Elizabeth Lowell - Only Mine

Jessica rushed to the trunk, frantically smashed theballgown down, slammed the lid and leaned her weight on it. At first the lid hung up, but it finally managed to swallow all that it had been fed. She fumbled hasp and lock into position, and slammed the padlock shut.

«One left.»

As Jessica straightened and turned toward the remaining trunk, she was hauled up short by a yank on her braid. She glanced over her shoulder. The last third of her hair vanished into the locked trunk. She wrapped her hands around the braid and pulled. Nothing happened. She pulled harder. The hair remained firmly caught. She yanked and then yanked again, but stayed tethered to the trunk.

«Blast and blazes! I’ll have to unlock the confounded thing and do it all over again.»

Then Jessica discovered she couldn’t reach the key ring she had left on the bedside table. Nor could she drag the trunk closer. Pushing seemed to have a better effect. Shoving, panting, Jessica alternated between shoulder and hands as she inched the stubborn trunk closer to the bedside table. One of the trunk’s brassbound corners caught on an irregularity in the wood floor. No matter how she pushed, the trunk didn’t move.

The thought of Wolfe coming in the room and finding her prisoner to one of her own surly trunks gave Jessica a desperate surge of strength. She shoved repeatedly against the top edge of the trunk, trying to jostle it free.

Without warning, the heavy trunk tipped up and rolled over, taking Jessica with it, yanking her off her feet. She gave a startled shriek as she went head over heels and landed on the floor in a tangle of soft blue cloth.

An instant later the door to the suite banged open. Wolfe stood in the doorway looking as dangerous as the long knife in his hand. The steel blade was a stark contrast to his well-cut, dark wool suit and white linen shirt.

«Jessi? Where are you?»

She grimaced but knew there was no escape. «Over here.»

Wolfe stepped into the suite. He glanced in the direction of her voice, saw an upside-down trunk and a tangle of blue cloth, creamy lingerie, and dainty blue shoes. In three long strides he was next to her.

«Are you all right?»

«Just ducky,» she said through her teeth.

«What are you doing on the floor?»

«Packing.»

Wolfe raised black eyebrows. «It’s easier if the trunk is right side up.»

«Bloody hell.»

Wolfe’s eyes followed Jessica’s long red braid to the point where it disappeared into the trunk. He started to say something, but was laughing too hard to speak.

Normally, the sound of his laughter made Jessica smile, but not this time. This time flags of anger and humiliation burned on her cheeks.

«Lord, if you could only see yourself, like a turtle in a net…» Laughter took Wolfe’s voice again.

Jessica lay on the floor and thought longingly of the case and the weapons inside. Unfortunately, they were as out of reach as the key to the padlock.

Snickering, Wolfe sheathed his knife before he reached for Jessica. He took her braid and pulled gently, then with more force. It made no difference. She was well and truly caught.

«The key,» she said distinctly, «is on the bedside table.»

«Don’t go away, elf. I’ll be right back.»

The thought of Jessica going anywhere on her short tether set off another spate of laughter in Wolfe. It seemed like a long time until he sat on his heels next to her and started fitting keys in the lock to find the right one. The fact that he kept laughing at unexpected intervals slowed down the process of freeing her quite a bit.

The third time Wolfe leaned against the trunk, all but helpless with laughter, Jessica snatched the keys from his fingers and opened the padlock herself. She still wasn’t free. She couldn’t open the trunk while it was upside-down. Nor could she right it. She could, however, push her laughing husband over.

And she did.

Still laughing, Wolfe caught himself with feline ease and came to his feet by the trunk. He righted the trunk, pried open the lid, and pulled out the length of red hair.

«Yours, I believe,» he murmured, handing Jessica the braid.

She grabbed it with fingers that shook, wishing the braid was Wolfe’s throat. The look in his eyes told her that he knew just what she was thinking.

«You’re welcome,» he said gravely.

Not trusting herself, Jessica turned and slammed the trunk lid down, locked it once more, and went to the sixth trunk. When she opened it, she saw that it was packed right to the top with curling irons, clothes brushes, flatirons, tissue paper, linens, toiletries…

«Oh, no,» Jessica breathed.

Wolfe took a breath that kept dissolving into laughter. «Problems?»

«I’m missing a trunk.»

He counted the trunks with a lazy, raking glance. Six. «They’re all here.»

«They can’t be.»

«Why?»

«I haven’t packed my riding clothes and all the trunks are full.»

Wolfe shook his head. «Somehow I’m not surprised. Hand me some of that tissue paper.»

«Why?»

«I’ll help you pack.»

«What does tissue paper have to do with packing?» she asked.

Wolfe shot a sideways glance at Jessica. «Tissue paper keeps out the wrinkles.»

«Wrinkles?»

«The things you take out of clothes with a flatiron.»

She blinked. «You do?»

«No.Youdo. Ironing is a wife’s duty. So is washing, drying, and folding the clothes.»

«What is the husband doing all the while the wife is at work?»

«Getting things dirty again.»

«A truly taxing duty,» she said sardonically.

Wolfe’s smile faded. «Any time you want to go back to being Lady JessicaCharteris, complete with maids and footmen to do your bidding, let me know.»

«Do hold your breath waiting, my lord. It will make the time so much more pleasant — for both of us!»

Jessica moved sleepily and burrowed closer to the warmth that held the cold dawn at bay.

«For God’s sake,» Wolfe muttered.

The weight of her against his usual morning arousal was altogether too hot. When small hands slid beneath his coat to reach the warmth of his body, his heartbeat speeded. Without waking, she tucked her face against his neck and sighed.

Wolfe closed his eyes, but it didn’t help. Nothing could shut out the memory of Jessica’s creamy, pink-tipped breasts rising from the ruins of her peignoir. Before that moment, he had never permitted himself to think of his redheaded elf as anything but a child.

Now Wolfe could think of little else but the womanly shape of her breasts.

He had suffered the torments of the damned every time Jessica dozed off on the endless stage ride. Invariably, the stage’s erratic motions would threaten to send her to the floor. Invariably, he caught her, supported her, then finally cradled her across his lap while she slept, her breath tangling softly with his. Invariably, he found himself wanting her with an urgency that infuriated him, for he knew she didn’t want him in return.

And even if she had, he would not take her. She was the wrong wife for him. No amount of desire could change that.

Yet the warmth of Jessica’s breath against Wolfe’s mouth as he turned his face to her went to his head like wine. The softness of her breasts begged for his hands to cup and caress them. The sweet weight of her hips against his aroused flesh was a torment he both savored and prayed would end soon.

Jessica murmured and nuzzled against Wolfe sleepily, knowing only that he was warmth and the world was cold. The brush of her lips against his skin sent a painful shaft of need through his body.

«Wake up, damn it,» Wolfe said beneath his breath. «I’m not a feather bed for your ladyship’s convenience.»