A Passion Denied (10 page)

Charity flipped a strand of long, golden hair over her shoulder and nervously dabbed a hint of lilac water behind each ear. Nibbling on her lip, she applied the scent to her throat, then lowered her robe enough to reveal the deep cleft of her new, satin nightgown. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and smiled into the mirror with her best come-hither look. “Feel like a back rub, darling?”

Her lips skewed into a wry grin as she let the robe drop to the floor, unveiling a protruding belly. Her grin faded into a sigh. “Or maybe a really firm pillow for your head?”

“Charity! Are you coming? You know I can’t sleep without you.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” And, yes, she knew. She straightened her shoulders and smiled into the mirror. “And tonight, Mr. Dennehy, I am not going to sleep without you.” She braced a hand to her back and squatted in an attempt to pick up the robe without success. With a frustrated grunt, she flipped it with her toe and launched it on the chair.

“Charity!”

“Coming!” She doused the bathroom light and hurried into their darkened bedroom, pausing to adjust her eyes. She scanned the room for their golden retriever Runt, who lay sprawled in the middle of the floor. With a flick of her toe, she quickly massaged his ear. “Good night, big guy,” she whispered and slipped into her side of the bed. A shaft of moonlight illuminated her husband’s six-foot-four frame stretched out with eyes closed and chest bare. Her pulse picked up as she eased under the covers and nestled as close as her stomach would allow. “I’m here, for heaven’s sake. Did you remember to lock the doors?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Put the milk bottles out?”

“Yes, dear.”

She snuggled closer and stroked playful fingers across the blond coiled hair on his chest. “Love your wife?”

She could feel his smile in the dark. He looped a powerful arm around her shoulders to draw her close, then stopped. His hand started feeling the back—or lack thereof—of her new nightgown. His eyes flipped open. “What the devil have you got on, and where’s your nightgown—the warm, flannel one?”

She giggled and pulled back so he could enjoy the view from the front. She saw his hard-chiseled chin drop a full inch. She preened like a peacock when a lump bobbed in his throat. “Do you like it? Lizzie’s friend Millie says it’s all the rage in lingerie.”

“How in the devil would Millie know?” Mitch rasped, eyes trained on her full breasts as they strained against the sheer fabric. He sucked in a ragged breath and exhaled slowly. “Yes, I like it. Too blasted much, I like it. Turn around,” he growled, “so we can spoon and I can get some sleep. I’m exhausted.”

Her chin notched the slightest degree, and he knew he was in trouble. “Oh no, you’re not going to sleep—not yet.” With a mischievous smile, she casually flicked the silk strap of her gown. It slithered off her shoulder. “I’m warning you—don’t make me seduce you, Mitch Dennehy, I’m way out of practice.”

He could feel the blood heating in his veins and forced his gaze to her face.
Bad move.
Her lush, full lips were moist and parted, waiting for his kiss.

He vaulted from the bed, desperate for a glass of water— cold,
cold
water.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“At this exact moment?” Charity’s voice raised several octaves.

He bolted for the bathroom, closed the door, and bent over the basin with a groan. He flicked the spigot on to splash cold water in his face, then leaned heavily against the sink, eyes tightly closed.

The door flew open with a loud crack. His head jerked up, and light flooded the room, blinding his eyes. “Are you seeing another woman, Mitch Dennehy?”

“What?” His mind reeled. He blinked to adjust to the light, staring at his beautiful wife as if she were speaking a foreign language. That incredible negligee was heaving with every breath she took, and her blue eyes were swimming with tears.

“There was a time when you couldn’t keep your hands off of me,” she sobbed, “a time when you thought I was pretty.”

His heart clutched in his chest, and he quickly scooped her up in his arms. “God help me, Charity, there’s not a woman alive who can hold a candle to you, even pregnant. No woman has ever turned my head like you, and no woman ever will. I love you, little girl, don’t you know that by now?”

She sniffed in his arms and looked up, melting his heart. “Lately I wonder. You never seem to want to hold me or kiss me anymore.”

He exhaled and pulled her against his chest, pressing his lips to her hair. “I’ve just been exhausted, you know that. The paper has been a madhouse—just look at the hours your father’s been keeping.” He gave her a tender kiss on the lips. “I promise, in another three to four months, things should slow down and—”

“Three to four months!” She jerked free from his arms. New tears welled in her eyes. “But that will be after I have the baby! That proves it—you think I’m hideously fat. You’re not attracted to me.”

He sensed another crying jag coming and gripped her arms. “Listen to me—do you think it’s easy keeping my hands off of you?” He tugged her back to soothe her with a slow, rocking motion. “I’m crazy about you, but I just think it would be better if we waited—”

“Waited?” She pushed him away with a hard slap to his chest. “Until when—I shrivel up and die?”

His gaze strayed to her full breasts, and his lips quirked into a smile. “Not likely, little girl.” He lifted her up in his arms like she weighed nothing at all and gently laid her on their bed, then crawled in alongside and snuggled close. “Charity, listen to me, please. I have been exhausted lately, it’s true, but there’s another reason I think . . . well, that we need to wait.” He hesitated, reluctant to say too much. “I . . . I would rather not be intimate right now. I worry about the baby.”

She bolted up in bed and wiped the tears from her eyes. “The baby? What do you mean?”

He stroked her belly with the full palm of his hand. A sense of awe filled his soul followed by a rush of love for the woman before him and the child she carried. Just as quickly, another image flashed in his mind, of a swollen belly writhing in pain and a bed drenched in blood. Mitch fought off a sting of tears. “I just don’t want to take any chances, that’s all. I love you both too much.”

Charity feathered his raspy jaw with kisses. “But nothing will happen, except you’ll make the mother of your child a very happy woman.” She pulled back to search his eyes. “Mitch, I’ve spent my whole life drawing my confidence from how I look and whether or not men were attracted to me. I know it’s not right, but that’s a hard thing to break. And although this baby means the world to me, I can’t help but feel unattractive, especially when the man I love avoids me like the plague.”

“Charity—”

She held his face in her hands. “No, Mitch, listen to me, please. I need your love tonight. I need to feel your arms around me, your love, your passion. And you need me too, desperately. Besides, Dr. Wilson says it’s perfectly safe for the baby.”

He sat up in the bed. Heat singed the back of his neck. “You asked him about this?”

“I most certainly did. When my husband goes from ravaging me on a nightly basis to near narcolepsy, I had to do something. It’s safe, Mitch, I promise. We’re not going to hurt the baby.”

She rose to her knees to press a kiss to his forehead. He was pretty sure that the painful proximity of her breasts was no accident. Heat rolled through him.

With a low groan, he tugged her close, his breath hot against the soft swell of her breasts. “God help me, you little brat, there’s no fighting you, is there?” He laid her back on her side and devoured her mouth with his, the heat of her kiss driving all caution from his mind. With a hungry sweep of his hand, he caressed her body, desperate for more. “I love you, Charity, body and soul.”

Her soft laugh tickled his cheek as she pressed in close. “Mmm . . . body and soul. Now we’re talking.”

Saints alive, she may never sleep again! Lizzie adjusted the pillow beneath her head for the twentieth time—for all the good it would do. She was fairly certain she was destined for a sleepless night, seesawing between the sweet, warm ecstasy of Brady’s kiss and the cold, hard reality of his sudden departure. Dear Lord, she was doomed! Here she was, more in love with the man than ever before, and now farther away than she ever thought she’d be. It wasn’t fair. Why had she ever fallen in love with him?

Ridiculous question.
From the moment she had laid eyes on him, he’d been her Prince Charming, straight out of the pages of a fairy-tale romance. A tall, gentle soul with quiet good looks and a heart of gold. Where other suitors were riddled with imperfection, John Brady was the perfect man—a tower of strength and a fortress of conviction. A knight in shining armor. A man with an unquenchable fire that bespoke a true passion for God. Lizzie swallowed hard. And another passion, apparently, tucked away where no one could see. Warmth seeped through her bones, and her breathing shallowed. A passion she had tasted for herself, tonight in his arms. Confirming once and for all that John Brady’s air of indifference was only a facade.

She closed her eyes to relive the memory. As a young girl, a kiss in a novel had been sweet, but this—this was what she had longed for, dreamed of since she’d been small, a love-struck little girl swept into the world of happily ever after. Her lips parted to expel a quivering breath. And tonight she had experienced it for the very first time—her very own Prince Charming, his mouth on hers—warm, possessive, and hungry. Heat pulsed through her, and her eyes flipped open. Oh, she needed to stop! Her thoughts were treading on dangerous ground.

Lord, forgive me, but I love him! I want him as a husband as well
as a friend. Don’t let him turn me away, please.
Tomorrow would tell. Charity had vowed to talk to him. She bit her lip and curled on her side, then closed her eyes and began to pray.

A soft knock sounded before the door squeaked open. Her father entered the room, and she watched as his shadowy form leaned over Katie to bestow a good-night kiss. He turned and moved toward her, and the familiar smell of musk soap and pipe tobacco gladdened her heart. She smiled up in the dark.

“Why are you up so late, Father?”

His low laugh vibrated against her forehead as he kissed her good night. “I had some papers from the
Herald
to go over, but I could ask you the same thing, darlin’.” He sank down on her bed and stroked a hand to her cheek. “Rumor has it a devious plot was afoot between you and your sisters. Care to talk about it?”

“It was completely innocent, really. You see, Charity had this idea—”

Patrick chuckled. “I’m guessing if the idea belonged to Charity, it was anything but innocent.”

“Well, maybe, but Faith thought it would be okay, and we prayed about it first.”

He lifted a brow. “A prayerful plot . . . I see. And did it work?”

She chewed on her lip, and her father gave her a wry smile. “Spare me the details, darlin’, and just tell me one thing. Are you okay? You disappeared awfully quickly after dinner, without even a kiss for your tired, old father. That’s not like you, Lizzie.”

“I’m sorry, Father. I just haven’t been myself lately.”

He studied her for a long moment, then kissed her forehead again. “I know, darlin’, and it’s been worrying me. I love you, Lizzie. From the moment you could read a book, you’ve always been my shy bookworm, in love with the idea of being in love. But I believe God has the real thing waiting for you, down the road a wee bit. But you just have to be patient and understand . . . it might not be Brady.”

She nodded her head, and a single tear sailed down her cheek. “I know, Father. Pray for me, will you?”

He reached to gently brush the tear from her face and then scooped her into a deep hug. “I already do, darlin’, and I’ve no plans to stop.” He rose to his feet. “I love you, Lizzie, you’re my girl. Now get some sleep, you hear?”

Her father’s calming scent lingered long after his footsteps faded from the room. She finally turned on her side with a groan. “Sleep,” she muttered to herself, then punched her pillow with a final thrust. “Easier said than done.”

Patrick jolted awake, his toothbrush still foaming in his mouth. Sweet mercy from above, how could a man fall asleep on his feet while brushing his teeth? He spit in the sink and rinsed, quite certain he had never been this tired.