There was nothing soft about this man as he stirred her passions with his talented tongue and skilled fingers. All the years they’d been denied the celebration of their love would pale when compared to all the years that remained to them.
He rasped his love, her beauty, his desire…and she sighed with plea sure and contentment.
She whispered her love, his strength and power, her yearning…and he groaned and shuddered.
He rose up above her like the conqueror his ancestors must have been, he entered her with the sure thrust of a man who is confident of his ability to wield a sword mightily. He cupped her face and kissed her deeply as his body began to move in an undulating rhythm that released the wildness in them both.
Everything within her centered on him, on the incredible sensations he was creating, on the madness…
She was thrashing and screaming—
Suddenly he rolled her over, managing to stay buried deep within her, his fingers digging into her hips. “Ride me, darlin’,” he ordered, his voice hoarse with need, his body coated in dew, his muscles quivering with the force of his straining to hold back his own release until she’d been granted hers.
And London considered him a savage, this man who always, always was civilized enough to put her needs above his. She thought it was impossible to love him any more than she did, and even as she thought that, she realized that she couldn’t quantify what she felt for him, it was as rich as the history of England and as vast and untamed as Texas.
She rocked her hips against his, felt the pressure build, threw her head back as he cupped her breasts, taunting her nipples, sending shards of plea sure shattering throughout her body…until she felt as though she were riding a shooting star across the heavens, until she exploded into a thousand brilliant points of light—
He bucked forcefully beneath her, his guttural groan music to her ears, his fingers tightening and loosening as he shuddered and jerked one last time. She dropped down, nestling her head in the crook of his shoulder, listening to his thundering heartbeat, inhaling the musky scent of their love-making. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She would have the miracle of him and what they shared…forever. Until she was frail and gray. Until his stride was not as bold or his muscles as firm. But always their love would be strong.
Eventually, he raised his hand enough that he could begin lethargically to stroke her back.
“Every time that happens, I feel as though I’m seeing a black Texas sky filled with shooting stars,” she said contentedly.
“Darlin’, that’s a little bit of Texas that I’ll be happy to give you anytime you ask.”
Laughing softly, she held him tightly. She’d told her mother wrong. She wasn’t going home tomorrow.
Home was here, now, right beneath her.
Epilogue
Near Fortune, Texas
1889
“Y ou’re English!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Am not!”
“Are, too!”
“Am not!”
“Boys, that’s quite enough!” Lauren called out in exasperation.
She glared at Tom, who was stretched out beside her on a quilt beneath a towering oak tree near the creek, grinning broadly, refusing to get into the middle of their sons’ all-too-familiar hotly debated argument. He merely gave her an innocent shrug that seemed to say “boys will be boys.”
“Mama, tell him, tell him, please, that I’m not English. I was born here, so I’m Texan.”
“Sam—”
“I’m not English. I don’t want to be.”
“If you’re not English, you can’t be the spare,” Edward said haughtily, sounding so frightfully English at the age of eight.
“Can, too. But it don’t matter anyway, ’cuz I don’t want to be the spare. When we grow up, you can be the earl, and I’ll be the rancher,” Sam told him. He was two years younger, and whenever they were in Texas, he tended to leave behind everything English, including any semblance of being exposed to the slightest bit of an education.
Sam dropped down on the ground beside Tom. “I can be the rancher, can’t I, Pa?”
Reaching out, Tom ruffled his son’s black hair. “Reckon so. Ward has to be the earl because he was born first, but you can be anything you want.”
Sam wrinkled his brow. “That ain’t hardly fair to Ward, that he don’t get to choose.”
Lauren rolled her eyes as he continued to massacre the English language. The odd thing was, as soon as they stepped on British soil, his “ain’ts” would disappear. He was a chameleon in that regard, adapting to his surroundings so he blended in unnoticed. It was really quite remarkable.
“I don’t mind,” Edward said, as he sat on the quilt, never forgetting for a moment that he was the young lord who would one day step into his father’s shoes, while it seemed that Sam had definite plans to step into his father’s boots. “I want to be the earl. And I can do other things, too. Like Father. I don’t have to be just the earl. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s right. You don’t have to be just the earl, and Sam doesn’t have to be just the rancher. Both of you can do anything that you damned well want to do,” Tom said, winking at them.
Falling back dramatically, the boys laughed, their differences forgotten as they found something to agree on. Their father was going to get into trouble later with their mother for his use of profanity.
“I can do anything that I want, too.”
Smiling with all the love he felt for his four-year-old daughter mirrored in his eyes, Tom winked. “That you can, darlin’.”
She wound her arms around Tom’s neck and hugged him tightly. “I love you, Papa.”
“Love you, too, darlin’. Love you all.”
“Come on, we’ve got fish to catch,” Edward said, sensing that things were about to get too emotional. They always did when it was time for them to return to England. Picking up their poles, he led his younger brother and sister back to the creek.
Tom sat up and leaned against the tree. He patted the ground between his legs. Lauren moved over and sat within the circle of his arms, her back to his chest, welcoming the feel of his lips pressing against the sensitive skin just below her ear.
“Sorry we’re leaving tomorrow?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
“It’s only for a few months. Then we’ll be back.”
It had become their habit, a few months here, a few months there.
“If you want to stay longer…”
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be fair to Ward. He loves England. He’ll make an exemplary lord.”
“Sam’s going to be a good rancher.”
She twisted around slightly until she could look at him. “Thank you, Tom, for giving me this little bit of Texas every now and then.”
“Thank you, darlin’, for giving me a little bit of your heart always.”
“Oh, Tom, you have more than a little bit, and you damn well know it.”
She cut off his laughter over her use of profanity with a kiss that would have led to other things if the children weren’t nearby. She was amazed that after all these years, his slow, lazy kisses still had the ability to melt her bones and stir her desires.
When she pulled back, he said, “I’ll meet you here later to night to search for a falling star.”
“I have nothing left to wish for. I have everything I could ever possibly want.”
“Meet me anyway,” he said. “I have some wishing of my own to do.”
“What could you possibly wish for?”
He winked at her. “An unbuttoned bodice.”
Sighing, she snuggled up against him. “You can have that without wishing for it.”
“But, darlin’, if you’ve taught me one thing, it’s that a man ought to believe in wishing.”
In the years that followed, Tom and Lauren divided their time between England and Texas. Half of their children were Texan by birth. And while the Lonesome Hear
t ranch was distributed equally among all their children, it was kept intact, passed down from generation to generation.
During both world wars, their descendants, based upon their place of birth, would serve in the British and American armed forces. Several would receive commendations for their bravery, including the Victoria Cross and the Congressional Medal of Honor.
Sixty-two years after they were married, Tom took Lauren back to Texas for the final time, laying her to rest in the rich Texas soil, near the creek where they’d fallen in love. He visited her every day, until six months later when he was laid to rest beside her. On their joint headstone, beneath the particulars of their lives, was carved a single word: Forever.
Tom had promised his Lauren forever. It was a promise he kept.
About the Author
LORRAINE HEATH always dreamed of being a writer. After graduating from the University of Texas, she wrote training manuals, press releases, and articles, but something was always missing. In 1990, she read a romance novel and became not only hooked on the genre, but quickly realized what her own writing lacked: rebels, scoundrels, and rogues. She’s been writing about them ever since, for both adult and young adult readers. Her work has been recognized with numerous industry awards, including RWA’s RITA®, a HOLT medallion, a Romantic Times Career Achievement Award, and several Texas Gold Awards.
Lorraine loves hearing from readers. You can write her at [email protected] or visit her website at www.lorraineheath.com.
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By Lorraine Heath
PROMISE ME FOREVER
A MATTER OF TEMPTATION • AS AN EARL DESIRES
AN INVITATION TO SEDUCTION
LOVE WITH A SCANDALOUS LORD
TO MARRY AN HEIRESS • THE OUTLAW AND THE LADY
NEVER MARRY A COWBOY • NEVER LOVE A COWBOY
A ROGUE IN TEXAS
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
PROMISE ME FOREVER. Copyright © 2006 by Jan Nowasky. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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