He stared at a boot scuff on the polished pine floor until a slow grin spread across his face. Tyler turned down the wicks on all the downstairs lamps and, with drink in hand, climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
Tyler Sinclair went to sleep that night with a smile on his face.
A LONE rosebush grew beside the steps leading up to the Sinclair cottage. Built on stilts, as were most of the homes on Galveston Island, the house was painted white but for the wide slatted shutters covering all windows and both doors. Those were painted pink. “To match the roses,” Madeline murmured, inhaling the exquisite perfume as she sat in a porch rocket, listening to the rumbling sounds of the surf and the whistle of sea breeze through the tall prairie grass growing near the cottage.
Except for the baby sleeping peacefully in one of the two bedrooms inside, Madeline was alone. How pleasant she found it after weeks of constant companionship aboard ship and in public carriages and inns. She’d be surrounded with people once again tomorrow, when the colonists boarded a steamer to begin the next stage of their journey, up Buffalo Bayou to the city of Houston.
Tyler’s offer of the cottage had been both unexpected and exactly what she’d needed. Madeline had wanted some time to herself, craved it to deal with this strange sense of loss she experienced at the finish of her time with Brazos Sinclair. Somehow, spending the night in his family home just seemed right.
Inside, she’d found a box of toys—soldiers, balls, marbles, and the makings for a kite. She could picture him here as a boy out on the dunes sailing a creation of papery glue, and string. “As a man, for that matter,” she said, envisioning a laughing Brazos running barefoot and shirtless across the stretch of sand, a paper-fancy trailing behind him, catching air and soaring.
Madeline shook herself. It was time to put all thoughts of him behind her. The rocking chair creaked as she stood and stepped to the porch railing. Looping an arm around a support post, she leaned out and down and brushed the velvet softness of a rose past full blossom. As the flower broke apart and individual petals fell to the ground, Madeline smiled sadly and reached for a rosebud just ready to burst into bloom. “Reach for your dreams, Madeline Christophe,” she told herself. “Bury the past, and look toward your future.” Snapping the stem, she brought the bud to her nose and sniffed the spicy fragrance. Then she sucked at the tip of her finger and added, “But watch out for thorns.”
His voice floated on the wings of the night. “Thorns from your past or those you’ve yet to discover, Beauty?”
Brazos stood at the base of the steps, the eddy of a light ground fog swirling around his boots. The glow from a three-quarter moon shone blue-black upon his hair. His eyes were glittering jewels. Madeline closed her eyes as a wave of longing crashed over her like surf upon the sand in the face of a violent storm. “Are you really here, or have my dreams conjured you up?”
His laugh was mocking as he replied, “I don’t know, Maddie. Maybe it was your nightmares.”
She died a little at that. “Never, Brazos,” she said, shaking her head. “Never that. I know what true nightmares are. I’ve lived them. You are nothing of them.” After a moment’s pause, she asked, “Why are you here?”
“Are you alone?” he countered.
“Rose is asleep.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.” Her brow wrinkled. “Who would be here?”
He lifted a foot to the first step. “Hell’s bells, Maddie. You can damn well tear a man’s ego to shreds. I hope you never forget me that way. I’m talking about Emile. Didn’t he meet you?”
In a voice as soft as the moonlight, Madeline swore, “Brazos Sinclair, I’ll never forget you.” Then she added the lie, “Emile decided to wait at La Réunion.”
Brazos’s eyebrows lifted. “He did? Why?”
“Umm…planting. Spring planting,” Madeline answered. Was that disgust flashing through his eyes? Maybe disapproval? Whatever the emotion, it was gone in an instant, replaced by a pleased, almost predatory light.
“I reckon a man does have to see to life’s necessities. I know I do.” He took a second step up.
Madeline asked again, the answer terribly important. “Why are you here, Brazos?”
“You didn’t say good-bye.”
She tossed her head. “You were otherwise occupied.”
“I wished you’d stayed around to meet my cousin. Trixie was curious about you. She and I have always been close; she’s like a sister to me.”
“You didn’t kiss her like a sister.”
He grinned, and she felt it to her toes. “We’re kissing cousins,” he said, taking a third step.
“I met your brother,” Madeline tried to ignore the pounding of her pulse.
“He told me. We’re not married anymore.”
“Oh.”
Moving like a wraith, he stood beside her. His hand lifted, and his fingers brushed her cheek. Their gazes met, his burning and hungry. Ravenous. Madeline’s filled with yearning.
It was a night out of time. Between yesterday, the past and all its trials, and tomorrow, the future and its promises. It was a moment in and of itself, when she could put aside responsibilities and schemes and dreams. Madeline could live for this instant, because somewhere deep in her heart, she knew that this time, this intensity, this emotion, might never be repeated.
So she kissed him, the touch of her lips as soft as the rose petals in her hand, the whisper of her breath as it mingled with his as gentle as the breeze off the ocean.
Madeline’s kiss sparked the flame that had been burning inside Brazos all across the Atlantic. She wasn’t his to take, not any longer, but he didn’t give a damn. Emile should never have left this woman in Europe. He sure as hell should have been here to meet the boat. In Brazos’s eyes, the bastard was getting what he deserved.
Because Brazos was taking what he’d wanted for so long. He surrendered to his need, his hands cupping her buttocks and pulling her against him. His tongue explored her, tasted her, and he groaned in satisfaction as she began to imitate his motions.
Good Lord, she was sweet. Tearing his mouth from hers, he lifted her into his arms and carried her inside. A quick glance around revealed one bedroom door open and one closed, indicating where Madeline had put Rose to sleep. Swiftly, he carried her to the empty bed. She gave a soft sigh of pleasure as he lowered her to the mattress, and the hot throbbing in his loins intensified. “Ah, Beauty,” he whispered raggedly before bending to steal her breath once again. His tongue stroked hers in a steady, erotic rhythm, stoking the fire inside him and stirring the heat within her.
The room smelled of sea and sand and flowers. It smelled of home. And as Brazos’s fingers worked the buttons on her dress, revealing a chemise made of near-transparent lawn and a corset trimmed in delicate white lace, he breathed of her fragrance and smiled. Forever after, this bed, this room, this cottage would remind him of Madeline. Of his Beauty.
He stripped off his linen shirt. Bracing his weight on his elbows, Brazos covered her body with his own, cradling himself to her, pressing, seeking that which man had sought from woman since the beginning of time. Desire pounded through him hard and wild, the ache to claim her overwhelming.
But he drew a deep breath, forcing himself to slow down. After all the weeks of waiting, he wanted the moment to last. As elemental as was his need for her was his desire to create a memory Madeline could not forget. He’d make damn sure that she’d never have trouble remembering his name.
Though his body strained at the barrier of clothing between them, he continued to kiss her. Softly, slowly, deeply—lifting his head every so often for them to catch their breaths, and then he’d gaze into her eyes, speaking to her silently, telling her of his need and of his desire.
His lips trailed scattered kisses across her cheeks, her eyes, her brow. “Can you feel what you do to me, Maddie mine?” he asked, grinding himself against her softness as he smothered her reply with questing lips. He burned at the touch of her fingers on the bare skin of his back.
He kissed her until his control tested its limits. “Enough.” He stood up and pulled off his boots.
Madeline’s breath came in gasps. She whimpered and shut her eyes when his fingers moved to the buttons on his pants.
Brazos chuckled softly. “I’d not have guessed you for a shy one.” He was naked now and straining with need. In a husky voice, he demanded, “Look at me, Madeline. Look at me, and see what you do to me.”
Slowly, she did just that. “Oh, my.”
Brazos tangibly felt her gaze, and his body surged in response.
“Oh, my,” she repeated.
He reached out and pulled her to her feet, then pushed her gown from her shoulders and her petticoats from her hips. Finally, his fingers touched her corset’s metal hooks, and one by one, he unfastened them. Madeline shivered as the corset fell to the ground and his hands stroked her hips, grasping the hem of her chemise and pulling it up and off in a single, fluid motion.
She was bare above the waist, and Brazos could wait no longer to taste her. He sank to his knees, trailing his tongue through the deep valley between her breasts before circling the spots where palest white met dusky rose. Finally, he took a nipple into his mouth to suckle.
Madeline moaned and arched her back. Brazos’s heart pounded as he fought the raging heat that threatened his control. He yanked the tie of her pantalets, and his palms slid the soft linen over her hips, down her legs, and to the floor, His hands slipped between her inner thighs and eased them slightly apart.
She was soft and hot to his touch. And wet. Slippery velvet heat ready to welcome him. He kissed the flat plain of her stomach and wanted more. He wanted to taste her to drink of her desire until she trembled in his arms and screamed for him to take her.
He wanted to make her forget every other man she’d ever had.
He dipped his head and kissed the shield of golden curls at the juncture of her thighs.
She pulled away. “What…Brazos?”
“Shh, Beauty, let me love you.” He grasped her buttocks and pulled her back to him. And his mouth covered her sex.
Madeline had never imagined this sort of intimacy, and somewhere in the midst of the consuming storm of sensation came the feeling that she should be embarrassed. But she couldn’t think straight enough to be embarrassed. Her legs parted, opening like a blossom beneath the onslaught of his tongue.
He eased her back onto the bed and spread her thighs wider. Madeline clutched the bed sheets in her fists and instinctively lifted her hips. Tension built inside her an exhilarating, frustrating, frightening coil that had a scream hovering at the back of her throat.
Brazos lifted his head just long enough to say, “
L’extase, ma Belle, I’extase
.”
Climax, my Beauty
, Madeline translated his words as the tremors began. Lightning sizzled along her nerves, and a great burst of pleasure exploded inside her. She cried aloud as wave after wave of supreme sensation swept through her and her last coherent thought was,
His accent was perfect
.
As he felt her release, the last shred of Brazos’s control shattered. Never before had he wanted a woman as much as he wanted Madeline, never. He could wait no longer. “Look at me, Maddie. Say my name. Say it now.”
He knelt on the bed above her his body poised to claim her, as Madeline breathed, “Brazos, oh, Brazos.”
With a swift, deep stroke he entered her.
He heard her cry of pain. Belatedly, he sensed the barrier that had given way before him. For a few moments, none of it made sense to him. Powerless over the demands of his body, he quickly spent himself inside her. He rolled off of her and onto his back. With his forearm flung over his eyes, he fought for breath.
What the hell
, he thought.
Apparently, he had just bedded a virgin mother.
Chapter 9
IN A VOICE AS cold as a West Texas norther, he asked, “Who the hell are you?”
Madeline’s bed of roses had turned downright thorny. Her heart plummeted, all the wondrous, heavenly feelings Brazos had awakened within her vanishing at the prick of his tone. And if that wasn’t enough, he turned his head and looked at her, and the barb of fury in his eyes stabbed deep. Madeline caught her breath against the pain of a wound in an area of her body she normally kept well protected.
She seldom indulged in heartache.
“You are obviously not that poor baby’s mother—unless you somehow figured a way to give birth and still leave your chastity intact. I doubt even the Virgin Mother managed that little trick, but then, she wasn’t a lying, conniving, scheming—”
“That’s blasphemous,” Madeline interrupted.
“Yeah?” Brazos shot back. “Well, so is your claiming to be that sweet little girl’s mother. Rose. Let’s talk about Rose, shall we?” He sat up and pushed off the bed. Heedless of his nudity, he braced his hands on his hips and glared down at her. “Who is she, Madeline? Where’s her real mother? Who the hell are you?”
Instinctively clutching the sheet to her chest, Madeline considered telling him the truth. She could calmly explain how an anonymous letter had arrived at the boarding school addressed to her and containing the offer of a position, travel money, and impeccable—though spurious—references in her name. Madeline could inform Brazos that although the missive had appealed to the larcenous part of herself, it had been the dream it had dangled before her that resulted in Madeline’s departure on a ship bound for France that very day. The message had claimed that at Château St. Germaine, Mary Smithwick would find family.
Madeline could reveal to Brazos that she had found family, all right—a pathetic, diseased, nightmare of a household that eventually set her on a course that had led her here tonight. Here to Brazos Sinclair’s bed.
But to tell Brazos would involve trusting him with Rose’s secret. Dare she? Were it only herself at risk, she’d tell him the entire ugly story immediately. After all, she’d entrusted him with the taking of her virginity, and a woman simply didn’t do that unless she’d some bit of faith in the man.