The Night Mark(57)

“How could I ever forget?” Faye said.

“And you said, ‘My hero.’” Carrick turned his head, met her eyes. “Of course, Marsh didn’t appreciate that.”

“I don’t imagine he did.”

“I still remember you giggling—that giggle filled the garden—after he sent you running into the house. I wasn’t worried then. I saw you had a spirit not even he could break. But he tried, didn’t he?”

Carrick touched her bruised eye with the gentlest of touches.

“He tried,” Faye whispered.

“He couldn’t do it.”

“Because you took me in.”

“It took more than spirit to run away from him than it took to let you in when you got here.”

“I jumped,” Faye said, covering his hand with hers. “You caught me. My hero.”

Carrick kissed her. She’d known he would, and she’d known she wouldn’t stop him when he did. They stood in the cone of light given off by the kerosene lantern as Carrick pressed his lips to hers and she pressed her body to his. They fit together, the two of them, as well as she and Will had. But Carrick wasn’t Will and she wasn’t Faith. She told herself that even as she parted her lips to let his tongue touch hers. She tasted something both familiar and unfamiliar. She’d never tasted it on a man’s tongue before, but she knew what it was immediately. She pulled back and glared at him with narrowed eyes.

“What?” he asked.

“You’ve been smoking.”

“So?”

“It’s terrible for you.”

“It is?”

“Yes. Absolutely awful for your health.”

“It helps keep me up at night.”

“I’ll keep you up at night.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her whole body into his. She traced a path down his back, following the line of his suspenders to the center of his back and down to his hips. His pants were loose—hence the suspenders, no doubt—and it was nothing to slip her hands under his T-shirt and caress the small of his back and the curve of his hip bone. They’d been two of her favorite spots on Will’s body, and unsurprisingly she enjoyed them just as much on Carrick’s. With her fingertips, she lightly scored the soft skin on his hard stomach, and Carrick inhaled sharply, his face scrunched up tight.

“Carrick.”

“Stop,” he said. Faye stepped back, held her hands up in surrender.

“We did it again,” she said.

“We did,” he said. He walked over to the railing, gripped it, hung his head down and breathed. “You make me forget things.”

“Forget what? That I’m married? You can forget that if you want. I’m going to.”

“Forget that I’m trying to keep you safe. And this isn’t helping. If he finds out you’re here and you’ve been with me...”

“But I haven’t been with you. Not yet,” Faye reminded him.

“Oh, good point,” he said. “If we’re going to pay for the crime, might as well commit it first.” He reached for her then, pulled her to him. He pressed his hand into the small of her back, bringing her body even closer to his, chest to chest and hip to hip. Still, it wasn’t enough for Faye. She craved more. She wrapped her arms around his neck, anchoring herself against him. Carrick groaned against her lips—a sound equal parts desire and frustration.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

“We have to.” Yet he didn’t stop. He kept kissing, kept grasping at her waist and her back and her neck with those huge hands of his. He wore only his work pants and a sweat-stained white T-shirt and she couldn’t get enough of his arms around her—strong as iron still warm from the forge. She would know if there was Will in his heart by the way he made love to her. Will was forever ready with a smile, laid-back, a laughing soul, until he got her into bed or onto the floor or against the wall or wherever he could have her when he wanted her.

“Make love to me,” she said into Carrick’s ear. Carrick pushed her against the wooden wall of the barn. Not hard. Not hard enough to hurt her, not a bit, but purposefully. And making love to her was the purpose.

Carrick pulled back as she gasped from the force of his passion.

“Stop me,” he said, and he said it forcefully. He meant it. Only a word from her would stop him, and nothing else in the world.

She shook her head. They were both already shining with sweat in the little barn, sticky with it and glistening and smelling of the heat and the sweat and the warm bodies of animals.

Faye’s back was against the bare wood, and Carrick had both his hands against the wall on either side of her head, boxing her in, though no parts of them touched.

“It’s a sin to take another man’s wife,” he said with his eyes closed. “I’m not your husband.”

“Does a man like that deserve a wife?”

“No.”

“Then why care about betraying him?”

“Not him. Me.”

That broke her heart. Here was a man of true faith, and he would flog himself for days to come for sleeping with a married woman. But the need to know him, to know him like she knew Will, was greater than her compassion. She reached for the top button of his work trousers, unbuttoned it and slid her hand inside.