Jo Goodman (22 page)

One of Grey's brows arched. "Unless you wish to be propositioned? Do you, Berkeley?"

"No." Her voice was barely audible. "No, I don't."

"Not all of them will be unseemly," he said. "I imagine you can expect to get more than a few for marriage."

Her throat was dry. She eyed her cup of tea and would have picked it up if her hands had been steadier. She swallowed with difficulty. "I don't want to be married."

There was no mistaking her sincerity. Grey wondered at it, wondered at the experiences that had led her to it. "Very well," he said quietly. "Then you'd do well to follow my lead this evening. Actually, I'll expect that from you." Grey pushed aside the chair where his feet rested and stood. "Do you have any questions?"

There was one. Her tongue seemed to grow thick in her mouth with the prospect of asking it. She forced herself to do it because anticipation was worse than knowing. "You haven't mentioned how I'm to be punished," she said.

Grey stared at her. "How you're to be punished," he repeated slowly. "No, you're right, I haven't mentioned it. I'll have to give it some thought." If anything, she grew paler. Grey raked his hair and swore softly under his breath. "God, Berkeley, I have no intention of laying a hand on you. Is that what you're expecting?"

Her eyes betrayed her. She answered him without saying a word.

"Mike could die," he said quietly.

Berkeley sucked in her breath. She wished he had hit her instead.

Grey took her by the wrist and drew Berkeley to her feet. "Let's go," he said. "Remember what I want you to tell Mike. Convince him that you mean every bit of it." He dropped her hand and, without a backward glance, preceded her out of the room.

* * *

Berkeley closed her eyes. Steam rose like twisted threads of silk above the water. She rested her head against the back of the tub, exposing the length of her slender throat. The fragrance of lavender was released as her fingers made a sweep across the water. She palmed the soap and raised it to her damp shoulder, then let it fall again.

She lay there, breathing slowly, evenly, unwilling to move until the water cooled to the point she was forced out. Berkeley did not think it was possible to be so exhausted and still be alive.

Sitting with Mike had taken its toll on her spirit; taking his hand had robbed her of strength.

With her eyes closed, Berkeley had no difficulty bringing Mike's face to mind. Even bruised and swollen his mouth had managed an endearingly lopsided smile. Two pillows had been tucked under his head so he didn't have to raise it to see her. Behind the slit that passed for his left eye, he watched her walk up to his bedside and take a seat on the very edge.

She thanked him for his rescue and told him no one had ever risked so much for her. He blushed. Leaning forward, she kissed him lightly on the mouth. His flush deepened, and he looked past Berkeley's shoulder to where Grey stood.

"She makes me wish I was where you are," Grey said easily. Mike would have to believe him because he meant it. "The next time she needs rescuing I won't leave the heroics to you."

Low laughter rumbled in Mike's broad chest. He began to cough hard. A spittle of blood appeared on his lips, but he managed to get out the words, "Like hell."

Berkeley took the handkerchief Grey handed her and wiped Mike's mouth. She wet one corner of it in the basin at Mike's bedside and dabbed at his split lip again. The blood hadn't come from there. "Do you have a loose tooth?" she asked.

Mike's brows lifted slightly. He ran his tongue around the interior of his mouth. He held up three fingers.

Berkeley allowed herself to believe the blood had come from any one of them. She tucked the handkerchief under her cuff in the event she needed it again. "Would you like to hear what your future holds, Mike? It will give you something pleasant to think while your bones knit." In spite of his battered face, Berkeley could tell he was wary of what she might see in his palm. She saw him look to Grey again.

Grey shrugged. "It's up to you, Mike, but I'd be curious. Four weeks ago she told you you'd be seeing your family soon, and right now Donnel Kincaid is making arrangements so you can be on the next clipper out of San Francisco if that's what you want. Return is guaranteed if you decide to make the trip west again. I can't say that I like how it's all come to pass, but I don't suppose Miss Shaw has any control over that."

Berkeley glanced over her shoulder at Grey, her expression a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "Did you write to your family, Mike?"

He nodded then grimaced.

"I won't ask any more questions," she promised. Berkeley took the hand he extended but held it in only one of hers. She girded herself for the shock of the first touch and threw up all her defenses. Still, she sucked in her breath at the depth of the pain. "Your hand's very cold," she said, smiling weakly to cover her lapse. "I wasn't expecting that." Behind her she heard Grey take a step forward. His shadow hovered like a bird of prey.

Berkeley examined Mike's palm and cautiously allowed herself to feel something beyond his pain. "Why, Mike, you've never mentioned this before. There's a girl sweet on you back home in Kentucky. Did you think Shawn would never give you peace about her?" She felt his hand stiffen slightly, and she managed a teasing smile. "You know it's more likely that he'd be jealous. It's a certain thing you're going to marry her, probably before he marries again. I don't think you realize how deeply she cares for you, Mike. She's a bit shy, like you, and never wanted to seem forward. You broke her heart when you left your farm. I suspect she'll be waiting for you when you go back, sitting on your mama's porch, helping her snap beans for canning. She won't know which way to look when she sees you. She'll be thinking she looks a fright, and you'll be thinking there's never been anyone prettier."

Berkeley was aware her breath was coming shallowly. The pain in her arm was intense. The skin from her fingertips to her shoulder felt like a single exposed nerve. "There will be children," she whispered. She bent over his palm. "I can't make out if you'll have five or six. Oh, I see it now. There are six. You're going to have twins." She dropped his hand and stood up quickly. She rubbed her arm but tried to make it look like an absent gesture. Tilting her head to one side, the smile she offered him was a playful one. "At least I think it's twins. You have a lot of scratches on your palm, Mike. It could be you'll only have three beautiful babies."

Mike stared at her. Berkeley thought he was seeing more clearly through that single slit of his than he ever had with two good eyes. It had never been so important to him to know the truth before. Her own gaze didn't waver in the least. She held his stare, her features untroubled and serene, and willed him to believe every bit of what she had just told him.

When he finally spoke, Mike's voice was the clearest it had been since the beating. "Do you suppose it's Bonnie Sue McMasters?" he asked.

Berkeley's laughter was part relief and part unfettered, youthful joy. "Oh yes," she said, dropping to her knees beside the bed. "Yes, Mike. I think it's Bonnie Sue McMasters you're meant to marry."

Mike laid his hand over the crown of Berkeley's head. Her pale hair was like silk under his palm. His fingertips passed through it lightly, then fell down her cheeks and rested on her shoulder. He could feel her trembling, but she didn't move away from him or seem to want to. Her eyes appeared too large for her small face, but they were shining, awash with tears that she wouldn't shed. Most important was the complete absence of pity in their depths.

Berkeley felt Mike's hand fall away as Grey helped her to her feet. "He needs to rest," Grey said. "Find someone to come and stay with him. I'll be here until I'm relieved." He followed her into the hallway, leaving the door opened a crack in case Mike called for him. He spoke in a whisper that didn't carry beyond Berkeley's ears. "You couldn't have done it any better," he said. "Thank you."

"It wasn't a performance," she said. Berkeley left him alone to think about what that meant.

The water was cooler now, and Berkeley realized she had slept a little while her thoughts drifted back. She found the soap and rubbed it across her shoulders and arms. Her skin tingled. Washing didn't erase the sensation; it aroused it. Berkeley soaped her breasts. They were faintly swollen, and the nipples were taut. She caught sight of her flushed face in the cheval glass near the fireplace. Her eyelids were heavy, and her damp skin glowed. Then she saw Grey Janeway's reflection as he stepped up to the tub behind her. He knelt and took the soap from her hands.

Berkeley's breath caught. There was an unfamiliar pressure in her chest, a deep, abiding ache that made her want to draw her knees up close to her breasts. She didn't. Couldn't. Grey's hand lay on her naked shoulder. The soap was gone and it was just his palm against her skin. His thumb moved back and forth over the ridge of her collarbone, and in the mirror his eyes held hers.

She watched his hand as his fingers trailed slowly down her arm and disappeared under the water. She bit her lower lip, her eyes darkening, when she felt him graze her thigh. The water rippled. Berkeley shivered.

His hand was on her hip, then the curve of her bottom. Without a word passing between them he conveyed his need for her to lean forward. When she did, his thumb traced her spine with enough pressure to make her arch. She saw herself unfold under his touch, her breasts lifting, her shoulders rising. When he held the nape of her neck her chin came up, and the length of her slender throat was exposed.

His mouth settled first on the curve of her shoulder. He held her still and touched the hollow of her throat. She felt the damp edge of his tongue. The breath that she seemed to have been holding for an eternity was finally released in a ragged little sigh. She gripped the sides of the tub. His mouth lifted, then it came down on hers. Her heart hammered...

Berkeley shot up suddenly. Water splashed the floor as a small tidal wave was raised around her. Her heart
was
thudding loudly, but then so was the door to her suite. Heat rushed her as she stared at the cheval glass and saw only her own reflection. Grey wasn't there. She had always been alone.

"Just a moment," she called. Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, and the insistent knocking at the door continued unabated. Berkeley stepped out of the tub and slipped into her wrapper. She hurried to the door, water dripping in her wake. Her fingers were on the handle, prepared to twist it when something made her pause. "Who is it?"

Just as if she didn't know, Grey thought. Her voice came to him cool and sweet and clear. "Berkeley," he said, a thread of impatience running through the single word, "open this door."

Berkeley turned the key and pulled on the handle. She cracked the door and peered out through the opening. It was impossible not to stare at him. Less than a minute had passed since she had held the vision of him in her mind's eye. She could still feel the heat where he had touched her, or where she thought he had.

Grey was regarding her with more distant interest, his flint-colored eyes slightly remote as he took in her flushed complexion and the beads of water that glistened on her naked throat. Her mouth was damp, and the centers of her darkening eyes were wide enough to hold his reflection. She was holding her wrapper closed at the waist as if she didn't trust her efforts to belt it. The lapels gaped above her fist, and Grey watched a diamond water drop run its course from the tendril of hair curling around her neck to the shadowed curve of her breasts.

Berkeley did not think her dream had played her false in any detail about Grey Janeway. Only what he had done to her had been imagined. Looking at him now, she was struck by how clearly she had brought him to mind. She had captured the perpetually wind-ruffled look of his dark sable hair and the way it just touched his collar at the back. She had recalled the clarity of his blue-gray eyes and the way his smile, reserved and faintly cynical, did not touch their steely depths. His lean frame filled the space she allowed him, and the casual grace with which he rested against the wall spoke to the aristocratic manner he could not entirely shed.

Berkeley blinked as he leaned forward and rested one hand on the doorjamb. He did not try to force his way in. He simply stood there, somehow negligently braced against her door, looking vaguely amused and annoyed at the same time. And while Berkeley took in the contradictions of his expression, she could only think of his hand and the lean fingers that had trailed with such perfect gentleness across her skin.

Her mouth parted. She felt her breath catching again.

"Are you quite all right?" Grey asked.

Berkeley nodded.

Grey was unconvinced. He inclined his head forward and tried to see into her suite. "Do you have someone in there?"

"No." She expelled the word more than spoke it. "No," she said again, this time with more certainty. With some effort Berkeley gathered the errant threads of her thoughts. "Has something happened to Mike?" she asked.

"He's resting comfortably. I just came from there. Shawn's sitting with him now." Grey reached inside his vest and pulled out a neatly folded paper. "I have the information I promised. May I come in?"

"I'm not dressed," she said. "I haven't finished bathing." Berkeley noticed that neither of these excuses was particularly discouraging to Grey. He didn't move away from the door. She opened it wide enough to extend her hand. "Let me have the paper, and I'll study it."