Forbidden Love (14 page)

Her face reddened with anger. "I no like that Mr. Frick.
He bad man."

"Agreed.
I don't know of any steelworkers who like the man. And you know something? He doesn't care."

Emma fumbled with her apron ties, making helpless little noises in her throat. "I go home now, Mr. Cardiff."

"Emma, try not to worry. We'll see what we can do." And let's hope we can do something, he fretted, clenching his hands as he watched Emma leave the room.

Determined to rid his mind of union concerns, Owen swung his chair back to face his desk. Despite his resolve, an image appeared before him, as clear as if she were there beside him. Lisa.
So lovely, so unattainable.
Resting his head in his hands, he agonized over the torment that plagued him night and day. Until he'd met her, he had no idea, couldn't begin to know, what love meant. Now he knew and he could see nothing but heartache ahead.

Lisa--another man's wife.
But suppose she loved him and were free to marry him? Could he provide her with the fine house, the carriage,
the
servants? Would she be happy in his simple house in
Homestead
? Impossible dream!

Attempting distraction, he smoothed his hand over his rosewood desk and admired its clever workmanship. He'd bought it second-hand and refinished it, yet he considered it worth far more than he'd paid, with its pigeon holes that he used for canceled checks and important papers, and the three drawers that trailed down both sides. Sighing, he rolled the top down and pushed his chair back.
Dinnertime.

And after that?
Owen smiled. He had an errand to do, one he anticipated with a bittersweet ache.

* * *

Lisa reached for
Ben-
Hur
from the pedestal table and curled up on the damask sofa, happy to have time to
herself
. She'd had a busy day, visiting shut-ins and supervising the children at the Home for Orphans, but tonight was her own. William was away on a business trip--again!--but she no longer derived any pleasure from his presence.

Servants were all in their own rooms, and quiet had descended on the house. She'd just taken a warm bath, the scent of lavender clinging to her skin, and wore only her nightgown and blue velour wrapper.
A comfortable
warmth radiated from the brick fireplace, chasing away the evening's chill.

She flipped the pages of the book and found her bookmark, then began to read where she'd left off. Her mind drifted while she read, the most wonderful thoughts skittering into daydreams. As she floated from one fantasy to another, the book slipped from her hands and fell to the floor, where it lay, forgotten.

She closed her eyes as vivid memories flooded her mind and teased her emotions. She saw Owen as clearly as if he were standing beside her, or lying, she mused with a rush of heat. Snuggling down on the sofa, she recalled his every word, every gesture,
every
look that evening at the theater, but especially at
Elizabeth
's.

To think they'd actually spent the night in the same house--in separate beds! What if he'd come to her room? Would she have refused him? Never!

She ran her fingers through her hair, a thousand regrets churning inside her. When she'd awakened the following morning, he'd already left! She moved her hand up and down her thigh in absentminded little motions as a thousand regrets taunted her. That night was the last she'd seen him, years, centuries ago! Vaguely aware of her actions, she eased her hand tentatively over her breast as she imagined Owen caressing her. A wave of heat captured her, settling in her feminine core.

A knock at the door startled her, prompting her to sit upright, wondering who in the world it could be. She stood and self-consciously smoothed her hand over her wrapper, but unperturbed, she gave a little shrug. Most likely it was Elizabeth or another friend.

She headed for the front door, her slippers scuffling on the marble floor of the entrance hall, her robe swirling about her legs. Assuming a look of nonchalance, she opened the door, and a rush of cold air swept into the room.

"Owen!" Surprise mingled with happiness, but she could only stare.

"Lisa," he said with his heart-wrenching smile that made her heart hammer in her chest and sent her spirits soaring. "I hope I didn't disturb you, but you once mentioned that you stay up late."

He wore only his suit and waistcoat, the weather not so bitterly cold now. She stared at him--the same Owen she remembered. His windblown hair fell across his forehead, and even in his suit, he appeared so rugged, so wonderful, she caught her breath, unable to speak.

"Shall I come in?" he asked with a hesitant expression. "Or would you rather . . .?" He glanced inside the house, and she said a silent prayer of thanks that William was away.
Owen’s
gaze returned to her, an indefinable look on his face. Breathing fast, she braced herself against the door, unable to speak, taking in the sight of him.

"Lisa?"

Quickly, she collected her wits. "Of course, come in. You didn't disturb me." What a lie; he was driving her out of her mind. He stepped inside, and his eyes flicked over her, sending a fresh rush of heat throughout her body. Never before had she felt this way about anyone; never before had she experienced these emotions that drove every coherent thought from her mind.

She became more conscious than ever of her casual attire as her imagination carried her in a hundred different directions, and she didn't dare think of where her dishabille might take them. She stifled her excitement, resolved to project an insouciant image as she led him to the sitting room, where the flames in the fireplace cast flickering shadows on their faces and on the walls.

His gaze made a wide sweep of the room before he turned back to her with an inquisitive look. "Your husband . . ."

"
Boston
," she said with a nervous swallow.
"Business trip."

"I see."

And what did she see in his expression?
Relief?
Happiness?
Or was that only her imagination?

Lisa motioned toward the sofa. "Won't you sit
down.
And can I get you something to drink? Brandy, perhaps?" Her restless fingers plucked at the folds of her wrapper as her heart thudded against her ribs, her legs trembling. She gripped the edge of a table but quickly let go, lest she reveal her agitation.

"Nothing to drink, thank you." Owen retrieved a thin book from his inner coat pocket and set it on the tilt top table. "I can't stay. I wanted only to return your book. Recollect when I walked you home from the reading group? I put your book in my pocket, and then I forgot to give it to you."

"Oh, yes, I remember." As if she could ever forget! "But you didn't have to make a special trip to return it. You could just bring it to the next meeting."

 
He opened his mouth to speak,
then
closed it again. Their eyes met and
held,
so many unspoken words in their communication. "That's just it," he said after an uncomfortable silence. "I won't be attending the meetings anymore."

"You won't?" she whispered in a wavering voice. The blood drained from her face, and she propped herself against the table as a wave of dizziness washed over her.
"Why not, if I may ask?"

 
Grim-faced, he shrugged. "I have my reasons." His look mellowed, his gaze caressing her body. He reached out to touch her but let his hand fall to his side as his face assumed a mask of nonchalance. "This is a busy time for me, you know, all this union business. And now that spring is almost here--I hope!--I intend to do some work around my house and yard, prune the trees . . ."

 
Lisa nodded, afraid to speak. Combing her fingers through her hair, she tried to hold back the tears, never in a million years willing to let him see her heart was breaking. Later, after he left, she'd cry her heart out, but not now, not in front of him. She released the strands of hair, and silky locks brushed her shoulders and grazed her breasts.

 
"You have beautiful hair," he murmured. Tentative fingers touched her hair, his gentle stroke as sensuous as a lover's caress.

 
"You like my hair?" With one quick, sinuous movement, she shook her head, letting the strands cascade past her shoulders and down her back.

 
"Lisa!"

 
Within a heartbeat, she found herself enclosed in his arms, his body molded to hers, as if they were part of the same whole. His lips, warm and demanding, claimed hers. Shifting his position, he held her ever closer, his hands playing across her back and down to her hips. He drew away to feather kisses on her cheeks, behind her ears, her forehead, his warm breath fanning her skin.

 
"My darling Lisa!"

 
This was wonderful, beautiful, everything she'd ever imagined his kiss could be, and so much more. Oh, so much more! To be held in his strong arms, his lips on hers! Drifting in a
dreamworld
of new sensations, she tightened her arms around him, drawing his mouth to hers again as she returned his kisses with a passion she'd never imagined, no, not in her wildest fantasies.

 
She raised her hand to run her fingers through his hair, something she'd dreamed of doing for the longest time. Her fingers trailed down to his crisp collar, then up to the nape of his neck, then farther up to his hair again, loving the taste, touch, and smell of him, the very essence of his being, everything that made him the man she loved. Not caring if he'd think her a wanton, she brushed her thigh against his.

 
"You don't know what you're doing to me!" he gasped.

 
“It’s the same with me.”

 
Lisa reveled in his hard body close to hers--such a new, strange feeling, more glorious than anything she'd ever imagined. She loved the tangy scent of his shaving soap, the touch of his clean-shaven cheek next to hers. Her fingers brushed across his back, and she found a strange comfort in the rough texture of his wool suit and the play of his muscles, hard and firm, beneath the pressure of her straying fingers.

Above all, she wished his caresses would go on forever. With an ache that brought her to the edge of despair, she realized her wish could never come true. The tears she'd tried so hard to restrain streamed down her cheeks.

"Don't cry, darling." He kissed her tears,
then
pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat. Effortlessly, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the sofa, where he cradled her close to his chest. His lips were on hers again with a hungry insistence, while his hand moved purposely from her waist to her hips, then all the way down her leg.

 
Easing her wrapper open, he found her breast. How she loved the steady, deliberate movement of his hand that sent wave after wave of desire rippling through her body. She arched her body closer to him, his touch,
his
kisses so unbearably arousing she feared she'd go out of her mind. All coherent thought left her, until only feeling remained as her fingers played along his arm and up to his face, tracing its lines.
 

"Owen!"

 
As if snapped back to the moment, Owen raised her from him and eased her aside. "What am I
doing!
"

 
Bewildered and hurt, she stared at him as her body and soul cried out for him. Take me in your arms again, she silently cried. Never let me go!

Owen stretched forward with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. "This is madness," he muttered.
"Insanity."
He spoke so quietly, she had to strain her ears to catch his words. "You're another man's wife. I have no right to you. And what about the shocked expressions we get from the others in the reading group when I walk you home, or haven't you noticed?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes," she whispered. "I've seen their looks." Lisa took a deep breath as fresh tears welled in her eyes. "And I don't care." She reached out to touch his arm, but he jerked it away.

"Well, I care, for your sake."

Random thoughts taunted her, of how to tell him of her cold husband, of her empty marriage. But she couldn't bare her soul to him, couldn't reveal the shameful secret she'd kept hidden. She looked at him, this man she loved with all her heart, and saw her own despair reflected on his face. Despite her anguish, the pressure of his thigh against hers sent her reeling with passion, making her so warm she thought she must surely be on fire.