Temporary Husband Page 5

  “You’re spending the night with him?” Laura demanded apprehensively.

  Wynne nodded. “He’s asked me to and I’ve agreed. I came by to pick up my overnight bag and check on you. Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, everything’s fine here,” Laura claimed. “Blissfully quiet. But what about you? Maybe you should—”

  Wynne cut her off. “Maybe I should get my bag and join my husband,” she said with gentle finality.

  Laura raised her hands in surrender. “Okay. I give up. It’s your life to live as you see fit.”

  “Don’t be angry,” Wynne pleaded. “You’re my best friend. Try to be happy for me. I’ve been dreaming of this moment all my life. I have an incredible husband and a whole new life ahead of me.”

  “Right. Besides, look at the bright side,” Laura said dryly. “If things don’t work out, you have an automatic escape clause.”

  “Oh, I won’t need it,” Wynne claimed, flashing an impish smile. “And if I have anything to say about it, neither will Jake.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  JAKE STOOD IN FRONT of the hotel window looking out at a starlit night, lost in the darkness of his thoughts. Would Wynne come? he wondered. Or would she have second thoughts about the wisdom of their marriage and run? He didn’t want to care one way or the other. But he did. His future hung in the balance, the choices made by a pint-size elf the determining factor. He clenched his hands, jamming them into the pockets of his robe. Damn. He’d never felt so out-of-control in his life.

  And he didn’t like the feeling.

  A knock sounded then—not a soft, tentative rap, but a rapid, eager tattoo. Suppressing a smile of satisfaction, he strode to the door, flinging it open.

  Wynne stood on the threshold, her green eyes peeping at him from beneath wispy white bangs. “Hi,” she said.

  He lounged in the doorway, his tension fading beneath the sunny warmth of her smile. “Hi, yourself.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Were you afraid I wouldn’t show up?” she asked gently.

  Was he so transparent? “The thought crossed my mind.” He forced out the admission, and stepped aside so she could enter.

  “You’ll find I’m really quite trustworthy,” she assured, glancing around the suite with interest. “But since you don’t know me very well, I can understand your not realizing that.”

  “Thanks for filling me in,” he retorted dryly, taking her bag.

  Her gaze settled on him, the passion and vitality in that one look as powerful as a physical blow. It never ceased to amaze him how different she was from all the other women he’d known. How had so much zeal been bundled into such a tiny package?

  “You’ve showered,” she said, stating the obvious. “Would you mind if I did, too?”

  “Be my guest. There’s another of these hotel robes hanging on the door. Feel free to use it.”

  “Thanks, but I have a nightgown.” She gestured toward the case he held. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

  “I don’t mind.” He tossed the bag to her. “But you won’t need it. Not for long.”

  A hectic flush chased across her cheekbones and Jake regretted the crassness of his remark. There were times he felt like the proverbial bull in the china shop—and this was one of them. She gave a shrug that showed amazing sangfroid considering her obvious embarrassment, and crossed to the bathroom.

  She seemed so young and fragile from the back, her shoulders fine-boned, the graceful sweep of her neck highlighted by the short pixieish cut of her hair. He’d never realized the nape of a woman’s neck could look so vulnerable. A sudden urge to protect her gripped him. But then he realized the only protection she needed was from her husband.

  She hesitated at the doorway to the bathroom and glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, I meant to ask when I first arrived,” she said unexpectedly. “What’s your…our last name? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.”

  His mouth tightened. “Hondo,” he replied, then stated with cool deliberation, “it was my mother’s name.”

  He couldn’t tell whether she’d picked up on the significance of his comment or whether she deliberately feigned ignorance. Or didn’t it matter to her? He shook his head, unwilling to believe she found his parentage inconsequential. The people of Chesterfield considered it of critical importance.

  “Hondo,” she repeated. A tiny smile played around her mouth and his gut clenched at the guileless sensuality. “Wynne Hondo,” she said, as though tasting the words. Then she laughed aloud. “It doesn’t fit me half as well as it does you. But maybe it will in time.”

  She shouldered her overnight bag and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him to mull over what she’d meant by “in time.” It had better mean damned short and not a second longer. The splash of the shower interrupted his thoughts and he became instantly aware that every sound she made reverberated through the thin walls.

  He could hear the material of her gown rustle as she removed it and pictured her stripping—baring soft, pearly skin. He knew the minute she stepped beneath the steamy spray, her murmur of pleasure as seductive as a siren’s song. It took every ounce of willpower not to thrust open the door and join her. Would she complain…or would she welcome him? He reached for the knob, determined to find out.

  She’d be slippery with soap, wet and sleek. If he found her willing, he’d take her in his arms and make her his wife in fact as well as name. But before he could follow through, the water stopped and he hesitated, annoyed that the choice had been taken from him. He released the knob and stepped back and after a few short moments she emerged from the bathroom.

  He froze at the sight of her, unable to draw breath, feeling like someone had smashed an iron fist into his chest. He seesawed on the edge of control, rock-hard with desire, passion driving him to the point of no return. Only one thing kept him from plunging over the edge and taking what he wanted…

  Wynne’s nightgown.

  His wife stood uncertainly in the doorway, enveloped in whisper-thin cotton. The nightgown floated around her like mist, clinging for a moment as it caressed the pure, graceful curves of her body before swirling away. But one detail stopped him dead in his tracks…the damned thing was white. Stark white. Snow white. Unadulterated, unsullied, virginal white, the color as untainted as the woman who wore it. Three men, he struggled to remind himself. She’d said three men. He shook his head in disbelief. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

  Because once they’d touched her, how the hell could they have walked away?

  She moved into the room. Light from the bedside table threw her body into silhouette, almost bringing him to his knees. It was the most erotic sight he’d ever beheld, crippling in its impact. For such a little thing, her figure was all woman. She had a narrow waist that flared into sweetly rounded hips, her backside exhibiting just the right amount of curve. Her breasts shifted beneath her nightgown, the nipples dark shadows that pearled before his eyes. With a muttered exclamation, he forced his attention upward and away from temptation.

  She stood quietly, staring at him, her eyes huge and wary, her hair tousled and damp from her shower. He didn’t say a word, but simply held out his hand. After a momentary hesitation, she slipped her fingers into his.

  “I see why you wanted to wear this instead of a robe,” he said, his voice husky with need. “It’s very provocative.”

  “Really?” She glanced down, her brows drawn together. “I always thought it rather modest.”

  He chuckled. “Your idea of modest must differ from mine.” He reached for her, running his index finger along the curve of her breast, pausing at the peak to draw lazy circles around the rigid tip.

  Her head jerked upward and she stared at him, her eyes enormous, the green turning as dark as a shadowdraped forest. She moistened her lips. “Could we turn off the lights?” she requested anxiously.

  “The lights stay on. I want to see you when we make love.”

  She didn’t argue, but some of the color ebbed from
her face. “I didn’t expect to feel this nervous,” she confessed. “But I can’t seem to stop shaking. Are you sure we can’t turn off the lights? Just this once?”

  His mouth tightened and he left her for a moment, flicking the switch on the bedside lamp. The room plunged into darkness, relieved only by the faint illumination from a fast sinking moon. “Better?”

  “Much, thank you.” She drifted across the room, the conspicuous white of her nightgown marking her progress. “Should I…should I get into bed?”

  He bit back a caustic comeback, aware that something was out of kilter, but too hard-ridden by desire to analyze what it might be. “Sure. Get into bed if it makes you more comfortable.”

  “Actually I’m thirsty,” she said, veering toward the bathroom. “I think I’d like some—”

  He blocked her path, catching her off guard. She looked at him, startled, and her breath came swift and uneven. He didn’t hesitate, but took her mouth in a demanding kiss. He felt, rather than heard, her small murmur of protest. She stiffened, not quite fighting him, but not responding as she had at the Montagues’.

  He lifted his head and stared down at her. “Relax,” he murmured, stroking his thumb along the tender curve of her cheek. “You want this as much as I do.”

  “I thought I did,” she said, a tiny catch robbing the certainty from her voice. “I seem to be having second thoughts.”

  “You won’t for long.”

  His mouth dropped over hers once again and he molded her closer, exploring the shapely curves beneath the thin cotton nightgown. If he’d had any lingering qualms about taking advantage of her, they vanished, dissolving beneath his desperate need to possess the woman in his arms. She belonged to him now, and he meant to take what was his.

  He released the buttons fastening the bodice of her nightgown and swept the material from her shoulders, baring her to his intent gaze. Moonlight lanced across the paleness of her skin, carving tempting shadows between her gently rounded breasts. He groaned, lowering his mouth to taste her perfection.

  She seemed to shudder, though she didn’t make a sound, merely lifted a hand to brush the hair from his brow. The muted gleam of her wedding band distracted him and he pulled back, looking at her, seeing her clearly for the first time that night.

  And what he saw stopped him cold.

  A solitary tear traced a path down the waxen curve of her cheek, and he took a quick step back, disgusted by what he’d been about to do. And yet, despite that disgust, every instinct he possessed railed at him to finish what he’d started, to put his mark on her in the most basic way possible. He’d never considered himself noble or honorable or decent. Tonight confirmed that beyond any doubt. But looking into Wynne’s wide, unflinching eyes, seeing her acceptance of such an untenable situation very nearly unmanned him.

  What the hell had he done, marrying her like this?

  He took another step back and then another and another until he’d put as much room between them as he could. “Get in the bed,” he whispered harshly.

  Still she didn’t speak, merely drew her nightgown back in place and obeyed. She clambered onto the mattress, and in that moment, he knew. He couldn’t touch her, couldn’t risk hurting her. Not now. Not even if it meant losing the inheritance he’d fought so hard to win.

  He forced himself to turn his back on her, staring instead at the desert skirting the hotel, feeling oddly at one with the bleak beauty. Slowly the serenity of the landscape crept into his soul, calming him, and he gained a small measure of control. Only the strongest and most determined survived in such an arid section of the country—just as only through sheer strength and determination had he survived the aridness of his youth. But his survival had never been at anyone’s expense but his own.

  Until now.

  “Jake…?”

  He didn’t turn around. “Go to sleep, elf. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  He heard the rustle of sheets as she left the bed and approached, felt her icy hand slip across his bicep. “Have I done something wrong?” she questioned quietly.

  His laugh rang out, cold and humorless. “Yeah. You did something wrong. You married me.”

  “No,” she protested. “Marrying you was the smartest thing I ever did.”

  He spun around, grabbing her shoulders. “Don’t you get it? Don’t you realize what happened here tonight? I almost…I almost…” He couldn’t speak the words, couldn’t admit he’d nearly committed such a vile act.

  “Don’t say it,” she urged, pressing her fingertips to his mouth. “You did nothing wrong. I’m your wife, remember? You could never hurt me.”

  “If that’s what you really believe, then you’re setting yourself up for a mighty big fall.” He stepped away, warning, “It’s not wise to stand this close, not the way I’m feeling right now. Wife or not, it’s clear I can’t be trusted.”

  She stood her ground. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d trust you with my life. Please come to bed with me, Jake. I don’t want to sleep alone on our wedding night.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I do. Come, anyway.” She tilted her head to one side and a smile trembled at the corners of her mouth, erasing all vestige of her earlier tears. “I promise I won’t take advantage of you.”

  Not bothering to argue further, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Tucking her carefully beneath the covers, he started to return to his stance by the window, but found it impossible to leave her side. Instead he stripped off his robe and joined her between the sheets. More than anything he wanted to pull her into his arms. But that would be begging for trouble. He’d narrowly escaped their last encounter with his sanity intact. He’d never escape this one if he gave in and held her again.

  “Jake?”

  “I’m right here,” he murmured gently. “Try to get some sleep.”

  “What about your requirement—that we consummate the marriage tonight?”

  “Forget it,” he said, slinging an arm across his eyes. “It was an unreasonable demand.”

  “If you say so. But if you change your mind…”

  “I won’t.”

  Silence reigned for a moment or two, then, “Jake?”

  “What is it?”

  “I really am glad I married you.”

  He swallowed the thickness blocking his throat. “Me, too, elf. Me, too.”

  Jake awoke in that timeless moment between the black of night and the first light of dawn, not quite certain what had disturbed him. A whispery sigh drifted from the other side of the mattress and he turned his head. Wynne lay facing him, sound asleep, and in that instant reality came crashing down. He was married—a condition he’d sworn he’d avoid—and this slip of a woman was his wife. He gritted his teeth, calling himself every kind of a fool. What had he been thinking, marrying someone so clearly out of her element? He must have lost his mind.

  She murmured a name—his name, perhaps—and he propped himself on one elbow, studying her. She’d kicked off her covers during the night and her nightgown had ridden up, hugging her slender hips. She had beautiful legs, lean and lightly muscled, legs that begged to be touched. He gave in to their allure, stroking the silken skin of her thigh, inching his hand ever upward. Slowly, carefully, he slipped beneath the thin cotton nightgown, his palm caressing the curve of her hip.

  She felt like heaven.

  He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the need to make this woman his. He wanted her. He wanted her as desperately now as he had last night. She was his wife, dammit all. He could take her and no one would object—including his lovely bride. But to fondle her as she slept, when she wasn’t in a position to object…What sort of lowlife was he? Using every ounce of strength, he removed his hand and opened his eyes.

  Wynne’s sleepy gaze met his.

  Her expression held open curiosity, and he stilled, reining in his desires, forcing his features into an impassive mask. His control was pointless. S
he inhaled sharply, comprehension dawning with the first glimmer of morning light. Her spring-green eyes never wavered, hope shimmering in their depths, and she shifted closer, trapped within the stream of scarlet rays just peeking over the windowsill. Sunrise bathed her in a russet glow, licking across her hair and skin like a flame.

  She greeted him with a shy smile. “Good morning, Mr. Hondo.”

  “Mornin’, Mrs. Hondo,” he replied gruffly. “How did you sleep?”

  “Not. bad. Thank you for joining me. I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

  “I almost didn’t.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “You asked so nicely. How could I refuse?”

  She grinned in response and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. The unstudied movement caused the bodice of her nightgown to gape, exposing her breasts. They were lovely, pale and round, the nipples the color of sun-ripened peaches. Unable to resist, he reached out and filled his palm, anticipating some sort of protest. It never came. Her only reaction was a muffled gasp, and then her eyes grew dark and slumberous.

  He glanced down at his hand, his copper-tinged skin a sharp contrast to the pure whiteness of her breast. She was beautiful, beautiful to the eyes and exquisite to the touch. And as one timeless moment followed another, he silently raged at himself for allowing lust to overrule common sense. With a bitten off curse, he released her.

  “Don’t stop,” she murmured shyly.

  His mouth tightened. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I’m not afraid anymore.”

  He jackknifed upright, looming over her, infusing his voice with a strong warning. “You will be if I don’t stop. I guarantee it.”

  “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “Oh, no?” He laughed at her naivete, the sound barren and humorless. “We’ve had this conversation before, remember? I’m not capable of doing anything else.”