Chapter 20 #3
The aching threatened to explode and she gripped the arms of her chair, her eyes closing. She felt his tongue testing her lips, tasting them, probing, and she could not stop a moan. His mouth firmed, insisting that she open, and when she did, their tongues met in frantic urgency.
Abruptly he lifted her from the chair and carried her to the bed. She looked at him as he laid her down and could no more dampen the desire than she could stop her harsh and heavy breathing. He sat by her hip, his eyes glowing, and kissed her again.
She could not wait. It had been so long, and yesterday had only been a teasing.
Leigh Anne started to weep as he quickly unbuttoned and removed her dress, his hands caressing her shoulders, her breasts, her thighs, as if he could not wait, either.
Clad only in her chemise, stockings and drawers, she looked at him.
He smiled just a little and he bent over her to taste her where she desperately wanted him to be.
Leigh Anne gasped as his tongue delved deeply against and between her flesh. She heard herself plead and could not stop because in another moment, she was going to explode. She begged and he listened, his tongue clever, skilled.
“I love you,” he gasped, moving over her, against her, his thighs spreading her legs wide as he released himself.
Leigh Anne met his gaze. I love you, too, she thought. And she could not understand what had happened to tear them apart and then to keep them apart for so long.
His jaw flexed, and he surged hot, hard and so thickly into her.
Leigh Anne gripped his back, hanging on as he rode her.
And then there was no more thought at all—there was only his hard, aroused body, the power and the heat, so deep, the friction and frenzy, and finally, the explosion of sheer ecstasy.
This time, she held him and refused to let go.
Francesca paused just outside of the library.
The two massive engraved doors were open and she could see Hart at his desk, engrossed in some papers, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his tie hanging with his suit jacket on the back of his chair.
He appeared immersed in what he was doing, but she also saw the signs of strain on his face.
Still, his seductive appeal remained as strong as ever.
She could not wait to tell him the news, but she was also afraid that he would not react as she wanted him to.
Hart suddenly sensed her presence and he looked up.
As their eyes met, he smiled at her and Francesca warmed.
There was no doubt that he was glad to see her.
Did that mean he had conquered his own personal demons?
Did that mean he would change his mind about their engagement when she told him that she had found Daisy’s killer?
“May I come in?” she asked softly.
He swiftly rose to his feet and came around his desk. “You never have to ask.”
She approached, and halfway across the room, he reached her. His gaze was searching as he found her hands, and surprise instantly filled his eyes. “You have found Daisy’s killer?”
“Yes, I have,” she said, pleased that he knew her so well now that he could almost read her mind.
“What happened?”
“Daisy was being sexually abused by her own father, Calder, and that is why she ran away from home.”
It was a very rare moment, for she saw that Hart was truly stunned.
“Her mother blamed her, Calder. Can you believe it? Martha felt that Daisy had somehow seduced her own father. In any case, the judge happened upon Daisy purely by accident in May. He approached her and she began to blackmail him. She hated him with a vengeance! Martha had no intention of letting her do that and she murdered her. Worse, Lydia witnessed the murder, helped her mother escape and then framed you when she realized she could do so and deflect suspicion from Martha.”
“Poor Daisy,” Hart said roughly. He seemed shaken. “I had no idea, Francesca, none.”
“It is such a tragedy!” Francesca exclaimed. “Lydia adored her sister, and despised their father, too. She was only protecting Martha, because she feels her mother is all she has left. Hart, I do not want to see Lydia suffer anymore. I feel so badly for her. She is as much a victim as Daisy.”
He pulled her close. “Francesca, I won’t press charges against her, but the police and the D.A. can obviously charge her with quite a few crimes.”
“I am aware of that. I have begged Bragg to withhold information on her behalf.”
His gaze flickered. “And did he agree?”
“He said he would think about it.”
Hart regarded her steadily for a moment, his expression impossible to read, and then he walked slowly away from her. He paused before a window, but seemed to stare out at the fading day with unseeing eyes. Francesca walked up behind him. “What is it?”
He shrugged, glancing at her. “I suppose that if anyone can get Bragg to circumvent his own morals, it is you.”
She tensed slightly. “What does that mean? I had to ask him to treat Lydia differently than he would someone else.”
He softened, clasping her cheek with one large hand. “Of course you did. She is a victim and you remain the kindest person I have ever had the good fortune to meet.”
She searched his gaze now for some inkling of what their future might be.
She saw that the shadow of grief lingered in his eyes.
“Hart, it is over. I know this has been a terrible time for you. But Daisy’s killer is in custody.
You have been proved innocent, and that is how tomorrow’s headlines will read. ”
He shook his head. “It has been a terrible time for you, Francesca, and I cannot stop blaming myself for what I have put you through.”
“Don’t! I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere but here with you during this crisis, Calder. That is what friends are for—and we are quite a bit more than friends, even now.” She trembled as she spoke.
“You never wavered, not even once, this entire time.”
She was surprised. “I could never stop believing in you.”
And his composure crumbled. “Your sister said you would have raised my child with me.”
She nodded. “I would have loved your little boy or girl as if it were my own,” she whispered roughly.
Anguish appeared in his eyes, but only briefly, because he pulled her suddenly into his embrace, reaching for her mouth with his.
Francesca threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all of the love pounding in her breast. His grip tightened, and his lips firmed, demanding even more of a response from her. Francesca gladly gave it.
He finally held her face in his two hands.
“This morning, I woke up feeling as if I had lost everything. I never dwell on the past, but that is all I have been doing, Francesca. I have been regretting the way I behaved when Daisy told me about my child. And I have been thinking about the moment we first met, and every time I have seen you or been with you since. Remember the first time you wore that red evening dress? I will never forget it—I wanted to ravish you on the spot. But you only had eyes for Rick.”
“That feels like a lifetime ago,” she whispered. “Calder, almost any man would have reacted to Daisy’s news the way that you did. Please, don’t be so hard on yourself. Had she lived, I know you would have adored that child.”
“There you go again,” he said roughly. “I don’t want to ever see the day where you lose faith in me.”
“You won’t!” she exclaimed. “Calder, I love you just as much now as I did an hour ago.”
He pulled her face close instantly and kissed her again, hot, hard and deeply. Then he pulled back. “Francesca? I love you now even more than I did an hour ago, as impossible as that seems.”
She looked up, stunned by such an intimate confession, meeting his dark and very weary eyes.
He smiled slightly and released her. “I think I should be the one to make the arrangements for Daisy’s burial,” he said. “There needs to be a service, small and private. I will make certain Lydia can attend. Is Gillespie going to be arrested as well?”
She reached for his hand. “What happened ended eight years ago—and there is only hearsay. It is unbelievable, but he is going to walk away from all of this a free man.”
“Then he will undoubtedly appear at his daughter’s funeral. How unfortunate.”
Francesca hesitated. “May I help with the funeral arrangements?”
He looked at her. “Francesca, I need some time to myself now.”
Hart needed time to grieve, but would he also use that time to distance himself from her? “Of course. Calder? I do need to attend the funeral.”
He squeezed her hand. “I know you do.” He paused. “Thank you, Francesca. Thank you for everything.”
He was so terribly tired, a kind of fatigue that he didn’t recall ever having experienced before.
It was raining. The few mourners, all of whom had been either his family or Francesca’s, had left the cemetery some time ago.
He stared down at the small marble stone that commemorated the child he had not wanted and now would never know.
Francesca had chosen the inscription. “Here Lies Innocence, the Perfect Soul.” Remarkably, tears filled his gaze, blurring it.
He had thought his tears long since dried up.
“Calder? It’s pouring.”
He started, unaware that Francesca had come to stand beside him. He hadn’t seen her in the past four days. He slowly turned to her, and his heart began to expand with life as he looked into her worried eyes and at her beautiful face. Something inside of him that had felt frozen began to melt.
She did not carry an umbrella and she was soaking wet. He jerked off his jacket, draping it about her shoulders. “I thought you had left!” he exclaimed. “Francesca, you could catch pneumonia!”
She pressed against him. “I was not going to leave you standing here in the rain by yourself. It was a beautiful funeral, Calder.”