Nora Roberts - Suzanna's Surrender

When he came back in, she smiled then looked puzzled. “Is that champagne?”

“Yeah.” And he was thoroughly disgusted. He'd imagined she'd be charmed. Instead she questioned everything. “Do you want some or not?”

“Sure.” The curt invitation was so typical she didn't take offense. After he'd poured, she tapped her glass absently against his. “Now, if you're sure it was Livingston who broke in, I think –”

“One more word,” he said with dangerous calm. “One more word about Livingston and I'll pour the rest of the bottle over your hard head.”

She sipped, knowing she'd have to be careful if she didn't want to waste a bottle of champagne and end up with sticky hair. “I'm only trying to get a clear picture.”

He let out what was close to a roar of frustration and spun away. Champagne sloshed over his glass as he paced. “She wants a clear picture, and she's blind as a bat. I shoveled two months' worth of dust out of this place. I bought candles and flowers. I had to listen to some jerk try to teach me about wine. That's the picture, damn it.”

She'd wanted to irritate information from him, not infuriate him. “Holt –”

“Just sit down and shut up. I should have known this would get screwed up. God knows why I tried to do it this way.”

A light dawned, and she smiled. He'd set the stage, but she'd been too focused on her own scheme to take note. “Holt, it's very sweet of you to do all of this. I'm sorry if I didn't seem to appreciate it. If you wanted me to come here tonight so we could make love –”

“I don't want to make love with you.” He swore, viciously. “Of course I want to make love with you, but that's not it. I'm trying to ask you to marry me, damn it, so will you sit down!”

Since her legs had dissolved from knees to toe, she slid into a chair.

“This is perfect.” He gulped down champagne and started pacing again. “Just perfect. I'm trying to tell you that I'm crazy about you, that I don't think I can live without you, and all you can do is ask me what I'm doing and nag me about some obsessed jewel thief.”

Cautiously she brought the glass to her lips. “Sorry.”

“You should be sorry,” he said bitterly. “I was ready to make a fool of myself tonight for you, and you won't even let me do that. I've been in love with you nearly half my life. Even when I moved away, I couldn't get you out of my mind. You spoiled every other woman for me. I'd start to get close to someone, and then...they weren't you. They just weren't you, and I'd never even gotten past your back door.”

In love. The two words reeled in her head. In love. “I thought you didn't even like me.”

“I couldn't stand you.” He raked his free hand through his hair. “Every time I looked at you I wanted you so much I couldn't breathe. My mouth would go dry and my stomach would knot, and you'd just smile and keep walking.” His dark and turbulent eyes locked on hers. “I wanted to strangle you. You run into me and knock me off my bike and I'm lying there bleeding and – and mortified. You're leaning over me, smelling like heaven and running your hands over me to see if anything was broken. One more minute of that and I'd have dragged you onto the asphalt with me.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Lord, you were only sixteen.”

“You swore at me.”

His face was a picture of anger and disgust. “Damn right, I swore at you. You were better off with that than with what I wanted to do to you.” He was calming, little by little. He sipped again but kept pacing. “I talked myself into believing it was just an adolescent fantasy. Even a crush, and that was tough to swallow. Then you came walking across my yard. I looked at you and my throat went dry, my stomach knotted up. We were both past being adolescents.”

He set his glass down, noting that she was gripping hers with both hands. Her eyes were huge and fixed on his. Cursing both of them, he fumbled for a cigarette then tossed it aside.

“I'm not good at this, Suzanna. I thought I could pull it off. Set the mood, you know? And after you'd had enough champagne, I'd convince you I could make you happy.”

She couldn't relax her grip. She tried but couldn't. “I don't need champagne and candlelight, Holt.”

He smiled a little. “Babe, you were born for it. I could lie to you and tell you I'll remember to give it to you every night. But I won't.”

She looked down at her glass and wondered if she was ready to take this sort of chance again. Loving him was one thing. Being loved by him was incredible. But marriage... “Why don't you just tell me the truth then?”

He walked over to sit on the arm of the couch and face her. “I love you. I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. Whatever happens, I'll never feel like this about anyone else again. There's no taking back what's happened to either of us in the last few years, but maybe we can make things better for both of us. For the kids.”

Her eyes changed, darkened. “It may never be easy. Bax would always be their legal father.”

“He wouldn't be the one who loved them.” When her eyes filled, he shook his head. No, she hadn't needed candlelight and champagne to make her vulnerable and open to his needs. Only a mention of her children. “I won't use them to get to you. I know I could, but first it has to be between you and me. Maybe I'm stuck on them, and I want to – I think I could be pretty good at being their father, but I don't want you to marry me for them.”

She took a deep breath. Odd, her fingers had relaxed on the stem of the glass without her being aware. “I never wanted to love anyone again. And I certainly never wanted to get married.” Her lips curved. “Until you.” Setting the glass aside, she reached for his hand. “I can't claim to have loved you as long, but you couldn't love me more than I love you.”

He didn't settle for her hand, but pulled her into his arms. When he at last managed to tear his mouth from hers, he buried his face in her hair. “Don't tell me you need to think about it, Suzanna.”

“I don't need to think about it.” She couldn't remember the last time her heart and mind had been so at peace. “I'll marry you.”

Before the words were out of her mouth, she was tumbling with him onto the couch. She was laughing as they tugged at each other's clothes, laughing still when the frantic movements sent them rolling onto the floor.

“I knew it.” She nipped his bare shoulder. “You did bring me here to make love.”

“Can I help it if you can't keep your hands off me?” He trailed a necklace of quick kisses around her throat.

She smiled, tilting her head to give him easy access. “Holt, did you really think about pulling me down on the street after you'd fallen off your bike.”

“After you'd run into me,” he corrected, nuzzling her ear. “Yeah. Let me show you what I had in mind.”

Later they lay like rag dolls on the floor, a tangle of limbs. When she could manage it, she lifted her head from his chest. “It was much better that we didn't try that twelve years ago.”

Lazily he opened his eyes. She was smiling down at him, her hair brushing his shoulders, the candlelight glowing in her eyes. “Much better. I wouldn't have had any skin left on my back.”

She chuckled then shifted to trace the shape of his face. “You always scared me a little. Looking so dark and dangerous. And, of course, the girls used to talk about you.”

“Oh, yeah? What did they say?”

“I'll tell you when you're sixty. You could probably use it then.” He pinched her, but she only laughed then rested her cheek on his. “When you're sixty, we'll be an old married couple with grandchildren.”

He liked the thought of it. “And you still won't be able to keep your hands off me.”