Slow Waltz Across Texas

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Slow Waltz Across Texas Page 4

by Peggy Moreland


  Abruptly, Rena shoved back her chair, her arm striking Clayton’s as she rose. He glanced up and was surprised to see that her face was flushed with anger.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she said tersely, then spun and all but ran from the room.

  Rena stood before the vanity in her bathroom, her fingers curled tightly around the cold marble, forcing herself to take long, deep, calming breaths. It didn’t help. Rage, white-hot and blinding, continued to burn through her.

  She felt as if she were caught in a game of human tug-of-war. Her parents on one side; Clayton on the other. Her trapped in the middle, being pulled first one way, then the other, until she was sure she would snap in two at the pressure being placed on her.

  She whirled away from the vanity, scraping her bangs from her forehead and holding them against the top of her head. Coming to her parents, when she’d left Clayton, had been a mistake. She could see that now. But she’d wanted so badly for the twins to spend time with their grandparents, to get to know them better, and she’d thought that this would be the perfect opportunity.

  With a moan of frustration, she dropped her arms, fisting her hands at her sides. But she should have known that once her parents knew of her plans to divorce Clayton, they would try to take control of her life again. The signs had all been there for her to see. Her father’s offer to handle the legal proceedings of the divorce for her, the expensive gifts her parents plied the children with, the day at the spa arranged by her mother…

  But her parents inviting Bill home for dinner had been the last straw. All but parading Bill beneath her nose, expounding on his accomplishments. Pushing. Pushing. Pushing. And in front of Clayton, no less.

  She wouldn’t fall into the trap they were placing carefully around her, she told herself. She had lived the first twenty-one years of her life under their manipulative thumbs, being the dutiful daughter, following the path they had carefully and strategically laid out for her.

  But she wouldn’t do so again.

  Three more days, she reminded herself, inhaling deeply, searching for the strength she knew she would need to stand firm against them. Three more days, then she was leaving her parents’ home and heading back to Texas and the new life she’d planned for herself there.

  Three

  With dawn less than an hour away and his in-laws’ estate still draped in darkness, Clayton stole across the rear lawn, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the bright patches of moonlight scattered about. Grateful that his in-laws didn’t have any dogs to alert them of his approach, he reached the portico that arched between the Palmers’ four-car garage and their home, and paused to study the stone column support nearest him, wondering if he could pull this off.

  Knowing that a desperate situation required desperate measures, he toed off his boots and tossed his hat on top of them. With a resigned sigh, he planted a foot against an uneven stone and hauled himself up. He stretched one arm up high, found a grip along the edge of the roof, then reached up with the other and, straining, hauled himself up. With the slate tiles digging into his stomach, he hitched himself higher and lifted a knee to brace against the roof’s edge. Breathing heavily, he heaved himself up, then stood, dusting off his clothes as he looked around.

  He studied the dark house a moment, slowly counting the windows on the second floor, until he found Rena’s. Praying that his wife had left the window open an inch or two as was her habit at the ranch, he crossed to where the portico’s roof joined with that of the main structure and half walked, half crawled his way up the slight incline.

  When he found the window open as he’d hoped, he dug his pocketknife from his pocket, slipped the blade between the screen and the window frame and twisted until he’d worked the screen from the brackets that held it in place. After setting the screen aside, he eased the window up higher, swung a leg over the sill and ducked inside the bedroom.

  He stood a moment, letting his eyes adapt to the change in light, before tiptoeing to the side of the bed. His heart squeezed a bit as he gazed down at his sleeping wife. Bathed in moonlight that spilled through the open window behind him, she lay on her side, one hand tucked between her cheek and her pillow.

  With his gaze on her sleeping profile, he lifted a foot and dragged off first one sock, then the other. Tossing them aside, he unbuckled his belt, and quickly stripped off his jeans. As he eased closer to the side of the bed, he caught his shirt’s lowest button, releasing each disk in turn, until his shirt hung open. Shrugging it off, he dropped it to the pile of clothes already littering the floor, then lifted the corner of the sheet and slipped beneath the covers.

  Stretching out beside his wife, he propped himself up on an elbow, content, for the moment, just to watch her sleep. When the urge to touch her became too strong, he lifted a hand and stroked the tips of his fingers beneath her eyelashes, then down along her jaw.

  At his fingers’ soft trailing, she snuggled deeper into her pillow, her lips parting on a thready sigh. The pleasure-filled sound hummed through Clayton, calling to something deep in his soul, and, unable to resist any longer, he lowered his face over hers. With a tenderness intended to seduce, he swept his tongue across her lower lip, then pressed his mouth lightly against the moisture he’d left there, warming her lips with his breath, before he began to slowly sip at the sweetness beyond.

  He felt another sigh vibrate against his lips, and grew still when she shifted and drew her hand languidly from beneath her cheek to loop it loosely around his neck.

  From experience, Clayton knew that her response to him was unconscious, instinctive. He knew, too, that what he was doing probably wasn’t ethical, maybe not even legal…but for sure not fair. But at this point he wasn’t concerned about playing by any set of rules, established or not. He needed to somehow break through Rena’s resistance, reestablish their relationship, remind her of what they’d once shared.

  And the bedroom was the one place they’d never had a problem communicating.

  The idea to seduce his wife had come to him while he’d been lying in his bed at the motel, alone, miserable. Scared spitless that he was going to lose his wife and family, and frustrated because he hadn’t been able to get Rena alone long enough to talk to her while at his in-laws’ for dinner, he had come up with this plan.

  He didn’t doubt for a minute that he could pull off the seduction. A hundred or more times over the years, after arriving home in the middle of the night from a rodeo, he’d slipped into bed with Rena, without ever once waking her. At least not immediately. But eventually he would get around to drawing her from sleep with a slow seduction, much like the one he had planned for tonight.

  Hoping that by catching her off guard, her mind dulled with sleep, she would respond naturally, even welcome him into her arms as she had so many times in the past, he let his hand slide down the smooth column of her throat. Feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath his palm, he marveled at it a moment, before he dropped his hand to a breast. He stroked a thumb over her nipple, bringing it to life beneath her nightgown’s thin fabric, then smoothed his palm farther down her front and to her knees, where the hem of her nightgown was bunched. Pleased to at last meet bare skin, he closed his fingers around a shapely calf and squeezed.

  She mewled at the gentle pressure, and he froze, holding his breath, as she shifted closer to him and molded her body against his. With her eyes still closed, her mind still obviously clouded with sleep, she lifted her head in a blind search for his mouth. Finding it, she purred her pleasure as she curled her fingers around his neck and drew him down with her. His body responded immediately to her lips’ teasing, his already stiffening sex pushing against the gentle curve of her pelvis.

  “Rena?” he whispered.

  She hummed a sleepy response against his lips, then opened her mouth to mate her tongue with his in a slow, sensual dance.

  Desire stabbed through Clayton and he fought it back, determined to keep his hands gentle, his need for her under control. Slowly, carefully, he ea
sed her to her back, certain, by her response to him, that she wouldn’t send him packing when she woke fully and found him in her bed. “Rena,” he said again, more urgent this time.

  She blinked open her eyes and slowly brought his face into focus. “Clayton?” she murmured in confusion, her voice still rough with sleep. Frowning slightly, she tried to sit up.

  He pressed his mouth against hers, forcing her head back to the pillow. “Yeah, baby, it’s me,” he murmured. He felt the tension move through her, worried over it, then her breath whispered against his lips on a soft sigh of acceptance, and he knew his plan had worked.

  He returned his hand to her calf and dragged his knuckles slowly up her leg, easing her nightgown higher. “It’s been a long time, Rena,” he whispered huskily. “A damn long time.” When his hand reached the juncture of her thighs, her body convulsed instinctively and he groaned, cupping his hand over her sex as he drew back to meet her gaze. “Make love with me, Rena,” he said softly, increasing the pressure.

  Rena stared up at Clayton, fully awake now, her blood flowing like liquid fire through her veins. She saw the need in his eyes, the same need she knew must be mirrored in her own…and wondered if she could be dreaming. Needing the reassurance that he wasn’t a figment of her imagination, a star player in a lustful dream, she laid a palm against his cheek. And nearly wept when her palm met the warmth of his flesh.

  He turned his face into her hand, capturing her fingers with his own, and pressed his lips against the center of her palm. “Let me love you,” he whispered, turning his gaze to hers again. “Let me love you, Rena.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she stared at him, lost in the depths of his blue eyes, wondering what his presence meant, and more, how she should respond to the question that burned in his eyes.

  Say, yes, her heart urged. It has been a long time. Make love with him. You’ve missed him so desperately, needed him for such a very, very long time. You want this. Him. Tell him yes.

  But her mind screamed a different response, one she didn’t want to hear. No! He’s stayed away too long! Leaving you with not even the assurance of his love to keep you warm through the long, lonely nights. He wants your body, not your heart. He’s never yet in the four-plus years of your marriage ever told you that he loves you. Stop before it’s too late, before he hurts you again. Stop!

  At her mind’s warning she squeezed her eyes shut, the familiar ache she’d lived with for so many years returning to spread through her heart, slamming doors behind it until it had sealed off every chamber, silencing her heart’s urgings.

  She opened her eyes to meet his gaze, prepared to tell him no, that it had been too long, and order him from her bed. But as soon as her gaze met his and she saw the warmth, the hope, the uncertainty there, the doors of her heart flew open again, letting him in. “Yes,” whispered, gulping back tears. “Love me, Clayton.”

  Hearing the tears that thickened her voice, Clayton hesitated, wondering if, later, she would harbor any regrets…but quickly decided it didn’t matter. She’d agreed to make love with him, and he’d be damned if he would question her decision to do so. He stripped off his boxers, flung them aside, then eased down beside her and placed his hand on her leg again. He held her gaze while he dragged his fingertips back up her thigh, then trailed them higher along the folds of her sex, making her shiver.

  “Cold?” he asked as he sifted his fingers through soft feminine curls.

  She nodded as she laid a hand against his face, shaping her palm over his cheek. “A little.”

  He dipped his head, nudging the nightgown to her waist with his nose, and pressed his lips against her stomach to lave the skin with his tongue. “I’ll warm you up,” he promised, even as he began to stroke a fire to life between her legs.

  She arched, moaning, and he withdrew to meet her gaze. “I’ve missed you, Rena.”

  Tears budded at the huskiness in his voice and she stroked her palm across his cheek. “And I’ve missed you,” she murmured, then gasped, stiffening when he stroked a knuckle across her moist center.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked in concern.

  She shook her head, her gaze riveted on his. “No. I’m just…sensitive.”

  Not wanting to rush things, he drew his hand away and smoothed it over her abdomen. “Let’s get rid of this,” he suggested, pushing against the fabric bunched at her waist.

  She nodded and sat up, gathering the nightgown within fingers that trembled, then tugged it up and over her head. She froze with her arms fully extended, the gown held high above her head, when she found Clayton had braced himself higher, his face now level with hers. The heat of his blue eyes burned into hers.

  He took the gown from her and tossed it aside. “Better,” he murmured and lowered his gaze to her breasts. “Much better,” he added with a lusty sigh as he closed a hand over a breast and molded his palm around its firm shape. He dipped his head to lave the opposite breast, then drew back, smoothing a thumb over the moisture he’d left there. “So sweet,” he whispered, then, unable to resist, leaned to draw the rosy center deeply into his mouth.

  Lightning, white-hot and numbing, shot straight to Rena’s center and burned. Weakened by it, by him, she filled her hands with his hair, holding him to her. Gulping at air, she let her head fall back and allowed the sensations to take her.

  Tears burned behind her lids at the gentleness of his lovemaking, at the familiar tug of his greedy mouth on her breast. Oh, how she’d missed him, yearned for him, for this. Even as the thoughts formed, her center throbbed and turned molten with long-denied need.

  “Clayton,” she whispered, opening her eyes and forcing his mouth from her breast. When he looked up at her, the heat in his eyes seared through her, burning away all rational thought, and she simply stared.

  “What?” he asked softly, bracing himself higher on his elbow to peer at her.

  Feeling totally undone, helpless, she drew her hands to his cheeks, smoothing her thumbs along the high ridges of his cheekbones, trying to remember why she’d said his name. “I want to touch you,” she murmured, and let her hands fall to his shoulders. “Just as you touched me,” she whispered and dragged her palms to his chest. Pressing against the pads of muscle there, she rose to her knees and forced him down. Her gaze on her hands’ movements, she smoothed them across his taut abdomen, sighing at the hard cords of muscle that rippled beneath her palms.

  A low, lust-filled groan slipped past her lips as her gaze met his stiff arousal, rising from a nest of dark, coarse hair. Easing closer to his side, she gathered him in her hand and brushed a thumb over the swollen head of his sex. He flinched at the light caress, then moaned, and she glanced over, smiling as she stroked her fingers down his length. “Cold?” she teased.

  “No,” he said, and moaned again as she stroked her fingers back up. “In fact, I’m burning up.”

  She laughed softly, then dipped her head, pressing her lips low on his stomach.

  When her tongue dipped into his navel and swirled, Clayton nearly lost it. Months of deprivation swelled, demanding an immediate and satisfying release. With a low growl, he caught her by her waist and lifted her over him, planting her knees firmly on either side of his hips. His gaze on hers, his heart pounding hard enough within his chest to crack a rib, he lifted his head to capture her mouth with his. “I want you, Rena,” he murmured, nipping at her kiss-swollen lips. “I want all of you.”

  Even as he made his intentions known, she was guiding his sex to hers. He groaned at the first contact, closing his eyes against the heat, the honeyed moistness that greeted him, then raised his hips and pushed inside. He froze, clamping his hands down on her hips, holding her in place as her feminine walls closed around him, sure that if she moved so much as a muscle, he would lose what little control he’d managed to hold on to.

  Wanting to make this last as long as possible, to touch her, love her in ways he knew would drive her wild, he dragged in a deep, fortifying breath, opened his eyes and eased h
er down inch by glorious inch. He kept his gaze on hers as he slowly filled her, watching as the passion rose to stain her cheeks, cloud her eyes. Distracted by a breast that bobbed into view, he lifted a hand to capture it and raked his thumb across her nipple…then watched the color on her cheeks deepen, her eyelids grow heavy and drift closed against the heat. In spite of his determination to make this last, his own body throbbed with need, demanding release.

  He set the rhythm quickly, and she matched it, then set a faster one for him to follow, bracing her hands against his chest as she rode him with a wild abandon. Perspiration beaded his skin as he strained to hold back, to give her the pleasure she needed, deserved from him, before taking his own.

  Surrounded by her sweetness, her heat, he set his jaw against the pleasure that knifed through him, and strained to pierce her farther still, wanting, needing to possess her fully, to restake his claim on his wife. Feeling the pressure build inside him, and knowing he couldn’t last much longer, he thrust his hips high and buried himself to the hilt.

  She arched hard against him and dropped her head back, sobbing out his name. Feeling the dig of her nails into his flesh, he sat up with a feral growl, locked an arm around her waist and held her against him, pushing her over the edge. He felt her shatter around him, found his own release and pumped his hot seed into her, feeling as if he were draining his very soul. He shuddered once…twice, clutching her to him…then sank back to the bed, bringing her with him, spent. With a shuddered sigh, he wrapped his arms around her and snuggled her against his chest. He held her to him, feeling the thunder of her heart against his, the stroke of her hand across his chest, and was sure that he had accomplished what he’d set out to accomplish. He pressed his lips against her hair. “Come home with me, Rena,” he whispered. “Let’s pack up the kids and head home.”

  Rena froze at his request, then slowly lifted her head to peer at him, the desire to say yes burning in her throat, in her heart. But she wouldn’t agree to go home with him. Couldn’t. Not until she knew things would be different for them this time. Not until he said the words she longed to hear.

 

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