Love Is Lovelier (12 page)

“Oh.” Him this time. “You lovely, wicked woman.” He scooped her into his arms again, and her head lolled back.

“You like?” she asked of the slip she’d agonized over, with its cunning little peekaboo strips of lace and net.

“Oh, yeah. Let me show you,” he said. And proceeded to do exactly that, laying her on silk sheets, removing her shoes with a slide of tongue over her arch that shot her body to a bow.

Then soothing her and teasing her, up her calves to her thighs, and each time she tensed, refusing to let her. Speaking soft, naughty, wonderful suggestions in her ears while his hands drove her nearly past hearing.

“Come here,” she begged. “Let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” was the answer. “This is for you, only you.” Slowly and patiently, he retaught her body that it was built for pleasure. That it could rise and soar, leap from peak to peak, until a beg became a moan, then all but a scream.

“William—” She grasped for him. Arched for him. “Not alone. Please. I’ve been solitary—” Too long. Oh, too long.

Suddenly, he was there, the heat of him. The glorious…weight of him. The shock and wonder of flesh against flesh made her whimper. “Not alone…”

“No.” His voice was harsh with strain and demand. “Never again, do you hear me?” He parted her legs, and she bit her lip. Grabbed hold of him and dug in claws.

“Now, William, now.”

His arms were so strong as he held himself from her. “Look at me.” But his voice was as much plea as command. “You will never again be alone. I’m with you, and I’m staying. Tell me you want that. Want me.”

So blue, sky-blue those eyes, but with thunder rumbling in the distance. Demanding notice. Acceptance.

Boiling up from within her were tears and need, longing and so, so much loneliness. “I can’t need you. I want you, but I can’t…I’m afraid to need you.”

“You will.” He brushed against her, and she gasped at the feel of him. “You do. And I do, Anne. I need you. We’re not accustomed to it, either of us, but that doesn’t matter.” He slid inside, barely inside, achingly so. “Get used to it, love. Let me in, Anne,” and she knew he was speaking of much more than the joining of their bodies. “I’m trying hard to give you time to catch up with loving me, but…catch up,” he whispered. “Please.”

She’d thought it would be so difficult, but suddenly it was so easy. So…right. “Yes,” she said, almost too softly for her own ears. Then again, louder. With her heart, which had thought this, for her, was over.

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes. “Thank God.” Then opened them, blazing. “I swear I—”

She grabbed his head. Kissed him hard. “Don’t swear. Just come with me, William. Please…be with me.”

A long, smooth glide, and they were there, together, in a new place. One not entirely unfamiliar but unshared by past loves, one simply…theirs.

Beautifully, perfectly…thank the stars, theirs.

CHAPTER TEN

“M
OONLIGHT BECOMES YOU
,” William quoted an old song as he traced one finger over Anne’s hairline. Lifted a strand and kissed it, then tickled her jaw with the end.

She sighed without opening her eyes. “I feel…glorious.” She stretched her arms above her head, wiggled her toes. Then looked at him. “Thank you for—” she glanced around the conservatory “—this. It’s my favorite part of your home.”

“I know.”

She cut him a glance. “Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “I do now.”

She laughed. “A regular Lothario, are you? Expert at seduction?”

“No.” He sobered completely. “No, Anne. I won’t let you be flippant about this. It’s too important to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Her contrition showed.

Before she could go on, he answered the question she hadn’t asked. “I’ve never made love in here before. Ever.”

Her eyes widened. “Ever?”

“No.” He wasn’t going to breach the privacy of his marriage; Isabel deserved better. She might not have been adventurous, but she’d been a good woman and their years together had been happy ones. So he moved on. “And I don’t consider seduction a sport.”

Remorse was draining away her glow, and he didn’t want that. “I’ve exhausted my supply of adjectives, so I’ll repeat myself.” He kissed her fingers. “You are amazing.” He turned her palm and did the same. “So beautiful I can’t stop drinking in the sight of you.” He indulged himself in a slow scan of her body under the sheet she’d dragged over herself. “One of these days, you’re going to let me look my fill.”

“Don’t count on it,” she said tartly. “But thank you for the candles. They’re very forgiving.”

“Anne.” He counseled himself to patience. “You’re welcome. But we will be doing this again, and I will be looking at you. All of you. In every kind of light.” He cradled her cheek. “We’re neither of us young, but we bring so much more to the table. Once I would have already had you again, now I make up for frequency with, I’d like to think, finesse. A caring for my partner and insights into her needs that a young man doesn’t yet understand. Or at least, I hope that’s true.”

She rolled to her side and propped her head on one hand. “Oh, it is…” She ran her hand over his shoulder, trailed fingers down his chest. “Very true indeed.” Her smile was wide and wicked. “I’m sorry. It’s impossible not to wish that I could show you how great I used to look. Except, of course, I was married then and would never have—” She lifted one shoulder. “You know.”

“I do.” He was beyond relieved when she didn’t draw away after bringing up Remy. “What I want you to understand is that I love how you look right now.” He grinned. “Especially right now.” He nuzzled her throat. Breathed in the scent of her. Felt need waking in him again. And wasn’t that just a kick?

He had no idea if he could convince her to stay the night, not yet. He’d simply prolong the pleasure for both of them for a bit. See what transpired. “I mentioned Estelle’s cake. You hungry?”

Her eyes widened. “Starving. But I never eat late at night.”

He rose from the bed and slipped on his trousers, already wishing they could remain there forever. “The night is young, my dear. Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.”

Her eyes were luminous. “I’m not sure I can move, anyway,” she said in a low, silky tone.

He stopped where he was. “You kill me. Just absolutely destroy me.”

She blushed prettily. “Hurry back.”

Oh, he would. He definitely would. Except. “I don’t want to leave you.” He let all pretense of flirting drop and did something that was uncharacteristic of him. Allowed exactly what he felt to shine through, vulnerable though it made him.

She stared at him in silence, her own expression revealing her confusion. And, he thought, a sizable amount of longing.

“Come with me.” He held out a hand.

She sat up, clutching the sheet, glancing around her.

He picked up his shirt, understanding the problem. “Here. Take this for now, and I’ll find you a robe.” Then he forced himself to turn his back. He’d get her past this reticence, by God. Make her see herself through his eyes.
One step at a time
, he reminded himself.
She’s in your house. Your bed, if not the permanent one upstairs
.

Her hand slipped into his, and he squeezed it. Drew her close.

When her arms stole round his waist, he bent his head to hers.

And savored.

S
HE STROLLED AROUND
his kitchen barefoot, chatting with him while he made coffee, trailing the hem of his much-too-large navy robe like the train of a ball gown. Every once in a while, she’d catch it up or flick it aside, and he’d be treated to a flash of leg. The sleeves were rolled up three times and still nearly covered her hands, which she used so gracefully to emphasize a point. To touch his granite counters or graze over a canister. Brush across the leaves of the herbs Estelle kept in a sunny window.

Until he thought he’d do anything to have them on him again.

She was a sprite with a queen’s bearing. A small woman whose heart and courage were several times her size. As was her stubbornness.

He was crazy about her.

Wanted—no, needed—to protect her.

And hoped like hell she’d believe that when she knew what he’d done.

Because he wasn’t losing her.

“That’s quite a frown.”

He blinked. “Huh? Oh—nothing. Just, uh, thinking about whether we have ice cream to go with the cake.”

Her expression said she wasn’t buying that, but she let it pass. “I have no business eating this. My doctor would, you’ll excuse the pun, have a heart attack at the thought.” She grinned.

The topic drained everything else from his head. “What was I thinking?” He retracted the plate he’d been about to offer. “You’ll have to teach me what you can and can’t have. Your health is too important—”

“Gimme,” she said. Snagged the plate right out of his hand. Laughed as he refused to let go. “William, it was a joke.”

“Your welfare is no laughing matter to me, Anne. I want you around for a long time to come.”

“Thank you. I want that, too. I—it was a very sobering experience, one I don’t take lightly. I’m careful, but I’m not going to live the rest of my life in fear. I take the steps that are required, but even my doctor agrees that flexibility is important. That you can do a better job of a strict regimen if you allow yourself some lapses, as long as they’re not frequent. So I exercise and I eat exactly what I should most of the time—and then I sin here and there.”

“How recently was your last occasion of sin?”

“Don’t even go there.” She set the cake down. Took his hands. “William, I’m trying to let you into my life, even though I don’t begin to know what to do with you. But I don’t need a mother or a nanny or a keeper,
comprends?
Maybe my business isn’t thriving right now, but what success I’ve had is because I’ve been very disciplined. I still am.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying—”

“Yes, you were.” But she softened her tone. “You care about me, and that means more than I can say, even if I can’t quite put you in a slot, and that troubles me.”

He frowned. “I don’t fit in slots.”

She laughed. “You’re telling me.” She shook her head. Cut a sideways glance at him. “You take up a lot of room, you know that? Not just physically, either.”

“Get used to it. I intend to take up more.”

“Maybe,” she warned. “I haven’t decided that yet.”

But he could see past her bravado. “You have. You just don’t like it. I’m onto you, Anne Marchand.” He tugged at the fingers she had shoved into the pockets of his robe. Gripped them. “I never thought I’d pity Remy, but I doubt that man ever had the final say—or if he did, it was only because you’d had your fill of arguing.” He laughed at her scowl. Nipped at her knuckles. “Don’t pout.”

“I never pout.” Her tone was frosty.

He reeled her in. “I love your independence nearly as much as I despair of it. I believe I’ve said before that you’re a challenge.”

Her resistance was only token. “You pirates are all alike. You’d crack up under a routine. That’s why you and I would never suit.”

He shouted his laughter. “Because you’re such a stick in the mud? A devotee of the mundane?”

She mock-punched his shoulder. “You’re spoiled. You’ve never met an obstacle you couldn’t conquer. You’re too used to getting your way.”

“Well, you’ve certainly seen to that, haven’t you?” He kissed her and told himself it wasn’t to shut her up.

What was between them flared white-hot again.

She broke away. “Stick in the mud, huh?”

“I didn’t say—”

She deepened the kiss. Backed him against the counter. “You might think you’re getting your way this time, too, but I just want to be sure you know that you’re only getting lucky.”

He laughed. “Whatever you want to believe.”

She pulled his head back down.

“Okay, uncle,” he murmured in the brief space of a stolen breath. “I’m spoiled, I’m a pirate, I’m…anything else I need to confess? Oh, yes. Lucky.”

She started to answer, but he dove right back in. “Lucky as hell.” He snatched her up and headed back for their love nest.

The cake would have to wait.

T
HEY WERE GETTING
crumbs in the bed, Anne thought as they sat facing, feeding each other with their fingers.

Sweet stars above, she felt wonderful. Whole body singing, the tune a bawdy one, accompanied by strings…occasionally breaking out into the “Hallelujah Chorus.”

She giggled. “I feel fantastic.”

He grinned. “You are.” He slid one thumb over her cheek and retrieved frosting. Licked it off. Slowly.

Taunting her. Daring.

Her breath seized. “You can’t possibly.”

One eyebrow arched. “You sure?” Then he smiled. “Probably not, but then, you seem to have a unique effect on me. I feel like a kid again.”

“You’re pretty yummy yourself, Mr. Armstrong.”

“Yummy.” Color stained his cheeks and delighted her. “I don’t recall that anyone’s ever used that word for me before.”

Mon Dieu
, the man upended her whole world. She had no business having any fun at all, not when everything she’d worked almost forty years for was in peril.

But, oh, how tired she was, sometimes, of being so strong. Yes, she was strong, always had been. Always would be. But was it so wrong to enjoy being with William? Experiencing the sheer relief of having someone to share her burdens? Feeling so…young, as if her cares didn’t have to occupy her every waking minute?

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

She jolted back into the moment. “What if they’re worth more?” she teased.

“Then I’ll pay it.”

“Might be pricey.”

He shrugged. “So be it.”

Eerie how closely he tracked her thoughts. But comforting, too. She sighed. “William, I can’t afford to be distracted right now.”

“I’d prefer to be an asset.” He set aside the plate. “Seriously, Anne. Isn’t there some way I can help you?”

“You do, more than you realize.” At his huff of impatience, she sat up on her knees. “I’m not kidding. I know you’re there, ready and waiting. I don’t expect you to understand why I have to do this myself, but it means everything to me that you don’t shove your way in and take over.” A pained expression crossed his face, and she wanted to lighten it. “Not that I’d let you.” A quick grin, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I promise you that if things get too bad, I’ll ask for help.”

His gloom didn’t lighten. “Don’t wait that long. It makes no sense to delay when there are options.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “Perhaps I was doomed from the beginning.” Doubts, never far from the surface, crept in. “But if I can’t make it on my own, with my girls’ help, then maybe it’s just as well. Remy’s dream—my dream, too—wasn’t to be swallowed up by some chain. What we created was unique. If it can’t continue as it was, then maybe it’s best to let it go. Move on.” She stared into the distance. Then, with a concerted effort, she shook off her sorrow. “But we’re not there yet. We have this new offer to consider. I don’t want to take it, but whoever it is seems reasonable, thank goodness.

“We have a little breathing room, and we’re now booked solid through Mardi Gras. If we have no other catastrophes, we just might manage our way through this. And my girls have hatched some exciting new ideas that could be our future.”

Watching her pull herself, once again, from despair was a double-edged sword for William. He found himself well and truly caught now, trapped by his own arrogance. If he withdrew his offer, Anne lost a source of comfort, yet if she found out the offer was his, not only would she not accept it, but her confidence would likely suffer. Along with any trust he’d built up with her.

He found himself, for once in his life, unwilling to gamble any more than he already had. What was between them was too new, too fragile. He couldn’t take any more risks or he might lose her. Maybe he’d been hasty in making the offer through Jud, but that was done. He would have to live with it. Be wary and light on his feet to maneuver through this minefield created because he’d gone and fallen in love with her.

He’d had his conversations with their mutual suppliers. The better terms she would get would help the Hotel Marchand’s bottom line, but the effect would take time. He had investigators looking into the series of mishaps that had befallen the hotel because he, too, didn’t hold much stock in simple bad luck. The Corbins, the brothers who’d made the original offer, were his prime suspects, but they were cagey bastards. Scuttlebutt in the industry had them connected to operations in Thailand that were highly dubious. What they wanted with the Hotel Marchand, he couldn’t guess, but he was pressing his men hard to come up with answers.

The mole he’d placed inside the hotel, though, was having difficulties. Like a turtle, the Hotel Marchand had pulled into its shell. Everyone was more guarded lately, so his mole hadn’t yet unearthed any evidence that the hotel’s recent problems were an inside job.

But he was almost certain that someone in Anne’s hotel was at fault. That person needed to be rooted out and questioned for possible links to the Corbins. It was an idea that increasingly made sense to William, that undermining the hotel’s reputation was the quickest way to lower its value and make it a prime plum for the picking.