Child Bride (4 page)

“When did we do it, Annie?” he said, his voice rough and sensual. “How did we do it?” He clamped a hand around her middle, and let it slide up possessively, crowding her breasts. “Let’s hear what happened between you and me, Red. Every hot, sexy little detail. I want to be sure I lived up to my husbandly duties.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she said, trying to make him understand. “You were sick, burning up with fever. I had to find a way to bring down your temperature. I sponged you and held you when you went into convulsions. There were strong feelings between us, yes. But it was more than physical. You talked about your dreams. You even told me about how you’d bought this cabin and were planning to settle here.”

“A man says things when he’s delirious,” Chase muttered. But he was struck by the emotion breaking in her voice. She was passionate. And she seemed to be genuinely, poignantly angry with him for not believing her, or perhaps for not remembering. Whichever it was, she spoke with such depth of feeling, he found himself almost wanting to believe her ... even to believe that he might have fallen in love with her back then, made love with her.

She tossed her head, and her soft red hair flew, cascading against his face, triggering another resurgence of memory, but only in indistinct images. He couldn’t hear what she was saying as she writhed gently in his arms and murmured meltingly in his ear, but she was a beautiful, clinging presence, an angel gone wild. She made him ache in some deep, lonely part of his body, ache from wanting her. He could feel the need building up inside him even now.

The strange vision made him want to see Annie Wells.

He released her, turning her around, searching her face. “What happened between us?” he said, struck again by how vibrant she was when she was aroused. And by how tiny she was compared to him. The top of her head barely reached his jawline, and the hands she’d flattened against his chest looked doll-like and ineffectual.

Her breath caught in with a sharp, shaking sound. “You believe me?”

“Answer me, dammit.”

“Everything,” she said softly, as though trying to find the words. “Everything happened between us. Heaven and hell. We nearly died, both of us. We lived out a lifetime in a few sweet, terrible days.”

“But you were only sixteen,” he said. “I couldn’t have—”

“No, I was never sixteen. When you’re born an exile, as I was, you grow up quickly.”

There was a hushed quality to her voice that intrigued him. It wasn’t so much sensual as confessional, as though she was telling him all of it in strictest confidence, as though the words were for his ears only.

“It wasn’t a child who saved your life,” she said.

But Chase was only half listening by that time. Now her eyes were speaking to him, and they were even more eloquent than her words. They were made of some strange blue vapor, he decided. They were misted with enchantment, and he could feel himself being drawn in again. His awareness narrowed, blocking out the world, taking in only the irresistible signals her body was giving off. There was an urgent flutter in her throat, and her breath was rushing soft and sweet against the dark hair that curled from the open collar of his shirt.

But it was the message in her dreamy, half-desperate gaze that burned through his hesitation. It obliterated all the other confusing signals. It promised him a tantalizing taste of ecstasy. She was willing to do anything, he realized, whatever he wanted, even make love to him right there where they stood, if that would convince him she was telling the truth.

The allure of the moment nearly overpowered Chase. It dragged at him like some intoxicating, mind-altering perfume. She was an angel gone wild, innocence set ablaze by her need and will.

“If it really happened,” he said, fighting the pull, “if we really did make love, then tell me about it. Show me.”

A glimpse of fear shadowed her expression. And then it was gone, as quickly as a summer cloud. Fear and desire, Chase thought, were a potent combination. He combed his hand into her hair, lifting it away from her face, aware of its weight and density despite the baby-fine texture. It felt like warm, heavy silk on his skin.

Chase hadn’t intended to kiss her so quickly. It was even possible he hadn’t intended to kiss her at all, but the slight quiver in her lower lip wrenched the decision away from him. The fluttering was barely discernible, but it was the damnedest, sexiest thing Chase had ever witnessed. There were some things a man just had to know, even when his common sense told him he’d be better off innocent.
What would all that trembling sweetness feel like under his mouth?
That was the question Chase had to have answered. Immediately.

She tilted up her chin as he bent to kiss her ... but still it felt like an unbearably long, sweet time before their lips touched. Her mouth was even softer than he’d imagined, and a wild urge ran through him as he buried his hands deep in her hair and pulled her closer. God help him, he wanted to do what she swore he already had done. He wanted to get into those blue jeans of hers, badly.

She relaxed against him, murmuring something that might have been his name. Her breasts nestled his rib cage, and her hips came up against his, gently nudging. It was the softest kind of seduction, but it sent an impulse slamming through Chase that was as fierce and primitive as anything he’d ever felt in his life. The thunder of horses’ hooves was pounding in his head and his chest, and he was getting hard. All he could think about was picking her up and settling her onto the rigid heat that sprang from his thighs, letting her ride him like a wild angel astride a renegade stallion.

“I want to make love to you, Annie,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “I want to lift you up and take you in my arms. Right here, right now. What do you say to that?”

Desire flared in her eyes, and then they went smoky with fear. Her gaze said yes and no and maybe all at once. It said take her now,
quickly,
before she changed her mind and the fear won out.

The wrench of excitement deep in Chase’s groin was almost painful. It told him he was running out of control. A distant voice was urging him to rein himself in while there was still time. And some part of him wanted to heed the warning. He actually wanted to stop, but he couldn’t. He’d been taken captive by the telltale heartbeat in her lips. By the soft whimpers of pleasure in her throat.

“I must be dreaming,” she said, her voice shaking oddly.

He broke away from her and dragged in a long, deep breath. She might be dreaming, but she was trembling, too, he realized. It had spread from the tantalizing quiver in her lower lip throughout her whole body, a near-violent tremor that he didn’t know whether to attribute to fear or excitement. Her responses confused and excited him, the clinging lips, the sounds of pleasure. She was behaving like a woman who wanted to be bedded. And she was clutching at him almost possessively, the way a woman would cling to a man she hadn’t seen in a long time.

As much as Chase wanted to shove aside all the conflicting signals and act on the urges that were making his body sing with need, something held him back. She was quaking like a willow branch caught in chinook winds, but that wasn’t the only thing telling him to slow down. The static in his head was getting louder by the moment. The little voice had become a loud one, and it was telling him he was about to make one of the biggest, hairiest mistakes of his life.

Whether or not she was telling the truth was beside the point. As far as he could remember, he’d never set eyes on Annie Wells before. Worse, she was claiming to be his wife. Making love to her was bound to complicate things in that regard. At the very least she would see it as an admission on his part.

“Annie,” he said, his voice tellingly hoarse as he freed his entangled hand from her hair. “Don’t you think we might be rushing things a little?”

“Rushing things?” Even her chin was unsteady as she tried to smile at him and failed. She looked disappointed, a bit frightened, and very uncertain. “Do you think so? I guess we could slow things down, if that’s what you want.”

“If that’s what I want?” Chase had to restrain himself from laughing out loud. “Just look at you, Red. You’re shaking from head to toe.”

She straightened her sweater, her fingers lingering at the neckline. “I’m probably only tired,” she said, faintly apologetic. “I haven’t slept in a while. Or eaten.”

What’s wrong with this picture? Chase wondered, staring at her hard. She was obviously frightened, exhausted, and probably starving. And yet she seemed more than willing to let him make love to her. She would undoubtedly go through with it right now if he pressed her. It didn’t make sense. Unless she was hoping to accomplish something by offering him her body.

“Well, I’m not fine,” he said, his suspicions deepening as he stepped back from her. He rubbed his forehead, aware of a lightheadedness that might have been pleasant if it weren’t so distracting—and a warm, woozy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “If that rattler didn’t get you, maybe it got me. I feel like I’ve been snakebit or something.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” she said, suddenly serious. “It’s probably just that the blood has rushed from your head to that other part of your body—your male organ, I mean—and as soon as the blood begins to circulate again, your pressure will normalize and your brain will reoxygenate.”

Chase managed a pained smile. “Excuse me?” That other part of his body she’d referred to was still as rigid as a crowbar. He could have opened a jammed door without using his hands, thanks in part to her. “How is it you know so much about the male ... circulatory system?”

Annie smiled at his question. And at his long-suffering expression. He was breathtakingly sexy, even in his frustration. His face was as lean and hard as his body, and his glossy black hair had a dangerous way of spilling onto his forehead. Just to witness his reckless brand of sensuality could make a woman go weak, even at a distance.

“All good things come to those who wait,” she thought, her smile deepening as she recalled one of the litany of proverbs she’d used to get herself through some very rough times in Costa Brava. How long had she waited to see him again like this?

“Do I get an answer?” Chase yanked his chambray shirt free of his jeans as he walked across the room to stand by a huge stone fireplace where the dog was snoozing.

“Oh, yes, it was my parents,” she explained. “Remember I told you they were medical missionaries? Doctors? Well, they wanted me to be one too. They taught me themselves—the basics of medicine, of course, but everything else as well—math, English, American history.”

She smiled suddenly, remembering. “The settling of the American West was the most exciting of all, don’t you think? The Alamo, the Gold Rush in California, all of those cowboys and Indians. Did you know Wyoming is known as the Equal-Rights State? They had the first woman juror right here—”

She hesitated, blinking as Chase’s features began to soften and fuzz around the edges. She backed up against the kitchen cabinet to steady herself, hoping it wasn’t another dizzy spell. They’d been coming on her with very little warning for the last couple of days. She knew it must be her blood sugar fluctuating wildly. She’d even fainted once or twice.

“You okay?” Chase asked.

“Yes,” she said, bracing herself, determined to ward off the spell. In Costa Brava her world had been frighteningly unpredictable, and mastering her own physical weaknesses had given her at least a small measure of control.

“You were going to be a doctor?” Chase asked.

It took her a moment to make sense of his question, but when she did, her wan smile faded to sadness. “Yes, my parents were planning to send me to the United States to attend college when I came of age. It was their dream more than mine, but I understood why they wanted me to carry on the tradition. I would probably be in medical school right now if they hadn’t been killed.”

Chase inclined his head, nodding the way a man does when he hasn’t got the right words. “That’s tough,” he said.

“It was ... but it’s been five years, and I’ve come to accept what can’t be changed. My parents would have wanted that. They would have expected it.”

A floorboard creaked under Chase’s weight, and Annie automatically hushed her voice. It was a reflex she no longer seemed to have control over. “Is something wrong?” she asked, wondering why Chase was staring at her so oddly.

“Why do you do that?” he asked, studying her as he moved toward the table where he’d tossed his hat. “Talk in whispers?”

“Force of habit, I suppose. When you live in a convent, you learn to walk lightly and talk softly.”

“A convent? In Costa Brava?”

She nodded. “That’s where I’ve been these last five years.” Except for the time I spent in prison, she thought.

“What kept you there? Your parents were gone. Why didn’t you come to the United States?”

“There were many reasons.” She considered telling him the whole painful story and decided it could wait. He’d had enough shocks in one day. “I wasn’t there by choice at first, but then I came to see that I was needed,” she said. “I taught Indian children to read and write. And in a war-ravaged country like Costa Brava, my medical skills were needed.”

“A convent?” Chase asked, still intent. “At the tender age of sixteen? You were only a kid yourself.” Curiosity stirred in his eyes. “What kind of things do they teach young girls in places like that?”

“Mostly survival, at first,” Annie admitted. “Although Sister Maria Innocentia was also very big on the virtues of obedience, modesty, trust, and submission.” She flushed slightly, realizing that might not be the wisest thing she could have revealed, especially since he was more than likely to mistake her meaning. “Of course, she also stressed prudent self-reliance.”

Chase didn’t respond other than to scoop his black Stetson off the table and slap it against his leg a couple of times, popping the dents out. But the faintest of smiles was prowling his normally taciturn features, and Annie knew he must be mulling over what she’d said.

“What do you do here?” she asked, hoping to head off any more questions about convent living. “In the way of work?”