The Best Bride (25 page)

She heard him behind her. He set several boxes on the floor.

“Elizabeth.”

“Don't say anything.” She turned to face him. “I don't want to hear it. We had everything planned. We were going to be friends. Travis, I desperately need you in my life, but only as my friend. I can't do more. It's too dangerous. I've made that mistake before and I'm never going to do it again.”

He was tall and powerful standing there in the darkened room. His white, long-sleeved shirt emphasized his strength and good looks. She studied the lines of his face, the sadness in his dark eyes. His arms hung loose at his side, but his hands were clenched into fists.

“You don't understand,” he said.

He was right, she thought. She didn't understand and she didn't want to.

“I love you.”

His words hit her with the force of a lightning bolt, and
she nearly went down. Her legs trembled and her breathing stopped. She stared at him, then gasped in a breath. He loved her?

“You can't,” she said.

He shrugged. “All my life I've been told I couldn't be a good husband or father. My dad made a mess of both. My uncles are all failures in that department, as well. Every time I tried to make it work, I couldn't. After a while I gave up trying. If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck and sounds like a duck, it's probably a duck.”

She remembered the small stuffed yellow duck he'd brought her when he'd gone shopping with Mandy. Even then he'd been wrestling with his feelings for her. She should have known. But what difference would it have made? Would she have left him? She wanted to say yes, of course she would have, but she wasn't sure it was true. Her time with Travis had been magical. Would she have willingly cut it short?

“What I have figured out,” he said, continuing, “is that everyone has choices. Earl and his brothers didn't try hard enough. They could have made it work if they wanted to. I could have made it work with Julie. I cared about her. The marriage failed because of a lack of chemistry or each of us being lazy, not because I'm incapable of making a relationship last.”

“I don't want to hear this.” She started toward the hallway.

He grabbed her arm as she passed him. “You have to listen. It's important. This thing between us isn't going to go away. I'm willing to take a chance, Elizabeth. I know you've been burned. I have, too. I know it's frightening. It's too soon, we don't know each other well enough. But I can't risk losing you and Mandy. I love you both. I never
thought I'd ever say those words again, but I believe them to be true with all my being. Trust me. Trust
us.
”

She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her go. She was forced to look up at him, at the fire flaring in his eyes. These flames frightened her more than the fire of desire. His gaze burned with the heat of conviction. He did believe what he told her, that he loved her. That they had a chance. She wanted to weep from the sadness of it all. Couldn't he see that this was all a cruel joke? It would never work out; she wouldn't let it.

Oh, but she wanted to believe. Her heart had leapt when he'd said he loved her. For a single heartbeat, joy had filled her. Reality was too powerful, though, and couldn't be ignored.

“I don't want to hear this,” she said and looked away from him. “I don't believe you. Even if I did, it doesn't change anything.”

He was stunned. She could tell by the way he stiffened. He released her instantly and stepped back. “Why?”

She closed her eyes against his suffering and against the temptation he offered. If only she had never met Sam, she might have been able to respond to the gift Travis offered. But she had met Sam and he had changed her.

“Love isn't enough. I loved Sam and look what happened. In his own twisted way, he might have even loved me.”

“I don't appreciate the comparison. I'm not a bigamist. I don't have a secret past. I'm not going to destroy your life, I'm going to make it better.”

“I like my life just the way it is. Mandy and I don't need anyone. Sam disappeared, never bothering to say why he'd done it. He barely apologized. He signed over custody of his daughter as if she meant less to him than a car. I'm never going to risk that again. Never.” She knew she was
practically shouting, but she couldn't help herself. He wanted too much. She wouldn't take a chance, she couldn't. “I know. The loving doesn't keep you safe.”

Travis moved close and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I am not Sam,” he said, speaking slowly as if she couldn't make out the words clearly. “I would never do that to you. What I do is a part of who I am. The ideals of my job are here—” He touched his chest, then brushed hers, just above her left breast. “And here. You know that, Elizabeth. You've always known you could trust me. That's why you came home with me. That's why you're afraid now. You don't want to believe, but I'm not going to give you another choice in the matter. I'm not Sam Proctor. I won't leave you or lie to you. I'll take care of you and Mandy. I'll be here every night to protect you.”

His words were like quicksand. The more she struggled, the deeper she sank. Soon she would be swallowed whole into his world. She fought against his spell. “I don't need rescuing. I'm fine on my own. Why won't you believe that?”

Suddenly she was free. He jerked away from her and the quicksand disappeared into nothing. His emotional bonds had snapped. She was alone, as she had requested.

He walked to the window and stared out at her front yard. The pain radiated out from him. Waves and waves crashed over her, making her want to weep for both of them.

“Why?” he asked, without looking at her.

She had no answer because she didn't understand the question. Did he ask why she couldn't love him back, or why he had loved her at all? She didn't want to know which. He had come to the end of his journey, had shed the false covering learned from his family and had finally seen the true man inside. To what end? She was the last
woman in the world to be able to give him what he needed. She would carry that guilt with her forever.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “So very sorry. I want to be what you need, what you want, but I can't be. If it was just me, I might take the chance again. But I have to think about Mandy. I won't risk either of our hearts.”

“Why won't you listen?” he asked, still staring out the window. “I'm not Sam.”

“I know. I just wish it was enough.”

He turned then. Anguish filled his face, drawing his mouth straight and tightening his jaw. “Have you considered the fact that it might be too late?”

She fought the urge to step back. Too late? Too late because
she
had already fallen in love with him? “It's not.” It couldn't be.

He smiled then, a cold smile without humor. “You'd better pray that you're right.”

“Please don't be angry with me. I wish I could explain.”

“No!” He crossed the room in two strides and grabbed her. This time his grip was hard and bruising. Before she could start to fight, he pulled her up against him. “I'm the one who has to explain. Why can't I find the words?”

“Because there's nothing you can say.”

“You're wrong.”

She expected a verbal assault. Instead he began another campaign, one much more deadly to her peace of mind.

He kissed her. Not the hot ravishing kiss she might have expected. Despite his firm hold on her shoulders, his mouth was tender against hers. Familiar warmth curled through her, starting at her toes and working its way up to her breasts. The fingers on her shoulders began to knead her tense muscles, soothing them, relaxing her to the point of weakness.

He used his body to speak for him. His chest pressed
against hers, offering strength and a place to rest. Long, powerful legs brushed her own. His arousal spoke of passion and perhaps even love if she was foolish enough to believe.

She told herself to push him away, to be cruel to be kind. Better for both of them. She raised her hands to his arms to give herself the leverage necessary to walk away; then she felt the sweet brush of his tongue on her lips.

Instantly her body responded to the caress. Her breasts swelled. Already puckered nipples sought the relief of his touch. Between her thighs the ache deepened as moisture dampened her panties. One last time. One last moment of passion. One last embrace. One last chance to lean on him, to accept his strength and his comfort. While his love frightened her, she could understand and accept the solace of his body. When he knew what she had done—willingly come to him, knowing it was never going to be more than this moment—he wouldn't forgive her. She wouldn't have to bother with sending him away. He would go on his own, hating her.

He was her weakness and her greatest strength. She would be with him, fully knowing that each moment of pleasure would cause her to die a little.

She opened her mouth to him, accepting him inside. He swept over and around, touching, tasting. She stroked his shoulders and back, then moved up to slip her fingers through his curly hair. When he stepped away from her, she murmured a protest. He picked her up in his arms and carried her toward her bedroom. She clung to him, kissing his neck, tracing the line where his afternoon stubble met smooth skin, wrinkling her nose at the slightly bitter taste of his after-shave.

The king-size bed had no sheets or covers. He placed her in the center, then bent over her. Before he could touch
her, she began to unbutton his shirt. She worked quickly, while she was able, then pulled the loose ends free of his jeans. She crushed the still-warm fabric in her hands, savoring the feel of his body heat. He sat up and shrugged out of the shirt.

His chest was broad and tanned, with a faint sprinkling of dark hair between his flat nipples. Slipping free of his long legs, she, too, sat up, mimicking his position and pulled her own shirt over her head. Their eyes locked. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. She caught the spirit of their game and reached for her shoes and socks.

Her athletic shoes hit the floor the same time as his boots. She settled back on the bed, kneeling in front of him. He reached for the first button on his fly. She did the same. As he unbuttoned, she unzipped.

The air around them grew thick with tension and the heady smell of desire. Her heart pounded harder and her fingers trembled. His hands moved to the waistband of his now-open jeans. She shook her head.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly. She touched his bare chest, then fingered the strap of her bra. They weren't starting from the same place. He sat back on his heels and watched.

She wanted to unfasten her bra and pull it off quickly. Instead she drew her fingers up from her belly, along her ribs to her breasts. Travis swallowed. She locked her gaze on his face, watching him watch her. His breathing increased.

He rested his hands on his thighs, motionless, and she could see his hardness straining against his white briefs. He was already large and swollen with desire.

Slowly, very slowly, she reached for the front fastener. It released and slid open across her pale breasts. The lace cups caught on her nipples. His breathing increased. She
tossed her head, sending her hair back over her shoulders and freeing the bra. It drifted down her shoulders and she tossed it to the floor.

Travis returned his hands to the waistband of his jeans. She matched the movement. They pulled them off together. Clad only in briefs and panties, they stared at each other. She was already weak with desire. Every inch of her body was ready for him. Her breasts ached, her thighs trembled. She drew down her panties. His briefs followed, freeing his engorged maleness to view.

The silence in the room was broken by the faint sound of cars passing on the street and the occasional call of a bird. Their breathing blocked out all other noises. She would have thought she would find this dance unnerving, but it aroused her. She liked knowing what she could do to him without saying a word or even touching him. She liked that his skin gleamed with perspiration and his hands shook as they hung at his sides.

Their eyes met.

She raised her hand to his neck. He matched the motion. She wanted to see more of him, she wanted to know what pleased him. She needed these memories to carry her through the long winter of her life.

He took her breasts in his hands. She covered his flat male chest. When he tweaked her nipples, she did the same. The rate of their breathing increased.

She moved her hands lower, across his belly. His hands followed. Her gaze dropped to his hardened length. How powerful and male he looked.

Her eyes burned as tears threatened. He moved closer, at last drawing her down on the bare mattress. He kissed her face and neck and chest, then suckled her nipples into taut points of need. She felt his hardness probing her thigh.
When he would have pulled back, she reached for him drawing him closer to her waiting moisture.

He hesitated before entering. She knew he worried about her healing muscles. She didn't care about any of that. She needed him to be inside of her. She arched her hips toward him, enveloping him in her heated dampness. He groaned once and thrust forward.

The feelings were too perfect, too intense. She clutched at his back, then lower at his buttocks, urging him deeper. Her breath came in pants. He'd barely begun to move when her muscles began to convulse around him. He stared at her, obviously surprised by the suddenness of her release. Fighting against her instinct to hide, she kept her eyes open, letting him see her wonder, her pleasure, her sorrow as her body spent itself. He moved back and forth, giving her all the time she needed to quiver against him, reveling in her soft cries of ecstasy. When the tension in her body had become a satisfied hum, he moved again, quickly bringing himself to the same place.

The game played on as he met her gaze, leaving his own emotions bare as his body shook with release. She saw the muscles in his chest and neck tighten, then relax. His eyes flashed with pleasure and promise, then flared with love.