Chapter Sixty-One
She held him. She wrapped her arms around his back as he lay on top of her, their bodies wet, their heartbeats subsiding as one, and held him to her. Tears came beneath her closed lids. She fought them. She loved him so much it hurt.
He stirred, rolling off her, but she snuggled against him. She kept her eyes closed, wanting to keep out the ugliness of reality. In her arms his body was warm, damp, and hard against hers. She pressed her face against his broad, muscled chest.
“Candice.” His voice was like spun sugar.
She opened her eyes, and too, late, moisture seeped out. Her gaze met his silvery, shining depths. He touched a forefinger to the tear on her cheek. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not,” she lied.
He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze sweeping over her, lingering on her breasts, her thighs. She watched his expression, soft, slightly hungry. He reached out to cup one of her swollen breasts, playing languidly. “You’ve put on weight,” he said.
“Most pregnant women do,” she returned evenly.
He stroked her, the length of her body, from her breasts to her knees. His callused touch was possessive, lingering. She sighed. He caressed her hip. Then he met her gaze again. She saw the growing lights of desire.
“How did you meet the soldier?”
She was enjoying what he was doing yet she tensed. “He’s a gentleman, Jack.”
“How did you meet him?” he asked again, his hand roaming over the curve of her buttock, roaming too low for comfort.
She didn’t want to lie. But she didn’t want to start another fight. Not now. This was too precious. If only she hadn’t told him the truth earlier. “Doc Harris and Henry are friends,” she lied.
“And he kissed you.” It was a flat statement.
Jack rolled her beneath him. He was already hard against her thigh, hard and hot. She met his gaze bravely. “Tell me,” Jack commanded, and she heard the low note of restrained anger.
“It was for all of two seconds,” Candice said. “Oh, Jack, please. He surprised me. If you were here none of this would have happened. But now we don’t have to worry about Henry any more, do we?” Her tone rose hopefully and she held her breath. “Now that you’re back.”
His answer was a hot, demanding kiss.
Candice tried to resist. She tried to ignore the warming of her body, and the new evidence of his passion for her. She failed.
“I need you,” he said hoarsely, before taking her, claiming her, loving her.
He made love to her all afternoon, knowing full well that he might not be able to see her again for a long while, and determined to fill himself up with her and her with him.
His love and need drove him to frenzied desperation at times, at other times to languorous, tender sensuality.
Hours later, they both fell asleep in each other’s arms.
He woke first. The sun was rising outside in a hushed display.
He gazed upon his wife, enjoying her beauty and the serenity of her features in sleep.
He smiled tenderly, but inside he was hurting.
He wished for a moment that she wasn’t pregnant, then he would take her with him.
He instantly new he didn’t wish that at all.
In five months Candice was going to have his child.
He smiled again and touched her belly gently, not wanting to waken her.
A slight, slight swelling. Their child. It warmed him. Thrilled him.
Silently he rose and dressed. When he had done so he paused to gaze at her again, drinking her in, not wanting to leave.
He could not stay any longer. He had his responsibility, not just to Cochise, but to Luz and Datiye.
Worse, if he stayed a few days he might forget his duty, not just to his people, but to Shozkay as well.
He might not leave. Even now he didn’t want to. He stared out the window.
There was snow on the highest peaks of the Organ Mountains to the east, peach-colored in the first rays of sunlight. He thought of his burdens—Luz, Datiye, Candice. He heard her stir and turned to find her on her side looking at him.
“You’re leaving,” she said, alarmed.
“Yes.” He met her gaze and saw the undisguised hurt, the bitterness, the sadness. He didn’t want her to be any of those things. Why couldn’t she understand?
She sat, hair parting like two curtains to reveal all her splendid nudity. “Were you going to wake me, or were you just going to leave?”
“I was going to wake you. Candice …”
“Don’t! Is this the way it’s going to be? You ride in and bed your wife whenever you feel like it? Or did you just happen to be passing through town?”
“I told you I would come as soon as possible,” he said carefully, refusing to be drawn into an argument.
Her tone didn’t change. “And when should I expect another magnanimous appearance?”
He frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t even bother!” she cried with rising hysteria.
“Are you telling me I shouldn’t stop by?” he asked calmly, but inside he was frozen like a winter lake.
“Very astute, Jack Savage! You expect me to manage by myself, pregnant, without a husband while you ride off to war on my people? No! I won’t do it!” Tears came. She swiped at them. She was standing. “I want a divorce, you bastard. I want a divorce!”
He felt like she’d kicked him in the groin. “You don’t mean that.”
“Just go,” she said, her voice breaking, turning her back to him, her shoulders shaking. “Just go and get out! And this time—don’t ever come back!”
He couldn’t leave like this. He went to her and put his arms around her, to comfort and reassure her and make peace between them. But she writhed away like a furious spitting cat. “Just go,” she said vehemently. She was crying. “Just go and don’t ever come back!”
He hesitated, then took her roughly in his arms and kissed her, his mouth hard—a brand, not a lover’s kiss. “I’ll be back,” he said. And he left her there, crying, as he went through the door.