The Seduction of Shay Devereaux

by Carolyn Davidson

  “Put your head on the pillow,” he told her, and she obeyed, aware that the soft light from the window exposed her to his view. She would have reached for the sheet, but his upraised hand caught her attention, and his soft murmur persuaded her to allow his touch and the appraisal he bestowed on her slender form. He knelt beside her and she held her breath, her skin tingling where his gaze rested.

  Carl had never beheld her in this way, and she felt a twinge of guilt as she compared the husband she had loved as a girl to this man. This dark stranger, who summoned forth her deepest womanly desire, filling her with a yearning she could barely contain.

  He was silent for a moment, his hands resting on his thighs, and then he reached to touch the curve of her breast, his fingers brushing delicately at her skin. The sigh of approval he uttered was vindication to her worry that he might find her lacking in some way, and she heard his words with a grateful heart.

  “You’re beautiful, Jenny.” His voice was rough-edged, harsh, and yet his caress was gentle, his callused hands tender. His palms weighed her breasts, and he bent to taste the firm flesh he cradled. Reluctantly, his long fingers released their hold, only to drift from breast to waist, where he spanned her with outstretched hands. One palm spread wide across the gentle rounding of her belly, then brushed the dark wedge between her thighs.

  His fingers caressed her hips, then measured the length of her thighs, his head bending low as if the progress of those big hands against her body was of utmost import. One hand lifted her knee, fingers tracing the line of her calf and circling her ankle. And when he spoke, the words were soft and intimate, feeding her woman’s soul like manna direct from heaven.

  “I’ve imagined you, here in your bed, Jen. I wondered how you would feel, how your legs were shaped, and how your breasts would taste.” His chuckle was a whisper of praise. “My imagination didn’t begin to show me all of you. I didn’t think about your feet. They’re so slim and straight. I like the way your toes curled when I came in the room.” His words were musing and gentle, and his hands were careful against her skin.

  She laughed softly and her foot twitched in his hand. “You make me feel ticklish in places that never bothered me before.”

  “Here?” he asked, running his palm up her leg, past her knee and to the inside of her thigh, the single word a teasing whisper.

  She held her breath, wondering, wishing, waiting for those caressing fingers to ease the ache she’d lived with for the past days. He squeezed gently against the softness of her and she shivered, eliciting a low, rough sound from his chest. Deliberately, he lifted his other hand to join the first, making room for himself, there where she felt the heat of her woman’s flesh yearn for his touch.

  He knelt, lifting her legs, then, leaning forward, he was cradled in the embrace of eager limbs. Her arms circled his neck, her legs twining with his, and she drew him to her, her lips open for his kiss.

  And here, too, he drove every thought of Carl from her mind.

  His mouth took hers, as if he would possess each small increment of lips, teeth and tongue. He tasted her, sucked and probed, urging her compliance with coaxing murmurs, until she was breathless and giddy with the joy of being the object of his passion. He allowed her no refuge, his hands urgent against her body, cupping and measuring her breasts, then shaping them for his possession.

  His tongue and teeth tasted and tested her flesh. His mouth and tongue suckled the rosy crests that peaked and hardened at his bidding. And she was lost in the tempest of loving he poured upon her hungry flesh. Like a river bursting over a dam, he surrounded her, his body heavy, yet welcome, his arms burrowing beneath her shoulders to hold her firmly in place.

  And then the heavy probing of his arousal nudged her, seeking entrance, and she lifted her hips, offering herself to his pulsing manhood. His groan was deep, his body hard and rigid against her as he pushed within the narrow passage. She was ready for him, and yet her body rebelled, unused for long months and years.

  He caught a deep breath, easing from her, and her protest rang out. “No, don’t leave me.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.” Breath shuddered from him as he forced himself to be still. Dark hair hung over his forehead as he held himself from her, his arms beneath her yet.

  “It’s all right. It is,” she assured him, shifting and sliding her hips.

  “Soften for me, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you,” he muttered, drawing another breath, and then eased himself within her heat, inhaling sharply as she tensed her muscles.

  “Jenny…” He spoke her name with a reverence that humbled her, bent his head against hers in a submissive gesture that pleased her to her depths. “I can’t wait for you, sweetheart,” he whispered, his words a helpless groan.

  “I’m here,” she murmured, tilting her head back to kiss his face, her lips searching for his, stretching upward, yearning for the pressure of his body against hers.

  He rose high above her, allowing her body to sink into the feather tick, his hands sliding to hold her hips fast. His movements were strong, his body thrusting against her, and she submitted to him, aching to speak aloud her love, yet breathless. She clutched at him, her very flesh crying out for his possession. And her tears flowed unchecked as her body accepted his seed.

  The sheet was draped over her, covering her from waist to knees, Shay tugging it from her breasts insistently. “I want to look at you,” he murmured against her ear, his hand curved beneath her full breast.

  “I was worried that you might think I was—”

  His hand moved quickly, stilling her words. “You’re perfect, Jen. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve known.”

  Her voice was small, bemused. “I know better. But I’m glad you think so.”

  She fit against him wonderfully well, he decided, reaching to ease her leg over his thigh. Her body was warm and supple, blessed with a woman’s full curves and the scent of their loving rose from her heated flesh.

  A pang of regret touched his mind, that he had taken her without bringing her to release, and yet, she seemed not to hold the lapse against him. Instead, she curled closer to his long body, her breasts lush and soft, her arm twined around his neck. She’d asked for nothing, only given herself for his pleasure…as if she expected nothing more.

  “Jen?” The urge to know was strong and he spoke her name again. “Jenny? Will you forgive me for leaving you behind? Next time…” He paused deliberately, willing her to respond.

  Her face tilted upward and in the shadows he felt her tense in his embrace. “I don’t know…forgive me, Shay. I thought I pleased you, and if there was something lacking in me, in what I did—”

  “No.” His denial was swift, and his hand slid to cup the curve of her bottom, pressing her against him. Already his manhood was firm, once more reaching arousal as his body responded to the scent and feel of the woman in his arms. “It wasn’t you, Jen. It was me. I couldn’t hold back, and I didn’t satisfy you.”

  Her words were slow and puzzled, as if he mystified her in some oblique manner. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  His hand slid lower against the curve he’d claimed, probing gently where he’d so recently emptied his essence within her body. She trembled, pressing against his fingers and a shiver traveled from that place, enveloping her in its sensual embrace. “This.” He touched again, his fingers caressing carefully, and she moaned against his throat. “I left you wanting, sweetheart.”

  His mouth sought hers and he turned her to her back with an agile movement. His lips opened against hers, his tongue pressing inside her mouth, and she accepted it, responding to each thrust, each exploring movement, her breathing taking on an uneven pace. Beneath his touch, her hips rose in rapid response, her body trembling as he urged her, coaxed her, then pushed her beyond her own expectations.

  She shivered, gasping for breath, and he gave her no leeway, allowed her no relief from the sensations that drove her. A cry of desperation rose from
her lips and she buried her face against his shoulder as she convulsed against his agile touch. Shay held her thus for only a moment, then rolled to cover her, and she welcomed him, grasping him with eager arms, her body open for his possession.

  He filled her, gritting his teeth against the pure pleasure.

  She was his. His.

  Isabelle’s silence was offset by Marshall’s excitement. “Mama, Isabelle said you and Mr. Shay got married, and he’s gonna stay here for always. And Noah said—”

  “Isabelle’s right, Marshall. We went to see your grandpa and—”

  The boy’s upraised hand and quick response halted Jenny’s explanation. “What’s a grandpa?” The childish query touched her heart and Jenny rose from her chair to round the table to where Marshall sat. His fork laden with cornmeal mush, he looked up at her with puzzlement alive in his expression.

  Jenny knelt beside his chair and gathered him against her. His fork clattered against his plate and his brow furrowed as he kissed her with awkward enthusiasm. “I love you, Mama. Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m fine, Marsh. I just felt sad for a moment.” She leaned back and brushed his hair from his forehead. “If things were as they should be in this world, you’d already know what a grandpa is, sweetheart. Shay and I went to see my father yesterday.”

  “I didn’t know you had a father,” Marshall said innocently. “I thought you was just goin’ to town.”

  “You should’ve taken the boy with you,” Isabelle said curtly. “At least one of us coulda been there for the wedding.”

  Jenny closed her eyes, ignoring the pointed remark. It would be a long time before Isabelle forgave her for getting married so abruptly, without due warning. It couldn’t be helped. What was done, was done. She sighed and responded to Marshall’s accusation.

  “We did go to town, at least we drove past town. And everyone has a father, Marsh,” she said, looking over the child’s shoulder to see Shay in the doorway.

  “Mine lives all by himself.” She halted, unable to erase the memory of the shambles of her father’s life. “His name is Jonah Harrison, and before I married your father, my name was Jenny Harrison.”

  “Can we go see him? Can I go this time?” Marshall’s words were eager, his eyes alight with excitement. “Will he play with me, do you think?”

  “He’s…” How to tell this child that the man who was his grandsire was aged beyond his years, feeble with the pressure of grief and despair bowing him low? “Maybe he’d tell you stories and swing with you under the trees.”

  “Can we sit in my new swing today, Mama?” Marshall asked, distracted by the mention of Shay’s latest project.

  She nodded her head. “I don’t know why not.”

  “There’s room for all of us, if Mr. Shay holds me on his lap,” Marshall announced. “Me and Isabelle sat out there while you were gone and shucked corn. Mr. Shay made it plenty big.”

  “We can go out now, if you like,” Shay suggested. “I think we need to talk to Marsh, explain things a bit.”

  Jenny met his gaze, lost in the smouldering heat of dark eyes, her skin tingling at the remembrance of long hours spent in his arms. His mouth twitched and she recalled the magic of his kiss, the secret places those lips had touched. His hands spread wide against his hips and her own flesh burned as she brought to mind the small bruises his fingertips had left behind.

  As if mesmerized, she watched Shay, aware only of the power he held over her.

  “Mama? Can we do what Mr. Shay said?” Marshall tugged at her collar, and she looked down at his inquiring gaze.

  “Yes, certainly we can.” She looked pointedly at his plate. “Just as soon as you eat your breakfast.”

  “How about you, Mama? Are you gonna finish yours?” Marshall asked, taking up his fork and filling it anew.

  “Yes, of course,” she said quickly, rising and returning to her chair. Shay moved from the doorway to stand behind her, one hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, aware of the flush that colored her cheeks.

  “I’ll take my coffee along,” Shay said, reaching for a cup, then pouring it from the pot on the stove.

  “We’re almost like a real family,” Marshall said, his eyes alight, his head nodding vigorously as he spoke. “Esspesh-ly now. Ain’t that right, Mr. Shay?”

  Shay’s tone smacked of satisfaction as he spoke his agreement. “You’re right, Marsh. Especially now.”

  Chapter Nine

  Lolling away an hour in the swing when he should have been sweating in the sun was a luxury Shay could not afford. But Marshall’s delight in the lazy moments negated any sense of impatience Shay had carried with him from the house and out to the side yard. Sitting beside Jenny, he nudged the ground, sending the swing into motion, holding Marshall with one arm, lest the boy slide from his lap. Tugging the child’s mother close to his side, he surrounded himself with the family he’d taken possession of.

  Is this what you wanted, Carl? The query floated through his mind, surprising him with its potency. Carl had been a forgotten issue for the past days, only his dogged pursuit of Jenny filling Shay’s mind. Perhaps this was what Carl had planned, with his talk of promises. For all Jenny’s doubts where Carl’s love was concerned, no man could have this woman and not recognize her value.

  And if this was what Carl intended, if Shay had been chosen that day in Elmira to fill this place in Jenny’s life, he could not fault the man’s motives.

  Shay’s arm circled her shoulders, his fingers resting against her collarbone. It was fragile-seeming through the faded material of her dress, yet he knew her slender form held a strength capable of chopping cotton and harnessing mules to a plow. He knew her as Carl had not, and for a moment received a perverse joy from that truth.

  In more than one way, she was a different woman than the girl Carl had married seven years ago. In her eyes this morning was a knowledge he recognized, a look of feminine awareness that spoke to his masculine being. She’d responded to him last night, withholding nothing, offering her body up for his pleasure. And yet, that surging delight dimmed beside his joy at discovering the unawakened woman he’d had the good sense to marry.

  His selfish heart gloated, recalling her astonishment. And his hand was tempted, even now, to slide inside the front closure of her dress, to enclose her breast within his palm. As if Jenny sensed his thoughts, she glanced up at him, a small frown marring the smooth line of her forehead.

  “Do you feel really married?” she asked, her eyes searching his face. “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” Her outstretched hand encompassed the three of them. “Getting a ready-made family isn’t what you bargained for when you came here.”

  “Maybe not,” he agreed, pushing his foot against the ground, keeping the swing in motion. “But it’s what I got.” His arm tightened around Marshall. “I don’t know how good a father I’ll be, but I can tell you right now, I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “Are you gonna be my really papa?” Marshall asked, one hand lifting to touch Shay’s cheek. His eyes squinted as he scrutinized the scar that caught his attention. “Will this go away, like the peckin’ spots on my feet did?” He held his bare foot out for Shay’s inspection, where only a tiny pale mark remained as a reminder of the last episode in the chicken yard.

  “I’m afraid not, Marsh,” Shay answered, allowing the child’s fingers to trace the long line of scar tissue that traveled the length of his cheek. “Does it bother you?”

  “Naw,” the boy answered quickly, disdaining the suggestion. “Noah said a scar like yours is a—” Marshall searched for the words that eluded him, and then his face brightened. “Oh, yeah. He said it was a badge of honor. And he told me that’s something good.”

  “Did he now?” The remembrance of the man who’d died at his hands was anything but honorable, yet there’d been no choice. He’d killed again since that time, and the burden of those acts weighed heavily on his soul. “Sometimes, a scar is like a punishment, Marsh.�
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  “I don’t believe that,” Jenny said quickly. “Maybe a reminder, so that we don’t make the same mistakes again. But you’ll never make me believe that you’ve ever done anything to deserve what happened to you.”

  His eyes devoured her glowing features, her eyes shiny with tears as if she defended his honor, her mouth still full and a bit swollen from the night past. “Every man should have so devout a champion, Miss Jenny,” he said quietly. “I hope I never see your eyes turn cold when they look inside my soul.”

  She shook her head, a slight movement. “Will I ever be given that privilege?”

  “Some things you’re better off not knowing.”

  Marshall stirred restlessly. “We didn’t talk about things, like you said.”

  Shay’s gaze left Jenny, a reluctant smile drawing his mouth to one side. “No, we didn’t. And there’s really only one thing we need to clear up, Marsh. I want to know if it’s all right for me to be your father from now on. I won’t be your really papa, because you can only have one, and yours is the man your mama married before you were born. But I’ll be here from now on.”

  He bent lower to peer intently into the child’s eyes, waiting for the nod of understanding that seemed long in coming. Marshall looked worried for a moment, and then he grinned. “Can I call you Papa anyway?”

  “I’d like that,” Shay said, his voice thick with an emotion he was unused to. “There’s just one more thing we need to talk about.” He shot a quick look at Jenny, and then told Marshall of the other change that would take place. “I’ll be sleeping in your mama’s bedroom from now on.”

  “Will she let you?” Marshall asked innocently. “She told me I’m a big boy, and I can’t sleep with her like I did when I was just a baby.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Shay answered softly. “She’ll let me. I’ll guarantee it, son.”