Dog Wood Bride

by Jillian Hart

  "Oh, there's no thinking. I'm taking charge my way. Haven't you noticed?"

  "Not at all, and that is all I'm admitting to." Her coy smile gave her away.

  He wanted her. Desire roared through him. Yes, he was sure now. He wanted to be the man she looked up to. He wanted her always to be his. Now he wanted to act on that. "Looks like you are stuck here alone with me."

  "No wonder it feels lonely around here. Everyone else left for more interesting companions. Or shopping." She rolled her eyes, thinking. "Or gambling."

  He chuckled. "I don't mind your company. I prefer it to gambling. I'm cheap, and I don't like risking my hard earned money unless I know I can win."

  "I wouldn't have pegged a tough man like you as being frugal."

  "I like to think of it as sensible." He wasn't being sensible right now. He didn't want to waste time talking. He wanted to do a lot of things to her, and they involved using his mouth in a different way than talking.

  So he pushed away from the stall gate. "Come with me."

  "Where?"

  "It's a mystery." He fisted his hands, trying not to shatter with the pressure of rising desire in his blood. And in other places.

  She fell into stride beside him. "A mystery? A lot of things about you are a mystery. Mostly, everything."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Where did you grow up, Mr. Mosley?" She could have been waltzing, her step sounded so light, as she accompanied him out the open doorway and into the glaring spears of sunlight.

  "I was born and raised in Kentucky." That was one truth that felt false because it had happened so long ago. Or, rather, life's hardships had made it seem so. He closed his mind to the past. He had a life to build here. That was where his focus had to be.

  Because he cared about her too much, more than was wise and far more than was safe. Maybe this time was his chance to get back what he'd lost, what had been ripped right out of him. Hope lifted through him, light as the thistle seeds sailing on the gentle breeze as he turned left on the path instead of right.

  "We're not going to the horses?" she asked. "Or the new barn?"

  "I thought you wanted to talk about mysteries."

  "What mysteries?" She winked, sparkling and cute, unintentionally making him desire her more. "You're from Kentucky. That explains everything including why you have a gift with horses and women. It's your gentlemanly charm."

  "I didn't know I had charm."

  "Maybe I'm wrong. I've been wrong about that before with a man. Maybe it's just indifference toward a lonely spinster."

  Her vulnerability and honesty teased his poor lonely heart. "I don't know what the other guy's problem was, but that's not mine. You think I'm charming?"

  "Like I said, I've been wrong before." Her light bush became rosier and then redder right before his eyes. "I think you're very charming. Very dashing."

  She made him wish, made him dream. His heart stood on the brisk, more alive than it had ever been. He never would have thought it possible. But there was no going back. He had no more willpower because she'd shattered it, breaking it into little bits, impossible to put back together again. He was in trouble, he thought, as he opened the front door of the bunkhouse for her.

  "Come in," he invited. "This isn't easy for me, so forgive me if I'm very much out of practice."

  "Out of practice about what?" She sailed through the doorway and he followed her in.

  Muscles worked in his jaw, a struggle between holding on and letting go. He may as well be honest. "Getting a pretty lady to love me."

  "Who would the pretty lady be?"

  "You have to know you're beautiful, not only pretty." He untied the bow at her throat and her sunbonnet slipped off and into his hands. "I can only hope that I'm making some kind of a good impression."

  "I would say so. One hundred percent."

  He hung his hat and her bonnet up. "I might not be good at this and like I said, this isn't easy for me."

  "Why not? What happened to your heart? It's not hard to guess that someone hurt you once."

  "I was young. She couldn’t believe in me or see the man I really was. The man I have always been and still am."

  "I can see quite plainly." Her gaze became luminous, unprotected, and he could see her beginning to open to him completely. "You're a good man, Mosley. It's all I see when I look at you."

  She disarmed him. Affection welled up from where he was most vulnerable, and he hauled her into his arms, snug against his chest. His mouth claimed hers with an intensity he couldn't stop.

  As if she felt the same, she clutched his shoulders, clinging weakly to him. Her kiss matched his with need and an urgency that fired his blood. He was lost in the satin heat of her mouth softly caressing his own.

  This was no dream. He deepened the kiss, never wanting to let her go, and she could have ended it and stepped away but she made his heart soar when she opened her mouth to him with a soft moan, asking for more.

  He could feel the change in her heart, in the way her soft woman's body pressed into his. He savored the heat of her breasts, soft hot pillows against his chest, and the length of her smaller, more fragile woman's body, so sweet against his harder one. His chest burned with unspoken emotion.

  The raspy, need-filled moan she made got to him, broke him into pieces, and he ended the kiss. His mouth hovered over her kiss-swollen lips, and he pressed her backwards across the entryway and down the narrow wall to the first room on his left.

  "I have to be careful with you, I've never felt like this before," she whispered as she backed into his room where the bed stretched out in full sight. He heard the shyness and vulnerable heart in her voice.

  "Neither have I. Remember that you are holding my heart in yours." His mouth brushed hers again, just a tender, teasing stroke. He ran his fingers along the line of her cheekbone and her face to brush locks of golden hair away from her eyes. "I've never let anyone this far in."

  "I'm glad it's me." Her hand came to rest along the line of his jaw. Her touch was claiming and tender. "I'm glad it's you, Brennan. No matter what, I will never regret this with you, ever. Take me to bed."

  Words failed him. He searched her eyes to make sure she wanted this with him. Her answer, unmistakable and certain, came as her lips boldly covered his. Nothing he'd known had ever compared with this kiss.

  When she twined her fingers in his hair, he pulled her to the bed and covered her with his body. There was no way to hide his iron-hard shaft pressing into her thigh and lower stomach. He gloried in her intake of breath, perhaps pleased by the feel of it.

  Her kiss became a smile.

  22

  He smiled, too.

  There was no need for words as they kissed in the slats of sunlight streaming around the edges of the curtains. Every caress, every sigh, every kiss strengthened the connection he felt to her.

  He went slow. His lips nibbled and stroked hers with exquisite pleasure. He rained kisses along the curve of her chin, on the sweetness of her throat and along the dip between her collarbones.

  "Maybe you want to think this through first. I want you to be sure." He leaned up on one elbow, his breath uneven and raspy with desire. "I want you, Skye. Do you want me?"

  "I want you more than anything." She pressed a kiss on his neck, tasting salty, hot male skin. "I have wished for this with some fine man for so long, I'd given up hope. I just want to love you."

  "That's what I want, too. I know exactly how you feel." That's the way he desired her, too. There was no sense in holding back, and he couldn't if he tried.

  That was proof of how much he desired her. Passion had his hands trembling as he caressed her. Caring flashed in his dark eyes with a magnitude that held her spellbound. It was more alluring than his touch, more intoxicating than his kiss.

  She held her hand to his shaven jaw, her gaze fastened on his. She shivered, soul deep when his mouth met hers again.

  Her pulse missed two beats when she felt her buttons give. He pushed
the fabric away, exposing her breasts to his gaze. He studied her, savoring the sight, and she trembled with anticipation as he lowered his mouth to her nipple.

  The first pull of sensation twisted tight from breast to lower belly. She gently curled her fingers around his shoulders, holding onto him. She wanted more of his caresses, more of him.

  As if under its own power, her body arched up, straining to press against his arousal. She brought that part of him against her by parting her legs. A groan ripped from her throat when his hardness jutted up against her. Thrilling, spiraling pleasure thrummed through her.

  Breathing hard, he sat up to pull off his shirt and kick off his trousers. She blinked, speechless at the impressive sight. But mesmerized, not sure how that part of him was going to fit, she had no time to worry about it. He was already hard at work skimming her drawers down over her hips and legs with teasing, feather-soft strokes that set her on fire.

  That intoxicating flaming pleasure took all of her attention. Unaware of anything else, she shivered, fully naked and exposed to him, trembling with high hopes for what came next.

  He stretched his big male body out over her and settled between her thighs. He surprised her by laving one tender kiss after another from her breasts to her stomach. His hands did her the favor of stroking over her hips and then, oh, lower.

  Much lower. She cried out at the exceptional brush of his caress, there, where she'd gone very damp for him. His fingers parted her swollen wetness and with each caress, fiery pleasure burned hotter and higher inside her.

  Her hips rose up, her hands curled into the blanket and she moaned his name. She craved that iron-hard part of him there, inside her, and she wanted it.

  "Please," she whispered, "don't make me wait. I need you now."

  And suddenly she was in his arms, burying her face in the crook of his naked shoulder. His big, muscular, male-hot body covered hers with his weight, and that rock-hard, jutting part of him pressed hard where his fingers had been.

  "I'm the one who should be begging." He kissed her forehead, tenderly, as her gaze met his, his loving, passionate gaze.

  He joined them together, melting into her one slow inch at a time. She wrapped her legs around his hips, clinging to him as his iron-hard shaft pushed deeper into her, filling her until he was buried hilt-deep. Her entire body tightened, thrumming with blinding pleasure. He patiently brushed hair from her eyes, breathing quick and shallow, and began a slow and then urgent rhythm.

  She moaned with each delicious, satisfying thrust, arms wrapped tight around him, clinging to him, holding on. He whispered her name, buried his face in her hair, as if overcome by passion, too.

  They undulated together in tandem, where no words could ever describe their experience, where silence said more. Two hearts beat together as one. Lost in their lovemaking, she surrendered to him totally and fully, letting the fiery, urgent need build unbearably within her until the heat became release.

  When she came, she burst into a million pieces, no longer the same but better. Brighter. Emotion welled up within her so greatly and so true that it made her eyes tear.

  Overwhelmed by tenderness too great to endure, but now she could not do without, she held him as he came, thrusting wildly, breathing her in and moaning her name. What a dear man.

  * * *

  His boots kicked up mud as he hiked down the Kentucky country road. Rainwater rolled out on the back of his neck, blown there beneath the rim of his battered hat by the crisp, November wind. He'd been walking for most of the day. Hunger gnawed his stomach. Loneliness sat in his heart.

  Maybe he should have decided to try being a soldier again, if they would have him. At least he would have something to offer Honora. Exonerated, free of all charges now, he could return to his life.

  Although he didn't know what his future held. He wanted more than anything to have another hope for winning his former-fiancee's hand.

  He saw the farm was prospering even before he turned onto the driveway. The beauty of horses grazing in whitewashed paddocks, the freshly painted barns and the rise and rattle of a wagon carrying a load of hay out to the field horses.

  Leafless trees lined the lane up to the three-story, sprawling home, lamplight making the windows warm and inviting, a sign like hope to come. So he padded up the steps and crossed the porch.

  Sure, he was nervous, seeing his love again. It wasn't easy knowing he'd be facing her for the first time since he'd been hauled off the neighbor's property as a rapist.

  He looked forward to her smile, how she liked to sing popular songs just anywhere, forgetting she wasn't at the piano, lost in thought. He knew he'd have to win over her folks again. Her parents were leery of him, being just a horseman and trainer, but he still had love to offer a future wife.

  He raised his hand to knock, his pulse drumming in his ears, but the door swung open before his knuckles could make contact.

  He lowered his fist. Her mother glared out at him, her once-friendly face lined by distaste. The news of his arrest had made its mark. But he could change that, for Honora's sake and for his.

  "Howdy, Mrs. Lofaso." He squared his shoulders, feeing too awkward, hating the tainted feeling as if he were still locked up in that prison cell.

  Her mouth pruned with fury. "What do you think you're doing here? The nerve of you!"

  Her anger turned to revulsion and the power of it sent him two paces back, trying to reassess. "I guess I expected that you'd heard it was all a mistake. The evidence was based on someone's false testimony, blaming me instead of him."

  She remained unmoved. Her sneer darkened. There could be no forgiveness, no second chances, no wedding to plan.

  No love to make. His heart kicked. He drowned in disappointment. How was Honora? Where was she? He glanced through the big window into the parlor, but saw only an empty pair of sofas.

  "You are going to have to leave." The father came into view. He stood in the threshold, imposing, hands fisted, shoulders squared, jaw unyielding, ready for a fight. "You are not welcome here. I know what happened. I know they dropped the charges. It doesn't matter."

  "I thought you might reconsider." He swallowed, uncertain. "I love your daughter."

  "We found her a more appropriate beau. You're not going to ruin what is going well in her life. So turn around." The man's face hardened.

  "I'd like you to give me another chance, sir."

  "After what you lost? It was everything, your horses, your farm, it's gone. You've got nothing, and my daughter deserves better than that, better than you. Get out of here."

  Cold, unfeeling eyes fastened on his. There was no forgiveness there, and Brennan's head bowed. The blow was too much.

  The little bit of hope within him died and stayed that way. He turned around and walked away, entirely alone in the world.

  He woke with a start in the warm bars of sunshine from the curtain window. Skye lay curled against his side, warm and naked with her long, lean legs tangled up with his. Still breathing quietly, sound asleep. Judging by that smile touching her lips, she was contented.

  Satisfied.

  Excellent. He hadn't woken her. That turning point in his life as a young man, that sad memory of a dream stuck with him, dimming the joy in his heart. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed, waiting for the pain to fade.

  Beside him, Skye continued to sleep, breathing quietly, filling up the room with her presence. Her thick hair fanned the snowy white pillowcase and tumbled down over her shoulders to hide glimpses of her bare breasts.

  What now? He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, the reality of what they'd done began to settle in. Making love to her had been the high point of his life.

  But he had regrets. It had felt right to bed her, but it looked differently now. He still desired her mightily, and knew he would not stop. He hadn't expected to care like this and felt grateful he did.

  He'd been wrong about his heart. The unhappy dream faded to nothing just like his regrets of the past. His hea
rt felt whole from being loved again. Whole.

  Glad about that, he gently untangled his body from hers, eased out from beneath the blanket he'd covered them with and pulled on his clothes.

  Look at her. She was pure beauty. In his eyes, the prettiest woman he'd ever seen. And he'd gotten to love her. She slept on her side with one slender hand resting on his pillow, bathed in soft lemony light.

  I never want to leave her. Not even to go into the other room. He would give anything to wed her, live here on this land and do his best to cherish her for the rest of his days. He would give her all of him, every bit of his heart, and that was wrapped up in a promise he vowed to keep. He would never failed her.

  He forced his feet to carry him away from her, although he hung his head. He didn't want to leave the bliss of that bed where he'd found joy with her. There was no greater treasure than that.

  He buttoned his shirt, grabbed his hat and stood for a long moment on the small porch. He didn't want to go far and leave Skye behind, abandoned in bed, but he didn't want to wake her either. He'd worn her out pleasuring her. A grin tugged at his mouth as he glanced around.

  A lark sailed by to land on the wooden fence rail a few feet away. He stood with his hands on hips watching the corral. The mustangs had relaxed, several of the mares were snoozing in the shade from the aspen trees, their foals curled up in the soft grasses nearby.

  The stallion, with his head up and mane rippling, trumpeted a shrill neigh that softened as it faded to silence. A creamy-white foal cantored up to the wooden rails, lifted her perfect head and pricked her ears up. She was adorable with her bushy forelock and bottlebrush mane and those bright, curious kind eyes watching him over the lower rail.

  "Hey, good little filly," he crooned, determined to win her over.

  She batted her long curly lashes.

  Hard not to fall in love with her. He felt the kiss of the sun, the warm wind in his hair and contentment settled on his soul. The blue overhead, streaked with whisper-thin clouds, stretched out forever.