why are you bothering with me?" she inquired.

"I have no idea."

"Don’t be flip.  I’m asking you a serious question, and I want a serious answer."

"What should I have done?  Should I have allowed you to trot down the road without a farthing in your purse and no plan for the future?"

"That’s not an answer; that’s two questions.  Stop avoiding the issue and explain to me why you’ve noticed me, at all."

"Fine, how about this?  I’m completely enthralled by you."

She snorted.  "Enthralled.  Really?" 

"Yes, really.  Why can’t I be enthralled?"

"Because I am Grace Bennett and you are Jackson Scott."

"So…you know our names.  Good.  What would you like to talk about now?"

She threw up her hands in irritation and rolled off him and onto her back again.

"You are impossible," she grumbled.

"We already established that fact several times."

"You could have let me leave.  You could have given us some money, and we’d have been out of your hair.  There’d be no fuss for you and your mother, no disruption for your sister-in-law or her son."

"I could give you money and that would take care of it?"

"Yes."

"Then you’re here to bribe me.  Are you claiming you’re a fake and this is all a lie?  There was no Georgina or marriage to Edward?  No son born first?"

"Yes, I’m so devious.  I found a boy who looked just like your brother, and I concocted this entire ruse simply to trick you out of a few pounds."

"You’re very smart, Grace, but you’re not
that
smart."

"Maybe I am," she countered.  "Maybe I’m the most brilliant confidence artist who ever lived."

They were silent, and he rose up on an elbow so he could watch her, so he could track the torment passing over her features. 

"Why have sexual relations with me?" she asked.

"Why not?"

"Do you fornicate with every female you meet?  Was I merely the latest one who happened to be willing and available?"

"Yes."

He was teasing, but she didn’t realize it.  She punched him on the shoulder and tried to squirm off the bed, but he grabbed her around the waist so she couldn’t.

"I was joking, Grace."

"No, you weren’t."

"I was.  Since we romped, I haven’t had two seconds to speak to you about it.  It was wonderful.  It was remarkable."  He dipped in and kissed her.  "Tell me you thought so, too.  Tell me it was remarkable."

"It might have been," she grudgingly confessed. 

"That’s my girl."  He grinned.  "Let’s do it again.  Let’s do it all night, over and over until dawn."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn’t mean anything to you.  It could be me or any woman, and the whole experience left me all jumbled inside.  I’m sad and miserable, and you’re not worth it."

"Of course, I’m not, but let’s do it anyway."

She scowled.  "Give me one reason why I should."

"How about because you loved it?"

"I wouldn’t say I
loved
it."

"How about because you were fascinated as to what carnal conduct would be like?  You know there’s much more to it, and you’d like to learn what it is."

She studied him, pondering, considering, then she shook her head.  "I’ve been in abject misery since we did it before, and I repeat:  You’re not worth it, and I don’t want to feel this terrible ever again."

He leaned in and nibbled at her nape.  "I can make you feel better."

"You would think so, you vain oaf."

"It’s not boasting when I claim to be accomplished at the amorous arts."

"I admit it:  You’re very accomplished."  She arched a sassy brow.  "But then, it was my first time, so I’m in no position to compare.  I could be wrong."

"There’s my Grace," he crowed, "returning to her old self.  Why don’t you shred my male ego into a few more pathetic pieces?  Stomp it into the ground.  Grind it to dust so that I spend the rest of my life completely emasculated."

Finally—finally!—he earned a smile from her.

"I hate it when you make me like you," she said.

"I don’t have to try very hard, and you
should
like me.  I’m marvelous, remember?"

"Yes, I definitely remember."

She gazed at him, and the eeriest perception slithered through him.  It seemed as if destiny had knotted a complicated rope and attached him to her.  He was now bound, tied forever, so she would always be with him and he could never be shed of her.  He would never
wish
to be shed of her.

A cosmic message appeared to have presented itself, and he yanked away, desperate to break the spell that had festered.  He didn’t want to be bound, and he refused to acknowledge any heightened significance to their relationship.  He lusted after her and that was it.  There wasn’t—and never would be—a deeper purpose. 

He began kissing her, and she didn’t protest.  Perhaps she was too weary to complain or perhaps he’d worn her down and she recognized it was pointless to fight their attraction.

Why not give in?  It was late, and they were alone.  Why not misbehave?

His hands went to her breasts, and he toyed with her nipples, as his tongue plundered her mouth.  His busy fingers jerked the combs from her hair, spreading the pretty locks down her back.

To his delight, she raised her arms and snaked them around his neck as if she was anxious to be held, anxious to be desired.

She’s yours,
a voice shouted in his head. 
She’s yours for eternity.

He couldn’t fend off the giddy impression, so he didn’t try.  For once, he decided to simply revel in the moment, to ignore the weird sensations that kept creeping up to surprise him.

He took his time, removing her dress, her petticoat, her shoes and stockings.  All the while, he kissed and nuzzled and whispered encouragement.  He spoke in French, in Italian, in Arabic, confessing how happy he was, how thrilled he’d been since they’d met, how sad he’d be when they parted.

She didn’t ask him to translate the foreign comments, for which he was grateful.  He couldn’t have verbalized his feelings because he wouldn’t reveal his level of infatuation.

His ardor was rising, his passion flaring.  He tugged at her chemise and drawers, so she was naked beneath him. 

She was so small, so defenseless and in need of his love and protection.  He was inundated by powerful emotions and a hairsbreadth from offering boons he would never supply.

"Before we proceed," she murmured, "you have to promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise me you were telling the truth about you and your sister-in-law."

"She’s nothing to me, and you utterly misconstrued what you witnessed."

"And when you’re through with me—"

He touched a finger to her lips.  "Hush.  Let’s not talk about the future."

But she wouldn’t be silenced.

"When you’re through, promise you won’t hurt me."

"Hurt you!  Gad, I’d rather cut off my right arm."

"Swear you’ll be as kind as you can, that you’ll try your best."

Her words rattled him.

Despite what happened with Michael and Percival, his time with her was limited.  They would have a wild fling, then she would leave Milton or he would have enough of England and return to Egypt. 

Yet he couldn’t picture his life without her in it.  How would the coming months play out?  He couldn’t bear to know.

"I promise I won’t hurt you," he falsely claimed.