Mischief and Magnolias (18 page)

She poured herself a small glass of whiskey then sank into the leather chair behind the desk, even more frustrated than before. She tucked her legs beneath her and inhaled. Couldn't she go anywhere in this house to escape the major from Kentucky?

Remy couldn't concentrate. The smell of her perfume tickled his nose and conjured images in his head—as mundane as washing dishes together, or as erotic as seeing her head thrown back as he kissed her neck. Shaelyn dusted the books lining the shelves in the study and he watched her, becoming more and more enraptured with every passing moment.

He tried to focus on the correspondence on his desk, but every movement she made drew his attention. She hummed, too, while she worked, a little nonsense tune he didn't quite recognize. He glanced in her direction, intending to ask her to come back later…and wished he hadn't.

She climbed onto a stepstool, reaching into the highest corner of the room, where a cobweb fluttered in the breeze her feather duster made. Her trim ankles were displayed, as was the intricate embroidery on her stockings. The frothy lace edging her petticoats beckoned his perusal, and he caught a glimpse of her calf as she stretched even further toward the delicate cobweb. Her backside wiggled beneath the sensible gray bombazine skirt she wore.

It was too much for him, seeing her like this. He opened his mouth, intending to ask her to stop, but no words issued forth. Instead, Remy sucked in his breath. The way the sunlight hit her hair changed the color to molten fire, and as she reached toward the ceiling, her blouse pulled tighter against her body, emphasizing the lushness of her figure.

He was lost. Couldn't help staring. Or the unintended reaction of his body. He shook his head and tried once more to put her out of his mind, but the task remained impossible. How could he not be drawn to her?

She'd shown a kindness to him yesterday by packing up all the personal belongings of Captains Ames and Falstead, and he appreciated her efforts. Returning a soldier's possessions was not a common act, yet he tried. Every one of the men who'd died in the ambush that almost killed him had their things returned at his request, though not personally by him.

After the compassion and thoughtfulness she'd shown, she'd changed as soon as everyone else came home. Backed away from him. And blushed every time their eyes met, as if she'd done something she shouldn't have done.

He wanted to kiss her—then and now. He wanted to take her in his arms as he had done in the garden, feel her mouth beneath his, and experience once more her passionate response.

She teetered a bit, the step stool beneath her feet tottering on two legs for a moment as she reached toward the ceiling. Remy jumped from his seat and rushed to her. Shaelyn let out a stifled screech as he reached for her, placing his hands on her hips to steady her. “Good grief, woman, have you no common sense? Have Captain Beckett or Captain Williams help you.”

He did not remove his hands from her person as he looked up at her. Shaelyn gasped at his touch, but didn't try to stop him as he let his hands slide down her skirt- and petticoat-covered thighs, feeling her muscles tense beneath his palms. He wanted her legs around him, squeezing him.

He should have let her go then. Instead, he took a step closer.

Her eyes widened, the irises turning the most luminous shade of dark amethyst as her pupils dilated. A vein throbbed along the column of her slim throat and he wanted to feel the rapid pulse beneath his lips and kiss that vein all the way down to where it disappeared beneath the collar of her blouse.

“Do you think this is the first time I've done this, Major?” she asked, a bit breathless, the words not at all in keeping with the low, sultry tone of her voice. “I've been helping to clean this house since I was old enough to hold a dust rag in my hand.” She gestured to the wooden step stool beneath her feet. “And I have never, not once, fallen.”

“Be that as it may, please come down from there. You're making me nervous.” He reached up then, his hands spanning her slim waist, and pulled her from the top of the stool. She went into his arms quite willingly.

“Nervous, Major?”

He couldn't resist. What's more, he didn't want to. And why should he? He pulled her closer and once again, Shaelyn melted in his arms, molding her body to his. He felt her warmth seep through her clothing…and his. He dipped his head and captured her mouth with his, touching her lips tenderly, then with more hunger, like a parched man tasting water after a drought.

He pulled her closer still, wrapping his arms tighter around her as her hands smoothed along his back. A feather from the feather duster tickled his ear before it clattered to the floor.

“What is it you do to me?” he murmured as his lips found the smooth skin of her cheek, the soft flesh of her neck, the perfection of her ear. “Why is it I can think of nothing but you and the taste of your mouth? Are you a witch? Have you cast a spell on me?”

“No, I am no witch.” Shaelyn sighed and tilted her head back, allowing him more access to her neck. She said not another word, but he felt her chest move as she drew in breath and the frantic beat of her heart as his fingers deftly unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, then the one below it and the one beneath that.

He moved with her, guiding her to the divan just a few steps away. Shaelyn followed his lead without hesitation, her mouth clinging to his, her fingers twisting into his hair. Remy would have gone further, would have laid her down on the divan and undressed her completely just so he could feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, but the pocket door slid apart and a voice he didn't expect to hear, especially now, stopped everything. “Remy, I'd like…”

Remy stiffened as Shaelyn jumped and moved away from him, her face the picture of utter mortification. Color rose to stain her cheeks before she dropped her gaze and stared at the carpet beneath her feet.

“Oh, excuse me. I didn't know you were…ah…busy. Just wanted to let you know you're wanted at Rosalie.” Amusement not only on his features, but in his words as well, Davenport bowed and beat a hasty exit, closing the same doors with a quiet snick.

Remy turned back to Shaelyn, but she was already buttoning up her blouse, her fingers shaking and clumsy. Her eyes seemed so much bigger in her still red face as she glanced at him, and her mouth opened several times, her lips swollen from his kisses, but no words came forth. She nodded once, her eyes shining with emotion he couldn't quite define, and left the study at a near run, leaving the feather duster on the floor and the step stool in place.

There was nothing he could do but watch her go.

“Damn.”

• • •

Shaelyn dried the last dinner plate and put it away in the cabinet. She spread the towel on the counter to dry and sighed as she looked around.

Tonight, she had accomplished the chore by herself. Remy hadn't offered to help, which was a blessing because she didn't want—or need—a repeat of last night with him. Performing ordinary, mundane tasks, such as washing dishes, seemed so intimate when they worked side by side. Sitting across from him at dinner, knowing he watched her, his eyes smoldering with desire, had been difficult enough. She didn't need to tempt fate again…she'd already done so too many times, and if she admitted the truth, she didn't trust herself being alone with him at all. Their encounter this afternoon proved it.

Who knows how far she would have gone if they hadn't been interrupted? God knows, she hadn't tried to stop him. She'd been eager for his kisses, his touch. A small cry of frustration escaped her.

The house had grown silent. She was the only one awake as she made her way to her small room. She struck a match and lit the candle on the bedside table, changed into her flannel nightgown, and slipped beneath the thin blanket.

She lay there, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. Restless. Jittery. Every nerve in her body seemed to be pulled tight, like violin strings, and every time she thought of him, those delicate strings were stretched tighter. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, but she didn't want to sleep. If she closed her eyes, she might dream of him, as she'd done so many nights before, dream of them together, arms and legs tangled among the sheets. She'd feel what she'd felt with his lips on hers, his hands in her hair, caressing her.

What sensations he had awakened in her! Desire and longing didn't begin to define what she felt as she tossed and turned in the narrow bed, her body alive, her skin on fire. She
wanted
to be touched, to feel his fingertips caress her, his mouth on hers…

She gave up on the idea of sleeping. How could she with every nerve in her body taut?

With a sigh of resignation, she crawled out of bed and sat on the edge.

Perhaps a hot bath will take away this urgency.

The idea of dragging out the small hip bath and heating the water in the kitchen fireplace seemed like much too much work. Still, a bath might be just what she needed, and she knew exactly where she could go without too much bother.

Decision made, Shaelyn grabbed her robe, pushed her feet into slippers, picked up the candle, and left the room.

She wandered down the hall and into the study, where the scent of sunlight and citrus assailed her once more. She poured a large glass of her father's favorite whiskey; the healing powers of this particular drink had helped before—last night came to mind—and she took the glass upstairs with her.

A short time later, steam rose from the water filling the bathtub. She added a few precious drops of bath oil, letting the heat of the water release the provocative scent. She removed her clothing, leaving her robe and nightgown in a pile on the floor, and sank into the fragrant liquid with a sigh.

She took a big swallow of the whiskey then laid her head against the rim of the bathtub, using a folded washcloth as a pillow.

The hot water did, indeed, soothe the ache in her body, as did the warming powers of the whiskey. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and let herself drift.

She awoke with a start and a splash, gooseflesh pebbling her skin. She stepped out of the bathtub, shivering, and wrapped herself in a towel. Groggy and disoriented, still half asleep, Shaelyn left the bathroom and, dropping the towel on the floor, crawled into her own bed. Warmth enveloped her immediately and the thick mattress cradled her as she settled back into the dream that invaded her sleep each night.

• • •

Fire and ice. Hot hands. Hotter lips.

Fire where a pair of lips touched her; ice when those lips left to ignite another flame somewhere on her body. All along the back of her neck, the incredibly sensitive spot just beneath her ear, her throat, she felt the heat of moist lips pressing against her skin. Her limbs grew languid beneath the onslaught of a hand caressing her flesh even as urgency and need filled her. She needed
him
where her desire burned at the juncture of her thighs. She squeezed her legs together and felt the swelling folds of her sex; dewy moisture scented the air.

Am I dreaming?

Flames consumed her. She wanted
him. Remy
. In her dreams, she could have him. Heat grew with every passing moment, building, burning. She moved restlessly as a hot hand gently cupped her breast. The nipple tightened into a hard bud when a thumb flicked the peak, sending another rush of anticipation through her.

Shaelyn drew her breath in sharply and held it. She had awoken from this particular dream many times, always with her body on fire, the center of the flame buried deep within, but the dream had never been this vivid, this real. Truthfully, she didn't want to wake, to end this sweet torment. She stilled, unwilling to move, waiting for the feelings to stop and her traitorous body to cease its unreasonable longing to leave her disappointed.

The fire raging through her didn't stop. The yearning grew as the warmth of a tongue laved the nape of her neck and the thumb flicking against her nipple quickened.

“Sweet Sassy,” a voice whispered in her ear, sending chills down her spine, as his hand left her breast to caress her hip.
His
voice, as she knew it would be.
His
hand, as she had dreamed so many times.
His
lips pressing against the damp skin at the back of her neck.

Realization snuck into her dream with startling clarity. Her heart raced. Her eyes flew open only to close just as quickly. Fully awake and aware, but too far gone to stop, she pressed her back against his solid chest and stomach, her backside nestling against the hard muscles of his thighs. She felt something hot and rigid pressing against her soft flesh and moved closer. The reality was far better than her dreams.

His fingers grazed her hip, leaving a trail of fire along her skin, and her legs opened of their own volition. She grabbed his hand and pressed the open palm against the burning softness of her sex.

A groan sounded in her ear. “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, her body drugged with need. She had wanted this for so long, from the moment she'd rushed into his arms.

“Tell me you need me,” he murmured against her throat.

Under normal circumstances, never would she admit such a thing, but now, anticipation coursed through her, the heat of his body warmed her. Resistance to him and his charms seemed useless. And unnecessary. Caught in the power of her own need, Shaelyn whispered, “I need you.” She felt the pressure of his hand as he began a slow, circular rhythm between her thighs. Her breath quickened as she rocked against his hand. Her instinct said this man would fulfill her, though her mind told her she shouldn't do this. She didn't care. She strained against his hand, losing herself and coherent thought in the tightening coil of desire.

He slipped a finger into her moist heat, then another, while he continued the rhythm, swirling, stroking, pressing down on the tiny bud that was the key to her release. Shaelyn gasped, not only from the intrusion into her innermost secret place, but by the way her body seemed to explode from the inside out.