Summer Chaparral

by Genevieve Turner

  The homestead appeared beyond the bend in the road, the new fences and raked drive making pride surge in him. This was his ranch; he was bringing his bride home. He pulled to a stop by the mesquite tree before handing his wife out of the buggy, watching the switch of her hips as she climbed the front stairs. She didn’t once glance back, her attention fully on the house. Which was the way it ought to be, really.

  He took his time putting up Spot, carefully rubbing where the harness had lain, checking his water and feed, and mucking his stall. When he was finished, Spot gave him a rather sardonic look: Aren’t you late for something?

  He went back to the house, his boots as loud as cannon shot as he stomped up the steps. He threw the door open wide, searching for his wife.

  She stood stock still in the center of the main room, one finger at her lips as she pondered it. She didn’t bother to acknowledge him as he approached her.

  He tried to see what had caught her attention. All he saw was the table, some chairs, and her things, piled in a corner.

  “Cat?”

  “Yes?”

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing,” she sighed. “I’m simply dreaming.”

  Of a different house? Or a different man?

  She’d been eager enough each time he’d taken her into his arms. Her eagerness was part of the reason why they were here. No matter what she might be wishing, there was no turning back now. As she turned to face him, something in his expression must have scared her, because she jumped back.

  “Do you want some supper?” she asked hurriedly, running to the hamper. Her hands were tight on the basket handle. Her lashes fluttered timidly, but the spark in those cinnamon eyes was a lick of flame along his skin.

  He felt exactly the same—desire and disquiet twining together until a body couldn’t tell one from the other. But he’d show her how to tease them apart.

  He shook his head at her offer of supper, advancing toward her. He wasn’t hungry for food.

  “Or maybe some cake?” Her voice broke on the last word.

  “No, no cake.” He wanted something sweeter than cake. He continued his advance. Once he caught her…

  “Wait,” she yelped. “I have to prepare myself.”

  Prepare herself? What the hell did that mean?

  He rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. He forced his lips into a smile. “You do whatever you need to do. Just call when you’re ready.”

  She disappeared with a quickness into their bedroom and slammed the door behind her. He used the time to pace the floor, anxiety pulling tight as stretched barbed wire. He only had to initiate his jittery virgin wife into the pleasures of lovemaking. Nothing to fret over in that.

  “Jace! You can come in now.” Her voice quivered so sweetly it made his gut quiver in response. He swore then he’d make her whole body quiver.

  He laid his hand flat on the door and pushed it open.

  She stood at the foot of the bed, dressed only in her nightgown, the lamplight turning her skin golden and sparking off the darkness of her hair and eyes. Her head was bowed and her hands clasped tightly in front of her, but she met his gaze with a shy smile. That smile, more than any other of her practiced ones, set him on fire.

  The mask was gone and Cat was naked before him.

  He came closer so he could see her profile. The high-necked nightgown covered her from chin to toes, but couldn’t conceal the lush swells of her hips and breasts. Those curves… he flexed his hands to ward off the prickles building in his palms. The braid falling down her back was as thick as his wrist, and he had a sudden vision of it wrapped around his forearm as he pulled her head back, tipping her luscious mouth up to meet his.

  He’d promised her a wedding night to remember—and he kept his promises.

  But first, the nightgown had to go.

  “Darlin’,” he purred, reaching up to stroke her incredibly soft cheek, “it’s too damn hot for this.”

  “I can’t sleep without it,” she whispered, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  Time to unravel some of that disquiet so that her desire might grow. He grabbed two fistfuls of nightgown above her breasts. The linen was soft, almost soothing, the ridges of the lace trim under his fingers reminding him of the feel of those initials she’d embroidered.

  It was a lovely nightgown.

  He tightened his fists and pulled. The gown gave a loud rip in protest, before surrendering to slide down her body, landing in a pool of ivory at her feet.

  “Whoops.” He didn’t bother trying to sound sorry.

  “Jace,” she cried, bending at the waist while trying to cover herself with her hands. A dark flush spread from her neck to the skin above her bosom. Gently, he closed his own hands over hers, stopping their futile task.

  He drew her to him and put his mouth against her ear. “You are the most beautiful thing God ever created. Don’t cover up; it’s a sin.”

  She relaxed, her hands falling to her sides as she straightened up. If there was one constant in this world, it was that Cat’s vanity would win out over all else.

  And when her vanity won, he won as well.

  “Really? Tell me how beautiful I am.” Her chin went up and her breasts thrust out, brushing against him, tightening his groin almost painfully.

  He stepped away to study her more carefully, taking her command perhaps more seriously than she’d intended.

  Christ, but he’d never seen anything so perfectly made in his life.

  That fine bosom of hers was tipped by nipples as dark and firm as those cherries she’d gifted him. He stepped to one side, the better to appreciate the swell of her breasts, the inviting dip of her waist. Another step had him at her back, hungrily taking in the roundest hips and bottom a man could ever hope to lay hands on. His fingers wanted to reach around and down her belly to slide deep into the curls at her center.

  She tossed him a look over her shoulder, one eyebrow cocked impatiently.

  He’d better give the lady what she’d asked for, before she got cross.

  He came up behind her, fitting himself against her back and lush bottom, curving his hands around to caress the heaviness of her breasts. “Your bosom is more beautiful than a mountain sunset. I can grab hold of it like this”—she moaned as he claimed his prize—“and I can’t grab hold of a sunset.”

  He let his hand trail down her belly, her bottom brushing painfully against his erection as she shifted with pleasure. His cock was becoming more insistent, but this was her time, not his.

  “Your skin’s softer than a cloud,” he said. Damn, his voice was already getting shaky.

  Concentrate. You promised.

  His fingers continued down her belly until they reached their destination. Dark curls wound round his fingers in welcome. She writhed against him as his fingers dipped between her legs.

  “No, darlin’,” he whispered, as he dragged his chin across the sensitive skin of her neck, first one side, then the other. “We’re both in this until the end.”

  She went as still as a fresh-broke filly responding to her handler’s voice. “What end?”

  “I’ll show you. I promise.” His fingers dipped further, finding her hidden folds and the nub within. She sagged against him as he caressed that hot, dark place, one hand intent on loving her, the other holding her upright. With each dip of his fingers and each answering buck of her hips, a heated surge ran through his blood, making his head spin and his cock throb.

  Concentrate. You promised.

  Hell, now his thoughts were shaky. He took a shuddering breath to still himself, then returned to his task. Slowly, gently he stroked her nub, building up the fire within her until he was sure she was ready. Just as slowly and gently, he let one finger slip inside. Her gasp was surprise and pleasure in equal measures. He stroked her slowly, loving the hot, tight grip of her around his finger, imagining that same grip snug around his cock.

  Not yet. Keeping h
is finger at its task, he rained little love bites along her neck and shoulders. Peaches and cinnamon, salt and spice—his mouth watered as he tasted her.

  He dipped a second finger inside, testing her and stretching slightly. Her breath came faster, her weight fully against his arm. Gritting his teeth as he summoned the strength to ignore the wildfire burning within him, he stroked while caressing her nub with his thumb, setting up a steady rhythm.

  Under his hand, the muscles of her belly began to quiver, flutters announcing the impending peak. Her hips moved wildly with each stroke. He kept up his relentless timing, knowing she was close…

  She came apart in his arms, a keening cry threading from her lips as she clenched around his fingers. Her climax sent wave after wave of shudders throughout her frame, and it was all he could do to keep her upright under the onslaught. Never in his life had he ever seen a woman come so hard, so completely.

  His arm tensed near to the point of pain as she sagged against it, but he ignored the ache and brought her closer, ignoring too the rising urge of his own need as she rubbed against him—she was trusting him to keep her secure, and he wouldn’t fail her.

  You promised. He’d kept part of that promise—she was certainly pleased at the moment, her breath coming in hitches, all of her flushed and damp.

  But he wasn’t quite done yet.

  When her shudders had subsided, he laid her softly on the bed, in the center of that fancy quilt she’d stitched. His fingers didn’t want to uncurl from the enticement of her skin, but he needed both hands to tear off his clothes. She stared up at him with heavy eyelids, no shame in her as she sprawled her pleasure-soaked limbs on the bed.

  No, her expression held only lust and anticipation.

  He shucked his clothes in seconds, desperate to feel his bare skin against hers. He climbed above her and lowered himself to cover her—the delicious, slow torment of feeling her entire body inch by inch making his cock throb painfully. Her eyes never left his as she watched and waited. Her stark gaze was almost a dare.

  “Darlin’.” His voice was a hoarse rasp now, done in by the iron self-control he had to exercise. “Do you know what’ll happen next?”

  “Yes.” In that single word was a demand and a plea, all at once.

  “If it hurts or if you get scared, say so, and we’ll stop.”

  She made no motion she’d heard. Instead, she lifted her hips, gently brushing her soft curls against his aching cock.

  His breath whooshed out of his lungs. “Christ,” he wheezed.

  An unholy smile crossed her lips and she shifted until her legs were free of his body and her curls were nearly touching him. She lifted her hips again.

  The hot, wet center of her slid against the length of his cock, teasing him with the promise of what lay within.

  Damn it, he was trying to be a gentleman here, to make this as easy as possible for her and she… “Cat, you can’t—”

  She did it again. “Can’t what?” she challenged.

  His head was spinning furiously—lust threatened to overwhelm him and all his pretensions of going forward gently. “I’m warning you.”

  She lifted her head, taking his earlobe between her teeth. “No, I’m warning you,” she growled. Her long legs wrapped around his hips—Jesus, that was even better than he’d imagined—and she pressed that fire of hers full against him.

  He was lost.

  Grabbing her hips, he set the head of his cock at her soft folds. Inch by torturous inch, he lowered himself into the center of her, his breath rasping, stopping just before he was buried to the hilt.

  Swallowing hard, he searched her face. There was no fear, no pain, only… curiosity.

  “Darlin’, does it hurt?”

  She shifted and he had to close his eyes against the pleasure stabbing though him.

  “No,” she finally answered. “It’s not like it was before, but it doesn’t hurt.”

  “This’ll help.” He reached down to caress between them.

  She began to writhe, the shifting of her hips pulling him deeper within her. Sweat broke out on his brow as he moved carefully, slowly, still caressing her as he drove within her.

  A long, low moan left her as she raised herself higher and he lost all reason. His thrusts grew fast and wild as she moved with him, her sex clenching as their bodies met. The pleasure built and built, until he was nothing more than the need driving him. A need that built until it suddenly crashed, a full body blow of pleasure that darkened his senses under the onslaught. As his release ebbed into an unhurried regaining of his senses, his mind sent forth:

  Home. I’m home.

  He allowed the word to wash over him, to sink into the very marrow of his bones. He was home and there was no longer a need to shove that word away.

  He realized he’d collapsed onto her at some point. He commanded his arms to lift him, but it seemed as if he’d poured all his strength into her along with his seed.

  “Sorry,” he muttered into the pillow next to her head. He could hardly summon the will to breathe.

  Her fingers trailed along his back. For long moments they lay like that—her softness under him as she slowly stroked up and down his back, his heart thundering in his ears.

  “Are you all right?” he mumbled. His eyelids were too heavy to lift. He was sunk so deeply into contentment, he wasn’t certain he’d ever move again.

  Her laugh made her shake. “Better than all right, I think.”

  His heart finally slowed, and he rolled to the side, pulling her with him. He’d take a few moments to recover, and then he’d love her all over again.

  He closed his eyes, and the long arms of sleep wrapped around him, pulling him down into the darkness.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Catarina woke to the cooing of a mourning dove in her right ear. Her husband’s snores thundered in her left. She blinked against the sunlight streaming through the bare windows. First task of the day: hang curtains.

  She tried to move, but she was pinned beneath a solidly male mass. Being under him last night had been a delight, but in the harsh light of morning, her limbs were going numb. She pushed against his dead weight, trying to free her arms and legs before gangrene set in. He snuffled in her ear, then rolled over, the snores reaching new heights as he settled on his back.

  She sat up, taking account of herself and what had happened last night.

  What had happened?

  She stretched, the secret parts of her body twinging in response. There was tenderness there, but it was a good kind—the same kind as in her muscles after a long day’s harvest, when the pleasure made the aches worthwhile.

  “He was cruel. So cruel.”

  Jace had been anything but cruel. Last night had been grand and wonderful and—well, quite beyond words. She hadn’t known that kind of pleasure existed, the kind that rolled throughout her entire body and washed away such things as doubts, or uncertainty, or regret.

  Of course, the effects of last night were slightly dampened by her husband’s horrid snoring. The tips of his mustache fluttered with each breath—his face gentle, almost soft, with sleep. Only his shoulders and arms peeped out from under the sheet, and she had the wicked thought to rip it away and look her fill. He gave another loud snuffle, rolling toward her, but not quite reaching her. The Bear’s Paw quilt she’d made at twenty-two caught in his legs as he did.

  Watching him like this, she couldn’t think of those one hundred head, or wanton moments by a water trough, or even, I want more.

  All she could think was: Mine.

  She reached out to touch his cheek, but stopped halfway there, her fingers curling back into her palm. She didn’t want to wake him.

  Time to rise and start the day. The coffee and breakfast wouldn’t prepare itself while she lolled in bed.

  She rose and examined herself in the mirror. Turning her head first one way, then the other, she smiled at the picture she made. Hair mussed just so, eyes alight with mischief, and a smile to melt a man
’s heart. After only one night, marriage agreed with her.

  “Good morning, Kitty Cat,” her husband rumbled from the bed.

  Her reflected smile widened. Yes, that was it exactly. She was the cat that had gotten in the cream.

  She turned to face her husband. By all the saints, he was a handsome devil. The sheet had slipped to ride low on his hips, his mustache only partly hiding his wicked smile. Perhaps she should jump back into the bed with him—

  Her stomach growled. Loudly.

  “A night like that makes a man hungry,” he said through a yawn, stretching as he rose from the bed. Such interesting things happened to his muscles when he did, tensing and releasing as they did beneath his skin. “Let’s get into that hamper your ma packed.” He slapped her bare rump as he went out.

  As her flank tingled with the imprint of his hand, she pulled on a new nightgown, the one from last night lying in a heap on the floor. It had been a lovely nightgown; she’d have to repair it as best she could.

  She combed her hair and fixed her plait, watching herself in the mirror as she did. Last night he’d wrapped her braid round his wrist at one point, imprisoning her with her own hair. Her heart echoed in her ears at the memory. She’d been entirely at his mercy, but he’d taken such advantages as to only bring her pleasure. No, he wasn’t cruel—not a bit.

  For all that she didn’t dare come to breakfast unclothed, he had no such scruples. He sat at their little table, his nakedness exposed to the world, munching on a chicken leg. He’d already spread the contents of the hamper out.

  She took the chair across from him, fascinated by the sight of him in the daylight. The hair dusting his arms and chest held her gaze, her fingers curious about running through every last inch of it. As he raised the food to his mouth, the muscles of his chest danced under the skin. She wanted that movement under her hand, to feel the very beat of his heart against her palm.

  Her stomach rumbled again.

  “What do you want, Kitty Cat?” he asked, gesturing at the food with the drumstick.

  She tore her gaze away to the food. It all looked so good; she fell on it like a starving man, forgetting the manners her mother had drummed into her in her need to fill her belly. Cold bits of chicken breast rubbed in spice, carne asada with salsa spooned over, a bit of arroz con yerba buena, and even some of the wedding cake—it was entirely right, to eat like this after a night like that.