Tomorrow's Dreams (39 page)

To Penelope's bewilderment, he immediately pulled a fresh cigar from the box and repeated the whole process. It wasn't until he'd snubbed it out unsmoked and began on yet another, that she began to understand what was happening. Where she fidgeted or chewed her nails when she was distressed, he apparently trimmed and lit cigars. And by the mounting pile of butts in the dish, it was clear that he was as miserable as she'd suspected.

With her confidence returning in a bolstering flood, she pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside, her determination to soothe him strengthening by the second.

He glanced up sharply, a cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth, a lit match in hand. When he saw who it was, he scowled. “Come to harp at me some more?” he muttered.

Chalking up his surly greeting as more of his principled stupidity, she smiled sweetly and approached the desk. “I'd rather have a civil conversation than harp at you.”

“We don't have”—a graphic oath and the cigar flew from his lips as the flame of the now burned-down match licked his fingertip. With a furious wave of his hand, he extinguished the flame, then shoved his singed finger into his mouth.

Leaning over the cluttered landscape of papers, whiskey bottle, and cigars, Penelope gently pulled his hand away from his lips and drew it to her own to kiss the tip of his damaged index finger. “My poor darling. You've had a rough day, haven't you?”

Seth made an impatient noise and snatched his hand away. “What do you want? I'm sure you didn't come to kiss my wounds.”

Turning a deaf ear to his querulous tone, she sauntered around to his side of the desk, stopping only when she stood next to his chair. Tenderly stroking his bruised cheek, she said, “That's exactly why I've come. You've been beaten up both inside and out this evening, and as the woman who loves you, it's my duty to kiss away your hurts.”

He jerked his head away from her caressing touch and glared up at her. “Damn it, Penelope! I told you not to love me!”

“Since when have I done what you told me?”

He grunted.

Undeterred, she translated his grunt. “That's right. Never. And I'm not about to start now, especially when your orders are so contrary to both our best interests.”

Emitting an incredulous snort, he swiveled his revolving desk chair around until his back was to her. “Oh, and since when is it in a woman's best interest to shackle herself to a madman?” he growled, pulling yet another cigar from the box. “Seems to me that that's a sure way for her to waste her life.”

It was Penelope's turn to snort. Enough was enough. And she'd had enough of Seth Tyler's mule-brained postulating! Not certain whether she intended to kiss him or slap him, she grasped the back of his chair and spun him back around to face her. Before he could protest, she sat on his lap straddling his knees and pulled the cigar from his lips. Bracing her hands on either side of his head to force him to look at her, she exclaimed:

“Now, see here, Seth. You're going to listen, and listen good. I love you, and by your own admission you love me, too. It seems to me that if we can love each other after all the hurtful things we've said and done, then we're destined to be together.”

Making a noise that perfectly articulated his skepticism, Seth tried to look away, but she refused to let him. “Stop being a fool! Love like ours isn't something you can sweep under the carpet and pretend doesn't exist. It only gets stronger with time, more insistent with denial.”

“Penelope—” he began.

She laid a finger over his lips, silencing him. “No. I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me that you won't allow me to waste my life loving a madman.” She shook her head. “But don't you see? I can't help loving you. And by denying me the fulfillment of expressing that love, my life is nothing but an accumulation of empty, fruitless hours spent yearning for you. It will never be anything more. Not as long as we're apart.”

Seth moaned and closed his eyes, but not before Penelope saw the conflicting emotion warring in their pain-darkened depths.

Determined to turn the tide of his inner battle to her advantage and thus win their war of wills, she twined her arms around his neck, pleading softly, “Please, Seth. Don't make me waste another moment. Let me fill my hours with the satisfaction of loving you. Let me fill yours with the warmth and security of being cherished. It's not too late for us. We can still make a wonderful life together.”

“Please,” he implored, the emotional texture of his hoarse voice a heartbreaking weave of torment, grief, and longing. “Please don't do this to me. I can't bear it.”

Relentless now, for in her heart she knew this might be her last chance, Penelope gambled on a desperate hunch. “Then, look me in the eye and tell me that you don't want me.” She pressed her face so close to his that their now rapid breath collided and mingled. “Say you no longer care for me. Do that, and I'll never again bother you with my feelings.”

For what seemed like forever, he sat motionless. Then his lashes lifted, revealing eyes as empty as those of a dead man. His expression not betraying even a flicker of emotion, he disengaged her arms from his neck and pushed her away. After impassively surveying her from head to toe, he looked her straight in the eye.

Penelope's soul cried out in anguish as she waited for him to utter the words that would destroy their future. She'd been so certain of his feelings for her, so confident that her love could defeat his terrible fears. But it was apparent she was wrong.

Flexing his jaw into a hard line, he began, “I don't want you and”—his mask of composure crumbled then, and he choked.

“Seth?” she whispered, freeing her arms from his slackening grasp to take his face in her hands. He looked awful. Misery so raw and intense contorted his features, that it was all she could do not to weep at the sight of his suffering.

“I can't. God forgive me, I can't say it. I love you,” he groaned. “I love you so damn much that I wish I'd hurry up and lose my mind so I can escape this hell of wanting you.”

“But what if you don't go mad? You'll have thrown away our happiness for nothing,” she argued, her hope reaffirmed by his words. “So why not wager on love instead of doom? I'm willing to gamble on us. Won't you do the same?” Her voice dropped now, becoming soft, beseeching. “Please, Seth. Give our love a chance. You won't lose, no matter what happens. I promise.”

“I want to love you … more than anything else in the world.” His voice was broken, quivering with anguish. “But I … I'm … afraid.” A tear escaped with that confession, followed by another, and yet another. “I … I …” His speech faltered then, and when he was finally able to continue, his voice was little more than a ragged whisper. “Help me … please. Help me find the courage to believe in our dreams.”

The sight of Seth, always so strong and self-assured, defeated and crying for help hurt Penelope almost beyond bearing. Yet she knew that as wrenching as this moment was for them both, that it was only through this purging of his fears he could find the peace that would allow him to at last accept her love.

Desperate to give him what little ease she could during the painful process, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his tear-salted lips. “I'm here, love, and of course I'll help you. I'll always be here when you need me,” she crooned, wrapping her arms around his trembling torso to hold him close. Gently, so as not to hurt his scalp wound, she pulled his head down on her shoulder and began to stroke his hair. “There now, darling. Go ahead and cry. You've held it in for too long.”

With a choked sound that seemed ripped from the bottom of his soul, Seth broke completely. Crushing her into his needy embrace, he buried his face against her neck and released his maelstrom of pent-up emotion.

Great heaving sobs ripped from his chest, eloquently articulating the dark hopelessness shadowing his soul. His hot tears, falling against her bare shoulder like summer rain, spoke of a torment almost beyond salvation. His convulsive kneading, his every strangled gasp, told of a despair too deep for words.

For a long while Penelope simply held him, stroking his hair while whispering of her dreams for their future, promising him forever. Beneath the caressing comfort of her hands and voice, the savage fury of his weeping gradually abated and ceased. Then she, too, fell silent. Lost in the emotional aftermath of the moment, they sat slumped in each other's arms; he, physically drained yet spiritually strengthened; she, sending up prayers of thanks for giving her this second chance at loving Seth; both feeling as if they'd come home at last.

They remained like that until Penelope felt Seth's head move against her shoulder and heard him heave a faint sigh. “Better, love?” she murmured, kissing the back of his bowed neck.

He nodded and raised his head, grinning sheepishly as he rubbed at his red eyes. “Sorry. I didn't mean to carry on like that. I haven't cried in over thirty years.”

Never had he looked more vulnerable; never had he been dearer to her heart. Smiling her reassurance, Penelope caressed his tear-ravaged cheek. “You should do it more often. I've found that nothing cleanses the soul better than a good cry.”

He sniffled noisily. “If you'll hold me like this, I just might do that.”

“You've got yourself a bargain, Mr. Tyler. I stand ready to hold you anytime you need me,” she declared, fumbling in his waistcoat pocket to withdraw his handkerchief.

“The way I've felt lately, I'm probably going to be spending a lot of time in your arms. Are you sure you want to waste your time coddling a blubbering, sorry excuse for a man?”

“It's not a waste of time, and you're not a sorry excuse for a man. In my book, it takes a mighty courageous man to admit and face his fears. And I feel privileged that you're allowing me to help you conquer them.” With that, she lifted his handkerchief to his nose and commanded, “Blow.” He complied, loudly. “Good.” She kissed his forehead and then tossed the now crumpled handkerchief onto the desk. “Now. Do you feel up to talking?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

The gleam in his bloodshot eyes was almost wicked. “On whether or not you'll remain on my lap. I might need to be held again, you know. And I don't want you too far away.”

It was all Penelope could do not to wrap her arms around him and give him a fierce hug. Here was the sweet, loving Seth she remembered and adored. However, since she didn't want to hurt his broken rib, she satisfied herself by giving him a quick peck on his lips. “You couldn't make me move even if you wanted to.”

“Good. Because I wasn't going to let you go.” He tipped his head down and returned her kiss. “Now. What shall we talk about?”

“Us and our future, for starters.” She waited breathlessly, expecting to see uncertainty shadow his eyes at the mention of the future. But he merely nodded, his expression untroubled.

Exhaling her relief, she began, “I want us to be together, of course. All the time and in every way.” She paused a beat, half expecting him to protest. When he didn't, she continued, “You don't have to marry me if you don't feel comfortable doing so. I'll be perfectly happy living with you as your—”

“Don't even say the word,” he interjected sharply. “You'll marry me, and do it in front of all our friends and neighbors. If we're going to gamble on our future, we're going to gamble big.”

Penelope stared up at him, too choked with joy to speak.

Raising one eyebrow in query at her silence, Seth asked, “That is, if you'll have me.”

“Have you? Of course I will! I love you!” Giddy with excitement, she recklessly threw herself against him and gave him the hug she'd so scrupulously avoided only moments earlier.

He smiled, wincing slightly. “If you love me, then kiss me.”

Penelope didn't need any further prompting. Looping her arms around his neck, she pulled his face close to hers. She wanted this kiss to be special, to be as tender and memorable as their first one. Not quite certain how to make it so, yet determined to try, she closed her eyes and drew his mouth to hers.

Just like the first time, and every time thereafter when their lips touched, there was a feeling of rightness, a bonding as if each had been created for the specific purpose of loving the other. As if he, too, felt the draw of destiny and was overpowered by it, Seth crushed her to his chest, his mouth moving hungrily against hers. Boldly he thrust his tongue between her lips, probing and plundering her mouth. With every responsive move, Penelope's tension from wanting him mounted until she was feverish with anticipation.

Panting harshly, his whole body trembling with the power of his emotions, Seth at last dragged his lips from hers. “Dear God,” he groaned, staring at her as if he couldn't quite believe she was real. “I dreamed and wished, but I never really believed that I'd have you in my arms again. I'm half-afraid you're some mad delusion and will vanish at any moment.”

“Then, love me and reassure yourself that I'm real,” she murmured, melting against him with a sigh.

Enslaving both her heart and mind with the seductive tenderness in his eyes, he buried his hands into her curls and pulled out the pins. When her hair fell tumbling down her back, he gently combed his fingers through its length.

As he twisted the end of one jet ringlet around his finger, he murmured huskily, “Many a night I lay awake imagining doing this. Sometimes I get so worked up picturing you naked amid all this tangled glory, that I ache till dawn.” He glanced up from his coiled handiwork, grinning wryly. “It's a wonder I haven't been driven stark-raving mad by my unrelieved lust.”

Thrilled by his confession, yet too embarrassed to tell him so, Penelope assumed the formidable air of her childhood nanny and playfully scolded, “Well, you're not to carelessly risk your sanity like that again.” She wagged a reproving finger beneath his nose. “The second you feel even the slightest ache, you're to come directly to me and let me take care of it. Understood?”