Secrets of Midnight (35 page)

"I didn't screech."

"Yes, you screeched.
Which was
actually a good thing to hear, considering you haven't said two words to me
since I found you on the beach.
I came to see how you're doing and I'm
not leaving until you tell me. How does that suit you?"

Corisande rested her forehead upon the velvet curtain,
her shoulders slumping.

"Corie, you're not yourself. I know tonight was a
trial for both of us, but you're made of sterner stuff—"

"No, I'm not." Exhaling brokenly, Corisande
didn't recognize the tremulous voice that had escaped her and neither
apparently did Donovan. She felt tears sting her eyes as his hand touched her
shoulder.

"Woman, that didn't even sound like you. What do
you mean, you're not—"

"Not for something like this . . . it was so
horrible—"

She gasped, folded so suddenly into Donovan's arms that
she scarcely realized he'd reached out for her. Nor had she realized he was
wearing no more than breeches as her cheek pressed against the crisp thick hair
that matted his chest. Unbidden, tears began to spill down her face, not because
he held her so closely, but because it felt so comforting to be held.

"I know the shipwreck was horrible," he
murmured, slowly stroking her hair. "But it turned out well—no one
drowned. It
was damned astonishing
, really, given the
seas . . . Corie?"

She had begun to sob, great wrenching sobs that came
from the very depths of her as she turned her face to his chest and wept
unabashedly.

And Donovan began to hope, to hope desperately, that
she might be weeping for him.

"I've always been a good swimmer, woman. Maybe I
should have told you that before I ran off—"

"He tried to drown me, Donovan. I thought I was
going to die."

He froze, intuition kicking at his gut as he held her
away from him only to have her nearly collapse,
she
was sobbing so wretchedly. With a low curse he swept her into his arms and
carried her into his room, into the light where he could see her face. A face
that was flushed red from crying, her eyes filled with such despair that his
heart seemed to twist inside him as he went and sat down with her on the bed.

"Who tried to drown you, Corie? For God's sake,
what happened tonight?"

"Th-the same man from the heath . . . when you
went into the water. I . . . I know you told me to stay put, but I came down
the beach so I could be closer and—and they grabbed me."

"In front of everyone? How could that—"

"No one was watching me, Donovan. They were
watching you and—and the other men and the ship! I tried to fight but—oh, God,
they took me to the other side of the beach, and a man came out of the dark and
threw me into the water again and again and again . . ."

Donovan pulled her fiercely against him as a terrified
cry burst from her, and her arms flew around his neck as if by holding on to
him she could will the horrible memories away. But he didn't want her to
stop—he wanted to know everything that had happened. He clenched his teeth as
she began to cry again, wishing desperately that he had been there, wishing
that he could have helped her . . .

"You said he tried to drown you, Corie?"

"Yes, he—he held me down with his foot. The water
was so cold, so deep, and my chest hurt so
terribly .
..
and
then I couldn't struggle anymore—"

"God help me, woman, no more, no more."
Donovan hugged her more fiercely, incredulous that he could have been out
saving strangers' lives while the woman he loved . . . the woman he loved . . .
!

"He said . . . he said he hadn't brought me there
to kill me, Donovan, and then—"

"Tomorrow, Corie, we'll speak of this tomorrow,"
he whispered, cradling her against him like a child. This time she fell quiet,
her sobs becoming a great shuddering sigh that tore at him as deeply as
anything she'd said. So deep that he felt a sudden wetness in his own eyes as
he held her head against his heart, his cheek resting against her hair.

No wonder she had been soaked to the skin and covered
with sand. He should have known she might be in danger, even with so many
people around . . . damn him for not recognizing the peril. He couldn't think
of it anymore! He didn't want to think about it, not now, not now. He only
wanted to hold her, to feel the warmth of her, to have her close. Gently he
lifted her chin; her beautiful brown eyes, still brimming with tears, met his
as he traced the fullness of her lips with his thumb.

"Corie, I want you to stay with me tonight. I want
you near me, to know you're safe. Please, woman, tell me you'll stay."

Chapter 31

Corisande went utterly still, no more able to breathe
at that moment than when she'd fought so futilely beneath the waves.

She stared up at Donovan, at his lips, so very near now
to her own, certain that her heart was pounding as fiercely as his, his rampant
heartbeat pulsing in her ear. And when his mouth touched hers, so tenderly, so
gently, more a whisper than a kiss, she knew she wanted to stay. To be near
him, to know that he, too, was safe, to feel the wonder of his arms around her
long, long into the night—

"No!"

She twisted free of Donovan's embrace so violently that
she fell to the floor, the cry that had ripped from her throat as ragged and
desperate as her sudden overwhelming thought that she must get away. Dear God,
no, she didn't want these feelings! She didn't want them!

Fresh tears blinding her, she scrambled to her feet
even as she heard Donovan coming after her, felt him catch her arm, but she
wrenched herself away, rushing headlong for the drawing room door. But he was
there blocking her way, and she dashed the other way, not heading for the door
leading out into the corridor for fear he would block her there, too, but
grasping her way frantically along the windows, among the curtains, until she
found two smooth handles and yanked open the balcony doors.

In seconds, she was gripping the iron railing, thick
rain pelting her face as she looked down wildly at the drive below.

It wasn't too far. She could jump and then run and run
and run and never stop-

"Corie! Good God, woman, what are you doing?"

One leg already over the railing, Corisande fought with
all her might as Donovan caught her round the waist and hauled her back onto
the balcony, spinning her to face him. He shook her hard, not once but twice,
such pain in his voice that she went still while he shook her a third time.

"Why are you so afraid of me? Why? I would never
hurt you!"

"I—I'm not afraid of you!"

"Then why are you running from me?"

She didn't answer, couldn't answer, glancing behind her
and thinking crazily that the railing was still close enough for her to reach
if only . . .

Corisande cried out as Donovan pulled her against him,
his fingers tunneling through her rain-soaked hair, his husky voice almost
pleading.

"Corie, don't fight me. Don't run from me. Let me
show you that I would never hurt you. That you can trust me! Let me show you .
. ."

His mouth found hers before she could speak, his kiss
filled with such unbridled passion that she knew at once she was lost, those
same feelings coming back with a vehemence that she now felt wholly powerless
to fight. Suddenly she couldn't be closer to him, nearer to him, her hands
moving up his wet, matted chest to the massive breadth of his shoulders as his
arms tightened around her.

The rain was cold, but everything else was so warm, his
lips moving so hungrily over hers, his tongue as it thrust deep into her mouth,
his skin that seemed to be on fire. She felt on fire, too, despite her soaked
nightgown, the sturdy flannel clinging heavily to her body. So heavily that
Donovan soon groaned in frustration against her mouth, his hands moving over
her wildly as if searching for some way to reach her skin.

"Come. This damned stuff must go."

His lips never leaving hers, she was swept so
unexpectedly off her feet that she felt her heart leap to her throat and she
threw her arms around his neck, the balcony doors kicked shut behind them as he
carried her back inside. But she scarcely noticed the sound for her blood
pounding fiercely in her ears, or that suddenly she wasn't being carried
anymore but lying upon the bed.

Only when she felt a small nip at her breast did
she
flare open her eyes to find Donovan kneeling astride
her, looking more swarthily handsome than she could ever remember him, his eyes
become as jet-black as his hair.

"Useless things, nightgowns. Shall we be rid of
this one?"

He had whispered so huskily that she shivered, staring
up at him as if cast in some seductive spell. Staring up at him as he bent his
head to kiss her, his tongue first sweeping languorously across her lips before
he pressed his mouth possessively to hers. But he didn't kiss her long,
kneeling over her again as he gathered two fistfuls of flannel and slowly, his
eyes full upon her, rent the soaked fabric from collar to hem, while Corisande
gasped as her body was bared to his gaze.

Donovan drew in his breath, too, unable to tear his
eyes from her . . . from the translucent whiteness of her skin and her dusky brown
nipples to the auburn curls between her thighs, sweet dark curls he longed to
touch, longed to feel wet and closing around his sex but not yet, not yet. She
lay like a gift before him, a rare, exquisite gift, and he would not rush, no
matter that he was already so
hard
and aroused he
thought he might explode. No, no, he would not rush.

He could see that she trembled; he was shaking, too,
her sudden, wondrous acquiescence giving him more than hope —that she would
entrust him with her body, this woman whom he thought of no longer as a
temporary bride. God help him, if he made her his wife tonight in every sense
of the word, maybe she would one day entrust him with her heart . . .

"Are you chilled, Corie?" he asked softly,
his gaze moving once more to her breasts, small beautiful saucy breasts with
droplets of moisture upon them that must have trickled from his shoulders.

As she shook her head, he bent over her and flicked
away a tiny crystalline drop with his tongue, feeling her start beneath him,
her eyes half closing at the sensation. He found another droplet and flicked it
away, continuing slowly, teasingly, above her taut lovely nipples, below them
and all around
them
but not touching her there yet,
not yet. Only when he came to the last tiny bead of moisture did he gently
swirl his tongue around a nipple. Corisande arched her back and moaned deep in
her throat while he marveled at the rose-scented sweetness of her skin.

"No lavender?" he couldn't resist teasing her
in a whisper, not surprised when her eyes flared wide.

"N-no, I don't like it either."

He chuckled deeply but grew sober when he leaned down
to kiss her parted lips, then the rapid pulsebeat at her throat, her breasts. "Ah,
but you will like this, Corie, I promise."

He gently began to run his fingers over her body,
barely touching her, his hands gliding over her ribs and her belly, then up her
breastbone to her throat and shoulders, lightly, softly, taking a moment to
free her arms from her sodden sleeves and cast the torn nightgown from the bed
before he ran his fingertips all the way down her beautiful torso to the silken
insides of her thighs. He was rewarded when Corisande began to tremble all the
more, her breathing coming faster, much as his own.

"Ah, Corie, do you like this too?"

He ran his hands back up to her breasts, touching her,
oh, so gently, the pads of his fingers drawing close to her nipples and then
circling away in a seductive game of cat and mouse until she tried to push away
his hands and writhed beneath him. But she jumped, crying out when he finally
grazed her nipples with his fingernails, and he gave in, too, to the urge
nearly driving him mad and bent his head to suckle hungrily as Corisande wound
her fingers in his
hair
and brokenly voiced his name.

He groaned in answer long delicious moments later when,
her nipples wet and flushed a deeper brown from his touch, he finally left the
bed to pull off his breeches, his swollen sex springing free. He saw her eyes
widen, but to his relief she didn't faint dead away. He knew he was a big man,
even when not fully aroused, yet he had no intention of rushing her, of taking
the slightest chance of hurting her except to make her sweetly, sweetly suffer.
Quickly he returned to the bed and enfolded her in his arms.

"Shh, Corie, we have all night. Let me show you
that you can trust me. Let me . . ."

Corisande caught her breath as, once more, Donovan
found her lips and kissed her deeply; she was already so lost to the wonder of
everything he had been doing to her that she gave no thought of protest. She
felt so strange, like nothing she'd ever known before, languid, and yet her
skin tingling with his every teasing touch
. Just as he was
teasing her now, lifting his mouth from hers to roll her gently onto her side,
and then shifting his body until he was almost flush against her.

Again his hands began to move over her, caressing the
small of her back and her bottom with so feather-light a touch that she felt
goose bumps sweep across her skin. But she inhaled sharply when one of his
hands slipped between her legs from behind, his fingers gently brushing against
her sensitive flesh, his breath upon her neck incredibly warm as he whispered
in her ear.

"Shh, woman, I think you'll like this too."

She did, she couldn't deny it as Donovan touched her softly,
making her squirm against him, a strange heat inside her growing ever hotter.
He slid his fingers back, splaying his hand on her bottom and then slipping
them to the front once more until she wasn't only squirming but trembling
uncontrollably at the sensations plummeting through her. Over and over he
teased her, until she could barely open her eyes when Donovan finally eased her
onto her back; she felt drugged from the pleasure.