The Nine-Month Marriage Read online

  His voice sounded gruff. Deliciously so.

  “For some reason, it seems a little tight.”

  “You’re finally starting to put on some weight.”

  She approached him slowly. “I’ll be as round as a water barrel before you know it.”

  He stayed where he was, but his big body seemed to tense. “You look good.”

  Now he sounded grim.

  “Well. Thank you.”

  He saluted her with his glass, then drained the last of his drink.

  She took the glass from his hand and set it on the bar. “You’ll have to undo me.”

  He coughed. “Huh?”

  She turned around and showed him the back of the dress. “Undo me.”

  For a moment, he did nothing. And then she felt his fingers on the topmost pearl button. It took several minutes; it was a long row of buttons. But finally, he’d undone each one.

  Abby breathed deeply for the first time in hours. “Umm. That feels wonderful.”

  She turned to find him watching her. Intently. She smiled.

  He didn’t smile back. “Go on to bed.”

  She frowned—and then she understood. “Oh. I’m supposed to slip into something more comfortable, is that it? And then you’ll join me in a few minutes?”

  He said nothing. Not a good sign.

  The pleasant, hazy feeling of sensual anticipation began to fade. “Okay. What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  She stared at him for a moment. Then she muttered, “Major lie.”

  He reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels again. “Just go to bed.”

  She watched him pour. “No.”

  He set the bottle down too hard. “Damn it, Abby.” He drank, looked away, then back. “Why don’t you just let it go?”

  “Let it go? Are you crazy?”

  He plunked down his glass. “This is ridiculous.”

  “No argument.”

  “Then go to bed.”

  “No way. I’m your wife. And this is our wedding night.”

  He gave her a long, hard stare. When that didn’t work, he sighed. “Just go to bed.”

  “No. Forget it. I’m not putting up with this.”

  “Putting up with what?”

  She put her hands on her hips—to show him her exasperation, as well as to keep her dress from falling off. “We agreed to a real marriage. Cash. For however long it lasts. It’s our wedding night. And on their wedding night people in a real marriage make love.”

  “Abby, don’t push me.”

  She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Then she mustered all her courage and dared to demand, “Are you saying you don’t want to make love with me?”

  “Abby, I—”

  “Just answer the question. Do you or don’t you?”

  “Abby…”

  “My name is not an answer.”

  “I just think…”

  “What? You just think what?”

  “That it’s wrong for me to take advantage of you.”

  “Cash, get this—I really want to be taken advantage of.”

  “You say that now.”

  “And I mean it. You’re not going to prove anything by staying away from me.” She paused long enough to slant him a sideways look. “Except maybe that you don’t really want to give our marriage an honest chance.”

  His golden brows drew together. “You’re twisting what I said. Of course I mean to give this marriage an honest chance. But you’re just a—”

  She put up a hand. “Do not say it. Please. Look at the facts. I’m legally an adult. Old enough to drink. Old enough to vote. Old enough to have your baby, Cash Bravo. Which is exactly what I’m going to be doing some time in the middle of January.”

  He shook his head wearily. She had no idea what was happening in his mind.

  “What?” she demanded at last. “Say something.”

  “I want a cigarette.”

  She turned around, flounced over to the little carved box by the caramel-colored leather chair and got him one. Then she flounced back, clutching her dress against her breasts with her free hand. “Here.” She held it out.

  He looked at it. “It’s bad for me.”

  She granted him a look of infinite patience as she tossed it on the bar. Her dress slid off one shoulder. She yanked it up. “This thing is driving me nuts.” She slanted another glance at Cash. “I’m taking it off.”

  “Abby…”

  She stuck a finger under the neckline and gave a little tug. It dropped off of her shoulders. Unfortunately, the long, pearl-embroidered lace sleeves were too snug to slide easily down her arms. She looked down at herself. “Trapped. In my own wedding gown.”

  “I can see that.”

  Abby froze. She looked up into Cash’s eyes. She saw equal parts humor and heat.

  And she thought again of dancing. That she and Cash were dancing. He had almost walked off the floor. But she had held him there, somehow. And the music between them was beguiling him once more. The important thing right now was that she not stumble, not miss a step.

  She wrinkled her nose, keeping the mood playful, keeping it light. “Give me a minute here.” She took her sweet time, peeling the sleeves free of her arms. That accomplished, she let the dress fall to the floor. She stepped out of it slowly, then picked it up and carried it to a chair. There, she laid it out with great care. It was a lot more of a fuss than she ordinarily would have made over a dress. But this wasn’t just any dress.

  And besides, the process of laying it out, of smoothing the delicate silk, had become part of the dance she and Cash were sharing. When she straightened and looked at Cash again, he hadn’t moved from where she’d left him.

  “Pretty slip,” he said.

  She looked down at her floor-length ivory satin slip, then back up at him. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.”

  She felt awkward, suddenly. She touched the shimmery fabric of the dress again, for reassurance, and spoke shyly, not looking at him. “Your dad said your mother would have liked it. That I wore her dress.”

  “Who knows what goes on with him?”

  She looked up and saw him shrug, a shrug that dismissed her words—and discouraged further discussion on the topic of his father.

  “You never would talk much about your dad,” she said. In her heart, she thought he resented the way his dad had left him when Vivian died all those years ago. But they’d never really gone into it. Whenever Abby would bring up the subject of Johnny Bravo, Cash would always say it was useless to dwell on the past.

  He said it now. “What’s the point? It’s history.”

  “He introduced me to Allegra,” Abby said carefully. “She seemed nice. And I really think she’s crazy about him.”

  Cash made a low sound in his throat. “Oh, come on. She could be his granddaughter.”

  “But she’s not. She’s his wife.”

  “For the moment.”

  “Cash, you’re so cynical.”

  “Realistic is more like it.”

  “And you’re too hung up on age differences.”

  He actually chuckled. “Have you been taking psychology courses at C.U. when I wasn’t looking?”

  “No. Strictly business administration.” She put up a hand. “I do solemnly swear.”

  “Good. I don’t need you analyzing me.”

  “But I do analyze you. Lately, anyway.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Because…” She wasn’t sure how to explain.

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, because I’ve always taken you for granted, I guess. Like my father or my mother. Like Zach and Nate. Only more so. You’ve always been there whenever I needed you. Like air. Or water. Like food. And then, for a while, you weren’t there.”

  “Because you wouldn’t let me be.”

  He sounded angry.

  She longed for him to understand. “Because I couldn’t let you be.”

  “You could have. You co
uld have always come to me. And you should have.”

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  “Yes, you could.”

  “Let’s not argue. Please?”

  He leaned on the bar and picked up the cigarette she’d dropped there. “Fine with me.”

  She smiled, a smile she knew quivered a little at the corners. And she bravely announced, “I want my wedding night, Cash.”

  He tossed the cigarette down again.

  “Well? Are you going to give it to me?”

  He said nothing. Treading carefully, she closed the distance between them.

  When she stood in front of him, she gazed up at him in honest appeal. “Say something. Please?”

  He lifted a hand and touched the side of her face. Then, hesitantly, he asked, “You’re sure that this is what you want?”

  She shivered a little. His slightest touch seemed to burn her, to start off fires down below. “Yes.”

  He caressed her cheek, a long, slow stroke, over the rounded ridge of her cheekbone and down to the curve of her chin. “You won’t go running off this time afterward?”

  “No.”

  “Swear it.”

  “I swear.”

  “Whatever happens—now or in the future. You won’t run away from me. Ever again.”

  She shook her head.

  “Say it. Say you won’t.”

  “I won’t, Cash. I promise you. I won’t run away from you ever again.”

  “All right, then.”

  She waited, holding her breath.

  And then, at last, his hand strayed down, over her neck, out to her shoulder, where he slid his finger under the thin satin strap of her slip. He lifted the strap, lowered it back in place. “I think about that night all the time.”

  She let out the breath she was holding, but didn’t dare to speak.

  He lifted the strap again, guided it over the slope of her shoulder and let it fall down her arm. “That day in your office, I had to get out. I wanted to kiss you then. I wanted to do a lot more than kiss you.”

  She said nothing, only listened. And reveled in sensation. She loved the feel of the silky strap against her arm. And the weight of the slip, uneven now, since the top of one side had fallen down. She didn’t look to see, but she could feel that the top swell of her left breast was exposed, as well as the tiny scrap of lace she wore for a bra.

  Cash hooked up the other strap, guided it down her other arm. He pulled on that strap. She helped him, sliding her arms up and clear of both straps, then letting them fall to her sides once more. The slip slithered to her waist and stopped there, held up by the swell of her hips below.

  “Pretty,” he said. He touched her bare skin, at the top of her belly, between her bra and the slip. Her stomach tightened in response. He smiled, a lazy, knowing smile.

  She felt as if she were melting, slowly, from the inside out. “Oh, Cash…”

  “Shh.” He brushed his fingers against her lips.

  She obeyed his command, falling silent.

  He touched the strap of her bra. “So pretty.”

  She ordered her suddenly wobbly legs to hold her upright as his finger slid down, tracing the skin along the edge of the bra strap, caressing the slope of her left breast. She shivered and sighed. He was still smiling, his sexiest smile. His eyes were like smoke.

  Now this was dancing, she thought Dancing in the truest sense. Right in tune, in perfect rhythm. Though neither of them had taken a step.

  His finger moved on, to the center of her chest, and then up the rounded swell of her other breast.

  She captured his hand, guided it to her mouth and pressed her lips into his palm.

  His hand escaped her grasp, to slide around and cup her nape. He said her name on a breath.

  And then he reeled her in.

  Chapter Seven

  Cash’s fingers threaded up into her hair, beneath the tiny silk flowers woven there. He pulled her up into him. She went, lifting on tiptoe.

  His mouth settled over hers, stealing her breath and then giving it back to her. She heard a moan—hers or his, she couldn’t be sure.

  He kissed her long and slow and deep, taking his time, tasting her, savoring her. And she let him do that, wanted him to do that. She hovered on tiptoe, her arms limp at her sides, and held her mouth up to him, sighing in delight as he took what she offered.

  They kissed for the longest time, standing there in the middle of the living room. He undressed her as he kissed her, putting his big hands on the sides of her hips, sliding down the satin slip, making of the action one long, slow caress. They both sighed as the satin fell away to land around her ankles.

  His lips played on hers, his tongue hungry and seeking, as he unhooked her bra and tossed it away. Her breasts, so heavy and hot, yearned for his touch. He gave her that touch, cupping them, seeming to ease the yearning for a moment, and then only managing to increase it.

  His hands roamed over her flesh as his mouth plundered hers. It was heaven. Could this be real? After midnight on her wedding night. Standing here in Cash’s living room, wearing nothing but her diamond ring, her panty hose and her satin shoes.

  Kissing Cash.

  Making love…

  He lifted his mouth from hers.

  “Let’s go to bed.” His voice caressed her, rough and tender. He lifted an eyebrow as if to say, Well?

  She gulped and nodded, staring up at his mouth, which looked swollen from kissing her.

  He scooped her up against his chest and carried her to the master bedroom, which was through a short hall off the living room. She kicked off her shoes as he bore her down the hall and heard them bump the wall when they fell.

  In the room, he carried her straight to the bed, gently laid her down and turned a dial on the wall. The two lamps on either side of the bed came on very low. Swiftly, he got rid of his own clothes: the black silk tux, the stiff white shirt, the trousers, the black dress shoes. Everything. All of it.

  He lay down with her, on his huge bed with its maple bedstead and its bold, red-and-blue-patterned comforter. He reached for her, wrapping his strong arms around her, then pulling back just enough to help her with her panty hose. By then, they were both too needful to go slowly; the panty hose tore. Neither of them cared.

  When she was totally nude, he put his hand on her belly, felt its roundness. And on her breast again. “Fuller,” he said.

  She nuzzled him, claiming his mouth once mote. He kissed her as she wanted to be kissed, slow and open and wet. And as he kissed her, his hand went roving, over her fuller breasts and her rounder belly and down, to the place where her thighs joined. His fingers delved in.

  She gasped. He moaned into her mouth. She moved against him, urging him on, transported by the wondrous sensations of his hands and lips upon her burning skin.

  He pulled his mouth from hers, looked down into her eyes. She saw bewilderment. And a need as strong and consuming as her own.

  “Abby, I’m sorry. Can’t wait. Don’t make me wait.” Her rose up above her, blocking the light, as he had that one other night they’d shared.

  She pulled him down to her, taking him in, crying out in wonder as he filled her. She looked up at him, into his beautiful eyes. And she felt him pulsing into her. She smiled, feeling powerful, triumphant. And totally free.

  He relaxed on top of her. And then he rolled to the side, taking her with him, so they lay facing each other. She felt him start to pull away.

  “No. Don’t go….” She wrapped her top leg over his hip, holding him inside.

  He chuckled then, and pushed himself against her. Oh, she did like that, to feel his body joined with hers.

  For a time, they just lay there. She put her hand against his hard chest, felt his heart beating strongly, slowing a little as the minutes went by.

  He touched her hair, smoothing it out of her eyes. “You looked so pretty, with all those little flowers in your hair.”

  “Umm….”

  “Now all your little flow
ers are crushed.”

  She kissed his square chin. “Yes. So sad. My hair’s a mess.”

  “I was too fast,” he confessed ruefully, tucking her head beneath the chin she’d just kissed.

  She snuggled up. “It’s a wedding night. You can be fast if you want. And maybe slow later.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice when he asked, “Is that a hint?”

  “I never give hints. I’m an up-front kind of girl.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So tell me, how come you know so much about wedding nights?”

  “I don’t. I’m making it all up as I go along.”

  He pulled her closer. “You’re doing a hell of a job.”

  “We’ve been over this. I’m a bright girl and I learn fast.”

  “Amen to that.”

  In one slow, lazy stroke, he ran his index finger down the side of her neck, into the curve where her collarbone started and then out over the rounded slope of her shoulder. She closed her eyes, enjoying the little sparks of sensation that his touch seemed to leave in its wake.

  “Abby?”

  “Umm?”

  But he said no more. His hand continued on its teasing course, sliding over the outside of her arm. She kept her eyes closed. He touched each of her fingers, tracing them one by one. And then he pulled back from her a little. She sighed as she lost him. But her sigh turned to a gasp as she felt his hand there, at the secret heart of her, his fingers moving in the moistness and the heat.

  “Cash?” Her breath came ragged. “Oh, Cash…”

  And again, he said nothing. He let his caresses talk for him. Her body lifted; her thighs opened. Fulfillment washed over her in a warm, sweet wave.

  Sometime later, as they lay side by side gazing up at the ceiling, she whispered, “Over the past couple of weeks, since I’ve known we would get married, I’ve started to wonder.”

  “About what?”

  “About your bathroom.”

  Clearly puzzled, he repeated, “My bathroom.”

  “Your private bathroom.”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, I’ve never seen it. All the times I’ve been in this house, I was never allowed in your private rooms.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’ll bet it has a big bathtub….”