Drawing a breath, Adam Gresham stroked a hand along
Mallory’s arm, and met her sorrowful, sea-colored gaze. “I
can tell you without hesitation that Michael Hargreaves
wouldn’t want you to be sad either. He would want you to
live and have a happy life. He’s found his own peace. Give
yourself the right to find yours.”
Mallory trembled, something shattering on her face. “But I’m
afraid I’ll forget him,” she confessed on a whisper, as more
tears slid free. “We had such a short time together before
he was sent away to fight. I worry if I go back to my old
life that it will be as if he never existed. As if I’ve
abandoned him somehow.”
Adam curved an arm around her back and drew her close. “You
haven’t abandoned him and you will never forget. You loved
him. Real love never fades.” He pressed a handkerchief into
her hand and offered what comfort he could, as she buried
her face against his chest and cried.
He didn’t speak as he held her, fighting the jealousy that
twisted inside him while she sobbed out her love and grief
for another man. It was an emotion unworthy of him and one
he knew he should not feel. Still, he wasn’t a saint, far
from it. He was only human, only a man. And despite his best
efforts to be noble and self-sacrificing, a small, selfish
part of him couldn’t help but resent the hold Hargreaves had
on Mallory––even from beyond the grave.
At length, her tears ceased, her sobs turning to shaky
inhalations and weary sighs, as she leaned against him.
Using the damp silk handkerchief she held balled up inside
her fist, she blew her nose and blotted her tearstained eyes.
Reaching into his pocket, he produced a fresh handkerchief.
“Here, have another.”
She drew a hiccupping breath, and tried, but didn’t quite
manage to smile. “You’re right, I have rather used this
first one up, haven’t I?” Accepting the second square of
white silk, she pressed the dry cloth to her eyes and cheeks
and nose, pausing at his gentle urging to give “one more
good blow” despite the inelegance of such behavior.
But he and Mallory had known each other for far too many
years to stand on formality at this point. If they had, she
would never have cried in his arms today at all, he realized.
“Gracious,” she declared, straightening slightly inside his
embrace. “I must look a sight.”
But she didn’t, she looked beautiful, he thought. Her lashes
framed her luminous aquamarine eyes in dark, spiky rings,
while her cheeks were burnished as red as a crisp fall
apple. As for her lips, they were swollen from her
crying––plump and full and lusciously moist.
Sweet as candy, he thought. And every bit as delicious, he
was sure.
“No,” he murmured in answer to her query. “You look lovely
as always.” Then, before he even knew what he was doing, he
bent and touched his mouth to hers, desperate for a taste,
however brief it might be.
But a taste couldn’t begin to be enough, yearning roaring to
life inside him, burning in his veins as blood beat between
his temples and pooled lower in his belly and between his
thighs.
She gave a clearly startled whimper, but didn’t try to push
him away. If she had, perhaps he would have stopped.
Instead, desire urged him on, encouraging him to take more.
He’d waited years to hold her like this and kiss her. He’d
dreamt countless times of how her lips would feel against
his and the way her small, supple body would curve into his
own much taller one. Yet his imagination was as insipid as
water to wine when compared with reality––the sensations,
scents, and flavors more divine than anything his mind could
create.
Mallory, my love, he whispered in his head, as he gave in to
what he craved and deepened the kiss. Parting her mouth, he
claimed her with a long, slow, sultry ease that was just
this side of heaven.
She whimpered again, this time with confused hesitation, the
relative inexperience of her touch impressing itself upon
him as nothing else could have done. She might have been
kissed before, he realized, but she was still a novice when
it came to sex and the sensual arts. He, on the other hand,
was experienced––extremely experienced––with a knowledge of
things that would have set her blushing from the roots of
her hair to the tips of her toes. Compared to him, Mallory
was a dewy-eyed lamb wandering unaware in a peaceful meadow,
while he was the hungry, ravening wolf lying in wait just
over the nearest rise.
Suddenly aware of exactly what he was doing, he broke their
kiss. She swayed slightly in his grasp, her eyes closed as
breath puffed in tiny gusts from her mouth.
“Oh,” she sighed.
“Oh” didn’t begin to describe it.
Taking a step back, he made sure she was steady on her feet,
then he let her go.
Her eyes popped open and immediately fixed on his. “W-what
was that?”
Rather than responding, he lifted a brow, schooling his
features into a calmness that hid the violent need still
coursing through his body.
“I-I mean I know what it was,” she went on in a breathless
voice that made shivers run down his spine. “But why? Why
did you k-kiss me?”
She looked utterly and completely bewildered.
“Because, my sweet,” he drawled in a smooth tone, “you
looked as if you needed to be.”
***
Mallory stared, her heart racing frantically in her chest.
Stars and garters, she thought, Adam just kissed me. And not
a peck either but a full-blown, passionate claiming that was
unlike any kiss she’d ever had before. Even Michael had
never kissed her like that and he’d been her fiancé.
She paused suddenly at the thought of Michael, yet she was
so dazed, so mesmerized, that the usual melancholy she felt
when she thought of him didn’t appear. All she could do was
stand there, her entire body tingling with heat and pleasure.
For years, she’d been aware of the rumors about Adam’s
prowess and reports of all the women who secretly––and not
so secretly––clamored to share his bed. Once at a party in
London, she’d accidentally overheard a pair of women––one a
widow and another who wished she were––comparing a list of
their lovers. None of them, the widow told her friend, came
close to the ecstasy she’d found in Adam Gresham’s arms.
Then she’d gone on to bemoan the fact that she’d only been
with him once and that despite her best efforts to win him
back, he wasn’t interested.
Apparently, Adam had a habit of never staying with any one
woman for long, his elusive behavior seeming only to enhance
his already formidable appeal among the fairer sex. And now
that she’d experienced his kiss, she could see that his
reputation for pleasuring women was in no way an
exaggeration. Fully two minutes had passed since he’d ended
their own kiss and she was still worried the top of her head
might blow off, her riding hat along with it.
“Are you hungry?” he inquired, jarring her out of her musings.
“I had Cook pack us a little something again just in case.”
Hungry? How could he possibly think of food at a moment like
this? Then she recalled why he said he’d kissed her.
Because, sweetheart, you looked as if you needed to be.
So it had been a sympathy kiss, had it? His embrace driven
not out of any real sense of desire for her, but rather from
a need to distract and cheer her.
What a lowering realization.
And yet, she knew he’d meant it in a kindly way and was only
acting as her friend. Obviously, he was willing to do
whatever it might take to rally her spirits, even if that
might require shocking her out of her gloom with an
unexpected embrace.
One that had clearly dazzled her more than Adam.
All she had to do was look at him to confirm that fact,
since he seemed his usual calm, sophisticated self,
unruffled and apparently unaffected as well. Considering all
the women he must have kissed in his two-and-thirty years,
why should she be surprised? She was just one among many,
she supposed, memorable only by virtue of the fact that she
was his long-time friend.
No wonder he was so unfazed.
For all she knew, maybe he hadn’t enjoyed their kiss at all.
And if that were true, what must his touch be like when he
really wanted a woman?
Her brows drew into a frown.
Adam cocked his head. “Shall we stay and eat or would you
rather ride home?”
A mere half an hour ago, she would have opted to ride
straight home. But a strange restfulness seemed to have
invaded her system, along with a sense of shared
understanding. Adam knew what it was to grieve. He’d
experienced loss and come out the other side. As for his
rather high-handed kiss, she supposed she couldn’t hold it
against him, not when she knew his intentions had been good.
Besides, she’d left the house again this morning without
eating breakfast and quite suddenly she realized she was
starving.
“A light meal wouldn’t go amiss,” she admitted. “But don’t
think we’re going to make a habit of riding together and
sharing a meal in this spot every morning.”
“Of course not,” he said solemnly. Then he ruined the effect
by smiling, his face so handsome her breath caught at the sight.
It’s only the kiss, she told herself, and she would forget
it in a trice. She and Adam were friends, no more, no less,
and he was only devoting himself to her at present because
of that friendship.
For now she would let herself take advantage of his kindness
and hope it helped her heal. Beyond that, she didn’t know.
She would deal with each day as it came and care naught for
the future.
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