He ran the brush through the drape of hair that lay over her left shoulder. She jerked slightly when the brush bristles grazed her breast. She glanced at him suspiciously, but he’d already moved around to brush another section. She decided the contact must have been accidental. He circled to stand behind her, brushing the back of her hair and running it through his fingers. Then he brought the brush forward to brush the hair lying over her right breast, the bristles once again grazing the peak of her nipple. She stiffened and glanced back at him. He lifted a dark eyebrow.
“What? Am I doin’ it wrong?”
“No.” She swallowed a sudden thickness. “No,” she said again, softer this time.
“You just tell me if you don’t like somethin’, darlin’, and I’ll stop.”
Untangling curly tresses with his fingertips as he wielded the brush, he trailed his knuckles lightly over her left shoulder blade and down the small of her back. Then, moving over a bit, he traced another path downward with the backs of his fingers, his touch so insubstantial she couldn’t believe it was deliberate. She relaxed and closed her eyes.
“No one’s brushed my hair for me since I was a little girl. It feels nice.” Her bones felt as if they were melting. The bristles flicked over her left nipple again, making her flesh harden. “Mmm. This is lovely.”
“Feel good?” he asked softly.
“Mmm.” It felt so good. She wanted to melt and run through the cracks in the floor. His chest pressed against her back. She leaned against him, enjoying his solidness and warmth. The brush bristles made a light pass over her nipple again, sending shocks of sensation from there to a place low in her abdomen. “I could let you do this every night.”
“At your service.”
Another pass over her breast. Her nipples hardened and started to ache. The brush bristles dragged over a sensitive tip yet again, sending jolts of feeling through her. She jerked erect and stepped away. “Thank you. That was nice.”
He smiled slightly and set the brush on the fireplace mantel. “I’ll tend to the fire. Why don’t you get into bed. I’ll be right along.”
While he placed three large logs in the grate, Rebecca went to stand by the bed, which rested against the wall in one corner. “Which side is yours?”
He glanced over at her, the heightened brightness of the flames playing over his face. “I’ll take the outside,” he said, his eyes once again seeming to gleam from within as he ran his gaze over her. “That way I’m between you and the door.”
Staring down at the two pillows, Rebecca was assailed by a feeling very like the one that had come over her earlier as she regarded the trunk, her feet glued to the floor, her heart pounding. Only this time, the urge that came over her was to retreat, not advance. Behind her, she heard Race circling the room to close and secure all the shutters. At the door, he stopped to let Blue back in, then dropped the bolt.
Rebecca bent to turn down the covers, fussing unnecessarily with the flannel sheet and fluffing the down pillows in their linen cases. “I’m surprised you have two pillows on your bed.”
“I used one, and Blue used the other one.”
“Oh.” Rebecca leaned closer to peruse the cases.
“I changed the beddin’ just before I left,” he informed her, his voice laced with laughter. “And he used the outside pillow. Tomorrow, I reckon I’ll have to find a couple of old saddle blankets for him to use as a bed. He’s gonna be rousted out of his sleepin’ spot now that you’re here.”
Rebecca considered offering to let him and the dog have the bed while she slept happily unpestered on the floor, but somehow she doubted Race would go for that idea.
A rasp of metal and a loud click came from behind her. She turned to see Race working the lever action of another rifle, which he’d evidently taken from the rack above the fireplace. He stepped past her to prop the gun against the wall next to the Henry.
“Are you expecting trouble tonight?”
“Nah.” He went to the trunk. As he threw up the lid, he said, “I always have weaponry and plenty of cartridges near at hand while I sleep. In this country, it ain’t smart not to be ready. Indians, grizzlies, cougars, and two-legged polecats.”
Her skin prickled, and she glanced anxiously at the door.
He chuckled as he drew three boxes of cartridges from the stash of ammunition she’d seen inside the trunk. “Honey, don’t feel nervous. I take precautions just in case.” He closed the trunk and moved back toward her. “We ain’t had trouble of any kind around here in so long, I plumb forget when. I just got me a habit of figurin’ on the highly unlikely. That’s all. Keeps me from gettin’ unpleasant surprises.”
After stacking the ammunition boxes on the floor near the two rifles, he began unbuttoning his shirt. The front plackets fell open to reveal a wealth of burnished chest, his breast muscles bunching with every movement of his arms, horizontal ridges striating his flat belly. When he started to peel the shirt off, she averted her face.
“Not tonight, Blue,” he said when the dog walked over to gaze at the bed.
The hound huffed and returned to lie down in front of the fire.
Rebecca’s pulse skittered and her throat went suddenly dry. This afternoon, she had invited Race to consummate their marriage tonight, and her reasons for doing so were still valid. He had given her so very much, never asking for anything in return. It was her obligation—her wifely duty—to make her body available to him.
In the brightness of the afternoon, she hadn’t felt nervous. And by all rights, she shouldn’t have felt nervous now. But for reasons beyond her, she was.
She pressed a hand to the stand-up collar of her cotton nightgown, her palm smashing the two top buttons against her larynx. Her legs were quivering, giving her reason to fear she might collapse. Her heart felt as if it were going to pound its way through the wall of her chest. She gulped and closed her eyes.
This was absurd. What was there to feel nervous about?
“You gonna stand there all night?” he asked.
Dragging in a huge breath that made her feel slightly dizzy, Rebecca drew back the quilts and slipped into the bed. Scooting over to the far side of the mattress, she lay on her back, covers drawn to her chin, hands folded beneath her breasts, eyes closed. Nothing to it. Ma had never lied to her—not once in her whole life—and she’d promised that this wedding night business was uneventful, simple, and quite quick.
She had nothing at all to worry about. Not one thing. Except for the firelight that played over the room, of course. She could see the golden glow through her closed eyelids. She would have greatly preferred total darkness. But it was a woman’s lot, a necessary part of becoming a wife—and someday, a mother.
The bed suddenly lurched, the frame creaking and groaning as her husband sat on the edge of the mattress. Rebecca hauled in another deep breath, determined to be serene. Thump. His boot? She heard him moving, his breath hitching. Thump. Then came a whisper of sound. She kept her eyes squeezed closed. She hoped he would leave his trousers on as he had the other nights.
The quilts vanished.
Her eyes flew open. He smiled and shifted himself over her, the breadth of his bronzed chest eclipsing much of the light and shadowing her face. The gleam in his coffee-brown eyes had become a determined and slightly mischievous glint. She groped with her right hand for the quilts he’d pulled off her, almost simultaneously felt cool air on her upturned toes, and realized he’d thrown the blankets clear to the foot of the bed. This was not the way Ma had promised the brethren did it.
“Howdy,” he said in a low, husky voice that made her nerve endings trill.
Chapter 18
“Race?” Rebecca said in a twangy voice. “You, um…removed the quilts.” She realized he’d braced a hand on her opposite side so he might lean over her, which trapped her between a muscular arm and his bare chest. “May I have them back, please?”
He leaned closer. “Chilly? I’ll take care of that in short order, darlin’.”
He alre
ady was. His chest was nearly touching hers, and the heat of him radiated over her. She swallowed again. “Race, you don’t happen to own a nightshirt, do you?”
“A what?”
She glanced down and immediately wished she hadn’t. “A nightshirt. If you have one in your trunk, I would greatly appreciate your wearing it.”
His white teeth gleamed at her in a slow grin. “Honey, I don’t own a nightshirt. The closest I come to that is wearin’ my long handles in the winter, and now that I got you to keep me warm, I won’t wear them.”
“Wh-what on earth shall you wear then?”
His grin deepened. “You, I reckon.”
Rebecca was still trying to digest that when he suddenly straightened, grasped her by the shoulders, and bodily lifted her with unnerving ease to sit her up. She was greatly relieved to see that he still wore his black trousers.
His hands went to her hair. Running his fingers through it as though it were the finest silk, he whispered in a deep, raspy voice, “The first time I ever seen you, I imagined you comin’ to me wearin’ nothin’ but your beautiful hair.”
His eyes caught light from the fire and glinted as though shot through with flecks of gold dust. He lifted her hair to drape it forward over her breasts, then arranged the wavy tresses so they fell apart to reveal only the very tips of her breasts. Glancing down, Rebecca felt fire flood into her cheeks. Even though she wore her nightgown, it was a suggestive thing for him to do.
“That’s how I imagined you,” he murmured. “Peekin’ out at me, sweet as little rosebuds and beggin’ to be kissed.”
The fiery feeling spread from her face down the back of her throat to pool, molten and swirling, in the pit of her stomach. He chuckled.
“From the way you’re blushin’, I got this feelin’ I’m flat outta luck.” His gleaming gaze held hers. He drew back slightly to regard her. “My God, you are so sweet.” He cupped a hand to the side of her face and feathered his thumb back and forth over her cheek, his touch light and tantalizing. “Sweetheart, are you that nervous?”
Rebecca’s tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth. “I would probably feel some better if you were wearing a nightshirt.”
“I reckon maybe I’d best keep my pants on then?”
She would hope!
“Anything else botherin’ you?”
“Well, I’d really like for you to simply get on with it, if you wouldn’t mind. Afterward we can talk. All right? I’m rather anxious to get the first time behind me.”
His smile faltered, and his thumb stilled on her cheekbone. “Ah, honey. I’m sorry. I need my ass kicked between my shoulder blades.” He leaned forward to touch his forehead to hers, his much larger nose pressing the wishy-washy tip of hers to one side. He lightly trailed his fingertips from her cheek into her hair. “Here I am takin’ my time, and you’re all tense. I should be workin’ on makin’ you forget what you’re nervous about.”
Rebecca’s eyes crossed trying to look into his, so she let her lashes fall closed.
Thrusting both of his big hands into her hair, his hard palms cupping the sides of her head, he lifted his forehead from hers to kiss the tip of her nose. Rebecca grabbed hold of his broad wrists as he tipped her back ever so gently onto the bed and followed her down, bracing his forearms at each side of her shoulders.
His chest grazed the tips of her breasts as he bent toward her. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” he whispered, his silken lips brushing so lightly over hers that the touch was more part of his whisper than actual contact. “I’ll make it nice for you. And I’ll do my damnedest not to hurt you, I swear it.”
“Oh, Race…”
His mouth settled over hers while her lips were parted to speak. She sucked breath—his breath—which was sweet and warm and tasted slightly of coffee. Silken lips, the tip of his tongue tracing the shape of her mouth, then pressing forward. Rebecca jerked, horrified. He was sticking his tongue in her mouth?
That was the last thought she had for several drugging seconds. Race. He teased the sensitive roof of her mouth, then dipped low to flick the thread of sensitive tissue under her tongue. Her head swirled. She forgot to breathe. She ran her hands over the bulging strength of his upper arms to cling to his broad shoulders. Lands, what was he doing to her?
Suddenly she wanted to melt and run into him, lose herself in his heat and strength. Something low in her belly went tight and achy, making her feel warm all through her nether regions. As he kissed her, he brushed his chest lightly back and forth over hers, dragging her cotton gown with him. Her nipples sprang taut, the tips poking against the cloth, shocks of sensation shooting into them with his every movement.
Kissing was frowned upon by the brethren before marriage, so Rebecca had never tried it. It was lovely. She hoped he did this part of his business rather often. Oh, yes. This was truly lovely. His mouth. She’d watched his lips quirk a hundred times, watched their movements as he spoke. They were as silken and warm as they looked, feeling so wonderful against hers that she never, never wanted him to quit. Firm, yet molten.
He caught her bottom lip lightly between his teeth, rolling the tender inner side toward his tongue, then began to tease the sensitive surface. Oh, yes. She definitely liked kissing.
Back and forth, ever so lightly, his broad chest grazed hers. Her breasts seemed to swell, and her blood seemed to surge into the tips, each beat of her heart making them throb and get harder. Her spine arched. She dug her nails into his shoulders, a yearning, urgent feeling building inside her that quickly became a horrible need, only she didn’t know for what. She arched higher to press the burning points of her nipples more firmly against him.
He drew one hand from her hair and stopped kissing her to nibble his way along her cheek, his mouth teasing and making her skin tingle. To her temple, back down to her eyelids, then—oh, dear heaven—to her ear, his breath whispering to her, echoing as he nipped her earlobe and then lightly trailed the tip of his tongue over the sensitive hollow beneath. Then he kissed his way along the side of her neck, making her shiver, causing her breath to hitch.
Oh, yes…oh, yes. She truly, truly loved kissing. His clever mouth. He caressed her with it, drew her skin tight to lave it with his tongue, making the yearning inside her sharpen. A wall of hot muscle. His strength all around her. His hips pressing hers against the quilts, each slow undulation adding to the strange ache.
Only dimly aware, Rebecca felt his hands shake slightly as they worked the small buttons of her gown, then gently drew the material open. Cool air brushed her breasts, making her shiver. But it was a strangely lovely feeling. A coiled, warm inner tension that expanded and thrummed.
“Lordy, darlin’, I can’t breathe for wantin’.”
Her collarbone…he was tracing its shape, licking the V. A vague sense of alarm nudged at the corners of her mind, but she couldn’t concentrate on it. The sensations. So many, all at once, high, low, and in between. Her mind flitted from one pleasurable shock of feeling to another.
Then his hot tongue dragged over her taut, aching nipple. A spine-snapping jolt coursed through her, jerking her body taut, stealing her breath, making her heartbeat skitter and hesitate. His mouth closed on her and drew sharply. Rebecca felt the pull clear to her toes. Her eyes flew open. She looked down. She saw his dark face nuzzling her pale fullness. He inched back, tugging her nipple forward, his teeth catching the throbbing tip as he drew it out as far as it would go, then released it.
For a horrified moment, she gaped. Then he sucked her into his mouth again. Reality slammed into her brain.
She shrieked. Shoved. Shrieked again. What was he doing? Angels above. Oh, mercy! He’d lied. Lied! Bald-faced lies, every word!
The man was rife with ungodly urges.
Rebecca’s first scream raked through Race’s head like sharp talons. The second one had him springing to his knees.
“What?” he cried, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Sweetheart? What? Did I hurt you?”
Her
answer was to shriek again and scramble away, frantically trying to tug the front of her nightgown closed. “Leave me alone! Don’t touch me! You lied. Lied!”
Blue lumbered to his feet and started to bark. Then he started to bay. The next second Race heard running footsteps and shouts. His men descended on the cabin like a colony of ants on a bread crumb. The front door shook in its frame as fists pounded on the thick wood.
“Boss!” Pete yelled. “Hey, boss!” A commotion. “Get back!” Pete roared. “I’m gonna kick the son of a bitch down.”
“No!” Race yelled. “It’s all right, Pete! Don’t kick the door in!”
“Show yourself, goddamn it! How do I know somebody ain’t holdin’ a gun to your head?”
“I’ll be right there!” Race turned a worried gaze on his bride who had wedged her shoulders into the corner between the log headboard and wall. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’ll be right back. All right?”
She looked as enthusiastic about that prospect as she might have been about a tooth extraction. Swearing under his breath, Race paced to the door, lifted the bolt, and cracked open the portal only enough for Pete to see him. “We’re all right. Just a little misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” Pete looked ready to skin live rattlers. “She near scared me to death!”
“I’m sorry. It’s my doin’, not hers.” Race started inching the door closed. “Thanks for comin’ so fast. I appreciate it.”
He eased the door shut and dropped the bolt back into place. Moving back toward the bed, Race studied Rebecca, who clutched the front of her nightgown together, her eyes huge splashes of darkness in her pale face. She looked less afraid than she did scandalized.
“You lied!” she cried.
Race had no idea what she thought he’d lied to her about. “Sweetheart, I didn’t lie to you. Can you talk to me? Tell me why you think I did?”
That seemed to horrify her even more. “No! I don’t want to talk about it.” She pressed her face against her up-drawn knees. “How could you! How could you? You lied and tricked me! I trusted you!”