The Prospect: The Malloy Family, Book 10 (10 page)

Jo hadn’t ever dreamed of her own wedding, lace and frills and a handsome gentleman at her side. No, that activity was best left to her sisters. Joe dreamed of finding someone who would accept her for who she was, who would buy her new books and understand she was not simply female—that she was an intelligent human being. Declan had treated her the same as he treated all women, with polite deference, until the tiny cabin in Fort John.

Until he became her faux husband.

Jo wrestled with her thoughts and feelings, no closer to knowing what she wanted to do than when she read her mother’s letter. She wasn’t angry, surprisingly, at the turn of events. What did that mean? Was she secretly pleased by her new faux husband? Truth be told, she was a little angry with Maman for putting her in the position, although Jo understood why. Her family didn’t want to leave, but to sacrifice their land, and the future, was an untenable choice.

Her stomach did a funny flip at the memory of the kiss. He’d kissed her. It had been her first kiss, one she’d dreamed of with the very man who made that wish come true. She pressed a fingertip to her lips as though she could recapture his touch. His behavior when he washed her hair had been confusing, almost as though he was angry at her, but at the same time, his touch has been sensual.

There had been too much information to absorb. Typhoid had stolen three weeks of her life. She only had snatches of the days, much of which was not pleasant to recollect. Being sick, that sick, made a body lose control of nearly every orifice. It wasn’t much of a relationship to date, considering he had been cleaning up her bodily fluids for twenty-one days.

Jo wasn’t a romantic at heart, but something about Declan taking care of her made her eyes prick with tears. He could have abandoned her, snuck off and found his own way to another place. Yet he hadn’t. He’d stayed, enduring Drummond and Parker, nursing her and taking nothing for himself.

Declan Callahan was a gentleman. Whether or not he admitted it, he was a gentleman. He professed to be a bad person, one who had done many bad things in his life. However, his actions spoke louder than his self-recriminations.

She sighed and rolled to her stomach again, sleep as elusive as an answer to what she should do about her faux husband.

“If you don’t lie still, neither one of us is going to sleep tonight.” His husky voice cut through the darkness in the cabin.

Jo started, more surprised than frightened. “My apologies, Declan. I find I cannot sleep. Perhaps because I have spent so much time sleeping my life away in this cabin.”

He grunted. “You weren’t sleeping the whole time, lass. I promise you that.”

She scowled at his mention of her sickness. “None of my actions was intentional.”

“I know that. I’m just tired is all. This chair isn’t the most comfortable place to sleep.” He snorted. “Although I’ve slept on ground, on rocks and in the muck. I should be grateful it’s not raining or snowing instead of moaning about the damn chair.”

An idea sprang to Jo’s mind and she could not make it cease. He’d sacrificed a great deal to take care of her. The man deserved a good night’s sleep. She reached down inside and found her courage.

“You are welcome to sleep beside me in the bed.” She thought she’d whispered it, but the words dropped like stones in a still pond.

“Have you lost your mind, little one?” He sounded completely surprised.

“No. There is nothing improper about a husband and wife sharing a bed.” She sounded prim and proper, as though she hadn’t invited him to lie with her.

“We aren’t truly man and wife.” His voice was tight with an unnamed emotion.

“We have already lived it though it was a real marriage, as though we are man and wife.” Her ire grew with his reluctance. She was offering a place to lay his head, not a romantic liaison. “There is enough room for both of us, provided you stay on your portion of the bed. It is not a feather mattress, but I assume it is more comfortable than the chair.”

She held her breath, waiting for his response. After a total of eight heartbeats, she heard a shuffling noise, as though he’d changed position. She told herself she wasn’t disappointed. It was a foolish thing to do, after all. He was saddled with her as his wife, but that didn’t mean he wanted her.

When the bed dipped beside her, she bit her lip to keep the gasp from escaping. His big body eased in beside hers. She stared at his shadowed form, her heart thumping wildly. Jo could hardly fathom she was lying in bed with a man. With Declan.

She truly was not going to sleep a single wink.

Soon the heat from having him so close seeped into her and she snuggled closer. He stiffened.

“Believe it or not, I am not a saint.” His voice was low, almost a growl. “Move any closer and you
will
be my wife.”

Excitement shot through her like an arrow with a healthy dose of fear. She might as well be his wife after all they’d been through. Her hopes for a marriage were long since faded. There wasn’t a long list of suitors, or even one, who had begged for her hand in marriage. Now she had a faux husband of her own. He wasn’t perfect, she had no illusions about that, but neither was she. Far from it.

“Would that be so terribly bad?” Her whisper might as well have been a shout. Everything grew still until she could count her heartbeats and his in the blackness of the night. She held her breath, waiting to either be rejected or welcomed. Jo didn’t know which one she preferred.

“You’ve just beaten the fever, lass. No matter what I want, you need to heal before you jump into any bed sport.”

Bed sport
. It was a silly and naughty way to phrase copulation and she loved it. Declan proved once again he was a gentleman. Being rejected wasn’t too terribly bad, since he didn’t say no, only not now. Besides he also indicated he wanted to participate in bed sport with her.

She smiled at him, not that he could see it. “You want me?”

This time he did growl. The sound vibrated through her, raising the small hairs all over her body. She rather liked the elemental reaction she had to Declan. It was the first thing she fought against when she discovered it. Now she wondered why. It was invigorating.

“If lying next to you, having to clench my teeth at the smell of your soap, of
you
, doesn’t kill me, then your questions will.” He banged the floor with one fist. “I’m going back in the chair.”

He started to rise, and she grabbed his arm. “No, please, stay. I will stop, Declan, I promise.”

Half off the bed, he paused and she knew he was going to get up anyway. She felt the coiled strength in his body through his arm, which was all corded muscle and sinew. The man was pure power and he could have done whatever he wanted with her while she struggled with her illness, but he hadn’t. She knew it all the way to her core.

Now again, he was saving her, this time from herself. Jo was teasing him, a new activity for her, although in truth she did want to know what bed sport was like. It seemed rather messy and involved more than one bodily fluid, but with Declan, she expected it would be filled with pleasure.

“I can’t.” His voice was ragged with regret and need. He left the bed, much to her regret, and settled noisily into the chair.

“I am sorry.” She hoped she hadn’t ruined whatever chance they had at an actual marriage because of the new Jo’s behavior.

“So am I.”

Chapter Five

Seven excruciatingly long days later, Jo was physically much better but mentally and emotionally spent. Declan did everything he could to keep his distance from her. Not an easy feat when they couldn’t actually leave the tiny cabin. She discovered he’d been dumping the chamber pot waste out the front door into a ditch. Horrified, she asked him to find an alternate method, but he grunted and ignored her.

It was the way of their interactions. The new Jo hated it. The old Jo endured it. Both wanted to end it. However, Declan had a hard head and the ability to be as unresponsive as a rock.

She tried to focus on the book in her hands, but her concentration was pitiful. The words blurred together until she snapped it closed. She took off her spectacles and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Declan stood at the tiny stove, cooking yet another soup for them to eat. She never thought she would dream of freshly baked bread or pickled eggs. Anything besides beans or carrot soup.

“Mr. Drummond has not been by to collect the tithe. Is today the day he normally arrives?” Jo was more than hopeful he would lift the quarantine. She was still somewhat weak but most assuredly not contagious or even sick. It was past time to release them from their jail.

Declan grunted his response. It could have been a yes or a no.

“I am distinctly ready to leave this place.” She put her glasses back on and peered at him. “You must be tired of staring at these four walls.”

He mumbled something that sounded like, “You have no idea.”

“You did not answer my question about Mr. Drummond.” She stood up and stretched. “Will he visit us today?”

Declan turned and glared at her. “I don’t keep the man’s schedule.”

“I did not say you would, but it has been one week from today since he was here previously. My question is perfectly relevant.”

The great rock in the room gave her his back. Annoyed and fed up with his stoicism, she walked to the door and opened it, determined to escape. Before she could enjoy the smell of the fresh air, he was beside her in seconds, his speed belying his size. She gasped when he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“You can’t put us in danger because you’re bored and wish for truffles,” he snarled.

She was no longer contagious and Declan had survived more than four weeks without symptoms. He showed not a smidge of the disease. Neither of them was a risk to others. Furious at his attitude and assumptions about her, she tried to loosen his grip, but he was immovable. She opened her mouth and bit his wrist until he cursed and let go with a yelp like a wounded dog.

He jumped back, his eyes wide. “What the holy hell was that?”

“That was me letting you know that I am not to be treated as though I was a recalcitrant child. I am a woman grown. Do not tell me what to do and do not ever assume I will not fight back.” She barely recognized her voice, full of self-righteous fury.

He scowled at the reddened mark on his skin. “You bit me.”

“You hurt me.”

He blinked. “I hurt you?”

Jo held up her own hand. “Yes, you snatched my wrist and twisted it. That hurt. I am not a big hulking brute who can endure endless injury.”

His expression fell and true regret passed across his features. “I’m sorry, lass. I didna mean to hurt you.” His brogue grew thick, and she heard contriteness in his words.

“I am sorry too.” Jo’s fury vanished as quickly as it came. “I have never hurt a living soul.”

They stared at each other, barely a foot apart. She fell into his dark blue eyes, lost in the depths of what she saw. Pain, regret, sadness, hopelessness, darkness. Behind all that, she saw a flicker of something else. Declan was much more than a man from the dregs of New York. He was a man who felt so deeply, he couldn’t see past his own self-imposed hell.

Her heart thumped hard and all the silly thoughts the new Jo had were forgotten. This wasn’t a game to be played by girls. This was a life to be lived by a woman. She had to have faith in herself and this man who had through a twist of fate become her keeper.

She reached up and cupped his jaw, the rasp of his whiskers sharp on her palm. “Kiss me.” He opened his mouth to say no, but she put her fingers over his lips to stop him. “Kiss me, Declan. Please.”

He hesitated for another few moments, and she knew the second he gave in. His lips claimed hers, hot and firm. It was everything she remembered and more. His arms closed around her and this time she pressed against him fully. Declan was hard as an oak tree, a direct contrast to her softness, a perfect fit.

Awash in sensation, she followed his lead, their lips moving and tasting each other. His tongue tickled the seam of her lips and she opened to him, eager to learn and to experience everything all at once. His tongue swept the inside of her mouth, tangling and rasping against hers. The rough texture against the softness of hers was exquisitely foreign. Jo had never understood the appeal of kissing, but she recognized the lure now. It was strong, pulsing through her, landing between her legs and making her nipples bud into aching points.

Oh yes, Jo wanted to do more than kiss Declan. She always thought copulation a messy business, but at this moment, locked in his arms, she desired nothing more. His big hands landed on her behind, pulling her tight against him. The distinct ridge of his arousal pressed into the softness of her belly. She moaned as a throb pulsed low and tight in her core.

In an instant, it was over. He took her arms and pushed her away, tearing his mouth from hers. Jo was bereft, reaching for what she’d been denied.

“No, we can’t.” His voice vibrated with leashed hunger. It made her want him all the more—he was as affected as she was by that incredible kiss.

“Yes, we can. You choose not to.” She was breathless, overwhelmed by her body’s reaction to his. What would it be like when they were without clothing, skin to skin, genital to genital? The very thought sent a swarm of blood to her head and she felt woozy.