A Wedding Story (23 page)

She threw her head back on a moan, her hair spilling down, brushing the backs of his hands. He bent to put his mouth at her throat, her pulse beating against his lips, his tongue.

She tugged his hair to pull his head away. She was flushed, color sweeping down her chest and neck to the full curves of her breasts. Her eyes burned, hot and blue, her lips parting with her ragged breathing. He tried to brand it into his brain, noting each detail, each shade, each line, for he knew that this picture was the one he’d choose to remain at the forefront of his memory, the one he’d want to call up on his deathbed to remember that yes, indeed, he had lived.

With one hand she lifted her breast, offering it to him, her thighs squeezing as she lifted herself. He dipped his head, drawing her breast deeply into his mouth.

Sweetness. So sweet, the plush softness of her skin, the nubbly texture of her nipple. The way she trembled and sighed when he flicked her with his tongue, when he drew it gently between his teeth. Her fingers threaded through his hair, an agitated motion, her body beginning to shift restlessly against his.

Gasping, he pulled back, trying to catch his breath and his sanity. But she couldn’t pause, couldn’t slow; she dove for his chest, ripping open his shirt, spreading it wide with a smile of triumph.

Her mouth, her hands, were fire-hot, moist, burning their imprint on him. He would have it no other way. If she left scars, tattoos of her possession on him, he would have welcomed them.

She bit his nipple gently and he reared up. And then she soothed the slight sting with her tongue, a slow swirl of pleasure.

Her hands were quick and graceful, gliding along his side and probing his ribs. He wanted to tell her to slow but she gave him no opening. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, she did something that left him gasping instead.

“What’s this?” she murmured, tracing the four parallel lines that bisected his belly, pale stripes against darker skin.

“Tiger,” he panted. “Nepal.”

“Hmm.” She bent and traced them with her tongue, too, soothing them as if the pain were fresh while his stomach muscles contracted and he nearly came off the chair.

“And here?” she asked, touching the small, wedged-shaped scar at his shoulder.

“Arrow. By Canelos. No poison. Lucky.”

“Lucky?” She kissed this one, too, open-mouthed, so wet and hot that soon he would have welcomed another arrow as long as it gave her another spot to put that mouth.

“Any more scars?” she murmured against his skin.

“Lost two toes in the Arctic. Frostbite.”

She laughed softly. “I think I’ll wait on that.”

And then she slid off his lap, as easily as the silk had slipped through his fingers, kneeling on the floor between his knees. Her fingers toyed with his waistband, dipping beneath and out again, teasing him, sending blood flooding through his veins.

“Kate—”

“Hush,” she said. “My turn. You promised.”

She went slower now, slipping each button from its hole with extreme care, as if to savor each second. His arousal pushed hard against the constriction of his trousers, a sweet-hot ache that veered toward pain, the sweetest kind, like throwing oneself into the sun.

She was not unsure. She lifted and moved his drawers away expertly—none of the awkward hooking men dread, no help necessary. And then, perched there between his knees, she smiled at him, naked and glorious, and he knew that every fantasy he’d ever conjured, every dream he’d ever owned, had never come close to this.

And then she touched him, wrapping her hand firmly around his cock, and he thought: I’m going to die. Right this minute, I’m going to be the first man on earth to die of pleasure.

He could not look away. The sight of her hand, slender, white, around him. The rapt concentration on her face. The glimmer of her hair in the soft light, the light sheen of perspiration on her skin.

She caressed him with her thumb, a slow arc right over the tip, and he nearly blacked out. “Kate!”

“Hush,” she said again, intent. “You promised.” Her thumb moved again, a light stroke that held more power than a blade. “I think there’s a scar here.”

“No, I—”

“You must have forgotten.” She leaned forward. He could feel the softness of her breast press against his inner thigh, the silk of her hair pooling over his leg, his belly.

And then she licked him. One long delicate lap, base to head, a quick swirl at the top, and sound burst out of him. He grabbed her shoulders and dragged her up to face him, laying her against him, bare skin to nearly bare skin.

He kissed her, hard and long, drinking in the taste and feel of her, because he could kiss her and still think. Just barely, but he could.

“Later,” he said, sounding as hoarse as if he’d spent days in a desert without water. “Later, as much as you want, however you want. I promise. But not now, not if you don’t want this to end in two seconds.”

“Hmm.” She made a small, flirty moue of disappointment, her eyes dancing, bright as gems. “Two seconds would be a bit…abrupt.”

“Yeah,” he said. Now, he thought, now he could take over, slow it down, set a rhythm that they could savor. Court her in bed if not out of it, fill her up with the kind of pleasure that a woman would never forget.

But then she lifted herself up, slithering against him. She reached down and held him firm, positioning him right at her entrance.

Without a moment’s hesitation she slid right down, as easily as if they’d done this a hundred times before. Perhaps they had—in his dreams, in hers. But oh, the pleasure of it. That was something entirely new, unimaginable, near unbearable. She was hot as the sun, slick and wet, closing around him as tightly as if she’d been made expressly to fit him.

Her head fell back, her mouth opening on a low moan, the sound vibrating in his belly, too. She lifted up, pushed back down. Pleasure surged through him, slapped at him, pushing him near the waterfall edge, threatening to sweep him over.

And again, while he pounded ever closer to the cliff.

“That’s it,” he said. He clamped one hand beneath her butt, another around her back, and stood. The movement drove him deeper inside her, making her gasp and wrap her ankles around his hips.

“I got the berth ready,” she murmured in his ear, then nipped at the lobe for good measure.

“This’ll do,” he said, and lowered her to the floor before his knees gave out beneath him.

She lay back like a sultan’s bride, back arched. He was still embedded in her and her thighs squeezed his hips. His clothes bunched around him; in the way, but he couldn’t conceive of leaving her long enough to get rid of them. At least the important parts were uncovered.

Her hands started to wander, clutching at his butt, drawing him in. He reached back and captured her hands, anchoring them over her head, looping her wrists together with one hand.

“What’s the matter, Jim?” she murmured, panting, seductive. “Don’t like it when the woman sets the pace?”

“I love it when you set the pace,” he said. “But if you keep that up, Kate, I’m not going to be able to withdraw in time. Not this first time.”

“Withdraw? Why would you want to…oh.” Shadows flickered through her eyes and he could have shot himself for bringing it up and putting that look there. And then she smiled until it chased away the shifting sadness. “You don’t have to. I can’t have children.”

Tenderness washed him, deep and powerful as the passion. “Are you sorry about that?”

She swallowed. “Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Then I’ll be sorry, too.” He dropped butterfly kisses over her face, touching her jawline, her eyebrow, the corner of her eye, anyplace he could reach, trying to press away any remnants of regret. “Later, I’ll be as sorry as you want. But right now, Kate, I can’t tell you how happy I am that I don’t have to try and leave you at a critical moment.”

Laughter bubbled up in her, a happy sound that brought her body closer, a jerky little movement with each chuckle.

He moved as slowly as he could, withdrawing by increments, easing back in, not knowing how far behind him she was, how long he might last.

But she wasn’t behind him at all. By the second thrust she was moaning, rotating her hips against him. Two more and she murmured “faster” between gasps, urging him on with the tilt of her pelvis, tugging him nearer with her legs wrapped around him.

He gave up any notion of control and surrendered to the passion. To
her.
They found the rhythm effortlessly—not hers, not his, but theirs.

It could have been a moment, it could have been a lifetime. And then Kate shattered beneath him, crying out, shaking, her inner muscles contracting around him, his name on her lips.

Yes,
he thought in that extraordinary millisecond where he balanced at the edge, where the world, the future, the past, were all his.

This is it. It’s Kate.

T
he
Emperor
should steam into Le Havre tomorrow morning. Very early, Jim hoped; the less time allotted to search the ship, the better.

“Where
is
she?” Johnny whispered urgently. The three of them—Jim, dressed in basic black; Johnny, pale, so twitchy he hadn’t been able to stand still for two consecutive seconds; and Ming Ho, who’d been recruited for the effort—lurked in a narrow passageway on the second-highest deck of the ship.

“These things take time,” Jim replied.

“But—”

“It’ll be worth it. Trust me.”

Johnny edged up to the corner, peering around it until Jim yanked him back. “Do you want them to see you?”

“No. I just—” He bounced on his toes, cracking his knuckles until Jim was tempted to crack them for him, permanently. “I still don’t see why we had to wait until the last night. I mean, every night she’s in there…”

“Is one less night the prince has to find her,” Jim said, shaking his head at the thought. That Johnny Duffy, newsie, aspiring reporter, son of a tanner, had decided that the youngest and prettiest wife of a mysterious prince was his one true love still boggled his mind. It was outlandish and complicated enough that Jim would have backed right out, article be damned, except that Johnny’s love was, of course, the sad young woman he’d seen escorted from the top deck, and that made it very hard to walk away.

So he and Kate had done a little research. Her husband was a prince, all right. He’d had the great good fortune to be absolute ruler of a tiny little island called Balthelay that floated, nearly unnoticed, off the coast of Ceylon. He’d had the even greater good fortune to, about fifteen years ago, discover that the earth beneath his insignificant island was utterly packed with very large, very high quality rubies.

“So,” Jim said. “How many guards?”

The prince had taken over the entire corridor of rooms, laying out an amount that, it was rumored, was greater than the contest prize to displace the intended passengers.

“Eight, I think,” Johnny said.

“One for each wife’s room, two for his door,” Jim murmured. “Well, Ming Ho, what do you think?”

He smiled in anticipation. “Not a problem.”

“So you’re just going to go knocking on every door until you find her?” Johnny asked.

“That’s the general idea.”

“But all those guards—”

“Let us worry about the guards, okay?” The kid was on the verge of working himself up into a nice frenzy of worry, Jim thought. As if they didn’t have enough to concern themselves with as it was.

“But what if she’s in the prince’s room? How are you going to—”

“That’s where Kate comes in.”

“But why would he let her in if he’s already with…” And then Johnny promptly forgot whatever he was about to say, his jaw dropping as he stared over Jim’s shoulder.

Kate sashayed down the passageway toward them. She was clad in shimmering red that clung to every curve, the neckline exposing an amount of cleavage that bordered on illegal. She wore no jewelry, nothing to distract from the wide expanse of creamy skin, and her hair flowed down around her shoulders. In one hand she carried a bottle of champagne, two glinting crystal flutes in the other.

Jim waved his hand in front of Johnny’s glazed eyes. “True love. Romantic rescue. Happily ever after. Remember?”

“Huh. Oh. Oh! Yeah.” He swallowed. “Okay. I get it now.”

“So,” Kate said as she reached them. “Everybody ready?”

Jim took the bottle for a moment so he could kiss her hand. “Madame, you have truly outdone yourself.”

She bobbed a curtsy before reclaiming the bottle. “Thank you, kind sir.”

“Where’d you get the dress? That’s truly…amazing,” he said, though that didn’t even come close to covering it.

“I have my ways.”

“That you do,” Jim said softly. “That you do.”

They might have stood there all night, smiling at each other in intimate communication, if Ming Ho had not reminded them. “It’s time.”

“Yes,” Jim said. “Just one more thing.” He frowned at Kate, putting on what she thought of as his command expression. “Fifteen minutes,” he told her sternly. “Or I’m coming after you. You need us earlier, just yell.”

“I won’t need,” she said, supremely confident. “Not right now, anyway. Later…” He stopped her with a kiss, quick and hard.
Watch out, be careful, we’ll finish this later.

She whirled, her hair drifting and settling like spun gold. Hips swaying, she glided around the corner, going into battle in her own way.

“Fifteen minutes,” he reminded her, loud as he dared. It would do no good to worry about her, he thought, even as his gut twisted. She was in familiar territory.

“All right,” he said, turning to his troops. Ming Ho grinned at him.

“You and Miss Riley,” he said. “You…” He nodded. “Good.”

“Yes, me and Miss Riley.” And yeah, it was good. Maybe too good. “Take the right side of the passageway. I’ll take the left.”

“What about me?” Johnny asked, so eager he might just choke on it.

“Stay out of the way.”

The guards were even bigger up close. Surprising that a country as small as Balthelay managed to grow so many large specimens. They were all nearly as wide as the doors they guarded, their heads all turned toward Kate, strolling provocatively down the hall, the luscious sway of her hips drawing their full attention.

Guess they’re not eunuchs after all, Jim thought, slipping quietly up behind the first. He tapped him on the shoulder, the giant turned, and he jabbed him beneath the chin before the distracted guard registered his presence. He caught him as he dropped.

He glanced to see how Ming Ho was doing. He was creeping up on the second man already, the first one propped against the wall, jaw open, head sagging, completely out. One quick clip of the side of Ming Ho’s hand against the guard’s neck and this one, too, was out cold.

Kate had nearly reached the end of the passageway. She glanced over her shoulder, wiggling her fingers, and the next guard took a step in her direction. That was as far as he got.

The fellows might be good with their swords, Jim thought, but they sure couldn’t take a punch. Heavy, though, Jim noted as he caught the full brunt of the guard’s weight, enough to make him stagger beneath it, but he’d make too much noise if allowed to simply crash to the floor.

He glanced quickly at Kate to check her progress. She was right on schedule, smiling dazzlingly at the two guards stationed in front of the door near the end of the passageway before disappearing through it.

Damn
. Just because it was the plan and Jim had agreed to it didn’t mean he had to like it.

But their luck didn’t hold. Some noise, some sense, had finally alerted the remaining guards. They turned toward Jim, eyes rounding as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Two rushed him, gorilla arms upraised, big feet pounding, while another headed for Ming Ho.

Balling his fists, Jim found his balance and waited. It had been a while—years, actually—since he’d thrown himself into a good barroom brawl. He hoped he hadn’t lost his touch.

They were almost upon him, shoulder to shoulder, too close together in the tight confines of the passageway to mount a spread attack. He waited one beat, then crouched and sprang forward, driving upward with each fist.

They reeled back, clutching their bellies. A kick to the chest for one, an elbow to the chin for the other. A couple taps to the noggin with his fist and the two of them finally went down.

He stepped around the pile of their bodies.

Whoops
. The last guard pounded toward him, legs pumping, face red. This one, though, had thought to draw his sword and held it in both fists, twisted back like a baseball player expecting an easy pitch.

Jim jumped back just as he swung, the blade whistling by an inch from his stomach. But he’d back jumped too far, forgetting about the two motionless guards right behind him, and he went down.

The guard with the sword had swung too hard, as if he’d planned to lop Jim in half with one blow. The force of the swing spun him halfway around, giving Jim clear aim at his broad backside. Jim kicked hard with both feet and the guard pitched forward, sword flying out of his grip.

Jim scrambled out of the tangle of thick limbs—he must have hit them good, they hadn’t moved a muscle even when he fell on top of them—and went after the guard still—barely—on his feet. Without his sword, off balance, he wasn’t much of a challenge.
The bigger they are, the slower they are…

Chest heaving, blood pumping, the guard at his feet, Jim spun to give Ming Ho a hand. Ming Ho leaned comfortably against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest, slumbering guards lined up neatly beside him. “What took you so long?”

Jim dabbed at the blood across his knuckles with the corner of his shirt. “Thanks for the help.”

“Wouldn’t want to spoil your fun, would I?”

And it was fun. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be forced to live in the moment, every sense, every thought, concentrated in the lone task of surviving for one more second.

Johnny dashed up to them, vibrating with excitement. “Oh, that was great!” He jabbed at the air with his fists. “Do you think you fellows could teach me—”

“No.”

“Oh.” His face fell briefly, brightened an instant later. Ah, the resiliency of youth. “I’m surprised no more guards showed up, once you all started making noise. Their room must be around here somewhere.” He slashed at the air, hands flat, just like he’d seen Ming Ho chop at the guards. “I was ready for ’em, though.”

“They’re all sleeping,” Jim said.

“Sleeping?”

“Like babies,” Ming Ho put in, grinning. “Strange that men so big hold their brandy so poorly, isn’t it?”

“But—”

“Come on.” Jim grabbed Johnny by the shoulder and gave him a gentle shove toward the nearest door. “Start knocking.”

“But there have to be more guards in the prince’s room, don’t you think?” The kid could clearly not take a hint. The image Jim had been fighting since Kate entered the cabin spread in his brain, corrosive as an acid spill: Kate, struggling with the prince, while impassive guards stood around them, swords at the ready.

“Probably never allowed to leave the prince’s quarters while he’s in residence,” Ming Ho said, glancing sympathetically at Jim. “Now knock.”

Jim started on the other side while Ming Ho took the far end. He rapped quickly. No answer. He pounded harder. Nothing.

The door wasn’t locked. He poked his head inside. The cabin was twice the size of Kate’s, in soft rose and yellow, packed with trunks nearly to the ceiling. No one. He closed the door and moved on.

At the next cabin a woman answered the door before he even finished knocking. Perhaps Jim’s age, he guessed, though it was hard to tell with the turquoise robes that nearly covered her, and the brief glimpse he got before she gasped and slammed the door in his face.

He moved to the next without any better luck, until he stood before the door that Kate had entered minutes before. He glared at the wood as if that could help him see through into what was happening within, his insides twisting.
Careful, love
.

The knob turned and he sprang away, flattening himself against the wall, and his heart thumped. A guard? Or Kate?

Neither. A slight figure, enveloped in drifts of crimson, stepped out. She turned to stare at the door as it closed behind her, faint puzzlement on her face.

Mission accomplished. Right wife. Now to get her safely out of here before the guards woke up.

“Miss…” he began.

She turned her head toward him and gasped.

“No, no, it’s okay,” he said soothingly. “We’ve come to rescue you.”

She backed away from him, shaking her head, panicked eyes darting from side to side.

“No, really. Don’t worry.”

She babbled something at him, completely unintelligible.

Oh, just wonderful.
The girl didn’t speak a word of English. Just how the hell did that brat reporter know she needed rescuing if he never so much as spoke to her? When he got his hands on him—

And then she stopped backing away, her gaze focused behind Jim. She straightened, a shimmer of moisture glazing her eyes, and smiled brilliantly.

Johnny came forward, hands outstretched. Without a second’s hesitation, she placed hers in his.

“Ahh,” Ming Ho said as he arrived from the far end of the passageway. “Young love. Isn’t it sweet?”

“Yeah. Sweet.” And stupid and impulsive and fragile. He’d take what he and Kate had now—whatever it was, and he was far from ready to name it—over what they’d had a dozen years ago any day.
Good luck, kids, you’re going to need it.
“Let’s get going.”

They herded the young lovers around the corner to where Mrs. Latimore and Miss Dooley awaited them.

“
There
you are,” Miss Dooley said. “I was having a terrible time keeping Anne from running to your assistance.”

“I take it this is our young lady?” Mrs. Latimore stepped toward the young woman, who shrank away, huddling against Johnny’s narrow chest.

“Johnny neglected to mention that she doesn’t speak any English.”

Mrs. Latimore’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. “
None
?”

“We don’t need any.” Johnny looped his arms around the girl, two against the world.

“Is that right?” Mrs. Latimore asked coolly.

“I still don’t understand why she can’t stay with me tonight,” Johnny said, the sulky droop of his mouth making him look years younger.

“Because the prince is unlikely to think of looking for her with Mrs. Latimore,” Jim said, struggling to hold on to his patience. They’d been over this. And Kate was still in there. With
him
. “And Ming Ho has a plan to get her off the ship unseen. It’s simply much safer this way, Johnny. It’s been working so far. Let’s just keep with the plan, okay?”