Louisa Rawlings

by Forever Wild

  He watched her, his eyes smoldering, as she pulled the shirt free of her britches and tossed it aside. Then he reached out and stroked her bare shoulder. His hand was hot, burning her flesh. His long fingers traced a path from her shoulder across her collarbone to her other shoulder, and then down her arm till it reached her hand. He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them one by one. She trembled and quivered with each kiss and caress, her body on fire with a longing, a need she hardly understood. And each time he touched her, it made the longing harder to bear, more intense and painful, yet oddly seeming to bring her closer to the release of those feelings. With gentle hands she pushed him away and unfastened the two small buttons of her chemise, wriggling out of the top of it so it bunched around her waist.

  “Wait,” he said. He rose and picked up a blanket, spreading it out on a smooth patch of sand farther away from the fire. He knelt to her and gathered her in his arms. She hadn’t realized how strong he was; she felt very small and fragile as he carried her to the blanket and laid her gently down. He pulled down his suspenders, then stripped off his shirt and undervest. His body was smooth and sleek, the skin like taut silk over surprisingly muscular arms and shoulders. The broad expanse of his chest was broken only by a large hairy patch in the middle, black and thick like the hair on his head. The thought of that chest pressing on her naked breasts gave Marcy a jolt down to her toes. She stretched out her arms to him, eager to feel his strong body on top of her own. Instead, he laughed softly and lay down beside her. “No,” he said. “I want to find out first how sensitive you are.” His hand reached out to caress one breast, cupping the firm orb in his palm while his thumb traced lazy circles around the nipple.

  She sucked in her breath. “Dang you,” she choked, straining against him. “That drives me wild!”

  He chuckled. “Good.” His hand moved to her other breast. “I always suspected you were a hot little creature. I intend to drive you wilder before I’m through!”

  She twisted away from his hand. “You lop-eared devil! Maybe I won’t let you.”

  He grinned. “You’re not going to have any say in the matter, you little tease! I reckon I owe you for that scene at the waterfall. You haven’t minded teasing me this past week. Now the devil is going to get his due.” Despite her struggling, he pinned her hands to her sides and bent his mouth to her breasts, kissing, nipping gently with strong teeth until she thought she would go mad.

  She writhed in delicious torment. “Oh Drew…stop…” But of course she didn’t want him to stop. And of course he knew it. It seemed a wonderful extension of all the games and teasing of the past weeks. But this was a grown-up game. With the man she loved. And now he was loving her back, turning her insides to jelly with his mouth and hands. “Stop…” she breathed half-heartedly.

  He released her hands and smiled at her. His eyes glowed by the light of the fire. “I haven’t even begun to explore all your sensitive spots. For example…” His hand slid down her belly and moved to the inner edge of her thigh, scratching tantalizingly at the soft juncture. Even through two layers of clothing, the sensation was exquisite. She shuddered.

  “You varmint,” she gasped, “you timber wolf…” She reached for him and curled her fingers into his hair, tugging at his head until his face was poised above hers. She slid her hands about his shoulders and pulled him down to her. His chest was hot against her naked breasts, and when she moved beneath him she could feel the delicious tickle of his coarse hair on her flesh. He kissed her hard and she responded, stroking the firm skin of his back and shoulders, glorying in the feel of his muscles rippling just below the surface. But when he softened his kiss, his lips parting gently, she attacked, thrusting her tongue determinedly between his teeth, savoring the sweet moistness of his mouth. His body stiffened in surprise, and then he wrapped his arms about her, half lifting her as she lay, holding her tightly to his heaving chest while his mouth responded to hers. When at last their lips parted and he released her, she could see that he was trembling. He struggled to his knees, then stood up; he stood for a moment, breathing hard, before reaching down and pulling her to her feet. His torso was covered with a thin coat of sweat and his eyes glittered with passion. He raised one mocking eyebrow and smiled, his glance sweeping her body. “Now, you imp,” he growled, “how fast can you get out of those britches before I have to tear them off you?”

  She giggled. They eyed each other warily, savoring the game. Her hands went to her belt at the same moment he began to unbutton his own trousers. They never took their eyes off each other as they pulled off trousers and underdrawers, then removed their boots and stockings. In a moment they were standing naked together, laughing like carefree children.

  Drew stepped back to look at her. The grin faded from his face. “My God,” he whispered. “You’re glorious.” He knelt in front of her and put his hands on her hips, burying his face in her bosom.

  Her trembling legs refused to support her for another moment. She pulled away from him, dropped to the blanket, and stretched out, waiting. She wasn’t sure what he would do next, but she trusted him. She loved him. When he pushed at her thighs to separate them, she responded willingly, feeling his hard shaft on her leg as he covered her body with his. He began to rock his hips gently, moving up and down so his member rubbed against the delicate softness of her. She felt a throbbing, a wild pulsing that seemed to begin where he touched her, radiating a warmth that surged through her whole body. She felt his hardness pressing, demanding entrance, though he seemed to hesitate.

  “Yes, Drew. Please,” she murmured. “I’m not afraid.” He pushed gently, then thrust hard, sending wild sensations shooting through her. She had thought her night of clumsy groping with Zeb had prepared her for the feeling, but, dear God, she thought, it had been nothing like this! Zeb had merely touched her; Drew possessed her, filled her with his throbbing manhood, making her feel helpless and captured—and strangely triumphant all at the same time. She sighed and wrapped her arms tightly around him, enjoying the hot fullness of him within her. “Oh, Drew,” she sighed again, “that was wonderful.”

  He laughed, his voice shaking oddly. “Now I’m sure you’re a virgin.” Her eyes blinked open in surprise to find him smiling down at her. “I’m not finished yet,” he explained gently.

  “Are you teasing me again?”

  “It seems to me I haven’t teased you enough! Now close your eyes like a good little girl.” He kissed her mouth and pressed her lids shut with tender fingers.

  Obediently she relaxed beneath him. Whatever came next couldn’t be more wonderful than this feeling of being warmed and protected by him. His hips began to move slowly: His hard shaft was suddenly alive, thrusting, gliding, plunging deep so she moaned in pleasure, then withdrawing and waiting, barely touching her. Just when she thought she would scream in frustration, he would enter her again, sometimes with a maddening slowness that caused her to pound at his bare shoulders, sometimes with such force that she cried out for sheer joy.

  She began to lose all sense of time; there was only his mouth, his hard body, his throbbing possession of her. His movements quickened. He grasped her shoulders in a grip that was almost painful, plunging into her again and again. She arched her back, meeting him thrust for thrust, then gasped aloud as a deep shudder ran through her body.

  “Oh, God, Marcy!” he said, quivering violently. He thrust once more and collapsed against her.

  They lay entwined for several moments. Then he raised his head and pushed the damp curls back from her forehead. He laughed softly. “Now I’m finished.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. Beautiful Drew. He was still within her. She put her legs together, unwilling to release him. “That was wonderful,” she breathed.

  “I was afraid I might hurt you.”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Not many virgins are so lucky the first time.”

  “Yes. I guess so.” She twitched uncomfortably beneath him.

  “Now
what? Do you want me to move?”

  She put her arms tightly around him. “No!”

  “Then what’s the matter? Come on, Marce. I know you well enough to know when something’s going on inside that funny little head of yours.”

  She was glad he couldn’t see her blush in the fire’s glow. “It’s just that…dang it, Drew! I’m not sure I was a virgin!”

  He shook his head. “I can’t really believe you’ve been with a man before. Not this way.”

  “No. Never! But Zeb…he’s sort of been my friend in Long Lake, and…well, I let him touch me…once.”

  He clucked his tongue. “Did you now? Wicked Marcy.”

  “Don’t laugh. I think something must have happened, because…oh, I can’t tell you!”

  “Did it hurt?” She shook her head. “Well,” he continued, “were you bleeding?”

  “A little bit, I think.”

  He stroked the side of her cheek. “Poor Marcy. But I think you can consider yourself still a virgin. At least until tonight. Did you ever tell anyone?”

  “I was too embarrassed. But Uncle Jack found out about it anyway.”

  “What happened to Zeb?”

  “Uncle Jack tanned his hide.”

  “And you got off scot-free, I suppose.”

  She nodded, filled with guilt.

  He grinned. “You’re a dangerous female to make love to!”

  She gulped, filled with sudden anguish. He hadn’t realized how true his words were. Zeb had got a beating. Drew was going to be forced into marriage. She shivered beneath him. “I’m getting cold.”

  He rolled off her. “I’ll bet the water is warm. Come on. Let’s go for a swim.” He jumped up and hauled her to her feet. They ran, hand in hand, to the dark water of the lake and waded in, enjoying the delicious warmth of the water as it closed around their bodies. They swam for a bit; then Drew stood up, the water reaching his shoulders, and pulled Marcy into his arms. “You know I never can get enough of kissing you,” he said hoarsely.

  She went to him willingly, giving him her lips, but after a few minutes it was clear that kissing wasn’t the only thing he had in mind. She giggled, feeling the insistent hardness poking at her under the water. “If we could only make love in the water,” she said. “It would be so cozy.”

  “Why not?” He pulled her into the shallows and urged her down into the water, then lay on top of her as the warm current lapped softly over their bodies. This time when he made love to her, it was with a tender gentleness that almost made her cry. She had never felt so happy in all her life. When his body had quieted, they still lay together beneath the softly rolling waves, until at last Drew roused himself. “Good grief,” he said. “If we fall asleep, we’ll drown like this. Still joined. And what would poor Mrs. Marshall think then?”

  They laughed at the thought, clinging together while their bodies shook with merriment. Still laughing, they stood up and splashed out of the water. Drew fetched a towel from his valise and rubbed Marcy’s body briskly, then toweled himself dry while she quickly donned her clothes and pulled their blankets closer to the fire. When Drew was dressed again, they lay down side by side, pulling the blankets around them. Drew reached out his hand. Marcy slipped her fingers into his. He smiled tenderly.

  “Beautiful Marcy,” he whispered. Closing his eyes, he slept.

  The smell of coffee woke him. He opened his eyes. Marcy knelt by the fire, tending her skillet. She seemed absorbed in her work, a small frown creasing her forehead; he was able to examine her through half-closed eyes without her being aware of it. It astonished him—as it had since that first day—how breathtakingly beautiful she was, and how little she realized it. It was one of the things he loved about her: her naturalness, her innocence of her own charms. She gave her beauty freely to be scrutinized and enjoyed, because it never occurred to her to be coy. Most of the women he had known had far less beauty—but far more conceit about their looks.

  And she gave her body freely. He felt himself growing hot just thinking about their magical night of love. All these weeks he had loved just being with her, laughing and kissing, but last night… He closed his eyes, remembering. He had not thought it was possible to feel such passion for a woman.

  No, he thought ruefully. Not a woman. A scheming devil. An imp who probably should have been spanked for her little game. And now he was trapped, forced into a marriage that was wrong for both of them. He had nothing to offer her: no prospects, no real guarantee that he could make a go of it as a painter. He could offer her nothing but the dregs of his own confused search.

  And she wanted money. He’d almost forgotten that. She’d only turned to him when she’d found out about the Bradford money. Well, she was in for a rude awakening. He wasn’t ready yet to give up his painting and become a dutiful son—Brian Bradford’s reluctant partner! Still… He felt strangely flattered. It might have been the Bradford name that attracted her, but she could have chosen Heyson or Ed Collins as well. And the passionate creature in his arms last night hadn’t been thinking about money. His beautiful Marcy…

  Don’t be a fool! he thought. It was all wrong! A forced marriage. All his reason, all his logic told him it was all wrong. He should be furious with her for ambushing him into this.

  Then why did he feel like crowing for joy? Like a child about to take his first ride on a locomotive?

  He opened his eyes and sat up. She looked up from her cooking. “If you want a shave, I’ve boiled some water,” she said.

  “Not even a good morning?” He moved around her and put his hands about her waist, kissing her gently on the neck.

  “Tarnation, Drew! I’ll burn the flapjacks,” she snapped.

  He frowned and let her go. Was she regretting last night already? A girl was a virgin only once. She had come to him willingly, true enough. But she was so young, so naive. Had she really known what she was doing? He cursed his own hungers. He hadn’t really thought about it last night. Only his aching love, his need for her. “Where’s that hot water?” he said gruffly.

  He shaved in silence, eyeing her in the reflection of the small mirror he had hung up on the broken branch of a tree. Her expression was closed and guarded. Damn! he thought. What’s going on in that head of hers now?

  “There are no more fish left,” she said. “I hope pancakes will be enough for breakfast.”

  “Look in my knapsack,” he said, toweling dry his face. “I still have a bit of plum conserve left.”

  They ate in silence, looking at their food. But once, when he happened to catch her eye, he saw her blush to the roots of her hair. “Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered.

  He smiled gently. “Someday I’ll paint a picture of you—just as you look now. I’ll call it ‘Marcy blushing.’ If I can ever do justice to that color. To that face. You blushed the first time we met. Do you remember? On the path to the boardinghouse. When you called me ‘greenhorn.’”

  “Please, Drew…” she choked.

  “What is it?”

  “We have to talk. About last night.”

  Yes, he thought. She had to understand how things really were. “And about my being a Bradford.”

  “Marcy! Heaven be praised—you’re safe!” Old Jack’s voice boomed out from the lake.

  They looked up. Five boats were coming toward them, four with occupants, one in tow. Marcy stood up and began to pack away the provisions and blankets, keeping her face averted from Drew and the nearing boats. By the time the party had landed and moved up the beach to where they waited, she had extinguished the fire, dumping out the last of their coffee into the sand.

  “Of course we’re safe, Uncle Jack,” she said briskly.

  Mrs. Marshall smiled, the mother hen come to collect her lost chick. “We were so worried about you, my dear. And then when we found your boat adrift…”

  “There was no way of signaling you. But I was quite safe with Mr. Bradford.”

  Mrs. Marshall snorted and looked with suspicion at Drew. “I
have not found Mr. Bradford the sort to inspire confidence!”

  Oh, God, thought Drew. Here it comes. He felt like a silent spectator at a familiar play, waiting for the actors to speak their well-known lines. It was time for the outraged uncle.

  “And I sure as blazes don’t like it!” said Old Jack. (Right on cue!) “You’ve played mighty free with my niece’s affections all summer, young man! And now you’ve spent the night with her, alone!”

  Drew felt completely removed from the scene. His fate was already sealed—he had accepted it. With some uneasiness, but accepted it. Now all he had to do was watch the actors play out their parts.

  “Alone under questionable circumstances!” said George Heyson primly.

  Well done, thought Drew. Another actor in the melodrama.

  “It’s hardly to be expected that you wouldn’t take advantage of Marcy’s tender years,” said Stafford, his suave voice holding just the edge of venom.

  Jealous bastard, thought Drew, fighting the urge to smash his fist into the man’s face.

  Mrs. Marshall inhaled majestically, pointing a quivering finger at Drew. “It seems to me, Mr. Bradford, that there’s nothing left for it except to do right by this young woman!”

  Drew nearly laughed aloud. She was stealing Old Jack’s line!

  He looked at Mrs. Marshall with what he hoped was a sincere and contrite expression. “Are you saying I should marry the girl, ma’am?” He was suddenly tired of the play. Let it end.

  “You’re darn tootin’ you should!” cried Old Jack, throwing down his hat. “And the sooner the better!”

  “Stop it! All of you!” Marcy’s eyes were blazing, her cheeks two bright spots of angry color. “I won’t have this! Mr. Bradford has nothing to be ashamed of!”

  Old Jack looked shocked. “Marcy, girl. He’s got to marry you!”