Authors: Maclain's Wife
Polly shut the door, her heart full. Emily slept with a satisfied smile on her face. She'd liked the story. Polly headed down the hall, not knowing what to do. She was a married woman. Her shoes rang on the wood floor, echoing in the pleasant silence of the house.
She didn't know where Ben was, maybe in bed. She pushed open her bedroom door. No moonlight tumbled through the windows to light her way. She found matches and lit a lamp.
She felt him behind her even before he cleared his throat. Her body prickled with awareness and her skin tingled, eager for his touch. Her traitorous body. Polly pulled the pins from her hair, and the curls she'd put back fell free around her shoulders. "I told Emily the truth."
"I know. I heard." He ambled into the room, his eyes dark and hard to read. "I didn't mean to overhear. I was coming to read Emily her story."
"She'd already figured it out." And because it hurt so much, this new sensation of being loved, Polly tugged at the quilt covering her bed. "I didn't do so well being Pauline Curtis."
"All you can be is yourself." Ben's hands curled around her shoulders, a strong and stroking motion that pulled the tension from her tight muscles. "I'm proud to call you my wife. And the marriage certificate is in your real name."
"I saw." Instinct warned her to break away and force distance between them. "I'm truly out of my father's reach, aren't I?"
"I vowed to protect you, and I will. From any threat." He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, hot and tempting. "From now on, you're no longer Roy Brown's daughter. You are my wife. My beautiful, amazing wife."
The defenses around her heart rent. She was left with a wide-open vulnerability that scared her more than anything. Of all the outlaws she'd faced and rough men she'd fought off, she'd never known this brand of fear. Of laying open one's self to another.
"I can't keep my promise to you." Ben's kisses trailed around her neck. His hands swept to her stomach and pulled her tight against him. She could feel the hard length of his shaft against the small of her back.
"I want to be in your bed," he murmured.
"I can't–"
"I know." His hands caressed her, gliding the length of her hips to her ribs and back again, soothing and tender, just short of provocative. "We will sleep together. The rest will happen when you're ready."
"I don't think I'll ever be ready." He might as well know the truth. "I'll never let anyone–" She couldn't say the words.
"Then let me hold you." He released the button at her nape, then pressed a fiery kiss to her skin.
"You're undressing me."
"Well, you need to get into your nightgown." He released another button.
"I can undress myself. I don't need help."
"I noticed you never need help. Not with the stove or the buggy or bringing down an outlaw." He popped open the dress all the way down to her waist. "Maybe it's time you started to depend on me a little."
"I can take care of myself, and I can certainly change out of my dress." She jerked away when his fingers caught the edge of her sleeves. The gown slid the rest of the way down her arms, exposing her camisole. He'd seen her wearing less just this afternoon, but he hadn't been looking at her then with those predator's eyes.
"I helped you with Dixon." He grabbed the folded nightgown that lay on top of her pillow. "That worked out all right. We worked together. We make a good team."
"I see where you're headed, MacLain, and it's not going to work. You aren't going to try to reason me into sharing a bed with you."
"I
am
going to share a bed with you." He shook out the white garment, his gaze never leaving her face. "Now, take off that camisole."
It was his voice that kept her from arguing, the look in his eyes so tender and deep. His fingers skimmed down the straps of her camisole, hooked around the fabric, and guided the cotton down over her breasts. The cool air breezed across her exposed skin. Her nipples tightened.
He let go, and the dress and camisole slid to her waist. The heat of his hands skimmed down her sides and brushed the fabric to the floor. She fought the urge to run and hide–she'd never been so vulnerable before.
Ben plucked at the tie of her drawers. She caught his wrists, but he kept working. Soon those slid down her thighs, too. She stood naked and trembling before him. She watched his eyes darken and heard the rasp of his breathing. She laid her hand along his jaw and felt heated male skin. A day's growth prickled her fingertips. Her body heated with a spiraling need she couldn't give in to.
He gathered the nightgown and slipped it over her head. The soft flannel felt like heaven against her sensitized body. It fanned across her breasts and hugged her arms and hid her nakedness from his sight.
"Here. Let me tuck you in."
He pulled back the covers, exposing line-fresh sheets, and she found her feet taking her across the floor and to the bed. The fashionable shoes tapped on the wood, then whispered on the carpet. She sat down on the edge of the mattress, and Ben knelt to slip off her shoes.
Sweet heaven, Ben made it just short of sinful. He tugged off her shoes with a tender ease. Then he ran his thumbs down the length of her arches, and his fingers across the top of her feet. He used his knuckles underneath her toes, and when she cried out with pleasure, he stripped off her socks and did it all over again, caressing and teasing, both gentle and rough until her feet tingled and her body felt like melted butter.
"I can do that to you all over, if you want"
There was a wicked grin as he waited for her to want more. Goodness, she was ready to beg for it. Her body thrummed with a heady delight, and she wanted his hands to touch more of her, to bring her that same thrilling pleasure.
"You're trying to seduce me."
"Is it working?"
"Absolutely not." She gasped when his hands banded around her ankles and his thumbs dug into the muscles behind her calves.
"How about now?"
"Worse. Much worse. I'm really not enjoying this at all."
His thumbs pushed and pulled at tired muscles not used to dancing around on high heels. She sank back onto the bed. A moan escaped her lips.
His fingertips kneaded and caressed all the way up her calves. His thumb teased at the sensitive skin behind her knee. Pleasure danced through her nerve endings, but her stomach tightened a little.
When his hands brushed up her thighs, she sat up. Ben's hands stilled. They remained splayed against her outer thighs. He was trembling. She was trembling.
"I've never–" She blushed.
"That's what I figured." He stood and moved his hands from her legs. Her skin felt hot wherever he touched, and she felt achy and needy and strangely disappointed. "Having sex would be like that, but much, much better."
"Maybe for you." She curled up beneath the covers.
Ben's fingers caught the blankets and quilt. She couldn't ever remember being tucked in before, safe and secure, and wished sweet dreams. She rolled on her side away from him, wanting more than his touches.
She heard the rustle of clothes as Ben undressed. She didn't want to think about the way the lamplight would gleam along the contours of his bronzed shoulders or how he would look without trousers. She heard his boots thunk to a rest on the floor. She heard the crystal lamp jingle as he turned down the wick.
Complete darkness fell, and the ropes squeaked as he settled down beside her. His greater weight made the mattress dip. She could hear the pillow crinkle. She opened her eyes to see him beside her, gazing at her face.
He rolled her against him. His arms enfolded her, safe and snug. Her head fit just right under his chin. She could feel his arousal through her thin flannel gown and knew that he was naked in her bed.
He wanted her. Her stomach flip-flopped. Fear drummed in her chest and she couldn't relax. He whispered, "Sweet dreams," in her ear and soon, sleep claimed him.
But she lay for hours in the darkness listening to the wind rock the trees against the eaves.
Rain came before dawn, tapping at the windows and drumming overhead on the roof. Ben held her tight, as if afraid to let her go. He was strength and comfort, and that's what frightened her.
She'd never had much luck. Whenever something good happened, it never lasted. Being here with Ben was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
It was going to last, wasn't it?
Chapter Thirteen
Roy Brown thumbed back the hammer and nosed the revolver against the skinny little clerk's jaw. "I told you to read it."
"I need proof you are who you say you are." The pipsqueak swallowed, his Adam's apple working beneath his chicken-skin neck.
"Ain't this proof enough?" He pulled the trigger and moved the Colt just enough for the bullet to burn past the pansy's nose and penetrate the wall. He didn't have much of a tolerance for anyone with a bit of schooling.
"Yep, that'll do it." The coward trembled and snapped open the telegram. "It says 'Roy Brown, care of Miss Delia Howell at the Red Sage Saloon. Your daughter is in Indian Trails, Montana and married to a sheriff.' "
"A sheriff? What sheriff?" Roy released the hammer and jammed the revolver into his holster. That girl was the bane of his existence. Always running off. Always shaming the family.
Hellfire! She'd married a sheriff. Not a respectable outlaw, but a damned peacemaker.
"Ensel, Arlan, get my horse. We ride."
* * *
"Good morning," Ben murmured in her ear.
They were warm and snug, nestled together like a pair of spoons. The bed ropes gave a rasp as he moved just enough to press a kiss to her nape. The dreaminess of sleep still gripped her, and she ached to roll over and kiss him long and hard.
His hand inched up from her waist and cupped her breast. He squeezed, then circled the pad of his thumb across her nipple. Pleasure bolted through her. He did it again, and the sensation doubled.
"We had an agreement, MacLain."
"Yes, but we need a new one." His words were a kiss that traveled across the back of her neck to the curve of her collarbone.
"So, you want to renegotiate our betrothal pact?"
"Right now." His hand gripped the hem of her nightgown, gathered high on her hips and tugged. He drew up the fabric despite the weight of her body on it.
"Ben, I–"
He tugged the garment over her head. A part of her knew she could stop this. Another part wanted to lie with him and feel safe and protected, huddled beneath the warm quilts. His mouth snared the breast he'd teased, the nipple still budded. A new sensation speared her as his tongue drew her into his mouth and suckled. Her hands fisted in the sheets. Her head fell back as her spine arched. She clamped him there, unwilling to let him stop. Heat gathered at her breast where he laved and suckled and nibbled and arced straight through the center of her body, leaving a strange ache between her legs.
Goodness, this wasn't what she expected a man's touch to be like. Hurt, yes. Submission, yes. But not this sparkling pleasure. Ben gave her other breast the same attention, his hand reaching up to knead and play with her dampened nipple. Aching tension gathered deep inside.
"Like that?" Ben's words fanned more sensation across her aroused breast. "How about this?"
Then it was his hands that caressed and excited. Hands that brushed over her ribs to tease the sensitive curves of her breasts and then down to the ridges of her hipbones. His mouth returned to her breasts, alternating between the two, kissing and suckling and devouring.
Goodness. Her toes curled. Her muscles tensed. The tension gathering deep inside became unbearable. Then his hand brushed across her thighs. She moaned, drowning in sensation. Like a bullwhip snapping through her, pleasure rolled over and flickered, leaving bright sparks of sensation.
Ben drew her thighs apart and she was helpless to stop him. All the lessons of her life and the ways she'd seen men treat women faded like snow to sun when his fingers brushed against her there, where she was damp and aching for him. White-hot sparks of lightning-sharp fire splintered her, leaving her weak.
She sat up, heart pounding, fear rising. "Mrs. Brooks is going to be here any minute."
"Mrs. Brooks?"
"The housekeeper I hired." Polly rolled away from him and grabbed the nightgown. How could she look Ben in the eye? She wrapped her nightgown around her naked body like a towel and darted out of bed before he could draw her back.
If he touched her like that again, she didn't think she could stop him. She would lose every trace of common sense. Even if touching and kissing felt wonderful, she could never surrender herself to any man– even if she wanted to. Look how close she'd come, moaning and writhing at Ben's heated touch.
She yanked open a drawer on the bureau, rattling the beveled mirror. In the silvered reflection she saw her own face, flushed from Ben's pleasuring hands.
He rose from the bed, naked and visibly aroused. Very aroused. Her gaze riveted on the thick length of his shaft, jutting upward. Goodness, she blushed, her body heating traitorously.
She busily rummaged around in the drawer, just to keep her hands busy. She hauled out a pair of stockings. Where had her drawers gone?
His hands curled around her waist as he embraced her from behind. His chest pressed against her shoulder blades and his hips met her fanny. She could feel the hard heat of his shaft against the small of her back. Her heart hammered wildly and she had to fight a growing sense of panic–and excitement.
It felt like heaven in his arms.
He pressed a kiss to the outside curve of her neck. "You're not getting dressed. Not until I'm finished with you."
"I think I hear a buggy in the drive. The sun is getting ready to rise–"
"I'm already there." He tugged the nightgown from her body, unwrapping her like a Christmas present.
"Ben, I can't–" She tried to step away.
He held her firm against him. "You've just never done this before, have you?"
"A person doesn't have to jump off a cliff to know it's a long hard fall."
"Making love is not like jumping off a cliff."
"I imagine it's a lot like hitting bottom."
"Not if it's done right." His tongue flicked along the edge of her earlobe.
"Oh, and I suppose that was some sort of a boast." She wanted to shove away from him. She knew she should break away from his warm, thrilling hold that was making her body thrum with excitement.
"Well, I don't want you to think I'd be a dud in bed." Humor glimmered in his eyes dark with desire–and certainty. "Come, let me prove it to you."
She wanted him to. His nakedness scorched her from neck to heel, and his hard shaft against her bare skin felt like a brand. Worse, that fascinating part of him was all she could think about. "Emily will be up and–"
"Then we shouldn't waste any time." His hands covered her breasts and squeezed.
Sensation shot through her, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out at the pleasure. The images of her past paraded through her head. The way her father's men had talked about the women they'd used and paid for and seduced. And the vow she would never give that much of herself to a man, no matter how tempting.
"What's the matter?" It was concern in his voice.
"I just don't want to do this. I told you that."
"Your body says otherwise."
"I know."
His hands left her breasts and wrapped around her waist, holding her hard to him. She could feel the beat of his heart and the ridge of his erection, yet he held her. Tenderly and lovingly.
Her heart cracked. How easy it would be to fall in love with this man. She refused to do it. She refused to believe any of this could last forever. She'd run out of luck all her life. Why should it be different now?
And yet she wasn't alone. She knew that. And that's what frightened her.
Ben turned her in his arms and kissed her. Passionate and sweet, brazen and comforting. He was an amazing man. He wasn't anything like the outlaws she'd grown up with, the kind of men who used their strength to harm and hurt, to ridicule and dominate.
"Let's get dressed. We have the whole day to spend together." He pulled a pair of her undies from the bureau drawer. "That gives me all day to convince you of the wonderful lovemaking you're missing."