by Sara Orwig
“Be still, Honor!” he snapped.
“I don’t want to have to do what you say!”
“You’re going to this afternoon because I don’t have time to worry whether you’re safe or not. And when we get back to Stanton and Lavinia, you better calm down and act like the loving wife.”
She became still, knowing it was useless fighting him, conscious of his body pressed against hers. “All right, let me ride my horse.”
Luke halted the bay and swung her over into her saddle, then handed her the reins. She rode in silence back toward the barn, and, when it came in sight, Luke stopped.
“I’m going in the other direction. I’ll see you tonight. Now in case Stanton or Lavinia can see us, cooperate with me and let me kiss you. Look up at me, Honor.”
“Damn you, Luke McCloud!” she said softly. “You are arrogant, aggravating—”
“And you are doing a convincing job of looking at me like an adoring bride,” he said, catching her chin with his fingers and leaning across the space between them to cover her mouth with his. He kissed her long and deeply.
“You don’t need to use your tongue when we’re out like this, because no one will know.”
“It will look far more convincing from a distance,” he answered solemnly. “So I will continue to use my tongue because not only does it look more real, it’ll help ready you for the lucky man who will someday become your true husband in the fullest sense.”
“You can just go straight to the devil!” she snapped.
He grinned and sat back on his horse. “Smile when you head toward the house, Honor. Try to look as if you are daydreaming about me. And thinking about the night to come.”
“I hope you have to wrestle old mossy-horns all afternoon!”
His deep chuckle drifted on the wind as he turned his horse, and when she glanced over her shoulder, he was cantering away, his back straight, riding as if he were part of the horse. She touched her lips and felt an empty pang. Six years until Jeddy would be eighteen. She was already so impossibly in love with Luke McCloud she could never love another man.
That night Jeddy went to bed shortly after supper, and the adults sat in the parlor while the men discussed the ranch and cattle and Lavinia tried to teach Honor to crochet.
As the grandfather clock struck the hour of nine, Luke stood up and stretched, crossing the room to take the hook and crocheting from Honor’s hands.
“It’s getting late. We’ll tell you folks good-night now,” he said, sliding his arm around Honor’s waist and pulling her close against him, ignoring Lavinia’s scowling disapproval.
As soon as he closed the bedroom door behind them, Luke turned the key in the lock, and Honor grinned.
“You annoy Aunt Lavinia no end. Thank heavens you rescued me from crocheting! I don’t do that well.”
“You would if you put your mind to it,” Luke said lightly, touching her shoulder and smiling. “I think your aunt is a little afraid of me. She always sits as far away from me as possible. She’s probably afraid I’ll touch her, and some cow dirt will rub off on her.”
“She’s probably scared of you because you’re so male,” Honor said lightly. Luke stood close with his hand still on her shoulder, and she ran her fingertips along his jaw. “Too much man,” she said softly. Luke’s eyes darkened as he looked down at her.
Luke slid his arm around Honor’s waist, and when she resisted, his brows arched. “Remember last night and Stanton’s knock on the door?”
She took a deep breath, gazing at Luke, feeling torn between wanting his kisses and wanting to show him that she didn’t melt every time he looked at her. He reached up to unbutton the neck of his shirt. With a swift motion he tugged it over his head and tossed it aside, and she looked at his bare, muscled chest. Her mouth felt dry and her knees weak. She looked up into his eyes while he drew her to him, studying her, and unpinning her hair. A lock fell and then another as he drew out the pins until finally he ran his fingers freely through her hair.
She closed her eyes when he bent to kiss her, and then her arms went around his neck and she was lost, unable to resist him, unable to keep from kissing him wildly in return. His kisses were more passionate than before as he spread his legs and pulled her between them.
She felt his maleness prod her, a hard thrust that stirred her excitement. His hand slid up her rib cage, and lightly touched her breast. She moaned. She wanted all this from Luke only, along with his caresses, she wanted him to love her, to touch her with longing and care, not as a cold deliberate deception to convince Stanton their marriage was valid.
Luke’s fingers brushed her nipple, caressing her as he turned her slightly. His fingers tugged at her buttons, and she felt the cool air on her skin and then his warm hand was beneath her dress. She shook with longing, with an ache that tore at her for him to be doing this for love, yet knowing that he wasn’t. Even so, she couldn’t stop him or stop the warmth radiating from his touch, the heat kindling low within her body and spreading, making her thrust her hips against him.
He cupped her breast in his hand and she gasped with pleasure, trying to pull reason about her and deny him. She stepped away and closed her dress, holding it, hurting physically with burning needs that Luke had awakened, hurting even more deep inside because she wanted his love.
As she crossed the room, she shook her hair back away from her face. She didn’t want him to see what she felt. She opened the drawer of the dresser, removing her white cotton gown.
The faint knock at the door was so slight she was uncertain whether she heard anything or not. She glanced in the mirror at Luke, and he motioned for her to move back out of sight. She hurried to the bed to slide beneath the covers and pull them to her chin.
He opened the door. “Stanton?”
“Sorry, but I decided I should get up and ride with you again. Will—”
Luke closed the door behind him as he stepped into the hall and Honor turned back the covers on the bed long enough to take off her slippers. Wondering how long it would be before Luke’s return, she moved to the dresser and picked up her brush to pull it through the long strands of her black hair that fell below her waist. In minutes Luke returned, stepping inside and locking the door again.
Her gaze drifted down to his chest and back to meet his cool stare.
“What is it going to take to convince them we’re happily married?”
Luke shrugged. “There’s a lot at stake here.”
His answer aggravated her because she felt a pawn in stakes where men were involved who rightfully should have no part of the H Bar R. Luke crossed the room to take the brush from her hands. “Sit down and let me brush your hair.”
Startled by his request, she moved to the rocker, turning sideways, while Luke stood behind her, drawing the brush through the long strands, his hands brushing her nape lightly, causing her scalp to tingle. “Such long black hair,” he said quietly.
“My Comanche heritage,” she said, suddenly impatient with him. She stood up abruptly. “I want to go to bed now. Will you turn your back?”
He moved away, placing the brush on the dresser and crossing to a straight-backed chair. He turned it away from her and sat down to pull off his boots. She changed hurriedly, intensely aware of him until she scrambled beneath the covers and pulled the extra pillows along the center of the bed. “I’m in bed, Luke.”
He extinguished the lights, and she heard the rustle as he removed his clothing. Then she felt his weight on the bed. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, seeing the moon high outside and hearing the stir of wind.
“Give me the key around your neck, and I’ll put it on the table beside me. In the morning when I leave, I’ll slip it under your pillow.” As he talked, he removed it, his hands brushing against her as she lifted her head.
“Suppose someone comes in here during the night and takes it?”
“The door’s locked, and I would wake up.”
“You sound so sure,” she said, turning on her sid
e, the anger and hurt she felt toward him momentarily vanished in the quiet intimacy of the darkened bedroom. She liked to lie in bed and talk to him, to listen to his deep voice and to know he was close beside her. So close and yet so terribly far. The barrier of pillows was nothing to the barrier around Luke’s heart.
“It’s habits from the war,” he answered, placing the key on the table and lying with his hands behind his head. “Honor, the Durham bulls we bought in Colorado are doing fine. When they breed, I think we’ll have better stock. Next, I’d like to buy a couple of new horses to improve breeding.”
“You can do what you want. During the time we’re married, this ranch is legally yours.”
“I know it is,” he said, rolling on his side to face her. “I know I can do what I want legally, but we both know that it’s merely a technicality. You know how to run this ranch. I want your opinion on what I do because someday this will be yours.”
Honor’s thoughts were elsewhere, drifting from ranching to Luke’s past. She was curious about him, unable to fathom a woman who would reject Luke and wondering how much he was hurt.
“Were you hurt badly when she married someone else?”
“What? Oh, I hurt, but we had been separated, and there was the war and no time to think about anything except staying alive. Now it seems a part of my childhood. Honor, there’s something else about the ranch. I don’t want to make Jeddy ride with me too often. He needs to study. Jeddy damn sure won’t like cow raising if he’s forced into riding with me day after day.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I’ll see to it that he goes sometimes,” Luke said, picking up locks of her long hair and turning them in his hands. She felt the light tugs on her scalp, wondering again if he realized what he was doing.
Luke turned silky black strands of her hair, watching it slide through his fingers, wanting to wind his hand in the soft tresses and pull her closer, wanting to throw the damnable pillows aside and make love to Honor all night long. Damn Stanton Roth for compounding their situation!
Luke’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could see her gazing up at him, her dark eyes in shadow, the white gown unbuttoned at the throat. He wanted to reach over and unbutton it farther, push it away from her soft, high breasts. He remembered the feel of her in his hand as he had stroked and cupped her breast.
His body responded to his thoughts, his manhood swelling, becoming hard. How he longed to push aside the pillows and take Honor, make her his wife in more than name only, but he never could do so, and anytime he crossed the invisible line that she held around her, he made it more difficult for both of them.
In spite of his determination to leave her alone, as if of its own volition, his hand brushed her cheek, and she reached out to touch his cheek, her fingers cool on his skin. “How’s your cheek?”
It wasn’t his cheek giving him trouble. He shifted, knowing he would ache for hours into the night.
He turned strands of her long hair in his hand while he talked to her about cross-breeding cattle and then about the wild horses they had to break, but his thoughts were barely on what he was saying. His attention was held by the faint scent of roses about her, her hair sliding over his palm, her low voice and soft laughter on occasion. And when memories of her kisses from the night before came, he tried to shove them from his mind. His arm became numb and he shifted, turning on his back with his hands behind his head and they talked as the moon moved across the sky and moonlight spilled over the bed.
Suddenly he heard the faint creak of the floor and touched her shoulder, leaning to whisper in her ear. “I hear someone.”
Ten
Luke turned toward the door and heard a tiny plop. For a moment he was puzzled, and then he realized the sound was a key turning in the lock. He tossed one of the pillows that was between them over the side of the bed and shoved the other down with his feet, pulling Honor into his arms. “He has a key,” he whispered in her ear. He fumbled with her buttons, pulling her gown off one shoulder and shoving the sheet down to his waist as he wound his arms around Honor and held her tightly against him.
He lay still, his eyes closed, rage burning in him. Luke clenched his fists. As soon as Stanton reached the bed, Luke would teach Stanton Roth not to come into his bedroom in the middle of the night. And he would have a perfect right to do so. There was no way Stanton could explain coming into their locked bedroom.
A board creaked, and then Luke forgot Stanton Roth as all his attention focused on the body pressed against him, Honor’s long legs entwined with his.
She smelled like roses, and she fit against him perfectly. Her breasts were a soft curvaceous weight pressing against him; her long legs stirred erotic images as he became aroused swiftly. And there was no way to hide his reaction from her. He was as hard as the floor, his shaft pressing against her.
He wanted to nudge her legs apart, to roll over on top of her and bury himself in her softness, to feel her arch beneath him. And she would. He already knew that Honor was quickly aroused. Then he heard the floor creak and remembered Stanton was in the room.
He rolled over to see the door closing behind Stanton and heard the key turn in the lock. Luke no longer cared. He focused his attention on Honor, turned, brushing her black hair from her face, still holding her tightly in his arms. “He’s gone.”
“It was Stanton?”
He couldn’t answer her, could hardly recall what she asked. “Oh, damn,” he finally said softly, bending his head to kiss her. Her response was instant. Her body arched against him, her arms tightening around his neck while her hand slid down over his bare back, down to his waist. He shook with need and longing for this child-woman who was forbidden to him, yet so incredibly lovely and tantalizing. He ached to explore every inch of her flesh, to make her laugh, to hear her cry out with passion, yet he knew he couldn’t. He had to stop what he was doing, but Lord help him he couldn’t stop yet. Just another few minutes. Only minutes.
He rolled her over on her back, settling himself between her legs while he kissed her as if he wanted to embed the memory of her on his soul. She was moving, her hips shifting beneath him. With a soft moan, she slid her hand over his bare buttocks.
He had to stop or he would never stop. He rolled away, leaving her, sliding out of bed. “Turn your back, Honor,” he said, fumbling for his pants and pulling them on with shaking hands. Aching, he strode to the door and went outside, locking the door behind him.
Stunned, Honor stared after him. She hadn’t turned her back as he told her to do, but had watched him step out of bed into the moonlight, naked, aroused, strong, and virile. And she would never forget the sight of him. The bulge of muscles in his arms and legs and chest were bathed in moonlight and shadows, emphasizing his strength and fitness. And she had glimpsed his ready manhood. Why had he stopped when he wanted her?
Did he want a Southern belle? A woman like the one he had left behind, who had married another man? Was it honor, his promise to her father that kept him from loving her? Or was it her Comanche heritage that so many whites abhorred? Or was there something in Luke’s past that she didn’t know?
She ached for him, a strange ache low in her body, but it was nothing compared to the longing she felt that was heart deep, the need for his strength and companionship and his loving. He had awakened her to desire and left her wanting more, so much more, yet he did not want her as a wife. He had made that far too clear every time they were together.
She shoved aside the covers and stood up, buttoning her gown. The floor was cold beneath her feet. Moving to the window, she gazed out over the land that would eventually become hers with Luke and Jeddy. And it was the only deep satisfaction she had.
She turned to look at the door, for the first time stopping to consider that her uncle had entered a locked room. She crossed the room and tried the door, remembering that she heard Luke lock it behind him. She was locked inside, whether to keep her in or Stanton or Lavinia out, she didn’t know. How had
Uncle Stanton gotten into a locked bedroom?
At the realization of what he had done, she felt a surge of fury, wishing Luke had pulled up a pistol and at least fired into the air to teach Stanton a lesson. Instead he had kissed her. Had his loving been for Stanton’s benefit?
With an ache, she admitted that had to be the reason. She received no such embrace or kisses when Uncle Stanton wasn’t around.
She rubbed her forehead, wishing she had never met Luke McCloud. And now she was his wife in name only for six years. Yet it had only been two months, and already she had been in his arms. Maybe whatever barrier was between them would diminish in six years’ time. As it was, six years sounded like forever.
She moved restlessly across the room, feeling hot in spite of the cool night, wondering if she would ever know another peaceful night when she would be undisturbed by dreams of Luke McCloud.
She heard a key turn and whirled around to see Luke step into the room and lock the door again.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said inanely.
“No, I suppose not.”
“Luke, how did Uncle Stanton get in here?”
“He moved this rug up to the door at some point. It’s usually in the center of the room but he probably figured we’d never notice and I wouldn’t have if he hadn’t come in. He had a key—these locks are simple. He pushed our key out—it fell quietly on the rug—and he unlocked the door with his key.”
“I wish you had pulled out a pistol and shot into the air to teach him to stay in his own quarters.”
“Let’s go to bed, Honor. We should have ended any doubts about our marriage tonight.”
She heard the angry note in his voice as she slid under the covers, feeling the bed shift slightly when Luke lay down.
“I don’t think I’ll go to sleep tonight,” he said after a moment, turning to face her.
“Nor will I. I wonder how long they will stay.”
“I think Lavinia has moved in permanently. Honor, she brought two trunks of clothing with her.”