The Way Home (34 page)

“I’ve never tasted wine,” she admitted, giving her glass an uneasy look.

“Think of it as grape juice with a kick,” Ty said. Looking at him, she had the odd impression that he was pleased that she’d never tasted wine.

“Mind if I turn off a few lights?” he asked. Since he was already doing just that, Meg’s agreement seemed unimportant. He snapped off all the lights except a floor lamp in one comer, leaving the room in soft gloom. “This way we can really appreciate the fire,” he said as he came back to where she was sitting and the sofa cushion dipped as he sat down.

The mournful sound of violins filled the silence that followed. Meg stared at the fire and tried to think of something to say.

“The doughnuts were certainly a hit,” Ty said, when it seemed as if the silence might continue indefinitely.

“I think just about anything edible is a hit with pilots.”

“They enjoy your cooking,” Ty agreed. “But they enjoy your company, too.”

Something in his voice brought Meg’s eyes to his face. But there was nothing in his expression to imply that the comment was anything more than a casual remark.

“I like your friends,” she said, returning her attention to her untouched wine.

“They’re a pretty good bunch.” Ty took a sip of wine. “Max is a nice kid.”

“Yes.” She glanced at him and smiled. “They all are.”

If it hadn’t been crazy, she’d have thought that a subtle tension seemed to go out of Ty, as if there was some importance to her answer.

“Try the wine,” he said, gesturing to her glass. “It won’t bite.”

She took a cautious sip, her nose wrinkling slightly at the odd, heavy taste of it. “It doesn’t taste much like grape juice.”

“Give it time to grow on you,” Ty said, seeing her hesitation. “You can’t really appreciate it until you’re on your second glass.”

Left to her own devices, Meg would have poured the remainder of the wine down the sink, but she’d have drunk kerosene as long as Ty kept smiling at her the way he was now.

An hour later she was partway through her second glass of wine and starting to think that Ty might have been right. The second glass certainly did seem to taste better than the first. In fact, the world in general was starting to take on a slightly rose-colored glow. But that wasn’t because of the wine. It was because, for the first time in weeks, she didn’t have the feeling that Ty was counting the minutes until he could be free of her.

They’d talked, though what they’d talked about, she couldn’t have said. And they’d sat without talking, listening to the patter of the rain on the roof and the crackle of the fire in the fireplace. It had been almost like it was last summer, Meg thought wistfully. Before her stepfather’s attack, before Ty had married her to protect her. She took another swallow of wine, feeling it slide down her throat, warming her from the inside out.

“You have the most beautiful hair.” Ty’s voice was husky. Turning to look at him, Meg was surprised to see him right next to her. Had he been sitting so close before?

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She jerked, startled, when she felt his fingers in her hair, loosening the tortoiseshell clips. Her hair tumbled forward as the combs slid loose, soft golden tendrils caressing her flushed cheeks.

“It’s so soft,” Ty murmured. He gathered a handful of it, his fingertips brushing her scalp.

“I — I brush it a lot.” She hardly knew what she was saying. She couldn’t take her eyes off his face and suddenly seemed difficult to breathe.

“Your skin is soft, too.” His thumb brushed across her cheek in a touch that could have been accidental. But he did it again, his hand lingering this time. His thumb stroked her lower lip and Meg felt the breath shudder from her. His head dipped toward hers and she realized he was going to kiss her a split second before his mouth touched hers.

His lips were just as she remembered, firm and warm, coaxing a response from her. Meg closed her eyes, feeling her senses spin as his tongue stroked across her lower lip, just as his thumb had done a heartbeat before. Her mouth opened hesitantly and he slipped inside, his tongue touching hers lightly, coaxingly until it came up to twine with his.

Meg felt dizzy and she brought one hand up rest against his chest, her fingers curling into his shirtfront, clinging to him as the world dipped and spun around her. Her other hand still clutched the glass of wine but, without breaking the kiss, Ty took it from her, setting it on the table behind them and then, flattening his hand against her spine, drawing her closer still, deepening the kiss until Meg felt almost faint with the sensations rushing over her.

Just when she was sure she couldn’t bear another moment, Ty ended the kiss, his mouth softening against hers, lingering for a moment before he slowly lifted his head. For the space of several slow heartbeats, Meg didn’t move. She wasn’t even sure she was still breathing. Feeling his eyes on her, she forced her incredibly heavy eyelids to lift, staring up into his eyes.

His gaze was intent, questioning. Meg understood neither the questions he asked nor the answers he sought. The wine had left a not-unpleasant muzziness in her brain, making coherent thought difficult. Not that she cared. Her body tingled with an awareness she’d never known. He’d kissed her before but it hadn’t been like this. She’d never even imagined anything like this.

“Do you trust me, Meg?” Ty’s voice was little more than a husky whisper and she felt tension in the hands that held her.

Trust him? Did he have to ask? But his eyes demanded an answer.

“Always.”

“You know I’d never hurt you.” It wasn’t quite a question but she answered him anyway.

“I know.” She brought her hand up to trace the lines of tension that bracketed his mouth. “I trust you and I know you’d never hurt me,” she said, giving him the words he seemed to want.

Her fingertip touched the corner of his mouth and a shudder ran through him. His hand came up to catch hers, pressing it to his lips, and Meg shivered as she felt the soft brush of his tongue against her palm. He bent her hand back, exposing the delicate length of her wrist, tasting the soft skin there, sending wild shivers down her spine.

And then his mouth was settling on hers again. There was less gentleness in this kiss and more demand. It was as if he’d been keeping a careful rein on his hunger and was letting just a little of that control slip. Meg opened her mouth to his, her hands clinging to his shirtfront, giving herself to him without reservation.

Ty’s conscience stirred as he felt Meg’s surrender. She was too innocent to recognize the deliberate seduction he’d set up. The fire, the dim lights, the wine — he’d set the scene with care. He should stop this now, before it went too far, he thought. And then his hand found the soft weight of Meg’s breast, heard the shallow catch of her breath, and he knew it was already too late. Much, much too late.

It took every ounce of his self-control not to rush her. It would have been easy to forget her inexperience, especially when she seemed to bum in his arms. But even more than he wanted an easing of his own hunger, Ty wanted her first experience to be as perfect as he could make it. Everything had to be just right for her.

Meg was so lost in the power of Ty’s kiss that she was hardly aware of his fingers deftly loosening the buttons down the front of her dress. She obeyed his unspoken request and shifted to allow him to push the garment from her shoulders. It was only when she felt the strap on her slip slide down her arm and then the brush of his fingers against the side of her breast that she felt a sudden rush of panic.

She dragged her mouth from his, her hand coming up to catch his fingers. Wide-eyed, she stared up at him. “I don’t want you to touch me there,” she said breathlessly.

Ty held his hand where it was, unmoving, while his eyes searched her face.

“Why not?”

She swallowed hard, remembering the feel of her stepfather’s hand on her, the wetness of his mouth against her skin. “I just … don’t,” she whispered finally.

“You said you trusted me,” he reminded her.

“I do.” It had nothing to do with trust, she wanted to protest. It was something else, something she couldn’t explain.

“Then trust me now,” he whispered. In his eyes was the knowledge of what she was remembering. “Let go of my hand, Meg,” he said softly.

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“Please, Meg.”

Trembling, she let her hands drop into her lap. She sat before him, her back stiff, her eyes closed as Ty lowered the straps of her slip, baring her to the waist. She flinched when he trailed his finger gently across the upper slope of one breast.

“You’re so beautiful. Open your eyes and look.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes tight shut. She was so tense, she felt as if she might faint.

“Open your eyes, Meg. Do it for me,” he coaxed.

She’d have walked barefoot across hot coals for him, but that wouldn’t have taken as much willpower as it did to open her eyes. She stared into his face, reading the understanding there. Understanding and determination.

“Look at how beautiful you are,” he whispered, his eyes shifting downward.

“I can’t.” But even as she protested, her eyes were following his command.

Ever since her stepfather’s attack, she’d avoided looking at herself in the mirror, not wanting to see the shameful evidence of what he’d done. Now she was shocked to see the marks he’d left were gone. Somehow, even though weeks had passed, she’d expected to see the scratches and bruising still dark and angry on her skin. But there was not a trace left to see, nothing but the creamy expanse of her own skin. And Ty’s hand.

The sight of his fingers on her breast made her feel dizzy and flushed. It was shocking. It was undoubtedly sinful, even if he was her husband. And she couldn’t take her eyes away.

“See how beautiful you are? Look how pale your skin is compared to mine.” He moved his fingers and Meg caught her breath as he cupped one breast, his thumb brushing across the dusky rose of her nipple.

Her hand came up to close around his wrist but she didn’t pull him away, didn’t lean back out of reach, didn’t look away from the stunning sight of his hand on her body. He stroked her nipple until it stood up taut and aching beneath his touch and then repeated the action on her other breast. By that time Meg’s eyes were closed again, but it wasn’t from shame.

She’d never imagined such sensations, never dreamed she could feel such things. She felt the light touch of his hand at her breast throughout her body, bringing her to tingling life. She felt him move and opened her eyes as he flattened one hand across her spine, arching her back against his supporting arm as he lowered his head.

“No!” She gasped out the protest as she realized what he was going to do. She couldn’t bear it if he — She felt his breath against her skin and she stiffened, her hands pressing against his shoulders, her body tensed against the anticipated pain.

And then his mouth closed over her and her breath left her on a rush of sound that was nearly a sob. His mouth was warm and moist. His tongue laved her nipple with gentle strokes, painting it to shivering awareness before he drew it deeper into his mouth. Meg’s fingers were suddenly digging into his shoulders, clinging to him as the world rocked around her.

She felt the rhythmic drawing of his mouth at her breast but she felt it deeper still, at the very core of her. Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach, warm, molten liquid that pulsed in time to the motion of Ty’s mouth. When he shifted his attention to her other breast, lavishing it with the same sweet torture, she whimpered. She pressed her knees together, responding to an ache she’d never felt before. She wanted — needed — something she couldn’t define.

Ty lifted his head, smothering her protesting moan with his mouth. Meg’s lips opened for him, her fingers clinging to him as his tongue thrust inward, retreated, then entered again. She was too innocent to recognize consciously the primal rhythm, but her body reacted to it like a finely tuned instrument responding to a master’s touch.

Ty murmured something against her mouth and then he was moving, standing up. Before she had a chance to miss him, he leaned down and lifted her off the sofa, cradling her against his chest as he carried her from the living room.

Meg was grateful for the darkness of the bedroom when Ty set her down next to the bed and eased the rest of her clothes from her. She stood before him, naked and trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. He started to unbutton his shirt and she felt her heart suddenly beating much too fast. She could feel his eyes on her but she couldn’t lift her gaze past his hands.

He shrugged out of the shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and then his hands dropped to the waistband of his trousers and Meg swallowed hard. She closed her eyes when she heard the rasp of his zipper. She wanted to turn and dive into the bed and bury her head under the pillows. She wanted to open her eyes and look at him as openly as he’d looked at her.

“Meg?” She jumped when she felt his hands settle on her shoulders, drawing her a step closer so that she could feel the heat radiating from him. “You can open your eyes.” Gentle amusement laced his voice. “It’s too dark to see anything anyway.”

She might not be able to see but she could certainly feel. Opening her eyes, she stared up at him as he slid his hands down her back, urging her closer still. A shudder of pleasure went through her as she felt the broad muscles of his chest against her breasts for the first time. The crisp mat of black curls was a delicious abrasion against her skin.