Where Dreams Begin(75)

Holly's heart jerked violently. Air left her lungs in a swift rush, making it impossible for her to speak. Unsteadily she leaned back against the sideboard, gripping the edge with her hands for support.

Slowly Bronson rose to his feet and approached her. He glanced at the open door of the sideboard, understanding immediately what she wanted. “Allow me,” he said, his voice a velvety rumble in the stillness, and he pulled out a snifter and a brandy decanter. Pouring until the snifter was a third full, he held it by the stem and used the candle flame to warm the glass bowl. An expert swirl or two, and he handed the warmed vintage to her.

Holly took the snifter and drank at once, wishing that her hand wasn't trembling visibly. She couldn't help staring at the place where his shirt hung open. George had had a smooth chest, which she had always found attractive, but the sight of Zachary Bronson in an unbuttoned shirt filled her mind with lurid, disquieting thoughts. She wanted to rub her mouth and face amid those springy dark curls, wanted to press her bare br**sts against them…

A flaming blush covered her from head to toe, and she gulped brandy until it made her cough.

Bronson returned to his chair and sat heavily. “Are you going to marry Ravenhill?”

The brandy snifter nearly fell from Holly's hand.

“I asked you a question,” he said thickly. “Are you going to marry him?”

“I don't know the answer to that.”

“Of course you do. Tell me, damn you.”

“I…” Her entire body seemed to wilt in defeat. “It is possible I will.”

Bronson did not seem surprised. A soft, ugly laugh broke from him. “You'll have to explain why. I'm afraid that common bruisers like myself have trouble understanding these upper-class arrangements.”

“I promised George,” Holly said carefully, feeling no small amount of apprehension as she stared at him. Bronson looked so…well, malevolent…as he sat there in the darkness. Handsome, black-haired and larger than life, he could have been Lucifer seated on his throne. “If you find anything about me that is worthy of admiration or affection, then you would not wish me to behave in a way that is less than honorable. I have been raised never to break my word, once it has been given. I know that some people think a woman's sense of honor is not as strong as a man's, but I have always tried—”

“My God, I don't doubt your honor,” he said roughly. “What I'm saying—what should be clear to everyone—is that George should never have asked for such a promise.”

“But he did, and I gave it.”

“Just like that.” Bronson shook his head. “I wouldn't have believed it of you—you, the only woman I've ever known who is willing to stand up to me in a temper.”

“George knew what would happen to me without him,” she said. “He knew I would never willingly marry again. He wanted me to have the protection of a husband and, more importantly, for Rose to have a father. And Ravenhill's values and beliefs were similar to his, and George knew that Rose and I would never be mistreated by his best friend—”

“Enough,” Zachary interrupted harshly. “I'll tell you what I think about good old Saint George. I think he didn't want you to ever fall in love again. And locking you into a marriage with a cold fish like Ravenhill was George's way of making certain that he would remain your one and only love.”

Holly whitened at the accusation. “What a horrible thing to say. You are completely wrong, you know absolutely nothing about my husband or his friend—”

“I know you don't love Ravenhill. I know you never will. If you're so intent on marrying a man you don't love, then take me.”

Of all the things she might have expected him to say, that was the biggest surprise of all. Clumsy with astonishment, Holly finished her brandy and set the empty snifter on the sideboard behind her. “Are you proposing to me?” she asked in a whisper.

Bronson came to her, not stopping until he had crowded her against the sideboard. “Why not? George wanted you to be protected and cared for. I can do that. And I could be a father to Rose. She doesn't know who the hell Ravenhill is. I'll take care of the two of you.” He slid his hand beneath the sheath of her hair, sifting gently through the long brown locks. Holly closed her eyes and bit back a whimper of pleasure as she felt his fingers curve around the back of her neck. It seemed that her whole body responded to his touch. There was a mortifying, expectant twitch in the private place between her thighs, and she was shamed by the carnal need that pulsed so strongly inside her. She had never longed to be physically possessed by a man as much as she did this moment. “I could give you things you never even thought to want before,” Bronson whispered. “Forget about your damned promises, Holly. That's all in the past. It's time to think of the future now.”

Holly shook her head and parted her lips to argue. His head lowered swiftly, and he took her mouth, making her groan in pleasure as his tongue sank deeply inside her. He kissed her with a passionate expertise that sent every rational thought scattering. His mouth teased and twisted over hers, while she strained upward in helpless response. His warm hands, separated from her body by only thin layers of muslin, slid over her with shocking boldness, cupping over the shapes of her br**sts, the slopes of her hips, even the full curves of her bu**ocks. She gasped as he squeezed her bottom gently, pulling her h*ps upward against his. As he kissed her, he rubbed her insistently against the rock-hard protrusion of his arousal, and Holly nearly swooned at the sensation. Not even her husband had dared to fondle her so blatantly.