Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“Do you have enough money for all this?” she asked her husband as she eyed the pile of men’s and women’s clothing atop the counter.

“Madam, I’ll contrive,” he said.

That evening, they ate in a small restaurant called Curlie’s just off Main Street. The food was most plentiful and Chauncey felt her mouth water at the sight of bread and butter. “A feast,” she said, rubbing her hands together.

“I’ve always found that a little deprivation makes one appreciate the more basic things in life.”

“You’re salivating too, Mr. Saxton!”

“True enough,” he agreed, and bit into a thick crust of warm bread.

A harassed waiter brought them thick steaks, green beans, fried potatoes, and huge slabs of apple pie.

“Oh goo

dness. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

She saw Delaney stiffen and knew he was thinking about their close brush with death just that morning.

“Del,” she said sharply, “stop it! We’re both alive and quite well and we’re going to stay that way.”

He gazed at her intensely and she saw the glittering desire in his golden eyes. She sucked in her breath, her body responding to him, and her forkful of potatoes plopped onto her plate.

“You really shouldn’t be thinking what you’re thinking,” she said, her voice somewhat breathless.

“How do you know what my thoughts are?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “Because I’m thinking the same thoughts, that’s how.”

“Good,” he said, and the caressing softness of that one word made gooseflesh rise on her arms.

They enjoyed their dinner in silence. Chauncey dropped her fork and leaned back in her chair. “Not another bite or I’ll pop out of my very fancy new gown! That was the most delicious meal I’ve ever eaten.”

Delaney nodded, still seemingly interested in his dinner plate. “Do you know, Chauncey,” he began after a moment, “I will never let another day go by in my life without realizing how sweet it is to simply be alive, and how sweet it is to have my wife by my side, laughing with me, even arguing with me. Life can be too bloody fragile.”

It still is! “Yes, it can be,” she said quietly. “Del, please, we must talk about Paul Montgomery.”

“No,” he said quite pleasantly, “not tonight.”

“What do you intend to do to him?”

“Love, don’t you want more of your apple pie? A bit more wine?”

She frowned at him, her hands clenching. “Treating me like some idiot is not what I call protecting me!”

“Very well, we will speak of it in the morning. Tonight, wife, my body wants to reaffirm that I am alive. I want you, Chauncey, very much.”

Chauncey never doubted that she wanted him equally, but later, in their bed, she found that her mind wouldn’t cease its mad flights of fear. So much had happened in such a short time. So much was still to happen.

His hand stilled on her breast. “I had thought to act something of an opiate,” he said quietly, nuzzling against her temple.

“We have been very lucky. I am so afraid our luck has to run out.”

His hand gently glided down over her belly, his fingers lightly probing. She was moist, but she wasn’t ready for him, not really, not until he could ease her mind of her fear for him. Better to face it, he thought. “Listen to me, love. I do intend to kill Montgomery. I have to. If I don’t, you will always fear him and so will I. But I don’t want you to see it. You’ve already experienced too much violence and death.”

To his surprise, her body went rigid, and she hissed, “He killed my father! I want him dead. I want to kill him myself!”

“No! No, I can’t allow that.” He felt the resistance in her, the terrible blood lust. He kissed her hard, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, and moved to cover her with his body. Swiftly he shoved her legs apart and lifted her hips to receive him. He had to make her accept him, accept his decision to protect her both physically and emotionally, and his body chose domination. She cried out softly as he drove into her. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop. He had to make her understand! He had to . . . His body exploded and he arched back, a ragged cry erupting from his throat.