Rocky Mountain Ride (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 7) (14 page)

Sebastian couldn’t stop himself from grinning at his boots.

“It’s a nice thought, boss, and we need some cheer right about now. But you best be careful. Because she won’t be too happy if you ever decided the excitement’s gone and you leave. Last person who crossed her got a bouquet of bullets in his chest.”

*

Sebastian strode to his room. He’d kept his tongue in check at Cage’s jab, but internally he seethed. Did everyone think so little of him? Of course, he’d never given them cause to think otherwise. Most of the time he was a spoiled, selfish fool, and he’d be the first to admit it.

It was time to see what he was truly capable of. Cage’s words bothered him because he doubted himself. Could he be man enough for her?

“Time to shape up, Chivington.” When the time came, would he do his duty.

“I thought you were leaving.”

He started when he heard Francesca’s soft voice at his elbow. She stood wrapped in a blanket, barefoot, her hair mussed in sleep.

“Señora…you should be resting.”

Instead of going back to her bedroom, she padded up to him, her dark eyes wide and honest as a child’s.

“Cage and I decided we’ll stick around to help. We want to see this thing through.”

She shook her head. “I cannot ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling. I don’t know what’s going on, but this I do know: I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sebastian, no, it is not safe…” She looked so little and lost, half asleep, her slender form wrapped in a blanket. This wasn’t the time for silly bluster or marriage proposals.

He gripped her chin. “I’m staying.”

She nodded, and let him take her hand and guide her back to bed. She lay down and he tucked her in, stroking her hair back before kissing her forehead.

“Sleep now, my darling.” She wouldn’t know that things had changed between them, but once she was awake and ready, she would.

“Forgive me,” she said. He paused halfway to the door.

“For what?”

“I said horrible things.”

He shrugged.

“When we first met, I didn’t think you were a man of substance. Now I know that isn’t true. You are more than all the men I’ve met put together.”

His head sagged with the weight of her words but all he could say was, “Good night, Francesca,” and shut the door.

Outside he leaned against the wall, marveling at the knowledge that there was at least one person in the world who believed in him. Now he just had to make sure he wouldn’t let her down.

*

Late that night, he heard a small knock on his door, and opened it to find Francesca standing there.

“What’s wrong?”

She looked so small and tired. “Please,” she said without looking at him. “I don’t know why I need it but I do.”

He stepped back for her to enter, and she went past him with her head bowed. He didn’t like seeing all the fight knocked out of her. Once inside, she paused on the rug, waiting for his command. Sebastian’s cock jumped at the sight of a beautiful, vulnerable woman standing ready to climb into his bed.

Instead, Sebastian settled himself on the chaise and held out a hand.

“Come here.”

She climbed into his lap, and pressed against him, a trembling, sweet smelling bundle. He pressed his lips against her hair, enjoying the feel of her body against his. She was both slender and lush, just the right balance of long delicate limbs and sweet curves.

For a few minutes he murmured soothing things in her ear. Someone—Ana or one of the new guards—walked down the hall on late night patrol. Sebastian thought he heard them pause outside the door, but neither he or Francesca broke away from each other, and the person outside moved on.

Sebastian knew he should feel guilty for taking advantage of his lady in her fragile state, but all he wanted to do was comfort her then carry her to the bed for a proper fucking.

His cock agreed.

His mind changed when she relaxed. This woman trusted him, he realized. She needed him—and she knew it.

That changed everything.

“It’s been a long few days,” he said, rubbing her shoulders and neck as she huddled against him. “You’re frightened.” He pushed back the thick fall of her hair to see her face. There were deep bruises under her eyes, evidence of long days and even longer nights. “Have you been able to get some rest?”

She shook her head. “I lie in bed but sleep never comes.”

He thought about his next words carefully. She came to him for guidance, placing herself almost literally in his hands. He couldn’t fail her.

“I think, my darling,” he said slowly, “you need someone to take control.”

She made a little sound of assent? Dissent?

“Not forever, and not beyond this room. But for a little while, I’ll take over, so you can let go. All right?” His palm cupped her cheek and he waited until she nodded against it. Then he leaned back. “Lie over my lap now. There’s a good girl.”

She went obediently, eagerly, and he marveled that he’d found someone like her. So perfect and passionate, and unable to give any less than her all.

“This will teach you who is your master.” He drew up her night rail and admired her glossy brown cheeks, smooth and lovely in the low light. “After this spanking, you’ll do whatever your master commands.”

Her breath came faster, her chest heaving enough that her torso moved against his legs. He laid a hand on her back to steady her and waited until she calmed.

“It’s all right. Francesca. Let go. Be mine.” He started slapping, watching the globes bob and bounce against his palm. This was a warm up. With each smack, she tensed.

“You need it, don’t you? You need to feel owned. To have someone leash your will to theirs.”

She was panting now, her breath hitching. He listened for a second before laying several smacks on her primed skin. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

His palm caught the bottom of one butt cheek, and she jerked forward. “No, try again.” He added a second swat to the other side. “How do you address me?”

“Master,” she answered in a small, small voice.

“Good girl.” He squeezed her bottom lightly, taking away the sting. “Now I will give you what you need. And I promise, Francesca,” he said in a more serious tone. “I will handle you with care.”

He lost himself in spanking her. The blows rained down, hard and soft, fast and slow. The swats started light and then built in force until he wasn’t holding back. From time to time, he palmed her hot bottom, massaging out the ache and letting her shiver and whimper under his hand.

Her bottom glowed in the lamplight before he was done. His fingers soothed her as she cried out all the tension and stress from the past few days. When sobs turned to sniffles, he helped her sit up. Leaning back on the couch, he held her tucked to him on her side, his hands absently tracking up and down her back, dipping now and again to rub her bottom.

“Feel better?”

Her head bobbed against his chest. Her nightgown was still bunched around her waist and he could see the sore red patch of her bottom contrasted with the caramel skin. Despite himself, his fingers explored further, stroking down the side of her leg and back up to her center, where they swirled dangerously close to the apex of her legs.

She sighed against him, a very different sound to the broken crying a few minutes ago.

“Part your legs, darling,” he said, and when she did, rewarded her by slipping his hand between her slender thighs. His fingers sought her feminine folds, plump and juicy as if they’d been waiting for him. He teased her until her pelvis started to rock against his hand.

“That’s it, my lovely. You took your punishment like a good girl. Now I’ll make you feel better.”

Her mouth went slack, her whole body moving, seeking pleasure.

“Sit up, darling. Straddle me. Hands on my shoulders, that’s it. Ride my fingers, Francesca. Rub yourself off. Take your reward.”

Her gorgeous body undulated over his, hips working. Her head fell forward and her forehead pressed against his. Her fingers bit down into his shoulders, her sweet breath caressed his face. A flush started to spread over her chest and Sebastian knew she was close.

“Look at me, Francesca. In a few seconds, you’re going to come.” He kept his voice firm, giving her a command.

A moan escaped her. Her head dropped back and he marveled at the sight of her: her dusky nipples pointing through the nightgown, her hips dancing, her spanked rear bobbing as she rode his fingers to climax.

She was so wild and so beautiful.

His cock screamed at him to take her, and he ignored it. “Come now,” he ordered, and watched his dark lady shudder out her release. The little cries she made went straight to his dick, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it like a man.

This was her night.

He caught her as she slumped and carried her to the bed. Arranging her lovely limp weight in front of him, he wrapped his arms, pressing the long line of his body as close to hers as he could.

Her mews turned into satisfied sighs as she settled in front of him.

“Get some rest,” he whispered into her hair. His cock throbbed, pushing into the soft flesh of her buttocks. He sensed, rather than saw her notice it.

“What about you?” she quavered.

Wrapping an arm around her, he tucked himself more firmly around her.

“Sleep now, Francesca. Your master commands it.”

*

The next morning, Sebastian woke first. He and his Spanish rose had moved in the night. He was on his back with her lying by his side, one arm and leg flung over him, and her face resting on his chest. She looked sweet, her mouth parted slightly, the sharp lines of her face softened with sleep.

His dick was so hard and angry, Sebastian was surprised it hadn’t fallen off. He almost didn’t care if it did, as long as he got to lie for another second with this beauty in his arms.

It hit him then: he was in love with Ana Maria Francesca De La Vega. He’d do anything to stay by her side, and not just to see her through some trouble. For a lifetime.

As he lay there in shock, his lady’s eyes opened.

“Good morning,” she said, uncertainly.

“Hello.” He stroked her dark hair back from her face. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a babe in the arms of the Madonna.”

He wanted to make a joking comparison between him and the Mother Mary, but didn’t want to break the spell. He sacrificed his wit and bit his tongue; that’s how much he loved her.

“What now?” she asked, a little furrow appearing between her brows.

He knew what she was asking. Would they break apart and pretend like nothing happened? Would he mount his horse and ride down her attackers, claim a reward and then never be seen again?

“Marry me,” he said.

Her eyes widened.

He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, watching her thoughts race across her face. Then it fell.

“You joke,” she muttered.

“This is not a joke. I want to help you, and this is the way to do it. I can offer you protection.”

She stiffened. “I do not need—”

“Francesca, listen to what I am offering. All my resources, all my money, everything I have can be yours. You said you don’t want a boy. Well, I am man. I have much to give, but the way to do it properly is for you to become my wife.”

Her eyes slid away. “I do not want your help,” she said. “I cannot accept. My answer is no.”

“Darling, look at me.”

She didn’t, and he realized what was wrong. He’d made his intentions clear, but not his feelings.

It was time to rectify that.

He shifted over her, laying his full length on her. He kept the brunt of his weight supported on his forearms, but his lower half draped over hers. She was trapped.

Realizing he was cocooning her, she started to push at him and he took her wrists and pinned them up by her face until at last she lay prone and vulnerable to him. Even so, she stared up at him with a gaze sharp as a knife, haughty and annoyed.

“I want you.” He shifted his hips to make his point. Her eyes widened again, and her breathing came faster. “And not just once. For a lifetime.”

“But—”

“You must know that I care for you.”

“I do as well, for you,” she whispered.

“Francesca, did you think I would take your body, and not offer everything I have in return?”

“I don’t know. What we do,” her voice was hushed, “it is not right. But I need it. Madonna, help me.”

“It is right.”

“You beat me and call me names.”

“I give you what you need. You are very strong. Your passion is very high, but you feel guilty when it takes over. The games we play give you release.”

“But the pain—”

“Makes the pleasure twice as sweet. Trust me, I know.”

She blinked. “You have tasted it?”

“I have. One day I will teach you. For now, though, I’d like an answer. Will you marry me, Ana Maria Francesca De La Vega? Will you do me the honor of being my wife, so I can use every available resource to help you keep your ranch, and every available minute acting out my lewd fantasies on your delectable body?”

Her brows knitted together, and he continued in his half ridiculous, half poetic vein.

“Will you wake up every morning and look at me with the same passion? Even when I’m old and have little hair, and pass gas in the bed?”

She laughed, and the sound sent delicious ripples through her body under his.

“Marry me.” He grinned and nuzzled at her ear.

“You are ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“Stop trying to make me laugh.”

“Trying?” he gasped, feigning hurt. “I never try. I only succeed.” He released her wrists, his hands diving under her nightgown to tickle her. Screeching, she pushed at him and they wrestled. He ended up on top again, the lower half of his body pinning hers while his hand cupped her throat. He took his prize and kissed her, tasting her fire and sweetness, passion and spice.

The kiss deepened, and her hands started to play around the placket of his trousers.

He broke away and stopped her.

“No, no,” he said.

“Sebastian,” she purred.

“We’ve come this far. I want to wait until things are official before I bed you properly. That way no one can cast aspersions on my honor.”

“You do not care about your honor. You are afraid Ana will cut off your balls and feed them to her goat.”

“That too.”

She made an aggrieved noise and pushed the flat of her hand slowly down his rock hard length. Even through his clothes, it felt lovely. Sebastian gritted his teeth and took her wrist, holding her hand away.

“One of us must be an adult.”

“Ha. And you think it is you?” She rolled her eyes.

“Careful, my sweet. When I am your husband, I’ll spank you for disrespect.”

Her eyes lit up. “Promise?”

*

Ana, Cage and Juan were in the kitchen when Sebastian and Francesca walked in holding hands.

“Sebastian has asked me to marry him and I accepted.” Francesca announced.

“What?” Juan gasped, and Ana let out a joyful, ear-piercing screech.

Cage winced at the sound. “Congratulations, boss,” he said.

Sebastian had to let his intended go so she could be smothered by the shrieking Ana. The two women went off into a rapid burst of happy Spanish, while Cage came around to slap Sebastian on the back.

Juan approached the two men more slowly. His finger played around his holster as if itching to draw his gun.

“Marriage?”

“That’s right,” Sebastian said, in all seriousness. “I know we’ve just met, but I’m done dancing around the subject. It’s time I took a wife, and Francesca is the one for me.”

“So what happens in this dance, when the music ends? This better not be another amusement for you, Englishman. You cannot take my Francesca and throw her away when you are bored.”

“First of all, with Francesca as my wife, I will never be bored. More importantly, Francesca is not yours. She’s her own strong woman, but if anyone is going to lay claim to her, it’s going to be me. And you can bring any man here and I’ll say it to his face, and fight him for the privilege.”

The two men stared each other down. Francesca and Ana were still laughing and chatting away in their own little world, oblivious to the tense conversation in the corner. Sebastian leaned closer to Juan.

“If I join myself to her, I’m free to put all my time, attention and resources towards helping her, and all of you. We’ll save the ranch together, no matter if it takes months or years or a lifetime. Any ally of my wife is an ally of mine.”

In the next tense seconds, Cage looked from one glowering man to the other, his body angled to insert himself between the two in case of a fight.

Then the corners of Juan’s mouth relaxed into a slight smile. “It’s good to know that you can say something without a joke, Englishman.” He slapped Sebastian’s arm, a little too hard, but it was a friendly gesture.

“I have a feeling you’re going to need jokes in this marriage, boss.”

“Yes, Francesca needs laughter, but also a strong man. And a firm hand.” Juan’s eyes twinkled.

“I intend to provide it.”

*

A few days later, they were married in the garden, with an officiant and Ana, Cage and Juan’s family as witnesses. The men Sebastian had hired patrolled outside the garden gates as he and Francesca said their vows.

“Señora, your wedding,” Ana had asked. “You don’t want it at a church?”

“The church does not want me,” Francesca answered, and no one brought it up again.

The wedding lifted everyone’s spirits, and the only guest who caused trouble was Ana’s white goat, who bleated at inopportune times until Juan’s son led it away.

The boy returned to report a cow loose in a wheat field, and the ceremony ended with Sebastian giving his new wife a quick kiss and then hustling off with Cage and Juan to catch the animal.

“This keeps happening,” Juan grumbled as he led the cow away.

“Second time since we’ve been here,” Cage said, and pointed out the broken fence. Stripping off their shirts, the men split rails and repaired the breach.

“I agree, Cage. Can’t be coincidence. Juan, what do you think?”

“I must say,” Juan spoke what everyone was thinking, “I’m not looking forward to the Rocky Mountain Gang finding out you have married the señora. I think they will increase their efforts with a rich English lord as their target.”

“They’ve already come in the night to shoot at us,” Sebastian said. “Hopefully the guard will deter them from such a pointed attack.”

“Do you think this is their work?” Cage asked.

Sebastian frowned at the broken fence and the single cow. “It seems petty compared to what they’ve already done.”

“But many tiny gnats can drive a bull mad,” Juan said.

“Or into a rage,” Sebastian muttered. He left the two to ride the perimeter and check all the fences. He wasn’t looking forward to the town finding out about his new marriage, or Diego for that matter, but a few sweet stolen moments with his bride would make it worthwhile.

When he returned to the hacienda, Francesca was nowhere to be found.

He found Ana struggling to pull the white goat away from her raspberry canes.

“Where is my bride?”

“She left, señor. One of her mothers is having pains and is worried.”

“I see.” He glanced at the bodyguards. “Did she take an escort?”

“I am afraid not.”

Sebastian made a frustrated sound.

Ana smiled. “Go find her. Do you want help?”

“No, I’ll get her. Do you know the house where she went?”

“It is the butcher’s wife. Go to his stall in the market square and ask him the way.”

As he passed the guards, he noticed them talking and laughing with each other. The hired men were little more than country bumpkins, recruited from the layabouts in the town. If the Royal Mountain gang showed up and offered them a tin of tobacco or pull of whiskey, these fools would probably turn on the ranch in a heartbeat.

“If you can’t keep track of a little slip of a woman, I don’t know what I’m paying you for,” he started. Ana came running up. “Señor, I’ll handle this. Go get your wife.”

He grinned at the sound of Ana scolding the men in Spanish as he strode out of the gate and headed into town. Once in the market, he ignored the stares. People were growing more used to the tall Englishman, but he was still an unfamiliar sight. He stopped and greeted a few of the stall owners, asking if they’d seen Señora De La Vega. Most of them only shrugged. He thanked them anyway. He feared this wouldn’t be the last time he had to track down his wife.

The butcher looked a little suspicious, but told him the way to the house. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said. “Such a quick engagement.”

“Yes, well, true love and all that,” Sebastian said, eager to be on his way.

“The señora is very beautiful.” The butcher shrugged as if his comment explained the marital haste. “But a handful. My Camila, now she is a good wife. A hard worker.”

“Well then I congratulate you, too,” Sebastian said. “For your happy marriage and your coming child. I hope the babe is a hard worker, too. Now if you’ll forgive me, I must be on my way—” He started to turn, and brushed against one of the butcher’s customers.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice said, and Sebastian looked up to see Diego Montoya.

“Apologies.” Sebastian stepped aside. “In a bit of a hurry.”

Diego gave a slight bow, an almost smile playing around his face, tempting Sebastian’s annoyance. He didn’t have time to spar with the man.

Besides, he’d married Francesca. In the joust for the fair lady’s hand, he’d won.

The butcher said, “Have you heard the news, Señor Montoya? The widow De La Vega married this Englishman.”

Two red spots appeared on Diego’s cheeks. “I did not know.”

Sebastian enjoyed the man’s tight, furious expression so much he couldn’t resist adding, “Hasty decision, sorry you didn’t get an invite, old sport. Excuse me, got to dash.”

He found his wife at the butcher’s house. A small boy played in the yard in front of the open door. Sebastian nodded to the lad as he stepped up to the threshold.

Francesca sat across from a young woman sporting a large pregnant belly. As Sebastian paused in the door, a kettle started to boil.

“I don’t know, Señora, this one is so different from my Pepito. The pain comes and goes.”

“Is it pain or stronger cramps deep inside?”

“Cramps. The pain is in my back sometimes.”

“That is normal. The womb makes ready, becoming strong enough to push the babe out.” On her way to the kettle, Francesca gave her husband a brief glance, but kept to her task. She pulled out a packet filled with dried, crumpled leaves and made tea. “I only brought enough of this for one pot. You should drink it every day. I will gather more leaves and bring them to you.”