The McKenzie Brothers: Windemere Part 19

"You love me." Julian's voice was flat, void of any emotion, and his eyes took on a decidedly guarded look. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, Emma. You keep telling me you love me; I want to know why."

"Because you are warm, and caring, and funny, and handsome as sin. What isn't there to love about you?"

To her relief, that made him smile as he drew the trousers up and fastened them. "That is definitely a question I wouldn't mind hearing answered. What's not to love about Julian McCallister?"

The tension in the air thinned and she chuckled. "We could be here a while."

He leaned over and kissed the nape of her neck. "Can we not talk about this right now?" He nuzzled her, sliding an arm about her to ease her back against him. "I'd rather do this instead."

Her eyelids drooped at the brush of his lips along her neck. He swept his kiss up toward her ear and then caught her earlobe between gentle teeth. She sucked in a sharp breath, pressing her lips together as tingles rippled in his lips' wake. It would be so easy to simply sink into him as his lips found their way to hers, to wrap her arms about his neck and lose herself in him.

At the same time, she didn't want to surrender. It was too easy for him to avoid uncomfortable topics by wooing her into bed and kissing away her questions. She was about to pull away, to attempt to make him see that he wasn't his father, but then, as he cradled her to his chest, decided it would wait a while. What was the harm in enjoying his attention now? Her questions would be there when they were finished.

But then Julian pulled away and, to her surprise, he was scowling. "What's the matter?" she asked as he rose once more.

He yanked on his shirt. "I need-I can't-I'll be back," he muttered, throwing open the door.

It closed behind him with a resounding bang, leaving her to stare at it in disbelief. What happened to make him turn from warm and loving to cold and angry? Her first impulse was to dress and go after him, but after she managed the first, she wavered on the second. Maybe the best thing she could do was leave him be. At least for now.

With a sigh, she plunked herself into the chair at his desk and picked up the novel she'd packed in her sea chest. While she waited, she would immerse herself in the story. Julian would return eventually. And maybe then he'd be willing to tell her exactly what it was that made him so angry.

Chapter Twenty.

JULIAN GLOWERED AT THE BOTTLE on the table before him as he sat in the forecastle. He ignored the men around him, and although each one greeted him respectfully, they then kept their distance. It didn't matter. He was there for the distraction of listening to them laugh and exchange bawdy jokes as they played cards, and the bottle of rum before him helped ease the feelings swirling through him like snowflakes in a blizzard.

Amber rum glinted in the light as he tilted the bottle to refill his gla.s.s. His head buzzed from what he'd already swallowed, and it still wasn't enough. There were no answers to be found in the gla.s.s he held. But that didn't stop him from looking again. And again.

The rum went down smoothly and his thoughts wandered to his wife, tucked away in their cabin. What was he afraid of? He almost laughed now, thinking about her expression when he told her exactly what he feared most.

It was the first time he'd ever admitted it aloud. And now he wished he had kept quiet.

"d.a.m.n you," he muttered, still glowering at the rum bottle. "Old man, you left me in quite the spot. Afraid to touch my own wife because I can't keep it to just a kiss, and if I let myself forget, even for a moment-"

Night after night, he and Emma rolled about in their bed, driving each other wild with pleasure, falling asleep spent and sated with her curved up against him, her head nestled on his chest. And night after night, as he collapsed against her, he prayed she never noticed that when he went over the edge, he maintained enough control to not spill himself inside her. His teeth clenched, his muscles tensed, and it took every bit of control he possessed to pull free from her and finish in the sheet instead.

And each time, that control slipped a little further away. Each time, he hated that he had to do it a little more. And he hated above all else, that he wanted to come inside her when he climaxed. He wanted to fall asleep still buried in her warmth, their two bodies becoming one and staying one until dawn broke over the horizon.

And what was more frightening, he felt the first plucking, the first whispered yearning of a family. A child, several children. h.e.l.l, if he was totally honest with himself, several dozen children would be welcomed. But those children would only come from his seed, and he had yet to share it with her.

Julian, you are not your father.

"She's right," he muttered, lifting the gla.s.s to his lips. "I'm not him, d.a.m.n it."

He set the gla.s.s down hard enough that it banged against the table, earning him curious stares from the card players at the far end.

"Did you say something, Mr. McCallister?"

Julian squinted at the man. His face was familiar, but the name escaped him. "Nothing you need concern yourself with, Mr.-"

"Charles. Emerson Charles, sir. Boatswain."

Julian nodded. "No, Mr. Charles. I was just talking to myself."

Mr. Charles nodded and gestured to the deck of cards. "Care to join us?"

"No." He roughly shoved back from the table. He stumbled, but quickly righted himself. "Why on earth I'm sitting here, when I could be tucked away in my cabin..."

"Begging your pardon, of course-" Mr. Charles reached for the gla.s.s before him "-but I was wondering why you were here instead of there. Lord knows I certainly wouldn't be."

"You're right. I shouldn't be." Julian staggered back then grabbed hold of a support beam to steady himself as the ship lurched. "I should be there-" he jabbed a finger in the general direction of his cabin "-and so there I will be."

And with that, he took himself off, weaving his way along the corridor until he found himself face-to-face with the closed door of his cabin. His wife was just on the other side of that d.a.m.ned door. His beautiful, sensuous, temptress wife. The one woman he ached for, the only one he ever truly ached for.

His gut churned. No matter how often he felt Emma wrapped all around him, no matter how many nights he collapsed into her, that ache never went away. And as he leaned to press his forehead into the cool wood, his blood began that same slow boil it did whenever he was near her.

Julian, you are not your father.

He wanted to claim her completely, and there was only one way.

The door banged loudly against the wall when he threw it open, and Emma bolted up from her chair, the book she held flying from her grip to hit the stove.

"Julian?" Her eyes widened as he threw the door shut with the same amount of force. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart." He smiled as he crossed to her. The room tilted slightly, but he maintained a straight line to close the s.p.a.ce between them. "I wanted to apologize for how I left."

She looked up at him, her blue eyes tender. "I shouldn't have pushed, and for that, I apologize."

He caught her face between his hands. Her skin was soft, too inviting to resist touching, and her lips were equally soft as he tilted her head back and bent to cover them with his.

She melted against him, her arms sliding around his waist to pull him even closer. Her lips parted, her mouth warm and welcoming as he plunged his tongue deep to explore her depths. He groaned into her when her fingers curled about the bottom of his shirt to tug it free from his trousers. Her hands skimmed up along his bare back, and when they skimmed back down, her fingernails on his skin sent a torrent of pleasure spinning through him.

He slid his hand down from her cheek, down along her neck, until his fingers brushed the swell of her right breast. He curved his hand about the pert mound, sweeping his thumb over the tip until he felt her nipple bead and she gasped into his mouth.

Her fingernails sc.r.a.ped him harder, as she moved down his back and beneath the waist of his trousers to graze his backside. The caress filled him with fire, and his body responded swiftly. His erection strained against her, his hips moving on instinct to seek her out.

"Emma..." He groaned, his hands moving around to loosen her bodice. He had to feel her skin bare against hers, had to take one of those rose-tipped b.r.e.a.s.t.s into his mouth and tease her into mindless oblivion.

Her bodice loosened, the fabric slipping over her shoulders and pooling about her waist. His fingers were more nimble than they'd ever been as he worked the laces of her corset free.

She almost screamed as he turned her and caught her breast through her chemise. Her fingers thrust into his hair, twisting and yanking as he swirled his tongue about her nipple. She arched against him, moaning softly, "Yes..."

He pulled away and the sight of her nipple, hard and dark beneath the wet fabric, was almost his undoing. He wanted to see her, though, without anything between her body and his eyes, and with a single tug, yanked the ribbon holding her chemise closed.

The fabric clung to her. Her gaze met his and never wavered as he pressed his hand against her breastbone and slid to push the linen away from her skin. She bit down on her bottom lip, her eyelids lowering.

His erection grew steelier as he watched his hand, skimming out, over her breast, and her nipple tightened further. Dear G.o.d, he wanted her. Wanted to just throw her down and find relief in her depths.

But he didn't. Primal urges be d.a.m.ned, he was going to feast on her and savor her as she should be savored. Ignoring the demands of his own body, he carefully eased her chemise from her shoulders and then grasped the folds of fabric gathered about her waist.

She didn't resist, but let the gown and chemise slip from her hips to pool about her feet. With her hair still tied away, there was nothing to hide her from him, and she blushed as he let his gaze roam slowly over her.

He bent, kissing the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and she draped her arms about his neck, her fingernails gentle against his nape. He kissed downward, sinking to his knees as he nuzzled the triangle of dark hair between her thighs.

"Oh!" Her cry echoed through the cabin as he teased her, tasted her, and swirled his tongue over the small nub that had her shivering and shaking against him. She was sweet and exotic, and when she exploded, he caught her, bringing her gently back to earth.

"Julian..." Her voice was breathless and wanton as he gathered her in his arms to press her down into the mattress. Her fingers caught the fall of his trousers, and it was his turn to shiver as her hand closed about him.

"Oh, no, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice ragged and hoa.r.s.e. He shoved her away and hurriedly shed his trousers, threw off his shirt, and settled back against her. Her thighs parted, and her wet heat offered up an invitation he couldn't possibly refuse.

He slid deep inside her and went still, savoring the pulses of bliss that darted through him. She gasped, her legs wrapping about his waist as she murmured, "Julian..."

The sound of his name in her pa.s.sion-thickened voice spurred him on. Each thrust was slow and teasing, as much for her as it was for him. She held his gaze, although her lashes fluttered as if her eyes wanted to close. The tips of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rubbed against his chest, and her tight sheath sent sweet delight coursing through him.

Her hips rose to meet him, and he groaned as the need for release crept over him. Again and again he thrust, harder, swifter. He drove into her, sweat rising up on his back with each surge. She cried out, pulsing all around him to drive him over the edge. And this time, he didn't fight it. He didn't want to come into the sheets. He wouldn't. d.a.m.n it all, he was going to come inside her, inside the woman made for him.

"Emma!" Every muscle seemed to snap, and he ground up into her as he hit that amazing peak and white-hot bliss tore through him. Her legs tightened about him, holding him deep inside her as he surrendered and allowed her to devour him.

Her fingernails bit into his flesh, her voice husky as she cried out his name as well. His back arched, and he shuddered as he spilled inside her in a climax sweeter than anything he'd ever felt. His mind went blank, and when he had nothing left to give, he sank into a blissful fog, collapsed into her arms, and gasped for breath.

"Oh, dear..." she murmured, stroking his hair away from his temple with tender fingers. "Oh, Julian...oh...oh, my..."

He nestled against the soft warmth of her breast. But the peaceful haze gave way to a more foreboding feeling. What have I done?

He did his best to shove the black cloud out of his mind. No. He didn't want to think right now. Just wanted to lay there with her and forget about the rest of the world. Wanted to lay there with her, just as they were, until they reached St. Kitts.

But that foreboding feeling wouldn't leave him be. And he couldn't help but think he'd just made the gravest mistake of his life.

Chapter Twenty-One.

THE ISLAND OF ST. KITTS rose up from the seas like a pearl, and Emma sighed as she leaned on the railing and watched the island grow larger. A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see Julian brace his arms on the railing beside her.

She bit down on her bottom lip. He looked troubled. In fact, he'd worn the same troubled frown for the last week. He didn't seem angry, but something definitely lay heavily on his mind. And she had the feeling it was because the last time they made love, he didn't withdraw from her.

For several days, she wondered how to broach the subject. She knew that each time they were intimate, he didn't finish inside her. Perhaps she didn't realize it that first time, but the evidence left behind in subsequent encounters cleared it up quickly. And since he was so adamant about not having children, and his seed was what was needed in order for her to become pregnant, he had to be berating himself for his slip in judgment.

And how did she convince him that the world might not end if she did end up with child?

"Julian?"

He glanced down at her. "We're almost there, Em. By nightfall, we'll be on dry land."

"I know." She looked over at his hands resting on the railing. She wanted to touch him, wanted to cover one of those strong hands with her own and a.s.sure him that everything would be fine. Somehow, she thought that if she was pregnant-and of course, she wouldn't know for several weeks-it would be a good thing, not something to fear.

Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "Julian, about that night-"

"It'll be nice to feel dry land beneath my feet again," he cut her off, his voice somewhat gruff as he stared across the water, toward the sh.o.r.e.

Now she covered his hand with hers. "It will be fine."

"No, Emma. It won't." He turned to her, his jaw tight and his eyes hard.

"I would like a child." Her hand curved against her belly, as if she already knew she carried one. "And I won't be sorry if I am pregnant."

"You won't be? Really?" He let out a mirthless bark of laughter. "Of course not. At least, not at first. But when I snap, and when you realize I've pa.s.sed that madness on-"

"Oh, stop it already!" She jerked her hand away from his. "I've had quite enough, Julian. As I said, you don't know what happened that night-"

"But I do," he broke in darkly, his scowl hardening. "I do know what happened."

"You...you do?" The fight went out of her, and she grabbed at the railing as her knees threatened to buckle. "Julian?"

"I do, and that's all I'm saying." He turned to walk away, but not before adding, "Be prepared to go ash.o.r.e within the next few hours."

And with that, he walked away, leaving her to stare after him. Even with the sun beating down upon her, Emma felt a seeping chill creep over her. He knew what happened the night of his parents' deaths. He was there?

She shivered, wrapping her arms about herself, and tried to shove the words from her mind. He was there. He was there. He was there.

Julian disappeared below deck.

She sighed as she turned back to the water. Every time she thought they were growing closer, something happened to drive them a little further apart. Perhaps she was a fool for wanting to keep trying. And to make matters worse, now there was the chance she was courting death in the process.

No. She didn't want to believe she'd been wrong. She frowned, squinting as the water sparkled and threw off flashes too bright to look at.

He was there.

He knew what happened.

Did anyone else?