Escapade (9781301744510) (28 page)

Zeke grimaced. "That's what Sadie always used
to say." He twisted back to his side, smiling down at her. "She
would have liked you. Although she would have thought you could use
a little more meat on your bones."

He touched her lightly beneath the covers,
his fingers brushing the area of her rib cage just below the swell
of her breasts. It was a mistake to do so. When he had awoke to
discover himself in this extraordinary situation, Rory in his bed,
so warm, so near, he had resolved to act the gentleman for once,
not take any unfair advantage.

Maybe that's why he had been blathering on
for the past quarter of an hour, to keep his mind off her
delectable curves so poorly concealed by that gown half falling off
her. He had so much more he could tell her, so much more he wanted
to say.

But as he gazed into her face pillowed so
near to his own, her eyes quicksilver pools of innocence, her lips
so sweet with the promise of pleasures he'd already tasted, his
throat suddenly went dry and he ran out of things to talk
about.

"Maybe we should try to get some sleep," he
said.

"I don't know if 1 can. I just can't seem to
get warm."

Zeke nearly groaned aloud. To resist an
invitation like that, he would have had to have been a saint
instead of the son of Satan that he was.

Taking care not to jar the bandage loose from
his arm, he drew her closer, cradling her against the lee of his
shoulder.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded.

Maybe for her it was, but not for him. He was
achingly aware of every soft curve, the heat of her flesh seeming
to sear him through the thin layering of the nightgown, rousing in
his loins a fearsome need.

Damn! He caught his breath as, in an effort
to get more comfortable, Rory shifted, her fingers brushing along
the flat plane of his stomach, lower-

She snatched her hand away, half-jerking to a
sitting position. "Zeke, you don't have any clothes on."

"That blasted woman took them." He half-hoped
that the realization he was naked would send Rory scuttling back to
the safety of her own side of the bed

Instead she hovered over him, her eyes filled
with wonder and longing. "I've never been in bed with a naked man
before."

"I'm relieved to hear it. For the love of
God, Rory, stop looking at me that way. You had had better- had
better-."

He didn't know what she had better do, but it
didn’t matter. Rory didn't let him finish the sentence. She caught
his hand, laying it alongside her cheek.

He could feel the heat of her skin, the way
she trembled, but he sensed it was not owing to any embarrassment
or shyness.

"Rory."

Her name on his lips was an anguished plea.
He tried to remember that he had decided not to let anything like
this happen, that Rory was better off without him in her life. He
tried to search deep into his soul for all that noble resolve he
had formed, and found himself searching her eyes instead. Searching
and discovering a want that equaled his own.

Slowly, she bent to him, her mouth but a
fraction away from his own. Their lips whispered against each
other, a whispering that fast became a clamoring of passion.

With a low groan, he caught his arms about
her, pulling her down hard on top of him. His tongue delved deep
into the sweet hollows of her mouth, and he could feel the
thundering of her heart.

Rory was long past considering the wisdom of
her actions. She didn’t know at what point she had decided she
wanted Zeke to make love to her. Perhaps it had happened sometime
as she lay beside him in the darkness, listening to him open up his
heart, share his past, or perhaps back there on the beach when she
had rejoiced to find them both alive and realized how fleeting, how
precious a thing time could be.

Or perhaps it had happened even earlier than
that, much earlier, that day when they had first met.

She didn't know. She only knew that the time,
the moment, was now, to find the promise of a desire they had only
touched upon before.

When Zeke stripped the nightgown from her
shoulders, baring her to the waist, she felt no shame, only a
shivering delight at the hunger that burned in his eyes. He cupped
both her breasts, molding them to the rough texture of his fingers
with a gentleness that left her breathless, feeling as though it
was her heart he cradled in his hands.

He followed each caress with his kiss,
fire-hot, insistent, as though he would brand her forever as his.
With each touch, he evoked new sensations, so pulsing, so warm,
Rory ached with the wanting all the way to the center of her
core.

Tentatively at first, then growing bolder,
her fingers skimmed over him, exploring the taut contours of his
skin, his muscles rippling like tensile steel beneath.

He kissed her again, hard and fierce, but it
was a fierceness that was belied by the tender way he eased her
onto her back. Poised over her, he panted for breath and Rory could
sense him trying to leash the passion that had been building in
him.

"You seem so small," he whispered, caressing
back her tangled strands of hair. "Too fragile for me."

Rory smiled up at him, her mouth trembling
with desire. She would have thought that Zeke knew better than that
by now. She would simply have to teach him. Gliding her hands over
the expanse of his hair-roughened chest, she went lower still,
daring to caress that most secret part of him.

As Zeke's breath snagged in his throat, she
wrapped her arms about his neck, and pulled him insistently
downward, kissing him, her lips both pleading and demanding,
restoring the urgency of his desire.

There was no fear as she opened herself to
him, only a throbbing need, a hushed expectancy as he eased himself
inside her. She accepted everything, even the initial pain of his
entry. Somehow it all felt so right, so natural that their bodies
should join, become one, no more barriers between them, their
hearts sure to follow.

As Zeke moved inside her, that first pain
gave way to a most exquisite pleasure. Rory moaned, writhing
beneath him, half-closing her eyes, the image of his face flashing
before her like streaks of lightning, his eyes dark, storm-ridden.
Like the god of thunder she had once proclaimed him to be, he swept
her off into a whirlwind of passion. Ever a creature of the skies
herself, she matched his every movement, following him without
fear.

Zeke strained with all his will to go slowly,
be gentle, but sweet Christ, Rory wouldn't let him, this tormenting
sprite of a girl who seemed both angel and woman, earth and spirit.
Her nails raked his back, her kisses hot, feverish as though
demanding he hold nothing back, give all he had to give—not just
the power of his body, but his heart, his very soul.

The feeling was too strong to resist, and he
was forced to surrender, the sweetest surrender he had ever known.
His entire body shuddered with the release as he spilled his seed
deep within her.

Long moments after the storms of passion had
subsided for both of them, Zeke lay collapsed upon Rory, his face
buried against her neck, their thundering hearts still beating as
one. By degrees, his pulse slowed to its normal rhythm, and he
shifted, fearful he might be crushing her beneath his great weight.
Gazing down at her, he saw that her lashes had fluttered closed as
she strove to take deep, even breaths. She looked so slender, so
pale, was likely even bruised from the force of his lovemaking. The
first niggles of remorse ate at Zeke.

"Rory," he murmured, stroking the
velvety-soft line of her cheek. "You were a virgin. I shouldn't
have."

Her eyes fluttered open to regard him
anxiously. "Why? Wasn't I any good at it?"

The question, so outrageous, so thoroughly
Rory, provoked him to laugh in spite of himself. He rolled over
onto his back, pulling her with him, so that she now rested atop
him, her hair spilling across his chest.

"You were-" He paused, trying to find the
words to tell her all the wonderful things she had been in his
arms, but there were none adequate to describe all he was feeling
in his heart.

"You were incredible," he finished lamely,
tangling his fingers in those glorious chestnut curls. "I only
meant that for your first time, it should have been different. In a
bridal suite with satin and roses and champagne, on the evening of
your wedding day."

"Pooh!" Rory raised herself, splaying her
hands against his chest. She arched her head, looking down at him.
"You're starting to sound like my friend, Gia, talking about
weddings. Wouldn't I look silly all tricked out in a lace
veil?'

"You would look like an angel."

"These are mighty strange remarks, coming
from a man who once asked me to be his mistress."

“That was when I barely knew anything except
how badly I wanted you."

"And do you still?" Her question came so soft
he could barely hear it, the quiver of her lips betraying her
sudden fear, her uncertainty.

By way of answer, he tightened his arms about
her, pulling her down for a long and very thorough kiss. If there
only was some way to make her understand exactly how much he did
want her for now and always. One look into her eyes was enough to
rouse his desires all over again, desire and another emotion that
cut so deep it frightened him.

"Ah, Rory," he murmured, "There was a moment
back there, when we were both in the sea, that I lost sight of you.
I thought you were gone from me forever. If that had happened, I
realized I would have lost everything and the sea might as well
have taken me."

When she raised her head to look at him, her
eyes were misty, but she smiled. "What a silly thing for you to
have worried about. Didn't I ever tell you that I visited a gypsy
on Forty-second Street? She read my tea leaves and said I'm going
to have a long life, at least a dozen children."

"Banshees, fortune tellers," Zeke grumbled,
but he returned her smile. "Is there anything you don't believe
in?"

"I like to keep an open mind." After a pause,
she added, "I believe in you."

Her statement made him uncomfortable, as Rory
had feared it would. But in the depths of his eyes, she read a real
gratitude as well.

"Then marry me," he said huskily.

"What?"

"I want you to marry me. In a church with a
priest, the lace veil, everything."

For a moment Rory was too stunned to answer.
Those times Rory had ever imagined herself receiving a proposal,
she had always envisioned some fool dropped to one knee, an
embarrassing and daunting prospect. Nothing should have been more
embarrassing than hearing an offer of marriage lying naked in
Zeke's arms. Yet somehow it seemed so right.

As though fearing she meant to say no, Zeke
rushed on. "You know I am a wealthy man, Rory. You wouldn't want
for anything that money can buy, clothes, jewels—"

"Oh, Zeke, Zeke," she said, trying to stem
this tide of reckless promises, half-laughing, half-aching for him
that he still did not realize he had so much more than money to
give.

"And that big house of mine," he continued,
"There is more than enough room for a dozen kids.” His eagerness
abated, a shadow of doubt clouding his face. "Though I'm not sure
how good a parent I can be. I haven't much experience of fathers. I
sometimes wondered what my own old man was doing when my mother was
out tossing me into that trash can."

Before Rory could begin to reassure him, Zeke
flexed his jaw with determination. "But I know I can do better by
my own kids than that. At least, I promise I'd always be
there."

Rory tried not to be swept away by the images
his words painted: herself, Zeke, some cozy cottage spilling over
with love, laughter and children. She was helped by the realization
that Zeke was not talking about some snug little home, but that
vast barracks of a mansion on Fifth Avenue.

"What would all your rich friends think of
your marrying someone like me?” she asked. "All those people you
have been trying so hard to impress. I could never fit in, become a
society hostess like your Mrs. Van Hallsburg."

"To hell with Mrs. Van H. and her set. As if
I ever really gave a damn about any of them. All I care about is
you."

Rory could tell he meant it, and that should
have been enough for her, especially when she was ready to swear
the same. But something held her back. Despite all her dreams, she
was essentially more practical than Zeke. She could see problems,
rising like ghosts between them, shades of the past not dealt with,
both his and hers.

For one thing, there was the Transcontinental
Balloon Company. She wasn't sure how it fit into Zeke's rosy
picture. She had a sinking feeling that it didn't. He appeared to
have forgotten all about it. But she couldn't.

All the same she hated to mention the
balloons and stir up the inevitable discord that would follow, not
with Zeke so eager, waiting for her answer.

"You'll have to give me a little time to
think," she said. "This is all so sudden."

She had disappointed him, but he appeared to
understand. "As long as you remember, I'm not noted for my
patience, but I appreciate that it wouldn't be too prudent to
accept a fellow until you know for certain he's not going to be
hung for murder."

"Zeke, no! That has nothing to do with
it."

"Yes, it does, everything in the world. You
have already become involved far more than I wanted. I would as
soon keep you clear of the rest of this mess until I prove my
innocence."

"But you said you thought everything would be
all right as soon as you got back to Fifth Avenue."

"I've been doing some thinking about that,
Rory. I'm not going home, at least not until I pay a call on Mr.
Charles Decker."