Rogues in Texas 03 - Never Marry a Cowboy

by Lorraine Heath

  The doors to the balcony were open and the warm salt breeze whispered into the room. He’d discarded his jacket. She watched as he stepped onto the balcony and unbuttoned his shirt. What were his thoughts as he stood out there alone? Should she join him?

  Pulling his shirt over his head, he walked back into the room and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Why are you nervous?” he asked.

  “I’m not,” she answered, surprised that she sounded as though she had no breath in her body.

  Even in the shadows, she could tell that he’d twisted his head to look at her. “You haven’t moved since you finished drinking the milk I brought you.”

  She swallowed. “I … um … I was thinking is all.”

  “About what?” he asked in a low seductive voice that sent shivers rippling through her.

  “Last night,” she confessed. “I was wondering if married people make love every night.”

  “Depends on the couple, I should suppose,” he said, before standing and removing what remained of his clothing.

  Her breath caught as he lay beside her, raised up on an elbow, and trailed his finger along her arm.

  “Every night, every morning, every afternoon,” he said quietly, “if the mood should strike.”

  “During the day?” she asked, shocked to think of making love without the benefit of shadows, more dismayed to realize the thought appealed to her, to have the ability to clearly see Kit’s hands moving over her flesh, to gaze into his light blue eyes.

  He brought his mouth near her ear and whispered, “No rules govern passion, sweetling.” He nibbled on her lobe. “Did you want me to bring you pleasure tonight?”

  She closed her eyes and the heat swamped her. “Yes.”

  “Then why did you wear clothing to bed?”

  “Because I didn’t know there weren’t any rules.”

  “Mmm. You smell like oleanders,” he murmured.

  “I took a sponge bath while you were seeing to the horses.” She was grateful the night hid the blush that she knew was creeping up her face.

  “So you liked my gift of scented soap,” he said as he deftly unbuttoned her nightgown. “I should bring you back to Galveston when the flowers are again in bloom.”

  Next spring. To see them, she’d have to survive the winter. She held his words close to her heart, not daring to rebuff them. For tonight, for as long as he was with her, she would pretend that death would not come.

  He slipped his hands between the parted material, cradling her ribs, and forcing her to sit. “Remove your clothes,” he ordered quietly.

  She slipped her arms out of the sleeves and squirmed until she worked her nightgown past her hips, along her legs, and over her feet.

  “So much better,” he said as he eased her back down to the mattress. He loosened her hair and fanned it over the pillow. “Gossamer wings,” he murmured. “All angels have such delicate wings.”

  With a gentle nudge of his knee, he parted her thighs and placed himself between them. Her breathing became almost nonexistent. She had expected exactly what he’d given her last night, knowing only the feel of his chest against her breasts, his hands caressing her flesh, his lips teasing hers. She had not anticipated this position, of having the ability to press her thighs against his hips and feel his sturdiness at the juncture of her womanhood. She felt fear mingle with exhilaration.

  With clothes to separate them, he had taken the same position on their wedding night, only anger had spurred his actions. She threaded her fingers through his hair, scraping her nails along his scalp. Tonight anger found no purchase within their bed.

  Lightly, he kissed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “Trust me, Ashton,” he whispered hoarsely, “and I shall take you farther into the realm of pleasure than I did last night.”

  A shiver cascaded through her. “I don’t know if I could survive such a journey.”

  “You will,” he promised before possessively covering her mouth with his.

  He tasted of brandy and fire, his lips hungry, his tongue insistent as he explored the confines of her mouth. His hands cradled her face as though he feared she might resist. Instead, she dug her fingers into his shoulders and returned his kiss with equal fervor.

  She felt the dampness between her legs and realized that tonight she would know the full extent of love, the joining of bodies. He would give to her all that he had to give, and she would gladly receive it.

  He withdrew from the kiss and trailed his mouth along her throat. “Trust me,” he rasped.

  An inane command when she already did, with all her heart.

  He cupped her breasts, his hand gently kneading one while he paid homage to the other with his mouth, his tongue circling the budding tip. She raised her hips, pressing against his stomach, wishing he hadn’t slid down, denying her contact with the hard evidence of his desire.

  He licked at the valley between her breasts before taking his hot mouth on a slow sojourn over her ribs and along her stomach. The heat swept through her, flames licking at her core, creating needs stronger than anything she’d experienced before.

  He dipped his tongue into her navel. She pressed her fingers against his head in an effort to urge him to bring his mouth back to hers. But he ignored her silent request and slid lower, kissing the sensitive flesh on the inside of each thigh.

  Then with a gentle daring, he pressed his mouth to the intimate core of her being and circled his tongue over the budding flesh of her womanhood. She convulsed as intense sensations flooded her. He alternately stroked and suckled, the velvet smoothness of his tongue heightening the pleasure.

  Her fingers tightened their hold on him as her body curled toward him. She began to spiral upward, beyond limits, beyond boundaries, until she thought she would die.

  Brilliant colors exploded behind her closed lids, blood roared through her ears, she cried out his name, and her back arched as the sensations carried her into what she thought was surely heaven.

  She fell back to earth, breathing heavily, not certain she would ever be able to move again.

  Kit kissed the inside of her thighs, his mouth following the trail back to hers. He pressed his lips to hers, leaving behind the salty taste of her own flesh as he gently eased away from her and slid his finger inside her.

  “You’re still throbbing,” he said in a quiet voice, but she heard the masculine pride emanating from him.

  “Am I?” she asked breathlessly, turning her head slightly so she could gaze upon him.

  His answer was a low growl of satisfaction. She wanted to laugh, but she hadn’t the strength. Of its own accord, her hand turned and circled him. Beside her, she felt his entire body stiffen.

  “You’re still sturdy,” she murmured.

  He kissed the sensitive spot below her ear, and she heard him swallow hard.

  “Yes.”

  She thought she detected a note of sadness in his voice. Why would he be sad after giving so much to her?

  She folded her fingers more snugly around him. He groaned.

  “Am I hurting you?” she asked.

  “God, no,” he answered, his breathing harsh.

  “Kit, I want to know what it feels like to have you inside me.”

  He buried his face within the crook of her neck. “There is little except pain for a woman the first time.”

  “I don’t care. I want to experience the full extent of love, and if it includes pain, I’ll welcome it if it means a joining of our bodies. I love you, and I want you to be my husband in the truest sense.”

  He lifted his head and skimmed his knuckles across her cheek. “You’re crying.”

  Until that moment, she hadn’t felt the tears. “From joy. What you give me fills me with gladness, and yet I feel empty. I think it’s because as close as we’ve become, we’re still separate.”

  “Our joining will make the parting so much harder, Ashton.”

  She cradled his jaw within her palm. “I don’t want to
die not having experienced the greatest of all gifts.”

  “Then I’ll give to you what I can.”

  Tenderly, he kissed her as though it were the first time, as though no other moment had existed before this one, as though he’d never brought her pleasure or known her body as intimately as he had.

  Love swelled like the roaring of the ocean that lay just beyond their balcony. When he shifted and nestled himself between her thighs, she knew that he was where he belonged, and this time he would gift her with what she had expected before.

  Instinct made her lift her hips to welcome him. With one sure thrust, he joined his body to hers. The pain was slight, no doubt because he had already given her exquisite pleasure once.

  She relished the full, hard length of him, filling her. She felt a shudder course through him, heard his harsh breathing. He kissed her passionately, hungrily, before raising above her. His movements were slight at first, like wading into the ocean, testing the current. The night covered his face in shadows, yet she could feel the heat of his gaze upon her as he rocked against her, increasing the tempo.

  She had expected the pain. She hadn’t expected to feel the pleasure rippling through her again. She gasped and he quickened his movements. She ran her hands along his sides, over his chest, until she could clutch his shoulders. Anything to keep her anchored, but she became like a ship tossed into a tempest.

  All she’d experienced before paled in comparison to what she felt now with each powerful thrust. His fingers had worked a miracle, his tongue magic, but these sensations went beyond earthly bounds. He was hers, completely, absolutely, making her his.

  She writhed and moaned, tossing her head from side to side as the passion increased, undulating waves that never ceased, but only grew grander in intensity, broader in scope.

  She shivered, felt him tremble, and then the storm washed over her, gloriously, taking her to the depths of passion and tossing her back to the height of sensual awareness. Her body curled, then arched, her fingers digging deeply into his shoulders.

  Lost in oblivion, she felt his last thrust before he stilled, hovering above her, breathing harshly.

  She trailed her hands along his quivering arms, his muscles tense and taut as any rope about to snap. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew and rolled off her, leaving her bereft for reasons she couldn’t understand. She had wanted him to stay with her forever.

  Lethargically, she eased onto her side and placed her hand on his chest. “You’re so tense.”

  He twisted his head slightly and brushed a kiss across her brow. “Go to sleep now, sweetling.”

  She moved her hand lower. “You’re still sturdy.”

  He grabbed her wrist and tucked her hand in close against her side. “Go to sleep.”

  He rolled out of bed and disappeared into the darkness of the balcony while confusion surrounded her. Why would pleasure leave a woman feeling completely relaxed and a man incredibly tense? Would they not, in some way, both experience the same sensations?

  She clambered out of bed, jerked the sheet off the bed, wrapped it around herself, and padded to the balcony. She could see only a silhouette of Kit standing in the front corner, gripping the railing as he stared at the distant sea.

  Quietly, she crossed the expanse separating them and pressed a hand against his back. He stiffened, but not before she felt the tightness that already existed within him.

  “Go back to bed,” he said in a controlled voice.

  She pressed a kiss to his sweat-slickened flesh. “What did I do wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  She wrapped her hand around his arm. “I don’t understand. Why is a man so tense after experiencing pleasure while a woman—”

  “I did not—” She heard him swallow. “I did not experience the pleasure that you did.”

  Grief hit her with the knowledge that she’d disappointed him. Her experience was none while his was abundant. Why hadn’t he shown her what he needed from her to experience the joys of love? “What did I do wrong?”

  “I told you. Nothing.”

  “Then explain to me what I should have done so I’ll know—”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why—”

  “Ashton, for God’s sake, if you read all those medical books you must know what happens when a man reaches the pinnacle of pleasure.”

  The brusqueness in his voice caught her unaware. After all his kindness, why now was he incredibly angry? She took a step back, knowing the answer but needing to hear it from him. “Tell me what happens.”

  He jerked his head around and glared at her. “I not only fill you with my cock, sweetling, I fill you with my seed.”

  His crudeness unsettled her, but not nearly as much as the implication of his final words. “Your seed,” she repeated lamely.

  A sudden chill swept through her, and she drew the sheet more closely around herself. “So you held back. You gave me pleasure, but denied yourself.”

  “The night I asked you to become my wife, I made a personal vow that I would not get you with babe. If your physician’s prediction holds any accuracy, then my child would die with you. I will not be responsible for the death of another innocent.”

  She heard the wind blowing over the waves, like the howling of a child, a child she would never hold. During their time together, she’d never considered all the ramifications that this arrangement was costing him. She felt the tears well within her eyes and slide along her cheeks. Her mouth dry, she cleared her throat. “I think it’s time that I returned to Dallas .”

  “I thought you wanted to see a performance,” he said quietly.

  “I fear, my dear Kit, that I have been living a performance for too long now while you have suffered through the reality. I want to go back to Dallas .”

  He turned his attention to the ocean. “Then we’ll leave tomorrow.”

  Although he couldn’t see her, she nodded. She had married a man of wise words. All that she’d experienced would make the parting unbearable.

  *

  CHAPTER 16

  « ^ »

  K it had succeeded in giving Ashton what she had so long ago wished for—a broken heart.

  He found no satisfaction in his accomplishment. Self-loathing pierced his soul. Frustration had caused him to blurt out his explanation in the crudest of manners. If the devil didn’t already own his soul, he would trade it to have that moment returned so he could have explained kindly with words that would soften the truth.

  Sitting across from his wife inside the jostling stagecoach, Kit felt the chasm between them widening. She’d chosen to wedge herself between the side of the coach and the obese man who had climbed aboard ahead of her.

  When Clarisse had died, he’d felt a loneliness so deep that he thought the well of despair would forever hold him captive. Now, he was taking his very much alive wife back to her brother, and he feared he would have neither the courage nor the kindness to leave her.

  God knew he didn’t have the desire.

  Loneliness already gnawed at his soul. Ashton was still with him in flesh, if not in heart, and he wondered how he would survive when he no longer had the ability at least to gaze upon her, to watch the wind whip stray strands of hair around her lovely face, to inhale her sweet scent of oleander, the flower of Galveston .

  He had purchased her some more scented soaps and perfume before they’d left. Although she’d obliged him by dabbing a bit of the perfume against her throat, her eyes had held no joy, only resignation.

  Death was her destiny.

  Clarisse had belonged to Christopher. Although Kit had accepted that fact, only now did he truly understand the ramifications of that truth. He had loved Clarisse, but it was a love born of youth, a love deepened by denial.

  His feelings for Ashton were those of a man staring down a long, desolate road that would never again know the touch of the sun or the light of the moon. He would live only because his heart continued to beat and his lungs to take in air, but his sou
l was already withering.

  He would insist that David not notify him when the flame of her life had been snuffed out. He knew he would be unable to bear the sorrow. In his mind, she would live forever. When his hair turned gray, he would imagine hers silver. When his wrinkles deepened, he might add one or two to the memory of her face. Only when Death came for him would he accept that she’d gone before, and he could only hope that she would be standing at Heaven’s Gate awaiting his arrival.

  He closed his eyes. He’d doomed himself to hell when he’d poured the extra powder into the glass for Clarisse. Once he left Dallas , he would never again see Ashton. Not in this life, nor in any that lay beyond.

  Opening his eyes, he again felt the stab of regret—for the personal vow he’d taken the night he proposed and for his lack in judgment that had allowed it to harm her. Still, the memories of her moans, sighs, and cries were a balm to the mental flaying he’d given himself. He would carry the song with him for the remainder of his life.

  He hoped that in the passing months, she would forgive him and remember him with a measure of caring, perhaps a bit of love, although he feared it unlikely. He had wounded her greatly by not giving everything to her.

  If only she knew how much he’d wounded himself. Never in his life had he become so lost in a woman when he joined his body to hers. Never had he reveled in the pleasure he could provide or felt such a belonging. Until Ashton, he’d never realized that he had been as a voyeur … involved but distant.

  Strange for a man of thirty-three to discover that he’d never truly made love. Created passion, yes. Elicited pleasure, certainly, but his heart had watched from afar, a safe distance away.

  Now, it was no longer safe. It hurt unbearably. God help him, he’d never known such pain, and he’d always thought he’d experienced the worst. He was beginning to realize he’d experienced nothing at all.

  With longing, he watched Ashton, resisting the urge to reach across the expanse separating them and take her hand in his, cherish her touch, just one more memory to tuck away and carry with him into his dotage.