by Kathy Shaw
Rachel felt her cheeks flush as she fought the urge to cover herself. Sullivan seemed to notice her discomfort and drew her into his arms and kissed her.
Suddenly, her world tilted when he swept her into his arms. Still holding her, he managed to turn down the bed before placing her on soft sheets. She quickly grabbed the folded-back sheet and quilt and covered herself.
Enthralled, she watched as he stood and turned his back to her. Hard muscles tapered downward from his broad shoulders to his smaller waist. Not that anything about Sullivan Langley was small.
Without warning, his pants dropped to the floor.
Rachel gasped at her husband’s toned physique. He had the body of a Greek god—at least from the back. Finally finding her voice, she asked, “Why did you turn your back to me? Why are you hiding from me?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“You won’t scare me. You promised not to hurt me, and I believe you.” Gathering her resolve, she asked, “Please turn around.”
He groaned. “It would be easier if we shared tonight before you see me engorged with passion.”
“Do you think me a coward?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.
“You are many things, Rachel Hale Langley, but I doubt you’ve ever been a coward.” Then he sighed and turned to face her.
“Oh my God!” she gasped. “What is that?”
“My desire for you.”
She clutched the bed coverings over her nakedness. “I know that. I’ve read books, done some discreet research, but nothing said anything about size. Maybe you shouldn’t desire me soooo much?”
Sullivan ran his hand over his face as he muttered something under his breath. Then he slipped into bed beside her.
“If desire regulates size—”
He burst out laughing.
“What?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” he answered between chuckles.
“Fine.” She folded her hands in her lap, letting the sheet fall to her waist and whispered her disappointment. “I don’t think I can accommodate your ‘desire.’”
Sobering, he pulled her into his arms. “You were enjoying my touches moments ago.”
His hand skimmed down her back to rest on the crest of her hip. Her body warmed to his adoring, almost reverent, caress. “Yes.”
Ever so slowly, he skated his hand upward to her ribcage. His fingers stroked her side while his thumb drew circles around her nipple. She shuddered against the tingles he conjured.
Then his mouth found hers and she was lost on an overwhelming wave of pleasure. She pressed against him, her naked body against his. Giving as much as he gave. Taking as much as he took.
She groaned with disappointment when his mouth left hers, only to gasp in wanton gratification as his tongue replaced his thumb on her nipple. When he sucked the tip of her breast into his mouth and worked her nipple between his teeth, a bolt of red-hot need flared through her, searing every nerve in her body.
Urges swirled through her. She wanted to grind her hips against his, wanted to stab her fingers through his hair and never let him move from her breast. She wanted to burrow deeply inside him and bask in the heat of him, the feel of him. She wanted to make him burn from the inside out with as much blazing need as he stoked in her.
She barely noticed his hand gliding down her stomach through her haze of hunger—until he traced her womanly lips with his finger. She stiffened and tried to pull away from him.
“Shh, it’s all right, sweetheart. I just want to see if you’re ready for me,” he explained as he dipped his finger between her folds. “Sweet Jesus. You’re so hot, so wet.”
A part of her—a big part—yearned to spread her legs wide for him, wanted to feel him inside her. Anything to relieve the pounding of her blood. But another part, a smaller—more modest part, wanted time, and space, to think.
Sullivan gave her neither.
Before she could decide what she wanted, he layered his mouth over hers, nipped at her bottom lip then licked the sting away with the tip of his tongue. She readily opened for him.
He assaulted her misgivings with tender kisses that morphed into passionate demands of surrender. His finger mimicked the thrusts of his tongue as he played an erotic game of hide and seek with her tongue. His thumb, slick with her juices, circled her knot of nerves at her apex.
The frenzied intensity coiling in the pit of her stomach rose to a fiery pitch. Her legs spread wider seemingly on their own. Her hips bucked upward to deepen the thrust of his fingers. She needed…something. And she needed it badly.
Sullivan rolled atop her, holding some of his weight with his elbow. When he released her mouth, he whispered against her lips, his voice thick and raspy, “The first time I enter you will hurt. But after that it will be magnificent.”
Rachel nodded, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. He shifted slightly and entered her. She felt full, over-full, and stretched to her limits but no pain.
She relaxed in his arms then ground her hips against his, hoping to encourage him to move. “Please.”
He thrust deeper.
Pain ripped through her, catching her by surprise. Biting her lip bloody to keep from crying out, she waited as the searing sting ebbed away.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It had to be done.” He lowered his head to place the tenderest of kisses across her lips.
Gradually, her discomfort receded, and Sullivan’s caring caresses registered in her mind. “I’m fine, now.”
“I’m glad.” He smiled and winked. “Now, where were we?”
He began to move in and out of her, slowly at first, and then—as though he could sense her frustration—he increased his speed, little by little.
At first, he drove her crazy with want. And then he drove her into a frenzied knot of primal need.
Breaths mingled, hands slid over naked skin, both his and hers. Profound pleasure like none she’d ever known grew into a palpable thing. Her heart pounding, she raced toward…something.
Raking her nails across Sullivan’s back, she begged, “Please, I need—”
She didn’t know what she needed, but she needed it with every fiber of body.
“Just let go, darlin’. Let it happen,” he commanded, his voice raspy, his breathing labored.
He grounded his hips against her and thrust twice more, deeper, harder, faster.
A ball of molten heat exploded in her lower stomach. She couldn’t breathe and didn’t care. She heard herself growl in the back of her throat as she dug her nails into Sullivan’s flesh.
And then the stars fell out of the sky.
Chapter 8
The next morning, Donovan sat at his father’s desk, an open ledger and his coffee mug at his fingertips. The words and numbers on the lined pages may as well have been written in Latin for all he was getting out of it.
He couldn’t focus. Every time he tried, his mind wandered back to last night.
Last night. His wedding night. The best damn night of his life!
Rachel had been so receptive, so willing, so responsive. Sure, she’d had her moments of uneasiness. What virgin wouldn’t, but she’d trusted him to guide her through.
She’d completely, blindly trusted him. Him, the notorious outlaw Donnie Langley.
She’d made him feel ten feet tall and bulletproof.
Only he wasn’t really who she trusted. She’d put her faith in Sullivan, the man she’d fallen in love with. Not the man pretending to be Sullivan. Not him.
Donovan sighed and picked up his coffee mug.
He needed to remember who Rachel truly loved. It would make it easier to keep his emotions in check. Yes, he hoped to love her in time. But he could never allow himself to fall in love with her.
His past would always loom over him. Maybe not today, or next week, or next year, or Hell, maybe not in the next twenty years, but there was always a chance the law could come knocking on his front door.
A
nd if that day came, he’d be running out the back door before God got the news—without a woman in tow. If he hesitated—if he took the time to convince Rachel to go with him—he’d be behind bars for so long, he’d be old, broken, and only a shell of a man when he got out.
Donovan banged his fist against the desktop and growled.
Damn it! He’d go out in a blaze of glory rather than get caged behind bars for even an hour, much less the rest of his life.
A movement in the doorway caught Donovan’s attention.
Rachel, wearing a pale-yellow day dress, stood just inside the office entry. Her hair, pulled up in a loose bun with soft ringlets falling around her face, glowed in the morning light filtering through the window pane. “Spun gold in sunshine,” he remembered telling her last night. He hadn’t exaggerated.
Rachel Langley was beautiful. And she was his.
Donovan silently chastised himself for his dangerous thoughts. He couldn’t allow himself to get too attached to his wife.
“I hope that scowl across your face wasn’t caused by something I did,” she teased as she stepped farther into the room.
“Of course not,” he replied as he started to stand.
She waved him back into his chair as she sat across the desk from him. “Please, sit down. I’m only going to be a minute and then I’ll leave you to your ledgers.”
He nodded and sat back in his seat, thankful she’d insisted. Just the sight of her, the sound of her voice, had him hard—again.
They’d made love twice during the night and again as the sun rose outside their bedroom window. He hadn’t thought she might be tender after being with a man for the first time until after he’d left her dozing in their bed earlier this morning. Then he’d felt like a selfish heel.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.
She blushed. “Fine. And you?”
Relief washed over him. He hadn’t, albeit unintentionally, hurt her. He winked. “Extremely happy.”
Rachel’s blush darkened from pale pink to bright red. After a moment, she asked, “I was wondering about my trunks. Do you know when we might retrieve them from Papa’s?”
“I sent a couple of hands into town earlier to pick them up. They should be back within the hour.”
“Thank you.” She stood and headed toward the door then paused, turned and walked to him.
He cocked a questioning eyebrow at her.
Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek and whispered, “And thank you for last night. You were more patient, kind, and gentle than I ever would have expected.”
Donovan cupped her face between his hands and kissed her. “And you, my sunshine, are more…everything…than I expected.”
Rachel stepped back. “You need to get back to your ledgers and I’m going to see if Nessa needs any help with lunch.”
He swallowed a groan as he watched her leave the office.
Mentally, he mortared another brick on the wall around his heart. He just hoped to Hell it stayed there.
A week later, Donovan handed Rachel a steaming cup of coffee just the way she liked it. A teaspoon of sugar, a splash of milk, and in bed.
“Keep this up and soon I’ll never want to get out of bed,” she playfully reprimanded, not a drop of malice in her tone, and reached for the mug he offered.
“I can live with that,” he chuckled as he sat on the mattress, facing her.
She giggled over the top of her mug. “That wasn’t an invitation.”
“Dang,” he teased and watched her savor her first sip of coffee.
“Mmm,” she hummed. “Perfect.”
Donovan gulped a big swig of hot coffee. It burned all the way down, but at least it prevented him from telling her how perfect he thought she was.
A week’s worth of cozy evenings in front of the fireplace, followed by nights of the best sex he’d ever had, had turned his mind to mush. Every morning, he had to shore-up the wall around his heart. And every morning it got harder to do.
“Sullivan?” Rachel asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Are you all right?”
“Coffee was hotter than I expected.” Leaning back on his one elbow, he hoped he looked more nonchalant than he felt. He needed to start spending more time away from Rachel—without it looking like he was dodging her. “I’m going into town this morning.”
She looked at him, her eyes partly pleading—partly enthusiastic.
“Would you like to come?”
Well, Hell. He opened his mouth, and the words fell out before he could stop them. “Yes.”
So much for avoiding his wife.
She almost knocked him off the bed in her hurry to get up. “I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.”
“Take your time.” He laughed as he wiped at the coffee stain spreading across his chest. “I need to change shirts then talk to Nessa before we leave.”
Rachel grabbed her hair brush. “Are you picking up supplies?”
“Not that I know of. I need to clarify something with Mr. Roker at the bank.”
Old man Jackson’s comment about the banker’s wish someone would take Sullivan down a notch had been nagging at him. Now that things had settled a bit, and he felt more confident in his portrayal as his twin brother, he wanted to look into Roker’s malcontent.
“Could we ride in then?” Rachel continued to glide her brush through her hair. “Horses would be faster than a buggy.”
Donovan grinned. “Homesick?”
“Maybe a little bit.” She glanced at him through her vanity mirror. “I’ve never been a whole week without talking to Papa.”
“Then that will be our first stop.” He crossed to the bureau, retrieved a clean shirt, and put it on. “Now, hurry up and get dressed before I change my plans and decide to spend the day in bed with you instead.”
Rachel double-timed her brush through her hair. “Yes, sir!”
“Yes, sir, what? Going into town or spending the day in bed?” he teased.
She tossed a saucy wink his way as she quickly braided her hair. “Whatever pleases you.”
“Don’t tempt me, woman,” he chuckled a warning as he left the room.
Four hours later, Rachel and Becky sat inside Sarah’s, the best café in town. They were seated at a table in front of the window. Rachel hadn’t realized how much she loved the hustle and bustle of New Dawn Springs until she wasn’t there anymore. Not that she didn’t like living at the Legacy, she did. But sometimes, she got lonely.
“I’m surprised I’ve got you all to myself,” Becky said, pulling Rachel out of her thoughts.
“Sullivan thought I might like to have lunch with just us girls. He has business at the bank. He said he may join us for pie and coffee later.”
“I meant your father,” Becky clarified.
“Oh. Sullivan and I visited with Papa for about an hour before he got called out to the livery. One of the Arnold’s neighbors came in to say Blackie was threatening his wife again. Not that he’s ever hit Trudy, but the neighbor was concerned enough to come fetch Papa.”
“Blackie and Trudy Arnold should have never married.”
“I agree.” Rachel sipped her tea.
“I can’t imagine being stuck in a bad marriage.” Becky placed her napkin in her lap. “Speaking of, how’s Sullivan?”
Rachel didn’t take offense at her friend’s thinly veiled insult. She’d been expecting it and was too happy to let it bother her. Eventually, Becky would come to see what kind of man Sullivan really was. Kind, loving, and gentle.
“Wow,” Rachel laughed. “You held out of whole twenty minutes before you took a jab at my husband. I didn’t know you had that much restraint.”
Becky bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Rach. I just worry about you is all.”
Rachel laid her hand over Becky’s and squeezed. “I’m fine, I promise. Sullivan is a thoughtful, caring man.”
Becky’s head lifted. “Really? But rumor has it—”
“He is not that man, I swear. Give him
a chance. Get to know him. You’ll see.”
Just then, their lunch arrived. Rachel leaned back to give the waitress room to place her plate of fried chicken—and spotted the Widow Sewell glaring at her from two tables over.
Or maybe Sullivan wasn’t that man anymore, she corrected herself. Mrs. Sewell seemed to have a strong dislike for the new Mrs. Langley.
Becky shot a sidewise glance to see what held Rachel’s attention then sighed. “Don’t mind that hussy. Nancy down at the dry goods store said Widow Sewell has been meaner than a grizzly fresh out of hibernation all week.”
“She does look a little bearish.” Rachel grinned, determined not to let anyone spoil her time in town. “What else does Nancy have to say? I know you’re dying to tell me.”
“Well, let’s see,” Becky took a bite of mashed potatoes then continued, “the first couple days after you left, the town was a buzz about your wedding. You know, you don’t hide your feelings very well.”
“Really? I thought I’d done a very good job of concealing my irritation.”
“Yeah, well, not so much. I think it was your stomping down the aisle that gave you away. And when he kissed your hands before the ceremony ever started, that had women from ten to seventy swooning. Expect me, of course.”
“Of course,” Rachel agreed, hiding her grin behind her napkin.
Becky paused to cut into her chicken. “Who was the man sitting behind your father at the wedding?”
Rachel had to think a moment before answering, “Mr. Sam Carter, an associate of Papa’s. Why?”
“He was at the dry goods store yesterday asking a lot of questions. I was there talking to Nancy when he came in.”
Talking meaning gossiping, Rachel thought, but kept her comment to herself. “Asking about what?”
“Mainly Sullivan. About his behavior lately. If he seemed different in any way.” Becky dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth. “From what I hear, that man…er, Mr. Carter has been asking all over town about your husband.”
After a moment’s thought, Rachel confided in her best friend. “Mr. Carter is a Pinkerton man looking for Sullivan’s brother Donovan.”