Chapter 18

18

Enya awoke to warmth and solidness surrounding her. And the faint scent of bacon in the air.

Her stomach growled, and she started to stretch her legs.

At the pressure of an arm over hers and a hand on her abdomen, she froze.

Her eyes flew open to daylight pushing back the darkness of the night. Her eyes locked in on the masculine blue of the wallpaper and the dark mahogany furniture that graced the bedroom. Sullivan's bedroom.

The events of the previous night returned in full force, especially the Commodore coming to the room to let them know he and his wife wanted to support the pregnancy. She'd expected his censure, disappointment, and frustration. But his chastisement had been mild and his encouragement strong.

If only her own da and mam could accept her mistakes as easily as Sullivan's parents had. But she supposed her da had done the best he could. After all, he'd been the one to pick up all the ruined pieces of her life and try to put them back together.

She glanced down at herself, attired in her nightgown, the covers askew ... and Sullivan's hand splayed across her stomach.

Her mind sparked into full wakefulness, to the pressure of his body curled against hers from behind, his chest and legs formed to hers. A couple of the pillows still seemed to be wedged between them, forming a flimsy barrier. Because she could certainly feel his presence—the breadth of his chest, the thickness of his arms, the length of one of his l egs.

She didn't dare move. Why was he holding her in such a manner? It was indecent. And they hadn't agreed upon it.

His words from last night came rushing back: "It's already difficult to sleep with you in the same room, much less in the same bed." If she wasn't mistaken, he'd basically admitted he was attracted to her.

Even as her thoughts began to spiral with panic, she could feel the even rise and fall of his chest and guessed he hadn't done it on purpose, that somehow during their sleeping, they'd rolled together. Maybe that's why he hadn't wanted to join her in bed, because he'd been afraid of this happening.

She took a deep breath and released the tension. He hadn't taken advantage of her before. And he wouldn't now. She just needed to remind herself of that.

After being so wrong in everything about Bryan, she'd planned to despise all men forever, even her new husband. But she hadn't counted on meeting a man like Sullivan, who put her needs above his own, who was selfless almost to a fault, who respected her enough to give her time to adjust to their marriage.

Even if she couldn't imagine ever anticipating being intimate with him, he made her feel so protected and safe and cherished. She could admit this closeness with him was nice and that she wouldn't be opposed to waking up in his arms every morning.

His fingers on her abdomen shifted slightly, the touch tender, as if he were holding both her and the baby at the same time. She loved that about him. How he was taking responsibility for the baby as if it were his own.

Now that's what his parents believed. That Sullivan had intimate relations with her outside the bounds of marriage, perhaps on a previous trip he'd made to St. Louis. And she hadn't corrected the Commodore and neither had Sullivan.

Would he allow his parents to believe the child was his? Or would he one day tell them the truth?

Sullivan stirred again, and she sensed he was waking—much later than he normally did. Maybe he didn't sleep well on the floor. Or maybe he was troubled by dreams of the war. She would be if she'd experienced what he had.

Either way, she had to insist that he stay in the bed from now on. Hadn't they proven after last night that they could sleep together as a married couple without jeopardizing anything about the relationship they'd begun to build?

He stretched, then stiffened and sucked in a breath.

She didn't move.

He held himself motionless too, the mortification rolling off him in waves. No doubt he was trying to figure out how to extricate himself without waking her. Did he think he could back away to his part of the bed without her being the wiser to the way they'd ended up?

A tiny smile tugged at her lips. Maybe she ought to make his extrication more difficult and have a wee bit of fun with him.

She closed her eyes and tried to make her breathing steady.

He was growing more rigid with every passing second and began to inch his hand away from her stomach. He was reacting as she'd predicted, trying to sneak away from her.

With a pretend yawn, she slid her hand over his on her stomach to prevent him from moving it any further.

He froze again.

She made herself breathe evenly as if she was still slumbering.

After more long heartbeats, he tried to tug his hand out once more, but she let her fingers close around his. As he attempted to slip his arm away, she snuggled in deeper. And when he lifted a leg to move backward, she pretended to let hers fall against his.

He lay immobile behind her, thoroughly trapped, with no way of escape from their indecent predicament.

Her lips curved higher. He was so kind to her that he wouldn't allow himself even the smallest hint that he was taking advantage of her. Captain Sullivan O'Brien was a good, good man.

She tightened her hold on his hand, then realized her mistake too late. Would he recognize she was actually awake and not sleeping?

In the next instant, he relaxed against her, his body pressing into her more fully. His breathing was near, filling her senses with a slow but steady rhythm.

He bent in closer to her ear until his lips were almost touching her. "I know what you're doing." His voice was gravelly.

The words, maybe the touch of his lips, or the sound of his voice—it all went straight through her with a strange sizzle, one that coursed along her nerve endings.

She pretended to yawn and then murmured, "Hmmm?"

His mouth didn't move from her ear. "I can tell you're awake."

She released a sleepy hum and then tried to roll nonchalantly.

Before she could carry out her charade any further, his fingers dropped away from her abdomen and gently dug into her side.

Was he tickling her?

Her eyes shot open.

He moved higher, near her rib cage, his fingers shifting in a definite tickle.

She couldn't hold back a soft laugh.

"Admit you were pretending to be asleep." His low growl near her ear made her stomach flip.

"Me?" she asked too innocently. "I would never pretend—"

His tickles were gentle, almost careful, but they made her laugh anyway.

She squirmed and wiggled in an effort to get away from him.

But his weight against the mattress and the dip in the middle of the bed caused her to sag against him, preventing her escape. He was relentless and held her captive, tickling her until her laughter rang out.

"Admit it." He paused again, as he had several other times to issue his ultimatum.

He was on top of her, pinning both of her hands above her head, giving her no way to defend herself.

"Fine. I admit it." She could hardly get the words out through her gasping breaths.

His dark eyes were filled with laughter, and he had a gorgeous smile, just as she'd imagined it would be, revealing his even teeth and transforming his face from handsome to irresistible.

Somehow in all the rolling and twisting and playfulness, she ended up underneath him. He was keeping the full weight of his body from crushing her by suspending himself with his straight arms.

"Let me hear you say it." His smile was so content and beautiful; it made her want to spend her life doing whatever it took to make him smile again.

"Say what?"

His mouth and lips were perfect. How had she not noticed them before? And all that dark scruff on his chin and surrounding his mouth only accentuated it.

"Tell me you were pretending."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll have to think of another way to torture you."

"How do you intend to torture me now?"

His gaze slid to her mouth and then quickly away, but in the process, something darkened in his eyes.

Was he thinking about kissing her?

Suddenly she was conscious of the way they were lying together. Her chest continued to rise and fall, her breathing the only sound between them. Even though he was holding himself aloft as best he could, his legs were still tangled with hers. Her nightgown had crept up to her knees, and she could even feel his bare legs against hers. And she wasn't repulsed by it.

In fact, something warm, even delicious, spilled inside her, like a warm fermented drink, sticky and sugary. Her gaze shifted back to his lips. If he tried to kiss her, she wouldn't object. She might even enjoy it. After all, she'd liked kissing Bryan before they'd gotten married. When his kisses had filled her with all kinds of longings she hadn't been able to describe.

Of course, she hadn't liked his hard and demanding kisses later. She'd found them as difficult to tolerate as the rest of his touching.

Would it be the same way with Sullivan?

Her smile faded.

A second later, his smile was gone too, and he was scrambling away from her. He was off the bed and stalking across the room before she could catch her breath.

Clearly he'd sensed her resistance, which was for the best. She didn't want to give him the wrong impression that she enjoyed the physical aspects of marriage. Obviously, if he was ready to have his way with her, she wouldn't resist. He had every right to demand more, especially after delaying as long as he already had.

But was he still waiting for her to do the asking, as he'd said after their wedding? If so, when would he get tired of waiting? Because eventually he'd not only get tired of waiting to have his needs met, but he'd also get tired of her.

He swiped up his trousers almost angrily and stuffed a leg inside. In only his underdrawers and the linen shirt, his muscles rippled with each hasty jerk. Even covered in scars, there was no denying how incredible his body was, with his broad shoulders and thick arms and muscular legs....

She rolled to her side and faced away from him. She didn't want to admire his body. Not now or anytime soon.

For long moments, his shuffling and thudding took up the space in the room, leaving little room for even oxygen. When he finally grew silent, she let out a tense exhale and then tried to breathe normally again.

"Would you like a hot bath this morning?"

Oh aye. What she wouldn't give for a bath after the past few weeks of only sponge bathing. But, once again, he was being considerate to her. Too considerate when she'd just pushed him away.

He cleared his throat. "I can ask one of the maidservants—"

"Maidservants?" Her voice was tight. "Or slaves?"

He didn't respond. He didn't have to. Yesterday during the tour of his home, she'd learned that a large majority of the Black folks who worked for the O'Briens in the city and their plantation were free.

A portion were still enslaved, though. When she'd asked Sullivan about it, he'd indicated that the Commodore wasn't agreeable to slavery, but that he also wasn't willing to come down on the side of being antislavery for fear of alienating business partners.

Sullivan had said that if he were in charge, he'd free the slaves and pay them all a fair wage, even if it did cost them business. He'd also spoken with his father over the years about the issue. But so far, he hadn't been able to change the Commodore's mind.

"I don't want a slave to come attend me."

"Very well. I won't enlist the services of a slave."

"Thank you."

He was silent, and she could sense him watching her, waiting for her to explain why she was suddenly quiet and abrupt with him. But how could she explain it to him when she couldn't explain it to herself?

He started across the room, his footsteps heavy on the carpet. At the door, he hesitated.

If he hoped she'd turn over and watch him leave, then he was out of luck. She kept her focus on the bedpost.

The door opened, and then a moment later it clicked shut.

As soon as he was gone, she tried to release the tension that had built over the past several minutes. But even as she forced her body to relax, a strange disappointment settled inside. And she wasn't exactly sure why.

She closed her eyes and buried her face in her pillow, wanting to cry, wanting to let out her frustrations the way she normally did—along with all the sadness about Bryan.

But the tears didn't come. Not even one.

Was she finally done grieving over all that had happened? She certainly didn't miss Bryan anymore. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she'd thought about him. Even the anger that had once burned so hotly inside was now cold, maybe even gone.

Then why was she disappointed? It wasn't aimed at Sullivan. He hadn't done anything wrong. Was it disappointment with herself?

She pushed the pillow aside and rolled to her back.

Aye. She'd disappointed God, her parents, even herself. Not just with how impulsive she'd been with Bryan. But now she was frustrated with herself for how she was treating Sullivan. She hadn't been decent to him by getting upset over a petty issue just now.

No matter her resolve to keep their relationship locked up tightly, she had to do better in treating him with kindness and respect. He, of all people, deserved the same measure of graciousness that he'd offered her.

She'd try harder. It was the least she could do.