My Darling Melissa (35 page)

Melissa shook her head with such purpose that she became dizzy. She closed her eyes. “No. Nothing can happen to this child—I won’t let it.”

“Sleep,” Quinn ordered, offering no argument, no reminders that life can be unmercifully treacherous.

Even though her exhaustion was fathomless, Melissa was afraid to lapse into sleep. She might awaken to find that her baby was gone, and she couldn’t take that chance. “Hold me,” she said.

After only a few moments of hesitation Quinn removed his boots and his fancy suit coat, now rumpled and dirty, and got into bed beside her in his shirt and trousers. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, and she drew strength from the scent and substance of him.

When she awakened light was pouring into the room, and Quinn was still beside her. The blanket he had put around her like a cocoon had fallen aside, and one of his hands rested on her belly as if to guard the tiny life within.

Melissa’s throat constricted with a jumble of emotions—joy because she knew her baby was safe, despair because she loved its father so desperately and so hopelessly, anger because she’d been so cruelly used that she’d never be able to forgive.

As she cast aside the last remnants of sleep, Melissa became aware of the deep, throbbing ache in her muscles. She hurt from head to foot, body and soul.

Quinn lifted his head from the pillow and looked at her as though surprised to see her there. After a moment he recovered, yawned expansively, and asked, “How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” she answered.

His hand rose from her stomach as though it were hot as a stovelid, then fell back to caress her in a gentle way. She was soothed, and the tears that had been welling to the surface subsided without disgracing her. She wanted Quinn, knowing that being possessed by him would be a fierce comfort, and she caught his hand in hers and brought it from her stomach to her breast.

Quinn drew in a sharp breath as he felt a nipple harden against his palm. “No, Melissa,” he said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed the rough, callused palm and then the underside of his wrist.

He groaned. “Damn it, you’re in no condition. .. .”

Melissa opened his shirt and slid down to take mischievous nips at a masculine nipple with her lips. She felt him rise to straining magnificence against her thigh.

“Oh, God,” he gasped, and then, in a violent effort at chivalry, he hurled himself out of bed and stood there gasping.

Melissa’s disappointment was cruel, even though she understood his fear. Still, something deep within her said that loving was safe, that no harm would come to the baby because of it. “Please,” she said, and her desire was an ache inside her, an ache of the spirit as well as the body.

Quinn glared at her for a few moments, then went into the bathroom. Melissa was afraid that she’d been abandoned, but when he returned he was naked. He came and knelt beside the bed, gently peeling away the blankets that concealed her until she lay bare and bruised and vulnerable before him.

With a strangled cry, he bent and kissed her collarbone
where her flesh had been scraped raw, but his hand caressed her breast. Soon his mouth was there, too, tasting the nipple, giving it a tender teasing.

Melissa moaned and arched her back, offering up another part of herself, and Quinn’s touch was like rain in a dry garden. She blossomed between his fingers as he pleased her, bringing her nearer and nearer to the treacherous solace she sought.

Writhing, her injuries forgotten for the moment, Melissa whimpered as Quinn propped her bottom up on two soft pillows and then rendered her completely vulnerable with a spreading motion of his fingers. When he came to slake her thirst by drinking of her she gave a lusty cry in welcome and entangled her hands in his hair.

He was gentle and yet ravenous, and he feasted upon Melissa until she’d given all she could give. Then he stroked her with his hand until her breathing was normal and she’d settled into a half trance of contentment.

She saw his desire when he stood and was sleepily amazed when he turned and crossed the room to the armoire. He was getting dressed, preparing to leave!

With tremendous effort Melissa roused herself out of sweet languor long enough to rise up on her elbows and ask, “Aren’t you getting into bed?”

Quinn shook his head, ramming his shirttails into his trousers. He had a little trouble buttoning them over his need for Melissa. “Not today,” he answered in a clipped tone.

Melissa wondered if he would go to some other woman—Gillian, for instance—for relief and found the idea unbearable. Wide awake now, she sat up, patted the mattress with one hand, and ordered quietly, “Come here, Quinn. Right now.”

He came to her as though she drew him by an invisible rope—reluctantly. Even angrily. But he could not defy her, and that knowledge gave Melissa a dizzying sense of triumph.

Kneeling on the bed, she opened Quinn’s trousers. He gave a growl of furious submission as she taught him the
futility of resisting her commands. The lessons were slow and thorough and completely brazen, and when Quinn had learned them Melissa restored his clothes to their proper order and sent him on his way.

An hour after he’d gone Helga arrived with Melissa’s notebooks and a lap desk. “Mr. Rafferty said you might want these,” she announced, watching the patient curiously, “so he had them fetched.”

Despite her bruises and scrapes and achy muscles Melissa felt strong, and she’d been frightfully bored. She reached out for the writing supplies eagerly.

The first thing she penned was a note to Charlotte explaining her absence. Helga promised to send one of the stable hands to deliver it and was just leaving the bedroom when Melissa stopped her with a question.

“Who was the fair-haired woman I saw in the entry hall last night?”

Helga smiled happily. “Oh, that was Becky Sever, missus. Mrs. Wright’s going traveling with her sister, and Becky will take her place.”

Melissa shrugged off the uneasy feeling that had gathered around her heart and returned Helga’s smile. “How nice for Mrs. Wright. I hope she won’t leave without saying good-bye to me.”

“Oh, she’d never do that, Mrs. Rafferty,” Helga protested, looking appalled.

Melissa didn’t bother to correct the maid; just for this day, this safe, cozy, tucked-away-by-the-fire day, she wanted to pretend that everything was proper and perfect.

She wrote industriously until midday, when Becky Sever brought her a tray. The woman was pretty and shy, and she said almost nothing. Melissa, disappointed that Quinn had not returned, was ready for a little conversation.

“What’s the weather like today?” she asked as the new housekeeper fluffed the pillows and tucked them back into place behind Melissa.

“Cloudy” was the soft response.

“Are you to be addressed as ‘Miss Sever’ or ‘Mrs.’?” Melissa persisted, undaunted.

“If it’s all the same to you, Mrs. Rafferty, I like to be called Becky.”

Melissa considered that. “If I’m to call you by your given name, then you’ll have to reciprocate. I’m not really Mr. Rafferty’s wife, you see.”

Becky blushed at this, and her gaze searched Melissa’s face briefly and then dodged away again. “Oh,” she said, clearly shocked. Her cheeks were bright with color, and she escaped the room as quickly as she could.

Since it was evident that she wasn’t going to be able to strike up a conversation with anyone, Melissa threw herself wholeheartedly into the story she was writing. She worked so hard that by the end of the day she felt as though she’d been cleaning out the Rip Snortin’ Saloon instead of just wielding a pen.

All the same, she grinned when Quinn came in because he looked so sheepish and gave the bed such a wide berth.

Melissa deliberately batted her eyelashes and drawled, “Why, Mr. Rafferty! Can it be that you’re afraid of little old me?”

Quinn laughed ruefully and squatted on the hearth to build up the dying fire. “I may never be the same, Calico,” he confessed. “How are you feeling tonight?”

“Bored,” Melissa answered fitfully, making fists of her hands and bringing them down hard on the bedcovers. “Bored, bored, bored!”

He rose back to his full height, setting the fireplace screen in place as the blaze caught and then dusting his hands together. His gaze was comically wary. “Don’t count on me for entertainment,” he warned. “I’m all done in.”

Melissa smiled. “Want to bet?”

With a wondering laugh Quinn thrust his hand through his hair. “You’re a brazen little scamp, aren’t you? I hardly dare imagine what you’ll be like when you’ve been in that bed a week.”

“I don’t plan to be confined for that long. My baby is all right, and so am I, and I’m leaving tomorrow.”

The mirthful indulgence in Quinn’s eyes was replaced by
annoyance. “You’re not doing anything of the sort.” He waggled a finger at her, growing more incensed with every passing moment. “If I have to, Calico, I’ll tie you to that damned bed!”

Melissa’s resolve weakened slightly in the face of his obvious sincerity, but she still protested, “My reputation will be ruined!”

“Your reputation? My darling, you haven’t had one since the day you arrived in this town, so don’t start worrying now!”

“I don’t want to argue, Quinn,” Melissa said softly, and she bit her lower lip and allowed tears to pool in her eyes. She even allowed her chin to quiver just a little.

Quinn was immediately contrite, just as Melissa had intended him to be. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. And then he brought two envelopes from his coat pocket. “I almost forgot. There were a couple of letters for you today.”

Melissa held out her hands delightedly and rubbed her fingers together until Quinn brought her the mail.

The first letter, and the fattest, was from her mother. It contained long, heartfelt exclamations of bridal happiness, descriptions of Harlan’s ranch and the people who lived and worked within its borders, and comical accounts of her efforts to give the enormous ranch house a feminine touch.

Bittersweet emotions filled Melissa as she read; she was delighted at her mother’s joy, but she also envied it. She finished the letter, folded it carefully, and opened the second one. Fancy had written a witty, harried narrative that made Melissa laugh out loud.

“Jeff and all the kids except Caroline have the chicken pox,” she paused to explain.

Quinn shook his head, clearly sympathetic to his gender. “That’s awful.”

Melissa read, then gave a little squeal of delight. “Fancy and Banner are ordering a motorcar so that they can travel back and forth to Olympia and plague the legislature to grant women the vote!”

Quinn laughed at that and sat down on the edge of the bed. When Melissa had finished reading the letter and was staring off into space and biting her lower lip, he took her hand in his. “You miss them a lot, don’t you?”

Melissa nodded, though it wasn’t just homesickness that was bothering her. She would have to write her mother and Fancy back now and admit to her scandalous predicament. She had no idea where to begin.

Quinn cupped her chin in his hand. His voice was low and gruffly tender. “I’ll take you home as soon as you’re well enough to travel, if that’s what you want.”

“You’re awfully eager to get rid of me, Mr. Rafferty,” Melissa accused, hurt.

He kissed her in that plying way he had and then murmured, “No. Never.”

She slid her arms around his neck and drew him into a second kiss. This one pressed her back into the pillows and brought a hesitant masculine hand to her breast. Quinn was the one to break away, short of breath.

“Damn you,” he muttered.

Melissa loosened his string tie and then unbuttoned his shirt to the middle of his chest. “I’ve been stuck in this bed all day, Mr. Rafferty,” she crooned innocently. “What I need is a nice, warm bath.”

Quinn groaned as she reached beneath the fabric of his shirt to caress him lightly with both hands.

“Care to join me?” she added saucily.

Quinn laughed miserably and halted her hands by resting his own over them. “No,” he said, but his eyes were warm as they lingered on her face.

He got up presently and left, and when Melissa heard water running in the bathroom she knew she’d won again. After several minutes had passed Quinn came back and carefully divested her of the bed jacket and matching silk nightgown she’d been wearing since that morning.

He grazed her taut nipples gently with his knuckles just to tease her, then lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. He lowered her gently into the massive tub, which was filled with warm, scented water, and began
bathing her. His attendance was slow and systematic, and when it was over Quinn had extracted proper vengeance.

She was limp with contentment when he dried her and carried her back to the bed. Someone had been in to change the sheets and lay out a fresh flannel nightgown, and Melissa submitted dreamily as Quinn pulled the garment over her head and tucked her in.

“I think I’ve learned the secret of keeping you docile,” he teased, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

Melissa couldn’t resist reminding him of the morning, he was so damnably smug and arrogant. “I know a few secrets myself, Mr. Rafferty,” she said.

Becky arrived with a dinner tray and left again. Melissa was so relaxed that she only fed herself half the meal—Quinn had to give her the rest. Soon enough he took the food away and turned out the lamp, and the only light in the room was the mysterious glow from the fireplace. Melissa slipped into a sweet, contented sleep.

Somewhere in the depths of the night sudden passion quickened her senses into a semblance of wakefulness. Bitter disappointment seized her when she realized that she’d only been dreaming. Quinn was not loving her; he was not even in bed with her.

The fire had been reduced to mere embers on the hearth. Melissa sat upright, feeling brutally lonely as the elemental truths of her situation struck her. While she would have her child, she would never be more than an amusement to Quinn, an occasional plaything. If he’d loved her, he would have insisted that they marry.

She lit the lamp and got carefully out of bed to see if Quinn was sleeping on the settee facing the fireplace. There was no sign of him, and Melissa sensed that he was nowhere in the house, so abject was her feeling of abandonment.