Lorena and her mother had spent hours making it, taking over the dining room for the task. She made her way onto the bed, crawling up to lean against the headboard, propping a pillow behind her, the better to admire the bridal dress. Even from here, it looked like something from a fairy tale.
She sighed as she considered that thought. Life on a ranch was a far cry from a story in a book, she feared.
The bed beneath her was large, the biggest in the house, its mattress the very one Cord’s mother had slept upon. Here she had known her husband’s touch, had borne her sons and finally drawn her last breath.
In this room Marietta and Harvey McPherson had conducted a marriage. Empty for six years, only now had it been opened up and aired out, prepared for Cord and his bride. Rachel had sensed a certain reluctance in Cord as he told her of his decision to move their belongings into this room. So seldom did he speak of his father, she wondered at it.
Now his footsteps in the hallway alerted her to his presence and she drew in a quick breath, watching the doorknob as she waited for his entrance. A knock announced him and then the handle turned and he opened the door a crack.
“Rachel? Can I come in?”
“Yes, certainly.” She snatched up a pillow from his side of the bed and held it tightly across her chest, wrapping her arms around it. In the doing, her legs straightened and the hem of her nightgown crept up, exposing her legs almost to the knees.
Her gaze met that of the man entering the room and she reached to tug at the shirttail hem of her gown. He smiled, his eyes shifting to her efforts as he closed the door behind himself.
“I’ve seen feet before, Rachel. Yours don’t scare me one bit.” His fingers were busy undoing the buttons of his shirt as he spoke, and he tugged it free. His trousers sagged against his hips, the top buttons undone, and she caught a glimpse of cream-colored underwear beneath the gray worsted material of his best pair of pants.
“I’ve had this nightgown for a couple of years, Cord. It shrank, and it’s too short.”
“Guess that’s a matter of opinion,” he said, his gaze slanting again to her rounded calves and narrow feet.
Sitting on the chair, he lifted one foot to rest on the other knee, and tugged at his boot. His grunt of effort did the trick and the boot released its suction on his foot. He lifted the other foot to repeat the process.
“Maybe we need to buy you a new gown next time we go into town.”
“From Conrad?” Her cheeks grew pink as she considered the idea of such a thing. “Maybe I could just get some material and make a new one,” Rachel said, trying to look anywhere but at the man who was undressing in front of her.
“That’d work, I guess,” he said agreeably, freeing himself of the white shirt he’d worn all day. “But when you’re going to find time to do much sewing is beyond me.”
His chest was exposed, the dark hair a curling cover for muscles and flesh, and she lowered her gaze to the bed, her mouth suddenly dry.
The coverlet she’d carefully folded at the foot of the big bed caught her eye. “The quilt is lovely, Cord. Did your mother make it?”
“Probably. She used to have the quilting frames set up in the parlor in the wintertime. She’d sit in there in the evenings.” His shirt was deposited on the chair behind him, and he paused, his hands stilling at the waist of his trousers.
“Rachel, do you want me to turn out the light before I get out of the rest of my clothes?”
“All of them?” She reached to pull the sheet up over herself, her gaze intent on the action.
“Rachel, we’re married. I don’t sleep in my clothes when I’m alone. I’m sure as hell not going to keep them on when I’ve got my wife in bed waiting for me.”
“I think you’d better turn out the light, Cord.” Scooting down in the bed, she placed his pillow back on the other side of the bed and, beneath the sheet, edged her nightgown down around her body.
Cord stepped to the dresser, turning down the wick on the kerosene lamp before he blew it out. The flame died, leaving him dependent on the moonlight coming through the windows to make his way to bed.
“You got room for me in there, Rae?” The bed dipped as his big body covered the middle of the mattress. He turned to his side, reaching for her, and Rachel found herself gathered against him, his arms enclosing her.
“You sure feel good, honey.” His murmur of satisfaction breathed against her forehead as he formed her soft curves to the hard length of his body. Beneath her toes, she felt the hardness of his shins, cushioned by a softly curling layer of hair.
Against her belly his manhood stirred, and she shifted away, but his arms allowed her little room to maneuver.
His body was solid, firm against her, and his scent was tinged with a musky aroma that blended with his shaving soap. Burrowing her nose against his throat, she inhaled the essence of him, her eyes closing.
Without conscious thought, her lips pressed against the vulnerable flesh beneath his jaw and she nuzzled there. He shivered and his chuckle vibrated against her mouth.
“Sweetheart, do that some more, why don’t you?” His whisper coaxed her and he tilted his head a bit to peer at her in the pale moon glow that flooded the room from the window. “You might want to work your way up, kinda next to my ear and across my face.”
She stilled. “I don’t want you to think I’m being too forward.”
He squeezed her, a gentle tightening of his arms. “Not on your life, honey. You can be just as forward as you want. If you like kissing me, we’re gonna get along just fine.”
“You smell good,” she whispered, her mouth brushing against the beginning of his morning beard.
His groan was muffled as he turned his head and captured her mouth. “Not near as good as you do, Rae. I can still smell the honeysuckle in your hair.” His lips brushed against hers as he spoke and he turned her to her back, leaning over her on one elbow.
“Rachel, do you know what goes on in the marriage bed?” Hope laced his words and she peered at him in the near darkness.
“My mother told me…” How could she speak the words her mother had so haltingly uttered? She felt her cheeks burn as she explained a woman’s place in her husband’s bed.
“She said I must submit to my husband and do my duty as a wife.”
His sigh was accompanied by a slow shake of his head and he bent to place a soft kiss against her forehead. “I don’t want you to submit to me, Rachel. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”
“It all sounded pretty painful, the way she…”
His lips moved down the length of her nose to brush across her mouth as she spoke. “I guess it usually hurts the first time, honey. But there’s some pleasure that goes along with it.” His hand moved to the front of her nightgown and his fingers made short work of the buttons.
She looked down at what he did, watched as he opened wide the bodice of her gown, his hands dark against her pale skin. And then she gasped as he enclosed her breast within his long fingers, squeezing it gently, as if he measured its firm weight.
“Damn, you’re a lot of woman, Rae,” he muttered, bending to press his open mouth against her flesh. She felt the tip of his tongue, barely touching her skin, and then his hand moved and his mouth captured the crest, forming it with his teeth and tongue.
She drew in a breath, stunned at the shivering delight of his caress. “Cord, my mother didn’t tell me about this.”
He released his hold, chuckling as he nuzzled her, rubbing his cheek against her and moving to the other breast. “I’m glad, honey. I’d rather have you find it out this way.” His fingers were gentle as he cupped her, his mouth careful as he suckled at the tender flesh.
She was lost in the magic, her hands seeking purchase in his hair, her hips moving against the bed as his mouth and hands brought pleasure to her awakening body.
He murmured small phrases against her skin, spreading an array of kisses against her plush curves as he wooed her to his w
ill.
She heard the words, soft, coaxing her to comply, and then he lifted her, and she was aware of her gown falling to the floor beside the bed. His hands were firm but gentle, his fingers clever, enticing her to move against their coaxing touches.
Her hands rose to spread across the width of his shoulders. Beneath her fingertips his skin lay taut over the muscles of his arms, like satin covering steel.
And then her hands brushed lower, across the width of his back, and she felt the scarred flesh. Her breath caught in her throat as she sensed for a moment the pain of that scarring and she clasped him tighter to herself, as if her arms could give ease to the memory he bore.
“Rachel…” It was a groan of need, so great he could only express it in the calling of her name, and she responded, opening to him, her body rising to accept his.
He was gentle, taking her with care, then straining above her in the darkness, his manhood seeking the hot depths within her woman’s flesh.
She cried out softly, shifting beneath him, her breath taken by the sensation of fullness, the quick, sharp tearing of her maidenhead. Scarcely had the sound of her distress left her throat, barely had she smothered the whisper of his name, before he held himself still, pulsing within her.
“Rachel? I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry.” Like a blanket of male flesh and bones, he covered her, his hands clasping her face. Bending to shower kisses against her cheeks and forehead, he shivered, the tension of his body telling her of the barely restrained force of his need, and she gripped him more tightly in her arms.
He’d possessed her, yet there had been no submission, only a sharing of herself with the man who had chosen her as his bride. A sense of pride filled her, replacing the almost forgotten pain of his taking, and she moved against him.
“It’s all right, Cord. It just hurt for a bit.” Her lips opened to him, returning his kisses, her tongue meeting and tangling with his. He groaned his pleasure, his body clenching, rising and falling again as he moved against her.
“Lift to me, honey,” he coaxed. “There, like that.” His hands were gentle but firm, moving the length of her body. He touched her knowingly, caressing her, bringing tingling warmth to her willing flesh, his fingers agile as he led her to the knowledge of her own desire.
He captured her cries of delight in his mouth, muffling the sounds with murmurs of praise, luring her within reach of a pleasure so intense she could only gasp his name.
And then she was there, her entire being singing with the enchantment. Her fingers clenched against his skin, her body rose to his and she was flung beyond the boundaries of her existence, aware only of the ecstasy of his touch, the presence of his manhood within her and the total consuming power of his possession.
“Was it like your mama said it would be?” Cord lay in his marriage bed, his satisfaction apparent in the tone of this voice. Rachel’s head lay on his shoulder, her arm resting on his chest, her fingers combing the dense curls there. She murmured a denial against his skin.
“Better or worse?” he persisted, relishing her weariness, well pleased with the woman he held.
Her fingers tangled in the curls and tugged smartly. “A little better. Maybe.”
“Ouch! That’s taking advantage, Mrs. McPherson.” His hand grasped hers and he drew it to his mouth, suckling her index finger. “You better watch out. I just might…”
She moved her head and her mouth touched him, taking the flat male nipple between her lips. Her teeth threatened his vulnerable flesh and a chuckle was born, deep within her throat.
“Are we playin’ here, honey? Or is this for real?” If she only knew how difficult it had been to consider himself well off after the loving. He’d stifled the urge to coax her into a second blending of their bodies, knowing how tender she must be, how wearying the events of the day had been.
“Am I being too forward again?” Her mouth released him and she peered at his face in the dim light of the moon coming through the window. She moved against him, her breasts a soft weight on his chest
“I thought you were too tired for any more lovin’ tonight,” he said, subduing his body’s immediate reaction to her movements.
“Only if you’re planning on a big breakfast,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “I just might put the pillow over my head when the rooster crows.”
His fingers slid up from the nape of her neck, threading through the heavy weight of dark hair, to draw her face down, until their lips almost touched. “I suspect there’s enough leftover cake and pie to do me. We’ll make a pot of coffee and let it be every man for himself.”
She laughed, a silvery sound that pleased him. She’d been more than he had ever expected, more willing than he’d any right to hope for. Taking a virgin was new territory for him. Not that he’d been a ladies’ man, but he’d made his share of conquests over the years.
Yet the joy he’d found with the woman he held filled him with delight. She was warm and loving, eager to please, her slender form offering more pleasure than he’d dreamed of.
And she was his.
“Lorena said she’d cook breakfast in the morning,” Rachel whispered. “It’ll probably take me an hour to get the. nerve to go downstairs anyway.”
“Why?” He tugged at her curls, marveling at the way they clung to his callused fingers.
“I’m afraid the men will look at me…and I’m going to blush. They’re going to know what we’ve done tonight.”
“They care about you, Rachel. They’re not gonna do anything to embarrass you.”
She sighed, a wistful sound. “All right.”
He waited for a few moments. “All right, what?”
“All right, we can…you know…do that again. If you want to.”
He laughed aloud and her hand flew to his mouth, muffling the sound. “Hush, Cord! Everyone will hear you.”
He shook his head and moved her hand with ease. “Then they’ll know for sure I’m happy, won’t they?” His body rolled against her and atop her with a single movement. He wiggled a space for himself between her legs, allowing her to feel the burgeoning thrust of his arousal.
His groan of pleasure was deep, and he smothered it against her throat, inhaling the fresh scent of her skin.
Damn, she was sweet.
Chapter Eleven
“I don’t want that woman standing over me!” Jake’s booming ultimatum resounded down the wide hallway.
“Then take care of yourself, Jake. I suspect you could do a lot more of it if you wanted to. You’re lucky Rena’s willing, ‘cause it’s for sure I haven’t got the time to spend in here every day.” Cord’s answer was firm, promising no retreat.
“She’s all you’ve got, Jake. Sam’s about had enough of you. He told me you can pretty well do for yourself, if you want to. Anyway, he says takin’ care of you is a woman’s job, and he’s busy with keepin’ an eye on Rachel’s brothers and working in the barn.”
“How about Rachel?” Jake’s glance beneath lowering brows was swift, his mouth drawn into a knowing semblance of a smile.
“You’re not having Rachel at your beck and call.” There was no room for argument here, Cord decided. “Rena has agreed to look after your needs, and part of that includes helpin’ you wash up. You’re making a fuss over nothing.”
“Nothing?” Jake’s jaw set stubbornly and he moved his chair to the window, pulling aside the curtain to look out “You’re only half owner here, Cord. I say we put an ad in one of the big city papers, see if we can find a male attendant who’d be willing to come here and do for me.”
“What’s wrong with Rena?” The question was casually spoken, but Cord felt the tightening of his muscles as he prepared for the battle that was to come.
“Nothing in particular,” Jake answered, swinging the chair around to face his brother. “She’ll make a good rancher’s wife…if she ever gives up here and trots on back home where she belongs.”
Cord’s mouth twitched, but he subdued the smile. “She seems
to think there’s a place for her here.”
“I don’t want her.”
“No? I’d say just the opposite.”
Jake’s eyes flashed a warning. “Don’t be trying to second-guess me, brother. My days of yearning for a bit of fluff are long over.”
“Lorena Claypool is no bit of fluff, not by a long shot”
Jake’s rebuttal was a growl of admonition. “Then don’t push her at me as if she were.”
“I’m no one’s ‘bit of fluff,’” Lorena said from the doorway. “Good morning, Cord.”
Cord’s head dipped in a nod. “Sorry you heard all that, Rena. Jake’s a bit ornery this morning. He says he’s not gonna wash up with you around.”
“It’s a pity all that hot water will go to waste then,” she said cheerfully.
“I’ll do my own washing up,” Jake said, his gaze a dark weapon as he glared at the woman who watched him with serene eyes.
Lorena lifted the pail she’d carried from the kitchen. “Fine. Just pretend I’m a man from the big city, totin’ your water to you, then,” she said with a grin, pouring warm water into Jake’s china basin. She reached beneath the low commode, pulling out a clean towel and washing rag.
The rolling chair nudged her legs as she dampened the cloth and soaped it thoroughly. “I won’t be long here. If I start with your back, you can finish while I get your breakfast, Jake.” She turned to look at him, locked in place by the presence of his footrest. “Take off your shirt.”
“Damned if I will!” he roared. “You’re not making a whipped puppy out of me, Lorena Claypool.”
Her eyes scanned him, the broad shoulders, the muscled biceps straining at his shirtsleeves, the proud head and the strong line of his jaw.
“You sure don’t look much like any kind of puppy to me, Jake McPherson,” she said quietly. “I’d say more like a man ready to have a knock-down-drag-out fight.”
“A man? Half a man, maybe,” he growled.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that. Take off your shirt.”
It was a challenge, issued for the second time, and he reached for her, dragging her against his chair, his arms holding the strength of any two men as he subdued her.
The Wedding Promise Page 14