Love, Come to Me(83)

She wondered if he still remembered the terrible scene between them, when she had been in a position of disgrace and had begged him not to turn her away. “I don’t want the woman you’ve become . . .” he had said. At the time she had not understood what he had meant; now she did.

How long ago that had been! Lucy was so profoundly grateful not to be married to Daniel that she felt weak in the knees. He was a good man, a gentle one. His emotions were quiet and steady, and his character utterly civilized. But if she had ended up as Daniel’s wife, she would never have experienced all that she cherished about Heath: his passion, violent, stormy and sweet; his rough affection and tender concern; his barbs, and gentle teasing; his demands; his ambitions; even his secrets.

Daniel’s expression altered subtly as he stared at her, as if he were remembering days long past. It felt strange to Lucy, standing before him and realizing that she had once loved him, while now the distance between them could never be traversed except in memories.

“Your wedding will be soon?” she asked him.

“Later this year, in the spring,” he replied quietly.

“Ahhh,” she breathed, nodding slowly. Always. Always later this year, always later on. He had strung Lucy out for three years with such promises. She felt a quick stab of pity as she turned to Sally. “Better hold him to it,” she said, and the blonde laughed lightly, unaware of the implications and the subtle warning that were lodged in the simple words. Daniel, however, did not miss her meaning, and he flushed slightly.

“Of course I intend to hold him to it,” Sally said, giggling, and Lucy smiled before turning away and leaving them, suddenly needing to find Heath.

As she looked around the corner into a small yellow and light green parlor, someone came up behind her, hooked a firm arm around her waist and whisked her neatly into the empty room. A soft, jeering voice touched the inside of her ear in an intimate stroke.

“Love renewed by absence. How touching.”

Lucy relaxed as she identified her captor. “You startled me.”

Heath let her twist around in his arms to face him, and she saw that there was self-mockery and something akin to irritation in his expression. She was quick to guess at the cause. “Did you by any chance happen to see me talking to Sally and Daniel?”

“Was that Daniel? It was difficult to tell through that soup-strainer on his face.”

“There’s no need to make fun of his mustache.”

Heath let go of her abruptly. “I beg your pardon. I forgot that you’ve always had a fondness for it.”

“What in heaven’s name is bothering you?” Without waiting for an answer, she started for the half-open door. “People are going to notice we’re gone, and I don’t want them to think—”

He caught her upper arm in a light, unyielding grip and spun her around. “I want to know what the two of you were talking about.”

Her eyes rounded with surprise. “I don’t understand why you seem so angry.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t aware of the way he was looking at you.”

“I couldn’t help the way he was looking at me,” she protested, making an unsuccessful attempt to tug her arm free from his tightening grasp.

“And you . . . staring up at him, all starry-eyed and breathless—”

“I wasn’t!”

“The picture was too perfect. A New England Christmas. Two childhood sweethearts sharing old memories—”

“You’re being unreasonable!”

“You would have been a handsome couple. You do suit each other quite well.”

“I don’t think so,” she said quickly, placing a small, restraining hand on his chest as he towered over her.

“Oh?” The bright flare of jealousy in his gaze showed no signs of diminishing.

“No—I don’t prefer that kind of man at all. He’s . . . he’s too short, for one thing. I never realized before how short he was. And his hair . . . well, it’s much too dark. I prefer lighter hair much, much more.” Heath’s grip loosened marginally, a sign that encouraged Lucy to continue. “He’s too quiet, too predictable . . . too straitlaced. I would die of boredom if I had to spend more than five minutes with him. He doesn’t like to argue or swear, and he doesn’t drink too much or lose his temper. He’s not the kind who would appreciate black silk pantalets.”

“He has a respectable family that everyone approves of.”

“I don’t care about what anyone else thinks.”

Heath yanked her closer to him, his savage mood barely concealed. His fingers bit into the backs of her shoulders, but not harshly enough to leave bruises. Thick gold-tipped lashes lowered over azure eyes as he stared down at her mouth.

“You’ve wanted him ever since you were a child,” he pointed out gruffly.

“Until my taste matured.”

“He’s a gentleman.”

“Yes. That’s the worst thing of all.”

Heedless of the half-open door and the possibility of stray glances, he pulled her upwards, forcing her to rise on her toes as he kissed her. The slow, smooth pressure of his lips on hers increased until she parted them with a muffled exclamation, yielding the tender heat of her mouth to his demand. Dark fire danced through her veins, its burning sweetness filtering to the surface of her skin in a spreading flush. The force of her response to him swept away every coherent thought, every barrier she had constructed for her own protection. His mouth traveled in a warm velvet slide down her throat, the edge of his teeth grazed the thinly veiled nerves just below her skin. Her knees nearly buckled beneath her as his hand ventured beneath the soft material of her dress, cupping around the nakedness of her breast. The tingling peak came to life in his palm, drawing into an aching bud at his touch. “Heath,” she whispered, “you’re all I want. No one else . . . no one . . .”