Where Dreams Begin(78)

“I thought you were in town,” she said, raising her voice above a long rumble of thunder.

“Came back early,” he replied shortly. “I managed to stay just ahead of the storm until it reached the estate.”

“How did you know I was out here?”

“Maude was worried—she said you were in the garden somewhere.” Triumphantly he closed the umbrella with a snap. “It was easy enough to find you—not many places to take shelter.” His dark gaze settled on her face, and he returned her smile with a flashing grin. “So I'm here to rescue you, milady.”

“I didn't even realize I needed rescuing,” Holly said. “I was completely absorbed in my book. Perhaps the rain will ease soon?”

As if in sarcastic response, the sky turned several shades darker, and earsplitting thunder accompanied a streak of lightning as it scored across the burgeoning sky. Holly laughed suddenly and glanced at Bronson, who was smiling. “Let me take you back to the house,” he said.

Holly shivered, staring at the torrential downpour. It seemed a very long way back to the house. “We'll be soaked,” she said. “And the lawn has undoubtedly turned to mud. Couldn't we just wait until it stops?” Extracting a dry handkerchief from her sleeve, she stood on her toes and dabbed at the rivulets of rain on Bronson's face. Suddenly he was expressionless, standing still beneath her ministrations.

“It won't stop for hours. And I don't trust myself to be alone with you for more than five minutes.” He removed his greatcoat and hung it around her shoulders. The garment was ridiculously large on her. “So unless you want to be ravished in the summerhouse,” he said brusquely, staring into her upturned face, “let's go.”

But neither of them moved.

Holly raised the handkerchief to his jaw, drying a few last drops of water that clung to his clean-shaven skin. She crushed the damp lace-trimmed linen in her fist, and clutched at the greatcoat to keep it from falling to the floor. She did not comprehend why being alone with him gave her such intense pleasure, why the sight of him and sound of his voice should be so comfortable and yet so stirring. The knowledge that their lives were only entwined for a temporary time caused her heart to ache. He had become important to her so quickly, so effortlessly.

“I've missed you,” she whispered. She had not intended to speak the words aloud, but they pressed forth of their own accord, hanging gently amid the splashing staccato of rain. She felt almost maddened by a yearning that was deeper than hunger, sharper than pain.

“I had to stay away,” Bronson said gruffly. “I can't be around you without…” Falling silent, he stared at her in grim misery. He did not move when Holly pushed the coat off her shoulders, or when she brought her body against his, or even when she slid her arms around his neck. She rubbed her face against the damp collar of his shirt, and hugged him fiercely. It seemed that for the first time in days she was able to breathe fully, the dull ache of loneliness finally lifting from her chest.

A muffled groan escaped him, and he turned his head to fit his mouth against hers. His arms went around her, holding her securely. The summerhouse dissolved in a blur around her, and the smell of rain was replaced by the masculine scent of Zachary's skin. She put her hands on his hot cheeks, his neck, and his grip tightened just short of crushing her, as if he were trying to pull her inside him.

Just this once…the wicked thought seized her and would not let go. Just once…she would live on it, remember, savor savor when the days of her youth were long past. No one would ever know.

The storm pounded on the wooden structure around them, but its force was nothing compared to the violent beating of her own heart. Frantically she pulled at the knot of his necktie, tugging it loose, then worked at the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. Zachary held still, though his powerful chest moved in deep, labored breaths.

“Holly…” His voice was low and unsteady. “Do you know what you're doing?”

Recklessly she pushed the shirt open, baring him from neck to navel, and her breath stopped at the sight of him. He was a magnificent creature, his body a tightly knit masterpiece of muscle and sinew. Holly touched him in awed wonder, spreading her hands on his furry chest, sliding her fingertips through to the tough muscle beneath, then stroking the hard, rippled surface of his stomach. She found the sprinkling of hair around his navel, her fingertips investigating gently, and he made a sound of pained pleasure. Catching her wrist, he pulled her hand away, holding it to the side as he stared at her. “If you touch me again,” he said raggedly, “I won't be able to stop. I'll take you right here, Holly…do you understand?”

She moved toward him, pressed herself to his bare skin, buried her face amid the thick black curls on his chest. She felt his resistance break, his large body shuddering as he wrapped his arms around her. His mouth sought hers urgently, extracting sensations that were indecent in their sheer sweetness. A series of swift, light tugs, and the carved bone buttons of her bodice were released, the garment sagging to her elbows. After unhooking her stays, Zachary took hold of the tape that fastened the top of her chemise, wound it around his finger, and pulled. Her br**sts spilled free, white and pink, the tips already contracted from the coolness of the summerhouse. Filling his hands with the round, soft weights, Zachary cradled the sensitive peaks within his palms.