Love's Revenge (Entangled Scandalous) (13 page)

Stephen released his grasp and sat back in his chair. He drew a hand through his damp hair. “Have I come at an inopportune time?” Otto asked.

“No, please, join us.” She patted one side of the table. She had wanted to know the truth desperately. But now that Stephen was willing to share it, she was afraid.

Otto pulled over a chair from an adjoining table.

“How did your meeting go with the general?” she asked.

“Well, I think I will have to remain in Canon City until General Adams can confirm plans with Army headquarters, then I’m to head to Ouray’s hunting camp. I hope I will not be too late.”

“Do you think Ouray can control the young hot-heads that long?” Stephen asked him.

“I think so. I only hope that bureaucratic bungling doesn’t delay us.”

“Let’s hope that for once they show good sense.” Stephen signaled the waitress. “Another glass, please.”

“I stopped by Grayson’s. I told the weasel that you would be needing provisions and to give you only the best. He is an astute man. He knows I provide a good part of his living. He will not dare cross me on this.”

“Thank you.” Stephen finally appeared to relax. “You know how highly I value your friendship and your advice.” Unspoken communication passed between the two men. She was sure of it, but hadn’t a clue as to what it could mean.

The waitress poured a glass of wine for Otto and the Russian raised his glass. “To friendship then.” Otto touched his glass to Stephen’s and then to Kate’s.

Stephen in turn held his glass out to Kate. “To friendship and the trust that it brings.”

She hesitated, madly torn by contradicting emotions. “To friendship,” she finally offered and perhaps someday soon to trust, she added mentally.

Chapter Fifteen

Stephen paced the dark hotel room. He had not lit the single gas lamp that sat on the small bureau. He was content to let the room match his dark thoughts.

Damn Otto.
The opportunity had been lost. After dinner, Otto had even accompanied them upstairs to their rooms. There had been no further opportunity to tell her.

He stopped his pacing long enough to run his hands through his hair. He remembered the events of the morning. The smell of lavender about her, the salty taste of her skin. He became aroused. It was the same as the first time he had seen her, the night of the Veiled Prophet’s Ball. Then it had been a pure visceral reaction. Now it was something more. The past few weeks had changed everything.

For two long years, he had fought to keep the memory of Lizzie—her sweetness, her gentleness, her laughter, and her trust. It had been a battle that gnawed at his insides and played tricks with his mind. It had been two years of sheer hell filled with hatred for the man responsible for her death.

That was his world until St. Louis. Until he had seen Katherine Barker and his son. What had started as a battle for custody had turned into something else—something he had never anticipated.

Since he had found Katherine, he had come to peace with his memories of Lizzie. He had been able to enfold them softly in the good times and block out the tragedy of her death. His memories of Lizzie were finally safe, never to be mangled or destroyed by the past or the future.

Finding Kate had freed him. Kate was not Lizzie. He realized that with every breath she took, with every word she spoke.

His love for Kate had caught him unaware. One minute they were battling for Andy and the next they were battling each other, fighting the realization that their relationship no longer hinged solely on Andy.

More real than any memories of Lizzie, his love for Katherine had been his salvation. To lose her now would be the final blow.

Otto had said he must tell her. He had run out of time. He walked to the door and, turning the knob, opened the door a crack. He paused to listen. She was still awake. He could still hear her whispered movements and muffled footsteps. She was probably preparing for bed. That knowledge flooded his mind with unbidden thoughts.

He pictured her as she undressed in the lamplight. Saw her white shoulders as she stepped out of her dress. He stopped himself.

What had he said to Otto about honor? That he had none? That the last vestiges of anything resembling honor had fled in the last two years?

If he went to her now, went to her room, he would do the very thing he had promised Otto he would not do. He could not trust himself, not now, not tonight. It would have to wait until morning.

He closed the door, shutting out the single shaft of light that streamed into the dark hallway. He walked away from the door, back to the window that faced out on the street. Moonlight cast a blue glow over the small town. The saloon still vibrated with activity, and its windows sent out enough lamplight to drive away the cool blue haze.

The rest of the town lay quiet. At the end of the street, the white stucco of the prison walls undulated with shadows. Demons crawled along the rough exterior, climbing the pristine walls to gain access to hell.

He tensed. His grip on the window casing tightened. Small beads of sweat formed on his brow. And every ugly stripe, every lacerated piece of flesh on his back ached anew.

…

She heard the door to his room across the hall open. She pressed her dress, slipped off moments before, to her chest. She waited. She did not breathe, did not move.

Would he come?

Was she a fool to want him to come?

For what seemed an eternity, she waited. Then the door closed and his footsteps retreated into his room. What did it mean? What had this morning meant? She had dismissed any attempt on his part to explain. She had become frightened when he offered to tell her where he’d been the last two years. But she couldn’t afford to be frightened. She needed to know.

Did he love her? She couldn’t be sure. She was sure of only one thing. She was in danger of loving him. Loving him so madly that to lose him would be as painful as losing Andy.

She laid her dress on the lone chair in the room. Slowly she unbuttoned her chemise and slipped it off, likewise her drawers. She picked up her silk nightgown and let it slip over her naked body. Its caress left her skin painfully alive. Shakily she tied the satin ribbons that ran from her neck to her waist. She walked to the small bureau and picked up her hairbrush. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and began to brush her hair. With every stroke she became more aware of every pore of her skin, every hair on her body.

She finished her hair and picked up her silk wrapper. Pulling it tightly around her, she walked to the window. She was not tired. She was more awake than she’d ever been in her life.

The moon must have risen, for the newly fallen snow that capped the mountains had a life of its own. It glistened and sparkled enticingly in the cool blue light. Tomorrow they would be alone in these mountains. Alone with each other. The mountains would be their touchstone, the means to determine the true value of their feelings for one another.

She crawled into bed, her back against the headboard. She knew as well as he that something was terribly unfinished between them.

…

Kate awoke suddenly in the middle of the night. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She listened. There was only silence.

But something had awoken her. She was sure of it.

The scream that had torn through her dreams and left her panting for breath repeated itself. It came from Stephen’s room.

She rushed to the door of her room and opened it a crack. The hall was quiet. The moon, high in the sky, cast a lone blue streak through a window at the far end of the dark corridor. It raced along the bare wood floor only to stop just short of her door.

Kate could hear his moans now. She crossed the narrow hallway in two steps. The cold wood floor sent a chill up her spine. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears. She listened carefully at the door. There was no movement. Clearly no one else was in the room. But neither were there words to explain the guttural noises. Was he having a nightmare? She knocked at the door. There was no answer—only the muffled sounds of pain.

Desperate, she tried the door. It opened soundlessly and she stepped into the darkness.

The moon had moved beyond his window. All that remained of it was a soft haze that filled the room. Nothing appeared amiss. Then she saw him.

He was asleep, if sleep were the proper term. She closed the door behind her and approached him. He lay face down on the bed. The linens had been thrown off to his waist. The wreck of his back lay raw in the blue mist of light. His body was tense. The muscles of his back contorted. His hands clenched.

He twitched suddenly, his hands clawing at the bed sheets, his guttural moan unearthly.

Kate watched helplessly, his agony her own. The dark scars that crisscrossed his back told a story of pain that was clearly still alive in his mind and his soul. She moved to the bed, unsure of what to do.

Hesitantly, she reached out to wake him. He jerked in response to her touch and once again moaned.

Even more gently, she laid her hand on the rugged terrain of his back. This time he did not move. Her eyes filled with tears as her fingers traced the rivers of pain that marred his back. What agony he must have endured. The fretwork of scars and lesions created a map of misery and torture.

Her heart broke for him. Her distress threatened her reason.

She couldn’t help herself. Bending over the ragged remains of his back, she traced one particularly ugly welt with kisses.

“Stephen,” she whispered.

She crouched beside the bed, her head level with his. “Stephen.” She touched his sweat-covered brow and pushed away a lock of black hair. She let her hand rest on the strong line of his jaw and stroked his stubbled cheek with her thumb.

“Stephen, wake up.”

Slowly he opened his eyes. He lay quietly for a long moment before he spoke. “I didn’t think you were real.”

“Do I look like part of your nightmare?” she asked with a tentative smile.

“No,” he whispered, “you look like part of a dream.” He reached out and gently stroked her cheek. “But I can’t be sure.”

Kate leaned forward and kissed him softly. “And now?”

“Now,” he said, “I’m sure it’s a dream.”

He rolled back on his side and drew her up until she sat beside him on the bed. As he did, the bedclothes shifted. The crumpled sheet lay low on his abdomen, well below his waist. He was completely naked.

She studied the muscled planes of his chest and the soft dark hair that tapered down to his waist and below. He followed her gaze.

“Love me, Kate,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes, her mind warring with her heart and her body.

When she did not answer, he begged for even more. “Trust me, Kate.”

He eased her down until she lay beside him.

He rose up on an elbow to study her. Nestling his hand into her hair, he stroked her cheek with his thumb.

“I think I have made a terrible mistake,” he whispered.

Kate’s breath caught. She could not inhale. Could not exhale.

“I think I have fallen in love with you.” His breath stirred the fine hairs at her temple.

“Is that a mistake?” She smiled.

“You must tell me,” he urged. She removed his hand from her hair and pressed a kiss into his palm.

She looked into his eyes and was lost in their black depths. Whatever it was he hid from her, it didn’t shadow the love reflected there. Trust him. At this point she could do no less.

He bent and brushed her lips with his own. There was a hesitancy that comes only with love. He pulled back as if asking her acquiescence.

She wanted him. Wanted to bury herself in him. Pass through him and be changed. Now that was possible. She reached up and cradled his face in her hands. She guided him back until his lips met hers and then she opened her mouth to guide him still farther into her.

His lust overpowered her. His hand moved into her hair, pulling her mouth hard against his. His tongue explored every recess, every cranny, and withdrew so that his lips could caress the sensitive corners of her mouth.

His hand slipped from her hair down the silk that clung to her back until he could grasp her buttocks and press her into him.

The feel of his erection hard against her sent a tremor to her very core. She arched her body and let her head fall back. He took what she offered, seeking out the soft indentation at the base of her neck with his tongue. Her desire quickened. She found new pleasure in the warm, rough texture of his tongue stroking the sensitive skin of her neck. A shiver rushed through her and his body tensed.

From the first moment she had seen his dark eyes in the crowd in St. Louis, she had wanted him. From his first touch, from his first kiss, there had been a sense that their relationship was incomplete. Now, here in his arms, she would finally find what she desired. She could not stop now. Not until she was satiated.

He slid up her body until he could seal her eyes with kisses. His teeth and tongue teased her ears attuned now to the slightest movement, the slightest pressure. A jerked response in her center followed his every nibble, his every lick.

She could stand it no longer. She guided him back to her lips. She started at the small indentations at the side of his mouth, teasing and cajoling until he moaned. She moved her mouth over his and began to explore him as he had her.

He grasped her waist and lifted her onto him as he rolled to his back. His hands moved to her thighs and he pulled her up until she sat at his waist. His gaze overflowed with desire. She felt powerful and helpless all at the same time.

He pushed back the soft silk of her wrapper, gliding it down her arms until it lay in a limp pile at her waist. He nudged it and it slithered onto the floor.

She closed her eyes as a strong finger traced the line of her chin and down the side of her neck. Both his hands cradled her face and drew her down to be kissed again. His long fingers worked the satin ribbons of her silk nightgown. Anticipation brought the fine hairs on her arms alive and upright. She could hear her heartbeat loud in her ears. The slowness with which he worked was agony and ecstasy at the same time. She watched him watching her. He seemed pleased that she found the slow pace as exciting as he did. He was teaching her the pleasure to be found in anticipation.

When the last ribbon was freed, he laid his hands across her chest with his thumbs nestled into the hollow at the base of her throat. He slowly spread his hands across her shoulders, removing her gown. The warmth of his touch moved down her arms and the coolness of the night air found her breasts. He pushed the gown still lower until it fell across her thighs as she straddled him.

Slowly, almost reverently, he covered her breasts with his hands and closed his eyes. He cupped them and cradled them, letting his thumb glide over the firmness of her nipples. Once again, an invisible string, taut to breaking, carried the stimulation to the apex of her thighs where she was swollen and full...and wet with need.

She bent over him and kissed his eyelids. She kissed his temples and his forehead, while he found the dark areoles of her breasts with his tongue and circled them, tempted them, one after the other. Her nipples, hard and erect, found pleasure in his breath as it warmed them. Together they explored, advancing and retreating as their passion flared and burned. Finally he rolled over, taking her with him until she was under him.

He moved along the length of her, planting kisses down her breastbone and on her stomach. And he did not stop there.

“No,” she gasped, grabbing his hands where they cradled her hips.

“Trust me, Katherine, I won’t hurt you.” His voice was barely above a whisper. It carried a tenderness he had never expressed before. It melted the last shreds of her resistance.

He pressed a kiss at the edge of the soft curls that nestled above her thighs.