“You didn’t kiss me that way before.” The pressure of his teeth had brought to life a tingling sensation that traveled to her breasts, and she fought the urge to press her hands to their fullness. Instead, her fists gathered up the sheet beneath her and she clung to it fiercely.
“Didn’t I?” His mouth touched hers again. “Maybe I didn’t want to scare you off before I got my ring on your finger.” His lips left hers, leaving a trail of kisses behind as they explored the planes and curves of her face. Her temple received adulation, and she felt the beat of her heart, there where his tongue touched the smooth skin at her hairline.
“You taste like…” He paused as if to consider her flavor. “Maybe like sweet cream,” he drawled, one finger idly moving against her throat. She shivered as his tongue laved the spot his fingertip had marked, hesitating there for only a moment, then moving on, spreading a path of caresses that left heated dampness in their wake.
His gaze matched that warmth as he lifted to admire her in the moon’s glow. “You’re a beautiful woman, Mrs. Tanner,” he announced, his voice rumbling against her skin as he bent once more, his mouth moving at the base of her throat. From there it was only inches to where her heart beat in double-quick rhythm, and she yearned bravely for his lips to travel to that place.
He’d said she was beautiful, and she shook her head at his words. His chuckle was immediate. “You don’t stand a chance of winning this argument, honey. I know a beautiful woman when I see one.”
It was a wonder, his assessment of her. Of dowdy, nondescript Rosemary Gibson, who had never been considered a raving beauty, even at her best. Yet, in the past moments, she’d been described as such by a man who could have married any woman he chose among the eligible ladies in town.
His mouth bit at the buttons she had so carefully worked into place and she sensed the request he would make, even as he voiced it.
“I want to undo all these pretty little things, honey. Are you gonna give me a hard time about it?”
His fingers were agile, already making short work of the task, and she smothered her protest. Gabe Tanner didn’t seem likely to take no for an answer tonight.
The buttons undone, he lifted to better see what his machinations had revealed. “I’ll be damned. You’ve got your clothes on under this thing, Rosie.”
“I heard you coming, and I didn’t have time to take off my chemise,” she whispered, thankful that the dim light prevented him from seeing the blush she knew was well in place.
“Hmm…” His hand was warm, brushing aside the placket on her gown, fingers against the pale skin revealed above the neckline of her chemise. His head bent, and his mouth pressed against the skin he’d touched with his fingertips. Skin that was inches closer to the rapid pounding of her heart.
“You must’ve used your new bar of soap here,” he murmured. “You smell good.”
“I did.” Breathlessly, she inhaled his scent, so different from her own. An elusive aroma, one she’d only caught a trace of in the parlor as he touched her through the fabric of her dress.
“You gonna fuss if I take off your gown?”
It was the voice of temptation, Tanner at his best, leading her down the path he had set. She blinked at the intense look of concentration he bore, and shook her head, unable to deny him. Rising over her, he hesitated only a moment, then suited action to words as he lifted her to her knees on the mattress.
“Tanner!” Her horrified whisper sounded loud in her ears, and then was lost as the voluminous fabric of her nightgown was pulled over her head. She’d not expected so rapid a loss of her modesty, and her fingers snatched for purchase as the chemise rose. The attempt was futile.
Only her arms and hands remained to protect her body from his sight, and she crossed them over her breasts quickly. He flung her clothing to the floor, and the sound that emerged from his throat was a denial of her purely feminine gesture. Smoothing the hair from her face, he allowed it to drape over her arms, then gently loosened her grip, until her only covering was that which he allowed.
“You said you weren’t gonna fuss at me,” he murmured. She was without concealment, save the dark swathe of waving hair that fell to offer a modest covering. From the window, the moon cast its light, garbing them both with a silvery glow, lending a magical cast to ordinary flesh and blood.
“You look like a princess from a storybook.” Tanner knelt before her, bare inches away. She shivered, needful of his hands to ease the aching thrust of her breasts, yet wishing fervently for full darkness to envelop her with its protective embrace.
But it was not to be. His hands brushed aside the length of hair and then gripped her shoulders as he looked his fill. “Ahh, Rosemary. I may wrap you up in cotton batting and hide you away.”
As if he worshiped the woman before him, Tanner’s gaze followed the path his hands traveled. Palms and fingers shaped to match the curves of her body as he discovered anew, and without the impediment of clothing, the slope of her breasts. His hands formed her, scooping inward to mold the slender line of her waist, then resting finally on the lush width of her hips.
He towered over her, his strength apparent as his palms slid behind her, pressing urgently against the fullness of her bottom, drawing her across the mattress until their bodies formed a union of sorts.
There were no barriers here, she realized, only the flesh and bones of man and woman, face-to-face in a position of intimacy that was strangely right and perfect.
Words came to her mind, a sonnet that had spoken to her of the mystery of male and female, and she allowed the phrases expression. “‘My beloved is fair…let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth…”’
She’d read it more than once, yet never understood the meaning Solomon brought to life with the poetry of the love song he’d written. “‘Rise up my love, my fair one…”’
“Say that again,” Tanner whispered.
Unaware that she had spoken aloud, Rosemary hesitated, then did as he asked.
“That’s from the Bible, isn’t it?”
“Yes. The Song of Solomon to his beloved.”
He nodded. “Do you know any more of it?”
Her whisper trembled as she gave voice to the words that came to mind. “‘…his right hand doth embrace me…his banner over me is love.”’
With great care, his hands gentle against her skin, he moved to enclose the fullness of her breasts. “He touched her the way I’m touching you, Rosemary.”
She shivered as callused fingers brought new life to the tender, virgin breasts he held in his hands, possessing them, lifting, weighing and brushing against suddenly sensitive bits of flesh.
She could barely contain the gasp of pleasure that quavered, aching for release, as she uttered her wonder in wispy phrases. “I never knew before…I didn’t think…that this was what it meant.”
“This is just a part of it, sweetheart.” His tone held a measure of awe as he bent to kiss her. His arms encircled her, and within his embrace she was shifted to rest against her pillow. He was an immense shadow over her for a moment as he lowered his masculine length into place, hesitating but a moment.
She opened to him, her arms embracing him, and with a groan of anticipation, he settled against her, their bodies blending, smooth skin brushing against hair-roughened flesh. As if such a joining had been ordained, Rosemary’s heart lifted in exultation.
His scent was dark and enticing, rising from heated flesh, and he handled her with care. She allowed it, reveling in the sensations he brought into being, awed by the heated response he drew from her. Her arms, hands and shoulders received attention she would have not thought proper, and then he moved beyond them, exploring where no other’s touch had trespassed.
He wooed her gently, his lips offering kisses that left her breathless and yearning, his fingers agile and knowing, bringing to life a heated longing she was unable to contain.
Low in her belly, where her woman’s parts lay shielded, where she knew she would one day
carry his child, a steady, urgent cadence came into being. She shifted her hips and her knees lifted. He murmured approval of her movements, a low, satisfied sound, as his hands sought and gained even more access to those places she’d thought of as private and personal, places he seemed bent on claiming.
Dampness made the path easily traveled and his fingers sought out forbidden areas she’d only now begun to be aware of. Deep within her, muscles clenched in an unfamiliar, throbbing rhythm, and she moved restlessly, seeking with untutored knowledge that which would fulfill the heated urgency of her loins.
Soft moans escaped her lips, and she lifted her hand to still the sounds she could not contain. It was too much; she was too aware of each increment of flesh he explored, and above it all were the murmuring whispers he poured out upon her. Words that spoke of her beauty and the joy she brought him.
His hands slid beneath her, lifting her. And then, as if he reached toward a precipice, his breathing became harsh, and his body poised above her. Ceasing to breathe, knowing she must savor this moment for all time, Rosemary allowed him the entrance he demanded. She cried out, painfully aware of the penetration of his flesh, wincing as her body stretched to contain him. Yet, slowly, inexorably, he possessed her, filling her, claiming the right to give her his seed.
His mouth captured hers, lips caressing, containing her cries, tenderly easing her beyond the first pangs of discomfort. And somehow she had known that there would be that pain to contend with. Yet, it was but the threshold to a union of body and spirit such as she had never imagined.
He was gentle, careful with her delicate flesh, even as it rent at his bidding, murmuring words of comfort as her tears marked the moment in which she became his wife. And then the pain was dissolving in a surge of desire as he moved within her.
She stifled sounds of delight, whispering his name, riding the storm of his passion as his manhood answered the need she could not voice.
With a growl that shook his powerful frame he surged against her, within her, his arms circling to clasp her tightly to himself. Filled with wonderment, she was aware only of growing pleasure that filled her to overflowing.
“Tanner!” Smothered against his shoulder, her cry was broken, and anew, the tears ran from beneath closed eyelids. He rose to hover over her, and in the moonlight she watched as his lips drew back, his head tilting upward. His body was taut, rigid above her as he thrust deeply within that part of her he had claimed as his own.
And whispered her name.
Chairs were hauled in from the dining room as Scat and Anna were settled at the breakfast table. Tipper sat between them, his long arms stretching to provide them with more food than they could eat. Anna scooted close to the youthful cowhand, watching him with adoring eyes as he coaxed her to try a portion from every bowl and platter on the table. Tanner watched his bride, his hands clenched next to his plate as she moved the length of the table, pouring coffee from the big pot. It seemed she was ignoring him this morning, and he found it an irritation he could not hide.
“How about savin’ a little of that for me, Rosemary?” he asked harshly as she fit carefully between Cotton and Bootie, filling their cups to the brim.
Her startled glance meshed with his, and, as if she had sustained a blow, she blanched and backed from the table. Mama Pearl cast him a look of warning and he shoved his chair back. Damned if he’d watch his wife of less than a day tend to everybody else but him.
Then she was next to him, and her skirts brushed his trouser leg. A faint drift of lilac soap enveloped him like a memory that teased unmercifully. He looked up at her, aware that his brow was creased, that his mouth was thin and drawn tightly against his teeth.
She met his gaze again, her eyes puzzled, a trace of pain turning her mouth down, and suddenly he felt a pang of remorse. Shame that he had brought sadness to the gentle woman who only sought to serve those men who depended on her for their daily repasts.
“Rosemary?” His hand lifted from the tabletop and rested against her waist, edging to encircle that narrow span.
Her tongue touched her lip and his eyes were drawn to the gesture. It was swollen, he realized with abrupt awareness, from his mouth suckling, biting and feasting on the lush surface of those mobile lips throughout the night hours.
“Want to take a trip to town?” he asked quietly. “We need to find clothes for Scat and Anna.”
“Will they be all right here?” she asked. “Nate won’t…”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Mama Pearl will keep Anna close, and Cotton will put Scat to work in the barn.”
Her face brightened at that and she lifted the pot, pouring his cup full. “I’ll be ready by the time you finish eating.”
“I want you to eat, too,” he insisted. His hand squeezed and he watched as a slow flush rose from her throat.
“I’m sorry to be…” He could not finish the apology, not with six men sitting at attention, each of them probably wondering at the circumstances that had led to the sudden changes in this household.
“We heard you went to see the preacher yesterday afternoon, boss.” Cotton, the bravest of the lot dropped caution by the wayside and spoke aloud the thought that had been on every man’s mind this morning.
“You surprised? Everybody for miles around knows I’ve been after Rosemary for weeks. Finally got her to agree, and I figured there’s no time like the present.”
Tipper grinned widely. “Well, hot da…” He paused, the phrase half uttered, and brushed the back of his hand over his mouth. “Congratulations, Miss Rosemary,” he managed. “Does this mean you’re not gonna quit the job? You’ll be here from now on?”
Rosemary smiled, relieved that the news was out in the open. “I don’t intend to go anywhere, Tipper. This is my home. And Tanner is my husband.”
There, she’d said the words aloud, and Tanner considered them for a moment. He was a husband. Gabe Tanner, perennial bachelor, was a married man. He’d take a heap of guff, that was for sure, beginning this morning when his buggy rolled into town.
His glance encompassed the woman by his side and the frown he’d worn vanished. The attention she’d paid to the cowhands surrounding his table seemed of little import now. That they were privileged to be near this small, sturdy creature who tended them with cheerful generosity was a minor detail.
When he closed the back door tonight, blew out the lamp over the kitchen table and headed for his bedroom at the top of the stairs, Rosemary would be waiting there for him. The curse of jealousy, passed down through the years by a man who had abused and degraded his wife, would stop here.
Rosemary was not Greta Tanner, not the woman who had pulled up stakes and headed for the big city, rather than face down the domineering man who’d held her captive in this house. From beside him, Rosemary looked down. The blue eyes that turned in his direction held warmth for all within this room, but only for him did she smile in so sweet a manner as she did now.
“Are you ready?” He stepped inside the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
Rosemary stood before the mirror, twisting her hair into a long curving lock, forming it to the back of her head as he watched. Ivory pins held it in place and she brushed back the wispy tresses that waved around her face.
“I like it better down,” he said, tilting his head to one side.
She met his gaze in the mirror. “What did I do to make you angry at the breakfast table?”
He looked down at the floor, edging the rug into place with his toe. “You didn’t do anything,” he muttered. “It was me, honey.”
“Well, whatever caused it, I need to know, Tanner. You were angry, and I felt abused.” She turned to face him. “It might not have hurt so badly, but after last night…”
“I didn’t want anyone else to smell the soap I gave you,” he said gruffly. “Those men just eat it up when you come close.”
She tilted her head to one side and allowed the smile that begged exposure to curve her lips. “I can’t bel
ieve you said that, Gabe Tanner. Shall I rinse off the scent when I get up in the morning? Or should I have Mama Pearl pour the coffee?”
He shook his head, abashed. “No, there’s no reason to do any of that, honey. I was just thinkin’ about my pa for a minute, about how I hated what he did to my mother. And then I did pret’ near the same thing to you.”
She crossed the room and stood before him. “I’m your wife, Gabriel. I’m not sure how it all came about, but you turned me into Mrs. Tanner last night. It was the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me, and it’s making me blush to say it. But I want you to know that there isn’t another man alive who means one red cent to me.”
Gabriel. She’d called him by that hated name. He turned it over in his mind. Somehow it didn’t sound nearly so bad when Rosemary’s voice spoke the syllables.
“Honey, don’t call me that in front of anybody else. If you want to say it when we’re alone, it’s all right, but…”
“Gabriel?” A puzzled frown creased her brow. “You don’t like the name?”
He shook his head.
“All right.”
“All right? You’re not gonna argue with me?”
“No, Tanner. I pick my fights. This isn’t worth making a fuss over. Just remember, I get to win the next time we disagree.”
She waited for him to open the door, checking her buttons and straightening the cuffs of her dress. “I couldn’t find my hat. I must have left it downstairs.”
“We need to talk about that, honey,” he drawled, allowing her to step from the room before him.
“Where is it?” She turned to look at him as she placed her foot on the top step.
“I bought you a new one,” he said cheerfully.
“There wasn’t anything wrong with the old one. It had a lot of wear left.”
“Not any more.” He followed her down the flight of stairs, noting the stiffening of her back, the harsh sound her shoes made on each step.
The Bachelor Tax Page 13
