Lacy

by Diana Palmer

  Someone was watching her. She felt it even in the exhausted lethargy of pleasure that consumed her. Her eyes opened as the last shudders began to die away and she saw Danny, standing just outside the closet, watching. His face was sweaty, his eyes glazed. She stiffened, horrified.

  Blake was still shaking. He felt her move and scowled, lifting his head to ask if he was hurting her. He saw her expression, then followed her stare and cursed viciously as he fought to get his breath back. "You sick little pervert!" he said accusingly.

  He dragged himself away from Katy and went after Danny, who managed to get into the next room before Blake caught up with him. Obscenities passed back and forth wildly as their voices raised. The sound of a struggle reached Katy, and then a gun discharged once, twice.

  Katy jumped out of bed and ran into the next room in time to see Danny lying on the rug in a pool of his own blood. It flowed from a tiny wound in his forehead, from his chest. His eyes were open, but they didn't see her. They didn't see anything. Blake was standing over him, fiery-eyed, the smoking pistol in his hand and a robe draped carelessly around him.

  "The crazy fool," he spat. "The crazy fool! He tried to kill me! Weasly little pervert— He had it coming for what he did to you! Katy?" He moved toward her. "Katy, it's all right, girl! He'll never beat you again. Katy?"

  Katy screamed, then felt the world go black around her as the sordid scene impeded on her shaky consciousness. She crumpled in pain and terror, unconscious before an anguished, cursing Blake Wardell caught her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lacy had noticed a new attitude in Marion for the past few weeks. Ben phoned home frequently now, and he'd agreed without protest to let her give him a party. The older woman was brighter, more alive. She rested and took good care of herself. There were no more sick spells lately. It had to be an omen.

  There was a cold silence between Cole and Ben since their con­frontation. But Lacy and Cole were getting along better than ever. They talked, went places together. He'd even taken her with him to a cattlemen's association meeting in San Antonio, which had culminated in a banquet supper. He'd had to work hard today to make up for the lost time, but he didn't seem to regret his night off. Things were looking up. The party for Ben was tomorrow night, and Cole hadn't even muttered about having the men butcher a steer for food. Lacy had baked for days getting ready, and Marion had done as much as she could. The cowboys' wives had cleaned up the house and were going to help hang Japanese lanterns and decorate with fall flowers the next afternoon. Everything was under control.

  It was Friday night, and Lacy was having a bath. The water was warm and bubbly. She'd added powdered soap to it, lightly scented. She felt absolutely decadent with the water just up to her waist, her pretty breasts bare. The air on them was curiously arousing. She felt free, all woman. She stretched lazily, her eyes closing with a drowsy smile as she savored the warm water on her skin.

  The door opened suddenly.. .and she met Cole's shocked eyes as he froze inside the room.

  "I didn't know you were in here," he said, but he didn't move. His eyes were on the stark beauty of her alabaster breasts with their small red crowns dark and hard. He'd never seen a woman like this. Even if he had, nobody could have compared with Lacy. She was beautiful.

  Lacy couldn't speak. The impact of his eyes took her breath away. She'd imagined having him see her this way, but imagining hadn't prepared her for the way her skin tingled or the softly wanton impulses that throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

  He hesitated at the door, color running along his cheekbones. "I'd better go," he said harshly.

  "You're my husband, Cole," she reminded him huskily. "It's all right. You can look at me if you want to."

  He did. His face colored even more, but he couldn't have averted his eyes to save his life.

  "I wanted to wash my hands," he said, trying to sound normal.

  "Go ahead, then," she invited.

  He had to force himself to walk to the sink, to wash away the grime and horsehair. When he'd dried his hands, he turned back to Lacy, his gaze going helplessly to her breasts.

  She tingled as he looked at her. Involuntarily her body arched.

  "Lacy," he whispered in anguish.

  "Oh, come here," she pleaded softly, holding out her arms.

  He was in work clothes, as he usually was these days. He knelt beside the tub, his chaps making a creaking sound, his spurs jingling. She was so beautiful, and she belonged to him.

  He bent to kiss her soft mouth, and while he kissed her, one lean hand went to her breast, cupping it. Her skin was cool and silky, and he groaned.

  The gasp she made went into his mouth.

  He lifted his head, breathless. His eyes were dark and intent, and his hand didn't move. "Is it all right if I touch you like this?" he asked.

  "Yes." She ran her fingers over his hand, holding it there.

  His body tensed with pleasure. He smiled gently, looking down to where his hand rested, so dark against her marble skin. He cupped her, his thumb sliding with sensual abrasion against the nipple. She gasped, and he liked that, so he did it again. She moaned this time.

  He was feeling his way, literally, but he was beginning to discover what she liked. He shifted her a little and moved so that he could take her breast into his mouth. He suckled at it, hearing her whimper and he increased the pressure.

  "You taste sweet "he whispered. "Like warm silk in my mouth." His tongue rubbed the nipple. She clutched at his shoulders. "Tell me if it hurts," he said, swallowing her up again.

  It didn't hurt. It was heavenly sweet. She clung to him, inviting his mouth to the twin of the place he was tormenting, adoring the feel of his hands gliding down her body while he nuzzled her.

  When he lifted her clear of the tub, she didn't say a word. He put her down on her feet, gently, and reached for a towel. He dried her in a soft, tense silence. She stood before him trembling—while he learned all of her with his hands and his eyes until she was dry at last.

  "You look like a fairy," he breathed. "All white and pink."

  "You can't imagine how I feel inside," she said shakily. She pressed close against him, feeling his arousal. She was wild for him, but she didn't know how to say it.

  Tentatively her hands went to the buttons of his shirt. She looked up, waiting.

  His jaw tightened. "I don't think I can let you do that in the light," he began.

  "Just the front," she whispered. "I want to feel your chest against mine."

  His cheeks went ruddy. "All right. Just that."

  It was a milestone. Her fingers fumbled buttons while her heart threatened to burst. She pulled the fabric aside. There were white streaks mixed in with thick, dark hair and muscle, but it was the size and strength of his chest that fascinated her. She slid against him, closing her eyes as she felt skin against skin, the soft abrasion of body hair teasing her nipples into even harder peaks.

  She moaned, moving softly against him.

  His hands slid up her back, pulling her to him, and above her his face was rigid with desire. He looked down at where they touched, at her breasts lying on his chest.

  "You're lovely," he said, his voice deep in the stillness. "You're the loveliest sight I'll ever see."

  "I'm glad." She laid her hands flat on his chest and tugged gently at the thick hair. "I love the way this feels," she whispered. "It's so soft against my skin."

  He smiled. It wasn't as difficult as he'd thought. His chest, at least, wasn't bad. Not like his back. He ran the knuckle of his forefinger down her breast until it was stopped by the junction of her nipple with his chest.

  "Move back enough so that I can touch you," he whispered.

  She laughed nervously as she complied. "I thought you didn't know much about women."

  "I know enough to get by, I suppose." He took the nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and she gasped. "It's sensitive, isn't it?"

  "Very."

  He let go and slid both his hands down her
sides to her hips, feeling the silkiness of her body with awe. He drew her up and pressed her against the hardness of him.

  She stiffened involuntarily at the stark heat of him.

  "Don't be afraid," he said gently. "I won't hurt you."

  "I know." She swallowed. "We're taught all our lives not to let men touch us in certain places, in certain ways. Then we marry, and poof, anything goes. It takes a little time to adjust."

  "For me, too. I've never seen a woman without her clothes. It intimidates me. I didn't realize how pretty you were going to be like this."

  She smiled shyly and buried her face in his warm chest. "I'm glad you think I'm pretty."

  He drew in a sharp breath at the feel of her lips on his skin. "Lacy..."

  Her hands slid up his chest and down again while she pressed her lips a little clumsily to his throat. His heart was beating very quickly, and there was the faintest tremor in his legs.

  "Marion's asleep," she whispered. "No one else is in the house."

  He held her arms tightly and tried to think. "I need a bath," he said gruffly.

  "Then take one," she said. "I'll keep for a few minutes."

  He looked down at her with heated impatience, his face as tight as his body, his inhibitions plain on his face.

  She reached up and brushed her mouth softly over his. "I'll put out the lights."

  His eyes winced. "Lacy, you deserve so much more than I can give you," he said.

  "I love you," she replied, her eyes adoring him. "You're all I want."

  He wondered if any man had ever been as blessed as he was right now. He touched his lips to hers in a whisper of sensuality. "All right," he said. "I'll come to you when I finish in here."

  "I'll wait."

  She tugged out of his arms and slid into the toweling robe hanging on the door. She glanced at him with teasing eyes and left him there.

  It was barely fifteen minutes later when he came out of the bathroom. She could see little more than his silhouette in the unlighted room, and there was no moon.

  He slid under the covers and pulled her to him, delighted to find her as nude as he was. He smiled to himself as he molded her body to his, shivering at the ecstatic contact of her flesh with his. "You're warm," he whispered.

  "You're not, but you will be." She moved closer, careful to keep her hands at his chest and nowhere else. Her legs brushed his and she sighed as she laid her face against his hot throat.

  The gentle submission made him guilty. He'd given her nothing last time, but she was as trusting as if he'd taken her to heaven. He tried to remember every single thing Turk had told him. Tonight, he was going to make her glad she'd married him if it took until dawn!

  He kissed her slowly, ignoring his own needs while he set himself to kindle hers. His hands learned her, touching secret places, listening for the sounds that would tell him what pleased her.

  He took his time, delighting in her eager responses, working his way over her breasts with little soft kisses that eventually led to hungrier ones and made her writhe.

  The cover was hot. He threw it off, confident that she couldn't see him. The reverse was also true, and he spared himself a moment's regret. But he could feel her, smell her, taste her as he drew her small breasts into his mouth and made them firm and hard-tipped. He touched her, as Turk as instructed, to make sure she was ready for him. Then he eased over her, his mouth covering hers, and lowered himself between her soft thighs.

  She stiffened helplessly, remembering.

  "It's all right, little one," he whispered. "It won't hurt. I promise you it won't.. .not this time." "I m sorry..."

  "Shh." He nibbled at her mouth while he positioned himself, one lean hand easing under her. "I know how bad it was the last time. But your body knows how to fit itself to mine now. It will be easy. No, don't stiffen like that, it will hurt."

  "I'm trying!" She gasped.

  He felt her body trying to reject him, and he stilled his body over hers. His mouth brushed hers, gently. His hand slid between them, smoothing over her flat stomach, her thighs, gently caressing, reassuring.

  "You're part of me," he whispered. "Your body is especially designed to allow the invasion of mine. I want to feel you around me, as you were that night. I want to know the soft, moist wonder of your femininity enveloping me."

  She shivered. The words were evocative, arousing. She felt herself sinking into the mattress as she gave in, finally. His hips moved, just slightly, and all at once it was happening.

  It didn't hurt. Her mind registered that even while it was assimilating the shock of penetration, the raw intimacy of what they were doing.

  "It's so intimate!" she blurted out.

  "Yes." His mouth found her eyes, kissing them closed. His hips began a soft, slow rhythm that shocked her with the sharp pleasure every thrust produced.

  She clung to his arms, tiny sounds escaping her throat as the springs creaked under them, and she was grateful that Marion's room was far enough away that she wouldn't hear them. Because now Lacy was starting to move with him, making the noise even louder. He was making her hungry. She lifted, fell, lifted with him, clinging, straining with jerky breaths as the pleasure came close and then darted away.

  She chased it with him, her hips searching for the pressure and rhythm that would bring it back.

  He felt her helpless movements, heard her breathing suddenly change. She began to go rigid, and he knew now exactly what to do.

  He did it, with a skill he hadn't known he possessed. She went into convulsions and cried out. If Turk hadn't told him what to expect, the way she reacted would have frightened him out of his wits. But he knew that it was the culmination of her pleasure, and through his own violent excitement, he gloried in the knowledge that he'd given her a taste of heaven.

  Seconds after she began to relax again, he stiffened over her and groaned harshly as ecstasy rippled down his spine and exploded in his body. He collapsed on her, his heartbeat audible in the heated stillness.

  He heard soft weeping, but this time he smiled. It wasn't pain that had caused her emotions to spin out of control. No, this time it wasn't pain.

  He rolled away from her and gathered her up close against his side. "And they say we can't fly without airplanes,"he murmured drowsily. "Oh, Cole," she breathed into his shoulder. "Cole!" "Was it enough?" he asked gently. "Yes." She shivered. "Yes, it was enough."

  His hand smoothed her hair and he lay holding her for a long time without speaking, drinking in the peace and pleasure of being with her. Finally he turned toward her, his lips finding hers with tender pressure.

  He felt her mouth tremble under his, heard her breathing jerk softly. He moved to find her breasts with his lips and caressed them until she was shivering.

  "I want to make love again," he whispered into her mouth. "Do you?

  "Yes!"

  He smiled against her lips until the heat and passion of her response made him too hungry. It was hours before they finally slept.

  When Lacy woke, Cole was dressed and gone. She looked beside her, but the only evidence of his occupancy was a dent in the feather pillow. She stretched, wincing at the soreness of her muscles, and then she blushed, remembering.

  She got up and went to make breakfast, smiling to herself. For the first time, she felt married.

  Cole had strutted into the barn just after daylight, looking so smug that Turk forgot his misery and laughed.

  "No smart remarks," Cole said challengingly as he started to saddle a horse.

  "I didn't say a word."

  Turk smiled as he saddled his own mount. "My wife and I knocked the slats out of the bed so many times the first week we were married that we finally put the mattress on the floor and slept there instead."

  Cole flushed. He and Lacy hadn't knocked the slats out, but he knew the mattress springs were damned near sprung!

  "Don't look so ruffled,"Turk said. "Sex is a beautiful part of a relationship. It isn't something dirty and unnatural that needs
to be hidden and glossed over. A passionate woman is worth her weight in gold."

  "I'm still in the learning stages about passion." "You'll get the hang of it." He pulled the cinch tight. "Heard from Katy?"

  "Yes," Cole replied. "Some song and dance about having to stay with her husband."

  Turk's hands stilled. He looked at the older man curiously. "Are we talking about the same Katy who hitchhiked to San Antonio to see Lacy when you refused to drive her?"

  "Yes. I'm concerned. I don't like that dude she married. There's something vaguely sinister about him," Cole said flatly. "I wish I could get her down here long enough to find out what's going on. The letter she wrote to Mother wasn't much more coherent than the one I got. Something's wrong."

  Turk felt the old guilt again. He'd wished a hundred times that he'd stopped Katy from leaving. He knew he could have, with a single word.

  "Maybe she's pregnant," he said through stiff lips, and wondered even then if she could be, by him. That would sure as hell complicate everyone's life.

  "Surely she'd have said so," Cole said.

  "I guess she would've," he replied dully, but he wasn't convinced. The possibility existed.

  "We have to dress up tonight for that party of Lacy's. Ben's bringing his fancy woman."

  "I can hardly wait,"Turk drawled. "Suppose we let Taggart and Cherry in the house so they can dance with her in honor of the occasion?"

  "If we let those two in the house, there won't be an occasion."

  "Just a thought, boss. Let's get to work, shall we?" He glanced at Cole musingly. "If you can sit comfortably, that is." "Damn you!" Cole burst out laughing.

  Turk rode on ahead, glad that at least Cole seemed happy. He didn't dare think about Katy or he'd go mad.

  DAWN CAME COLD and unwelcome in Chicago. Katy was lying, wide-eyed, in a white hospital bed, but she didn't seem to hear or understand anything that was said to her. She was out of shock now, but her mind seemed to be affected.

  Danny had been taken away by the coroner, with Mama Marlone screaming and then yelling obscenities at Blake Wardell who'd, cold-bloodedly, killed her little boy. For Katy she hadn't even spared a thought, or for the big, dark man who was taken away by the police before he could try to talk to Katy, to apologize. The two morgue attendants had taken Danny away, snickering at the obvious menage a trois that had ended in tragedy. "Some high livers, these mobsters," they'd said. "Plain degenerate. And this moll of Marlone's must have been pretty hot stuff." She'd been in a strange condition when they'd arrived, lying on a bed with her eyes wide open, but without moving or seeming aware of her surroundings. Must be the shock, they'd thought.