Taboo (A Classic Romance) (20 page)

The only present he wanted was her acceptance to a proposal of marriage. While she returned to unwrapping the package, he tried not to think of the ring in his pocket, the real gift he longed to offer, to slip on her finger and seal with a vow of love.

The black satin-and-lace teddy spilled out, followed by a pair of heart-shaped diamond studs. They were meant to match the locket and the hairpins she wore on the news each night. A lover's gift, a husband's gift, suitable to wear down the aisle.

"Oh, Grant," she breathed. "They're gorgeous... and outrageously extravagant. You're spoiling me rotten, and—"

"And you can come here to thank me properly."

He reached for her, and she went eagerly into his arms, feathering kisses over his face.

"You didn't say anything about the lingerie," he said.

"It's beautiful. But where did you find something so decadent? It's sexy as sin."

"Like you, babe. I want you to wear it tonight."

"You mean you want me to try it on now?"

"No. Tonight. When everyone's asleep and you sneak into my room. Trish won't care if she sleeps by herself."

"You've got to be kidding."

"I'm dead serious. We've slept together every night for over a month. I have no intention to start sleeping by myself on Christmas Eve."

Cammie drew back, firmly shaking her head. The teddy slipped from her hands and onto the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. Grant picked it up and nuzzled his nose in it.

"I also intend to get this close. I want you in my bed—the one I spent years alone in, dreaming you were with me. It's important to me, Cammie. Tonight.
That
bed.
That
house. It means more, something no other place can touch. If you can't bring yourself to say what needs to be said, at least give me that much of a commitment. Show me you want me, even there.
Especially
there."

Still she shook her head. "Grant, it's too risky. I want to sleep with you too. But what you want isn't right. Someone could hear. Or walk in. Or we could fall asleep and they'd discover us—No. I still can't forget what happened at the cottage. This could prove even worse."

"We'll be quiet. No one comes in my room when the door's locked. I'll set the alarm to go off before anyone else is up." He pressed his lips against her neck, then nibbled on her earlobe. "You're out of excuses, Cammie. Take your pick. It's them or me tonight. I need to know who's more important. Like I said a long time ago, I want it all. And your loyalty is part of the package."

The delighted smile of a few minutes before was replaced by an expression of painful uncertainty. Grant tightened his lips as his frustration escalated. What she was giving wasn't enough. He wanted, needed, craved more. What he'd just demanded was a test; he had to know where he stood.

"Open your present," she urged, sidestepping the commitment he was pushing for as she extricated herself from his grip. She picked up a small package from beneath the tree they had decorated together, and extended it to him. He looked from the box to her.

"That's a pretty poor substitute, don't you think?"

"How do you know? You haven't opened it yet."

Gritting his teeth with what little he had left of the Christmas spirit, Grant tore open the wrapping. His frown transformed into a smile.

"Grant and Cammie," he read from the engraving on the back of the thin gold watch, "Forever in Time."

"Like it?" she asked anxiously.

"I love it. But not as much as I love you."

They embraced, and for the moment what they had was almost enough.

* * *

"Good night, Mom. Good night, Dad. Good night, Grant. Merry Christmas."

"'Night, Cammie," Dorothy and Edward echoed. "'Night, Trish. Good night, Grant. See you all on Christmas morning."

Trish bid everyone a pleasant sleep before climbing into bed and saying, "Hey, Cammie. Is it just me, or does this sound like an old rerun of
The Waltons?"

"I always liked
The Waltons,"
Cammie answered with a sad smile. In so many ways the Kennedys were that same wholesome, ideal family that seemed too good to be true. But for how long? How much longer before Grant issued an ultimatum and all illusions were shattered?

"I'm glad Audrey finally fell asleep in the other room," Trish said. "She's always so wound up this time of year, it's enough to drive me crazy. Santa Claus and ho, ho, ho and all that sugar Mom feeds us doesn't help much."

"Yum, fudge. Right up there with her pastries. I'll have to go on a diet to fit into my new ted—"

Cammie stopped suddenly, strangely shy in spite of Trish's discovery and acceptance.

"Your
what?
Spill it, Cammie. Grant gave you a teddy, didn't he? And not of the bear variety, I'll bet."

"It's black satin and lace," she admitted, the feel of it beneath her dorm shirt seductively wicked against her skin. "He gave me some diamond earrings to wear with it."

"Something tells me it's not the only diamond you'll get this year."

Propping herself up on an elbow, Cammie gazed seriously at Trish's beautiful, animated face. "I'm afraid of dividing the family. You're not nearly as conservative as Mom and Dad are, Trish. They took me in, they never held anything back. I just can't bear the thought of jeopardizing their sense of stability by giving Grant the total commitment he wants. And deserves."

"It's a tough row to hoe, Sis. And you're the only one who can make that decision."

She sighed. "I know. And I just keep putting it off. Like the problem's actually going to go away. Grant says I'm afflicted with something called the Ostrich Syndrome."

"He's getting impatient, isn't he?"

"You know him as well as I do."

Trish chuckled. "Not quite. And speaking of impatient, I'll bet he's wondering what's keeping you."

Cammie shot her a sharp glance. "What makes you think that?"

"Oh, get real, Cammie. You're just waiting for me to fall asleep to sneak in there. The same as I used to do when Mark and I were engaged and he slept in the den."

"Grant and I aren't engaged. And besides, our circumstances aren't exactly the same."

"So what? Would you rather gab with me all night, or cuddle up to your honey?"

They could get caught, Cammie thought, but not likely. It meant a lot to Grant—as it did to her. Yes, it would be a step forward. Not an easy one, but a commitment they both needed. They seemed to be stuck at a plateau, and it was either go forward or retreat.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Cammie got up. Her heart was beating fast and her steps were slow. But she took them just the same.

Pausing at the door, she whispered, "Thanks for the nudge, Trish. And for understanding."

"Sure, Sis. Sleep tight." As the door quietly shut, Trish's smile disappeared, and she muttered sadly, "Lord, I need a life again too."

Looking anxiously in all directions, Cammie walked quickly down the hall, careful to avoid the squeaking board to the right of Grant's room. The door was cracked open, and she pushed it in. The small "creak" sounded loud as an alarm, giving her away, she thought apprehensively.

She quickly slipped into the room and closed the door. The clicking of the lock was magnified in the stillness. While her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she made her way toward the direction of his voice.

"I knew you'd come," he whispered, and she could see him push back the covers, extend his hand. She stopped beside the bed's edge, then dropped the dorm shirt to the floor.

His low, sensual murmur of pleasure reached out of the dark and brought her into his open arms. The bed was warm from his body, a bed she had seen him sleeping in since his youth. But he was naked, already hard. This was a man who knew her body as well as his own, who whispered intimate words of love while he stripped her in the forbidden sanctuary of his family home.

What they were doing should be wrong, she told herself. Then why did their hands, caressing with a familiar, heated passion, seem to seal their destiny as never before?

In the pale moonlight, she gazed up at him as he mounted her. His eyes met hers with the intensity of purpose, and then he plunged into her. He entered her swift and deep, sinking to the mouth of her womb and claiming her in a way that was somehow different than ever before.

He raised up, poised, then thrust again.

"The bed," she whispered urgently at the giveaway sound. "Grant, it's—"

Before she could protest, he maneuvered her to the floor with a quick, lithe silence. She felt the thick rug against her cheek, her breasts, before he tucked a pillow beneath her head, then pushed another under her belly. With sure hands he lifted her hips, and drove himself into her contracting warmth again and again.

She couldn't see his face, but his roughly whispered words were potent, as was his driving need for possession. Haze was clouding her mind, but even so she suddenly understood the difference in their fevered lovemaking. He was taking her with a primal hunger that seemed to echo
possess... possess... possess.

"You're mine," he said hoarsely before he pushed aside her hair and kissed her neck, roughly enough to leave a telltale mark. Would anyone see his mark? She didn't know and she didn't care. All she could think of was the drugging sensation, the suction on her neck shooting down to her womb.

"Mine," he whispered when he lifted his mouth. "Now. Always. Everywhere.
Here."

How long their bodies battled and loved, she wasn't sure. When she would have sobbed her shattering release, she bit her fist to keep from crying out. Grant groaned into her hair, then collapsed over her body, his chest slick with the exertion.

He rolled off her and gathered her into his arms. Exhausted, she rested her head on his chest. They lay silent, spent, then he lifted her onto the bed.

"I love you," he murmured. "With my whole soul, I love you."

She sought his eyes, sensing a difference. Something had emerged in him that hadn't been there before she'd entered his room.

Or maybe it was in her. She had come there with misgivings, but now that she should go, more than anything she wanted to stay and never leave. She was bound to him, his woman and soul mate. It was wrong to sleep apart after forging a completion that went beyond words.

"You're my life, Grant. I don't think I could live without you."

He kissed her tenderly. "Cammie, I want to—"

The sound of the bathroom door closing interrupted him, and she tensed before she could stop herself.

Grant muttered a low curse.

Anxious to grab back the magic, she made her body relax into his. "Yes, Grant. You want to what?"

Sighing heavily, he pushed back her tangled hair. "I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas."

Chapter 13

Grant looked at his new watch. Eleven-forty. He glanced across the room at Cammie, who gave the impression of listening attentively to Aunt Mabel, who was probably recounting her recent battle with gout. He felt the acceleration of his heart.

Resting against it was The Ring, tucked securely into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. His face was set in determination as he continued to stare at Cammie... and remembered their coupling. Taking her here, in this house on Christmas Eve, had turned the tide. He had branded her as his, and she him, with passion and fury and in defiance of parental morality.

Whether it was a conscious decision or not, Cammie had thrown her lot in with his that night, giving him the pledge of loyalty he'd sought from the very beginning.

Her mouth moved as she managed to get a word in edgewise, while her eyes scanned the New Year's Eve crowd. And then they locked gazes.

With a slight inclination of his head, he indicated the front porch. She nodded, her lips curving in an inviting, intimate smile.

Grant patted the ring in his pocket as he moved purposefully in their agreed direction. He cherished their silent language, so well understood with no more than a look, a small gesture.