Free Lynna Banning by Plum Creek Bride Page B

baby daughter? He felt a curious blankness where she was concerned. He told himself he felt nothing for her, neither love nor hate. He tried not to think about her. Usually he was successful, but just now, when he thought he’d heard Tess’s harp, he found he couldn’t keep the child out of his mind.
    And Erika Scharf? the insistent voice questioned.
    Yes, Erika, too. He tried very hard not to think about the young German girl. Ever since that day when he had clung to the slim woman with the honey-colored hair, he realized he had been avoiding her.
    A whisper of sound brushed against his ear. The harp again. God blast that instrument to kingdom come! Would he never be free of it? Of Tess?
    Into his silent, stifling study drifted four distinct notes, clear and soft as if dropped into his heart from a great height. In an instant he was on his feet, his fists clenched. He strode to the door and jerked it wide.
    “Stop it!” His voice boomed inside his head, aharsh, ugly bellow he’d never imagined he possessed.
    An arpeggio faltered, then resumed.
    “Stop, I said!” At his shout, the sound ceased.
    Before his mind could engage, his legs started forward, propelling him across the hall into the front parlor. He stomped to a halt before the burled walnut instrument.
    Erika spun toward him, her hand at her throat. The blue eyes widened at the sight of him, then the bronze lashes swept down.
    “What are you doing in here?” he thundered.
    She pressed one finger against her lips and gestured toward the tiny form in the wicker cradle. “Come,” she whispered.
    She moved in front of him, toward the door. The faint scent of lilac emanated from her starched white waist. In spite of himself, Jonathan inhaled sharply.
    A wave of longing choked him. Almost of its own volition, his hand reached out to touch her. He caught himself just in time.
    Madness. The hunger of his body pushed him into no-man’s-land.
    “Now,” Erika began, her back to him, “you wanted something?” She turned slowly as she finished her sentence.
    “Yes,” he blurted. “I want. I want.” His brain went blank. Pain sliced through his thoughts.
    His body spoke for him. His groin tightened, ached with need. He wanted her! There was no mistaking the truth of human physiology. What in God’s name was happening to him?
    You are beginning to come back to life, the voice inside reminded him.
    “Ah, no,” he muttered. I am not ready.
    Some part of you is ready, Jonathan. The healthy part. The normal, male part.
    Erika stared at him. “Is something wrong, Doctor?”
    “What?”
    She jumped at the bark in his voice. “I said—”
    “I heard what you said, dammit. No, nothing is wrong.”
    Everything is wrong. You hunger, but you do not partake.
    “You are not telling truth,” she said quietly.
    Desperately, Jonathan fought to pull himself together. “No, I’m not,” he said at last. And then he laughed at the understatement. He was lying, not only to her, but to himself. He knew it. And she knew it.
    Tension arced between them, palpable as a hot wind.
    “I wish.” Jonathan closed his eyes to shut out the figure before him. He was afraid to trust histongue, his voice, afraid they would spill words from his mouth he could not condone.
    “I wish not to hear the harp,” he pronounced with care.
    “Very well. I will not disturb—”
    “I mean,” Jonathan interrupted, his voice rising, “now that Tess. No one is to play it.”
    “Ah,” she breathed. “It reminds you.”
    Jonathan groaned. It wasn’t so much that it reminded him of Tess. Her playing was skilled but cold, somehow. Lifeless. The truth was the sonorous sound of the vibrating strings made him—his body, his soul—ache.
    “No, not exactly,” he replied. He worked to lower his voice.
    Erika regarded him with an open look. “But you do not want—”
    The blue of her eyes was so intense it hurt him. After a long, uncomfortable moment, he dropped his gaze.
    “Yes,” he said