She lifted her shoulders in a silent gesture of unconscious dread, aware that a man’s needs caused harsh treatment sometimes, that a man’s hands could leave bruises in their wake, and that her body might not give way readily to his possession.
“For tonight, I don’t think I want to know what has happened to you, Lily, to make you fear this. And don’t shake your head at me. I know what fright can do to a woman. You’re smaller than I am, more fragile and vulnerable. You’re trembling, sweetheart.” He drew a deep breath and his fingers cupped her chin.
“Whatever happened in your past, no matter how many men have been in your bed, this is where it all begins, Lily. From now on, it’s just you and me. I don’t want you to forget that.”
“About my past—” she began, halting abruptly as his fingers rose to cover her mouth.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he said, his voice sounding harsh for the first time. As if he could not abide the thought of another man’s hands on her, another man possessing her body.
But there’s only been one. Only one man to know me before. The words burned in her mind, but his hand denied their utterance and she closed her eyes in recognition of his demand.
I don’t want to hear it.
He’d given his word to take care of her, and if he was too proud to allow her to speak in defense of herself—so be it. She would do as he asked.
Chapter Nine
Morgan bent to her, his lips taking the place of callused fingers against her mouth. The kiss was gentle, his hands careful as he lifted her from her feet. One arm swept beneath her knees and she was placed carefully on the bed, his mouth more demanding now, holding fast to the territory he’d claimed.
It took her breath, this warmth and kindness that flowed from him, saturating her to the marrow of her bones. And yet, beneath the patience, she knew a storm brewed, knew that the man who came down beside her held his passion in check, sensed that he was on a tight rein and might not be able to give her much more time to welcome him into her body.
Lily tunneled her fingers through his hair, reveling in his weight as he pressed her into the mattress. Safe and secure. The words had a new meaning, she found, as they applied to her position beneath Gage Morgan. There was no threat in his loving, only the promise of pleasure, and she sighed, offering her mouth for his taking once more.
He murmured beneath his breath and spoke her name. “Lily…you’re sweet.”
A sound of amusement was born in her throat and she smiled up at him, laughter whispering in her words. “I’m not, you know. Sweet, I mean. My mama said I was too sassy for my own good.”
He lifted his head and she thought she espied a dimple in one cheek as he touched her lips with his index finger. “Your mama looked at you a different way than I,” he said. “She never tasted the fresh flavor of your kisses.” He scanned her face with an all-encompassing look. “Trust me, Lily. What you’re giving me is sweet, something I’ve never tasted before. It’s as if you’re brand-new, fresh and clean.”
“Being here with you in the midst of all this…” She hesitated, pressing her lips together. “I can’t explain it to you. Only say that I’ve never been here before. In fact, I don’t know how good I’ll be at what we’re doing,” she said quietly, feeling she must warn him in some way of the limited experience she’d gained over the past years.
“I’ll take what I can get,” he murmured, bending again to taste her mouth, this time granting his tongue permission to touch the inside of her lower lip.
She allowed it, opening her lips, offering what he sought from her, and he groaned, a sound that vibrated from his chest as he explored further. Meeting his tongue with her own, she found the experience she’d found distasteful in the past to hold a whole new measure of delight. Morgan’s mouth welcomed her, his tongue fenced with hers and his pleasure was apparent.
Her cheeks and temple were visited by his lips then, as if he must explore each inch of skin visible to him. She turned her head to one side, then the other, knowing the thrill of a man’s mouth seeking out the places that brought delight to her body, causing her to shiver and cling even tighter to him. He lifted a bit and she felt his gaze touch her breasts, knew that even in the dim twilight, he could make out the form of her curves, that his eyes could gauge the fullness displayed before him.
His hand moved to cup her, his fingertips tracing the smooth surface, then caressing with care the tender crest, which hardened and formed a tight knot beneath his touch. A soft chuckle escaped him as he spent long moments at the game, and she felt the spiraling pleasure he brought into being, knew the warmth he teased into life as he tantalized and petted her with tender care.
“Do you like that?” he asked, bending to suckle before she could form a reply, then watching her from beneath heavy eyelids.
She lifted from the bed, jolting as if a wire were connected from the place where he took his pleasure to that other part of her she knew he would soon allow his fingers to search out. A sound that embarrassed her was borne on a whisper as he fondled her, his touch becoming more firm, his fingers learning the shape and form of her body.
“Lily.” He breathed her name, as if it were the only word he could speak, breathing it again and again as he spent long minutes in exploring her curves, his mouth opening against her skin. And then repeating it again as he rose to kneel between her thighs.
She stiffened, drawing away from his hands, knew a moment of panic as he touched her, there where she was most vulnerable, where she could so easily be bruised by a rough hand or a man’s harsh use.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, repeating his promise again, and she fought the rise of apprehension that threatened to engulf her. This was Morgan, she told herself. He was her husband. He had the right to use her as he pleased.
And even with all of that, she found herself tensing, knowing a measure of fear as he tested the place where he would penetrate her body. Where he would join them, the power of his manhood mating with the soft female part of her. Her breath caught audibly in her throat as his hand stroked her, and at that his movements slowed, seeking out the welcome her body provided him. His sound of satisfaction could not be mistaken, as moisture from within greeted his touch, as if her body had been made ready by his tender care. With a sigh of surrender, she lifted her hips to accommodate his entry.
But it seemed he had other ideas, for only that single finger made the journey within the heat of her body. As if he explored some unknown area, he visited each increment of flesh within her, pressing first here, then there, as if he waited for her to give some response to his touch. Unable to remain silent, she moaned aloud, and her hips rose in a movement that appeared to please him.
The dampness increased as he answered her unspoken demand, and she felt the slick entryway stretch to accommodate his exploration, allowing him to delve to the depths of her womanhood. An aching need possessed her, a yearning for completion, a hunger for something more than the teasing promise he offered.
“Morgan?” Surely that was not her voice, that whispering, breathless calling of his name. But it seemed it was, for he bent to her and kissed her, deeply and thoroughly, even as his hand brought new sensations to life, there where she opened to him without reservation.
As though she scaled the heights, she yearned toward the pinnacle he seemed to hold just beyond her reach and she strained, moving in the rhythm he set. Until, with a glorious surge of heat, a blinding flash of rapture, she found the crest, and began the downward slide.
He moved then, filling her, offering her his masculine need, surging into the place he’d readied for his taking, and she gripped him tightly, lest he leave her bereft. But it was not to happen, for even though he moved, easing from her possession, he returned, each thrust bringing more sensation to life, until she knew she could not contain any longer the joy he offered.
“Morgan!” It was a cry of fulfillment, and it triggered his own movement, as if she offered him leave to find his pleasure as he wo
uld. In moments he fell against her, his big body relaxing, his arms barely holding his weight from her. And still he sought her mouth, pressing kisses there, leaving the warmth of his breath on her skin, testing her earlobe, then her throat with the edges of his teeth.
But there was no pain, no residue of disapproval to convey to her that she had not pleased him. His touch was all that was tender, his kisses gentle now, his body still one with hers. He had given her that which she’d thought never to own, the knowledge that she was wanted, treasured and cherished by the man who claimed her.
The tears would not be contained and she wept.
Lily awoke in his arms, her breasts flattened against his chest, her legs tangled with his and her hand resting against his back. Broad daylight teased her eyes open, and she caught her breath, wondering for a moment if she could wiggle her way from his arms before he awoke and held her fast against himself.
“You cried, Lily,” he murmured, his early-morning voice rasping in her ear. “Did I hurt you, then? I tried not to, sweetheart.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, of course you didn’t.” Words of explanation were hard to come by, for she wasn’t certain herself why the experience had brought her to tears. Only that the beauty of Morgan’s loving had released the floodgates she’d put in place so long ago. When she’d decided that no man would be given freely that which the Yankee colonel had taken by force.
Now she looked up, facing the man she’d married, the man who owned her as surely as if he’d purchased her, body and soul, that night on the riverboat. She belonged to him. Of that there was no doubt, and she would not quibble over the fact. For now, she was Morgan’s wife, to do with as he would. And she could not bring herself to feel sorrow at the thought.
It seemed there was more to do in the running of a kitchen than Lily had thought possible. Morgan carried in buckets of water, heating them on the stove in readiness for her chore of washing the sheets and the assortment of clothing they’d worn. She found soap on a shelf, bits and pieces swimming in a jar of water, the whole thing looking more like a gluey mess than anything else. But it formed suds nicely when she poured a measure of it into the wash-tub.
The yard seemed the best place for the chore, beneath a tree where Morgan set a bench in place for her use. He found a length of rope in the barn and she scrubbed at it in the warm water before handing it to him to stretch between two trees. And with every step, every movement she made, the weight of the gun she carried in her apron pocket reminded her that this peaceful moment might be shattered in an instant of time.
While the sheets soaked, she poured the cream from last night’s milking into a pitcher and set it aside, handing Morgan the bucket for disposal in the pigsty. A sow rooted there, a clutch of piglets surrounding her, greeting the splash of milk in their trough with squeals and snorts.
Then, her sleeves rolled midway to her shoulders, Lily scrubbed at the sheets, liberally distributing the suds. Setting them aside, she concentrated on her soiled dresses, then the shirts and trousers Morgan offered her with a reluctant grin, bending to whisper in her ear that he’d never had so lovely a maid to tend to his needs.
She barely restrained the amusement his teasing brought forth, unwilling to meet his gaze. It seemed that he took the events of the night before in his stride, but Lily found herself remembering each touch, each lingering caress as she worked at her task. And found that the memories had the power to make her blush.
The clothing scrubbed as well as she could manage, she called to Morgan and he carried clean water, dipped from the horse trough for her use. Wringing the clothes out made her hands and arms ache, and after a cursory attempt, she gave in to the temptation to allow the breeze to do the job for her. There were no clothespins it seemed, so the dripping shirts and dresses were hung to dry over the taut line, and the tub was carried back to the house.
“I’m going out to the barn.” As though he was hesitant about leaving her alone in the house, Morgan stood at the back door. “I’ll be in earshot if you need me,” he said, and then his impatience was spoken aloud.
“Damn it, Lily. Will you look at me? I’m beginning to feel like I’ve done some terrible thing to you. You’ve ignored me all morning,” he said, sounding a bit like an angry man to her ears. And then his words only served to prove her right.
“You said I didn’t hurt you last night, and I know, sure as shootin’, that you enjoyed what we did together. So how come I’m getting the silent treatment this morning?”
Lily chanced a look, fearing the anger, yet willing to face up to her own apprehension. His frown was daunting, and his stance that of a man ready to pounce on the object of his indignation. She could not bear it, could not hear him speak with such frustration filling his words, and then not respond.
With silent footsteps, she approached him, the small kitchen making it a short journey, and with an honest heart she replied to his accusations. “I’ve never before known the pleasure that you gave me, Morgan.” The blush returned, and she recognized the heat that crept up her throat to touch her cheeks with color.
“I can only tell you again that there was no pain for me, only a time of feeling like a woman who is wanted by the man she married. It was what I’d hoped for, and yet I found that I wasn’t ready for what you gave me. My body was used for a man’s convenience more than once, and I had no way of knowing—”
“Hush, Lily,” he whispered, his soft words interrupting her halting explanation. “I suspected you were cautious, and I was certain there was some fear mixed in.”
“You suspected right,” she admitted, finally able to look up with a measure of ease into his silvered gaze. She swallowed, then uttered the words that begged to be spoken aloud. “Thank you. I can’t say it any other way, Gage Morgan. If nothing good ever comes my way again in this life, I’ll have the memory of one beautiful night, when I felt a man’s loving to the depths of my heart.”
His arms opened and she stepped into his embrace, her face buried against his chest, there where his heart beat in a steady, sure rhythm. Safe…secure. The words were alive in her mind, as if she spoke them aloud.
“Don’t ever be sorry you married me, Lily,” he said, his words almost harsh, as if spoken in warning.
She stepped back and looked up at him. “That sounded like a threat.” What had begun as a teasing response became the truth as she caught a glimpse of the man buried deeply in the facade that was Gage Morgan. At least the Morgan that most people saw and recognized as the man who earned his money as a gambler. A man whose contacts were scattered far and wide, who was never quite what he seemed to be.
“Sometimes,” she began haltingly, “I don’t think I know you. You seem to be one man, and then in a moment of time you become someone else.”
“How so?” he asked, his eyes darkening as he challenged her.
She thought for a moment. “Back on the riverboat, when we met that first night, I thought you were a gambler, even a gentleman of sorts. And then…” Her pause was long as if she considered those few days and searched for answers.
“Then you became someone else, right before my eyes. You decided I could be useful to you, Morgan, and you used that Wanted poster to threaten me. In that moment I feared you and what you had the power to do to me.”
“You didn’t have to marry me, Lily,” he reminded her gently. “That was your choice.”
She nodded slowly. “I know it was, and at the time my reasons seemed to make sense to me. I thought I could use you in turn, make you agree to take me home if that was what I wanted when this assignment of yours came to an end.”
Lifting a hand, as if to clear her mind of the clutter it seemed bound to sort through, she caught a glimpse of steel in his demeanor, of dark challenge in his eyes. “I saw another part of you when we arrived in Sand Creek. Your plotting and planning to catch these men is first and foremost in your mind. You really don’t care what it takes to finish the job, and if I get in the way, you’d sacrifice me,
if need be.” And then as he shook his head in silent rebuttal, she simply closed her eyes and turned aside.
“I don’t know you at all, do I?” she asked him in a whisper. “I’ve given myself to a man, and now I find he’s not who I thought he was.”
“I’m Gage Morgan, Lily. I’m the riverboat gambler you met and the hard-nosed man who forced you into this situation. They’re one and the same man, they just wear two different hats.” His hands touched her shoulders and he tugged her back a step until she felt his heat against her spine.
“I’m your husband,” he said, more quietly now, almost as if this were the most vital part of his soliloquy. “I’m using you, I’ll admit that much, but I thought you knew the whole plan before we got here. Remember, sweetheart,” he said, and his voice was harsh as he spoke the endearment, “you asked for this. You came with me of your own free will. No one forced you into it.”
“Do you feel anything for anybody?” she asked, knowing that the real question was much more personal. Do you feel anything for me? For if he didn’t, if he’d used her last night, as he had all along, persuading her to his will, one way or another. If that were the case… Her thoughts spun as she waited for him to form a reply.
“I can’t let myself feel,” he said. “This is a job, an assignment I’ve taken on. If I let you, or any other distraction, mar my concentration, it could mean failure on my part.”
His fingers were almost painful as he clutched at her shoulders. “I can’t afford to give you any more than I already have,” he said. “When this is over, when we’ve caught the men we’re waiting for, and when I’m a free agent again, maybe then I’ll be able to be what you want. For now, this is it, Lily.”
She shivered, knowing that he was being honest with her. And after all, she thought, she didn’t need him. She’d managed to get along by herself for quite some time, working here and there, saving her earnings and then setting off again. Moving, always moving south. Finally down to the silver combs she wore, down to the last of her valuables, she teetered on the brink of disaster, and only Morgan’s strong arm had kept her afloat for the past week.
The Marriage Agreement Page 14