The Bride by Christine Dorsey Page A

turned Eleanor to face him. “Did your father say anything to you?”
    “No.” Eleanor took a deep breath. “And Sir Alfred is so busy basking in the glory of saving my life, he isn’t likely to say anything even if he suspected.”
    “That’s good.”
    “Good?” Eleanor raised her brow. “Did you hear what I said? My mother is telling everyone who will listen how Sir Alfred risked his own life to save mine and he’s doing nothing to deny it.”
    “I didn’t jump in the ocean for recognition, Ellie.”
    Her eyes met his. “Why did you do it?”
    Her question took him back. Why had he done it? Certainly he wouldn’t have let her... anyone... simply drown. But John realized there had been no decision to save her. Hell, he wasn’t a great swimmer despite his youth on the Mississippi. He simply saw her fall overboard and went after her.
    John’s finger trailed down across her silken cheek. “I don’t know why.”
    “I love you.” She said the words without thinking. And by the expression on his face should have curbed her impulsivity. He appeared stricken and she could only imagine what he must think of her. Sending him a note. Her behavior in the shack. And now this. Because she couldn’t bare to face his rejection she turned and began walking back toward the house.
    He grabbed her arm, stopping her before she took three steps. His arms were hard and unyielding as he held her against him. “What did you say?” John could hardly believe his ears. He expected to win her eventually—her hand perhaps, not her love—using the socially acceptable rules of courtship. But they circumvented nearly all of those.
    “I want to go back inside.” Eleanor gave up squirming when she saw it did her no good.
    “No, you don’t. You want to stay right here.” Just as he did.
    The kiss proved him right... on both counts.
    As soon as their lips met her hands speared through his hair, then wrapped around his neck. And he felt his control slipping away. Her mouth opened, accepting him, and he nearly dragged her down on the sandy path.
    “Ellie.” His hand found the bodice covering her breast and squeezed gently. “We must stop this.”
    “Why?” Her question was little more than a breath of air. Her mouth pressed to his and this time she used her tongue to deepen the kiss. She could feel the hard bulge of his lower body through her skirts, and it made her knees tremble. Instinctively her thighs spread as wide as her petticoats would allow.
    Tendrils of sun-kissed hair escaped her upsweep as John trailed kisses down her neck. Her pulse beat frantically beneath his lips, and the scent of her skin was the most intoxicating... erotic thing he ever smelled. His head whirled and his body ached and the desire, born the first moment he saw her, fanned and frustrated on the floor of the fisherman’s hut, raged within him.
    With great effort he tore himself away and grabbed her shoulders. She was too stunned to resist when he pulled her beneath the branches of an elm. He flattened her against the bark, bracketing her face with his hands. When her lashes lowered he angled the heels of his palms.
    “Look at me, Eleanor.” She did... slowly. When her beautiful aquamarine gaze met his, he kissed her quickly, passionately.
    “We can’t continue this or we’ll end up.... You know how we’ll end up. And as much as I can’t wait to make love to you, I—”
    “You already have.” John kept her from lowering her face. “Back in the shack.”
    Realization dawned on him. She was so innocent. Yet so passionate. The combination was irresistible. Instructing her in the art of lovemaking would be a pleasure. One he could hardly wait to begin. But not this way. “What we did during the storm was wonderful. But we only touched.” His thumb skimmed around her jaw. “There is so much more.”
    Eleanor couldn’t imagine anything else. “But—”
    “I’ll show you, Ellie, if you’ll let me.” John tried to calm his breathing.