Chapter Three
They arrived at the ranch at sundown. Even to Elizabeth’s loving eyes, the two-story ranch house looked bad. The place was in such a dire need of white wash, it was the dingy gray of poorly washed linens. The repair she’d made on the front steps fell in a shadow, which only served to enhance how much she’d botched that particular job. Someone had left the supplies on the porch, and chickens were now pecking at the dried corn scattered over the wood porch. One of the dogs or a coon had gotten into the bag of bacon, and, in search of more, had torn open the rest of the sacks. She wanted to cry. Instead, she squared her shoulders, and said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s a nice setting with those mountains in the background.”
The tactful response surprised her.
“Father said my Mamma called those mountains our Guardians. That they loomed over us like that to scare away evil.”
“Yup. They could sure do that.”
The buckboard stopped at the watering trough in front of the barn. The thirsty horse blew over the water. Asa’s horse, tied behind, whinnied hopefully. Asa jumped down and strode around front.
“Could you hop down and bring Shameless up with old Willoughby here?”
Catching her skirts in hand, she did as asked. “I didn’t know his name was Willoughby.”
“Occurred to me on the ride here that he had the look of a Willoughby.”
As she brought his horse up beside the other, she couldn’t help asking, “What does a Willoughby look like?”
He handed her the reins of the horse harnessed to the buckboard. “Like this.”
He didn’t smile as he said it and, this close to the trough, she could see why. The water was brackish with bits of green slime drifting across the surface. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.
“I gave orders…”
She let the disclaimer trail off as Asa headed for the well pump. What did it matter if she gave orders? The fact that her hands had allowed the horse’s water to stand this long was humiliating testimony as to what they thought of her authority.
He returned with two buckets and set one in front of each horse. She tightened her grip on Shameless’ reins. Whatever angle her husband wished to attack from, she had no defense. The ranch was a mess. She’d failed to control anything.
His finger tipped her face to his in a gesture that was becoming familiar. She fought the urge to close her eyes. She deserved this.
“You scooting my gaze because you’re embarrassed?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Yeah, but I’m not a woman trying to keep a ranch together by myself.”
Willoughby jerked his head free to reach the water. She jerked her chin out of Asa’s reach with no less urgency. Grinding her teeth for control, she shoved the reins into his hands. Useless. The man saw her as useless. “From the quiet, the men haven’t ridden in yet.”
“How many are there?”
“Ten when I left.”
His left eyebrow rose. “Should I be expecting more or less?”
She pulled off her gloves one finger at a time before answering. “I have no idea. Would you like me to introduce you when they get here?”
“Morning’ll be soon enough.”
She took a deep breath, shoved her gloves in her reticule, and wished he were given to excessive speech. At least that way she’d know what he was thinking. And where she needed to bolster her defenses.
“Why don’t you head into the house and rustle up some dinner while I get Willoughby and Shameless settled?”
Resentment swept over her in waves at his dismissal. But what did she expect? Respect? When his first view of her home showed the level of her failure?
“Would you prefer steak or ham?” she asked carefully as he led the horses away.
He stopped so quickly, Shameless bumped him with his head. He went forward two steps before asking, “You got any syrup to go with that ham?”
“I think so.”
Shameless bumped him with his nose, anxious to get to the barn. Asa didn’t budge. She remembered his tactful reaction to the shambles of the ranch and softened despite herself. “Would you care for anything special?”
“Mashed potatoes?”
Mashed potatoes were as common as day old bread, but he made the request with the same awe a miner would demonstrate when confronted with the specter of a two-pound nugget. She ran her gaze over Asa from his head to his toes. He was a big man. Last night, he’d had a dinner equal to hers in size. She remembered how quickly he’d demolished it. How closely he’d watched her finish hers. She remembered how he’d taken on Brent.
“I could probably manage potatoes.”
His free hand went to the front of his body. “I’d be obliged.”
She studied him with new eyes. His chestnut brown hair, long overdue for a cut, curled over the collar of his shirt. His clothes were practical, but, on closer scrutiny, worn threadbare in places. He was tall and big-boned, no doubt about it, but now she wondered if his leanness came naturally or from lack of proper food.
“If the coons didn’t get to the good corn, I could probably put together some Johnny cake,” she offered, wondering if the reason she couldn’t see his hand was because he was clutching his stomach.
This time it was Willoughby who bumped Asa. Again, he didn’t budge. She might have been imagining it, but there seemed a vulnerability to his stance as he mentioned casually, “Red-eye gravy would sure taste good with that Johnny cake.”
“Gravy might be possible.” Provided she could find some leftover coffee.
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
He still didn’t face her, but instead of lumbering, the horses had to trot to catch up as he headed for the barn. Some of her frustration faded to amusement as it became apparent that Asa clearly viewed her as invaluable in one area of the ranch.
“You’re taking an awful risk, MacIntyre,” she called out, “assuming I can cook.”
“I’m hoping, darlin’. I sure am hoping.”
With a smile on her face, she spun on her heel and hurried to the house, deciding the blackberries she’d picked before she’d left could go into a cobbler. That way, she’d at least have dessert to offer.
Elizabeth used the hem of her apron to wipe the water from her hands. Supper was set and simmering. And so was she. Despite the breeze coming through the open door, the kitchen was a humid inferno. A glance out the window revealed dusk snuggling up to the empty yard. Past the thick trunked oak tree, she spotted the chicken coop. No hens pecked outside. As was their habit, they were probably inside, waiting for her to lock them in safe for the night.
She wished she had the same option, but, come nightfall, the first payment on her debt would begin. No matter how much she told herself it was no big thing, that women all over the world did this every day, she was nervous. Scared spitless as a matter of fact. And it wasn’t just because she didn’t know if MacIntyre was mean in bed or not. That was actually the least of her worries. More than anything, she was terrified that, in her ignorance, she’d do something on her wedding night so totally stupid, the man would be laughing for months to come. Lord, she hated appearing incompetent.
She checked the simmering potatoes, poking them a little harder than necessary. The fork bounced off one without even gouging a hole. She replaced the fork on the table next to the stove and scanned the yard again. She had a good fifteen minutes before she needed to slide the corn bread in the oven. In that time, she could gather the morning’s eggs and have them on hand for breakfast. Of course, getting the eggs meant crossing the yard, which, since her father’s death, was tantamount to entering enemy territory. The trickle of fear that sent her heart tapping in her throat renewed her determination. Dammit! She would not be made a prisoner in her own house.
Grabbing the egg basket from a peg by the door, she stepped onto the back porch, pausing to let the evening breeze caress her cheeks. The sounds of the approaching night enfolded her and she relaxed into its embrace. Here and there, a cricket chirped. Soon, the night would be filled with their loud chorus, but for now, the sound was calm. Peaceful. Almost like a promise of better things to come.
She closed her eyes, wallowing in the remnant of a promise that enfolded her like the memory of her mother’s hug. Lord, she hoped things were going to be better. She’d never been so scared or gambled so high as when she’d walked into Dell’s and asked Asa Macintyre to marry her. She still couldn’t believe she’d done it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
The only consolation was that, unlike Brent who’d lied and hidden his true personality behind a polite facade of manly attributes, Asa was the real thing. Whatever else he turned out to be, she knew he had the ability to run this ranch. Asa MacIntyre had the heart, the determination, and the reputation to take the Rocking C back into prosperity. At least, she hoped so.
Doubt swirled from its hiding place deep inside, sneaking up on her blind side. For a second, every decision she’d made came back to haunt her, swamping her in insecurity, until, with a relentless maneuver born from long practice, she shoved it back down. She opened her eyes and surveyed the yard and outbuildings. This was her home. The place her mother had called her sanctuary. The place where she, Elizabeth Ann Coyote, had been born.
On this porch, she’d stood as a small child with her mother, holding hands, staring at the small oak sapling, and listened with wide-eyed wonder to the story of how, with love and nurturing, it would grow into a tree capable of protecting them and guiding them. Her father had said it was going to die and that they were wasting time babying it along, but her mother had merely leaned down and whispered in her ear to believe. She’d watered that tree every day from then on, wanting to do just that. And it had grown. Year after year, a living testament to love and determination.
She ran fond eyes over the oak’s silhouette, remembering and smiling. As a child, she’d been frustrated with its slow progress. As an adult, she’d been in awe of what its steady determination to thrive had accomplished. Today, it stood a good thirty feet, and where it had once thrown dappled shadows, it now delivered full shade.
Whenever life got complicated, she remembered her mother and that tree. Both had faced the odds and made a place for themselves. So had she, and it wasn’t back East or in a fancy town. Her roots were firmly sunk in the Rocking C with its wide-open spaces, constant challenges, and relentless demands. Like that tree, she thrived here.
And she was going to stay. She was determined. Marrying Asa had been the right thing to do. She knew it in her gut. All she needed to do to succeed was to believe her course was right, and to be strong enough and determined enough to see it through. She looked at the basket clenched tightly in her hand. That strength and determination included getting eggs from the hen house so she’d have something to offer her husband for a wedding breakfast.
Peace faded to unease. She searched the yard again. It appeared empty. Still, she hesitated. Ever since her father had died, the ranch foreman had been playing with her like a cat with a mouse. Cornering her when no one else was around, taking liberties, each time going further than the last. At first, she’d thought she could handle it, but he’d gotten worse. She’d thought of complaining, but removing Jimmy wouldn’t remove the threat. A woman alone, unfortunately more often than not, was seen as a target, so she’d done the sensible thing. She’d stepped up her search for a husband.
Her haste, however, had cost her. By not questioning Brent close enough, she’d created a bigger disaster by buying into his pack of lies. Hopefully, she’d cleaned up that mess because, if not, her goose was truly cooked. No one, she thought, as she peered into the darkness under the tree, was going to quietly sit back and watch her pluck a third husband from the scanty pile of eligible men passing through town.
She nearly dropped her basket when she thought she saw a shadow move beneath the spreading arms of the huge oak. The hairs on her nape leapt to attention. She took a breath to still the butterflies in her stomach as she carefully scrutinized the area. Nothing moved except the leaves swaying with the light breeze. About the time her lungs threatened to burst, she decided she’d confused the motion of the wind with the malevolent mannerisms of the ranch foreman.
She released her breath on an audible sigh. Relief from the constant threat of Jimmy Dunn was one of the benefits she hoped to reap from having Macintyre as a husband. Whatever his faults were, she was sure Asa wasn’t the type to ignore a man bothering his wife. Even if the man was a big, blond, belligerent, fighting type.
No, she decided, recalling her husband’s reputation and broad shoulders. Jimmy wouldn’t scare a man like Asa. She tightened her grip on her basket, stepped off the porch, and reminded herself again that she’d done the right thing in marrying Asa MacIntyre. He was big and mean, and more than capable of handling threats to the ranch, whether they came in the form of rustlers or overly familiar foremen.
Her steps slowed as she skirted the shadows stretching from the oak. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and chewed as she realized there was no reason for Asa to believe her if she screamed and he caught her in a compromising position with Jimmy. They hadn’t had enough time to establish any trust or knowledge of each other. If the opportunity ever came up where she needed to explain her difficulties with the foreman, she’d have to choose her words carefully. She didn’t need the complication of a husband jumping to conclusions.
Two steps from the hen house, a heavy hand slapped down on her shoulder, driving her teeth into her lip. She didn’t have time to toss retrospection aside in favor of alarm before she was pulled against a large, male body. As the scent of liquor and sweat assaulted her nostrils, reality hit. For one crippling moment, she didn’t know what to do.
“Hello, Elly.” His voice, as always, was a soft drawl of sound. Low and intimate, as if there were only sweet secrets between them. It was as much crap as the chicken droppings she stood on.
“Let me go, Jimmy.”
His answer was scary in its brevity. “No.”
She looked into his bloodshot, blue eyes, felt his fingers biting painfully into her upper arm, and understood one truth with crystal clarity. Whatever her future held with Asa, it had to be better than this.
“I told you I’d be here for you,” Jimmy continued his parody of a lover’s voice.
Elizabeth tugged on her arm. Instead of letting go, he tightened his grip. She could have shot herself for wincing when his smile broadened.
“Did you miss me?” he asked, his eyes narrowing, the lines beside them fanning out in an evil mockery of laughter.
She swallowed back a “Hell, no.” Above all, she knew she needed to keep control. She couldn’t let the shaking inside spread to anywhere he could see. Oh, God! She was so sick of this. His fingers sank deeper into her flesh. Pain constricted her throat as his thumb ground into her collarbone. She wanted to scream blue murder. She wanted to rage and swear. Instead, she had to settle for forcing an off-putting “Excuse me,” through her pain-clogged throat.
Jimmy’s smile expanded to let her know it wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough.
* * * * *
Asa came around the side of the barn, drawn to the kitchen’s back door by the tantalizing odors drifting on the evening air. He hadn’t tasted a home-cooked meal in a coon’s age. He’d dallied a couple of hours in the barn, trying to give his wife some time alone, but a man could only hold out so long against aromas like that. At least he’d put the time to good use, checking the lay of the land. It was clear the hands had been slacking off, just as it was clear Elizabeth had been doing her best to pick up that slack. Two things he could say for sure about his wife. She wasn’t lazy, and she wasn’t worth a plugged nickel when it came to carpentry.
A very controlled “Excuse me” from the other side of the hen house pulled him up short.
He’d recognize that icy tone of voice anywhere. His wife was in a snit about something. He decided to keep the coop between them until he discovered what it was. His stomach growled, agreeing that they didn’t want any backlash that might affect the quality of their meal.
“Move out of my way, Jimmy.”
A slow curl of anger unfurled that the person his wife was facing was a man.
“I don’t think so, Elly.”
“That’s Miss Coyote to you.”
He made a mental note to remind her she was Mrs. MacIntyre now.
“I like Elly a lot better.” The man’s voice dropped to an insinuating whisper. “It’s more…friendly.”
“I told you the last time you cornered me, Jimmy, that if you ever did it again, you’d be fired.”
“But you’re married now, Elly.” A soft thump announced something landing against the other side of the hen house. “You don’t have the power to fire me.”
“My husband does. He’ll be heading this way any minute.”
“That little piss-ant gambler isn’t going to do squat. And you know it.”
“He will!”
“Then why don’t you scream for him?”
That’s what Asa wanted to know as he headed to the rescue. He heard a gasp, then a man’s muttered curse of pain. “Bite me, will you, hellcat?”
Asa was around the corner of the hen house before the last syllable died, and what he saw drove reason from his head. The cowhand had his fingers dug into his wife’s breast. He was using it to hold her pinned to the rough wall. The other arm, he was shaking, trying to dislodge her teeth from his wrist.
With a sharp blow of his hand, Asa broke Jimmy’s grip on his wife. Before he could follow with a second, Elizabeth was between them. She drove the hard toe of her boot into her tormentor’s groin and Jimmy doubled over. Elizabeth was on him with the ferocity of a badger. Her hair tumbled out of its bun as she grabbed a chunk of firewood and walloped the man on the back. Her breath hissed between her teeth, punctuated with violent mutterings. As Jimmy dropped to his knees, Asa took a step back.
His wife clearly had the situation in hand.
He shook his head as she walked in front of the convulsed man. The move clearly showed her a green horn at this kind of thing. He caught her arm. When she spun around, wood raised, he plucked it from her hand.
“Shhh,” he soothed, pulling her into his arms. “It’s all right.”
Instead of fainting with relief like he expected, she struggled. “Let me go.”
“Why?”
“I want to kick him in his filthy mouth.”
Asa eyed Jimmy. “Not now you don’t.”
“Yes, I—”
The sounds of violent retching cut off her claim.
She stood stiffly in his arms. “Well, maybe not now.”
“I’d be saving it for later.” He looked down at the undulating waves of hair that fell over his arms, reinforcing the impression of dainty femininity his body was responding to. He smiled. “Were you planning on leaving a piece of him for me to whale on?”
“No.” The answer vibrated dead center below his breastbone.
“Good thing I stepped in then.”
That brought her gaze to his. Instead of the tears he expected, he saw an open challenge that baffled him. He turned his attention to something he did understand.
From the sound of things, Jimmy was about done puking up his guts. Asa set Elizabeth carefully away from him. He kept his hands on her shoulders until he was sure she wasn’t going to keel over. She was as steady as a rock, leaving the comforting words he intended to say sitting awkwardly on his tongue.
“You came out here looking for eggs?”
She nodded, catching the fall of hair into her hands and twisting it into a knot at the base of her neck. He didn’t miss her wince as she moved her right shoulder. The bastard had probably hurt her good.
“Why don’t you go get them while I clean up around here?”
He grabbed Jimmy by the collar and hauled him to his feet. As she straightened from retrieving her basket, he called her name. She paused and looked up.
“Next time you even think some yahoo’s backing you into a corner, I want you screaming loud enough to do a banshee proud.”
She merely nodded.
“And Elizabeth?”
“Yes.”
“You’re Mrs. MacIntyre now.”
Beyond a thinning of her lips, she didn’t respond.
Asa wondered if he’d ever understand his wife. Yanking Jimmy in front of him, he headed for the barn. Besides teaching this yellow bastard some manners, he needed to let loose some frustration.
* * * * *
Supper wasn’t the friendly meal he’d been hoping for. By the time Asa finished his third helping of cobbler, he felt like he sat in the middle of a powder keg. To make it worse, Elizabeth kept shooting him glances he didn’t understand. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or upset, but remembering her temper, he sure as shooting didn’t want to risk it being the former. Not on his wedding night, so if his mouth wasn’t chomping on food, he kept it closed.
“Would you care for more cobbler?” she asked from her side of the table.
“No. Thank you.” He placed his napkin beside his plate, wincing as he did so. Two fights in one day were hell on his knuckles.
“We have an ice house,” she offered.
“What?”
“I said if you’d like to soak your hands, there’s probably enough ice for you to do it.”
He’d heard of ice houses, sure, but he’d never experienced the luxury of ice in August. He wasn’t about to pass it up. “That would sure be appreciated.”
Ten minutes later, she was back. In her hands was a large tin basin that made bell-like tinkles as she walked. He kept his expression bland, not wanting to appear a bumpkin. She placed the basin before him on the table. Before he could lift his hands, she had them in hers. Each one was carefully inspected before she placed it in the basin. Her face was tight as she pushed his right hand under the chilled water and said, “Thank you.”
Since there was no telling what she was feeling from her expression, he replied with the truth. “It was my pleasure.”
Within a couple of minutes, the cold water was doing its job. “Damn, this is good,” he groaned on a complacent sigh.
She reached around him to collect the plates. “They don’t hurt anymore?”
“No.”
Her breast, plump and tempting, came into view as she removed her cup, reminding him of her injuries. He cleared his throat, not sure how to bring up the subject. She stared at him, waiting for him to speak, his dirty dishes in her hands.
“What about you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you soak your…er…did you treat your…uhm.”
Her face flamed bright red, leaving no doubt she understood. She shrugged, grimaced and muttered a hasty, “I’m fine.”
The bruise around her eye showed a revolting green against the bright red of her cheeks. It didn’t take schooling to know the woman hadn’t treated her own injuries. Hell. When had she had the time? She’d cooked him dinner with all that he’d asked for and then some. She’d fetched ice for his hands, and now she was cleaning up. Damn. As a husband, he wasn’t exactly outshining the competition.
“Put those dishes down and come here.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather get to them before the gravy hardens.”
“I mind.”
Her back to him, she dropped the plates into a basin set beside the stove. “That’s probably because you won’t have to scrub them in the morning,” she muttered.
He heard even though he bet he wasn’t supposed to. “I wasn’t making conversation, darlin’.”
She faced him, daring him.
“Come here.”
He’d seen grubs cross meadows faster than she got to his side.
With his foot, he snagged a chair and hauled it kitty corner to his own. “Sit down.”
She did with stiff-backed reluctance. “I’m fine, you know.”
“You’re sore.”
“Of course, I’m sore.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t act sooner.”
“You got there soon enough.”
Not in his opinion, but he was grateful she wasn’t screaming to point that out. One thing was for sure, his wife wasn’t bearing out the rumor that ladies were delicate. Hot on the heels of that thought came the image of Jimmy’s hand against Elizabeth’s breast. The cruelty on the bastard’s face lingered in his mind. Damn! No telling how much harm had been done. He pulled his hand out of the water and gingerly touched her breast. She gasped and shrank back into the chair.
“What are you doing?” If her face got any redder, she’d explode.
“I’m taking care of you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You have a husband now. You don’t have to.” He stood, using his height to keep her from bolting. “What in hell do you have on under this dress?”
“It’s called a corset.”
He traced the ridges until they stopped at her waist. Hell! She was trussed up tighter than a Christmas goose. “You got a broken rib or something?”
“No. It’s an…unmentionable.”
He wouldn’t mention it either if he were dumb enough to let someone harness him into anything as uncomfortable as what he was touching. He didn’t claim to have many dealings with decent women, and the women he did sport with normally weren’t wearing anything that got in the way of business, but common sense said a body didn’t cage itself to the point of pain.
“You wear this often?”
“No decent woman would leave the house without it. Could you please remove your hand?”
He looked at her closely. “Am I hurting you?”
She swallowed twice before she managed the lie. “Yes.”
He moved his hand gently under her breast. It probably labeled him a bastard, but the feel of that soft resilient flesh curving into his palm had his cock painfully hard and straining. Near as he could tell, the iron-like contraption she called a corset wrapped under each breast, imprisoning it. He remembered Jimmy’s grip, the way he’d ground her flesh around. “Shit. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt that bad?”
She didn’t offer an answer. “Please take your hand away.”
He did, but only to set to work on the buttons of her dress. Her hands caught his.
“Please.”
“I aim to see how bad that bastard hurt you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Prove it.”
She closed her eyes. When she opened them, the wildness was gone. Poker-faced, she asked, “Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
In the controlled voice he remembered from Dell’s, she asked, “Do you mean to strip me bare in the kitchen or could I move to the privacy of the bedroom?”
His neck heated as he realized, with the kerosene lamps burning, anyone could see into the kitchen. He cleared his throat. “The bedroom is fine.”
“Could I be allowed a moment of privacy or would you like to tear my dress off yourself?”
The disdain in her voice flicked him on a raw spot. He was tempted to strip her just to prove who was boss, but then he remembered she was a woman married to a stranger and this was her wedding night. To top it off, she’d just been accosted.
He nodded to the bedroom. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
* * * * *
Instead of five minutes, he gave her ten. From the expression on her face when he walked into the room, that might have been a mistake. She looked like a cornered wildcat, ready to lash out at the least provocation. Considering the direction his thoughts had taken while waiting for time to pass, he’d probably give her provocation aplenty.
“It’s been longer than five minutes,” she growled from the rocking chair where she sat hunched, a sheet clutched so tight in her hands, her knuckles were white.
“Must be my watch stopped.”
Her chin came up and her back straightened. “Do you even own one?”
“Nope.” He closed the door behind him. A glance at the window revealed the yellow drapes were pulled tight. Three strides brought him to her side. She took a shuddering breath. Pity touched his heart. “You know, if a stranger walked up to me and asked me to drop my pants, I’d be hard put not to put a bullet between his eyes.”
Her smile was feral. “Apparently, we’re alike, Mr. MacIntyre, because, at this moment, I would very much enjoy putting a bullet in you.”
He snagged a finger under the sheet where it touched the bottom of her chin. “I imagine you would.” He tugged gently. She took one deep breath and never let it out. The sheet slowly expanded, sliding off her shoulders. When it pooled around her waist, he ordered, “Breathe.”
“I could hate you for this.”
“I bet you could.” Truth was, she didn’t have much to hate him for. He couldn’t see beyond the frilly bits of material that cupped her breasts, the ruffled lace shuddering against her pale skin as she fought to keep her breathing even. He touched a ridge of what he supposed was her corset. “I thought I told you to get rid of this.”
She glared at him. “You told me to take off my dress so you could see my bruises.”
He smiled at her hair splitting. “So I did.”
He slid his finger under the bit of lace. She stared at a point beyond his shoulder as he pulled it away from her skin. The exposed nipple puckered immediately. It was a very tempting sight. He touched the tip of his finger to the tip of her breast. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“It wouldn’t matter if you did.”
“No. I suppose it wouldn’t.” And that was a hell of a note on which to start his wedding night. He pinched her nipple delicately. Her eyes flew to his and her lips shaped around a soundless “Oh.”
He made a mental note of her sensitivity while his free hand coaxed her lower body closer to his. It was his turn to groan when her soft belly cuddled his cock. The heat of her skin scorched him through his denim. As a result, his grip on her nipple tightened. She jerked in reaction, her body surging against his creating an exquisite friction that had him clenching his teeth. He wanted that nipple in his mouth. Between his teeth. He wanted his cock buried deep in her sweet cunt, relishing her climax as he bit down lightly. He twisted her nipple gently before reluctantly letting her go to tug on the edge of the corset.
“This contraption is going to have to come off.” His voice was a hoarse parody of his normal drawl.
She sucked in another shuddering breath, but didn’t pull away. “Why can’t you take my word for this?”
“I’m not the trusting sort.” And he very badly wanted to see her breasts.
“Just my luck,” she answered sarcastically.
He smiled, regaining his voice. “You married a very thorough man, darlin’.”
He snuggled his finger into the valley between her breasts beneath the corset. A quick tug emphasized his order to stand up. His opinion of his bride went up as she did as he ordered. Were their places switched, he didn’t know if he’d have been capable of such control.
“Let go of the sheet.”
He could tell she tried. He took pity on her. After all, modesty wasn’t a bad quality for a man’s wife to possess.
“Cotton can be a bit mule-tempered, can’t it?”
Instead of soothing her, the softness of his voice set loose her temper.
“Damn you! Stop torturing me.” She threw the sheet to the floor. He only had a second to appreciate the generous curves emphasized by her undergarment before she was muttering, twisting this way and that, yanking on ties he couldn’t see and tossing the corset in this face.
“You wanted the corset? There it is!”
He pulled the stiff garment away from his face. The spot where it had struck above his eye stung. “I guess if you can move like that, you weren’t hurt too bad.”
She stamped her foot, causing her breasts to bounce enticingly. “I believe I already told you that.”
He brought the corset to his nose, breathing her scent. “So you did.” He tossed the garment to the floor.
He knew the precise moment her anger gave way to caution. It was when he sat on the bed and took off his left boot. When it dropped to the floor, her pulse took to racing in her throat, but she didn’t move to cover herself with her hands.
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you to wait until we get to know one another?”
“Nope. Seeing you get rid of one husband due to lack of performance doesn’t incline me in that direction.”
She sighed and clenched her hands into fists. “I was afraid of that.”
He dropped his other boot to the floor and tugged off his socks. “Anything else you’re afraid of while we’re on the subject?”
Her chin came up. “Would it make any difference if there were?”
He stuffed his socks in his boots and patted the bed beside him. “Come here.”
Her chin came up another notch. “Is that an order?”
“Nope. That was more in the line of a request.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought you might like to talk a bit.”
“I wasn’t aware talking was part of,” she waved her hand descriptively, “this.”
“Now that we’re on the subject, just what do you know of ‘this’?”
“Enough.” Her arms crossed over her chest. “I’ve seen animals procreating.”
He could imagine what that impression left her braced for. “Any chance you caught a glimpse of your folks?”
Her response was an emphatic, “No.”
“Any chance you’ve done any of this before?” he asked as he unbuttoned his shirt.
“Are you calling me loose?” She looked ready to throw the wash basin at him.
“Hell, no! I was just checking the level of your experience.”
“Any gaps in my experience are more than made up through observation and practical intelligence.”
The woman was holding onto her composure through sheer willpower, but he’d eat boot leather if her “observations and practical intelligence” had her anywhere near the reality of his lovemaking.
“Could we just get this over with now?” interrupted his thoughts.
He got to his feet, dropped his shirt to the floor, and pulled her into his arms. She stood stiff as a board. He smiled at the silent protest. “Going down fighting, huh?”
He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t answer. He stroked his hand down her hair, working it loose from its makeshift knot.
“I won’t lie to you, Elizabeth,” he said as her hair spilled down her back and over his hand like liquid silk. “I am going to make love to you tonight. Most of the things I’m going to do will embarrass you. Some of them, hopefully, will make you feel good. A few might scare you, but nothing I intend is supposed to hurt. If it does, you have my permission to wallop me and scream blue murder.”
He thought the snort that preceded her “A lot of good that will do me,” might have been laughter. He tugged on her hair, hoping to see her face. She had damn strong neck muscles.
“I’m not looking at you,” she informed him when he tugged again.
“Why?”
“Because I want to talk.”
“About what?”
“I want to know about the scary things.”
“Not the ones that’ll make you feel good?”
“If they feel good, I’m not going to mind them, am I?”
“No arguing your logic, darlin’.”
“So?”
“Well, it’s going to be tough to pick them out random-like.”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t need to hit me.”
Aw, shit! He rested his chin on top of her head, remembering what the gambler had done. “I don’t hit, darlin’.”
“Then what do you do?”
He rocked them subtly, enjoying the drag of her pert nipples across his skin, amazed she was still in his arms, terrified as she must be. Facing down a man in a bedroom wasn’t something most ladies were schooled in. “I usually start with kissing.”
“On the mouth?”
“Yeah, but I imagine I’ll work my way down to your neck and then your…” He couldn’t think of a word that wasn’t offensive, so he just plunged in with the truth. “your breasts.”
“You want to put your mouth on my bosom?” Her scandalized whisper seared his skin.
“Yeah,” he confirmed huskily. “I’d definitely want to do that.”
Her forehead rubbed back and forth against his chest as she thought on that. “You wouldn’t bite?”
Lord above! What kind of animal did she think he was! “You might feel my teeth a time or two, but no. I’m not the biting kind.”
He thought she relaxed a bit. “How would you do it?”
She was killing him with the images she brought to mind. His cock was so hard, he was afraid he’d shatter. He couldn’t resist dragging his thumb across the plump nipple so close to his hand. It might have been his imagination, but he thought she pressed closer. “I’d start out real gentle-like, brushing my lips across your nipple. A woman can be very sensitive there.”
She slapped him on the chest. Not hard enough to hurt, but it definitely got his attention. “I meant how would you do…‘it’.”
He remembered her reference to animals and smiled despite himself. “There are many ways for a man and woman to enjoy each other, but this first time, I think I’ll settle on the standard.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
Tenderness overwhelmed him. It must’ve just about killed her to admit that. His wife was a proud woman, and he was a jackass for teasing her. He resumed his stroking of her hair. “Basically, you lie on your back and I come over you.” He cleared his throat, feeling the back of his neck heating. “Between your legs,” he clarified.
“Oh.”
“Do you have any more questions?”
She nodded.
“What then?”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait?”
After talking about it this long, she’d be lucky if he waited until he got to the bed. “I’m positive.”
“Then could we just get it over with?”
He slid the straps of her camisole off her shoulders. “I hate to burst your bubble, darlin’, but a thorough man doesn’t hurry on his wedding night.”
If he hadn’t found it so amusing, her softly uttered “rats” would have ground his confidence into dust.