Page 18 of His Perfect Bride (Bride Ships: New Voyages #3)

Eighteen

Q uiet wakefulness filtered through Sage. She couldn’t remember when she’d fallen asleep, only that eventually she had drifted off.

She’d plastered herself to the wall, and Jackson had lain as close to the edge of the bed as he could go, and they’d whispered in the dark for a long time. Sometimes the talking had turned serious, and other times they’d rambled about the silly things she and her sisters had done growing up or his voyages on Rupert’s Land and Vancouver Island.

She breathed in her enjoyment from the previous night. The frigid air hit her lungs and brought her to full consciousness. Even though the temperature had obviously dropped in the unheated room, she was warm and comfortable and strangely content.

With her eyes still closed, she pushed past the haze and exhaled.

In response, a nose nuzzled gently against her neck just below her ear.

Sage’s eyes flew open to the sight of bright daylight filling the room, revealing a plain white wall just inches away.

Before she could make sense of the state of the sleeping arrangements, warm lips grazed at the same spot below her ear.

At the connection, her eyes widened, and every part of her body zinged to life, suddenly aware of every part of Jackson’s body touching hers. The blanket was now tucked around both of them equally, and there were no barriers between them except her nightgown and his clothing.

His long, lean form was pressed against her from behind, curved and molded into her. One arm circled her from underneath and the other wrapped around her with his hand splayed across her stomach.

Her senses could only take in the way each finger pressed against her, flat and hard and possessive, and a swirl of new but pleasurable desire tightened in her stomach. She couldn’t deny how much she liked his possessiveness now and last night. She felt wanted, desired, even needed in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever.

As if hearing her thoughts, his thumb grazed her ribs.

The movement was so sensual and so unexpected that a gasp slipped out, and heat trickled along each nerve ending. What was he doing? And why?

His mouth pressed in again as soft as silk, but the stubble on his cheek scraped her jaw. His touch was a contrast of gentle and hard, the same as his personality. He was such a complex person—deep and soulful and sensitive. At the same time, he was honest about who he was, never hiding from her, never holding back.

His lips against her neck didn’t linger, almost as if he’d given her the kiss absently, maybe didn’t even realize he’d done so. Was he still asleep?

She hitched her breath and listened.

His chest rose and fell in a slow and even rhythm against her back.

Yes, he had to be asleep. He wouldn’t be crossing the boundaries of propriety if he were awake. He’d proven himself to be too much of a gentleman to do so. Most likely, he’d gotten cold, crawled under the covers, and had moved against her for warmth. Or maybe she’d been the one to move closer to him.

Either way, they’d ended up in the exact situation they’d tried to avoid. Even though they had to persist in the sham of a marriage, they didn’t want to stir up inappropriate desire. They needed to keep boundaries in place so that when they returned to Victoria, neither of them would feel despoiled.

At the same time, if the pull between them was this strong, then why were they fighting so hard against it? No, she didn’t want to become Jackson’s mistress or be a mere dalliance. But was it too much to think that something more could ever develop between them? That they could ever love each other?

Willow had believed love was possible.

It was easy in the moment, with the way he was holding her, to conclude her sister was right. Maybe Jackson did care about her. And maybe she cared about him too.

Did she love him already?

A strange panic pulsed through her. No, she didn’t love him, didn’t want to love him. The usual protest began to swell inside her—the protest that she’d never be good enough. But Willow’s words interrupted her runaway thoughts: You may have failed at one relationship, but that doesn’t mean you are a failure and that you should punish yourself for the imperfections.

Sage breathed out slowly, trying to release the panic. She didn’t have to be perfect, perhaps couldn’t ever be perfect, not with her family, not in life, and not in love. She knew God didn’t expect it either.

Was it time to finally let go of her perfectionistic tendencies and accept that life was sometimes messy and unorganized and untidy? And sometimes love was messy and unorganized and untidy too.

Love. She didn’t know if that’s what she was feeling for Jackson. Everything was so different than what she’d ever experienced with David. But perhaps she had to allow herself to explore what those feelings were instead of running away from them.

A slamming door somewhere nearby rattled the wall. Behind her, Jackson startled. He pulled his head back as though waking up. For a second, he seemed to be taking stock of the situation, as if he was just now realizing how closely they were lying together in the bed. In the next instant, he jerked his hand off her and scrambled away.

At a thud against the floor, she guessed he’d fallen out of bed.

She held herself motionless. Should she pretend she’d been asleep and hadn’t been aware of how he was touching her? A part of her wanted to spare them both the embarrassment. But at the same time, with all the other deception they were perpetuating, she had to be honest when she could.

Reluctantly, she rolled over. He was in the process of quietly rising, moving slowly as if that would keep him from waking her after all of the other commotion.

At the sight of her face, he halted, half kneeling and half crouched beside the bed. His dark brows formed an angry V, and his mouth pinched tightly. “How long have you been awake?” His whisper was too loud after the quiet between them.

But apparently the rest of the pub guests were awakening now too, because boisterous talking resounded from the room below as did the clatter of a pan.

“I’ve been awake for a few minutes,” she admitted.

With a groan, he bent his head, resting it on his hand. “I apologize profusely, Sage. Please forgive me for my indecencies.”

A part of her wanted to tell him not to apologize. On the other hand, she was relieved he wasn’t the type of man who would willingly use her or the situation to push them into physical intimacy.

She offered him a small smile. “It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t smile back. Instead, his frown deepened. “I knew something like this might happen if I lay down next to you.”

“We had no choice?—”

“I could have used better self-control.” He finished rising, jabbing his fingers into his hair. “I should have stayed on top of the covers and kept my hands to myself.”

“Jackson, please…” Their attraction was growing, and why couldn’t they just admit it?

He paced to the door and stood facing it.

She opened her mouth to attempt a conversation about their relationship and the changing nature of it, but she couldn’t make herself speak. After several seconds, she clamped her lips together.

He inhaled and seemed about to speak.

Was he ready to have the discussion now too? What would he have to say this time? More of what he’d said the last time about how he couldn’t offer her anything and wouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep?

Without a word, though, he opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and pulled it closed behind him.

She could only stare at the door, at first too surprised to react. As his footsteps in the hallway pounded away, her heart plummeted in her chest. He was still shutting her out of his life.

Her chest pinched painfully. But just as quickly as the pinch came, she pushed up and stretched, trying to ease the ache. She refused to let herself dwell on his rejection. Besides, it wasn’t even rejection. How could it be, when they hadn’t made any promises to each other?

All the while she dressed, she chastised herself to stay level-headed and to keep her perspective on Jackson. Just because he’d hugged her during the night didn’t change anything. Did it?

She quickly finished her morning routine, packed their bags, then with their luggage in hand, she started down the stairway. As she neared the bottom, the chatter in the dining room came to a halt, and all the attention centered upon her.

Thankfully, not as many men were present at the early morning hour, a few clustered at two tables drinking coffee, the heavy scent of the fresh brew lingering in the air.

Jackson, standing near the door and talking to the proprietor, abruptly stopped his conversation and started across the room toward her, scowling at the bags in her hands. As he reached her, he took the bags from her, then helped her down the last step. “I was coming back up to get the luggage.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not all right. You should not be carrying such items.”

She’d hauled around much heavier things during her life and during her voyage with Augusta. But she wasn’t about to contradict Jackson at the moment.

Rawhide Ralph was at Jackson’s side in the next instant still attired in his Native garb, wearing his hair in a long braid, and smiling widely. Clearly, his attitude toward Jackson had shifted, probably because Jackson had paid him handsomely already for the meal and room.

“Hope the wedding night was special.” Ralph winked at her as he took the luggage from Jackson.

Oh my. Mortification swelled swiftly inside her.

Ralph raised a brow at Jackson. “It was awfully quiet.”

Jackson scowled at Ralph. “It’s none of your concern.”

Ralph just shrugged his shoulders as much as he could under the weight of the luggage. “Some of the fellas are saying you ain’t really together ’cauz you’re not acting like newlyweds.”

Jackson’s angry gaze swept over the other men in the dining room. “Like I said, it’s none of your business.”

“Told the fellas one kiss would prove it one way or the other.” The proprietor’s voice held challenge.

The others had placed their mugs on the table and were now staring at her and Jackson with undisguised interest.

Jackson glared back.

It didn’t matter what the men thought. She and Jackson were leaving and would likely never see these people again. She opened her mouth to say as much to Jackson, but before she could get the words out, Jackson’s hands landed on her hips, and he was dragging her toward him, his gaze hungrily focused on her lips.

Her stomach flipped over itself. She needed to protest, to make Jackson see reason, to not let him be goaded into kissing her.

But his fingers on her hips tightened, and he tugged her until she was flush against him. In the same instant with a growl, his mouth descended upon hers. His lips were hard and greedy and ravaged hers in one easy swoop.

She gave up any hope of resisting. She had no desire to. Instead, her own hard and greedy need swelled swiftly so that she responded with a ravaging of her own. She rose into the kiss, letting her desire free from the carefully restrained closet where she’d relegated it.

Kissing him was everything she’d remembered from the first experience…except that this time she had no reservations. She was ready—more than ready—to mesh her mouth and body with his. It was almost as if she’d been starved, and this was her one and only chance at gaining sustenance.

A few calls and whistles penetrated the kiss, drawing her back to the dining room and to the fact that people were watching her kissing Jackson.

At her brazenness, she broke the kiss and ducked her head.

Jackson tried chasing after her lips, but she buried her face against his chest.

He gave a huff of protest.

The proprietor was chortling. “Pay up, fellows! I told you, they’re wild about each other! That he ain’t pretending nothin’.”

A few of the others groaned or cursed softly.

Against her, Jackson’s chest rose and fell heavily. His fingers upon her hips were taut. And he seemed immobilized, as if the kiss had turned him into a marble statue.

She decided she needed to put an end to the show or whatever was happening. She took a step back, reached for Jackson’s hand, and slipped her fingers into his. She had half a mind to tell the fellows exactly what she thought of them and their uncivilized demands. But she’d never been as vocal as Willow, had always been controlled and polite.

Tipping her chin up, she started toward the door, tugging Jackson after her, and he came along without a word of protest. As they stepped outside into the bright sunshine, she breathed in the lingering smoke from nearby campfires along with the heavy scent of pine.

A cloudless blue sky greeted them as did a clear and calm river ahead. The morning was cold, but she was overheated from the kiss and needed something to bring her back to reality—the reality that she and Jackson weren’t really a married couple who were wild about each other.

As they started across the grassy bank toward the wharf, he held on to her hand and kept his fingers interlaced with hers. Of course, he was only doing so to carry on their charade because the proprietor was following with their bags.

When they reached the Widower and the gangplank, he gave a curt nod to the captain already in the pilothouse. Then before she could decide what to do, whether to protest or not, his hand within hers tightened, and he bent down and captured her mouth with his.

The kiss was just as hard and intense as the one from moments ago, but it was short and over before she could arch into him and kiss him back. The quickness and intensity stole her breath and left her aching for more.

But he released her and stalked toward the pilothouse without a glance back.

She could only watch him in all his contrasting and rugged handsomeness, with strange desire pooling inside. She’d never imagined she’d ever feel so strongly about any man. But she couldn’t deny the craving pulsing through her that made her want to chase after Jackson and pull him back into another kiss.

They were only supposed to be pretending. But with every passing moment, their relationship felt more and more real. The question was, did she want it to be real? Was she ready for something real?

Even if she was, it didn’t matter. He’d been clear the other day that he wasn’t interested in more, and a couple of kisses wouldn’t change that.