The Virgin and the Vengeful Groom Read online

  It was going to happen. Lily had made up her mind. But it had to happen now, before she lost her nerve. “Oh, my, you’re…”

  A bitter bark of laughter nearly sent her scurrying for cover, but she’d gone too far now to retreat. The earthy scent of him, the contrasting textures of smooth, tanned skin and crisp, wiry hair—muscles that leaped at the touch of her hands—

  Too much. The old Lily would be cowering in a closet by now, but the new Lily—the woman Curt Powers had created—that Lily knew what she wanted. She refused to be denied.

  First one and then the other took the lead, demanding access, staking a claim to each new discovery. The foothills of her small breasts—the valley between them. The shallow canyons where his muscular thighs swelled from the crease of his groin. Her fingers brushed against the crisp thicket of pelvic hair and the ridged plain of his abdomen…and then slipped lower.

  Restraining her hand, he kissed her again, in a way that was totally carnal, a prelude to the act it foreshadowed. Then, lifting his head, he gulped in a shuddering gasp of air and stared down at her. Slowly he shook his head.

  Taking it for rejection, Lily pleaded, “Please—please, Curt, don’t stop now.”

  She was embarrassingly wet between her legs. And while technically she knew what to expect, never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined the sheer force of all these tumultuous feelings.

  Well, perhaps in her dreams.

  Last chance. All ashore that’s going ashore. Another broken, meaningless phrase raced through her mind. Man the lifeboats!

  “Curt, you don’t have to do this,” she managed to say. “Maybe we’d better talk about it first.” Those blasted diaries. Here she was drowning, and she was waving off her last chance of rescue.

  “Changed your mind? It’s not too late.” His voice was so strained it was barely audible.

  It was too late. It had been too late the first time she’d ever laid eyes on him, pinning her with those laser eyes of his, moving toward her like a great, stalking, tawny-haired cat. Unable to help herself, Lily lowered her gaze to his fully aroused sex, shut her eyes and said quickly, “I haven’t changed my mind. Just…just do it, will you?”

  Eyes still closed, she waited. And waited some more. With her heart pounding like a kettledrum, he could’ve shouted in her ear and she might not have heard him. At least he didn’t attack her. He didn’t get up, walk out and slam the door. And he didn’t laugh. So she opened her eyes and peered up at him.

  He was staring back at her. Unable to meet his gaze, she stared at his chest—at the dark-brown nipples, circled with hair, that were standing erect like small nail heads.

  “Lily, what the hell is going on here? I think you’d better level with me before this goes any further.”

  Last chance. She could have escaped with a few shreds of dignity intact. Instead, she was lying there like a willing victim, waiting for him to make up his mind whether or not she was worth the effort.

  Dammit, she was no victim. That was the whole point of this entire exercise, she told herself, needing desperately to believe it. For years she’d been promising herself that when the time came, she would be the one to choose instead of having the choice ripped from her by force.

  Well, the time had come and she had chosen. This was the man, and if her timing wasn’t perfect, then that was too bad, because it was probably the only chance she was going to get.

  “Lily? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

  “Um. Well.” Way to go, lady. “If you’d read any of my books, you’d know that I’m not at all shy about—you know. Sex. So we’ve been here together for a while, and you’re—well, let’s face it, you’re not exactly dog food.”

  He made a choking sound. Lily forced herself to go on. This was hardly the scene she’d created in her mind titled The Deflowering of Lily. She should have been wearing something seductive. Candlelight had always figured somewhere in her love scenes. Instead, here she was, strip, stark naked except for the bra around her waist, with this particular man, out of all the men in the world. And all he was offering was sex. Nothing more. Not a single sweet, seductive whisper.

  Actually, he hadn’t even offered, she’d had to beg.

  “Well, anyway,” she said, and did her best to look sexy and sophisticated and experienced and very, very cool about the whole scene, when cool was the last thing she felt. “Anyway, I thought, why not? I mean, I’ve thought about it, and you have, too, because men can’t hide that kind of thing,”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Don’t laugh at me. Don’t you dare laugh! If you’re not interested, just say so. Or maybe you’re just not up to it yet. I know you’re still recovering from whatever happened to you, so if you want to opt out, feel free. My feelings won’t be hurt, I assure you.”

  She reminded herself that she was the one in control here. While he might be physically stronger, she was onto him now. She knew his weakness. He was an honorable man, and honorable men were no match for a woman who knew every sneaky trick in the book. She could take him easy, if it came to that.

  Not even to herself did she attempt to define taking him. All she knew was that she had never wanted anything so much in her entire life as she wanted this man. Parts of her body she usually took for granted were throbbing with every beat of her heart. Lately she’d been dreaming dreams she didn’t even know how to dream.

  “Well,” she said gruffly, “are we going to talk it to death, or are we going to do it?” She glared up at him, wishing she could think of an appropriate line. Something like, “I want to have your baby.” The trouble was, writing about it and actually doing it were far different things.

  Carefully he rose up on his knees, bringing his torso into clear view. She had touched him almost everywhere but there. His naked sex. She’d wanted to, had even dared to try, but he’d caught her hand, and she’d thought maybe that was something he didn’t like. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen an unclothed male body. Unfortunately, she’d seen more than she’d ever wanted to. She used to have nightmares about them, but that was then and this was now.

  And this was Curt.

  She told herself she probably didn’t love him. She wasn’t sure what love even felt like. She was sure of only one thing—that if this wasn’t love, then it was as close as she was ever likely to get to the real thing. Whatever it was, it was the only reason she was here in his bed. A clear case of now or never, she thought sadly.

  He was beautiful, scars and all. More rangy than brawny. His features weren’t perfect—taken alone, they weren’t even close. Odd that he should turn out to be the one man out of all the men she’d ever met, all the men she had ever written about. The one.

  And his sex—

  Oh, my. She stared—couldn’t help herself, even knowing he was watching. “Well, you looked at me,” she said defensively, and he nodded.

  So she took her time, looked her fill, telling herself that even though it looked impossible, it was going to work. She knew all about everything—in theory, at least. She knew that nature took over at the proper time, doing whatever was necessary to make Part A fit comfortably into Part B.

  Curt allowed her to stare at him. Bold as brass, he told himself, no longer quite believing it, even though she’d been the one to proposition him instead of the other way around. He wasn’t going to rush her. If she wanted to do the driving, the least a gentleman could do was oblige her, even if it killed him. Which it damned well might.

  He waited, the outside world fading away as the intoxicating scent of sex drifted up around him like some exotic, mind-altering spice.

  Lily’s thighs kept shifting, parting. She kept forgetting to breathe and having to gulp air like a drowning woman. Crazy, incredible feelings invaded the most intimate parts of her body, but she was in charge, she really, truly was, because this whole thing had been her idea.

  Bending slowly—carefully—he took her nipple in his mouth and suckled gently, and then not so ge
ntly. And then he moved lower. She gasped, knowing what was coming next because she’d read books on technique and, after all, she’d written countless love scenes.

  But mere words lost all meaning when it was actually happening.

  “Oh, oh, oh…!” Helpless against the renewed surge of passion, she lifted her hips, silently begging him for release—for relief.

  When it came, it was shattering. He rose over her, a tight, strained look on his face. She was ready. Wildly, breathlessly ready. Frantically she grasped at his shoulders, slippery with sweat, urging him on.

  The last thing Curt needed was urging. Sex hadn’t been a part of the prescribed recovery program. It had been a long time for him, but she was a desirable woman. She was available. Hell, she’d started this business—the least he could do was oblige her. If sex with a Navy SEAL came under the heading of research, then he was willing to do his part for the sake of literature—do it if it killed him.

  Which it well might.

  Years of the most rigorous training rose to the occasion. He forced himself to take his time instead of doing what he wanted to do, which was jump her bones and ride her until they both collapsed. Her timing was less than optimum, but he was determined to make this a memorable experience. Good sex was all he could offer—all he intended to offer—and even good sex might be beyond him in his present condition. He had a feeling that in spite of the way she’d exploded before, she wasn’t quite as experienced as she wanted him to believe.

  Gently, he moved his hand over her warm, damp thicket, preparing her for his entrance. She stared up at him, her eyes nearly black with arousal. Like one of those carnivorous plants, her legs came together, trapping his hand. She was ready. He told himself he was a fool to hold back. Get in, get the job done, get out, he thought grimly.

  But this was Lily. She deserved the best he could offer—patience, at the very least. Except for that first time, when they’d both been fully clothed, he hadn’t dared let her touch him, knowing what would happen. Premature detonation. He’d been primed far too long as it was. Now, taking her hand, he moved it down his body, closing her fingers around him…and then he sucked in his breath and snatched her hand away.

  “I’m sorry,” she said plaintively.

  “No, honey, don’t—it’s… The thing is, it’s been a long time for me, and I’m running a short, fast-burning fuse.” Plus, his back was already issuing a few warnings of its own.

  “Then why don’t we just do it?”

  A bark of laughter escaped. “Do it? Like…now?”

  She nodded. He tried to come up with something suave, such as “Your wish is my command,” but by that time words were out of the question. Ignoring the ominous tightening muscles in his lower back, he spread her legs farther, positioned himself and stroked her, using first his thumb and then the head of his member.

  She was primed and ready. He was long past ready. And so he thrust into her.

  She bucked wildly. He thought she might have cried out, but he couldn’t be sure, he was too busy swearing. He couldn’t stop thrusting, even when he knew—he knew!

  Too late. He was drowning, and there wasn’t one damned thing he could do about it but ride it out.

  Moments later, utterly spent, he collapsed on her, sweating like a horse, feeling lower than dirt—feeling that indescribable sensation that came from mind-altering sex. The trouble was, this time it was mixed up with guilt and anger and confusion.

  Anger won out. “So what was I, honey—a guinea pig?”

  When time passed and she didn’t speak, he rolled off, grimacing as spasms of another kind began in earnest. “You want to tell me what this was all about, Lily? You were a virgin. A damned virgin!”

  “Well, it’s hardly against the law.” There was a red area on her neck where his beard had chafed her skin. God knows what other damage he’d managed to inflict. Aside from the obvious. He didn’t even want to think about the fact that he’d just had unprotected sex with a stranger.

  “Where the hell were your brains? If you’re going to proposition a strange man, at least be sure you’re carrying protection!” He waited. No response. He could hear her breathing, which was the only indication that he hadn’t killed her. He knew he’d hurt her, but he refused to accept the entire blame for that.

  “I don’t have anything, um—communicable. I’ve been tested.”

  She’d been tested. Which meant that regardless of what she’d led him to believe, she’d obviously engaged in some type of risky behavior at some point in her life.

  “Drugs?” he ventured, but he knew better. Not with her history. She wouldn’t even touch a beer.

  His back wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, not without help. The deputy would be pulling up any minute now. There was no time to go into it, so he said, “We’re going to have to talk, Lily. Only, right now, we’d better get dressed before we have company.”

  She started to speak, broke off, then tried again. “All right, if it’ll make you feel any better…” It wouldn’t, but he let that pass. “I’m sorry. And yes, I deliberately used you because—well, because it was time, and I wanted it to be my choice. Me in charge, you know?”

  He gave it all the consideration he thought it warranted. “Okay, so you were in charge. Did I perform to suit you? Any complaints? You want to critique my technique? You want to show me what I did wrong so next time I can get it right?” He was seething with anger, and at this point, he didn’t care who knew it.

  “I…well, I don’t know. I mean, it’s supposed to be pretty great, isn’t it? The books say that even the first time, it might hurt, but the hurt goes away and then there’s this terrific, earth-shattering explosion of pleasure—pulsating rainbows and all that.” She broke off, sounding confused, sounding embarrassed, making him feel guilty in spite of the fact that he was mad as hell.

  “Yeah, I guess that about sums it up. I wouldn’t use those words, exactly, but…close enough, I guess. Didn’t happen, huh? Not for you?”

  “Maybe if we tried again? It’s not supposed to hurt after the first time, so maybe if we try it again, I’ll get the full effect.”

  He had to laugh. It nearly killed him, lying stiff as an oak six-by-six, afraid to do any more damage to his back than he’d already accomplished. “I think what’s called for is a hot bath. Maybe with some salt thrown in. You—that is, you’re bound to be sore, so maybe it would be best if we postponed the second act.”

  “Oh. I guess I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Curt closed his eyes and prayed for delivery. From what, he couldn’t have said. From the naked woman in his bed who was all but begging for round two? Or the back that was killing him with each breath he took? “Look, I’m just thinking of you—of how sore you’re going to be if you don’t take precautions. I can deal with the sheriff.”

  Precautions. Oh, man, that was another problem. He set it aside to handle when he had more time. At the moment he needed to get rid of her so that he could roll off the bed and crawl as far as the footlocker where he kept the high-powered stuff he’d quit taking nearly a month ago.

  Watching her try to cover her bare backside with a shirt—his, not hers—he thought about how he’d come down here to finish recovering, to simplify his life in order to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of it.

  Oh, yeah, he’d simplified, all right. “Way to go, Powers.”

  With a groan he couldn’t quite suppress, he closed his eyes, clenched his jaw and rolled off the bed onto his knees. One problem at a time was about all he could handle.

  Problem number one was Lily.

  Ten

  Lily heard him in the kitchen. He was making no effort to be quiet, slamming cabinet doors, scraping chairs. She knew when he ran water, because the water she was running in the stained, claw-footed tub slowed to a trickle.

  She had heard the lid of his footlocker slam down, and because she knew that was where he kept his medicines, she allowed guilt to flow over her, along with the hot, w
eak-tea-colored water.

  She’d forgotten to add salt. Just as well. While salt might help heal her more-obvious injury, the deepest hurt was hidden away inside her heart. That, she would have to deal with later—or live with for the rest of her life.

  As for the other—sex, even with the right man, had been one big, flaming disappointment. All promise, but a little short on delivery. A lot short on delivery. Oh, the promise had been glorious beyond belief, but she’d desperately needed more. The ending had been all wrong.

  Sighing, she slapped the wet washcloth over her breast and told herself to grow up and stop thinking like a romance writer. She’d had a few bells and whistles. If she’d expected the full marching band—expected him to suddenly realize he loved her—then she might as well start breathing again. It wasn’t going to happen. She had done her very best not to put pressure on him—emotional pressure, that was. Because whatever love was, she was pretty sure it couldn’t be coerced.

  She knew for a fact that it couldn’t be bartered, because her mother had gone that route. It was a dead end. Literally.

  As near as Lily could figure out—and she was supposed to be something of an expert on the subject—love was something that happened spontaneously. Like snow. Like rainbows. Like, you open your eyes one day and whammo! There it is.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Bess, but can love give you a sick feeling sometimes? Like running until your tongue’s hanging out to catch the bus for the most important appointment of your life and watching it drive off without you?”

  She should’ve settled for friendship. They’d been getting along so well—he’d even told her about his family, the ones that had come after Bess and old Matthew. Not much, because he didn’t know much more about his family than she did about hers, but at least he knew who his were. He’d never been close to his mother, at least not since she had taken him away from his father and then lied and told him his father was dead. Lily had never been close to her own mother, because her mother had been lost long before Lily ever came on the scene.