Just North of Bliss (31 page)

Perhaps tempered was a better word.
Circumstances might be honing her rather sharply at the moment, but
Belle didn’t want ever to be hard. She sure wanted to make the most
of her life, however, even if that meant going against family
tradition. Anyhow, what good was a tradition that reveled in a
status as victim? Belle didn’t want to be a cursed victim.

She heard the door click shut and turned,
removing her gloves. “Well?”

Win paused at the door for a moment, eyeing
her strangely. “You look different,” he said at last. He walked to
his desk.

“I feel different.” Belle, too, walked to
his desk. The old Belle would have sat on the padded bench and
waited. The new Belle didn’t feel like waiting any longer; this was
her life, and she was darned well going to be involved in any
decisions affecting it. She was going to seize life by the throat
and conquer it. She was going to take what she wanted when she
wanted it. At least that’s what she told herself.

Clearing his throat, Win opened a drawer and
removed a sheet of paper, down which columns of numbers marched.
“I, ah, talked to my agent today. He’s here in Chicago.”

“I see.”

He frowned at her. “You don’t need to sound
so dashed cold.”

She frowned back. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about. May I see the figures?”

“I’ll relate them to you.”

“I’d rather see for myself. It’s my
livelihood, after all.” She gave him a hard stare.

He expelled a lusty sigh. “Damn it, Belle,
when did you get to be so tough?”

She snatched the paper from his hand, irked
beyond reason. “Since I moved North and got mixed up with you.”

“Nuts.” Win sat with a thump on a chair and
looked on as Belle perused the paper.

She blinked as she read. Good heavens. She
didn’t believe this.

“Well?” Win asked impatiently. “Is it a
deal?”

After glancing from the incredible numbers
on the page to Win, Belle turned and walked over to the bench,
where she sat and looked at the paper some more.

“Well?” Win asked again. “Say something,
will you?”

Belle cleared her throat and laid the paper
carefully in her lap. “Is this true?”

His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head
slightly. “What do you mean, is it true? I got those figures from
my agent today. That’s only for photographs of you. I’ll be damned
if I’ll give you fifty percent of everything. But I suppose you
deserve half of what I make from your pictures.”

“How magnanimous of you.” Belle pressed her
lips into a flat line.

He flung himself out of his chair and
started pacing. He certainly liked to pace, Belle thought unkindly.
“Damn it, Belle, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“No?”

“No.”

“If you say so.” The notion of arguing held
no appeal to her at the moment, so she glanced down at the paper
again. The amount of money represented by these figures exceeded
Belle’s wildest imaginings. When she’d decided to seek employment,
she’d figured she’d earn a modest salary, thereby helping herself
and her family. She’d never once entertained the idea that she
might actually become a wealthy woman.

Yet, if this wasn’t another one of Win’s
little fibs, that’s what a modeling career would mean to her. She’d
make a fortune.

Win stopped pacing and frowned at her. “Dash
it, Belle, say something!” He gestured at the paper. “Those numbers
are only estimates, and Harvey—Harvey Alexander, my agent—said he
estimated low, so I wouldn’t have any unpleasant surprises. The
actual figures might be higher.”

“Higher than this?” Belle held up the paper,
unable to comprehend such a thing.

He nodded.

“My land.” She swallowed and suddenly asked
herself what she was waiting for. This kind of opportunity
undoubtedly wouldn’t come her way again. Lifting her chin, she eyed
Win with what she hoped appeared like cold calculation. In truth,
her heart was rattling like dice in a cup and she felt faint. “Very
well, Win. I shall go into partnership with you.”

His smile came out of nowhere and would have
knocked her flat, had she been standing. “Great! That’s great,
Belle!”

And he swooped down on her and lifted him
into his arms. She squealed with surprise, then joined him in
triumphant laughter.

Chapter Sixteen

She’d gone for it! Win couldn’t remember the
last time he’d been this relieved and overjoyed. She was his! She
wasn’t going away! Thank God, thank God, thank God.

“We’re going to be great together, Belle.
This partnership is going to be the best thing since the invention
of the camera.”

She was breathless with laughter. He’d
danced her around his booth like a madman, holding her up off the
floor and spinning here and there, narrowly missing light stands
and chairs. His heart was as light as a feather. He feared that if
he put her down, he’d float right out the door and up into the
heavens to romp with the moon and stars.

“Win! You’re crazy. Put me down.” Still, she
laughed.

“Fudge. You just wait, Belle. I’m going to
make your face more famous than Aunt Jemima’s!”

That absurdity set her off laughing again.
Win finally managed to wear himself out. After one last fling
around the room, he came to a panting stop in the middle of his
booth and lowered Belle to the floor. He didn’t release her, but
stood, looking down at her.

Her huge brown eyes sparkled like copper
pennies, her glorious hair was losing its pins, her hat was askew,
her cheeks glowed rosy pink, and her full lips parted in a smile.
She was, to Win, the most beautiful woman in the world. And she was
his. He hadn’t quite dared to believe she’d go for his offer, but
she had.

They stood looking at each other until Win
lost track of time. He’d never been a particularly romantic sort of
fellow, even though he possessed an artist’s eye. But if anyone had
asked him how he felt at that moment, he’d have had to say he felt
as if he’d been enchanted. By a fairly small, definitely
irritating, and absolutely bewitching southern belle.

“Belle,” he whispered.

“Win,” she whispered back.

That was enough for him. With exquisite
care, fearful lest she bolt and break the spell, he lowered his
lips to hers.

She didn’t bolt. Rather, she raised her head
and met him halfway. Still worried that she’d make him stop, he
wrapped his arms around her and pulled her slowly toward him until
her body pressed against his. Lord, Lord, her body. And what a body
it was.

“God, Belle, I want you so much.” His voice
was so ragged he didn’t even recognize it as his.

She didn’t respond with words, but her lips
parted beneath his, and he gently outlined them with his tongue.
She tasted like honey and wine and summer rain and all the sweet
things in the world combined. Every soft curve of her body taunted
him, as if they wanted him to reveal themselves to his greedy eyes.
And hands. He wanted to feel her.

The restraint was about to kill him.
Already, his sex was engorged and so hard it ached. He shook. He
ached. He lusted. He—God save him—he loved her.

One of her small hands lifted and brushed
the hair from his forehead. This boldness on her part—for it was an
act of boldness for his repressed Belle—shocked him into pulling
slightly away from her.

She whispered, “I want you, too, Win.” Then
she ducked her head and pressed it against his chest, which
suddenly seemed to expand several yards.

Good God, had she really said that? A query
trembled on the tip of his tongue before he swallowed it. If it
turned out she hadn’t, he didn’t want to know. Instead, he scooped
her up into his arms and, carrying her as if she were as fragile as
glass, which she was, he took her to the curtained-off portion of
his booth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on without
struggling, so Win didn’t lose heart as he aimed straight for the
chaise longue.

He didn’t dare let go of her. He was still
holding on for dear life as he lowered himself to the chaise. Then,
before she could even think about protesting, he kissed her again.
His heart lifted like a feather on a breeze when she only gripped
his shoulders more tightly.

When he realized she hadn’t worn her corset
this evening, he cheered up even more. Had she guessed this might
happen? It didn’t matter.

“You’re so beautiful, Belle.” His ragged
whisper drifted in the air for a moment.

“You’ve made me beautiful, Win. That’s your
doing.”

She didn’t sound upset about it. Personally,
he didn’t buy it. She was perfect. He’d seen her perfection that
very first day as she walked down the Midway. This wasn’t the time
for arguments, however, and sensing that she wasn’t going to desert
him and run away, he allowed his hands to begin a wandering survey
of the delights of Belle’s body.

“Take off your coat, Win.”

Good God. He could scarcely believe she’d
made the demand, although he complied immediately. Seconds later,
he was glad he’d done so, when her hands slowly moved up his chest.
With a shock, he realized she was unbuttoning his shirt, and he
spared a moment to be glad he’d worn one of his new-fangled ones
with the attached collars and cuffs. He didn’t want to have to deal
with collar buttons or too many articles of clothing. Not tonight.
Not now. Not when he was about to achieve his heart’s most fervent
desire.

“I haven’t been able to sleep for nights
now, thinking about this, Belle.”

“Mmmm?” Her little hand slipped under his
shirt and splayed against his chest. He almost died then and
there.

“No. You’ve been on my mind day and night.
Night and day.”

“I’ve been keeping you up, you mean?”

He knew she didn’t understand the double
entendre she’d just spoken, so he only murmured, “Yes.” Her voice
was like moonlight and magnolia blossoms and mint juleps and sultry
summer nights all rolled into one delicately accented whole. He
loved her voice. Thinking he ought not keep such a relevant scrap
of information to himself, he gasped, “I love your voice.”

“I thought you hated it.” She laughed
softly, and he moaned. Her laugh was like syrup and chocolate and
sweet, sweet wine.

Lord, his metaphors were getting out of
hand. But he couldn’t stop them. “Not anymore, I don’t. I love
it.”

“Thank you.”

Her hands slithered to the back of his head,
and he felt her fingers burrow into his hair. Deciding she had a
good idea there, he felt around her hat, withdrew the pins holding
it in place, and gently removed it, dropping it to the floor and
consigning the pins to fend for themselves. He heard them ping and
roll and didn’t care. “I love your hair, Belle.”

“I love yours, too.”

Delirious. He was probably delirious,
although he couldn’t imagine why he should be. Perhaps he’d
contracted some fell disease and this was a hallucination. To hell
with it. If it was a hallucination, he was damned well going to
enjoy it as it happened. With skill garnered during a career of
helping people pose for photographs, he removed the hairpins from
her French twist and let them fall to mate with her hat pins if
they chose to. When he thrust his fingers into her fine chestnut
mane, he murmured, “Your hair is like silk.”

“You’re sweet, Win.” She’d given up on his
hair and was running her hands down his body.

Sweet, was he? He didn’t feel sweet. He felt
possessed. Lord, what was she doing?

Good God. She was caressing the bulge in his
trousers, was what she was doing. Win thought he might die on the
spot. With hands that trembled like an old man’s, he reached for
the buttons on her shirtwaist, praying she wouldn’t stop him.

She didn’t stop him. Rather, she helped him
along. When the garment fell away, revealing a simple lawn chemise
and pantaloons, Win thanked all the good fairies and all the gods
and everything else that might exist for good in the universe.
“You’re gorgeous.”

He knew she had no experience in these
things, yet she posed like a vamp on his chaise, gazing at him with
those fantastic, serene cinnamon-and-chocolate-brown eyes, as a
soft smile curved her lovely lips. Maybe women were all natural
seductresses under their stays. Win doubted it. Belle was special.
He stared at her for what seemed like forever, afraid to move for
fear he’d wake up from his delirium.

After he didn’t know how long, she reached
out and took his hand. Thus spurred on, Win drew her against his
chest again. He had to lick his lips before he could get them to
form words. “Let me untie these things, Belle.” He was referring to
her chemise lacings.

She did it for him. As he watched, his gaze
eating her up, she slowly unlaced her chemise. Her full breasts,
nipples pebbled and taunting him, pressed against the fine lawn and
seemed to push the loosened ribbons out of the way, until she was
revealed to him in all her glory.

“You’re glorious,” he said, thinking she
ought to know it.

“Thank you.” With a soft shove, she pushed
the chemise away.

The straps slithered down her shoulders, and
Win licked his lips. He wasn’t altogether sure he was going to
survive this experience. The only clothing that remained in place
was his. And her drawers. Swallowing hard, he started unfastening
his belt buckle. Thank God he was still a young man and hadn’t let
himself go to fat like George Richmond, because a belt was much
more easily dealt with than suspenders. Even with trembling
fingers, he got the belt undone. Then he ripped it from the trouser
loops and flung it aside.

“Let me, Win,” Belle said softly, reaching
for his trouser buttons.

“Gladly,” he croaked, and shut his eyes as
Belle’s gentle hands fumbled with his trouser buttons.

“You’re a very attractive man, Win Asher,”
she purred in her sweet, drawly Georgian.