Connal

by Daina Palmer

  Her body exploded with heat as he lifted her back into her own seat. "Could we do it, like that?" she asked hoarsely.

  His face tautened and for one insane instant, he was tempted. "Yes, we could." He banked down the fires. "But we're not going to. We're married. We don't have to make out in cars. Here, sweetheart, let me help you."

  He forced himself to control the singeing need in his body as he put her bra and dress back in place, delighted with her headlong response and the certainty that their marriage had a chance after all.

  "I don't want to stop," she whispered.

  "Neither do I. But we'll wait a while, all the same," he said curtly. He searched her face. "Before we both get blinded and sidetracked by intimacy, I want a little time for us to get to know each other. We'll go see my family and we'll do some things together. Then we'll sleep to­gether."

  She was stunned. That had to mean he cared a little, it had to! "I'd like that, Connal," she said.

  He smiled at her. "Yes. So would I." He started the car and waited until she fastened her seat belt to drive off. But he held her hand the rest of the way home.

  Chapter Ten

  Pepi and C.C. left the next morning for Jacobsville. Ben waved them off, muttering something about not know­ing how he was going to keep from bursting with all that freedom and being alone with the apple pie Pepi had baked him that morning.

  She hadn't been sure what to pack, so she put in her finest clothes and hoped for the best. None of her things were very expensive. She had a feeling that where she was going, they'd look like rags. But she didn't say that to C.C. He was suddenly very distant as he drove.

  "You're not having second thoughts, are you?" she asked hesitantly. "About taking me to meet your mother, I mean?"

  He glanced at her, astonished. "Why should I?"

  She shifted and glanced out at the flat horizon. "Well, C.C, I don't know a lot about fancy place settings and etiquette, and I stayed up half the night worrying about what would happen if I got flustered and spilled coffee on her carpet or something."

  He reached over and found her hand, entwining her cold, nervous fingers with his strong, warm ones.

  "Now, listen. My mother is a ranch wife. She's as down-to-earth as your father, and she doesn't have one of those houses that get featured in the designer maga­zines. If you spilled coffee she'd just point you toward the kitchen and tell you where she keeps the spot remover. Fancy place settings aren't necessary, because Jeanie May cooks such great meals that nobody cares about formal etiquette once they get to the table. The only real hazard is going to be my brother Harden, who'll go off into a black study at the thought of having to help entertain you."

  "Who hurt him like that, made him so bitter?" she asked.

  He glanced at her. "Well, you'll hear it sooner or later. Better you hear it from me. About a year after Evan was born, my mother and father got a separation. During that time, she met and fell in love with another man. There was a brief affair. Her lover was killed in Vietnam and she came back to my father finally because he kept pleading with her. She was pregnant with Harden, so Dad adopted him. But Jacobsville is a small town, and inevitably, Harden found out the hard way that he wasn't Dad's son."

  "And he blames your mother."

  "That's right, he does. Despite the fact that she's a pillar of the community now, Harden can't forget that she took a lover while she was still legally married. He can't forgive her for making him conspicuous, an out­cast as he calls it."

  "But your father adopted him, doesn't that count for anything?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "Harden has the most rigid views of any of us. He's an old-line conservative with Ne­anderthal principles." He glanced toward her with a rueful smile. "I'd bet you that he's still a virgin. I don't think he's even had a woman."

  Her eyes widened. She remembered Harden's aston­ishing good looks, his physique, his rugged personality. Harden a virgin? She burst out laughing. "Not nice," she accused. "Teasing me like that."

  "I'm not teasing, as it happens, I'm serious," he re­plied. "Harden is a deacon in the church and he sings in the choir. In fact, there was a time when he seriously considered being a minister."

  "How old is he?"

  "Thirty-one."

  "A year older than you?" she asked.

  He nodded. "Mother and Dad had a rather physical reunion when she came home. They were happy to­gether, but I don't think she ever really got over the other man. And despite the fact that Harden hates her, he's her favorite even now."

  "Forgiveness is a virtue," she said. "I guess not everybody is capable of it, but I'm sorry for your mother."

  "You won't be, when you meet her. She's spunky. Like you."

  She leaned her head back and smiled at him, her eyes faintly possessive. Memories of the night before streamed back to fire her blood and lingered in her pale brown eyes.

  He stopped at an intersection and looked back at her, his own eyes kindling with what he read in that level stare.

  "Remembering?" he asked huskily. "Yes," she whispered.

  His breath came more quickly, his brown sports shirt rising and falling roughly over his broad chest. His gaze went down to her breasts under the pale green shirtwaist dress she was wearing and lingered there. "You were like warm silk under my mouth," he bit off.

  She gasped.

  His eyes lifted back to hers and time stopped. "This isn't the place," he said tightly. "No."

  He glanced around and behind them. Not a single car in sight. "On the other hand, what the hell," he mur­mured and threw the car out of gear. "Come here."

  He snapped open her seat belt and pulled her to him, his hard mouth crushing down over hers in a fever of ar­dent need. She circled his head with her arms and held on for dear life, giving him back the kiss hungrily. Her body throbbed with need of him, her mouth shaking as his tongue penetrated it insistently.

  He dragged his head up at the distant sound of a big truck coming closer and spotted it in the rearview mir­ror. "Obviously he's not a married man," he muttered, putting a radiant, breathless Pepi back in her seat and buckling her in. "Damn it." He put the car in gear again, his hands slightly unsteady on the wheel, looked both ways and pulled out onto the highway.

  He glanced at her hungrily. "Tonight, I'm going to have you. One way or the other, the waiting's over."

  Her lips parted on a rough breath. "Are the walls very thin?" she asked hesitantly.

  "We'll be in a room away from the others," he said curtly. "You can scream if you want to, nobody will hear you."

  "I. . . I can't seem to be quiet when you start touching me," she said gently. "I lose control."

  "So do I," he replied tersely.

  She flushed. He made it sound very intimate and she wanted him. Her body blazed with the need, even now.

  He glanced at her. "Baby, if you don't stop looking at me like that, I'll park the damned car and make love to you on the roadside," he threatened huskily.

  "Anywhere," she said shakily. "Oh, Connal, I want you so much, it's like a fever."

  His jaw tautened. He actually shivered. His eyes went to a small crossroads where a motel was situated. With­out thinking, he pulled off and cut the engine. "Do you want me enough?" he asked, staring at her.

  The fever was so high that even her shyness didn't faze it. "Yes," she whispered huskily, flushing.

  He got out, went inside the office and came out with a key. He didn't say another word until they were in the room, with the door locked.

  "Do you want me to use anything?" he asked before he touched her.

  She knew what he was asking. She loved him. If a child came of this, it would be all right. He wanted one des­perately, she knew.

  "No," she said, going close to him. "Don't use any­thing."

  He drew her slowly to him, already so aroused that his tall, fit body was shaking. "I don't know how long I can hold out," he breathed at her lips. "But I'll try to arouse you enough to make it bearable. And lat
er, afterward, I'll make it up to you if I lose control."

  She didn't understand what he was saying. His hands were on the buttons of her dress and she stood very still, letting him peel the clothing from her body until she was totally nude.

  Her skin felt blazing hot. She was shy, and the way he was looking at her burned her, but it made her proud, too, because his pleasure in her body was evident in the glitter of his black eyes and the tenderness of his smile.

  He jerked back the covers on the big double bed and picked her up, putting her down gently against the pil­lows. Then he set about removing his own clothing.

  Pepi had seen pictures of naked men, but nothing had prepared her for the sight of Connal without clothing. He was magnificent, all lean hard muscle and black, curling hair. Aroused, his body was faintly intimidating and she held her breath when he came toward her.

  "Don't panic," he said gently as he slid onto the bed beside her. "By the time we start, you'll be ready for me. Your body is like a pink rosebud, all silky and tightly furled. I'm going to open the petals, one by one, and make you bloom for me." He bent his mouth and took hers, very softly. One lean hand slid down her rib cage to her hips and over her thighs and back up to tease around her breast.

  The embarrassment and shyness faded as he began to touch her, his fingers delicate and deft and sure on her untaught body. He lifted his head and looked at her, watched her reactions as he feathered caresses over her taut breasts, down her flat belly, to that place where she was most a woman. He touched her there and she shiv­ered and tried to get away.

  "No," he whispered tenderly, kissing her eyes closed. "This is part of it. You have to give yourself completely, or I could hurt you even without meaning to. I want to show you how it's going to feel. Relax, little one. Give me your body."

  His lips coaxed lazily, and she gave in to the slow, ten­der probing of his fingers, shivering as she permitted the extraordinary intimacy. Her body reacted to him with headlong delight, arching and throbbing as he made it feel incredible sensations with his deft touch.

  "It won't even be difficult for you," he whispered, smiling against her mouth. "Now it begins, little one. Now. . ."

  The kiss grew deeper, invasive. His hand tormented and then began to move with a slow, torturously sweet rhythm that made her lift and tremble with each touch. She gasped and then little cries began to purr out of her. She reached for him, her nails digging into his upper arms as the pleasure built beyond anything she'd ever dreamed.

  He smiled through his own fierce pleasure at the look on her face. His head bent to her breasts and he took one into his mouth with the same rhythmic movement his fingers were teaching her. All at once, she began to con­vulse.

  And at that moment, he lifted his body completely over hers, nudging her long, shivering legs aside, and thrust down with one fierce, smooth movement.

  She cried out, her eyes meeting his at the instant he took possession of her. But she didn't draw back, even at the faintly piercing pain that quickly diminished in the face of a slow, anguished pleasure that fed on itself and grew and grew with each sharp, downward movement of his body.

  Somewhere along the way, his taut face became a blur, and she shuddered into oblivion just as she heard his hoarse cry and felt the deep, dragging convulsions of his body.

  She opened her eyes at last, feeling new, reborn. Her skin was damp and cool. So was his. He was lying over her, dead weight now that the passion had drained out of him, and her arms enfolded him tenderly, holding him to her. She moved and felt him move with her, awed by the fusion of her female body with his male one, with the devastating intimacy of lovemaking.

  "Did it hurt very much?" he asked at her ear, his voice drowsy with pleasure.

  "No." Her arms contracted. "Do it again."

  He chuckled. "I need a few minutes," he whispered. "Men aren't blessed with the capacity of women."

  "Really?" She looked into his eyes as he lifted his dark, sweaty head. "You cried out."

  "So did you," he said lazily. "Or don't you remem­ber?"

  "It all sort of blurred at the last," she replied. Her eyes mirrored her awe. "I hope I get a baby," she whispered. "It was so beautiful."

  His face tautened and to his astonishment he felt his body react to the words with sudden, sharp capability.

  She gasped. "Connal! You said—"

  "Never mind what I said," he bit off against her mouth. His arms caught his weight and he began to move hungrily. "Help me this time," he whispered, and taught her how. "Yes, like that, like.. .that," he gasped, shiv­ering as the wave began to catch him all over again. Im­possible, he thought while he could. His teeth clenched. He could feel her eyes on him. She was. . . watching him. . . and he was so caught up in the fevered need that he didn't even mind. Her body, soft like down, silky, hot, absorbed him into it, holding him. . .

  He arched, hoping against hope that she was still with him as he felt the sensation blind him with pleasure.

  "Are you all right?"

  He heard her voice and managed to open his eyes. She was above him, now, her face concerned, her pale brown eyes curious and gentle.

  His heart was still slamming wildly against his chest. He could barely breathe. He pushed back his damp hair and drew her mouth down to his, kissing her tenderly.

  "Yes, I'm all right," he whispered.

  "You looked scary," she managed. "Like you were being killed. And you cried out. . ."

  He laughed wearily. "My God, honey, why do you think the French call it the little death?" he asked. He drew her hand to his mouth. "You look the same way," he added, smiling. "I watched you, the first time."

  "Oh." She colored a little. "I watched you, the sec­ond."

  "Yes, I know." Hid dark eyes held hers. "It's all right," he said when she looked faintly guilty. "Total in­timacy is a gift, something that two people share. Don't be embarrassed by anything you say or do when you're with me like this. I'll never ridicule you with it. I want you to feel completely uninhibited when we make love, as free to take me as I am to take you."

  Her eyes widened. "Could I?"

  "Well, not right now," he murmured ruefully.

  "I didn't mean right now. You'd let me?"

  He frowned slightly. "Of course I'd let you. You're my wife."

  "And you. . .won't mind if I get pregnant right away?" she persisted.

  "I told you I wanted a child," he said simply. His dark eyes narrowed. "They say a woman can tell at the in­stant of conception," he murmured.

  She smiled down at him gently. "I don't think I can," she said. The smile faded and she traced his thin lips with a trembling forefinger. "Connal, what if I can't give you a child?" she asked worriedly. "Will you want a di­vorce. . .?"

  "No!" He dragged her down to him and kissed her roughly. His eyes blazed at her. "It isn't a conditional marriage," he said firmly. "If you can't, it won't mat­ter, so stop thinking up things to worry about."

  "All right." She relaxed against him, sighing with pleasure as she felt the crisp hair on his broad chest tick­ling her breasts. She laughed softly and moved deliber­ately from side to side. "That feels good," she whispered.

  "Yes, indeed, it does," he murmured, indulging her. "But you've had enough for one day. You're much too new to the art for long sessions in bed."

  She opened her eyes and stared across his hair-covered chest to the window beyond. "Connal, it's addictive, isn't it?" she asked lazily. "Once you know what it's like, you want it more every time."

  "Yes." His arms contracted. "No regrets?"

  "Not even one," she whispered. She closed her eyes and nestled closer, smoothing one of her long legs against his powerful, hair-roughened one. "I ache."

  "So do I," he confessed. "But we have to stop."

  She sat up, her eyes slow and possessive on his body, openly curious. He watched her with evident amuse­ment as she learned him by sight.

  "I've never seen a man without his clothes before," she said.

 
; "I'm glad. You won't be able to compare me unfavor­ably with anyone else," he mused.

  She laughed. "As if anybody could compare with you," she murmured. "You're beautiful, Connal. You're just beautiful."

  He sat up and kissed her warmly. "Men aren't beau­tiful," he said firmly, and got up to dress.

  "Handsome, then. Physically devastating." She stretched hugely, enjoying the way his eyes slid over her appreciatively. "I used to think about being with you, like this, but it was always night and the lights were out."

  "What a shock you were in for," he said dryly.

  She stood up, smiling at him. "It was a very nice shock, actually," she said.

  He pulled her gently into his arms and kissed her. "I hope I gave you half as much pleasure as you gave me," he whispered. "The fact that you came to me a virgin is something I'll treasure all my life."

  She hugged him fiercely. "You make me glad that I waited," she murmured. "None of my friends did. They used to make fun of me."

  "I never will," he said, tapping her gently on the nose. His eyes were brilliant with some inner feeling. "Get your clothes on."

  "Fancy telling a woman that," she sighed. "And af­ter she's given you everything she has."

  "Oh, I'd keep you like that forever," he murmured, tracing her soft lines with his eyes. "But people are bound to stare if you go out like that."

  "I get your point." She put her clothes on again and brushed her hair. Connal was waiting when she came out of the bathroom.

  "Is this dress all right?" she asked worriedly. "I won't look too out of place, will I?"

  He tilted her face up and kissed her. "You look just right, Mrs. Tremayne."

  "I like the way that sounds," she whispered, thinking that it would be even more special if he loved her as much as she loved him. But he'd been gentle, and he must care for her a little to have been so tender.

  "Legally mine," he murmured. His eyes darkened. "So don't give Evan any ideas."

  Her face mirrored her shock. "I've only seen him once," she began.