Authors: Stella Cameron
Bliss began to move. She rose away from Sebastian, smiled when he forced her down again. Sweat shone on his fabulously demonic features, and on the bulging muscles in his shoulders and chest.
The spear of a climax pierced Bliss almost without warning and she captured her cry against Sebastian's shoulder. She sank her teeth into his skin and he yelped, but only held her tighter and moved with her harder, faster.
Their bodies jarred together.
"Baby, baby," he moaned. "This is hurting you."
"No," she lied. "No."
"Yes, it is. You're small." She heard his teeth snap together, then all she heard was the rasping, rhythmic groan he made with each thrust.
Once more the force of a climax scorched Bliss. She contracted around Sebastian, and felt the rush of his warm fluids inside her. He pushed into her once more, and leaned, holding her in a crushing embrace, against the boxes.
Tears coursed her cheeks. She sniffed.
"What?" he asked, lifting his head. "What is it? I hurt you, didn't I?"
She shook her head and giggled shakily. "Look at us."
He studied her face, then her breasts. He stroked her bare thighs and bottom. "I love looking at you. When's the last time you did that?"
"It's been a long time." She shook her head. "And I never did it like this."
His eyes narrowed again. "How many were there?"
For an instant she wasn't sure she understood.
"How many others, Bliss?"
"Is it your business?" she asked, too exhausted to be angry.
Deep sadness etched Sebastian's face. "No. No, of course it's not my business. Just the old male possessiveness rearing its head."
She touched her breasts to his chest hair, sucked in a breath at the sensation. "I understand. But you don't have any right. So don't ask again."
He smiled ruefully. "I won't. It doesn't matter, does it?"
"It shouldn't. There was one."
Sebastian drew his brows down.
"One man, Sebastian. He wasn't you. I'd waited for you and then you went away, so eventually I slept with someone else, but it wasn't right."
"My fault," he said quietly.
She said, "History," and kissed the dimple in his cheek.
"I want to take you home and tuck you into my bed," he told
her. "Then I want to do this again. And again." Slowly, he let her feet slide to the floor.
"We'd better think about putting ourselves together and doing our best to sneak out of here without everyone guessing what just happened."
Sebastian grinned. "Let 'em guess. I might just tell them anyway."
Bliss pushed him away and fished her panties and stockings off the floor. "You dare. I'd never forgive you."
"I won't then," Sebastian said, ducking to catch one of her nipples between his teeth.
"Stop it, now," she told him, but she sighed and let her eyes close again while he pulled on tender flesh.
At last he drew back. "I'm never, ever going to let you go again, you know. I want the world to know that."
Bliss struggled into her clothes.
"We're getting married."
She stopped and looked into his face. "Not just like that," she told him. "Not after everything that's happened."
"That's all behind us."
"No." She righted the bag of laundry they'd managed to upend and pushed several waiter's jackets back inside. "It isn't all behind us. I still don't know what happened."
"You're going to have to settle for not knowing everything," Sebastian said. "What does it matter now?"
She paused. "It matters. May I have my glasses?"
Sebastian found them. "I'll tell you what I can. For the rest you'll have to trust me."
Bliss puffed up her cheeks and let the air out slowly. "I don't think so. I've been threatened, Sebastian. Because of you. I need to understand why."
He stopped in the act of pushing up the knot in his tie. "Threatened how?"
She shrugged.
"I asked you how." His grasp on her shoulders hurt. "Answer me."
Wincing, Bliss said, "At my place, the night I almost brained you with the hairbrush? A woman's voice said I must get rid of 'him.' She meant you."
"You can't be sure." He grimaced. "What am I saying? You probably imagined the whole thing."
"Thanks." She shrugged hard enough to catch his attention. He dropped his hands. "Tonight," she continued, "when the lights when out. A man grabbed me from behind and threatened me.
Sebastian's jaw worked.
She crossed her arms over her breasts. "He pawed me. He said he'd do horrible things to me if I saw you again. And he said he'd be watching me."
The door handle rattled.
Bliss flattened a hand over her mouth.
Sebastian pressed a finger against his lips and turned out the light.
The door rattled again.
"Stand still and don't say anything," he whispered. "I'm going to unlock the door."
"No!"
He pulled her against the shelves to one side of the doorjamb. "If they put the light on, we're sunk. We just laugh and make a run for it. With luck they won't put the light on."
Sebastian managed to unlock the door silently—a moment before the handle turned once more and light from the hall cut a wedge over the opposite shelving. A handful of wet dishtowels and another white jacket landed on top of the laundry bag, and the door slammed shut.
Bliss put the light on again. "This is freaky. I've got to get out of here."
"You're not going anywhere without me."
"Of course I am. Don't be ridiculous."
"You just told me someone threatened you tonight."
"And a few minutes ago you were saying I had an overactive imagination."
Sebastian smoothed her hair back and rested his forearms on her shoulders. "That was about the ghost thing. Not this. I'm not letting you out of my sight again."
Bliss turned her face away. "Maybe I should go to the police."
"Did you see this man?"
She propped her cheek on his forearm and shook her head.
"What will you tell the police?"
Bliss held his shoulders. "That someone grabbed me from behind and threatened me."
He watched her silently.
"It's happened again, hasn't it? I don't have anything to tell them."
"No," Sebastian said. "But you have me, sweetheart, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
She lowered her gaze. This was one independent woman who was beginning to like the idea of having a strong man around— a strong man whom she also happened to love.
Bliss closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
Sebastian's shirtsleeve smelled fresh, of being freshly laundered . . . and starched.
Fourteen
"Sebastian!" Maryan's voice reached him the instant he pushed open his front door. "Is that you?"
He slung his jacket over his shoulder and considered turning around and leaving. Beater, a surefire antenna for best-avoided situations, had met him outside and refused to follow him inside. Sebastian decided he should have taken the dog's silent advice.
Barefoot, wearing a loosely belted robe, Maryan emerged from the sitting room that doubled as Sebastian's gym. She pointed a wavering finger at him. "S'you. Why didn't you answer me? There's a guy on the phone for you." Her words slurred together.
"I'm going to bed." Bliss had taken a cab back to Hole Point. He couldn't believe it. After what had happened between them, she'd walked—no, she'd run away from him and taken a cab home. He couldn't figure her out. He could figure himself out. Through all the years since he left her, he'd been working his way back. Now he was never going to give her up again.
Maryan tottered toward him. "What's the matter with you? I told you there's a phone call for you. It's not going to go away."
"Forget it." He started for the stairs.
Maryan cut him off. "You've been with her, haven't you?"
He made to walk around her.
She grasped his arm. "I know you have. Did you sleep with
her?" Her gray eyes took in the rumpled condition of his clothes. "You did, didn't you? You slept with the bitch."
"Don't ever insult Bliss." He shook Maryan's hand from his arm. "Do you understand me?"
She whimpered. "I'm only worried about you. You've gotta speak to that guy, Sebastian. He's mean."
"What guy?" Sebastian said. "You're drunk, Maryan."
"What I drink and how much I drink is none of your goddamn business! And I'm not drunk. Cheerful, but not drunk. You never could stand to see me cheerful. You never understood me. If you did you'd know—"
"Whoa, luwy," Ron York said, hurrying to slip an arm around Maryan's waist. "Let's get Sebastian to his phone call. Then we all need a long chat, don't we?"
She peered at him. "Yeah. A long chat. It's Jim Moore."
Sebastian dropped his arm and let his jacket trail on the floor. "Jim Moore."
"Uh, huh," Maryan said, smiling a little. "Your dear ol' papa-in-law."
"My ex-father-in-law," Sebastian said automatically. He should have expected the old bastard to make contact. "Hang up on him."
"We did," Ron said. "Several times. He says either you talk to him on the phone or he'll come and camp on your doorstep. Why not talk to him and get it over with?"
Sebastian didn't like Ron suggesting what he ought to do—he didn't like Ron, period. But what he said made sense. He walked past the couple and into the sitting room where the telephone receiver trailed to rest on a dark gray couch.
He picked up the instrument. "Plato here." The room looked slept-in—probably appropriate.
Jim Moore's pseudo-Southern drawl announced, "You owe me.
"Plato here," Sebastian repeated, taking grim pleasure in figuring the rise of Moore's blood pressure.
"Sonuvabitch," Moore said. "You ruined my girl and you owe me for that."
"No/* Sebastian said, dropping to sit on the couch and finding a space for his feet on the booze and food-littered coffee table. "Nope, sir, I don't owe you one little red cent."
"Wanna rethink that?"
"I don't believe I do."
"You're in a mess of trouble in this state, boy. People here are God-fearing. They don't take to the kind of temptation you parade before their little girls."
Sebastian's stomach turned. The man was sick, had always been sick. Jim Moore had a lot to answer for, but he probably never would.
"You hear me, boy?"
"I'm going to hang up now, Mr. Moore."
"I'm your father-in-law," Moore thundered. "You ain't got no father of your own anymore, so I'm the closest thing. You call me Pop and gimme the respect I deserve."
"You deserve to be six feet under," Sebastian muttered under his breath."
"Whad'you say?"
"I said we deserve what we get most of the time. I don't have a father, Mr. Moore. Don't want one."
"You owe me."
"I married your daughter." The argument was so old, so tired, and Sebastian had much more important pressures on his mind right now. "We gave it a good shot. It failed." And, because Crystal had suffered enough, Sebastian wasn't about to give her old man more ammunition to use against her.
"You killed my grandchild."
Sebastian closed his eyes.
"Speak up. You gonna argue that point again."
"No."
"There!" Moore's voice rose triumphantly. "Now, you gotta start paying me for that—payin' me some more. I can't find Crystal and I need money."
"Not my problem."
"But you said—"
"I said I wasn't arguing your points anymore—none of your points. And I'm not paying you off anymore. Understand?"
Maryan had sidled back into the room. She sat in a chair opposite him with her fist to her mouth. Her eyes were huge and worried. Wearing blue Spandex workout shorts and a tank top, good old Ron hovered behind her. MTV images flared on the big-screen TV The sound had been turned off but Sebastian heard the whir of the treadmill York hadn't bothered to stop.
"Listen up." Jim Moore all but whispered this time. "A little birdie tells me you've taken up with the Winters girl again."
Sebastian's gut clenched.
"Speak so's I can hear you, boy! You're messin' with the Winters girl again. Am I right?"
Jim Moore was an animal. He'd almost killed before. Why wouldn't he be capable of physical violence of that magnitude again? "Stay out of my life," Sebastian said softly. "You've had all you're getting from me."
"You're in trouble here," Moore said, coughing. "They know all about the kind of scum you are. They know about you defiling innocent little girls that were pure before you put your filthy hands on them."
The rhetoric hadn't changed.
"You meet me and bring money, or I'm gonna give those righteous ladies exactly the kind of ammunition they need against you, boy."
"I don't think you will," Sebastian said wearily. He glanced up, surprised to see Zoya enter the room in a black swimsuit. This business wasn't for airing outside the family. "I have to go now." Had Maryan and Ron been indiscreet enough to talk about the Moores to Zoya this evening?
"You forget messing around with other women," Moore said. "You got that?"
Sebastian watched Zoya glide to sit on the arm of Maryan's chair. She held a large manila envelope.
"You hear me, boy?"
"Good night, Mr. Moore."
"Don't you hang up on me! God only recognizes one marriage. You hear me? In His eyes you're my daughter's husband and you always will be. I'm a man of God and I'm gonna see His will done. You got that?"
Sebastian felt the skin on his scalp tighten.
"I ain't never gonna stand by and watch some home-breaking trollop interfere with God's will." Moore was raving now. "Do you know what I'm saying."
"I'm not sure," Sebastian said. The old man had his full attention. "Maybe you're threatening me. No, you couldn't be threatening me. You know better than that."
"The hell I do! I know what you've been up to. I know every move you've made. Know what I mean?"
"Full of questions, aren't we?"
"Don't mess with me. Listen up. Listen good. I know every move you've made. I'm taking steps to protect my girl's interests. Got that? I'll do whatever I have to do to protect my girl's marriage."