“I understand that men have needs.”
“Good Lord, woman!” He slapped his palm on the tabletop. The tips of his ears turned pink. “I forget how honest you are sometimes, but I do not want to have this particular conversation with you.”
“Well, as I recall, you were the one who wanted to talk, or so you said when you took Fanny home,” she retorted. She spread her arms wide. “Here I am.”
He rose to his feet. Placing both hands flat on the table, he leaned toward her, his face mere inches away. He stared at her, his eyes fixed upon hers. In a silky voice wrought with unspoken challenge, he said, “I do want to talk to you, but I have work yet in town. Burnsey made me promise I’d take supper with him, so it’ll have to wait. But this will be our last night together.” He swallowed visibly. “I want your company.”
“I’ll be here when you return.”
“I know you will.”
The door shut quietly behind him, leaving Trixianna alone with her thoughts.
Damn. Chance hadn’t been able to escape Burnsey’s incessant chatter about, surprisingly, everything but Chance’s upcoming nuptials. Finally, the Englishman had drunk himself into a stupor and Chance had locked him up. Now it was well past midnight. He trudged home, his head lowered, his feet dragging. Trixianna would be in bed by now. He so wanted to talk to her, and explain his reasons for marrying a woman he didn’t love.
He also wanted to tell her that he hadn’t been taking advantage of her, either when he’d saved her cat from drowning, or when Sam Smith had tried to steal her away. Both times he’d lost the use of reason. She had the power to make him forget things…like his duty as Grand Fork’s sheriff, his obligation to Fanny, his common sense.
He entered the house quietly. Thoughtful as ever, Trixianna had left a lamp burning low on the kitchen table so he could find his way to his room. He sat down on a kitchen chair, and yanked off his boots and wool socks. He pulled his shirt off over his head. Trudging down the hall, holding his clothes in one hand and the lantern in the other, he stopped just outside Trixianna’s room. As always, she’d left the door ajar. He squelched the insistent urge to peek in.
Chance stepped across the hall to his own room, and tossed his clothes on the foot of the bed. As he set the lamp down, he heard a muffled moan.
Dashing across the hall, he drew his gun. He threw the door wide. Trixianna lay with her feet entangled in the bed coverings, thrashing in the throes of a dream. Twisted around her hips, her night rail glimmered pink in the dim light of the lantern. Her legs, long and sleekly tapered, lay displayed for his intense scrutiny. Her coppery-colored hair—how he loved that hair—spread about her head and beckoned him. Called to him like the sea sirens sailors spoke of. He watched her sleep, his heart in his throat. Holstering his gun, he unbuckled the gun belt and placed it over the footboard. He sat down on the side of the bed and stroked her cheek. His calloused fingers caught on a fine strand of hair next to her face. The rasping of her breath sounded loud in the still of the quiet night, and she stirred.
Trixianna woke. She heard breathing, then a familiar odor filled her nose. Chance. Leather, spearmint, his own distinctive male scent. She rolled onto her back and gazed into his compelling blue eyes. She opened her arms to welcome him. He hesitated a fraction of a second before stretching across her, his chest covering hers. Heat radiated off his body. To be so close to him was like being cocooned in a scratchy wool blanket, his hair-roughened chest scraping across her tender breasts.
Wrapping his arms about her, he buried his face in her neck. “Oh, God,” he moaned. “Tell me to go away. Tell me to leave you alone, now, before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late,” she whispered.
“Don’t,” he warned, his voice thick and unsteady. “Don’t say that.”
“I can’t help it, Chance,” she insisted. “Stay with me tonight, just tonight.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking. I can’t promise you anything.” His voice broke and she heard him swallow. “It’s not fair to you.” His hands tightened around her shoulders, the fingers gripping her flesh through the thin fabric of her gown.
Trixianna clasped one of his hands and moved it to her breast. She heard his sharp intake of air. Her nipple instantly hardened, as if seeking his touch. His hand trembled, then squeezed gently, cupping the weight in his palm.
He came up onto one elbow and stared at the bronzed hand that sheltered her silk-covered breast. He traced his fingertip across the rigid bud, then circled the aureole. With his thumb and forefinger he rolled the nipple between his fingers. Trixianna’s stomach clenched tight.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he said. He lowered his head and kissed her through the fabric, his lips seeking and tugging. His tongue prodded the sensitive nubbin.
A thrill barreled through Trixianna’s body, tingling shafts that curled her toes. Heat flared in her abdomen and lower, much lower. Her body stiffened. “Oh, oh.”
Chance lifted his head and stared into her eyes. He didn’t speak, just sought and held her gaze. Her heart flip-flopped in response. Against her stomach, an intimate part of his anatomy nudged her, then again. This time Chance took her hand and held it against the front of his trousers, his hand holding hers tight against his body. Through the coarse fabric, he throbbed against her fingertips.
“I haven’t even kissed you yet and I’m about ready to explode,” he grit out between clenched teeth. “Trixianna,” he whispered. “Unbutton my trousers.”
As her trembling fingers worked the buttons, he kissed her chin. His mouth grazed her earlobe, and she shivered. When his tongue slipped inside her ear, she shuddered from head to toe. He moved to her cheek, then her nose, where she heard him sigh. “I love your freckles. They’re like little droplets of cinnamon and I want to lick them all.” His lips trailed across her cheeks and nose as if he were doing just that.
She undid the last button. His sex came free from his trousers and thrust insistently against her taut belly. He turned his attention to her mouth while his hands molded the contours of her breasts. He seemed to know where she’d be most sensitive, his hands and mouth caressing and touching, sparking a fire all over her tender flesh.
He lifted her gown over her head, and tossed it on the floor. Then he tugged his trousers over his hips and pulled them from his feet. They ended up on the floor as well.
They lay facing each other; bare, hot skin against bare, hot skin, his thigh over her hip, heat pulsing between her legs. She was filled with an anticipatory wanting, while he peered intently at her. His eyes gleamed, then flashed eagerly.
“This is it, honey,” he rasped through clenched teeth. “You have to tell me to stop now because we can’t later.”
“Huh?” Trixianna didn’t have an inkling what he was talking about.
For some reason he found her confusion amusing. He gave a quick bark of laughter. “Trixianna, you’re going to lose your virginity if we don’t stop now. You could become pregnant.”
She swallowed around the apprehensive knot in her throat. “I understand that.”
“It might hurt at first.”
“Oh?”
He squeezed his eyes shut a moment. Then he clasped her chin in his rough fingers and stared at her. “I’ve heard that, but believe me, I’ve got no experience with virgins.”
Trixianna stared into his beloved face; his thick black brows drawn together in a worried frown, his pale, blue eyes so intense with wanting and passion. She wondered if her face mirrored his. She, too, felt desire unlike anything she’d ever known. “Do you want to?”
“Do I want to what?” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“Do you want to make love to me?” she asked. Her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, honey,” he whispered. He clasped her tight to his chest, squeezing the breath out of her. “More than anything.”
“All right, then. What’s next?”
Chance flopped onto his back, one arm resting over his e
yes. Rising from a nest of soft black hair, his engorged shaft quivered. Trixianna sat up, unable to remove her gaze from that part of him. She shook her head. It was much too big to fit inside her. It would never work.
He groaned. “God, do you have to be so analytical? We’re not about to butcher a hog here. This is supposed to be exciting, passion-filled loving; hot, heavy breathing, touching, wanting, sweating, kissing, that sort of thing.”
“I do want all that, Chance, I really do, but I can see with my own eyes that it won’t work.”
His eyes flew open. He sought her face, then followed the line of her vision. He choked back a grunt of laughter. He reached down and worked the sheet up to his waist, then he pulled her over onto his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Trixianna, darling, it’ll work. Believe me.”
“Are you certain? It seems awfully…well, large. Are all men…?”
He exhaled a long sigh, then said in an amused voice, “It’s normal for me. I can’t speak for other men.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she assured him. “It’s just that you said it would hurt, and it looks very big and I’m just worried is all.”
“Are you sure now? ‘Cause there’s no turning back.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Thank God,” he murmured.
He pulled the sheet from between their bodies and rolled her onto her back. Keeping his weight off her, he balanced on his hands. With his knees he nudged hers apart, and settled between her legs. Then he kissed her with a hunger that diminished all her doubts.
His mouth caressed, worshiped, adored Trixianna. Outside the window, the stars shone brighter in the night sky. Inside the small bedroom, stars blossomed and danced behind her eyes. She couldn’t focus, she couldn’t think, she could only feel.
Her sensitized nerve endings, felt every part of Chance. His rough beard scratching against her cheek, his chest hair rubbing against her nipples, the hair along his legs rasping along her thighs. Her hands on his muscled back felt each sinew, each tendon, as he stretched over her.
He nudged his shaft between her legs. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice reedy with unresolved passion and obvious need.
“Yes,” she whispered. She was. She wanted this, needed this, had waited her whole life for this man. She would never love another as she loved Chance—desperately, the love overflowing her body and encompassing his. This was the only way she knew how to show him that love.
He thrust against her, pushing gently. Then he rose up on his elbows. His face, damp with perspiration, showed traces of strain. Furrowed brow, tight lips, flared nostrils. He rested his head against Trixianna’s forehead. “My God, I don’t know if I can do this.”
“I love you, Chance.”
He swallowed, the sound deafening in the quiet of the bedroom. Then he buried himself deep within her.
The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
– Edward Young
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“DON’T MOVE,” Chance growled. If Trixianna so much as twitched, he’d lose control. She wasn’t ready, but her avowal of love nearly pushed him over the edge. He needed to slow their lovemaking and make this good for her. He needed to make it right with himself. He needed her love.
Guilt nudged his conscience. Chance mentally pushed it aside, concentrating on the beautiful woman in bed with him. He could scarcely believe she wanted him, much less loved him. When she’d admitted it, he wanted to shout with joy. And he could no more deny her than he could stop breathing.
She made a whimpering sound. Chance looked down to find tears glistening on her lashes. Regret rocked him. He hadn’t been easy enough with her. “Damn, I’ve hurt you.”
“No,” she whispered, her voice hitching as she fought to control it. One fat tear rolled down her face, then another.
He licked both up with his tongue, and said, “Then why are you crying?”
She gave him a tentative smile. “I’m not crying.”
He wasn’t fooled. He’d hurt her. Although he’d never heard of such a thing, maybe he was too big for her. He felt his ears burn as a flush worked its way up the back of his neck.
“You’re blushing,” Trixianna observed. Her mouth tipped up at the corners in a pixie-like grin.
“I am not.”
“I’m shedding tears and you’re blushing,” she said softly. “Is this the way of things when a man beds a woman?”
“Not in my experience,” Chance muttered. He was still imbedded deep within her, straining for release. His body fought for a culminiation, quickening with each slight movement she made. He concentrated on her glowing face. “Have I hurt you?” he repeated. “Because if I have and you want to stop, I reckon we may have a problem here ‘cause I’m not sure I can stop.”
“Oh, Chance,” she said, her tone one of awe. Her green eyes danced with love for him. For him. A lump lodged in his throat. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m just so happy to be here with you…even if it’s just this once.”
“Me, too, honey, me too,” he rasped between clenched teeth. At last, he gave in to the instinctive desire to thrust.
Trixianna gasped. She held his buttocks tight in her slender grasp urging him on, seeming to understand his need. A pure and crystal-clear pleasure seized him. He reclaimed Trixianna’s lips, rousing her passion as well as his own.
She moaned, squirming beneath him. He felt the beginning of tiny spasms start low in her body. She arched her hips. He flung his head back as a thrumming began in his own body. Coaxing Trixianna with whispered love words, he found himself hurtled beyond control. Trixianna cried out his name at her moment of climax. His came on the crest of hers, shouted hoarsely from deep within his chest.
They fell to the bed, entwined still, satiated and laughing.
Sometime in the dark of night, Chance reached for Trixianna. She had no idea of the time, nor did she care. His rough, calloused hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her to his side, encircling her within the warmth of his strong arms.
Not quite asleep, yet not quite awake, Trixianna waited with an expectant knot in her throat. She touched his beard-roughened cheek, her heart thudding rapidly in her breast. The night sounds—the whisper of the wind, the commonplace bark of a dog—combined to heighten her senses. With this man beside her, his heart beating rhythmically with hers, she felt secure and protected.
Next to her ear, he released a deep sigh of contentment. Gooseflesh rose up and down her arms. When his breathing deepened, she realized he was asleep.
Trixianna pulled the discarded bedcoverings up to her waist. She stopped before she covered Chance. His naked body, gilded gold by the moonlight, was hers to visually explore. He lay on his back. The gunshot wound on his shoulder looked puckered and pink, but it was healing well. A light dusting of black hair ran the length of his body, starting with a vee of hair between the nipples on his muscled chest, growing denser between his legs. The inky hair drifted down his thighs and calves. He even had little tufts of hair on the tops of his toes. She found that quite endearing.
She recalled the wonder of being held in his strong arms, the magic of his gentle touch, the spellbinding words he used to caress and urge her. His lovemaking was so much more than she’d expected—wondrous and beautiful and fulfilling. She loved him so.
Trixianna folded the blanket beneath his chin, then kissed his lips. She watched his face as he slept, his lips parted, his mouth relaxed.
She thought she should be feeling sinfully wicked, wholly guilty at the very least. She didn’t. Tomorrow Chance would wed Fanny, and the mayor’s daughter would have him to herself the rest of her life. One night with Chance would be all Trixianna would ever have, and she wasn’t about to feel bad about it.
Anger at Fanny simmered inside Trixianna, for not calling off the wedding when she knew she didn’t love him. But perhaps that was only Trixianna’s own jealousy and resentment at not being able to have Chance to herself. A woman wasn’t required to love the m
an she married. Women married for many other reasons—security, money, children.
She wanted love for Chance. She grieved for the loveless marriage awaiting him. He was honest and loyal to a fault. He’d live with his promise to Fanny no matter what kind of marriage they’d have.
Trixianna was glad she wouldn’t be around to see the day when Fanny became round with Chance’s child.
Trixianna lay down, turned her head away from Chance and wept bitter, pitiful tears into her pillow.
* * *
Feeling as if he had a knife-wound in his heart, Chance stared down at the warm, sweet-smelling woman lying in bed. He’d hated like hell to have to leave her this morning, but he had a long day ahead of him. The last place he needed to be found on his wedding day was in bed with a lawless woman known as Mad Maggie West.
He kissed Trixianna’s cool cheek and caressed the tangled web of hair that surrounded her face like a sunset-colored halo. “Good-bye, honey,” he whispered. Tears burned behind his eyelids. “No matter what, I will always love you.”
The lump in his throat and an acute sense of loss increased with each measured step he took away from the house.
By the time he reached his office, he’d convinced himself that he’d mastered his inner turmoil. He pushed open the door and walked inside. He leaned against the jail cell and eyed Burnsey. Passed out and snoring, as usual. Chance cleared his throat. Nothing. He rattled the bars. A slight flaring of nostrils, a fluttering of eyelids, but the man snored on.
“About that lawyer fella of yours,” Chance began.
“Unh,” came the reply from the semi-conscious Englishman. He rolled to his back and groaned. With one bloodshot eye on Chance, the other squeezed shut, he muttered, “What?”
“I’d hire him if I were you.”
“What?” Burnsey repeated. “Who?”
“The lawyer, dammit.”
Burnsey cleared his throat. “James is no solicitor,” was the somewhat garbled reply. He sat up, blinking his eyes like a nearsighted owl. He stretched, yawned loudly and scratched his stubbled jaw.