Chapter 19

19

The few weeks in New Orleans went quickly. Sullivan thought it would be more challenging than it was, especially after the strain that had crept between Enya and him the night they'd shared the bed.

One moment, they'd been laughing and enjoying each other's company. In the next, she'd been rigid and cold. When she'd brought up the issue of slavery, he'd known that wasn't what was really bothering her. More likely, she'd gotten a good look at his scars in the daylight and had been disgusted by them and hadn't wanted him to see her reaction.

Thankfully, she hadn't been aloof for long. Most of the time, she'd been her usual mix of feisty and playful and talkative. Even so, he'd sensed she'd added a few more invisible bricks to the wall between them in spite of his efforts to break them down.

Regardless, she'd continued to do her part in convincing his father they had a normal marriage. When they'd gone to several parties and dances, she'd been charming and lively and so beautiful he'd ached just watching her, knowing she was too good for him.

During the few days they'd spent on the plantation, she'd been equally social and amiable. Even when they were alone riding or walking in the gardens or in their chamber at night, she kept the polite demeanor in place.

Of course, he'd resumed sleeping on the floor. One night in the bed had been nearly impossible, and he didn't trust himself with any more.

Even though the Commodore had watched them from time to time, he hadn't been able to tell that they'd been playacting, although the acting hadn't been hard to do. They'd held hands. Once in a while, Sullivan had put his arm around her or squeezed her shoulder.

She'd done more, unafraid to grab on to his arm or rub his hand or brush a strand of his hair back. Her innocent touches only seared him more with each one, so at times he felt like he was a torch covered in tar and set aflame.

He couldn't deny he'd relished the time with her—time that would soon come to an end as he resumed his duties as a steamboat captain during the return voyage to St. Louis. He hadn't exactly plotted how to balance his work and marriage. But he suspected he'd be gone for long periods, at least four weeks at a time, since that's what the round-trip voyage took, give or take a few days.

Would she be relieved to have him gone? She'd likely be busy decorating their new home and preparing for the baby. Whenever he was in St. Louis, how long would she want him to stay? As a captain and part owner, he had some flexibility, but what if she didn't enjoy his visits? What if she didn't ever welcome him completely into her life?

"You'll have to come again soon, Enya." His mother was giving her a hug as the coachman finished loading the last of their bags onto the carriage that would carry them to the Morning Star , which was leaving within the hour.

Dawn light had broken, and the sky was awash with patches of pink and orange. He'd already been down to the wharf once to oversee the readiness of the vessel, and now all that needed to be done was to make sure Enya was safely ensconced aboard.

"Thank you for everything." Enya embraced his mother in return. "You've been a delight to get to know."

Enya turned to the Commodore, who was watching her with more than a little awe.

Sullivan couldn't keep a half grin from alighting, as it did whenever he caught his father overwhelmed by Enya's beauty. He understood and empathized with what the man felt, because he was overwhelmed by her most of the time too.

"Good-bye, Commodore." She reached for the older man and hugged him just as warmly.

He patted her back awkwardly, then stepped away. "Come again before it becomes too difficult for you to travel."

The pregnancy had become common knowledge among the family. The news of it also hadn't taken long to spread throughout New Orleans, just as Sullivan had predicted. He'd gotten good-natured teasing from friends, particularly about not being able to stay out of Enya's bed before marriage. Although he'd been tempted to correct them, he let them think what they wanted to keep the focus on himself and not on her.

"I'd love to visit again." She bestowed one of her bright smiles upon both of his parents while taking the offer of Sullivan's hand to assist her up into the carriage.

After he helped to situate her, he hugged his mother, then shook hands with his father.

The Commodore squeezed his hand hard and met his gaze with a level one. "I can tell you love her."

Love her? They'd only been married for about six weeks. That wasn't long enough for love to develop.

Even as the protest rose within him, a strange sense of certainty rolled in and knocked away his resistance. Yes, his father was right. He loved Enya. Somewhere along the way, he'd fallen in love with her.

His father wasn't breaking eye contact, was apparently waiting for him to agree.

"Of course." He just hoped Enya couldn't hear their conversation.

"Good, good." His father smiled with satisfaction.

Sullivan gave him a nod, then started to turn.

The Commodore caught his arm and stopped him. "Don't be so afraid to show her."

"I'm not." Once the words were out, he knew they weren't true. He was afraid. Not of her. But of pushing her away with a wrong move.

"Yes, you are." The Commodore's voice rang with a challenge.

"I'm fine." Or at least he would be once he was beyond the reach of his father's meddling.

"If you're so fine, then show her you love her right now."

"I'll show her later."

The Commodore's brows furrowed, and his expression lost all traces of humor. "Are you defying me, boy?"

Sullivan wanted to tell his father that he was no longer a boy. That he was old enough to make his own decisions and determine when he showed affection to his wife. But he'd never been able to blatantly disrespect his father.

"Go on in there," the Commodore barked, this time for the whole neighborhood to hear, "and give her a kiss that shows her you adore the ground she walks on."

Sullivan almost groaned aloud. He'd been expecting something like this from his father the entire visit. If only he could have gotten away without the last-minute haranguing.

His mother laid a hand on the Commodore's arm, always the levelheaded and calmer of the two. Instead of patting her arm in return, the Commodore slipped one of his hands behind her neck and one behind her back. Then he dipped her backward and at the same time captured her mouth with a kiss, one that was deep and intense and filled with a keen adoration that told Sullivan his father wasn't putting on a show, that he truly did adore the ground his wife walked on, even after all the years they'd been married.

Sullivan had witnessed many such ardent kisses over the years. But somehow this time he was watching it with fresh eyes, as though his father was the master teacher and he the pupil.

As his parents finished their kiss and straightened, his father bent and whispered something in his mother's ear. Her cheeks were already flushed and her eyes bright. But after the whisper, she reached for his hand and then leaned her head against his arm. Clearly being by his side was the only place in the world she wanted to be.

Sullivan exhaled a tight breath. That's what he wanted Enya to feel with him. If he kissed her like that, would she feel the same about him?

He'd been trying to win her heart slowly and steadily, but he wasn't making much progress. At least that he could see. Maybe it was time to change his tactics.

The Commodore nodded at him, reminding him to have courage.

Sullivan gave his father a nod back, feeling a little silly. Then he climbed up onto the carriage step and poked his head inside.

The dawn light illuminated Enya, attired as usual in one of her lovely gowns. Her eyes were wider than usual, and her expression filled with uncertainty.

He'd told her he'd wait for her to ask him for physical affection. But that didn't apply to kissing, did it?

"You heard my father?" he whispered as he stepped up into the conveyance.

"Yes. He's loud, so he's easy to hear."

Again, Sullivan hoped she hadn't been able to hear his admission that he loved her. That was something he wanted to say to her alone ... when she was ready to hear it.

"You won't mind if I ...?" The words kiss you stuck in his throat. Maybe he was much more afraid than he'd realized.

She sat absolutely still, her eyes taking in his face and waiting for him to finish the sentence. Or maybe she was waiting for him to tell her that he didn't plan to go through with it.

But what if he took the chance and showed her how much he adored her in a kiss? And what if that helped alleviate whatever fears were still holding her back?

His large frame filled the carriage interior as he took the seat beside her. Normally, he was careful not to brush up against her, to give her as much space as possible. But this time, when his thigh and knee bumped hers, he didn't pull back.

He could sense his father outside watching and waiting. Sullivan didn't have to do it. He could tell his father that the matter was a private one between Enya and him, close the door, and call for the coachman to drive away.

But at the happy glow on his mother's face and the way she clung to the Commodore, Sullivan's chest expanded. A burst of energy shot through his blood.

He twisted on his seat and this time forced the whisper out. "May I kiss you?"

Her gaze shot to his parents, his father, before returning to him. "Yes, it's alright," she whispered back. "Of course we need to." For his father's sake. She left that part off. But she probably assumed they were still playacting.

But a kiss wouldn't be playacting for him.

He started to lift his hand to cup her cheek, then hesitated. Should he touch her so intimately too? Or should he just lean in and take a kiss? She was close enough that he could do so easily enough.

She dropped her gaze and tightened her hands in her lap. Was she nervous? Had kissing her previous husband been difficult?

He didn't want to think about her kissing another man. In fact, the very thought sent shards of jealousy piercing him.

Enya was his now. His wife. And maybe he needed to make it clearer to her that he would adore her just as much physically as he did in all the other many ways he tried to show her his love.

This time when he raised his hand, he brought it all the way to her face. He caressed her cheek to her jaw, then glided his fingers over her exquisitely satiny skin to her neck. As he continued to let his fingers trace a path to the back of her neck, he bent in slowly, one inch at a time.

He tried to gauge her reaction, but her eyes remained wide and unreadable.

When he was but a hairsbreadth away, he stalled.

She seemed to be holding her breath.

Without any further thoughts, he closed the gap and touched her lips. At the same moment, his hand at the back of her neck guided her closer. He intended to only press in with a short but tender kiss.

But as his lips brushed over hers, the softness of those curves and their warmth drove need straight through him. The pounding ricocheted through his body, awakening every part of him in every corner of his body.

She seemed to nibble, moving against him just a little, as though she wasn't sure if she dared to give herself permission to return the kiss.

He was already too far gone, like a man inebriated with just one drink and yet thirsty for so much more. He coaxed and tasted, pouring out his reverence for her with each move. Because saints have mercy, he really did adore her. He loved not only her beauty and her body, but he loved her resilient spirit, her caring heart, and her fiery passion.

When she finally rose into him and meshed her lips with his, a surge of satisfaction sifted through him. She wasn't letting him passively kiss her, she was responding with her own awakening desires, wasn't she?

For a moment, there was an equal give and take of pleasure, sweet and keen and delectable, unlike anything he'd ever known. With each stroke, their tempo increased, laced with a note of desperation he didn't understand, almost as if this was their first and last kiss and they had to make the most of it before they were separated forever.

"Well, well, well." His father's voice cut into the tidal wave of desire.

Enya broke away first and quickly dipped her head, moving her mouth out of his reach.

Sullivan wanted to chase after those lips—now swollen and even more kissable. But he released a raspy breath and tried to swim to the surface so he didn't drown in all the sensations he was feeling.

"That was perfect," the Commodore said. "Now just make a habit of doing that at least once or twice a day."

Once or twice a day? How about a few hundred times a day? Would anything less than that ever satisfy him?

He doubted it. Now that he'd gotten a taste of her lips, he didn't think he could ever go back to not kissing her.

Somehow he managed to say a proper good-bye to his parents before the carriage rolled away.

His every muscle rippled, and his every nerve vibrated. After that kiss, he felt more alive than he ever had before. Did she feel the same? How had the kiss affected her?

She sat rigidly beside him, unmoving—except for the small tremble of her hands in her lap. She quickly clasped her hands together as if to hide the quaver.

But she was too late. He'd seen it.

He'd never been good at drawing people out, asking them how they felt, or cajoling them into sharing their feelings. But he had to find out what was going through her mind.

"Are you okay?" His voice came out gravelly, and he immediately cleared his throat.

"I'm fine."

"Then you didn't mind ...?"

"Of course not."

That wasn't exactly a positive response.

"I'm sure our acting convinced your father." She offered him a quick smile but then peered out the open window.

What about her? Hadn't she been able to tell that he'd intended the kiss to do more than convince his father? Hadn't she been able to tell he'd been trying to convince her too?

He had to say something, had to tell her the truth—that he hadn't been acting. He opened his mouth, but a fist of fear closed around his throat.

Clearly he hadn't convinced her of anything. She'd kissed him as part of their bargain. She'd been polite and diplomatic about it. But it hadn't moved her the same way it had him.

He leaned back and released an inward sigh. Maybe she wasn't attracted to him the same way he was to her. Maybe she tolerated his faults but wouldn't ever be able to truly look past them. If he couldn't, how could he ever expect her to?