Chapter 14
MARA
“You nice and warm under there, wife?”
From beneath the blankets of our bed, I watch Warren steadily undo the line of buttons on his shirt.
Framed by the orange glow of the hissing logs in the fireplace, he watches me back, gaze probing mine for any hint of my feelings.
The intensity of its weight is only slightly softened by his faint, crooked grin when I don’t answer.
I wonder what he sees, because I don’t know what shows. Just because he gave me the rest of the day to think doesn’t mean he left me alone by any means. No, the man was attached to my hip and always found some reason to touch me. He doesn’t even use the guise of measuring me any longer.
You’re hungry? Here, I’ll feed you.
Or, You’re looking a little cold all by yourself on that sofa, wife. How about we share this blanket so we both get warm?
Innocent, teasing touches that sent guilty pleasure through me. If she were alive to see it, Mrs. Overstreet would have turned up her nose at such sordid affection. And if she knew the way my core pulsed in return, she would have been utterly aghast and ready to heap everlasting damnation upon me.
But with every gentle brush of Warren’s hand, every deep note of his low hum, I shoved both her and the scathing words I knew she would hurl at me back into the grave. She doesn’t belong in this new life of mine.
No one in my past does.
Shirt completely undone now, he tosses it aside before stooping to kiss Emmaline. “Sweet dreams, Little Bit,” he murmurs. “Momma and Papa love you so much.”
He’s so caring with my baby. When he wasn’t touching me, he was holding her, talking nonsense and laughing adoringly at her hiccups and how angry they made her.
I can’t forget how caring he is with me, too. From the moment his hand reached out to me in that wagon, it’s always been out of kindness and never cruelty.
Do I love him? Is that what makes my heart rattle against my rib cage every time he aims a charming grin towards me or pulls me close at night?
Maybe it is.
But if it isn’t, I don’t know how on earth I’m to keep my guard up against a man who took on the role of papa to my daughter and so very clearly adores her.
Every time he kisses her forehead and calls her his sweet little Emmaline, all my insides go soft towards him.
Towards this strong, handsome man so protective over her.
And over me.
That’s how I found myself married to him in the first place.
But now the sun has set, our daughter slumbers in her cradle, and my reprieve is over.
I come back to the present as the mattress dips with Warren’s weight.
I swear, this bed wasn’t this small last night.
Scooting back while he settles himself, I clutch the covers closer to my chin and pretend my shiver is from the winter winds outside instead of what might happen in this bed tonight.
He takes one look at my bundled form and grins. “How am I supposed to hear you talking if you’re about to fall off onto the floor? Get on over here, wife.”
“I’m about to fall off because you’re taking up too much room,” I grumble as I tentatively inch closer. “You should be the one to move.” The words are harder than I intended, especially since he’s right. One wrong breath could have had me meeting the floor. It’s not his fault I’m so out of sorts.
Well, it actually is.
He turns onto his side, not bothering with drawing the covers up past his waist. “I’m in the same spot I’ve always been.
Right here waiting for you.” Lines further deepen his furrowed brow when I don’t move any closer.
“What are you still doing way over there? C’mere.
” Determined arms pull me into him until our legs tangle and his body heat chases away the chill. “There we go. Much better.”
“Now the covers are all bunched,” I complain even as my hands automatically search for his heartbeat along the hard lines of his smooth chest. I don’t know why my nerves are on edge like this.
This is how we’ve been sleeping every night lately, and considering my past, I shouldn’t be acting like a blushing virgin who’s never been with a man before.
I’ve just never been with a man like Warren.
He kicks at the blankets a few times. “And now they’re not. That better?”
“Yes,” I concede begrudgingly.
“Good. Because now it’s time to finish our conversation from earlier.
” The clear intent in his tone as he props up on an elbow beside me in our dimly lit room makes my heart run away like a stampeding herd of stallions.
How much talking does he mean to do? Because the heat in his eyes isn’t just the reflection of the flames.
“I’m…I’m tired.”
His confused frown as my hands carefully drop from his chest would be comical if not for how flustered it makes me.
“It’s late,” I stammer, leaning back to put more distance between us, “and we might disturb Emmaline if we’re too loud.”
“Oh, I can be quiet, wife.” One big hand lands on the pillow next to my cheek, halting any retreat. “Can you?”
I swallow hard and try to avoid his knowing eyes. “Neither of us will need to be quiet if we’re sleeping.”
“Mara, oh Mara, sweet wife of mine.” His low laugh brushes over my lips. “What makes you think sleep is going to happen in this bed any time soon? You owe me a conversation, and I intend to have it before the sun comes up. Even if it takes all night.”
“I don’t know what there is to talk about.” A dreadful excitement curls my fingers as I stall for time and nervously tug on the bedsheet. Even though he’s beside me instead of on top of me, the hand on my pillow cages me, and I’m not quite sure how to feel about it.
“That so?” Warren murmurs, the heat of his breath warming my chin. “Maybe this’ll help.” Angling his head to one side, he captures my bottom lip and gently sucks.
I jerk away. Well, as far away as my head can go, which is only further into the pillow. “What are you doing?”
Playful brown eyes smile down at me. “Giving us something to talk about. Did it work?”
I lift trembling fingers to my mouth, the pulsing blood beneath them matching the quickening between my thighs. Barely two heartbeats of his lips to mine, and my body surges to life for his in a flood of awareness. “Maybe.”
“Just maybe?” If possible, his voice goes even deeper. “Guess I need to do better if the answer’s only a maybe.” This time when his head lowers, I’m ready for it—want it, even—despite the rigidity of my limbs.
But he bypasses my mouth and burrows into the crook of my neck, groaning deeply as he breathes me in.
The scrape of his stubble to my tender skin and the sudden coolness as he inhales sends an icy burn of desire shooting into my fingers and toes.
“Warren,” I gasp softly, blindly reaching for him to either drag him closer or push him away.
“Talk to me.” A ghost of a kiss to my jawline softens his demand. “I need your words.”
He needs my words. No one else has ever wanted me for more than what they could take from my body.
I turn my head, a sudden onset of bittersweet tears stinging my eyes and nose as they threaten to break free.
“I wish…” I can’t finish without my voice breaking.
How does his kindness coax such raw emotions from me so easily?
Why couldn’t he have found me before my life fell apart?
The big hand on my pillow moves to catch the sole tear that manages to escape. “It’s okay. Tell me what you wish for and I’ll give it to you.”
The crack in my heart splits further because I know he could never fulfill it.
But I can’t hold it in because I want him to know how badly I want it to be true.
“I…I wish you could have been the first man to touch me.” I cover my eyes, unable to bear the crushing thought of any disappointment on his face.
“Because if it had been you, there would be no one else.”
No unwanted touches or cruel punishments.
Just the tender arms of my husband who would never have let anything like that happen to me.
“Look at me.” I shake my head at his quiet order, but he persists, tugging ever so lightly at my wrist. “Mara, look at me, darlin’. Please.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to cry anymore, and if I look at you”—at his disappointment—“I know I will.”
“Oh, darlin’. You’ve spent too many years being strong all by yourself. Done a hell of a good job at it, too.” A note of sadness rings in his voice before it’s replaced with conviction. “But this is different. You’ve got me now, and if you need to cry your heart out, that’s what my shoulder’s for.”
Words. They’re only words, I tell myself. But those simple words are a soothing balm to my broken spirit. I drop my arm and tangle my fingers in the covers instead, still unable to look any higher than the hollow of his throat. “I’d get you all wet.”
“I wouldn’t mind. Although I’d much rather your tears than Little Bit spitting up on me. There we go,” he cajoles at my weak laugh. “There’s those pretty blues. Hold tight.”
I don’t know how he does it, but one minute we’re both on our sides, then the next, we’re upright with him leaning back against the headboard and me on his lap.
Astride his lap with my hands splayed over his chest and a most unexpected throbbing in my core as my legs are forced to spread over his powerful thighs for balance. “Oh! Let me move so I—”
Warren grips my hips and winks at me, grinning roguishly in the firelight. “Don’t go leaving on my account, wife. I put you right where I want you so you can listen real good.” Pinning me with his gaze, he grows serious. “Remember what you made me swear when I dragged the judge over to marry us?”
“Of course I do,” I whisper. That night is forever seared into my memory. The pain of Emmaline making her way into an unwelcoming world. The utter loneliness piercing my soul when I pushed Warren—my only lifeline—away, and the spark of damning hope when he stormed back into the room, judge in tow.
“Tell me again.”