Just One Kiss (19 page)

Morgan said nothing. A mask of ice descended over his features. Only his eyes shone like burning embers.

Her tongue ran wild and reckless. She plunged on, only half-aware of what she was saying. "Did you hear me? It's Nathaniel I want, not you! So damn you. Damn you anyway!"

For Morgan, it was an echo from the past.
It's Nathaniel I want, not you
! First Amelia. And now Elizabeth. Both scorned him. Faithless wives… an untrustworthy brother. And all treacherous and disloyal…

Something snapped in him then. Without warning his arms shot out. Blinded by rage—and passion—he dragged her up against him.

"No," he said fiercely. "Damn
you
."

His mouth came down on hers. His fingers slid through her hair. Long, golden strands tumbled down around his hands as he held her still for his kiss. Winding a handful around his fist, he caught her closer still against him.

His mouth was fiercely devouring, angry and punishing. Her low, choked cry was trapped between their lips. Her head spinning from the relentless pressure of his mouth on hers, she could make no protest as she felt herself lifted and laid on the bed. The weight of his body came down beside her. Once again he loomed above her, his features drawn by anger—and something else.

Caught in the ruthless hold of his embrace, she felt a tempest of pain swirling in her breast. His touch was sheer male mastery. She could feel it in the boldness of his caress—his hands roamed wherever he pleased.

He would not stop this time. Elizabeth knew it, as surely as the sun rose in the east. What use was there in protest? He wouldn't listen. Nor could she fight him. Even if she tried, she would never win.

Her gown had become tangled about her thighs, leaving slender white limbs naked and exposed. She lay passively while deft fingers worked the buttons on the bodice of her nightgown. Her chest ached as she struggled against a stinging rush of tears.

"You pretend to scorn me, Elizabeth. You deny me with words. But why is it your body always tells me otherwise?"

In all honesty, Elizabeth expected sheer, raw possession. What she got was something else entirely. His fingers barely grazed the tips of her breasts again and again, his play tauntingly provocative. Knowing he watched her, she was awash with hot shame. Yet to her utter mortification, her nipples began to tingle. Each roseate peak hardened into a tight, hard knot.

He smiled.

In an instant her gown was whisked up and over her head.

A lean, dark hand came down on the smoothness of her belly. Her whole body jerked.

There was the glint of steel in his regard. "I've yet to ever hear you say my name, Elizabeth."

Her eyes clung to his. She couldn't, she thought helplessly. The ache in her throat made speech impossible.

His gaze hardened. "Say it," he demanded. "Say my name."

Her lips trembled. Her throat worked. The silence spun out tensely between them, until with a low, choked sound deep in her breast, at last she turned her head away.

Everything constricted into a cold, hard knot in Morgan's belly. His fingers on her chin, he wrenched her face to his and took her lips in a bruising kiss. Maybe it was better this way, he thought furiously, with no angry words flying between them.

But there
was
something else between them. Something warm and wet and salty…

His head jerked up. Her eyes were huge and green and stricken, glittering with tears.

His entire body stiffened until he was taut as a board. "Damn you," he said tightly. The blistering curse was fairly flung at her. "Damn you, Elizabeth!"

For Elizabeth, it was suddenly all too much. Everything collided inside her. She began to sob. Wildly. Uncontrollably. Turning away from him, she curled into a little ball.

Defiant rebellion was certainly what Morgan had expected. But not this, never this. The sound of her weeping tore into him like the blade of a knife.

And God help him, he didn't know what to do. He was caught wholly off guard. He had little experience with the softer side of a woman's emotion. Amelia had always been too sure of herself and her beauty to display any vulnerability. And only now did he realize he'd fitted Elizabeth into the very same niche. Never had he thought of her as vulnerable.

A tentative hand hovered above her. "Elizabeth," he said, and then again: "
Elizabeth
."

She didn't hear him. In some odd way, Morgan knew instinctively she'd withdrawn to a place where he couldn't reach her.

Warm fingers settled on her naked shoulder. He reached out for her almost tentatively. Yet when he turned her bodily in his arms, she nestled against him with a ragged sob, as if he were the cure for all her tears… and not the cause of them.

He covered them both with the coverlet. She was still crying, as if her heart were broken. His arms tightened unknowingly. His body still burning, he held her close, her head tucked into the hollow of his arms, her tears drenching his skin…

Thawing the heart he'd been convinced lay frozen and cold.

In time, the tears stopped. Her tremulous breaths grew slow and even. Held fast within the sheltering protection of his arms, she slept cuddled against him as if she belonged there.

But sleep eluded him. His thoughts churned, circling around this woman who gave him no peace. His expression bleak, he lay awake long into the night.

Elizabeth woke later than usual the next morning. Her mind blurry, she yawned and stretched… only to realize she was stark naked!

With a gasp her gaze flew to the pillow beside her. There was still the slightest indentation in the center.

The events of the preceding night flooded back with a vengeance. Morgan had been so angry—so iron-hard and determined!

She remembered opening her eyes—it must have been near dawn, for it had begun to grow light—and staring sleepily where her small hand curled amid the furry darkness of his chest. She stirred slightly; the next instant there was a husky murmur against her ear, the featherlight brush of lips against her temple.

"Go to sleep," he had whispered.

Or had she only imagined it?

What on earth had possessed her? She didn't wonder at the reason she'd broken down—that was obvious. But it was madness, to find refuge in the very arms that shackled her. Only a day earlier, she'd have sworn that Morgan O'Connor was a man who possessed little compassion. Comfort, she had been convinced, was utterly foreign to his nature.

She pulled the counterpane tighter beneath her chin. When he'd entered her room last night, the thunder of his emotions seemed to charge the very air around him. Just thinking of it made her shiver. He had been so determined to possess her body—to assert his will over her own.

So why had he stopped? The question haunted her. And why hadn't he left her to cry alone? Instead, he'd spent the night here, holding her close…

And he hadn't gone to his mistress.

This she found altogether pleasing.

Still, her mood remained a trifle melancholy throughout the morning—and weighted with guilt.

What was it she'd told Nathaniel?
Accept this marriage, as I have
.

She hadn't, she realized.

Perhaps it was time she did.

The thought caught hold. Perhaps it was time to put aside the distrust that existed between her and Morgan, once and for all. These past weeks had been filled with tension and strain. She didn't want to go on like that, she realized.

There was only one thing to do.

Early in the afternoon she asked that the carriage be brought around. Willis, the driver, helped her inside. "Where to, ma'am?" he asked cheerfully once she was seated.

"Mr. O'Connor's shipyard, please."

He looked startled. "The shipyard, ma'am?"

She smiled at him. "Yes. And please hurry. I'm a bit anxious." And so she was, she thought with a shaky inner laugh. Not for what she was about to do, but simply to have it done!

A short time later, the carriage rolled to a halt near the waters of the bay. The day was clear and warm, the sky an endless canopy of blue.

Willis opened the door and helped her out. "Would you like me to stay, ma'am?"

Elizabeth quickly considered. "Could you return in an hour?" That should give her plenty of time to gather her courage.

The name
o'connor shipbuilding
hung on a huge sign above the gate. Squaring her shoulders, she ventured within.

Inside the yard were two half-finished hulls surrounded by scaffolding. Men walked to and fro on the catwalks. The sound of hammering and an occasional shout filled the air.

All at once a tall, bearded man with bushy gray brows appeared at her elbow. "Can I help you with something, ma'am?" Deep, craggy lines scored his brow. His eyes were friendly and welcoming.

Elizabeth turned to him gratefully. "Yes. I'd like to see Mr. O'Connor."

Something flickered in his eyes. "Are you Mrs. O'Connor?"

Elizabeth nodded. She hadn't yet grown used to being addressed as Mrs. O'Connor.

White teeth flashed in the beard. "I'm Roger Howell, ma'am, your husband's assistant."

He'd already reached for her hand and was pumping it furiously. She smiled. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Howell, and you're probably just the one I need to see. Is my husband in his office?"

Howell gestured toward a vessel anchored off a dock a short distance away. "He's on board the
Windcloud
, ma'am. We did some repairs and he took her for a trial run."

Elizabeth turned to look. She couldn't help but catch her breath in startled surprise. At such close range, the vessel seemed enormous, but its lines were sleek and spare. With the sails a huge mass of snowy white canvas, it appeared like a majestic white seabird poised and ready for flight.

But the beautiful clipper ship didn't hold her attention for long. Sure enough, a tall, familiar figure stood on deck.

And he was staring directly at her.

For his assistant's benefit more than anything else, she raised a gloved hand and waved at her husband.

He didn't return it.

But there was no time for uncertainty. "Here, come along now." Mr. Howell had already taken her elbow. "Why don't you wait in Mr. O'Connor's office?"

He led her into a building just across from the yard, through a small reception area and into a spacious office. Even if she hadn't seen Morgan's jacket draped across a chair, Elizabeth would have known instantly this was his abode—the familiar scent of his cologne lingered in the air. Mr. Howell directed her to a seat, then quietly withdrew.

The door reopened far too quickly. Her heightened awareness warned her of Morgan's presence, even as he crossed the room to stand behind his desk.

No hint of greeting warmed his gaze or his expression. He folded his arms across his chest and waited, an air of impatient expectancy about him.

Much as Elizabeth suddenly longed to bolt and flee, it was too late.

Her lips felt stiff as she tried to smile. "I hope you don't mind that I came."

Her tentative statement met with cool indifference. "Not at all."

Clearly he wasn't going to make this easy for her. "I-I thought we might talk."

"About what?"

She found his bluntness disconcerting. "About… last night."

The silence thickened before he spoke. "As I recall, Elizabeth, when I tried to talk to you last night, you were in no mood."

That brought her head up. Their eyes clashed fiercely. "And as I recall, talking was the last thing you had in mind!" she flared before she thought better of it.

His jaw locked tight. "Yes," he stated grimly. "You were quite eloquent in conveying your feelings."

Too late Elizabeth regretted her rashness. A burning ache closed her throat. There was a sinking flutter in her heart. Tears rose perilously close to the surface. Why? she cried silently. Why was there always such tension—such distance—between them? She hadn't wanted this—indeed, with her presence here today, it was the very thing she had sought to avoid!

Her eyes grazed his, then quickly flitted away. Her hands locked convulsively in her lap as she tried to still their trembling… as she strived to find a courage that was maddeningly elusive.

"I-I'm sorry," she said, her voice very low. "I came to apologize for my behavior last night. I was shocked—and angry—when you said you'd discovered Nathaniel was in New York and you failed to tell me. But I should never have said what I did."

She paused, trying to gather her tumultuous emotions. Oddly, he was the one who broke the deepening silence.

"You had every reason to be angry, Elizabeth," he said slowly. "I'm not trying to defend myself. I'm not even certain I can explain. Perhaps I shouldn't have withheld Nathaniel's whereabouts. If I were faced with the same choice today, I can't honestly say my decision would be any different. But I think you mistook my intentions. It certainly wasn't to hurt you—or him." He paused. "If anything, I was trying to spare you."

A frown knit the smoothness of her brow. "From what?"

"From the truth," he said quietly. "He was with another woman, Elizabeth. How could I tell you that?"

Something that might have been pain flickered over her features. "It doesn't matter now," she said, her voice stifled. "What's done is done. I-I didn't marry Nathaniel. I married you. And— I'm afraid you were right after all. I-I haven't been a… a very good wife. I'm afraid I've been a—a miserable failure."

This time it was he who countered with a question. "How so?"

Her head bowed low. She stared as if in fascination where her fingers strained against each other. She couldn't look at him—she simply couldn't!

"I made a promise to you—a promise before God—to be your wife. And so I will. Because I-I know now it was wrong of me to deny you"—she faltered slightly—"on our wedding night. And again… last night." Her voice plunged to a mere wisp of sound. "But I—I won't deny you again."

Morgan had gone utterly still. He could scarcely believe his ears. But then triumph surged—triumph and a passion that made him long to drag her into his arms, kiss her mindless and let desire be his master.