Carides's Forgotten Wife Page 6

  She unclipped her bra, flinging it onto the floor, not caring where it landed. She pushed her panties down her thighs, leaving them behind, too. Then she walked back into her bedroom, digging through her closet until she found a pair of sweats, something that would entice her to stay away from Leon for the rest of the night. If she put on anything too silky, anything that might not humiliate her to stand before him in, she could not guarantee that she wouldn’t go and find him later.

  With that thought in mind she stared down at the pair of pajama pants in her hand, then shoved them back in the drawer, digging until she found a slightly older, slightly baggier pair. Insurance. It was what she needed.

  Additional insurance came in the form of large white cotton panties that would provide more than full coverage, and handle any Leon incidentals that might occur.

  She grabbed hold of an equally ancient sweatshirt and added it to her pile of clothing before heading back into the bathroom.

  She wasn’t foolish enough to think she would behave rationally now she’d tasted him. Wars were started over sex. The desire for it. The anger over someone else having it in a way you didn’t like. Or with someone you wish you were having it with.

  Sex was powerful. And she knew better than to think she was immune.

  The water was hot, steam beginning to fill the air. She took a deep breath, sighing as she exhaled. Then she turned toward the counter and began to pin her hair up, slowly, methodically, trying to erase the past few moments from her mind.

  “I wonder.” She heard a rich, masculine voice coming from behind her and she turned. There was Leon, standing in the door, his dark eyes like black fire. “I wonder how many times I have stood here in this very place and watched you prepare for your bath like this. I have no recollection. This does not make my mind itch in any way.”

  Heat scorched her skin, fascination and embarrassment warring for equal place inside of her. He had never seen her naked before. No man ever had. But of course, he didn’t know that. Of course, he wouldn’t have any concept of just what an invasion this was.

  That was her own doing. There was no one to blame for that but herself. And she still wasn’t doing anything to correct it.

  “An itch in your mind?” She looked around, desperately searching for a towel, something, anything to cover her exposed body.

  “That is what it feels like sometimes. When something is familiar but I can’t grab hold of it. As though I have an itch deep in my brain that I can’t quite get to. But this… This is free of all of that. Perhaps because when I look at you it becomes difficult to think at all.”

  She swallowed hard. And she forgot to look for a towel. Forgot to be embarrassed. She was completely frozen in her tracks. It would be easy—or it should be—to move her hands strategically and offer herself some modesty. But she felt like she’d been turned into a pillar of salt. Punished for looking at him when she should have turned away.

  You don’t want to cover yourself. You want him to keep looking at you.

  Yes, she did. As disturbing a realization as that was, she did.

  Historically, people were very stupid when it came to sex. She was proving beyond a doubt that she was doomed to repeat history.

  “You do say very nice things,” she said, her voice thin, soft.

  “Have I always?”

  She shook her head. “You don’t say unkind things. But…”

  He took a step into the bathroom and her entire body stiffened. “But I do not lavish you with the sort of praise you deserve. I get that sense. I get the feeling that I never adequately appreciated how glorious a sight you were.” He was gazing at her openly, with no shame at all. Like this was the Garden of Eden and nudity was simply right.

  “Do you even remember what women look like naked? Perhaps that’s all this is. Perhaps there is a strange amount of novelty that you’re contending with here.” She still hadn’t managed to move at all. She was standing there, completely bare, her heart pounding hard, her limbs trembling. She felt like a frightened squirrel staring down a large predator she had no hope of escaping.

  You don’t even want to escape. You want to offer him your neck.

  She gritted her teeth, squeezing her knees tightly together, trying to tamp down the restless feeling that was growing between her thighs.

  “I do remember what women look like naked. Oddly enough. Not one specific woman, but it is not as mysterious to me as you might think.” He took another step toward her, then another. “I know that you think we should wait. But I want you to listen to me. I feel very much like what we had before this was broken. I said that to you downstairs, and I still mean it. I don’t care what happened. I don’t care where we were. I have a sense that you and I are the right thing. You are the woman I want. The woman I married. Whenever I lost sight of it, why I lost sight of it, it doesn’t matter. If you can forgive me then I want to move forward as husband and wife. And I want to be husband and wife in every sense of the word.” His voice got lower, grew rougher. “And I don’t want to wait for my ribs to heal. I don’t want to wait for a memory that may never come back. My life is a blank, barren field, Rose. I have… I have nothing. I have nothing but this connection to you, this need for you. Give me this. Give me something other than emptiness.”

  What he was offering her was a dream come true. All of her girlish fantasies come to life. It was what she had hoped would happen after their wedding two years ago. That wedding night that never actually eventuated.

  Two years a wife, and she was still a virgin. Pining after a man who had held her heart as long as she could remember. It was enough to make her want to cry just thinking about it. Enough to make her want to curl up in a ball and wail for just how sorrowful a situation it was. She had wanted him for as long as she could remember, and she had been denied him. She had married him. And she had never once pushed. Not for anything. Even when she had decided that she would divorce him she had immediately rushed to his side the moment she had heard about his injury. Because what else could she do? Leon held all of her heart. There was no denying that.

  It was why she had to divorce him even at the expense of the house if she wanted to retain her sanity. Because as long as she lived in hope she would never move on with her life.

  And here he was, standing there, offering her hope. Offering her everything she had ever wanted to hear.

  She just wasn’t strong enough to say no. She had been strong, for so long, in so many ways. She had done her best to be strong for her father when her mother had died, even if he had done his best to hold it all together for her.

  She had stayed strong in the face of his illness, in the face of his impending death. She had stayed strong even as he had asked her to marry Leon, so that he would know that she was protected. Even while the very thought of entering into a loveless union with the man who held every last piece of her soul killed her by inches.

  She could not sacrifice anymore. Not for one more moment.

  Leon was offering to make this marriage work. He wanted her to be his wife in every way. How could she deny him?

  How could she deny herself?

  This time, she was the one who took a step forward. Moving toward him. Her heart was in her throat, pounding, making her feel light-headed, dizzy. But even so, she took another step toward him, and then another.

  He was the one who closed the distance. He was the one who ran out of patience. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her tightly up against his body, a feral growl on his lips. She could feel him. All of him. His heat, his hardness, the intense thrust of his arousal up against her hip.

  Oh, how she wanted him. There were no words for the depth of her desire. For the depth of her longing, her need.

  It wove itself around her body, like the vines that overtook the Tanner house, creeping ever higher until it threatened to consume her.
Need wrapped itself around her throat, made it impossible for her to breathe. Impossible for her to think.

  “Are you afraid of me, Rose?” His voice was so soft, so tender and so full of concern, it made her own heart ache in response.

  “Of course not.”

  “You look at me as though I am a monster of some kind.”

  “Not you. This thing between us. All of this. It feels like a monster. Like something that could consume us both.”

  He laughed, the sound rusty, hard. “Yes, I agree.” He dragged his thumb along her cheekbone, his gaze filled with wonder. “Has it always been like this?”

  “For me,” she said, the word strangled. “For me it has always been like this.”

  “I think it has been for me, too.”

  She laughed. “You can’t possibly know that.”

  “Of course I can. Just as I know I am generous.”

  “I already told you we have differing opinions on that.”

  “Which leads me to believe that I perhaps demonstrate the things I feel differently than people might usually. But it doesn’t mean I don’t feel them. This is an old feeling, Rose. I know it is. It’s as much a part of me as my blood. There’s nothing foreign about it. Nothing unusual. It simply is. And much like any other part of myself I’m not sure that you could remove it without destroying me completely.”

  “You don’t say things like this,” she said, feeling almost desperate to pull away now. This was too much. Because this wasn’t him. Not really. This was not the kind but distant man she had always known.

  The Leon that she knew did not feel this for her. If he did, he would have touched her a long time ago. If he did, he wouldn’t spend his nights in bed with other women.

  But she couldn’t say any of that. Not in this moment. Not now. And she couldn’t pull away, either. Because no matter how strong the compulsion was, it could not begin to compete with the desire to stay in his arms.

  “Let’s not talk,” she said. “Please, kiss me.”

  He didn’t hesitate. He lowered his head, closing the distance between them. And she ignited. All of the need, all of the desire she had felt out on the terrace was magnified now. Magnified by the feel of his large hands spanning her bare waist, of her nipples pressing against the rough fabric of his shirt. Magnified by the fact that she was utterly and completely enslaved to him now. The fact that she was not trying to fight it anymore, even for a moment.

  If this was a war, she was conquered.

  This was wrong. But she didn’t care. She was doing the wrong thing. And she was doing it for herself. She had spent a great many years trying to do the right thing. And she had gotten nothing in return.

  She wasn’t afraid of being wrong. She didn’t even feel guilty. She simply felt exhilaration. Freedom. Here she was in the arms of the man she had always wanted, and she would think of nothing else.

  She had always imagined that the moment Leon touched her he would know that she loved him. That she would betray every part of herself if he so much as swept his hand over her cheek. But this was different. So different than how she had ever envisioned it. Because he assumed that she loved him. He also assumed that he loved her.

  But because of that…there were no secrets to keep. This was no revelation for him. And there was nothing inside of herself to protect. It made her feel strong. It made her feel not quite so vulnerable.

  It made her feel not so much like the neglected virgin bride she’d been.

  She pressed her hands against his chest, reveling in the feel of him, in the hardness of his muscles, the evidence of his strength. Before she could think it through, before she could stop herself, she was working the buttons on his shirt, separating the fabric, brushing her fingertips over his bare skin.

  She had been struck by his beauty the day he had walked into the library without a shirt. And now she was touching him.

  Her fingers shook as she pressed them against his skin, as she traced the definition of his muscles, his coarse chest hair abrading her fingertips as she continued to explore him. He was everything a man should be. But then, of course he was. Her desire for men was shaped around him. Her needs had never been generic. Her need had always been for him. Always and only.

  He held the back of her head with his hand, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving deep as he tasted her slowly, leisurely. His other hand slid low to cover her bottom, his fingers pressing deep into her flesh. It was a possessive hold. It was not a hold of a man who was unsure of what he wanted. He wanted her.

  It didn’t matter what he had wanted in the past. This was now. And he was choosing her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut tight, pouring everything into the kiss.

  She didn’t know what she was doing. She had no practical skill in the art of seduction. She had nothing more than her passion. And she doubted there was a woman alive who felt as passionately about Leon Carides as she did. She doubted there was a woman alive who felt this passionately about any man. This was nearly fifteen years in the making for her. And what she lacked in practical skill she more than made up for in desire.

  She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, marveling at the way he was constructed. She doubted there was a man alive so perfectly formed. At least, there was no other man alive so perfectly created for her. She kept her eyes squeezed tight, did so in order to keep the tears from falling. Nerves, emotions, threatened to strangle her. This was desire like she’d never known existed. In the abstract, wanting him was something she could control.

  Late at night in her bed, when she imagined being with him, when she imagined him touching her skin, she dictated the movements. She controlled how fast things went, how quickly she brought herself to completion.

  In reality, she controlled nothing of what he did. And her need was a blazing wildfire, burning out of control. It was terrifying. Exhilarating. Intoxicating. It was so much more than she had ever imagined it could be.

  But it was moving far faster than she had anticipated. The hand that had been resting on her bottom had now dipped down between her thighs, teasing her slick folds, ramping up her need until she could hardly breathe. If he moved his hand just a little bit higher, he would push her over the edge completely. With nothing more than a simple touch, a simple kiss, she knew that she would lose her control.

  And so what if she did? She was past the point of caring. In fact, she embraced it. This was what she wanted. Wild. Beyond desire. Beyond shame.

  It was as though everything between them had been burned to the ground. As though they had been given a chance to start again. No one else was given this chance. They were. This was for them. This was for her. This was her chance to make a new memory of herself. Even if he did remember everything in the past, he would remember this, too.

  In this moment, she could create a new image for herself. He would finally see her as a woman, because he could no longer remember her as that plain, bookish girl she’d been.

  If it was that that stood between them, if it was his affection for her father, whatever it was, that was lost here. Obliterated. Gone.

  There was nothing but Leon. Nothing but Rose. Nothing but the need that was sparking between them, hot and out of control.

  He growled, sliding his hand down to her thigh, hooking her leg up over his hip, then the other, bringing the damp part of her up against the hardness of his arousal, sending a streak of pleasure through her body. She gasped, and he began to carry her out of the room, carry her toward the bed.

  “The bath,” she said, feeling dazed.

  “I suppose we don’t want to cause a flood,” he said, depositing her at the center of the mattress and abandoning her as he went to turn the water off.

  She had a moment to rethink then. A moment to gather her thoughts. A moment to flee.

  She stayed where she was.

&n
bsp; He appeared a moment later, filling the doorway, his broad shoulders, heavily muscled chest and narrow waist so utterly masculine, so completely captivating, it stole her breath.

  And then there was the hard press of his erection against the front of his jeans. The absolute and complete evidence that he truly did want her.

  She bit her lip, nerves threatening to swamp her.

  “There’s that look again,” he said, his tone gentle. “Please don’t be afraid of me, agape.” He came to stand beside the bed, his hands on the snap of his jeans. “I only want to make you feel good. I want to make this a memory we share. I want… I want you to feel close to me.”

  She tried to speak. She tried to say that she wanted that, too. But she already did feel closer to him than she ever had. But she couldn’t form the words. She couldn’t make her voice work. Couldn’t force anything through the tightness of her throat.

  “Sometimes I wonder if you have lost your memory, as well,” he said, undoing his jeans then drawing the zipper down slowly.

  Her heart nearly stopped. “I haven’t. It’s just that… You’re different. This is different.”

  “I am sorry.” He pushed his jeans down his narrow hips, exposing his rigid arousal. He was so beautiful. So rampantly masculine. So…large.

  “For what?” She managed to scrape the words past her dry throat.

  “For the way I was.”

  He joined her on the bed then, closing the distance between them, drawing her naked body up against the length of his. His erection was hard, so very hot against her skin. It was unfamiliar. It was wonderful. He ran his hands over her curves, warm, large, soothing. She found that she wasn’t as nervous now.

  She just wanted. She was filled with a restless, overpowering ache that was threatening to unravel her completely. If she didn’t have more of him. More of this.

  “What do you like?” he asked, his voice a rich, deep whisper that whisked along her veins.

  “You,” she said, the deepest and starkest truth there was.