He stroked her hair away from her face. "I need time to get my life in order. I've been running from the past for far too long."
Emily had to close her eyes at the irony of that. What would he do if she blurted out that the past was lying naked and trembling beneath him?
She opened her eyes, praying they would not betray her. "And when you get your life in order?"
"You'll be the first to know. I promise you that."
He kissed her, his mouth moist and sweet against her own. She hooked an arm around his nape,
pressing him into her as if it might be the last kiss they would ever share.
Groaning, Justin pulled away. He rolled to his back, dragging her snugly into his arms.
"For a man who doesn't like me, you're being terribly kind," she said.
He smoothed her curls and spoke without even a hint of humor. "I said I didn't like you. I never said
I didn't love you."
* * *
Justin couldn't sleep. But this wasn't the dream-plagued insomnia of a tortured man. His body tingled
with the edgy excitement of fresh hope. It was as if a door had been thrown open, showing him a sunlit world brimming with plans and possibilities. He watched the encroaching dawn absorb the darkness, bleaching the sky to a pale rose. The sea was a glassy jade, smooth and unmarred like a mirror that has yet to know an ugly reflection.
He drew Emily deeper into his arms, savoring the lush feel of her bare skin against his own. She looked so terribly young with her lips parted in sleep. He felt more than a little depraved, wanting her so desperately, but still he could not stem the swift tide of desire rising in him. He swore softly under his breath.
Soon, he promised himself. Soon he would awaken like this every morning, snuggled with Emily on the . . . floor. The floor? He would have to build a bed for the hut immediately. Hell, he'd have to build a new hut. One with a separate room for Penfeld at a discreet distance from their own. And another room, airy with sunlight and decorated in chintz and dolls.
He felt a reluctant grin touch his lips. What would Emily say when he informed her they would start
their new life with a daughter? She had professed a gruff dislike for children, but he had seen how
Kawiri and Dani adored her. She treated them like people, not dolls.
He traced her features with his loving gaze. She had taught him so much in so short a time. She had charged headlong into his life, meeting its challenges with verve and tenacity. He owed her nothing less.
He was done cowering from life. He was no longer going to hide from his family, his inheritance, or
even from the child awaiting him in England. When they returned to the hut, he would pen a letter to
his father, asking him to see to Claire Scarborough's well-being until he could send for her. A hint of bitterness touched him. His father would probably have an easier time understanding if the child had
been gotten off some mistress rather than from a pledge to a dying friend.
Emily stirred, moving her lips in a seeking caress against his chest. His doubts melted at her touch. His spirits soared, unfettered by guilt or remorse. It was as if her innocence had somehow washed away his own dark sins.
His thoughts, though, were far from virginal as Emily stretched with feline grace, giving him an untrammeled view of her delectable body, all vanilla cream sprinkled with cinnamon.
He crooked an eyebrow. Surely even the most noble gentleman allowed himself a few liberties with the woman he intended to make his bride.
* * *
Someone was stroking Emily like a kitten. She was afraid to open her eyes for fear they would stop. Her drowsy contentment was melting to a quicksilver shimmer of joy. The touch was completely unselfish. It demanded nothing of her, but gave only pleasure-pure, feathery strokes of pleasure. She tried to catch her breath but couldn't.
Justin hadn't played the piano in years, but he played Emily like a master, using the full skill of his long, tan fingers to bring her to the shuddering brink of ecstasy.
His lips caught her cry as his touch splintered her into a thousand shards of pleasure.
Her eyes slowly fluttered open. Justin hung over her, breathing hard, his slanted grin both proud and endearing.
"What was that?" she asked, gulping for breath.
"A hurricane? An earthquake?" he offered.
She blinked in wonder. "Was it legal?"
"Probably not. Immoral, too. I fear I just took shameless advantage of you."
"Am I compromised?"
He laid his lips against hers in a lingering caress. "If I compromise you, you'll know it. I promise."
They rose with reluctance, hesitant to leave their sandy haven. Justin went in search of Emily's bandeau, leaving her sitting in the sand, her hands pressed shyly over her breasts. The morning wind ruffled her curls. She stared out to sea, fighting off the panic that threatened to claim her. How could she have been so foolish as to believe she could take Justin's soul without losing her own?
He reappeared, dangling her bandeau from his finger like a flag of surrender. He insisted on tying it himself, sneaking behind her to nuzzle the back of her neck. She moaned helplessly as his arousal
nudged against her rump.
"A normal phenomenon of the morning?" she asked him.
He reached around to stroke her nipples beneath the thin calico. "That's right. It has nothing to do with you."
"Liar," she whispered, wiggling against him.
"Tease," he countered, nipping her ear.
Justin caught himself whistling as they strolled hand in hand down the gleaming strand of beach. Sunlight sparkled off crystals in the sand. A gull soared into the deepening blue of the sky.
"I've been thinking about building a house," he shyly confessed. "Not a hut, but a real house with polished wood floors and scads of sunlight. I don't want any shadows or gloom like the house I grew up in."
Emily was strangely silent although she gripped his hand so tightly he was in fear for his fingers. He attributed her pensive mood to a new shyness. He grinned at that. Shyness was the last trait he would have associated with Emily. He would soon break her of it. He fully intended to keep his private vow of celibacy, but that didn't mean he couldn't give her a taste of what they would share once they were wed. The weeks of waiting to hear from his father might be agony for him, but it would be a sweet agony indeed.
As they rounded the bend and came in sight of their own beach, Emily gave his hand a squeeze that
made his knuckles crack.
He winced. "Careful, dear. I might want to play the piano again someday. Or-" He lowered his head to whisper a more enticing suggestion, but his voice faded as he saw the massive steamer anchored offshore.
The sun gleamed off the two words emblazoned on its mighty hull.
WINTHROP SHIPPING
Chapter 13
I've always wanted the best for you.