“Sure you don’t want a drink?” His look gave her a slow, lecherous once-over; his grin gave her a case of bridal-night nerves. “Then, c’mere, wife of mine. Pretty as that outfit is, I’d like to get rid of it, if you don’t mind.”
Caroline did mind. Exceedingly. The man might feel quite comfortable in his own frame, but she never had. Less so, now, with faint scars still needing to be healed, and a body hardly considered voluptuous after its ordeal.
Hesitantly she made her way toward him. Tiny pink rosebuds trimmed the straps of her negligee, which was made of a nearly sheer white batiste that floated around her ankles—her only bulwark against whatever was about to happen. Over which she had no control.
Backlit, her figure was outlined in blurry detail that, observing it, deepened the smoke of his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks.
“Carrie,” he whispered. Taking hold of the nightgown’s hem, he gently tugged her forward, into his grasp.
Absent he might have been for far too long, from the ranch and from her existence; but present he certainly was now. His right hand slipped under the fabric to skim upward over her bare calf, her knee, her thigh, to the very cleft that waited for his touch. Before her eyelids drifted shut and her trembling body swayed toward him, she saw that the sheet had suddenly tented itself, in anticipation.
Suddenly, in the midst of what was feeling so delightful, so almost depraved, Ben gave a great shout of laughter and pulled himself upright, haunches planted on the mattress and feet flat on the floor. “Ha. Gonna make me work for it, huh?”
Hooking that one exploratory hand around her waist, as if to prevent any escape, he yanked the modest maiden gown up over her head in a swift motion. Caroline cringed. Even in dim light, even by the least exacting of standards, surely the imperfections of her form could never meet his expectations.
Still, he seemed not to notice. Because, at the moment, he was more interested in visiting the most delightful, the most delicious of torments upon all that he had laid bare. Seated as he was, his curly head on a level with the niche he sought, Ben began applying himself diligently with touch, tongue, teeth in a series of bold caresses that left her weak-kneed and whimpering. In fact, he worked so much magic that she could feel her muscles beginning to quiver, her bones softening into mush, her internal juices heating and flowing.
Caroline let out a little whine. Then a moan. Helplessly her hands dropped down to tangle into his hair, urging him closer, tighter.
After a few minutes, he surged upward without warning and, giving an animal growl, captured her breasts. A firm grasp, first, to cup and knead. Then a rough nuzzling and suckling of each, that sent sweet fire deep into her womb and left her teetering on the edge.
Finally, he burst forth with another great laugh and pulled her onto the bed beside him.
“C’mon, my little puritan. I’ll bet if you relax, you might really enjoy this night. So let’s see what else you can do.”
She could surrender, utterly and completely, to physical bliss.
And so she did.
Chapter Nine
Caroline awoke to the muffled sound of a waterfall.
Having slept in a number of contrasting beds in the past few months, she needed to regain full consciousness to accurately pinpoint her location. The hospital? The rehab center? Her own room, sadly gone forever? The pretty suite at Ten Buck?
No.
The luxurious hotel room in downtown Austin. And the sound of water rushing came from Ben’s shower.
Smiling with complete and utter satisfaction, she stretched both arms over her head as sinuously as a cat. There was the good feeling of long-dormant muscles pushed to discomfort by hard use, and the slight reminiscent soreness of an interior having been filled and overflowed beyond capacity.
“Wow,” she murmured. “Wow.”
They had coupled that first time, she and Ben, for what seemed to be hours, into a state past exhaustion. He had arranged her acquiescent limbs into a number of interesting positions, and introduced her to pleasure beyond meaning with every one of them. Following his lead, she had tried to return the favor with as much panache and energy as he had given her. Put your hand here, and cup, her besotted brain instructed. Put your mouth there, to sip and swirl and suckle.
Once he had finally finished with her, they had fallen apart to drift into weary slumber. Sometime after midnight, she had been aroused by the poking and prodding of what felt like a telephone pole against her backside, and shifted position to accommodate. Then, again, just as early dawn light was stealing into the room, he had piled on top of her limp, overworked body to take her again, with very little foreplay but a great deal of enthusiasm and passion.
“Wow,” she murmured again, smiling that same smug smile.
Still. As wonderful, as exhilarating as was that whole night of musk and lust, Caroline had the sense that clinical, textbook knowledge had been involved in their coming together more than any actual feeling. Mere physical enjoyment and release. Then, even as that awareness flashed through her tired brain, there came with it a “So what?” moment.
This was what she had bargained for, after all: a mail order bride facing bankruptcy and penury due to a mountain of medical expenses, all now paid for, thanks to this arrangement. She would be living a life many others would envy, surrounded by comfort and ease. And now, as so ably proven by the Ten Buck master, absolute top-notch sex into the bargain, probably as often as could be arranged. What more could she possibly want?
Lovemaking? The actual, honest making of love?
“Hey, honey pot.” Emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, Ben, bronze skin still beaded with moisture all the way down to the towel that encircled his waist, wandered toward her with the grin of a satyr. “Time to rise and shine. Otherwise, be prepared to accept the consequences.”
Settled face down and front, with her head resting on both crossed arms, she returned his grin with a lascivious one of her own. “Indeed. And just what might that be?”
The mattress gave way, just a little, under his weight. So, with the movement, did his towel. Her eyes widened at the truly awesome erection deliberately presented for her view.
“What d’ you think?” he asked huskily. “Ready for another go-round?”
“Ben. Seriously?”
“Naw. I rode you pretty hard last night. Better give this ole boy a rest. However,” he reached out to lightly slap her sheeted rump, “we do have things to do today. Got a museum tour scheduled, and lunch at a real nice restaurant, and an afternoon movie. How does that sound?”
“It sounds,” she told him gravely, and with appreciation, “as if you’re spoiling me. But I’ll enjoy every minute of it. Turn around, please.”
“Huh?”
“Please turn your back. I want to go take a shower.”
A rollicking gale of laughter, larger than life. “Darlin’, I’ve seen—and touched, and tasted—just about every square inch of that body you’re hiding. You’re trying to pull that same ole modesty thing on me that you used earlier?”
“For as long as possible,” she said with dignity. “Now turn around, or I’ll never get out of bed.”
“Well, that would be a real shame, because then I’d have to diddle you again. And then we’d argue some more. However,” still chuckling, he obliged with her request, “I bend to your will. Make it snappy, Hootchie Mama; I’m ready for breakfast.”
“You can’t have it both ways, you know,” Caroline complained, as she disappeared into her bathroom. “I can’t be a tramp and a puritan, all at once.”
“Different strokes, different moods,” he called back. “I’ll take what I can get, either one.”
Once dressed and on their way an hour later to the hotel dining salon, Caroline congratulated her husband on his magnificent restraint.
“Restraint?” Quirking a brow, he politely seated her at their small private table in a windowed corner of the room, then joined her opposite.
“Yes. Sin
ce yesterday morning, you’ve actually let our wedding, and the celebration and so on, take precedence over that everlasting corporation of yours. No phone messages, no faxes, no texts, no emails.”
Frowning a little now—with displeasure?—he picked up the heavy menu and began to leaf through its pages. “Don’t play wife with me already, Carrie.”
Stunned, Caroline could only stare at this man to whom she had just willingly handed over her body, if not her soul. Only to be so casually dismissed. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry to disillusion you, but—those few times I was out of your sight at the reception? Work. Last night, while you were getting undressed? Work. This morning, while you were in the shower? Work. Regardless of my private doings, that everlasting corporation, as you called it, goes on; and I have to go on with it.”
“I see.” Lips tightened with disappointment and displeasure, she opened her napkin. “Coffee, please,” she insructed the hovering waiter. “Lots of it.”
“Same here. Look, Carrie.” Earnest in his desire to emphasize a point, whether or not it caused hurt, he leaned toward her, handsome as all get-out in Sunday attire. “I expect you to find plenty to do around the ranch, taking care of Sophie and managing the household. Because you sure can’t plan on using me to stay busy and fill up your life.”
“I hadn’t thought any such—”
“That won’t make either of us happy. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine, and that’ll be what works. When I need you for some social function, or I want you in bed, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, rest assured that I’m not some moonstruck calf about to trail around behind you, ready to make your every whim come true.”
At his cool tone, at his insulting and insensitive words, color rose in her frozen cheeks, and a suspicious moisture beaded her lashes. More, as always when circumstances spun out beyond her control, her spine stiffened into Vermont marble.
Damn. And he had actually seemed human this morning, too, dressed in a casual polo shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes and pinned the dimples into play.
Which only rendered true the old saying that appearances can be deceiving.
Bastard.
“I am all too aware of that.”
“Well, good. Then we understand each other. You keep the personal stuff operating smoothly, Marilou can keep the office stuff operating smoothly, and I’ll be able to support all of us.”
“At Ten Buck.”
“Yup. Dunno where else I’d be.”
You utter fool, Caroline wanted to snap at him. That corporation runs you; you don’t run the corporation.
“Now then, what’re you having to eat?” Adroitly, man-like, he changed the subject. ‘I’m not a big fan of fancy dishes like this stuff with Hollandaise sauce or whatever. Just give me fried eggs, some big chunks of steak, and a bucket of hash browns.”
Dumped over his finely shaped head, possibly.
Swallowing her irritation for the time being, Caroline merely smiled her tight smile as she made a mental note of this conversation. One day. One day. She wasn’t sure what might happen one day, but she surely hoped to be around when it did.
Ben’s cell made its insistent, intrusive sound that seemed more growl than ring tone. With an apologetic glance across the table, he turned slightly sideways to answer.
Caroline was just beginning to realize what superb acting skills she had acquired. The man couldn’t even perceive that she was fuming like a hot teakettle, and ready to blow.
The rest of their honeymoon weekend passed by without incident. Without any kind of incident. In other words, a tad boring. A two-hour jaunt through the Museum of Sixteenth Century Art. Ho-hum. Even Ben, who had suggested the visit, seemed less than interested. Of course, why would he notice priceless paintings in baroque gilt frames, when his boon companion, that pesky little phone, kept him so entertained by contact with the outside world?
Was he buying and selling cattle futures? Arranging mega-deals and mergers? Changing the shape of the entire world?
Caroline began to wonder if stomping someone’s cell to death might be considered a punishable offense.
Lunch at some delightfully expensive restaurant, whose name she could not recall, was a quiet affair. In between courses, while Ben answered occasional calls and made more, Caroline contented herself with staring out the window, memorizing the vintage years detailed on the wine list, and chatting up the waiter. Next time she’d be foresighted enough to bring along a paperback.
All the while craving a soyburger from some fast-food place. Was that sacrilege, in cow country?
At least, seated in the darkened theatre for a showing of the most recent action movie, the phone needed to be silenced. She’d forgotten the “Vibrate” feature. Since he had chosen an aisle recliner, Ben was able to slip out to the lobby whenever necessary, leaving Caroline all on her own. To watch some flick in which she had had no interest in seeing, anyway. Another lesson learned.
Their return to the Ten Buck, cushioned by the limo’s plush surroundings, was made in almost total silence.
Uncertainly, unhappily, Caroline was afraid this was setting a pattern for the rest of her married life.
It was a depressing prospect.
Chapter Ten
“Hey, Miss Sophie, ma’am, shall we go off on an adventure today?”
Five days had passed since Caroline’s departure to the big city as a spinster and her return as a spouse. Immediately Ben had taken up his old habits of spending more time with his secretary than with his wife and disappearing on unexplained business trips. If, by some chance, he had sought her out for a little frisky hanky-panky, she wasn’t aware of it. They maintained separate bedrooms, at opposite ends of the sprawling house’s second floor; and, after hours, her door remained locked to any visitor. Meaning her husband.
Caroline couldn’t help wondering about Diane Taggart, Ben’s late lamented wife. Had his coldness and unresponsiveness begun during that marriage? Or was his distant attitude a result of her death? How long had the two of them been married, and when and how had she died?
All nagging questions, to which she would appreciate having the answers. Not entirely out of idle curiosity, but because the knowledge might provide some means of dealing with this obstinate, irritating, arrogant man.
Meanwhile, she was concerned about the appearance of her stepdaughter, and determined to do something about it.
Far too used to being left in the hands of adults, or to her own devices, especially now that classes had been released for summer, the little girl seemed too quiet, too pale, for an active child almost seven years old. The only time Caroline had seen any typical chatter or giggles from her was in the company of her friend, Becca Sampson.
To that end, Caroline set out to win her over. Having already made a good start at doing so, on her very first day at the ranch, from here on should be an easy enough task.
Outdoor play was a must, in the cool of mid-morning. Wearing her rattiest pair of jeans and scuffed sneakers, Sophie hiked quietly along as they explored the ranch on foot. An old service road took them through summer woods, beside a sparkling creek, up gentle knolls and down again.
Sophie was entranced. Bugs, butterflies, small frogs, even a young snake all caught her attention, and she quickly cast off all inhibitions to race after whichever prize she sought while Caroline laughed at her antics. Being silly was a healthy attribute at that age (actually, at any age) and soon they were singing the old standbys of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” and “I’m a Little Teapot.”
No matter how poorly Caroline admitted to carrying a tune.
After these excursions, several days running, they would return to the house dusty and briar-scratched and leaf-strewn, to clean up and face Mrs. Wyeth’s accusatory glances over lunch. Some quiet afternoon time meant board games or reading or playing together with Barbies, Shopkins, and the like in a magazine-perfect room filled with toys. Then bath and bed, to begin all over again the next morning.
Today they were accompanying Lila Sampson and little Becca to the Children’s Adventure Park outside of Austin.
“You’ve never been?” Caroline asked.
“Uh-uh.” The child’s big blue eyes stared intently into hers. “Will there be slides and swings?”
“Well, from what I saw on the website…” A description of the place followed: all sorts of magical rides, from antique cars to roller coasters to Ferris wheels; a discovery museum; and, the most fun of all, a huge water playground, complete with pools and fountains and sprinklers.
“So I’ll need a swimsuit?” Some interest had begun to show, and burgeoning excitement.
“You absolutely will. Me, too. Shall we go get our things packed and ready to go? Becca and Mrs. Sampson are picking us up in half an hour.”
Now, finally, Caroline could observe, and take delight in, the little-girl behavior of two little girls, belted securely into the back seat of Lila Sampson’s SUV. Giggles and squirms and joking and chatter—so right, and so necessary for children needing the sweet security of their upbringing. If nothing else positive was happening so far in this marriage, at least she was bringing Sophie Taggart out of her shell and into the normal world of juvenile antics.
Lila, meanwhile, seemed equally pleased.
“This is a great idea,” she admitted, from behind the wheel and her designer sunglasses. “I can’t imagine why I never thought of it before. Only—what, a couple hours’ ride away?”
“Not even that, according to info on the website. And at the speed you drive…” Caroline’s happy grin took away any possible sting from the words.
Lila gave her an eyeroll. “You mean he lets you have access to a computer?”
“I beg your pardon. Lets?”
“Well, sure. He likes to keep his women isolated on that godforsaken ranch of his. So you’ve actually been provided with a laptop, and a cable to run it? You can actually go online and check things out?”
Cowboy Daddy Page 5