He fumbled with the tiny pearls until the back of the garment parted. Beneath it she wore delicate satin garments edged with lace and pastel blue ribbon. She let the front fall forward, and he saw then how stiff and heavy the beading had been.
“I’m itching,” she said, pulling her arms free and rubbing them, reaching for her shoulders. She made an attempt to scratch her back.
“I could rub in some glycerin for you,” he offered.
Her expression was relieved and embarrassed at the same time. “I had no idea this dress would get so uncomfortable.”
“I wasn’t wearing it, but I’d have to say it was worth it, seein’ you in it, I mean.”
She stepped out of the dress and Ben reached to pick it up. The weight surprised him. “You must feel like a horse free of saddle and blankets,” he said with a grin.
She placed a hand on her hip and said teasingly, “I don’t think I’ve ever been compared to a horse before.”
Seeing her in her underwear must’ve scrambled his brain. “Sorry.”
She laughed. “Guess I’d better get used to animal comparisons since I’m married to a vet.”
The familiarity of her acceptance touched him. He laid the dress across the cedar chest that sat under one of the windows. “You’ll take care of it later, I suppose.”
She moved to the dressing table he’d bought for her. She was slim and shapely in her delicate drawers and chemise, not as hesitant to face him as he might have imagined. But then what did she have to be ashamed of? She was beautiful. She was perfect. She was pure. And it was her wedding night.
He felt a muscle near his eye jump.
Lorabeth returned to him with a jar, twisted off the lid and offered it.
Ben took the glass container from her and dipped his fingertips. She turned her back and raised her hair away from her neck and shoulders, and his mouth went dry.
He smeared the cool substance across her irritated pink skin. Beneath his fingers every place he touched was smooth and soft.
“That feels so good,” she said.
Once her neck and shoulders were soothed, he worked the glycerin into her arms. They were slender and delicate like the rest of her. A gentle rise and fall beat at the base of her throat above the pearls she wore. He applied a cool dab to the pulse point.
She looked at him, her tawny eyes trusting. “What am I supposed to do, Benjamin?”
He wished he knew. He didn’t have a reply.
“Do you know what to do?”
It was his job to follow through with this act, to consummate their marriage and fulfill his obligation. The responsibility of being a husband weighed heavily on his conscience. “In theory.”
He desired Lorabeth. He was drawn to her like a honeybee to a sweet, sweet flower. But he didn’t want to ruin what they had by allowing lust to taint this moment.
She was a virgin, pure and untouched. He was a virgin, too, but he wasn’t pure by any means. He knew how to respect and honor his wife, but he was a man with carnal desires. If he frightened her or if she looked at him in disgust, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
“I like it when you kiss me,” she said, her tone suggesting he do so now.
“Lorabeth.” He glanced at the jar he held and set it aside. “It doesn’t have to be tonight,” he told her to assure her he had no intentions of rushing this. “If you’re uncomfortable…”
“Tonight or tomorrow night or a week from now, it will still be the first time,” she said logically. “And waiting might just make us more tense.”
Ben removed his topcoat and hung it on the back of a straight chair, then unfastened his tie and collar. Her gaze never left his movements.
He was the husband. Just love her back, Caleb had said. Love her as Christ loved the church, her father had reminded him. He’d observed that love was the element that made all the difference.
His hesitation became perfectly clear. Crystal, sparkling clear. These feelings of protectiveness, the worry of disappointing her, the fear of shaming himself…had all arisen from the fact that he loved this woman.
Loved her beyond reason or practicality or circumstances or responsibility.
A loud clattering sounded from outside, metallic banging, shouts and whistles. Lorabeth pressed her hand to her breast. “Whatever…?”
Benjamin sighed. “The shivaree.”
“The what?”
“It’s a mock serenade done for newlyweds as a prank.” After turning down the wick until the lamp was extinguished, he moved to the window, where he pulled the new drapes to the sides and tugged open the window. Clattering and banging accompanied an off-key rendition of “Beautiful Dreamer.”
Benjamin waved at the singers. “It’s the whole gang,” he said. “Parker, Zeta, Hobie, Ida. Carrie and Damian are with them, too.”
He closed the window and turned back. The pranksters tired of their singing quickly and moved on. “They’re gone.”
It had taken a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Lorabeth remained where she’d been, her satin undergarments glowing white in the moonlight that streamed through the windowpanes.
Ben removed his shoes and socks, then his shirt. Stepping close to her, he ran his fingertips down the soft pale skin of her arms until he reached her wrists. He took both hands and brought the backs of her fingers to his lips.
She trembled in his touch. He wrapped his arms around her and held her against the thud of his heart, feeling her soft breasts against his chest. “Please don’t be afraid of me.”
“I’m not.”
He tangled his hands in her hair and removed the combs and pins that had held honey-colored ringlets in place all day.
When he combed his fingers against her scalp, she groaned. The mere sound of her pleasure brought his body to ardent life.
He leaned forward to kiss her, learning again her exquisite taste and textures. She pressed into him and raised one palm to his bare chest.
Her touch on his skin sent a hundred signals from his nerve endings to his brain and body. She tested his flesh with the tips of her fingers. When he moved his head to change the angle of the kiss, she flattened her palm and breathed a sweet sigh against his mouth.
Ben raised a hand to cup her cheek, feathered a caress down her neck until he touched the warm pearls. He broke the kiss to lower his face to her neck.
Tilting her head aside, she accommodated his kisses under her ear, along the column of her throat. After fumbling for the clasp, Ben removed the necklace and slipped it into the pocket of his trousers.
Lorabeth raised a hand to pluck earbobs from each ear and hand them to him. He dropped them into the pocket with the necklace.
Lorabeth’s skin tingled and she burned from inside. Growing warmth spread through her limbs. Each place Benjamin touched her fueled the intensity of this growing need to have more. His hands were slightly rough, a contrast she quickly learned to appreciate. His touches were gentle and inquisitive, thoroughly inflaming in a way she hadn’t imagined.
Her first tentative exploration of his chest had amazed and enthralled her. His body was broad, hard-muscled, and his skin held a spicy scent that tantalized her senses until her head swam.
She delved into his hair, finding it thick and silky, liking the shape of his head, the turn of his ear, the rasp of his jaw.
“I can shave again,” he said against her neck.
“No,” she answered. She didn’t want to interrupt what was happening between them. “Not now.”
“My chin doesn’t scratch?”
“No.” She wanted to hold on to him. Benjamin kissed her again, and she reveled in the tender caress of his lips, the inconceivable way he made her feel special and wanted.
She remembered the night he’d touched her breast through her clothing and the way she’d wanted the touch to never end.
She stepped back slightly, and he instantly released her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded and reac
hed for the lace on her neckline to untie the satin ribbon with a little tug. Eight tiny buttons fell under her determined fingers and she shrugged from her chemise.
She wanted to feel his bare chest against her. He stood as though rooted to the floor, not making a move to touch her. Her heart thrummed so hard, he had to have heard it. Maybe he was waiting for more…
She untied the drawstring, let her drawers slide down her hips, then stepped out of the puddle of satin. She stepped closer to discover his eyes were shut. “Are you disappointed?” she asked, hurt.
His eyes flew open. “No! You’re beautiful. More beautiful than I imagined. You could never disappoint me.”
He touched her breast then, a tentative caress that tested the fullness, then cupped her. With an open hand he stroked her nipple. Lorabeth felt the glorious sensation all through her body.
Her nervousness about what was to come was overridden by the thrill of this new experience. Fascination set her nerve endings ablaze. All-encompassing pleasure heightened her senses and kicked aside any hesitation or embarrassment. At last she was breaking out of her stifling mold.
She’d sat awake long nights imagining liberation, dreaming of a soul-reviving taste of life. She didn’t intend to miss a minute of the experience by being timid. She’d vowed never to miss anything by holding back or being afraid of new experiences. Benjamin was fulfilling her dreams one by one and she meant to enjoy each step of the way.
She wanted to be the wife Benjamin needed. She never wanted him to regret choosing her. She had no idea what was going to happen or exactly how it would, but she knew they’d figure it out. Men and women had been doing this since the days of Adam.
She flattened her palms against his chest and raised her face for a kiss. He obliged her, skimming his hands down her sides and around to her back. He stroked the flesh of her buttocks and Lorabeth shuddered.
Ben lost himself to the sensations and textures and scents of his eager new wife. He hadn’t expected her touches, though he had anticipated the feverish response of his body. He cautioned himself to go slowly, take his time, be respectful.
When she pressed against him, her soft breasts crushed to his chest, his head roared. Sensation took over reason. His head was filled with the scent of her hair and skin, his hands craved discovering all of her. His body thrummed with pent-up desire.
He urged her to the bed and they collapsed into its softness. Intuition took over and skill had nothing to do with what came next. Sheer instinct drove him. The ache of unfulfillment compelled him until fire consumed reason and caution.
Nothing existed except Lorabeth, warm and willing with no idea of the madness her explorative touches and throaty murmurs caused. He’d forgotten everything he’d promised himself.
Lorabeth gasped, the sound echoing, transforming into something piteous. The bed creaked beneath their movements, forcing his memory to recall another place, another time. Lorabeth cried his name in passion, but he heard pain and alarm.
She clung to his neck and wept, her body convulsing.
He hadn’t been tender or respectful. He’d allowed lust to drive out all his good intentions. Sense returned and his world turned dark.
“Don’t cry.” His own voice was hoarse with self-disgust. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“I’m not scared,” she told him.
He laid his cheek against hers. “Please don’t cry.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.”
He rolled away from her, recognizing the cool sheen of sweat on his body, the harsh sound of his breathing.
“I hurt you.” The knowledge tore a ragged crater in his heart. He turned to look at her, pale and beautiful in the moonlight. He peeled down the bedding and helped her underneath the covers. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Lorabeth.”
“Not so much,” she said. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he disagreed. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, and I did.”
She turned toward him and rested her hand along his cheek. “Only a little pain. Far more pleasure.”
He wasn’t listening to her assurances. Something he’d dreaded his whole life had taken over his will and his body, and he’d given himself over to it, like dry kindling touched by a match. He’d been lost to everything but the fire of wanting her.
He hated his weakness. “I’m just like those men I hated my whole life,” he said aloud. “No better.”
Lorabeth sat up, holding the sheet to her breasts. Her hair was gloriously tousled in the shadows. “You’re nothing like those men,” she insisted adamantly. “If you’re like them, then you’re saying I’m like your mother.”
“Never,” he denied, his heart pounding in slow agonizing thuds. Even breathing hurt when she spoke those words. “You’re nothing like her. You’re pure and innocent and perfect.”
“Am I wicked then for wanting to do that with my husband?”
“No, Lorabeth.”
“Then don’t ever say that again. And don’t think it. You’re my husband, Benjamin. Husbands are supposed to take pleasure in their wives. Aren’t they?”
He nodded. That was what Caleb had assured him.
“Say it,” she told him. “You’re a good and loving husband.”
“I’m a…”
“Say it.”
“I’m a good and loving husband.”
“My wife loves me,” she added.
She was so beautiful, it hurt to look at her. And she loved him. “You can’t, Lorabeth. Still?”
“More,” she told him and leaned to kiss him, caressing his cheek as she touched her lips to his.
He loved her, too. Loved her with all his heart. But the words wouldn’t push past his lips. He needed to deserve her love. And he didn’t.
Chapter Eighteen
Lorabeth lay awake for what seemed the entire night. The clock downstairs had only struck twice, however. She’d never slept more than a few hours a night, and usually sat up reading. She didn’t want to disturb Benjamin. He was a fitful sleeper, turning his head, moving his limbs, occasionally muttering something incoherent. Right now he seemed to be sleeping peacefully, so she closed her eyes and tried to relax.
His soft, even breathing was a sound she cherished, though it was like a freight train rumbling past for all its oddity in her experience. Something magical had finally happened to her. She’d become a bride. And her husband was handsome and clever and not at all stuffy or pretentious. She adored him.
She lay on her side and studied his profile in the dim light. Her mind kept returning to the sights and sounds and sensations of their coupling earlier. Just thinking about it made her heart flutter. She’d tried to imagine, but her limited knowledge hadn’t allowed her to even dream up the actuality of such an incredible act. How perfectly they were created! How clever of their Maker to plan such a wondrous thing.
Thank You, she breathed silently.
Her husband stirred beside her, rolled on his side to face her and his hand brushed her arm. She knew the moment the touch woke him. He drew away in surprise.
Lorabeth took his hand, locking her fingers through his. She loved the contact, reveled in the warmth and magnitude of his body beside hers. The wedding ring she’d bought for him was warm, and she loved the solid smooth feel of the gold on his finger.
“You’re awake?” he asked, voice husky with sleep.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Was I snorin’?”
“No. Go back to sleep.”
A few minutes later she could tell he’d done just that. The house was more familiar to him, the room one he’d used for some time. She would grow comfortable here, too.
She hadn’t known what to say or do when he’d seemed so upset after their lovemaking. She’d assured him he hadn’t hurt her. His regret tortured her. He’d seen too much during his formative years and knew only the dark side of a man’s nature.
Now that she knew—really knew what it was his mother had done for money—she tried to better understand his conc
erns. He’d known that act as something shameful, not as an expression of love between two people. She would help him understand the sanctity and purity within the bonds of marriage.
Lorabeth was on the edge of sleep, somewhere between exhaustion and blessed relief, when the mattress jerked and the bedcovers were tugged away as Benjamin sat straight up in bed. “No!”
“Benjamin?”
He raised a muscled arm and swiped his hand down his face. As he became more alert, he turned to find her propped on one elbow watching him.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Just a dream. Go back to sleep.”
“What was the dream about?”
He adjusted his pillow and rested back against it. “Don’t remember.”
“That’s probably good.”
“Yeah.”
“Benjamin?”
“What?”
“I never shared a bed with anyone before. I think I’m going to like it.”
“Not if I don’t let you get any sleep.”
“I’m not much of a sleeper. Did I ever mention that?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Well, I’m not. I do a lot of reading late at night.”
“Why’s that?”
“Don’t know. Maybe because night is the only time I have a chance to do something just for me.”
After a minute he said, “Not anymore. You can read in the day if you like.”
She closed her eyes and listened to a soft patter against the roof. “It’s raining. I love to hear the rain at night.”
“I saved a present for you,” he said.
“You did?” She was wide awake again. “Another present? You bought me a dressing table and mirror, what more could I need?”
“We arranged for you to have several days away from my sister’s,” he reminded her.
“She insisted.”
“I’m taking a few days off, too,” he told her.
She smiled in the darkness. “That will be nice.”
He scratched his jaw. “We’re gonna take a little trip.”
Lorabeth raised up. “We are?”
“Yup.”
“Where are we going?”
The Preacher’s Daughter Page 19
