The Wilder Wedding

With a groan of exasperation, he swept her up in his arms and sat down on the divan. “We have to talk,” he said, settling her on his lap.

Those wonderful hands of his stroked up and down her arms. She supposed that was meant to calm her. Ha! “No, we don’t need talking,” she argued, seeking his mouth again. She felt starved for him, and so very much alive it hurt.

He turned his head to avoid the kiss. “Yes, we do! Wait a moment!” His breathing slowed to nearly normal as she waited. “Now then,” he said, and cleared his throat. “About your luggage—”

“Bother the luggage. It’s not going anywhere.” She tugged on his tie, watching the bow unravel.

“Laura, I’m warning you. Behave yourself!” Sean admonished sharply, and pushed her far enough away to see her face. “Look, everything’s happening too damned fast. I need time to think. There are things we need to consider…to plan.”

Laura reached up, cradling his face with both hands. “No,” she said gruffly. “Plans require a future, Sean. Do you understand that? There is only here and now. This moment. If you can’t bring yourself to do this, just say so and I shall get up. If you can, then for heaven’s sake, please do it!”

Sean leaned his forehead to hers and sighed. “This seems wrong, Laura. We’ve only known each other less than a day.”

“A lifetime,” she whispered as she turned her head to meet his lips. He surrendered with a tortured groan.

She tried to record his every touch, every nuance of his heated kisses, every word fragment that passed his busy lips. No use, she decided, and abandoned herself to the sweeping fire he ignited.

How had they gotten from the divan to his bed? She gasped at the feel of silk sliding off her hips. The rustle of his clothing sounded like the sweetest music in the world.

Suddenly the muscled, hair-roughened texture of his bare chest brushed over her own soft curves. Lips blazed a path down her neck, across her chest, and settled on a tightened peak of need. Her breath hissed in through her teeth. His palm glided over her knee and trailed up her inner thigh. Anticipation immediately lost its appeal. She wanted him now.

“Open, sweetheart,” he whispered, tasting her ear. “There now,” he crooned as his fingers worked magic. “Hot, you are so incredibly hot! Feel that. Do you like?”

“Mmm. I like,” she agreed, arching into his hand. “Yes!” When she thought she could stand no more, he stopped. Laura would have pleaded if she’d had a voice left.

“I know, I know,” he soothed as he rose above her. “You might not like this part,” he warned softly. “Try to relax. Let go.”

She felt his male part nudge her gently and automatically lifted herself toward it.

“Steady now,” he said, thrusting gently, seating himself more firmly against her tight resistance. Then he plunged.

Laura struggled to get even closer, but he held her immobile with the weight of his body and his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t rush me. You’ll regret it,” he murmured, and claimed her mouth again.

Tenderly at first, then growing insistent, his tongue invaded, moving in and out rhythmically, until her entire being focused solely on that act. Before she knew it, his lower body echoed the motion. How wonderfully pleasant, she thought, feeling herself join the intimate dance he created.

Pleasant quickly escalated to sublime with the marvelous friction inside her. Laura groaned into his mouth, wishing he would hurry. She didn’t understand her urgency, didn’t care at this point, but he seemed to sense her need and increased the pace to a fever pitch.

“Ah, now!” he rasped as the first shudder of ecstasy shook her. The rippling force of pure pleasure sent her flying into a void of star-studded nothingness. Everythingness, she corrected with a shaky last thought.

When feeling returned, she opened one eye. Sean lay plastered to her side, muscles glistening with sweat, his chest heaving with exertion. Spent. Laura smiled. “Better than talking, hmm?”

He grunted a soft laugh and nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck. “Better than anything.”

She couldn’t say when she drifted off to sleep, but when she woke it was to the smell of food. He had anticipated her hunger. Known what she needed before she even realized it, just as he had last evening. And he didn’t waste a moment. The idea that Sean would go to such lengths to please her warmed her heart. What a husband! No one could ever say Laura Middlebrook Wilder hadn’t made at least one truly excellent decision in her lifetime.

“Thank you, God.” She closed her eyes and whispered with a grin. “I don’t think I’m quite so angry with You anymore.”

Sean hefted the tray onto his left palm and entered the bedroom. The newly arrived letter in his pocket rustled as he turned to close the door. This one, delivered right to his rooming house, bothered him more than the one sent to his office. Prepare to die, it said. Someone—very probably Luckhurst—was toying with him. But he couldn’t concern himself with that right now. The writer of the dratted things would surely give up the game by the time Sean had finished his business in Paris.

If the fool meant to frighten him, Sean could almost laugh at the pitiful effort. For the past ten years, he had lived daily with danger that bore no forewarning at all. His first ten years of life had been much the same. Worse, really, due to lack of training to deal with the perils he encountered. Watching his back became second nature, a way of life. These little scare tactics didn’t unnerve him in the least. But they did present a bothersome puzzle, and puzzles distracted him from more important matters.

He would have to dismiss the letters. Just forget them. Today he had a greater puzzle, a distraction and an important matter all rolled into one. A wife.

Sean smiled at the sight greeting him as he entered the bedroom. Laura nestled amid the pillows with the sheet tucked just beneath her arms. Her smile shamed sunshine and was, thank God, not so rare.

“Food!” he announced as he carefully set the tray on the bed beside her. “Don’t fidget, sweetheart. You’ll spill the tea.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, snatching up a fat sugared biscuit. Her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as she chewed. The blue gray eyes rolled with pleasure.

He had to laugh. “Such a greedy child!” Had he ever seen anyone so gluttonous for every moment’s worth of joy?

Recalling the reason for her hedonism sobered him immediately. She never knew just how many moments she had left. Laura could only be certain of this particular one.

“Such a gloomy face!” she admonished, drawing her brows together. “Don’t frown so. It puts lines between your eyes.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he said, tapping her nose with his finger.

She choked down the food and took a swallow of her tea. “When do we leave?”

“Two hours,” he told her. “We must be at Dover by this evening. I sent to the hotel for your things. They should arrive directly. Will you need a maid?”

“Never had one. Will you need a valet?” she teased.

Sean grinned at the thought of having someone dress him. Now someone—this particular someone—undressing him was a different matter altogether. No time for that now, unfortunately. He handed her a sausage. “Silly widgeon. Finish your breakfast while I draw your bath.”

He left her tucking into the substantial plate of bangers and eggs he had requested from the kitchen downstairs. The announcement of his sudden marriage had prompted instant motherly attention from his landlady and her staff. Until this morning, he had only been the object of curiosity and gossip who hardly rated a wary word of greeting now and then. Now he was “the young bridegroom.”

Falling fully into the role certainly tempted him. There was nothing he’d have liked better than to crawl back into that bed and spend the day with “the young bride.” He couldn’t recall ever having held a more responsive woman in his arms. She made love the way she did everything else, full steam ahead and damn the consequences. The mere thought of her enthusiasm had his body thrumming even now.

He turned on the tap in the huge, claw-foot tub and tested the temperature of the water with the back of his hand.

The timing of this unexpected honeymoon could be worse, he supposed. What if he were embarking on a case involving a life-threatening situation? There had certainly been a wealth of those, not that he minded. Danger proved addictive. He thrived on that sort of job and it was what he did best. For the past few years, Sean admitted, the adventures held far more appeal than the rewards. This coming endeavor, however, only relied on his keen eye for deception and his solid reputation as a reliable courier.

Working for Burton was child’s play, a holiday in fact. This time he only had to verify the authenticity of a painting. If genuine, he would complete the deal for Mr. Burton, director of the National Gallery, bring the picture home, and that would be that. No rush, no danger, large fee. Not that he needed the money particularly, but one never had too much of that commodity.

Laura would be disappointed when he told her about the tame task, he thought with a smile. After his warning of possible danger, she would be geared up for murder and mayhem. Her thirst for adventure would be amusing under different circumstances.

His heart contracted painfully every time he thought of Laura dying. How could he bear to watch that bright little light blink out? The world would seem a dismal place without it now that he knew her. She touched him, threw his senses awry in some way he couldn’t quite fathom; had done so from the moment he had first seen her. Innocence, he supposed. Something he’d had so little experience with in his twenty-eight years. Surprising he even recognized it at all.

This whole affair seemed unreal. The hasty wedding, the lovemaking, and letting her accompany him to Paris were all so uncharacteristically impulsive of him. He could scarcely believe he had allowed any of it. For a man who planned every move he made with the precision of a well-oiled machine, Sean knew he had slipped an important gear somewhere along the line.

In his early life, quick decisions had equaled survival. But later, he had learned to consider the long-term effect—weigh all his options, however briefly—before he acted. For the first time since the wedding, he forced himself to stop and think exactly where all this might lead.

Laura had given him no time to plan or consider or project. Because she had so little time to give. So little time.

Steam from the bath made him sniff. Surely that was what caused his eyes to water this way. He shut off the faucet and brushed a hand over his face. Laura Middlebrook had blown into his life like a whirlwind. She stirred up feelings he thought he had eliminated, and some he hadn’t known existed at all. How did he think he could direct events toward a satisfactory future? Laura would not have one. God, how that thought hurt. It shouldn’t bother him this much. He, of all people, knew there were things worse than death. He’d even told Laura as much. Cruel truth.

But he had never met anyone as alive as Laura. He must be out of his mind to admit such a thing, even to himself, but he could love this woman, was probably half in love with her already. After letting down his guard and risking it that once with Ondine, love only equaled disaster as far as Sean was concerned. It ripped away all the hard-earned control over his life as though it were wet tissue paper. He needed control the way he needed air to breathe. How could he possibly surrender that again?