Chapter 24

24

The kisses along Enya's collarbone were pushing her to the brink of a place she'd never been before, but one she wanted to come to again and again. Was this paradise?

Wherever it was, Sullivan's kisses had transported her beyond space and time, making the real world disappear completely so that she could hear no sounds except their pounding hearts and labored breathing.

As his open mouth closed in on the pulse point at the base of her throat, she clutched at him, trembling with need and want.

The last time she'd let herself need and want a man, she'd created a disaster of her life. How could she be certain this time would be different?

A deep part of her knew that Sullivan was different than Bryan. She couldn't even begin to compare them anymore. It wasn't fair to Sullivan. But she couldn't shake the uncertainties that always lingered beneath the surface.

His hands at her waist slid higher up her torso, but the strength of his grip was still tender, and the slight quaver in his fingers told her that he wanted more but was using all his effort to restrain himself, that he didn't want to overwhelm her.

What would happen if she let go of everything from her past and gave herself permission to care about this new marriage? Could she really allow herself to be a wife again?

Bryan's words from when he'd been stuffing his clothing angrily in his haversack pushed to the front of her mind. "No other man will ever want you for a wife, not when you're so selfish and needy."

Even though she hadn't wanted to think about his statement, it had lingered deep inside and now rose to cut off the air in her lungs. She'd already failed at one marriage. What was to stop her from failing again? Especially in loving Sullivan the way he deserved? And especially since she'd already been selfish and needy the whole trip to New Orleans and back.

She flattened her hands against his chest and pushed.

He paused, his hot breath bathing her neck. He waited. He was giving her permission to put an end to their kissing. Even in this moment of passion, he was in control and wouldn't pressure her to do more than she wanted.

The desire, the connection, the admiration—what she was feeling was even stronger than anything she'd felt for Bryan by far. In fact, what she'd had with Bryan was like a flimsy fake currency compared to solid silver and gold that could possibly be hers with Sullivan.

But she was flimsy too. She wasn't a treasure worth having. And some day Sullivan would realize that.

She pushed against him again, fear rising to choke her.

Gently, he set her down so that her feet rested on the floor.

She plastered herself to the wall.

As if seeing the change in her demeanor, he released her completely and took a step back. "What's wrong?" His voice was gentle.

"I'm okay." She slipped her hands behind her back to keep them from shaking. "I'm just tired."

He cocked his head.

Didn't he believe her?

"It's been a long day." Her voice held a genuine note of weariness. How could he doubt her now?

He jabbed his fingers into his hair, the movement jerky, almost frustrated. "I have to go back to the steamer for the night."

"I understand." And she truly did. He had to ensure the young woman made her way off the boat to freedom. For as much danger as he was in, Enya could take some comfort in knowing he'd done this many other times and had succeeded.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I won't be in St. Louis long before needing to return to New Orleans."

"How long?"

"How long do you want me to stay?"

What could she say? That maybe he should go? That maybe if they were apart from each other, he wouldn't grow tired or resentful of her demands and her neediness?

She gave a casual shrug. "Whatever works for you."

"What do you want me to do?" His expression and dark eyes were unreadable. Even so, she could sense an unrest in him. Was he pushing her to admit if she wanted him?

"You have an important job." She softened her tone, not wanting to hurt him. "I can't stand in the way of what you're doing." Helping the runaways was critical, and surely he would agree with her.

"So that's your answer?"

"I'm sorry, Sullivan."

"Sorry for what?" The question came out low and loaded.

"That I'm unable to give you what you want in our marriage."

"And what is it you think I want?"

If she was completely honest, she knew he wanted more than a bed partner. He'd been wooing and winning her because he wanted her heart. But a heart was harder to give than a body. At least her heart was after having been shattered. And even if God was putting the pieces of it back together, it was too fragile to hand over to another man. "You'd like me to fall in love with you."

"And have you?" His gaze was as direct as his question, demanding the truth. Although he hadn't made an outright declaration of his love for her, she hadn't been able to forget the admission to his father.

Maybe it was easy for him to put aside all the reservations and let himself love someone. But she wasn't ready. "I like you. And I admire you. But no, I haven't fallen in love with you."

He pulled himself up to his full height, a scowl creasing his brow.

She had the strange need to comfort him, to ease the pain that her rejection might have caused him. Because the truth was, she did like and admire him.

He spun away from her and began to cross the room.

"I wish I could give you more, Sullivan. I really do."

"You do this every time." He stopped, and his hard accusation cut through her.

"Do what?"

"Sabotage our relationship."

"Sabotage?"

"Yes, you let me near, but then when I get too close, you push me away, like right now after kissing me."

"That's rather harsh—"

"You get scared and find a way to put an obstacle between us." He stood near the door, his muscular frame radiating tension but entirely too appealing.

She could still feel the heat of his body against hers, the thudding of their heartbeats, the passion of their kisses. Oh aye, she wanted more of him. But it was too daunting to think about what would happen if she allowed herself to love him. Much too daunting.

She shivered and hugged her arms across her chest. "The obstacles are already there."

"They don't have to be." This time his tone dropped. Did it contain a plea? "You don't have to let the scars of your past determine your future."

"Scars? You shouldn't be the one lecturing me about scars, not when you hide behind yours." The words came out before she could censure them.

His expression froze, and his eyes turned almost icy with a fury she'd seen directed at others but never at herself.

For several heartbeats the fate of the future seemed to hover between them. Then, as though her cutting words were severing the threadbare strings holding them together, he spun from the room, clomped through the hallway, and thudded down the stairway. A moment later the house door opened. She could picture him stepping out into the darkness of the night. And then the door rattled closed behind him.

She waited against the wall, unable to move, unable to breathe. Would he go outside for a moment? Temper his anger? And return to discuss the matter civilly?

When the silence of the house prevailed, interrupted only by the distant clang of a fire bell somewhere in the nearby city, her muscles loosened, and she sagged.

She closed her eyes against the image of his icy glare. Aye, they'd had tense moments over their differences since they'd been married. But he'd never been angry and stormed away. Then again, she'd never spoken to him so callously. He'd opened up and shared about his war scars and the difficulty he'd experienced. And she'd just trampled his feelings as if they were completely worthless.

Why had she done it? Certainly not to sabotage their relationship the way he claimed.

Whatever the case, she'd hurt him.

Regret pooled heavily inside, so heavily her knees weakened, and she slid to the floor, her back resting against the wall. If he hadn't already started to realize the mistake he'd made in marrying her, now he finally would.