The Farther I Fall (14 page)

“I know you're feeling protective,” he said. “I don't need protective right now.”

Protective could wait a while longer, perhaps. Gwen caught him around the waist and slithered up the length of his body, his urgency catching fire in her veins. She pushed him down and stood over him, patiently removing the tangle of his boots and jeans.

He slid up the bed while she undressed. She barely managed to hide a grin when he started squirming against the bedspread, watching as she walked around the side of the bed to get the condoms. Finally, his patience wore out. “Come here.”

She obeyed, crawling across the bed toward him on her hands and knees. His eyes flared, and as soon as she was within reach, he pulled her in and rolled her over. His skin was flushed pink and his breathing uneven. When he kissed her, it felt like he wanted to crawl into her skin. She trailed her hand down the curve of his back and arse, making him exhale in a noisy rush. The heat of his skin radiated from him, and oh God, how much hotter would he be inside her?

He found the spot above her jugular that made her shiver and sucked at it fiercely. Meanwhile he stroked his hand down her belly, fingers curling between her legs. Gwen groaned and arched her hips against his hand, parting her thighs still further. She could feel him parting her lips, teasing and testing to see how wet she was already.

“Please,” she gasped.

He nipped at her collarbone, kissing across her chest to mouth at first one nipple, then the other. His fingers dipped and stroked, teasing the tender flesh between her vagina and her clit, then rolling the latter lightly between two fingers. It sent a jolt of pleasure up her spine, and she felt herself getting slicker. Lucas felt it too, and slid a finger down to press inside her.

“
Please,
” she said again. It was driving her mad, having enough of him to make her feel good, but not enough of what she really needed.

He started fluttering his fingertip in and out, and she couldn't help the string of quiet whimpers she made. He lifted his mouth from the skin of her belly and murmured, “Tell me.”

“Fuck me. Oh God, stop teasing and
fuck me
.” She was begging and she didn't care, desperate to have him inside her. She writhed against his hand. She opened her eyes to see him watching, transfixed at the sight of his fingers moving in and out of her. He gave her a slow, deadly smile. While she watched, he grabbed the condom with his free hand and tore open the wrapper with his teeth.

“Come here.” She grabbed him by the hip. He tried to go slow but she wouldn't let him, arching up into him as soon as he started to enter her.

“Ow, carefu—oh
God
,” he growled, bending over her, his hair spilling over and brushing her skin.

She held on to him as he gave in to his urgency, driving into her again and again. The hair was standing up all over her body and she couldn't stop the noises she was making. They clawed and bit at each other, both overwhelmed by the need to possess and be possessed.

When she came, it was like being knocked under by an ocean wave, dragged under by the riptide until she was just a body floating at sea. He collapsed against her, body trembling. She kissed his cheek, brushing back his hair to nuzzle against the damp skin over his shoulders. She rolled them onto their sides, her arms wrapped around his waist. He took one of her hands and kissed it, but was otherwise uncharacteristically quiet. She withdrew slowly to clean them both up. When she came back, he was curled on his side in the bed. She could see small tremors running through him. Now maybe he would let her be protective again. She lay next to him and pulled him close, wrapping him up in her arms and legs and nestling him to her chest.

“We'll get through this,” she murmured against his hair.

“What if we don't?” Before she could ask what he meant, he turned over and buried his face against her shoulder. “What if—”

“Shh.” Gwen pulled back and tilted his chin up so she could look him in the eye. “We'll get through this,” she repeated.

He watched her, his beautiful eyes dark with a worry that twisted something in her heart. “Gwen.” He paused for long enough that she thought he wasn't going to continue. “I love you.”

It shouldn't have caught her off guard, the creeping glow of warmth that moved across her face and skin. Despite everything, the uncertainty of the future, her worries about his recovery, she couldn't fight the smile that curved her lips. Of all the times, he picked now. “You idiot.” A bubble of ridiculous joy rose and burst inside her. “I love you too.” She nuzzled his hair, murmuring, “See? It's going to be all right.”

After a long while, it was.

Lee insisted on picking them up from Ronald Reagan Airport, a process that took much longer than it should have, thanks to a pair of fans who'd recognized him as they were waiting to get their luggage.

Once they were on the road, it started sleeting, leaving Gwen clutching the door every time the car skidded even a little.

“That's three shows we've canceled,” Lucas complained from the backseat. “The record company is having a fit over this. I never should have agreed.”

It was the same argument they'd been having for days now. “Someone tried to kidnap you, asshole,” Lee said. “You were coming home anyway—what's a few extra days?”

When Gwen had first agreed to this trip, it had sounded romantic and lovely. She should have gone back to LA. Or stayed at the hotel with the others who weren't going home over the break. She and Lucas hadn't been a couple long enough to justify Christmas with each other's families, especially not under these circumstances.

She dozed off, waking when Lee announced, “We're here!” as he was turning onto a side road; or at least Gwen thought it was a side road at first. It turned out to be a long, tree-lined driveway. There was a house visible through the rain and sleet, maybe half a mile ahead. Although she wasn't certain it should properly be called a “house” at all. “Mansion” seemed much more accurate.

Gwen stared at the enormous brick house in mounting horror as they drove up the drive. “This can't be your house.”

Lucas sat up between the two front seats and grinned at her. “Of course not. It's my mother's house.”

“You grew up in that house.” She couldn't stop staring. The brick was a tasteful, dull red. The center section of the house was three stories, but there were wings on each side that were only two stories each. She counted six chimneys and dozens of windows.

“We did, yeah,” Lucas said, indicating Lee.

“How—” Gwen stopped, uncertain of what she wanted to ask. It wasn't exactly Buckingham Palace, but it was the largest house she'd seen so far in the US, and whatever she'd expected from Sam's intimations that Lucas's family were “a bit posh,” this wasn't it.

Lee followed the drive around to a garage that was nearly the size of one of the wings of the main house. He turned off the car and slid out. “I'm going to run in and let Mom know we're here. Take your time.” He gave Lucas a significant look and left them alone.

Lucas darted around the car and opened Gwen's door before she had her seat belt off. She laughed, trying to ignore the quivering knot in her stomach. “You should have warned me that coming home would improve your manners.”

He put his arm around her and put up an umbrella. “C'mon. Let's go in the front door so you can get the full effect.” Their feet crunched on the gravel as they rounded the house. Gwen kept looking up at the elegant, clean facade.

“It's beautiful,” she said.
And terrifying.

“It's a pain in the ass and I wish Mom would sell it,” Lucas snorted. “It's been in the family for generations though, so it's unlikely.”

Gwen stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Lucas, why didn't you tell me?”

“I thought you knew,” he said. “Besides, what does it matter?” He turned toward the door, but she held him in place.

“It matters.” She let go of him to run a hand over her hair, painfully aware that her hairbrush was packed away in her suitcase, which was still in the trunk of the car. For the servants to bring in, no doubt. And unpack. The knot in her stomach tightened painfully.

“Why?” He finally looked at her, frowning.

Gwen took a deep breath. “Never mind. It's nothing.”

He frowned at her, then sighed, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “You look fine. Come on, I'm freezing.”

The double front door was a gleaming white, and it swung open before Lucas could touch the bell. “Welcome home, Mr. Lucas,” the man said. His bearing was ramrod straight, and his accent wouldn't have sounded out of place at the palace. He wasn't wearing a tuxedo as Gwen might have expected, but he was smartly dressed in a waistcoat and tie. An actual English butler. She'd assumed the stories of English butlers being sought out worldwide was a myth. He took their coats and Lucas's umbrella.

“Thanks, Henderson,” Lucas said. “Good to see you. This is Gwen Tennison; she'll be staying with us over the holiday.”

Gwen fought the urge to extend her hand to shake, especially when Henderson gave her a short bow. “Ms. Tennison, Mr. Leighton said you'd be coming. Very nice to meet you, ma'am.” He turned to Lucas. “Your room is prepared, sir. There is a guest room for Ms. Tennison as well . . .”

Lucas handed him the car keys. “Actually, if you can see that Ms. Tennison's things are put in my room, that'd be great.”

“Very good, sir. Your mother and Mr. Leighton are in the upstairs sitting room.”

He left when Lucas nodded, giving Gwen a chance to actually look at the room she was standing in, although she supposed it was called a hall or foyer. The ceiling soared overhead, and practically every surface—floor, ceiling, walls—was covered in gleaming, warmly polished woodwork. Christmas-themed bouquets decorated tables, and an elaborate staircase was straight ahead, draped with pine garlands. The decoration was Baroque in its elegance and excess, and if the rest of the house was like this, it was going to be a very long visit. She didn't want to so much as smudge the shining floor with her footprints, much less sit on any furniture.

As if reading her mind, Lucas said, “The upstairs is much more informal. We have a docent who gives tours through the lower floor periodically, so Mom keeps it decorated the way it was when the house was built.”

“Which was?”

“Seventeen seventy-five,” he said, then grinned. “Which probably doesn't merit a note in the historical register in the UK, I know, but it's pretty old here.”

“It's old enough,” Gwen breathed.

“Come on, let's get the introductions over with.” He led her toward the staircase.

“You're that sure she's going to disapprove of me?”

“No,” Lucas said, and leaned down to give her a soft kiss on the lips. “I'm worried that you're going to disapprove of
her
.”

They climbed the stairs, and Lucas had been telling the truth. The upstairs was still decorated with a sure and elegant hand, but it didn't make her worry about breathing on a priceless antique. As they reached the top, straight ahead was an open set of French doors, and beyond them an invitingly lit room. A woman laughed, then Lee said, “I tried to stop it, but the mule had already made up its mind that being a pack animal was not its chosen profession.”

“Oh God, are you still telling that story?” Lucas said as he stepped into the room with Gwen in tow.

“Lucas!” The woman stood and waited for Lucas to come over and embrace her. She bore little resemblance to her sons, except for the same bright blue eyes and fair skin. Instead, she had silvering blond hair pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck and a gracious expression on her face. “And this must be Gwen. I've heard so much about you.” She held out both hands, and Gwen stepped forward, accepting a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. Mrs. Wheeler looked back at her sons and added, “From
both
the boys. You've made quite an impression.”

Gwen's cheeks got hot, the feeling seeping back to her ears and down the back of her neck. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wheeler. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Maureen, I insist,” she said. The other thing she had in common with her sons was her height. She towered over Gwen, and wasn't even wearing heels. “Sit down, you both must be exhausted. The boys think I don't know what's going on, but they've always underestimated their mother. I'm glad you're both safe here.”

Lucas wore a faint smile. “I've been around far too many other people for the past two months.” He sat on one of the sofas, patting the spot next to him for Gwen. “I needed the quiet.”

“Terrible liar,” Maureen said affectionately. “Lee, get them a drink.” Maureen paused. On anyone else it would have been an awkward pause. From her, it just seemed a trifle uncertain. “Oh dear. You probably aren't supposed to drink anymore, are you, dear?”

“It's fine, I don't want anything right now.” Lucas glanced at Gwen with a flicker of a smile.

“I'm fine too, thank you,” Gwen said to Lee, who was hovering.

Lee grinned at her. “Are you sure? I can make a mean cup of tea, too.”

“Don't tempt me.” Some of Gwen's tension melted away.

“So, Gwen, has this been your first visit to the United States?” Maureen asked.

Lucas took her hand as she said, “Not the first visit, no. My sister Samantha works in Los Angeles—for Lucas's record label, in fact.”

“I think she may have been trying to set us up.” Lucas grinned at her. “You should ask her sometime.”

“You can ask her,” Gwen said. To Maureen, she said, “This is the first time I've seen so much of it, though. I haven't had a chance to do nearly as much sightseeing as I'd like.”

“While you're here, we'll have to take you to Williamsburg. It's just so quintessentially
American
, and they have such lovely Christmas decorations.”

“Speaking of,” Lucas said, “where's the tree? Are you not putting one up this year?”

“I wanted to wait until my boys were home,” Maureen said, and her smile was misty. “We'll decorate it after dinner, if that's all right.”

Lucas wrinkled his nose, but Gwen squeezed his hand and said, “That sounds lovely.”

***

Gwen burst out laughing the moment Lucas opened the door to what she presumed was his childhood bedroom. “Oh my God,” she said.

The room was dominated—but only just, given the size of the room—by a giant canopy bed, complete with hangings in a luscious burgundy velvet. There was a sitting area, and one wall featured a fireplace that was lit and burning brightly. Not only were there fresh-cut flowers everywhere, but lit candles covered many of the surfaces. The room was warm and smelled of beeswax.

Lucas rubbed his forehead. “Mother has gone out of her way to give us her stamp of approval.”

“Please tell me it wasn't decorated like this when you were a child.”

“Would you trust a child with this furniture?” Lucas crossed the room and sat on the settee, leaning over to loosen his boots and kick them off.

“I'm not sure I trust me with this furniture.” Gwen pulled off her own shoes, groaning at the feel of the deep carpet beneath her feet. “Can I—” She gestured at the candles. “That's making me nervous.”

“You're supposed to think it's romantic.” He grinned. “You didn't think Mom was telling stories about her nieces and nephews just because she likes kids, did you? She wanted to find out what you thought of children.”

She tried not to think about that too much as she went around the room extinguishing candles.

“She likes you.” Lucas caught up to her and put his arms around her waist from behind.

“How do you know?” All evening, all through dinner and decorating the tree, Maureen never seemed anything other than perfectly polite.

Lucas nuzzled at her ear. “Didn't you hear her when she dropped that glass ornament?”

“Yeah?” Gwen blew out the last candle and moved away from Lucas, taking his abandoned spot on the settee.

“She said ‘shit.' I've never heard her say anything remotely vulgar in front of anybody other than immediate family.” He smiled at her, and she managed a weak one in return. “She may as well have hung up a sign that said ‘Welcome to the Family.'”

“I didn't think anything of it.”

“That's because you don't know her,” Lucas said. He came over and sat next to her and tugged her over to lean on him. The position felt stiff and awkward, and she tried to get comfortable. The settee was probably a priceless antique; somehow cuddling on it seemed wrong.

“I'm glad she likes me.”

She would have thought that a house so enormous would have any number of rattles and creaks, but all she could hear was the snapping of the fireplace, and the occasional tick of sleet on the six tall windows that lined two opposite walls of the room, three to a side.

“Did you like her?” Lucas asked finally.

“She's very nice.”

“Is that all?”

Gwen sat up and turned to face him. “This is . . .” She paused, waving her hand at the room. “It's a little overwhelming.”

“What, the house?” Lucas wrinkled his brow. “You'll get used to it, really. It's just a house.”

“No, Lucas, this is not ‘just a house.' Places that qualify as ‘just a house' are not on historical registers and don't have docents leading tours through them.” She stood up and walked over to the fireplace, needing to move, like ants were marching over her skin.

“You're mad because I didn't tell you.”

The fire was warm and soothing, so she held her hands out to it. “Yeah. I am, a little.”

“What difference does it make where I grew up?”

“You grew up in
this
. I grew up in a tiny house in the middle of England. You don't think that makes a difference?”

“You think it does?” He came over and took one of her hands. “Look, if it helps, I haven't taken any money from my family since I was eighteen, except for college tuition.”

“It's not about the money,” she said. “Why is it always money with Americans?”

“Why is it always class with the English?”

Gwen sighed. “I'm sorry. I just . . . I don't fit in to this.” She let him wrap his arms around her and pull her close, and he rested his chin on top of her head.