Marriage On Demand. Сьюзен Мэллери
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months before the wedding, he was in a bad car accident. A year later he died.”
“Must have been hard on you.”
A polite remark most people made. Funny, but she had the feeling Austin really meant it. “It was. About a year and a half after I lost him, I moved here. Like I said, I’ll never forget him, but it’s getting easier.”
Most of the time. Without wanting to she remembered the way Wayne had looked in his hospital room and the expression on his face when the doctor had told him he would never walk again, would never do all the physical things he’d so loved. She remembered his pain when the doctor had gently explained he would never be “a man” again. Wayne hadn’t been able to meet her eyes. He’d never cried in her presence, but she’d shed enough tears for the both of them.
It was her greatest regret, she acknowledged to herself. She would have married Wayne, anyway, and had that last year together, but he didn’t want to. He told her he wouldn’t saddle her with someone who was less than a man. He’d sounded so bitter that she’d never brought up the subject again. But it had lingered in that hospital room like an unwelcome third party. He’d never said the words, but she knew he blamed her.
It was her fault. She’d been the one to hold back. While they’d dated and been engaged, they’d played and loved like any young couple, but they’d put off going all the way until they were married. Because she’d asked him to. There had been so many wonderfully sensual things to do together that she hadn’t minded not consummating their love. Until it was too late and she’d found out their love would never be expressed in the ultimate act of sharing. She would never marry the man she loved, never carry his child.
All the years they’d spent together, she’d guarded her virginity, ready to give it as the most precious gift a bride could bring her husband. In the end, Wayne had died hating her for keeping herself from him. Her innocence had mocked him, reminding him of what he’d lost, of what he could never have again. It mocked her, as well. She was an anachronism. A twenty-nine-year-old virgin who had saved herself. For what? Her “gift” was a reminder of all she’d lost. It no longer had meaning. She wanted it disposed of and forgotten.
“Rebecca?”
“Hmm?” She glanced up and saw Austin staring at her. She blinked several times. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About Wayne?”
She sighed. “Yes. It’s difficult losing someone like that. There were so many unresolved issues. I wanted to explain it all to him, but he wouldn’t listen. I can’t blame him. It was my fault.”
She stopped talking and realized Austin didn’t have a clue what she was going on about. He nodded encouragingly, giving her permission to continue, but she couldn’t. What was she supposed to say? Gee, Austin, I’m really upset because my late fiancé and I never went all the way. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old virgin and I’m sick of it. Want to help me out?
Her line of thinking should have shocked her. It didn’t. Which meant she was in more trouble than she’d thought.
She didn’t know how long she’d been quiet, but suddenly she became aware of a tension in the room. It was a subtle vibration that seemed to reach deep inside of her, warming her from the inside out, causing her pulse to quicken and her skin to tingle.
She glanced across the table and saw Austin watching her. His gray eyes glowed in the candlelight. His irises were the color of the storm. Stubble darkened his cheeks and jaw, shadowing the lines of his face, making him look more dangerous. He inhaled deeply. The slight movement caused his earring to catch the light. The gold glinted sharply, once again making her think of pirates and treasure, of captured women and forbidden love.
It was becoming difficult to breathe. She told herself it was just a foolish reaction to being in the same room with the object of her crush. Maybe it was because she’d been thinking about and missing Wayne. Or it could have been the result of her exhaustion. Since the fire, she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep or a moment’s rest. When she hadn’t been scouting for supplies, she’d been figuring out a way to approach Austin about borrowing his house. She still found it hard to believe he’d said yes. He didn’t have to. A lot of people would have turned her away, citing problems with noise, potential destruction or insurance.
So many people nicknamed him the devil, but he’d been very nice to her. In fact—
“Stop looking at me like that,” he growled.
She stiffened, startled by the anger in his voice. “Like what?”
“Like I’m some damn noble prince riding in on a white horse. I’m not anybody’s idea of a hero, and if you think I am, then you’re worse than a fool.”
He drained the last of the wine into his glass, then slammed down the bottle. “The storm is already almost over,” he said, glaring at her. “In the morning the road will be dry enough for you to drive out of here. If not, I’ll dig out the damn car myself.”
“You swear a lot,” she said without thinking.
“You don’t swear enough.”
“I don’t swear at all.”
He grimaced. “That’s my point. We have nothing in common. I like my women experienced and easy. You’re not either.”
She was too shocked to blush. She stared at him. “Wh-what are you talking about?”
He leaned over the table far enough to grab a handful of her hair. He wrapped it around his hand twice and then pulled her close, until their mouths were millimeters apart.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Rebecca. Believe me, I, of all people, understand the appeal of what’s forbidden. But I’m one man you shouldn’t try to tame. I’m not interested.”
She flinched as if he’d slapped her. Before she could control herself, her eyes filled with tears. Her face grew hot, then cold. She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly in his grasp.
“Damn it all to hell,” he muttered. “I’m not trying to hurt you. You’re not my type. More important, I’m not yours. I’m no Wayne whatever-his-name-was who helped little old ladies cross the street. I’m a selfish bastard. And I do mean bastard, lady. In every sense of the word.”
She studied his mouth as he spoke, feeling the sweet puffs of his breath on her face. He was being cruel in a good way. She was sure in time she would be grateful. For now she just wanted to crawl under the table and die. Or have him kiss her. Despite his taunting words, her body was reacting to his closeness. She wanted to scream in frustration. She was too old to have a crush on a man.
She drew in a deep breath and gathered what little dignity and strength she had left. “Austin, I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t—”
She never got to finish her sentence. He pulled on her hair, dragging her that last millimeter so that their lips touched. Mouth to mouth, he held her in place, not moving, not breathing, just touching gently, firmly, erotically.
Involuntarily her eyes fluttered shut. Heat poured through her as if someone had doused her with sun-warmed rain. Her toes curled and her fingers gripped the edge of the table. When she thought she would go mad from the bliss, he moved his head slightly, brushing her lips. More heat, fiery heat, flared between them. She gasped for breath. His tongue reached out and touched the tip of hers. Before she could melt in place, he released her and rose to his feet.
She sank back in the chair and listened to the thundering of her heart. Her hands were shaking, her breasts felt inflamed, that secret place between her thighs throbbed painfully. She didn’t dare look at him. What if he hadn’t felt the same reaction?
She caught her breath. What if he had?
Without saying a word, Austin stood up and stalked across the room. He opened the armoire and pulled out a pale garment, then walked back to her.
“Here,” he said, tossing