Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (11 page)

Max shrugged. "I'm just saying that you should think of the future. Consider what you want to do with your life. After your quest ends, then what? You can never go back to the way things were before. I should know."

"Why did you leave England in the first place?" she asked. Now he smiled, that slash of white teeth in his darkly tanned face making him almost boyish—but only for an instant. He took his time, serving himself quail and wild rice, before he replied. Sky sensed he was stalling, gathering his thoughts.

"Boredom," he finally replied. "My university classes were dull, carousing and drinking had lost their charm. My chances of inheriting the title seemed remote and I was glad of that. You see before you a man who has ever shirked family obligations."

"But when your brother died and your uncle never remarried...you were next in line."

"Whoever could've imagined that Harry would mourn the rest of his life," he asked almost rhetorically. "I fully expected him to marry a beautiful young woman and set up his nursery." He slowly chewed a piece of the juicy meat without tasting it, then studied her expression, looking deeply into her eyes. "You won't shun remarriage, having a family, will you? It's a waste, Sky. A misplaced loyalty your Will would not have wanted."

She dropped her fork, startled as if a barb had just pierced her heart...and in a way it had. Swallowing hard, she blinked away tears. "The promise not to kill Deuce wasn't the only one my husband exacted before he died," she said quietly.

"He urged you to marry again."

Her head jerked up in surprise. "How did you...oh, I suppose it would be the logical thing to imagine a selfless man like Will doing. We...we never had children and he knew how much I wanted them."

Oddly, Max had never considered that she might be unable to provide him with the heir he required. Even odder, he realized that he did not care. He remained quiet, waiting for her to continue, the food on their plates now forgotten.

"He felt guilty about it...while we worked in the reservation hospital during an epidemic of measles, he contracted the disease and nearly died. He ran a very high fever and..."

"I've heard that can render men infertile," he murmured.

"I told him he was doing God's work and we had a whole village filled with children to love and care for. They're still waiting for me. I will return once I've seen our bargain through," she said, almost defensively.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, barely touching her fingertips in a chaste salute. "Who are you trying to convince, Sky—me…or yourself?"

She jerked her hand away angrily. "I neither require your permission nor want your advice regarding my future," she snapped, shoving back her chair before she relented. "That sounded churlish. I—I'm sorry."

Max rose, too, and smiled at her, a crooked grin. "You nearly choked on that apology. Please, let me make my own for intruding into your private affairs. I have no right."

She could feel those green eyes probing her. He was standing much too close. The car was much too confining. "Considering you are my legal husband, most people would argue otherwise," she replied lightly.

"A marriage of convenience doesn't make me your husband, Sky." His voice was low, the accent less clipped, the tone warm.

"Surely you aren't arguing for a change in our agreement?" The moment the words escaped her lips, she stepped back, stunned at her monumental stupidity.
How could I have asked that?
"What I mean is...this conversation has become far too personal. You were right. Let us change the subject to our course of action when we reach Denver."

Max nodded as she walked over to the two leather chairs facing each other. "I'll ring for coffee," he replied.

After the porter removed their mostly uneaten meal and poured two cups of thick black coffee, Max laced his liberally with golden cream. Sky preferred hers black. "You'll have to forgo the luxury of that stuff on the trail," she said.

"I've had to forgo many things since leaving England," he replied enigmatically.

They discussed what information the saloon owner might have about Deuce and how they'd track him down. But in the back of his mind, Max turned over thoughts about how she'd withdrawn her hand from his with a flash of heat in her eyes, the startled confession he'd elicited about her desire for children, and the way she'd blurted out her confusion over whether he wanted a real marriage. All things considered, the signs were pointing to Lady Ruxton's willingness to renegotiate.

But two questions still remained unanswered. Did he want a wife and family? And, would she accept his proposal once she learned about the codicil?

Jump one hedgerow at a time, old chap.

* * * *

Sky stayed up and read for a bit after Max retired. He was drinking too much and it worried her. Would his tracking skills suffer? His hand had to be steady enough to keep him alive when he faced Deuce. She set aside the book, not having understood a word she read and admitted the real reason she was worrying about him. Her attraction to Maxwell Stanhope had grown over the weeks they'd spent together. Damn the man, she thought as she removed her robe, then lowered the lamps and climbed into her bed, which was separated from his by a high screen to afford her maximum privacy.

She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, praying for the car to rock her to sleep. But sleep would not come. Thoughts of Max filled her mind instead. He was far more than a well-educated and heart-stoppingly handsome man. Wit, courtesy and gentleness were not traits she would have assumed the Limey would possess. His mysterious nightmare and the way he avoided speaking about his past gave him an aura of vulnerability, adding to his appeal.

But he was still a hard, dangerous man with a bloody past, utterly different from Will. More like her brother Clint. Small wonder the two of them had quickly moved from wariness to friendship in a few short days.

She was just drifting off when Max stirred restlessly. Then the harshly issued commands and orders to fire on the advancing enemy again rasped out. He was having the nightmare. Sky lay with her fists clenched in the covers, trying to decide what to do. In London he had abruptly stopped and fallen back into bed. Would that happen again? Or, would he awaken and know that she had heard him?

Making a snap decision, she threw back her covers and darted around the partition between their beds before he began talking about the blood and gore. If she could either awaken him quickly or get him back to restful sleep, perhaps he would never know he'd revealed anything damning. "Max, Max, you're having a bad dream," she whispered fiercely.

Once again, he was sitting up, his hand holding the imaginary pistol. The bedsheet lay tangled around his hips, more off than on his body. In the moonlight streaming through the window, she could see the contrast between his darkly tanned face and neck and the pale skin of his hard chest and flat belly. Gingerly, she perched on the edge of his bed and reached for his hand, lowering it and murmuring in his ear, trying to soothe him out of the nightmare. If only she could get him to lie back and go to sleep without awakening him!

Sky pressed her palm against his bare, hot chest. The feel of his hard male flesh, the swift hammering of his heartbeat, the crisp texture of his chest hair sent a jolt of sexual awareness racing through her body. Now it was she who cried out. But she quickly bit her lip and leaned over him, willing him to lie down.

Slowly, he dropped backward onto the pillows. Still, she could not seem to remove her hands from his chest. Instead, she laid her head over his heart and listened as the frantic thudding began to slow to a regular rhythm. It had been over a year since she'd felt the steady soothing beat of a man's heart close beside her.

I could lie this way forever.
What was she thinking? Comparing her calm, loving Will with this cold, dangerous mercenary? Sky straightened up and started to slip from the bed, but suddenly his long, elegant fingers encircled her wrist tightly. She tumbled back onto his chest, her hair spread like spilled ink over his shoulders.

"Smelled your perfume," he murmured against her ear. The tip of his tongue darted inside the small shell, sending a shiver of delight coursing through her. "I must be dreaming, Sky Eyes." His warm breath caressed her face as he tangled his hands in her hair, moving her head so her lips met his.

He brushed his mouth ever so softly over hers. Then, with a guttural oath, he deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering. Sky had never imagined this searing bliss—that something could frighten her and at the same time awaken her to such passion. No, this was wrong, a violation of their agreement! It would mean heartbreak when he left her, as she knew he would.

He was a killer. He was the infamous Limey! She tried to hold that disquieting thought in her mind...but it would not stick. Sky pressed her palms against his chest, trying to break free, but he rose up and cupped her head in one hand, holding her fast while he continued the breath-stealing kiss.

"I've wanted to do this since the first day we met," he whispered harshly as his mouth moved from hers to her jaw, then down her throat to find a tiny pulse that had leaped to life at her collarbone.

"Let me go, Max," she said softly, too softly for him to hear above their rough breathing. Sky could not seem to catch her breath to speak louder, nor to push harder. In fact, her fingers seemed to dig into the muscles of his shoulders, holding on to him. His arm wrapped around her waist in an iron grip while his other hand left her hair and slid around, entering the sheer lawn of her night rail, sending buttons flying as his callused fingers grazed one nipple, then the other.

"Nooo," she murmured, then gasped at the sharp tingle of intense pleasure from the delicate caress.

"Yes, oh, my lord, yes," he crooned, cupping one pert breast and suckling the rose brown nipple until it puckered even more tightly. Then he turned his attention to the second breast, like a piece of ripe fruit, his for the taking. Sky was his for the taking. His wife. For the rest of his life...if he continued. Max could not have stopped if Queen Victoria herself stood at the foot of his bed and cleared her royal throat in disapproval.

No, the only thing that would stop him was Sky's protest. But rather than pushing him away, she now clung tightly to him, digging her nails into his body, thrusting those luscious breasts toward his mouth. It was all the encouragement required to render him mindless of consequences. He kicked away the tangled bedsheet and rolled over, pulling her on top of him so their legs entwined. Then he peeled the sheer batiste night rail from her breasts completely and continued his sensual assault.

Sky could feel the air on her back and the faint scratching of his hair-roughened legs as they rubbed against her smooth ones. His mouth was hot and wet on her breasts, his hands everywhere, caressing her skin as he slipped one of her arms free of her night rail, then the other. Through the haze of desire burning her, she could feel the probing insistence of his staff pressing into the tangle of soft cloth. That thin layer of batiste was all that lay between her and him...and the consummation of a marriage neither had intended to be real.

She should roll away, run back to her bed and leave him to his own private demons, but feeling the heat and hardness of his erection rubbing between her thighs, Sky could think of nothing but the power of his lean, hard body and the ache of long-dormant desire he had ignited. When his hand sought her soft petals, she knew they wept with wanting. He grabbed the hem of her gown and slid it upward so their lower bodies were flesh on flesh. No more barriers remained between them.

The pull began deep in her belly and spread downward. Of their own volition her thighs clamped over his staff as if urging him to hurry, to fill her. In answer, his hips arched and he emitted a low, feral growl of raw male hunger. His hands with their elegant long fingers, positioned her hips above him, raising them so the head of his phallus teased her aching core, gliding back and forth for a moment, as if prolonging the inevitable.

Her slick moisture told him that she was ready, eager for what was to come. He plunged deep inside her and then held her hips immobile, struggling to keep from spilling his seed like a virgin schoolboy. She was so hot and tight and wet, as if untried, even though he knew she had been another man's wife. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold on.

"My sweet love, you've driven me mad with wanting you for so very long," he whispered, his voice as raw as his emotions.

Sky heard his words, but did not truly comprehend them, only that he wanted her and his passion was as great as hers. Her body, unaccustomed to intercourse for the past year, slowly stretched, glorying in the feeling of being tested and filled with such heat. But she wanted more, much more. Greedily, she rolled her hips and felt him shudder. Her body accommodated his hardness as it penetrated even deeper.

"Now, please," she begged, unaware she'd even spoken aloud.

Max could not resist her breathy plea. He started to move again, setting a slow steady rhythm, guiding her so as to help him maintain control of his wildly raging body...and hers.

Unbidden, she locked her knees tightly to his sides so she could take him deeper, harder. Before he lost control, he rolled her over onto her back and commanded harshly, "Wrap your legs around me, love." When she complied, he sped up the pace.

Sky matched him, each thrust met by her keening cries and arching hips. She had never felt so utterly abandoned in passion, lost to everything but the pale-haired man above her. He rose up on his elbows and looked down into her eyes. She could see the predatory gleam in their green depths. Unable to bear the intensity of his gaze, she closed her eyes and clawed at his back, pulling him down for another hard kiss. His weight pressed her into the mattress, flattening her breasts against the hardness of his chest. Rather than frightening her, it only served to inflame her passion even more.