Chapter 12 #2
The only other person she’d ever been so open with was Violet.
Even with her sister, Hyacinth hadn’t been able to discuss all of her feelings in the same way she had with Beckett.
The conversations with Beckett were unlike anything she’d experienced before with anyone. Beckett was unlike anyone else.
After at least several hours, she started yawning and her eyes felt heavy. He was telling her about the breed of cattle his pa and Sargeant had developed and how the hardy longhorns had become one of the most popular breeds in the country.
She closed her eyes knowing she could get used to being with him like this and that the companionship was beautiful and real and what she wanted with him for the rest of her life.
She hadn’t realized she’d drifted off until something startled her awake. Her eyes flew open to find dawn lighting up the train car. She was on her side, facing a bare span of male chest.
What was going on?
For long seconds, she couldn’t make sense of where she was and what she was doing. Then the previous night of talking with Beckett flooded her mind, along with a sense of camaraderie. They’d had a good night, maybe their best yet. And she finally felt as though she was getting to know the real him.
Beneath her, she could feel the plush carpet and the hard floor . . . and one of his strong arms serving as a pillow and the other draped over her waist. The blanket was still wrapped securely around her, and he had none over himself.
They must have fallen asleep at some point. Somehow, they’d ended up together, side by side on the floor with him holding her, probably to keep her comfortable.
She couldn’t keep from staring straight ahead at his chest. Last night in the darkness, she hadn’t paid too much attention to the fact that he’d been shirtless and wearing only his trousers and gun belt. But in the daylight, she could see nothing but the miles of his muscled chest.
She glanced at his face to find that his eyes were closed, his expression relaxed, and his breathing steady and slow. He was still sleeping. That meant she could stare at his chest without him knowing and getting all arrogant about it.
Dropping her gaze again to his chest, she let herself feast on the rounded hills that dipped into valleys before turning into hard flatlands. The broad expanse was a place where she wanted to set up camp and linger for a long while. If she could, she would let her fingers wander the terrain.
What was stopping her from exploring? Nothing really. Although, if she started skimming his chest, he might wake up. Then what would he think? That she was interested in his body? That she wanted more from their marriage? That she was begging him for another kiss the way he’d claimed she would?
No, she wouldn’t touch him. That would be too presumptuous. But she could lean in just a little and soak in his warmth and hardness, couldn’t she?
She inched closer, near enough that the tip of her nose brushed his flesh.
He had the clean, fresh smell of soap—probably because he’d visited a bathhouse at their evening stop last night before getting back on the train.
She pressed in a little closer, this time with her chest brushing his.
The slight touch sent tingles through her, and her stomach did a strange flip.
She wasn’t sure what she liked so much about being close to him, but she couldn’t deny that being on the floor in his arms was her new favorite place to be.
How was it she could feel so warm and safe and pleasurable while lying on the floor with him?
With a small sigh of contentment, she nuzzled her nose into the smooth ridge in the center of his chest.
Oh my. He felt so good. Good enough to taste. Did she dare?
Maybe a tiny, tiny taste. One he wouldn’t even have to know about and would hopefully sleep right through.
Before she could caution herself out of it, she let her lips brush him. The moment her mouth connected, he released a soft moan, and both of his arms snaked around her.
Was he awake?
Even though he tasted incredible, she tried to pull back, embarrassed to be caught kissing his chest—if he’d realized that’s what she was doing.
He tightened his hold, obviously not intending to let her get away. His body now pressed fully against hers so that she could feel every inch of him from his broad shoulders to his long legs.
He bent his head forward, and his scruffy chin and cheek scraped hers. Then his mouth made contact with her ear. At the merest touch of his lips, her lashes fell, and pleasure cascaded through her. She gasped and arched her body into his, wanting more, needing more.
As if sensing her desire, he nuzzled his nose into her ear, then he shifted and buried it against the sensitive skin near the pulse in her neck.
She had the urge to arch into him again and let him do whatever he wanted to her. She didn’t know what that meant, but she did know she wanted to experience more with him. She had since the moment she’d first kissed him, and she’d only been lying to herself and him in denying her desires.
As he lifted his nose away from her neck, she almost whimpered in protest. But before she could, he descended into the same spot, this time touching his lips there softly and sweetly.
“Oh, Beckett,” she whispered, giving him more room. At the same time, she rubbed her palms across his shoulders, down his arms, and then to his abdomen.
He sucked in a sharp breath. Did that mean her touch was affecting him the same way that his was her?
She skimmed her fingers up to his ribs. She wanted to have his mouth on hers, wanted to feel him devouring her, and wanted to devour him in return.
But instead of chasing after her mouth and kissing her, he buried his face against her hair and held her tightly without moving. He seemed to be fighting to regain control over himself and the situation.
But why? They were married, and they had every right to share intimacies like this.
He breathed heavily for a few more seconds.
She wanted to grab him, pull him close, and plead with him to kiss her and not stop.
Was that what he was waiting for? For her to give him permission? Or even to ask him to kiss her?
His grip on her arms tightened, as though he wasn’t ready to let go. But then he slowly loosened his grasp, rolled away, and sat up on his knees.
So he really was waiting to kiss her until she begged. That was so like Beckett.
She flopped back onto the carpet and huffed. He was the most aggravating man she’d ever met, but he was turning out to be the most attractive, and at the same time, was a genuinely good man too. She couldn’t be upset at him for holding off on kissing her, even if it was arrogant on his part.
“Looks like you’re having a hard time keeping your hands—and lips—off me, darlin’.” In the dawn light, the smirk curling his lips was all too obvious.
Embarrassment pulsed into her face. She had kissed his chest way too brazenly. But it was rude of him to bring it up. “I wasn’t the one who initiated sleeping together on the floor.”
“So you think I pulled you down next to me to seduce you?”
“That’s exactly what you did.” Not really. For all she knew, she’d curled up next to him.
“If I was seducing you, darlin’, you’d know it.” His voice dropped low.
Her insides knotted tightly. Was it wrong that she half wished he had seduced her?
“Reckon, it’s a good thing at least one of us has self-control.”
Oh no, he didn’t just say that. She pushed up and swiped her hair out of her face. “I have plenty of self-control, you big oaf.”
“Just not with me?” His grin made a full appearance, turning him downright irresistible.
“Especially with you.” She gave herself a mental shake. Yes, he was resistible. And she would prove it to herself and to him. “If anyone will be doing the begging, it will be you, Cowboy. Just wait and see.”