Into the Woods (20 page)

"You're a rare prize," she whispered back.

"Not prize enough for the prettiest gal in three counties, apparently," he said as he set her on her feet.

Her first thought was Vanessa?, and then she realized he was talking about her. "You're a shameless flirt."

"Guilty." Ezra climbed into the wagon and winked at her, then nodded his head at Harper before setting the horses in motion.

She waved until she could no longer see the wagon, and then she turned to face Declan.

The sun shone brightly on his face, but Declan glowered at her. He had no right to look angry. Especially since, as far as she knew, he still planned to marry that mean-spirited, rash-ridden Vanessa Arrington.

"I came to see if you needed any wood chopped," he said tersely.

"Good heavens, no. Robert has me quite well supplied for the time being." She kept her voice calm, giving away none of her hopes or fears where Declan Harper was concerned. Goodness knows she had plenty of both. "He did repairs to the greenhouse, too," she said. "And he's started building an ingenious trench from the pond to the garden. As long as the underground water supply doesn't dry up I should be—"

"I think Robert's a little sweet on you," Declan interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I think he's just relieved that I'm not the evil crone he expected me to be."

"It's more than that," Declan whispered, his apparent irritation fading. "Did you cast a spell on him, too?"

"What do you mean, too? Who else have I supposedly cast a spell on?"

He hesitated before answering softly. "Me."

She turned away from him before he could see her smile. "Come to the pond and see what Robert's building. Why, I'll never have to carry water again."

She walked over the small hill, not turning to see that Declan followed. She could hear his footsteps and obscene muttering clearly enough to know he was directly behind her.

"See?" she said, gesturing to the work in progress. "These stilts support the trench so it's at the highest point here. All I have to do is dip water from the pond, pour it in here, and it's downhill all the way to the garden. Robert's going to lead the trough around that way," she said, pointing to her right, "so we won't have problems with the hill."

She turned around to see that Declan studied the work with some appreciation. "It's not a bad idea."

"It's a wonderful idea."

Declan continued to look as if he'd eaten something bitter. "Perhaps."

"What's your problem today?" she asked, finally becoming annoyed with his petulance. "You are certainly in a foul mood."

"I don't have a problem, and I am not in a foul mood." He couldn't look at her as he delivered this obvious lie. "I just wish you wouldn't make such a fool of yourself with that Cotter fellow."

She laughed out loud, surprising Declan.

"What's so funny?"

"He calls you that Harper fellow."

Declan wrinkled his nose. "Does he?"

She could not, for the life of her, understand why someone like Declan would ever be insecure enough to be jealous, but he obviously was. Did he love her? Just a little? And if he did, was it real love, or were his feelings false side effects of the love potions she'd made for him?

Since she'd met Declan, she'd often thought that he looked like a man who wanted to be aristocratic but fell short, who tried to be refined but could not. Standing before her, glaring down with an unnatural heat in his dark eyes, he conjured images of his ancestors—semi-civilized Celtic warriors raring to charge into battle.

He did not run but walked slowly toward Matilda, joining her at the bank of the pond with a few long strides. "I don't want to argue with you," he said softly. "Not about Cotter, not about anything."

"Good," she whispered.

"It's just..." he towered over her, looking down with narrowed eyes. "I want you all to myself."

"Ezra is just a friend," she said, wrapping her arms around Declan's neck and leaning into him. "A dear friend, at times the only person in my life who didn't either fear or hate me."

"I can't believe that," he said, shaking his head. "There's nothing about you that isn't good."

"You always know the right thing to say."

She kissed him, softly, gently. They came together with the ease of two lovers who had been together for years. There was no awkwardness in the way his arms went around her, no uneasy shifting. They just fell together in a perfect embrace. Even though she stood on the edge of the bank, her feet slanting downward toward the water, she felt no fear. Declan held her.

"I want you in my life," he whispered. "Forever, Matilda. Never in my twenty-nine years have I wanted anything or anyone forever, but I can't imagine my life from this day forward without you in it."

They were sweet, heartfelt words of permanence and commitment, and she could tell that he was sincere. She could also tell that the admission pained him a little.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered.

She heard a shout, the pounding of little feet breaking from the forest.

"What's this?" Hanson shouted.

She couldn't see the twins yet, but they were close, and they'd spotted the water trough Robert was building.

"I don't know. Slow down!" Gretchen demanded.

Hanson came flying over the hill, a smile on his face, his pale hair dancing as he ran at full speed toward the water channel. His face was red with the effort of running, and his long, thin legs pumped tirelessly.

His smile faded as he saw Matilda and Declan. He tried to stop, or at least he appeared to try as he flew down the hill. He had three choices: He could run into the water trough or he could run into the water or he could run into Declan.

He chose to run into Declan, hitting forcefully with a whoosh of air and an exclamation.

Declan tottered, holding on to Matilda as she fell back and toward the pond. He surely could've let her go and righted himself while she fell backwards into the water, but he didn't. He held on and started to pull her back. They were almost stable when Gretchen arrived on her brother's heels, giving Declan what Matilda was sure was a well-planned shove.

The pond water she landed in was tepid. Declan landed almost on top of her with a loud splash. She went under for just a moment, water in her ears and her eyes and up her nose, soaking her skirt and blouse and hair. She broke the surface sputtering and laughing, and Declan came up cursing at the top of his lungs.

When he was finished, he wiped the water from his face and looked up at the kids. "You brats!" he bellowed. "You did that on purpose!"

Hanson looked properly chastised, but Gretchen wore a small, not-quite-innocent smile. "We did not," she said primly. "It's not our fault that y'all are so very clumsy." With that the twins turned and ran.

Matilda laughed again, and Declan turned to her, obviously furious.

"What's so funny?" he snapped, pushing his wet hair back with both hands.

She covered her mouth in an effort to still her hysteria, but it didn't work. Eventually Declan's anger faded, and he grinned at her. Water ran in rivulets down his hard face. "We must look pretty funny."

She nodded.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her close; she moved slowly through the water until her wet chest rested against his. She could feel his body heat beneath the wet shirt, and the sensation was strangely intoxicating. She reached up and wiped a drop of water from his cheek, taking her time and reveling in the feel of her fingers against his wet skin.

"Forever is a long time," she whispered, resuming their conversation where they'd left off before the Hazelrig twins had dumped them both in the pond.

Declan shook his head in a kind of wonder. "Not nearly long enough for everything I want from you."

Matilda Candy had never depended on anyone in her life. She'd been stronger and more sensible than her mother. Even as a small child she'd known that to be true. She'd loved and learned from her grandmother, but she'd always known that Granny would not be there forever. Except for Ezra and Stella she had no real friends, and in her heart she tried very hard not to depend on their friendship too much. She should not depend on anyone, she knew.

But at the moment she felt like she needed Declan Harper. She needed to be his forever, to look at his face every day, to hold him like this on good days and bad. She felt like she could never, never get close enough to him. Even if she were able to crawl inside his skin and live there, she would not be close enough.

The thought terrified her. To need someone so much surely made one vulnerable, weak. Defenseless. But the same thought warmed her to her soul.

"I love you," she whispered.

Declan answered by kissing her deeply, then lifting her from her feet and carrying her from the pond. She rested her head against his shoulder and tried her best to get inside his skin, to slip inside his warrior's soul.

She kissed his wet neck and buried her nose against the place where neck turned to shoulder, lost in the warmth of his skin and the taste of him on her lips. Her body throbbed, ached, and hungered for more. For everything.

Today there was no love potion at work here, no oil or powder or candy, no ancient aphrodisiac. This wondrous feeling of need and love was generated artlessly by the two of them. It was real and good and true.

"I love you," she whispered again. Declan forcefully kicked open her door for the second time that day.

Chapter 14

He didn't want to put her down. They were both soaked to the skin, hair dripping, water running onto her floor, and still he did not want to put Matilda down. She smelled fresh and clean and sexy. She was warm and light, and he could feel her heartbeat, as if it beat inside him.

No matter what it took, he would keep her. He would never let her go.

She kissed his neck and burrowed against him, her wet blouse sticking to his soaked shirt. Then she stopped, lifting her head so she could look into his face. He saw, in that instant, that she meant what she'd said. She loved him. He didn't know what he felt for her, only that it was powerful and good. And overwhelming.

"Would you put me down?" she asked. "I'd like to try something."

He reluctantly put her on her feet, giving her one last kiss before she stepped away.

"Sit down," she said, backing into the kitchen. "I have something for you to take."

He shook his head and began to follow her. "Not another potion. Matilda, I don't need..."

She lifted her hand to stop him. "Do you trust me?"

"Completely." It was the truth, one that scared him a little. He'd never trusted anyone so completely.

"Then sit."

He did as she asked, and watched her disappear into her small kitchen. She was soaked to the skin, barefoot, and her hair had once again been plaited into childish pigtails. And still she was the sexiest sight he'd ever seen. He didn't need any lust potion. If he were any readier, he might ignite.

She returned minutes later, a cup and spoon in her hands. She sat on his knee and spooned up a small portion of her latest concoction.

"I really don't..." he began.

"A small taste," she whispered.

After the last time, he'd assumed she would want this coming together without any aphrodisiac in their blood, without any aid churning their emotions to a fevered pitch. Hadn't she insisted? And yet right now she looked almost eager for him to take the spoonful of liquid she offered. He opened his mouth and she spooned the sweet liquid onto his tongue.

And then she watched.

"What about you?" he asked, taking the spoon from her and dipping it into the syrupy potion. "Just a taste?"

Matilda opened her mouth and allowed him to dribble a small amount onto her tongue. Just a few honeyed drops. Her mouth closed slowly, then she took the cup and spoon from him and set them on the table.

"Now do what we did before," she whispered. "The first time. Just look at me, and let me look at you."

He'd never thought simply watching a woman could be so arousing, until he'd met Matilda. How often was a man allowed to look his fill, to stare unabashed, to watch and allow his fantasies to run wild? Perched on his wet knee, she began to undo her braids, to slowly loosen the wet strands and run her fingers through the dampened, golden hair. Her eyes—witch's eyes, he'd always known—sparkled and danced. For him.

His heart leapt; he grew harder. He stared at her and imagined what she'd look like lying beneath him, what she'd feel like when her bare skin pressed against his. Impossibly he wanted her more than he had minutes ago. He burned for her.

"It's strong stuff, Matilda," he said hoarsely as he watched her shake out her hair.

"As strong as what we took before, do you think?"

"Stronger," he whispered. "I've never in my life wanted anything the way I want you now." He reached out and gently touched her: her neck, her hair, her breasts through the wet linen. She shivered. "I can feel it in my blood, burning and building with every heartbeat." She touched him, her fingers in his hair and on his shoulder. "This has got to be the strongest potion yet," he whispered.