Stolen Little Thing (Little Thing Series Book 1)

by Sasha Gold

  “If she needs anything, I’ll take care of it,” Luke’s air of finality dismissed the woman.

  “Good night, Loretta.” Esme made her voice bright to dispel any worry in her mind or Loretta’s.

  Luke stopped at the front door, picked her up, and carried her across the threshold, plunking her down unceremoniously in the entry hall. Esme turned to face him, thinking he might kiss her, sweep her into his arms, declare his deep, abiding love, but he simply glanced around the foyer. He startled her, hollering several times for Consuelo or anybody else, and then smiled sheepishly when no one answered. It was his way of letting her know the house was empty.

  Inside, the house lanterns were lit, the stairway illuminated by white tapered candles. Esme studied the grand house. It was her home now. Made of Texas limestone, it was larger and by far more elegant than Simon’s clapboard house.

  They ascended the stairway side by side. A shiver of apprehension flitted across her shoulders.

  “Scared?” he asked softly.

  Esme shrugged. “This is the first time we’ve been alone. We haven’t discussed what sort of marriage this will be, our living arrangements and so on.”

  Halfway up the staircase, Luke stopped her. He looked at her with an air of disbelief. “Living arrangements? Did you think that we would have separate rooms?”

  “Or perhaps even separate houses since we have two.”

  The quiet of the house filled the space between them until the grandfather clock striking the hour disturbed the stillness. Luke slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her next to him and began climbing the stairs once more. She had no choice but to move with him.

  “Is that what you thought when you accepted my marriage offer, separate rooms, separate houses?”

  Embarrassment scorched her skin. She wished Loretta would come back to give her the answers to questions Esme hadn’t thought to ask.

  “Of course, I knew we would consummate the marriage,” Esme lied. “Some day. If you wanted.” Her words sounded ridiculous to her ears.

  Luke muttered curses under his breath. “Some day? I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life. For years, I’ve wanted to be with you. Half the county would have lined up to horsewhip me if they’d known what was going through my head back when we were just a little older than kids. I’d hoped those thoughts would go away with time, but when I didn’t see you anymore they just got worse.”

  He ushered her into his bedroom where her belongings had been moved sometime during the day; trunks lined the wall some of her dresses were in them, some were hanging in the armoire. She went to cross the room, trying to keep her distance, and whirled around to face him.

  His eyes flashed with the intensity she remembered from his early days when she saw him collared by the sheriff after one of his brawls. This was not the response she’d thought he would give her when she had imagined discussing their future.

  After the ceremony, she’d watched her husband talk with everyone but her. With one group of ranchers, he discussed beef prices, and with an elderly neighbor couple he had argued good-naturedly about various hay harvests and milo strains. It was after the third time that day she heard her husband brag about how many head of cattle he would be grazing come summer that Esme decided they would need to get a few things straight between them. For example, where she fit into his life. How could he be angry with her when clearly she was the slighted party?

  Esme bit her lip. “Our first fight. We just got married and we’re fighting just like my mother and father when they’re together.”

  “This isn’t a fight.” Luke growled. Esme’s eyes grew wide; her hands drew fistfuls of her taffeta dress. Luke drew a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it slowly, keeping his gaze on her. “You can’t go live at Simon’s.” His voice low and measured, he added, “Esme, you and me, we belong together.”

  Esme gave a tentative smile. Warmth filled her heart. His words eased the tension in her shoulders. “Luke, I didn’t know.” She paused to search for the right words. “I wasn’t sure what you felt.” She spoke in a soothing tone, an attempt to calm her agitated husband.

  He stalked to the window and took candles from the sill, setting them on the fireplace, and pulled his tie fiercely to loosen it.

  She went on. “I wasn’t certain what I meant to you.” Her breath caught in her throat. Could he say the words to her, the words she’d never heard from his lips or read in any letter from him? Wasn’t it his place to say those particular words first, and to say them on this particular night?

  Luke crossed the room and grasped her shoulders. The fire in his eyes dwindled to a gentle warmth. “You mean everything to me, Esme,” he whispered. “Everyone knows that.”

  Esme blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, filled her eyes, but she willed them away. Crying now would make her feel more foolish and vulnerable. He lifted her chin and set a chaste kiss upon her lips as he cupped her face with his hands. Esme wrapped her arms around his neck, and he tightened his embrace, deepening the kiss. She responded to him with her own hungering need. He hadn’t said the words she wanted to hear, but did it even matter? Her hurt feelings unraveled a little more with each caress.

  Slowly, gently, he undressed her. He teased her about a bride wearing a girl’s debutante dress. She was tentative at first, then Esme unbuttoned his shirt, and ran her fingertips across the expanse of his shoulders. Luke drew in a sharp breath at her touch, and picked her up to carry her to bed.

  The cool sheets of his bed chilled her bared skin as Luke drew her close, pulling the quilt over them. Esme trembled in his arms as her heart pounded.

  “Anyone ever tell you about this business between a man and a woman?” His voice was gruff, and his breath on her neck made her skin tighten with goose bumps.

  The word business made it sound like a transaction at a bank, and she recalled her mother’s stern lectures about this topic. According to Rosalind Duval, the business was one of two things: either the temptation of the flesh to be assiduously avoided by innocent girls, or the obligation to be fulfilled by a long-suffering wife.

  Esme pulled the sheets closer around her naked body. “My mother always told me it’s a wife’s duty.”

  Luke made a soft response of surprise as he kissed her neck and tugged the sheet from her clenched fingers.

  “And that it wasn’t as painful as childbirth,” she continued.

  Luke stilled and then lifted his head to look into her eyes. Esme could see the worry in his expression.

  “But the good news was,” Esme added, “Most of the time it was over in less than five minutes.”

  Luke’s eyes widened with surprise. He propped his head in his hand and a slow grin spread across his face. “Five whole minutes?”

  Esme tried to push him away. “Stop laughing. From what I overheard from some of your neighbors, you’ve made more than one or two business transactions yourself. Maybe you should tell me what you know.”

  “I’m not going to tell you. I’m going to show you. You’re still shaking like a leaf even though you’re getting mad at me all over again. Nolan bought champagne. I think we need to drink a little to settle your nerves.”

  Esme gasped when he threw the covers back, and strode across the room to a small table where a bottle of champagne rested in a bucket filled with ice. She laughed watching him wrestle with the bottle while he wore nothing but a pair of linen trunks.

  “Is this the type of cork that needs a corkscrew or not?”

  Esme laughed softly. “Just pull the cork out, Luke.”

  Luke glanced at the bottle’s label. “Hell, this stuff is from France.”

  “Of course it’s French. Nolan has good taste.” She looked down at her ring and noticed how the diamonds glittered in the candlelight.

  The champagne was cool and crisp. Esme sat on the edge of the bed wrapped in the quilt, while Luke stood beside her, taking pins from her hair between sips of champagne. He told her what a beautifu
l bride she was, and how lucky he was to have her as his wife, and Esme, emboldened by the champagne, told him how handsome he’d looked both in his suit and in linen trunks. By the time the bottle was near empty, Esme was tipsy. She lay in his arms, and Luke resumed his gentle seduction.

  He surprised her with his tenderness, and she was shocked the way his touch kindled desire and passion in her. Mostly Esme was astonished by her own eager response to him, her own mindless abandon. His lips and hands explored her body possessively, as though he had always owned her. Making love with Luke was nothing like what Esme had spent so many years dreading. It was nothing like the sordid affair her mother and her mother’s friends discussed in hushed tones. Far from it, and the wonder of it all rendered Esme wordless.

  His body was toughened by seasons and years spent working on the ranch. Esme marveled at the span of his shoulders, shyly running her fingertips along the outline of muscle and sinew. He kissed her neck and traced a slow line down to her breasts. She knew he would touch her there, imagined it many times before, but the shock of his mouth on the curve of her breast made her heart beat wildly.

  He lifted his head and smiled at her. “Don’t be afraid of me, Esme. Not ever.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not.”

  “You have to breathe, sweetheart.”

  She exhaled and laughed with embarrassment. Tugging the sheet up to cover herself, she went on. “I didn’t know you would touch me like that and kiss me like that. It seems very…”

  “Don’t think about it too much, because I’m only getting started. I’m going to kiss you everywhere.”

  “Luke Crosby, I don’t believe you. Wicked man.” She gave him a small, playful push. “I think you’re being cruel.”

  “Tonight I’m going to treat you gentle, but after that you’d better watch out.”

  “You’re trying to tease me. Just like you’ve always done.”

  He stroked her face with work-roughened fingertips. “I’m not teasing you when I say you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. I’m not teasing you when I say that I’m going to make you mine tonight and every night, and I’m most definitely not teasing you when I say that now you belong to me.”

  Luke tugged the sheet, coaxing it from her fingers. What he wanted was to tear it from her and fall upon her and devour her. He’d been aching for her sweet body for days. No, that was a lie. It had been longer. Years. He freed the bed sheet from her grip and tossed it aside. She lay naked beneath him with a sweet, shy smile and a tremble that made lust course through his veins.

  Her skin was like cream, round full breasts, a tiny waist that flared to sweet curved hips that invited him. He slid his gaze down her slim legs and then leisurely back up. Her hair spread tousled on the pillow. Her eyes, wide and shining – part anxiety and part curiosity. Wondering. He rubbed her full lips with the pad of his thumb and traced a line down to her lovely breasts. He leaned closer and stroked her nipple with his tongue and sucked it gently.

  The soft noises that came from her as he explored the lush fullness of her breasts made every thought vacate his mind. His body was hardening even more with each passing moment. She trembled in his arms. She was innocent, he reminded himself. He needed to take time. To be careful and deliberate even though every instinct inside him snarled, demanding to finally possess her.

  To Esme, it felt like her skin was covered in soft sparks of pleasure. She arched under him, threaded her fingers in his hair and whimpered. When his hand drifted to her other breast and toyed wickedly, it forced her to draw a sharp breath. He cupped it. Then, with his fingertips, he slowly rolled the tip.

  Arousal seeped through her, heating every fiber of her being and sending the most delicious warmth through the depths of her feminine core. Liquid need simmered and she gasped with dismay when he trailed his fingers down her belly. He lingered, stroked a single fingertip along her sex. She wanted to flee. Burning mortification scorched her and every part of her yearned to escape his wicked touch. She knew he could feel her desire and almost wished she could escape, but her wanton body betrayed her. She opened beneath him like a flower bud beckoning the warmth of the summer sun.

  He settled himself over her and for the first time she felt his rigid arousal pressed against her virginal channel.

  In bawdy jokes or after one too many brandies, her father always called a man’s sex a cock. Her mother, without fail, called it a manhood. Esme could only call it impossibly big. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for what surely would be shear agony.

  “Open your eyes.” His voice was husky. “Look at me.”

  She lifted her gaze and kept her attention on his eyes. He stroked her with his fingers and slowly entered her. The pleasure he gave her with his caress made the other discomfort more bearable at first. He eased himself in deeper, watching her closely all the while. There was a sharp stab of pain and she cried out, but he took her cry with a tender kiss.

  He stilled above her and then slowly moved with gentle thrusts that, coupled with the caress, made pleasure eclipse pain. She writhed beneath him. Her body reached for something she couldn’t understand.

  Luke would not relent and when she reached the heights of desire, she peaked, gripped his shoulders and cried out with exquisite pleasure. And shattered.

  “Esme,” he groaned. “My gorgeous Esme.”

  Her eyes closed, her mind spun. He reached under her and lifted her and began a slow, hard lovemaking that made her shudder with small tremors of ecstasy.

  “Hurting you?” His voice was a deep heated warmth that washed over her.

  “No, don’t stop,” she gasped.

  His grip tightened and he snarled loudly, a savage sound that tore from his throat. A moment later he sank down into her arms.

  In the quiet afterwards, she clung to him. To be held by Luke was a feeling she’d imagined a thousand times before. He held her close, and as she rested her head on the powerful planes of his chest she said, “My mother and the ladies in her circle had a certain word for women who, instead of simply enduring their husband’s attention, actually found pleasure in it.”

  He kissed the top of her head. He knew there were plenty of wives who felt the same way, guilt about their natural feelings. He simply held her while he marveled at how well she fit in his arms, like she’d always belonged there. Her perfume, her skin and her silken voice made his blood stir once more. He kept his eyes closed in an attempt to bring his thoughts back to the conversation.

  “Maybe it’s just the champagne.” He opened his eyes to see her expression, to see if he had made her laugh.

  Esme lifted her head and saw the smile curve on his lips and she smiled back at him. Her heart felt full to bursting with love for him.

  “In that case,” she whispered softly. “I think there’s still a little left in the bottle.”

  Chapter Seven

  Amidst tangled sheets, Esme awoke late the next morning to find a white lily on the pillow beside her. The clock on the mantle showed ten o’clock as she leapt from the bed and hastily dressed in simple attire. This was her first full day as Mrs. Luke Crosby, and she wanted to dress suitably. She didn’t want to wear a humorless teaching smock, nor did she want a fancy velvet and lace-trimmed society gown. A simple material somewhere in between the two, a practical but feminine muslin dress would suit her.

  Her night with Luke passed like a dream. On one hand, he’d been gentle and considerate, on the other, demanding and domineering. The idea that marriage with Luke was a necessity to shield her from her father changed around midnight when Esme was forced to admit to herself that she’d married him for the simple, irrefutable reason that there was no one else for her. He’d reminded her again of that fact again sometime before dawn.

  Downstairs, she wandered into the kitchen to find Henry helping Consuelo. He nodded morosely to Esme before turning his back to her. Consuelo’s reaction was different. She brightened upon seeing Esme.

  “I saved you some breakfast
mi hija.” Consuelo often called her this endearment in Spanish. It meant: my daughter, and Esme loved the sound of it. Consuelo often extended that same sentiment to the boys, calling them mi hijo, but only if they were in her good graces. Luke didn’t allow anyone to smack, whip, or beat a child on the Crosby Ranch. Ever. If the boys wanted to beat the stuffing out of each other, they could go to the corral to do so, but no adult was allowed to strike a child.

  Everybody except Consuelo, who, if displeased with a boy, could swoop in silently and deliver a smack across the top of a head before the boy even knew he was in trouble. Esme first witnessed Consuelo’s swift justice yesterday during the wedding preparations when she’d smacked first Salvador and next Joseph, both for back-talking.

  Consuelo was usually gentle. It was her capacity for kindness, her tenderness that acted like a healing balm soothing hidden wounds. Esme could see how the woman was being extra kind with Henry this morning. She watched Consuelo slide a pan of cookies from the oven and pour a glass of milk for him. Then she’d clucked about how he’d already worked so hard that day. Her hijo should take a break from tanto trabajo.

  When he saw Esme, he sidled out of the kitchen as he muttered a few words about wanting to see if there were some newborn kittens in the barn.

  A sweet smell wafted through the kitchen, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg drifting up from the pan of cookies. Esme poured and sipped coffee, helped herself to one of the cookies and wondered why Henry was continually sent to the kitchen? He should be outside doing chores with the other boys.

  “Is the boy in trouble?” She asked Consuelo.

  Consuelo shrugged. “He’s stolen money twice from the other boys. Luke gives them each a little pocket money every month. The boys found him stealing from David the first time and Salvador the second.