"Into bed with you," Shaw said from somewhere far away.
"Why did you call me Mrs. Thompson?"
"Did I?" He chuckled. "If your father comes here looking for us, he won't be askin' for the Thompsons. Is that a problem?"
"No, I..." She yawned again. If she could just rest her eyes for—"What are you doing?" she demanded as he picked her up in his arms.
"Shhh. I'm putting you to bed where you belong."
"In broad daylight?" She wanted to protest, but she was so tired. She felt as though she were already asleep and dreaming as Shaw laid her gently on the bed and began untying the laces on her boots. "You shouldn't be doing that," she managed. It felt so good just to lie here and let him do whatever he wanted.
He rolled her over. "Now the dress."
It occurred to her that he didn't seem daunted by the ordeal of getting a woman out of her clothes. She wanted to give that more thought, but right now, she couldn't concentrate on anything but how soft the feather bed and pillows were. "That tickles," she murmured. "Don't..."
* * *
Rebecca opened her eyes to pitch darkness and heard breathing beside her. Her first thought was that she was dreaming again, that this was the same dream she'd had before. She stretched out a hand hesitantly and touched a bare male chest.
Instantly, Shaw came awake. "Becca?"
Her fears slid away. Slowly, she reached out and touched his face. "You've shaved," she whispered huskily.
"I did."
Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the dark. She could just make out the filmy gauze bed hangings and the lesser blackness of the windows. Shaw shoved up on one elbow and rubbed a bare foot teasingly against her ankle. She sighed and continued her investigation of his cheekbone and jawline.
He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, then caressed her fingertips with his lips and the tip of his tongue. She stirred restlessly, drawing her legs up under her shift.
"I've waited so long, darlin'," Shaw murmured. He trailed a warm line of kisses from her wrist to the underside of her elbow, and she shivered.
"Hold me."
And when he drew her into his arms, he said, "You're trembling."
"I'm afraid."
"Of me?"
She inhaled deeply, fully alert now, and terrified beyond anything she'd ever known. "It's the pain that scares me."
He chuckled. "Sweetheart, it won't be that bad. I promise."
"You can say that."
He began to massage her shoulder, squeezing and rubbing, soothing out her cramped muscles. And every inch of skin that he touched made her tingle and each breath harder to take in. She felt as though she were falling. She didn't know what was at the bottom or if there was a bottom.
"Who told you a woman would have pain?"
"Grandma. The first time is the worst, she said. After that..." Rebecca felt her cheeks go hot. She couldn't tell him that Grandma had said that most women's parts stretch after a year or two. And she couldn't explain that Pilar had insisted that her older sister had torn so badly when her husband had entered her that she'd screamed loud enough to bring the wedding guests running, thinking she'd been murdered. Or that Grandma had explained that procreation was woman's punishment for Eve's eating the apple, and that she was meant to suffer in her marriage bed.
"Some women bleed a little their first time," Shaw said. He sounded as though he was trying hard not to laugh at her. "But it won't hurt as much as that time you put a fish hook through your foot. Remember that?"
She nodded, feeling foolish. "Just go ahead," she said. "Do it, and get it over with."
He laughed out loud.
"Go ahead. Make fun of me." She was acting like a child.
She knew it, but all the good fluttery feelings had fled, leaving her tight and trembling. "I led you on before, near the church that night. I won't do it again."
"The lamb about to be sacrificed."
Shame flooded her. If every married woman in the world had put up with joining, she supposed she could. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm ruining this for you. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."
"That's a promise?"
She gritted her teeth. "Yes."
"All right, Mrs. Thompson. Then the first step for you is a bath."
Chapter 18
"A bath? You want me to have a bath?" Waves of hot and cold washed through her body. She'd never felt so unsure of herself, so vulnerable. Yet, she'd never felt so much like a woman.
"You said that you love me." Shaw's hand, so powerful and callused, gently skimmed her collarbone and traced the curve of her throat. "Do you trust me, Becca?"
"Yes." Her breathy reply came from deep inside. She did trust him. Against all logic, she had always believed in Shaw MacCade. And selfish or not, she wanted to be here with him more than anywhere else in the world.
"Good." He dropped a light kiss on the tip of her nose. "Do exactly as I ask you, no questions, no hesitations. Can you do that?" His voice was calm, soothing, his fingers steady. Yet, she sensed the barely controlled power in him—a raw force that might explode at any instant.
"I'll try," she promised. "But didn't the housekeeper say that we'd have to ring for someone to heat the reservoir on the roof if—"
He stilled her question with a teasing kiss on her lips. His mouth melted against hers, and then withdrew before she could barely respond. The caress occurred so quickly that she couldn't be sure if it was real or her heart's wish. It was only an instant, but that finite span was enough to convey urgency, a fiery heat of promise.
She nodded, knowing that she'd never felt more alive than she did right now. "Yes. I'll do anything you ask without question." She heard the words in the quiet room—heard them as if they had been spoken by another—and she knew she was bound to honor the vow.
Shaw rose lithely from the tangled covers, moving with the grace of some wild creature, all long limbed and hard muscled. He pulled back the sheet and took her hand. "Close your eyes," he commanded with such sensual potency in his voice that she shivered with anticipation.
Her heart knocked against her chest, but she obeyed. The air in the room was moist; she could almost taste the river on her tongue. The Missouri—or perhaps the Mississippi, she thought—and the familiar sensations eased her disquiet. This was Shaw, she reminded herself, and he would never hurt her.
From the garden below drifted the faint perfume of roses, and she wondered what color they were: snowy white, vibrant yellow, or bloodred. Then something rustled. "What's that sound?" Silky fabric brushed her face.
"Shhh," he whispered. "Remember your promise."
Rebecca felt a faint tickling as Shaw tied a silky length of cloth over her eyes. "You didn't tell me you—" Her lips were dry, and she moistened them before she was able to finish, "—were going to blindfold me."
Mischief sparked Shaw's chuckle. "If I recall, I've used this trick with you before."
She smiled as a flood of happy memories washed through her mind. "When you took me to your cave," she reminded him. "You didn't want me to know the way."
"I couldn't. Suppose you'd decided to lead one of those brothers of yours to my hideout?"
"Corbett never did like you very much, did he?"
"Not much," he said.
Shaw sounded exactly like the wild colt of a boy he'd been then: shaggy black Indian hair, skinned knees poking through holes in his trousers, and a marvel of a shiner he'd claimed he'd gotten wrestling with his older brother Will. His image formed crystal clear in her mind, and Rebecca couldn't hold back a small giggle as she saw herself as well, all elbows and eyes and freckles.
Softly, she repeated the same lines from Scott that she had so dramatically recited to Shaw that frosty morning."'The way was long, the wind was cold.'"
And he surprised her by replying, "'Steady of heart, and stout of hand.'"
"How did you—"
Shaw brushed her mouth with another fleeting kiss."'To beard the lion in his den, the MacCade in his hall'?
"
Rebecca laughed. "I believe it was Douglas, not MacCade, that the bard penned." Leave it to Shaw to tease her out of her fright.
He'd eased her fear and made her laugh the afternoon they'd climbed the sheer stone face of Redemption Bluff to see the eagle fledglings and had nearly tumbled to their deaths in the attempt. And he'd used the same ploy when he convinced her to creep up on three sleeping Potawatomi hunters camped along the river. Shaw had wanted an Indian arrow for his collection in the cave. He'd gotten it, as he always got what he went for, but he'd left his mother's new scissors in payment. Always a rascal, but never a thief, Shaw had led her into one kind of mischief after another, but he'd always brought her home safely.
He'll do the same for me now, she thought. Still laughing, she felt her apprehension seep away, replaced by the soul-stirring thrill of impending adventure. And she remembered what Shaw had said that day, as he'd pulled her to safety over the lip of Redemption Bluff: Damn, Bee. If you don't take a few risks, how do you know what you 're missin '?
Smiling, she reached out to touch him, skimming the rugged planes of his face with her fingertips, committing his craggy features to memory with her touch. And the poet's words rose unbidden in her mind."'Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West'"
And not to be undone, he chuckled and replied,"'... listening she stands... guardian Naiad of the strand.'"
This time his kiss seared her mouth, making her tremble as an answering flame leaped within her. All the while his hands were moving over her body, making her truly his.
He leaned closer, clasping her shoulders with both hands, gently nibbling on her bottom lip and brushing the tip of his tongue along its curves. His nearness was overwhelming. Sweet heaven, she thought, how I love this man. "So long ago," she whispered as the floor seemed to tilt under her feet and her bones turned to water. "How do you remember those verses after so many years?" She stroked his forearm, feeling taut muscle beneath wind-tanned skin, and skimmed her fingers higher to caress his hard, swelling biceps. Even his scent was intoxicating: a blend of shaving soap, oiled leather, and that clean, woodsy, male essence that was Shaw's alone.
He groaned, clearly moved by her touch. "I never forgot anything that you read to me, Bee. Not a word." His voice grew husky with emotion. "Many a mile they kept me company between here and the Pacific and all the long while back. You forged a link between us with those words. The Nez Perce would say you're a witch."
"Me?" She swallowed, feeling light-headed and full of rising joy. "I'm the one standing here in my shift with my eyes bound. If anyone can work magic, it's you." She inhaled deeply, intoxicated by his nearness, filled with a yearning stronger than any she'd ever known. "It's always been you, Shaw."
"And you..." He moved away from her, and when she heard the sound of running water, she turned her head toward it. "No, stay right where you are," he said. "You're in my hands tonight."
"You're not putting me in cold—"
"The water's still warm from the sun, darlin'." Shaw returned and began slowly removing her combs and pins, one by one, so that her hair came undone and tumbled loose around her shoulders. And with each pin, he kissed her somewhere new—her hair, her eyebrows, her throat, or her shoulder.
Even so small an intimacy as that was enough to cause the flutter of butterflies in her chest and bring the blood racing back to heat her cheeks. She stood waiting, trembling from head to toe, trying to hide the rising tension in her belly.
It seemed that by blindfolding her, Shaw had intensified her senses, sharpening her hearing, heightening her ability to detect the faintest odor, and enhancing each sensation of touch. He had cast a spell over them, over this room, creating magic that she would hold dear all the rest of her life.
"Sweet, Becca," he whispered. "Sweet wife."
I am his wife, she thought. Shaw's mine. And if this is all we have, I'll make the most of it.
A night breeze tantalized her sensitive skin as he tugged at her corset ribbons. Warmth flooded her as she savored the feel of his lean hands sliding down her midriff to cradle her hips. She swallowed, trying to contain her emotion, as she stood naked before him—and as his hands trailed paths of fire over her bare skin.
"Sweet, sweet Becca." His quick intake of breath sent ripples of gooseflesh up and down her arms. "I've waited so long to see all of you." Kneeling, he pressed damp kisses down her belly to linger along the line of her nether curls.
Moaning softly, she fisted her hands into his hair as sensations of pleasure danced over her body. "Shaw..."
His mouth moved lower. She could feel his tongue... his lips... teasing, caressing. She let out a small sigh of astonishment as feather-light kisses and the heat of his breath touched the outer folds of her most secret place.
She writhed against him, pressing herself closer, her whole body throbbing with a strange, incessant pulse. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and arched her neck back as Shaw's long fingers glided sinuously over her naked thighs and buttocks.
This couldn't be happening, she thought. How could anything so lustful be so wonderful?
Blindly, she reached out, raking the back of his neck and shoulders with her nails.
"No fair," he said. "You were ordered to stay perfectly still." But when he rose and kissed her mouth, she melted against him and felt the hard length of his throbbing sex pressing into her flesh. Tearing himself away, he swore softly and reminded her. "Your bath first."
"I don't want a bath," she protested. "I want you. Now." She ran tremulous fingers down her belly to her aching loins. "I don't need games, Shaw. I need—" She heard his sharp intake of breath.
"Woman." His voice grew whiskey-burred with emotion. "Who's the greenhorn here?"
"Teach me. I'm a quick learner." She reached for the blindfold to tear it away.
"Nope. Not yet, darlin'. Trust me."
Gritting her teeth, she let him lead her to the tub. "You're a beast."
"I hope so." He chuckled evilly. Lifting her in his arms, he crushed her against his chest for bare seconds before lowering her into the pleasantly warm water until it covered her breasts. "Relax," he said, but she knew that he was far from feeling easy himself. Shaw MacCade was as near to the breaking point as she was.
But she would play out this game with him. So she sat, hardly breathing, as he rubbed soap over her back and buttocks. "How does that feel?" he asked hoarsely.
"Umm," she said. "Good."
"It will feel better." The heat of his callused hands was mesmerizing, at once erotic and soothing. Whenever she opened her mouth to protest, he kissed her. And each deep kiss made the temperature in the tub rise a few degrees and brought both of them closer to the point of no return.
"Shaw, stop." She squirmed under his provocative touch. "I... I can't stand it." The aching between her thighs had become a fierce drive for fulfillment. Her senses reeled, and her breath came in shuddering gulps.
But Shaw was merciless. His broad palm cupped her breast, sliding over it, coating her skin with a film of fragrant lather.
She whimpered, caught up in a glittering, tumbling plunge toward the unknown. His fingers moved lower, caressing... teasing.
Her throat tightened. She tilted her head back, trembling as he touched her where no man had ever dared. Heat blossomed between her thighs. "Let me out of here," she begged him. His fingers delved and probed deeper. She sobbed with urgent need, rocking back and forth in exquisite torture.
Then, he withdrew and slid those strong fingers over her breast, rinsing away the soap, then lightly pinching the nipple until it hardened. She groaned, then cried aloud as she felt his lips close over her nipple.
Molten fire rolled through her as he tugged at her breast with his mouth, suckling, first gently, then harder. Never had she felt anything so sweet, so wildly erotic.
She arched back, lifting her other breast. "Kiss it," she begged him. "It feels so good... so..."
"Don't hold back, Becca. Ride with it."
"Tell me what you want," he said. "Say the words, Becca. Tell me."
She stared up into his face, into the glittering black eyes, heavy-lidded with passion, and felt the grip of love so strong that it nearly took her breath away. "I want you," she whispered hoarsely. "In me... Please!"
She locked her arms around his neck, and he lifted her effortlessly out of the water. Hungrily, his mouth sought hers, scorching her flesh, branding her as his own.
Whimpering, she dug her fingers into his sinewy shoulders. Wrapping wet legs around his hips, she slid down his hard, muscled body until she felt him enter her. Fierce desire made her bold. She arched her back and spread her legs wider, taking him deeply, feeling every inch of his length and breadth.
And he filled her with his love.
Vaguely, from far off, she was aware of a wall against her back, of a tiny prick of discomfort, soon drowned in a dazzling rush of glory. Time after time he plunged into her, withdrew, and filled her again. And this time, when she reached the peak and slid over the edge, Shaw fell with her. And they drifted downward, floating somewhere beyond tomorrow, knowing nothing but the rapture that had consumed them both.
In time, Rebecca became aware of Shaw's sweat-sheened body and the rise and fall of his chest. She opened her eyes and saw a lock of his damp hair, his clean-shaven cheek, and above that, bed hangings. "Where are we?" she asked him. One leg was between his thighs, the other tangled in the sheets. "Are we on the floor or—"
He chuckled, a warm, contented sound that sent warmth pulsing through her veins. "Sort of." He pushed her over and scooted up onto the feather bed. "I think you broke my back."
"Beast." She giggled and hid her face against his chest. "Did we crack the plaster on the wall?"
The Taming of Shaw MacCade Page 20