Grace shook her head. “No. Never.”
“You sound pretty set.”
“I am. When a man leaves you at the altar, you never want to be burned that way again.”
Grace realized that thinking about that day no longer brought pain. She felt anger at Garth for being such a bounder, and at herself for being silly enough to think he actually loved her, but pain, no. “He assumed that because I was a banker’s daughter I was worth a king’s ransom. When he found out I wasn’t, he threw me over for someone wealthier.”
“What was his name?”
“Garth Leeds.”
Grace wondered what he’d do with the information and how it would affect their future dealings, so she told him, “It’s not something I’ll enjoy being teased about.”
“I understand,” came his soft reply, “but was this Leeds loco?”
She smiled, grateful for his support. “No, I was.”
“How long did he court you?”
“Almost a year.”
Jackson could imagine how difficult it must’ve been for her to face her friends and acquaintances after the canceled wedding. Although he’d known her only a
short while, he knew her well enough to be certain she wouldn’t’ve hidden herself away in response to such a public embarrassment. No doubt she’d gone on with her social life and her charity work, and tried to close her ears to the gossip that probably greeted her everywhere she went. Beneath all that fire and bossiness beat the heart of a woman far more resilient than women of her class were supposed to be and she deserved a man who’d value that, not some two-bit coyote who only wanted her money. He hoped he’d get a chance to meet this Garth Leeds someday.
“What’re you thinking now?” she asked.
“How I’d like to meet this Leeds, and how a strong woman like you needs a strong man.”
“Like you, I suppose?” she asked knowingly.
Enjoying this soft banter, he shrugged. “Maybe, but women like you don’t truck with men like me. Two different worlds.”
“I suppose, but stranger things have been known to happen.”
Grace and her father had often sat on the porch in the summertime talking about anything and everything under the sun until the wee hours of the morning, but those conversations differed from the conversations she’d been having with Jackson. This shared time felt more intimate, more personal. Even though he’d successfully evaded her attempts to get him to reveal more of himself, she still felt as if they’d become connected to each other somehow.
His voice interrupted her thoughts. “You know, that first night you snuck into my room, I’d no idea this is where I’d wind up.”
“You were rude and arrogant and far too high-handed for me.”
“I was hoping I’d scare you off.”
“I don’t scare easily,” she said with pride in her eyes.
“I noticed. I thought you were the bossiest female I’d ever met. Still do.”
She punched him in the arm. “I’m not bossy.”
“Ha!”
“I am not. I’m—firm.”
“You’re bossy, woman, but that’s part of your charm.”
Their gazes met and held. Even though it was now dark, it did nothing to mask the sparks arching between them.
She asked playfully, “Can I get you to write that down and then sign it?”
“Only if you asked to be kissed…”
“I think it’s time for me to go home,” she responded wryly, softly.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Otherwise, we’re going to be the talk of the town tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m about two seconds from asking to be kissed.”
The air between them was hot and charged. One more spark and their world would burst into flame.
“Then let’s get you home.”
They made the walk silently, but each was as aware of the other as they were of their own breathing. More than once, Jackson fought down the urge to carry her off into the dark, but many of the fires and lanterns around the camp were still lit, signals that a good many of the brides were still awake. Yes, he wanted her, but he also cared about her reputation.
At her tent their steps slowed. The soft light shining from inside the canvas meant Belle was awake and prob
ably reading her Bible, something she did every night before turning in.
“Belle’s still up,” Grace pointed out, in an effort to substitute small talk for her yearning and feelings.
As though cued, Belle suddenly appeared in the opening. She was dressed in her night clothes, and upon seeing Jackson at Grace’s side, drew back a bit. “Uh—hello, Mr. Blake.”
“Belle,” he said pleasantly. “How are you?”
“Fine, Mr. Blake.”
“Good. Miss Atwood and I were going to work on maps tonight, but she thought it best she check on you instead.”
Belle looked to Grace who hoped the girl couldn’t see the surprise on her face.
What maps?
The girl smiled and said reassuringly, “No, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry. Everybody’s been so nice. If you two need to work, go on ahead. Loreli’s already told me that if I need anything and you’re not around, just to let her know. Is she really a gambling woman, Miss Atwood?”
“Yes, Belle, she is.”
“Never expected a woman like that to be so nice.”
Grace smiled, glad that Loreli had gone out of her way to make the young woman feel welcome.
“So, go on and do your maps. I’ll be fine.”
That said, she went back inside, leaving Grace to look up at Jackson and ask suspiciously, “Did you say you were once a sheriff or a confidence man? You led her exactly where you wished for her to go.”
“I know, but I wanted to spend more time with you.”
Grace wondered if there were some kind of root she could take that would make her less susceptible to him and all he seemed to promise.
He told her softly, “You can go on in or not, your choice, Grace.”
Even though the banker in Grace protested loudly, the woman in Grace chose “not.”
Since they’d told Belle they were going to look at maps, Grace and Jackson set out for the supply tent that also served as his office. Once there, he lit a lantern and the dark interior took on a soft glow. Grace looked over to him and realized that the vow she’d carved in stone this morning might as well have been written in sand. Being with him this way made her feel reckless and more than a little bit giddy.
“So, maps or kisses—which would you prefer to explore?”
Smiling, she had to turn away from his shadowy presence for a moment before turning back to say, “Whatever am I going to do with you, Jackson Blake?”
“How about this…”
And he pulled her in against him and kissed her languidly, deeply, and passionately. When she responded with a passion that rivaled his own, he deepened the kiss, nibbling on the tempting flesh of her bottom lip and tasting the opened corners of her mouth with the hot, seeking tip of his tongue. He vividly reacquainted himself with the lips he’d been craving for what seemed like an eternity and ran his hand up to the base of her neck to bring her even closer.
He savored her, ignited her, and Grace sought to do the same. She could feel the strong muscles in his back beneath her wandering palms and the hot, tempting pressure of his thighs against her own. As he brushed his mouth across her ear and over the edge of her jaw, she tossed aside all pretense of not wanting this man and let her desire soar.
Jackson wanted to touch her in all the ways a man
could touch a woman. His lips sampled the scented column of her neck, and again the delicate curve of her jaw. He brushed fire over the high collar of her blouse where it met her skin and Grace sighed in the rising heat. She could feel his hands roaming slowly over her back, and up and down her sides, but when his big hand cupped itself around her breast, the sensations were so strong she drew back for a moment in an effort to clear the haze.
In the interim, he stood before her dappled by the shadows of the lone lamp, pulsing for her, hungering for her. Jackson knew he’d die if she didn’t want him to touch her again, but she was Grace, and not a cathouse whore. He had to give her a choice. “Do you want to go back?” he asked quietly.
Still breathing heavily, Grace shook her head. “No. I just need to catch my breath.”
He smiled. “Woozy?”
“Very,” she replied huskily. “You’re giving me quite an education.”
“Then shall we continue your lessons?”
His words were as hot as his eyes.
“Yes.”
He pressed his lips to hers gently in reward for her passionate willingness, then drew her back into his arms. He spent a few more languid moments kissing her until her senses sang, then she felt his hand rise to her breast and begin to caress it slowly.
When he dipped his head and gently captured her nipple with his teeth, she moaned aloud. Grace’s head dropped back and her virgin’s body arched invitingly. She’d never had a man touch her this way and the sharp sensations were as brilliant as the sun. He gave her other breast the same bone-throbbing caresses and Grace swore her whole body liquefied.
Jackson raised his head to capture her lips again, then filled his senses with the feel of her hips in his hands. He knew he couldn’t take her fully, not with all the risks it incurred, but he wanted to pleasure her in ways so vivid she’d never forget this night or him.
“I want to touch you, Grace…letme touch you…”
To that end, he slowly began undoing the buttons on her blouse. They were the only barriers standing between his lips and the silk-skinned treasures he wanted to explore. Grace knew she should not let him take the liberties he seemed intent upon; well-brought-up women did not encourage such scandalous behavior, but scandalous was how she felt and she didn’t want his lessons to stop.
She reeled as he brushed his lips across the now bared expanse of her throat. His mouth was warm; his tasting tongue against the tops of her breasts made her arch even more. It took all she had just to breathe. The knowledge that he was slowly undressing her was heady enough, but when he parted the halves of her blouse and worshipped his palms over the hard, dark tips of her breasts beneath her thin camisole, she just knew her body had burst into flame. He eased her camisole aside. His kisses came next, dallying, masterful conquerings of her breasts that left each nubbin pleading and hot. The sensual suckling in tandem with the lingering licks from his tongue made her keen pleasurably. She didn’t care that under the impetus of his big hands her skirt was circling higher and higher up the back of her thighs, nor did she care that the initial touch of his hand as it moved over her drawers scorched her waist and skin; all she cared about was this wanton desire burning in her blood.
Jackson wanted her more than any other woman before. The scents of her, the sounds of her passion and her warm silken skin made him want to find the nearest
bed, lay her down, and fill her until the sun rose, but he couldn’t, not without compromising her, so he contented himself with her pleasure.
Grace’s whole world was spinning. His expert touches and caress made her ripple like summer heat on the horizon. She knew she shouldn’t let him, but she didn’t want him to stop, not even when he boldly undid the silken ties of her drawers.
Grace trembled as her drawers whispered open. The hot feel of his hands followed as they cupped her hips. When he possessively pulled her in against all that made him male, she drew in a sharp breath. Sensations were stacking up inside herself like thunderclouds on a stormy day, engulfing her, fueling her to part her thighs so he could make them climb even higher.
He rewarded her with a sensual touch that made her growl even deeper. Jackson never imagined she would be so passionately responsive. He could feel the age-old rhythms begin to claim her hips, and his own desires hardened further, seeing and feeling her virgin body gently straining for more. Unable to resist, he dropped his head to her bared breasts. Lingering there for a few silent moments, he made sure both dark-tipped nubbins would answer to him before concentrating on the damp, pulsing flesh between her thighs.
Grace had no idea how much longer she could hold up against this sensual conquering. She felt hot and swollen, but he continued, pleasuring her brazenly, masterfully; adding more to fuel the fire that engulfed them both. Jackson could hear her heightened breathing, see the rictus of passion on her face. Being a man of some experience, he knew she was only a heartbeat away from completion. “Let’s get this first one out of the way…”
Grace had no idea what he meant, but when he wantonly circled his finger over the warm flowing shrine,
then possessively slid a gentle finger inside, her being exploded. The force of it buckled her, shook her. It made her want to scream his name as she rode out the storm with her head against his chest. Nothing in her life had prepared her for such earth-shattering sensations—nothing.
Grace finally came back to herself, and as she looked up at him with both awe and passion, he bent to kiss her softly. “Is that the first time you’ve ever felt that, Banker Atwood…?”
His mind-numbing kisses were interfering with the few faculties she had left, but she somehow summoned the will to answer. “Yes.”
His hands were teasing her nipples again, boldly exploring her hips and thighs. She husked out, “Was that one of the advantages of not wearing a corset?”
Jackson was so hard with desire for her he didn’t know he’d summon the strength to see her back to her tent. “Yes, one of them.”
He wanted nothing more than to acquaint her with all the various ways a man could pleasure a woman as passionate as she, but he knew if he did that, she’d be here until morning, consequences be damned.
Grace’s completion continued to send tiny pulsating echoes through her blood. Her hair had come undone, her blouse was still open, and her camisole lay twisted beneath her damp breasts. She looked scandalous and felt the same, but she’d loved every touch she’d been given. Whether she’d be able to go back to being the chaste and diligent Grace Atwood was debatable, after what she’d experienced in his arms. Also debatable was whether she really
wanted
to go back.
In the end, though, he slowly did up her buttons again, then brazenly retied the strings of her drawers. He gifted
her with one last thrilling kiss, then said, “Let’s walk you back.”