Pete (The Cowboys) (26 page)

“Onyx. Your eyes shine like onyx.” He thought he remembered Isabelle saying something about onyx being black.

“Are you sure onyx is black?”

“Positive. It practically glows in the dark.” After all the lies he’d told, a few exaggerations were nothing.

“That sounds nice. What else do you like about me?”

“Your hair. It’s black as a raven’s wing and as rich and warm as sable.”

“Where did you learn to talk so nice?”

“Running the hardware store. You have to learn to talk pretty to the ladies, or they’ll take their business elsewhere.”

“Well, I don’t know how you failed. I’d have gone to your store just to hear you talk.”

He was going to have to be careful. He’d already told her he didn’t know much about women. He didn’t want to be caught in a contradiction, but he couldn’t be expected to remember everything he made up. It seemed even his last night would be strewn with obstacles. He could easily stumble badly.

“They had husbands who weren’t particularly pleased to have other men compliment their wives.”

“Would you be upset if other men complimented me?”

“I’d be upset if they didn’t.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now stop begging for compliments and kiss me.”

“I’m not begging.”

“Yes, you were.”

“I was just asking. A woman can’t find out things unless she asks.”

“If she kisses a man just right, he might tell her anything she wants without having to ask.”

“Is that a bribe?”

“Yes.”

“I wish you’d bribed me before now.”

“I guess that’s why I failed in the hardware. I never knew when to start.”

Or stop talking before he put his neck in a noose. He put his hand under Anne’s chin, tilted her head upward, and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

“Know what I like about your lips?” he asked when he broke the kiss.

“What?” She kept her eyes closed, her head upturned.

“They’re so soft and kissable. I’ve never found a pair of lips so kissable.”

“Have you kissed a lot of women?”

“Not many.” He’d kissed hundreds of women, but he figured Peter wouldn’t have kissed more than two or three.

She opened her eyes, a satisfied smile on her lips. “I don’t believe you. I think you’ve kissed hundreds.”

“Not nearly so many.”

“You’re very good at kissing.”

“Have you kissed a lot of men?”

“Only you.”

“Then how do you know?”

“A woman knows.”

They all said that, like there was some vast, cosmic information source all women could tap into when they stopped wearing their hair in pigtails. Men didn’t have anything like that. He’d had to learn everything one painful lesson at a time.

“Then a woman knows a man prefers kissing to talking any time.”

“Nobody ever preferred kissing me.”

“That’s because Uncle Carl kept you locked up. He knew the minute men got an inkling of how good you could kiss, they’d be lined up at his front door every day of the week. He’d never get any work done for having to hold them off. Now kiss me and prove Uncle Carl was right.”

He seemed to have found the right key at last. She kissed him and seemed quite content to do it over and over again without saying a single word.

She fit very nicely in his arms. Odd that no matter how they came togther, they seemed to fit perfectly. All the more reason to clear out. Before long, he’d start thinking they were supposed to fit.

“Nobody ever told me kissing could be so much fun,” she murmured against the side of his neck.

“They were afraid that once you found out, you’d never want to stop.”

“I don’t.” She leaned back until she lay on the ground. She pulled him down with her.

She was so innocent, so adorable. She had no idea of the danger that hovered around her. Pete didn’t know how he was going to stand leaving her. She was like a fragile flower unfolding. For the first time she was discovering what it was to be a woman, to be attractive, to have confidence in herself. He was watching her come to life. He’d been largely responsible for it. In a way, he felt he’d created her.

She was his. She didn’t belong to anyone else.

But she wasn’t his. He was living a lie. He had tonight and nothing more.

Pete’s arms encircled her, one hand in the small of her back. He rolled over until Anne lay atop him. Her soft curves molded themselves to the contours of his lean body. “Kiss me,” he whispered into her hair. “Kiss me like you’re never going to see me again.”

“I’ll see you every day for the rest of my life.”

“I know, but I want you to kiss me like there is no tomorrow, only tonight.”

She kissed him on his nose. “I always wanted to do that.” Then she kissed him on his eyes, his forehead, his chin, cheek, eyebrows, peppering him with teasing kisses until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He took her face in his hands and brought her mouth down to his in a long, satisfying kiss.

“That’s what I mean,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with passion. She radiated a vitality that drew him like a magnet. He felt the weight of her body on his, her breasts pressed against his chest, his groin fitted snugly into the space between her thighs. The sweet, intoxicating scent of her body sent a delightful shiver of wanting through him. He prayed the heat generated between them wouldn’t inflame his body to the point that she would notice and lose her spontaneity, but he was losing the battle. Her nearness caused his heart to pound an erratic rhythm. Heat radiated from him as if he were a locomotive climbing a mountain. He rolled until they lay side by side. It was all he could do to keep his hands from covering her breasts.

He nestled her head in the crook of his arm. “I could lie here looking at you all night,” he said.

“It’s so dark you can’t see me.”

“I can see the moonlight on your skin. It’s more luminous than pearls.” He cupped her face in his hand, trailed his fingers down her cheek, her jaw, the side of her neck, across the top of her breast.

“You’re just saying that. My skin turns brown every summer.”

“The moonlight has turned it white as alabaster.”

“Is alabaster pretty?”

“It’s beautiful and rare and prized by men the world over. Just as you should be.”

He rolled her over on her back. He trailed his fingers down the hollow of her throat, following with a line of slow, thoughtful kisses. Raising his head, he gazed into her eyes.

“Your skin has the luster of opals,” he whispered, “but it has a creamy softness, the smoothness of silk.”

Anne sighed, turned her head to one side so he could more easily kiss her neck and throat. But Pete was in the throes of an urgent need that was rapidly moving beyond his control. His hand moved to cover the mound of Anne’s breast as his lips covered hers with hot kisses. Anne’s body arched against his hand, filling it with her warm softness. Unable to stand it any longer, Pete undid the top buttons of her dress and let his hungry mouth place kiss after kiss on the tops of her breasts.

But a taste was not enough. He needed to feast until this merciless hunger could be satisfied. As he roused her passion, his own grew stronger. His need seemed to die down and then flame hotter than ever. He undid more buttons, loosened the tie on her chemise until he could slip his hand inside. Anne’s gasp sent hot desire boiling through his insides, causing him to shudder like a naked man in a blizzard. His touch on her bare skin brought a quick, ragged intake of breath from Anne, but she didn’t shrink from him.

She reached her hand behind his neck and pulled him closer.

Pete didn’t need another invitation.

Having tasted her body, her willingness to yield herself to him overpowered Pete’s self-control. He knew himself for a heel, but he was in the throes of a passion unlike anything he’d ever experienced. This wasn’t merely a desire to spend his seed inside a woman; this wasn’t merely a wish to satisfy his ego’s need to know a beautiful woman desired him. This was a need to belong, to join, to become a part of her, to demonstrate his adulation.

Chapter Fourteen

Anne’s body shuddered convulsively when Pete lifted her breast out of her chemise. He leaned down and kissed her gently, repeatedly, until she felt she would explode. She’d come to escape Mrs. Dean, not in hopes he’d make love to her. But in this moment, she knew she’d come to Pete in the eternal sense. She’d come face-to-face with the fact that she loved him and had accepted it, rejoiced in it. Despite the affection she’d always felt for Peter, despite her innocence about the relationship between men and women, some part of her sensed there was more. Even while she’d reached for what she knew, for what was safe, she’d hoped for more. She was profoundly thankful she’d found it. She had fallen in love with her husband. She loved him completely—heart, mind, and body. She wanted him to love her just as completely.

Her own eager response to the touch of his lips shocked her. Her body was chaste, untouched, unloved. She’d seen quick kisses and held hands, but she hadn’t anticipated anything like Pete’s kisses. There was nothing polite and gentlemanly about them. They practically turned her inside out. They invaded her mouth, seared her lips, ignited a fire deep in her belly, set her body a-tingle, made her want to get as close as possible to him, to crawl inside his skin.

She’d heard talk of cuddling on a cold winter night. But in her naivete, she’d assumed it was as much to keep warm as anything else. When she asked questions, everyone said she would be told when the time came. Well, no one had told her, and the time was here. Now!

Being held in Pete’s arms was wonderful. Being kissed, heavenly. But having his lips on her breast! A revelation! Pete’s tongue teased her nipple until it became firm and upright. She didn’t know men did things like that. Or that a woman could like it. She hadn’t known that the touch of the man she loved could excite her to such an extent that she felt like throwing herself on him, begging him to do more, to do anything as long as he never let her go. She couldn’t describe the sensations that radiated from her breast to the rest of her body. It was like an increasingly pleasurable ache, an uncontrollable tremor, a focusing of every nerve ending in a single spot, their combined sensitivity making her rigid with pleasure.

When Pete took her nipple into his mouth and began to gently suckle it, Anne thought she would scream from pleasure so exquisite it was almost painful. She hadn’t known anything could feel like this. Why hadn’t someone told her that her body was a gold mine of unexplored, untapped, unnamed sensations? Why had they allowed her to believe a woman had to “suffer” a man’s attentions for the sake of children or because of a man’s “base needs”? If she was any judge, her needs were very much of the same nature and extent as Pete’s. She suspected that helping him satisfy his needs would do exactly the same thing for her.

She didn’t know if a wife could be called a loose woman because of the feelings she had for her husband, but she didn’t care. Every respectable matron in Big Bend was welcome to ignore her for the rest of her life as long as Pete worshiped her body.

His hand delved into her chemise once more, cupped her other breast, and gently kneaded it in rhythm with the movement of his lips. Anne’s moans of pleasure, her arching body against him, seemed to stoke his need. He started to unbutton her dress, doing it so quickly he tore a button loose. Her nimble fingers took over, doing it twice as fast. He pulled the drawstring of her chemise, and the soft material fell away, exposing her breasts and shoulders to his heated gaze. She felt no hesitation, no reluctance, though everything was new to her, unexpected, almost frightening. She wanted him to love every part of her. It made her feel beautiful in a way words and clothes never could.

For years no one had wanted her. People had told her that she was worthless, contaminated, inferior. The covert gazes she’d begun to notice during the last year only intensified this feeling. That people could only look at her out of the corner of their eyes made her feel unacceptable, as if they only looked at her out of pity, lust, or disgust.

Pete had changed all that. His glances were frequent and forthright. He didn’t mind staring at her, nor did he apologize for doing it. He said he liked looking at her. He liked buying things for her, kissing her, holding her. When he continued to keep his distance, she’d begun to wonder if he meant what he said. Now she didn’t have to wonder anymore. Surely no man could do what he was doing to her body and not think her beautiful.

His tongue and teeth continued to caress and torture her sensitive, swollen nipple while his hand fondled her other breast, its pink nipple marble-hard. His gentle massaging sent currents of desire racing through her. She wanted to kiss his mouth, to crush to her own the lips that were creating such havoc with her tortured breasts. She took his face in her hands and tugged until he took her lips in a harsh, greedy kiss that stoked the fire of need within her. She drove her tongue deep inside his mouth, reaching to satisfy her craving for a connection, a sense of attachment. The need had suddenly risen to the surface from a corner where it had been hiding, denied and ignored.