The Cowboy's Honor

by Amy Sandas

  He brushed his fingers over her cheek and jaw. In a deep and intimate tone, he said, “I’m not sure of much anymore, but I know I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. I didn’t want you to stir up so much inside me. But you do. And I’m tired of denying it.” He took a long, steadying breath. His expression darkened as he said, “I should be asking if you want this with me. I’ve done wrong by you in more ways than one.”

  Courtney shook her head gently but remained silent beneath the distinct and lovely feeling of his roughened hands on her skin as he trailed his fingers down along the side of her throat.

  “It’s true,” he asserted, his brows lowering over an earnest gaze. “An honorable man would resist the desire to take you to bed, knowing…” His voice roughened. “Courtney, I—”

  “Don’t want a wife,” Courtney interrupted as her heart gave a sharp squeeze. “Yes, I know. And I ran away from Boston to avoid becoming a bride. We are totally unsuited to each other. This is not a real marriage.” She sighed. The heavy breath lifted her chest, momentarily drawing his gaze to her breasts. “But here we are,” she finished in a whisper.

  “Here we are,” he repeated, his voice thick as he traced his work-worn fingers along the crest of her collarbone, sending tingling goose bumps across her skin.

  Deep down, Courtney understood that lying together wouldn’t be enough to change the course they were on. He had his reasons for avoiding marriage. And she was still devoted to her goal of learning to live independently. They were not truly husband and wife.

  She knew it.

  But perhaps a tiny part of her wanted to imagine otherwise. The part of her that admired her husband’s fortitude and his dedication to the ranch. That part that was drawn to his quiet loneliness and his stubborn determination not to show it.

  She and Dean both knew how quickly and easily the best laid plans could be destroyed. Happiness was never guaranteed. But one could choose it when it came around in brief snatches and unexpected moments.

  Like this one.

  She knew what she should be thinking. And yet her feelings—the bright, joyful anticipation, the fearful uncertainty, the deep yearning—were all too clear.

  She wanted this anyway. She wanted him anyway.

  Lying there in Dean’s bed, with only a few breathless inches between them while he did nothing more than caress her skin with light brushes of his roughened fingers, Courtney felt something shift inside her. It seemed as though the final constraints of her former life dropped away, like a cloak falling to the floor.

  She was not defined by her past or her future. She could simply be Courtney, poised in this moment with her heart beating a frantic rhythm and her body flushed and tingling with physical yearning unlike anything she’d ever known.

  She didn’t know where her life would take her when the four weeks were up, had no idea what her future looked like.

  But she had tonight. This moment with this man was all hers.

  If she chose to take it.

  Dean’s fingers ceased drifting over her skin in the lengthening silence. He shifted his weight. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, as he made to rise from the bed.

  Courtney grasped his upper arms to stop him. “Please, don’t be sorry,” she pleaded softly, allowing the need inside her to become evident in her voice. She didn’t want to shield her feelings from him. Not now. “I won’t be.”

  He looked down at her with his expression tense and questioning.

  Lifting one hand, she removed his hat and tossed it aside, not caring where it landed. Then she took his face in her hands—loving the rough texture of his jaw against her palms—and urged his mouth down to hers.

  Though his body was tense, he accepted her direction and fit his lips perfectly over her mouth. The kiss sparked with desire and deeper need, but he held back, keeping the caress light and sweet.

  Courtney wanted the level of passion they’d shared outside, but he seemed intent upon taking things slowly. She could not be sure if that was to allow her a chance to change her mind, or himself.

  When he lifted his head, her gaze was steady as she met his. “This is my choice, Dean. What is yours?” she challenged gently.

  There was another pause before he answered. “I’m not like your fancy men out East. I don’t have any refined manners or pretty words for you. I’m a cowboy. What you see is what you get.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” She smiled as she slid her hands around the back of his neck. “It is you I want, Dean. Not practiced gestures and false flattery. I want your hands on my skin. Your lips touching mine. Your tongue…” she added haltingly as heat flared between them.

  He swallowed hard, and something bright flashed deep in his eyes. “You want my hands on you, princess?” His voice rasped like velvet through her senses.

  Courtney’s breath caught, and her belly swirled.

  Then he shifted his weight to the side while leaving one denim-clad leg draped across hers. Still propped on one elbow, he settled his other hand on her collarbone. His thumb rested gently over the pulse at the hollow of her throat while his fingers curved warmly over her shoulder. The weight and the roughness of his palm held a promise—an intention to be fulfilled. Courtney drew a slow inhale to still the dance of excitement inside her as she waited for what would come next.

  He trained his focus on the movement of his hand as he slowly brushed his fingers over the curve of her shoulder, dragging the eyelet strap of her nightgown down as he went. When the edge of the cotton bodice caught over the swell of her breasts, he made a low sound that warmed the darkness.

  As he shifted his attention to releasing the buttons running down the center of her nightgown, Courtney watched his face. She became mesmerized by the taut strength of his jaw, the masculine lines of his firmly curved upper lip, and the weight of his brow. He was so intent, so serious.

  She wished desperately to see his smile.

  But then he had loosened her bodice enough to pull one edge aside and bare a breast.

  Courtney felt the moment acutely. It seemed significant that the area of her body now exposed and vulnerable to his view and his touch also held her heart.

  Silent and reverent, he trailed the back of his fingers over her exposed skin—from the base of her throat, down over the upper slope of her breast, and then across the sensitive, peaked crest.

  Shocking jolts of fire arced through her center when his knuckles gently passed across her nipple. Her belly quivered, and a gasp threatened to slip from her lips.

  He turned his hand to ease his fingers in a soft caress that shaped the lower curve of her breast before trailing them back up along her sternum. He had been watching the path of his touch over her skin, but now he lifted his gaze to meets hers. Courtney drew a swift breath at the silent hunger shining in his eyes. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he pulled the other strap off her shoulder and tugged the nightgown down to her hips.

  Then he rolled atop her again, settling his large body low between her parted legs with his elbows braced against her hips as he lowered his head toward her naked abdomen. At the first feel of his warm breath wafting over her belly, Courtney tensed. A second later, it was the brush of his hair against the undercurve of her breasts and the breath-stealing sensation of his mouth on her navel.

  She lifted her hands to gently grasp his head, loving the slide of his hair through her fingers as he rained soft, warm kisses across her belly. Courtney was melting, swirling, aching. The juncture between her thighs felt swollen. Her legs grew restless, and her spine arched beneath him.

  With a heavy rumble in the back of his throat, he shifted higher, sliding his hands beneath her shoulder blades to lift her to his mouth.

  The heat and glory of his lips closing over her breast sent a shock through her body. Who knew such decadence existed? Such exquisite torment. He twirled his tongue around the pe
ak of her nipple, and she was lost. He lavished her with lush, velvety strokes of his tongue before drawing her flesh deep into his mouth. The he followed with a rough scrape of his teeth and playful flick of his tongue.

  By the time he moved his attention to her other breast, she was balanced harshly on the edge of anticipation, not knowing if his next caress would be sharp and poignant or deep and languid. Lost in her own experience, drowning in the pleasure he wrought, she had no idea how long he showered her with such attention. But at one point she realized that she wanted to give some back to him. As much as she loved the feel of his mouth on her, she was eager for the feel of his skin beneath her lips.

  She made a strangled sound in her throat in an attempt to speak. If he heard her, he ignored her as he drew the pliant flesh of her breast deep into his mouth once again. Her core swirled with fire, but she wanted more.

  Gripping his head in her hands, she tried to lift him away, but he only drew harder on her breast. In a raw voice, she finally managed to utter one word. “Stop.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  He lifted his head to meet her heavy-lidded gaze. The dark turmoil on his face went straight to her core.

  “Just for a moment,” she clarified. “I need to catch my breath.”

  He shook his head and lowered his lips to the hollow at the base of her throat, dropping a light kiss there. “I don’t think I can,” he murmured against her pulse.

  “I want your skin on mine.”

  With a low-grumbled sound, he lifted himself from her sprawled form in a swift and sudden movement. Scooting to the edge of the bed, he swiftly released several buttons of his shirt. Just enough so he could reach over his shoulder and grasp a handful of the cotton to drag it off over his head. He tossed the shirt to the floor somewhere near his discarded hat before leaning forward to remove his boots and stockings.

  He did it all in a hurry and likely had no idea how entranced she became with each removed item. How she stared in wonder and appreciation at the body he revealed. The hard, contoured lines, the strength and masculinity. The way the muscles in his back moved beneath his smooth skin as he rushed through the tasks.

  As he stood to release the buttons on his denim pants, he turned to face Courtney on the bed.

  The second he caught sight of her lying half-tangled in her nightgown, his hands stalled and a predatory spark ignited in his eyes. He stepped around to the foot of the bed and leaned forward to grasp the hem of her nightgown in his large fists.

  Courtney held her breath as he pulled. The cotton complied easily with his command, sliding down past her hips. Then lower and lower, so slow, until it came free and was released to fall forgotten to the floor.

  The look on his face was different from any she’d seen before as his gaze trailed slowly up the length of her body. She had never worried a great deal about how she looked beneath all the fine clothing she was accustomed to wearing.

  But now she couldn’t help but wonder if she was too tall and too slim. Were her breasts large enough? Where her hip bones too prominent? Her legs too long? Her feet too big?

  Pride prevented her from trying to cover herself, so she lay still and nervous beneath his avid attention.

  Finally, after what seemed like an age, he muttered, “You make my mouth go dry.”

  She accepted that as a good thing, and the corners of her mouth curled into a smile.

  He saw the smile and seemed transfixed by it for a moment, his eyes sharp.

  Then he lifted a knee onto the bed and crawled up along her body to lower himself onto her again. Sliding one hand through her hair to cradle the back of her skull, he pressed his other hand to the low curve of her back as he rolled to his side. She rolled with him, and he wrapped her in an embrace that crushed her breasts to his chest and arched her spine.

  He paused then, with his head bowed close over hers and his breath escaping in swift puffs against her parted lips. The moment allowed her to feel every texture of his body against hers: the hot, hard contours of his chest covered by a dusting of crisp hair that teased and tantalized her sensitive nipples. The rough denim of his pants encasing long, muscled legs, one of which pressed high between her thighs.

  The intimacy and power of the embrace as he held her to him—not under or over him, but tucked in close against him—caused her heart to race as her throat became oddly tight. Before she could analyze her reaction, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Dean kissed her as he had earlier, with expert pressure and a skillful slide of velvet friction, accented by teasing darts of his tongue that soon became deeper strokes that urged her to join in.

  Craving the taste of him, she explored with her tongue and tugged on his lips with hers. Seeking more of the intricate experience, she began moving against him. Rubbing her breasts back and forth against his chest, bending her knee to slide her leg higher over his, and arching her back.

  He responded with a heavy groan and lowered a hand to grasp her buttock. When he pulled her hips tight to his and she felt the hardness of his erection pressing against her belly, an unfamiliar sound rose from her throat: a plea made up of need and frustration.

  The kiss changed then, becoming insistent and impatient with a harsh edge that sent tingling shocks through her body. The hand he had buried in her hair gave a gentle tug, positioning her mouth for the plunging possession of his tongue.

  Courtney surrendered. She discovered she liked the rough desperation in the deep strokes of his tongue, the grinding of his lips against her teeth, and the firm grip of his hands on her body.

  Dean Lawton was not a man of polish and pedigree.

  He was a force of nature. Straightforward, honest, demanding, and raw. He was not a man who needed much in the world, but right now, he needed her.

  Courtney wrapped her arms around his back, giving of herself with equal passion. His lean strength encircled her. It was a wonderful, heady sensation to be so close to someone, to be held so tightly and kissed so thoroughly. But she wanted more of him. She wanted everything.

  Pulling back, she forced him to release her mouth, though he did not loosen his arms around her. His breath was heavy and swift. So was hers.

  Their eyes met, and the fierce yearning in his gaze sent shivers of delicious anticipation through her blood. “I’m ready,” she stated with breathless certainty.

  He stared at her, silent and tense. His skin emanated heat and was coated in a fine sheen of sweat. “You sure?” His voice held a teasing threat, but she heard the underlying sincerity in his question.

  Holding his gaze, she trailed her fingers down his back, following the hollow of his spine until she found the taut rise of his buttocks just above the loosened waistband of his pants. The corners of her mouth curled into a smile as she slipped her fingers beneath the denim, seeking the firm curve of his rear.

  “Infinitely,” she whispered.

  His eyes darkened, and his arms tightened almost painfully around her. A low growl echoed from his chest as he gave a short thrust of his hips, tensing the muscles of his buttocks beneath her hand.

  Then with a ragged breath, he released her and rolled to his back to shove his pants roughly past his hips before kicking free of them completely.

  Now, it was her mouth that went dry. “Oh my God,” she whispered in awe.

  On the night before her wedding, her mother had explained what to expect in the marriage bed. Though Beverly Adams had mentioned nothing of the swirling heat or melting need Courtney had experienced so far in Dean’s arms, she had haltingly described the act of consummation.

  Courtney stared wide-eyed at the hard, male organ jutting out from Dean’s groin and wondered how on earth such a thing could be possible. The brief glimpse she’d gotten of his manhood that day in the bath had not compared to the sight before her now.

  Dean groaned and dropped his head back on the pillow, covering his ey
es with his forearm. “I suppose you’ve never seen a man in a needful state before,” he muttered.

  “Nooooo,” Courtney replied, drawing the word out in her amazement. “I cannot say I have.” She was unable to take her eyes off him, especially now that he wasn’t looking back at her.

  He was thicker and longer than she had expected, but once her initial surprise wore off and she had a chance to really see him, she had to admit that this was as beautifully designed as the rest of him.

  She eased closer to him, pressing herself along his side. “I’m sorry. I was just surprised.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” Lifting his arm from his eyes, he brought it down around behind her back, his hand falling to the curve of her hip. “I understand if you wanna stop.”

  “No,” she responded instantly. “I definitely do not want to stop.”

  “Thank God.” His relief was obvious as he rolled her up on top of him.

  The full length of him was stretched out beneath her. His wide chest and taut abdomen, the muscled length of his legs, and the hard, hot, rigid length of his erection against her belly.

  She drew a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “I’m not sure what to do next.”

  “Let me worry about that,” he said.

  Lifting his head, he caught her mouth with his and she was immediately drawn back into all the sensations he invoked. How did he do that so easily? One deep, consuming kiss, and her body went up in flames. One stroke of his tongue along hers, and her thoughts spun off into the ether, as did her inhibitions.

  She couldn’t stop moving over him, rubbing against him, delighting in the textures and the lovely friction.

  And soon he was groaning into her mouth as he curved his hand around her leg and drew her knee up alongside his hip. When his hand skimmed up the back of her thigh, she tensed. As much as she wanted to feel his touch along her private flesh that ached so sweetly, it was unnerving to feel so vulnerable.