The Substitute Wife (Brides of Little Creede Book 1)

by CiCi Cordelia

  Then, he’d figure out a way to force the Carters to sell him at least one of their mines.

  A grin spread across his face as he watched their wagon fade into the dust trail.

  Maybe I’ll see about taking Harrison’s woman, too.

  Chapter 6

  Glancing outside as the sun slowly sank against a sky of brilliant orange and gold, Harrison took in a deep breath, expelling it slowly in an attempt to shake off his irritation at finding Retta talking to that skunk, Slim Morgan.

  The man was a menace, a dirty, low-down scoundrel who would hang his own mother if there was a dollar in it for him. And his reputation with women was just as unseemly. Rumor was, he’d bedded a saloon girl south of Silver Cache, his treatment of her so rough she’d nearly died from her injuries. Because of his money and stature as a businessman, the poor girl had been too frightened to have him arrested, and fled East as soon as she’d healed enough to travel.

  When he’d walked into the mercantile to find Retta chatting with the bastard, jealousy hit Harrison like a sharp punch to the gut. They didn’t know each other well enough for love, but she belonged to him now. It was up to him to protect her.

  If I find Morgan near my wife again, I’ll put a bullet through his brain.

  Harrison rubbed the back of his neck. It’d been a long, silent ride to the ranch, because he’d still been bristling over the incident. What had started out as a nice family outing turned quickly to shit, his bad temper threatening what headway he’d made with his new bride. It wasn’t her fault the no-account bastard approached her.

  I need to fix this, and fast.

  Striding into the kitchen, he retrieved the bottle of whiskey and tossed back a shot, slamming the glass on the table, the burn in his gullet helping to clear his mind. The possessiveness he felt toward Retta unnerved him.

  A piece of his heart already accepted her as his, though the rest still mourned for Jenny. Harrison glanced toward the hallway she’d bolted down earlier, carrying Addie to tuck into bed. That’d been some time ago.

  Avoiding me, no doubt.

  His jaw ticked. If they were going to make this marriage work, he couldn’t let her put distance between them. Retta had to accept him as her husband. Not fear him.

  She’d been hurt in the past, and he’d vowed to be careful of her feelings, to take things slowly. But it was time for his wife to trust him.

  Tonight, she’d learn to accept his touch.

  ~ ~ ~

  Retta smoothed silky curls off Addie’s cheek. Her sweet angel had given up the fight twenty minutes earlier, and now slept soundly, but Retta couldn’t find the courage to face her husband yet. A shudder quivered through her. She didn’t think Harrison would actually beat her, but she didn’t know him all that well. He’d been visibly upset the entire ride back to the ranch, and she wasn’t sure what was in store for her once she left this room.

  She stiffened at the sound of his heavy tread down the hall, scrambled to her feet, and moved away from Addie’s bed. She didn’t want her daughter awakened by his bad temper.

  Retta watched with trepidation as the door slowly opened.

  Harrison stepped inside, his gaze flickering over Addie, before focusing on her. The smile he offered held no traces of anger. She blinked, feeling off balance. A long moment passed as they stared at each other.

  Finally, Harrison held out his hand to her. “Come on, Retta, it’s late. Time for bed.”

  She ventured forward slowly. Deep down she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, but that didn’t stop her belly from flipping or her heart from pounding. The uncertainty of the marriage bed kept her on edge.

  Maybe the best thing is to just get it over with. Her breathing became difficult as panic surged through her. Still, she let him take her hand, her fingers engulfed by his warm palm as he led her out of Addie’s room, and into theirs. He guided her right to the edge of the bed before he loosened his grip.

  The look Harrison turned on her was startling in its intensity. She stumbled a bit, bringing her palm to her throat in a nervous gesture Jenny had always teased her about.

  His tense muscles visibly eased. “I’m sorry I lost my temper this afternoon. But Slim Morgan is not a good man, and I don’t want you talking to him. Ever.”

  She nodded, still not trusting herself to speak for lack of breath.

  Harrison lifted his hand and she couldn’t contain a flinch. His mouth firmed as he tucked a curl behind her ear. “I want you to always remember you don’t have anything to fear from me.”

  “A-All right.” Was there more he wanted to say? She waited, but he didn’t speak. Instead he began to unbutton his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, swallowing in a panic.

  “Getting ready for bed. I suggest you do the same.”

  She’d felt his hardness against her each night. Usually in bed first, she’d avert her eyes while he undressed. Now she couldn’t take her eyes off him as he dropped his shirt to the floor, baring a broad chest, a dusting of dark hair leading down to the top of his trousers, which he was in the act of unbuttoning. Oh, my.

  The expression on his handsome face reminded her of a predator studying its next meal. “Stop,” she said breathlessly, bringing up her hand, palm out.

  He paused, ready to pop open the second button to his trousers. He quirked a brow. “What?”

  Scrambling for time, Retta tugged on her braid as her mind raced furiously. “Can you wait while I, while I—” Good Lord, she couldn’t even form a coherent thought.

  “You’re my wife, Retta. I’m not going anywhere.” He slipped the last few buttons free of their moorings, and all she could do was stand frozen while he removed his clothes.

  Although she’d lain with Cal, Retta hadn’t seen him completely naked that awful night. The brief glimpse she’d had of his manhood paled in comparison to what pointed in her direction right now.

  Her knees wobbled as unease filled her.

  “Retta.” At Harrison’s commanding tone, her gaze snapped back to his. Heat crawled up her neck, spreading across her face at being caught staring. “Come to bed.”

  He walked to the edge of the mattress, his backside just as impressive as his front. Hard muscles rippled with every step he took. Lifting the covers, he slid in. Relaxing against the wide headboard, he entwined his fingers behind his head to watch her.

  Devilment sparkled in his eyes as his mouth curved into a teasing smile.

  Retta licked her lips. She’d never seen such a magnificent sight, even if it did set her heart to pounding madly. As her husband, he had every right to the marital bed. She’d accepted that when she boarded the train in Chicago and traveled West.

  Life holds few guarantees for a woman. Time to deal with the cards she’d been dealt.

  Squaring her shoulders, Retta walked over to the dresser and retrieved her nightgown. Though unable to face him, she retained a bit of bravado as she disrobed completely, then dropped the gown over her head before turning around.

  The passion she read on his face stole her breath, and she was unable to tear her eyes away.

  Crooking two fingers, he beckoned her forward. “Come here, Retta.”

  The deep rumbling of his voice did funny things to her insides. Confused, she laced the nightgown up to her throat, so that not an inch of her skin was showing, before sliding tentatively into the bed next to him.

  “Closer,” he coaxed.

  Daring a quick peek, Retta found him watching her with amusement, but she could also see desire in his eyes. That same desire had been on Cal’s face right before he’d hurt her. She sucked in a panicked breath.

  Harrison’s brows drew down. “Retta, what did I say earlier?”

  “That you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “And I’m a man of my wo
rd.” He slid an arm beneath her, rolling her toward him. In a panic, she flattened her hands against his chest to keep him at bay. Her palms burned under his heat.

  “I’m only going to touch you, Retta. Nothing more.” He snuggled her easily, her body held tight against his hard, masculine frame. “You can touch me if you like, but that’ll be up to you.” His lips brushed against the curl of her ear. “We’ll start getting to know each other.”

  “Just touching?”

  Easing back to stare down at her, Harrison nodded solemnly, running his hand up and down her back. “Just touching.”

  The fear she’d been experiencing lessened, though tension still assailed her. Yet as his hand continued to make light passes over her skin, an unfamiliar tightening in her body overwhelmed her.

  Her heart sped up, beating hard enough to rattle her ribs.

  Harrison pressed a moist kiss to her temple. “You’re a beautiful woman, Retta.”

  Warmth swirled in her belly at his compliment. No man had ever told her she was beautiful. “I am?”

  “Yes. Very.”

  She inhaled sharply as his hand slid lower and cradled her bottom. When he gently squeezed, her next breath burst on a moan. Her body thrummed with an urgent need she didn’t understand.

  His lips nuzzled her ear as he eased her onto her back. Propped on one arm, his gaze moved over her. “You all right?”

  “I don’t know. I think I might have a fever.”

  His smile broadened. “May I kiss you, Retta?”

  She licked her lips, suddenly wanting that kiss. His heated gaze fell to her mouth as she managed, “Yes, Harrison. You may kiss—”

  That was as far as she got before his mouth, warm and demanding, covered hers. His tongue parted her lips and probed deep, exploringly. Caught by surprise, Retta gripped his shoulders and hung on, bombarded by new feelings and emotions she didn’t know how to absorb.

  When his tongue curled around hers she moaned into his mouth and tentatively kissed him back, hoping she was doing it right. Cal hadn’t kissed her. Not once. Slamming the door shut on that memory, she instead lost herself in Harrison’s heady kiss.

  Suddenly, he broke away, lifting his head to stare down at her as if he wanted to devour her, his breathing as labored as her own. Those rigid muscles she’d been gripping now bunched under her touch.

  Never breaking eye contact with her, Harrison tugged at the lace tie of her nightgown with fingers that held a tremor. Her chest heaving, she couldn’t look away from him. The feeling of something throbbing through her skin wouldn’t go away.

  The next thing she knew, cool air hit her breasts as her nightgown gapped. Careful fingers smoothed the fine linen from her shoulders, baring her fully to his marauding touch. Her nipples peaked and she shifted restlessly. God, what was he doing to her?

  Harrison cupped her breast, rubbing his palm over her sensitized nipple, then pinched it. This time she cried aloud as a spear of pleasure tore through her.

  “I’m going to kiss you here, Retta,” he rasped, stroking his palm between her breasts until he held her steady, as if she might run from him.

  Retta couldn’t speak. Her body thrummed in the most pleasurable way, and curiosity held her captive as she breathlessly waited to see what Harrison would do next.

  He lowered his mouth to her breast, nipping at the taut peak, soothing it with his tongue, repeating the action on her other side. Back and forth. Left, then right, until she lost track of how long he played with her this way. Her entire being came alive in a way she could never have imagined.

  “Harrison, please.”

  “Shh,” he soothed, gently kissing her nipples, flicking them with his tongue.

  His hand slid down her leg, then slipped under the gown that had ridden to her knees. She tensed. Would he now slam into her the same way Cal had?

  As though reading her mind, he whispered, “Trust me,” and took her mouth again in a slow, dreamy kiss, his hand edging toward the juncture of her thighs. She instinctively squeezed her legs together, stopping him right before he could touch the part of her pulsing with an acute fierceness.

  “Trust, Retta,” he murmured against her lips.

  He made no attempt to force her, but continued to kiss her with tender passion. As if with a will of their own, her legs fell open to allow him access.

  “That’s my brave girl.” He cupped her intimately, his touch sending a riot of feelings through her. Retta arched into his hand, her breath coming in little pants. She bit her lip to hold back another cry.

  But when Harrison slid a finger inside her, pumping, once, twice, three times, she could no longer hold back the high-pitched mewl that tore from her throat.

  Growling, his fingers thrust deeper into her. “So damned beautiful. I need just a little taste to hold me over.”

  Retta barely heard him, lost in a cloud of passion. His fingers traced down her thigh, wringing a sob of protest from her lips.

  A few seconds later, she froze when she felt him press a kiss between her legs.

  Scandalized, she urged desperately, “Harrison—”

  Before she could beg him to stop, he grasped her hips and lifted her, sucking her tender flesh into his mouth.

  Fire exploded behind her eyelids, and she erupted with a pleasure so strong her ensuing shriek bounced off the walls. Groaning harshly against her quivering thighs, Harrison used his fingers to somehow prolong the acute sensation, rubbing and probing her slick entrance.

  She convulsed as wave upon wave of bliss overwhelmed her. Never had she imagined a feeling like this, nor believed such heights of ecstasy existed. Not after what her first and only experience with a man had put her through.

  Finally able to gulp air back into her starving lungs, she sank back against the pillows, boneless as one of Addie’s rag dolls.

  Harrison trailed moist lips over her heated skin until he reached her neck. Nuzzling her there, trailing along her jaw to the corner of her mouth, he kissed her so tenderly, it brought tears to her eyes. She tasted a strange musk on his lips and realized it had come from her. It should have shocked her. Repulsed her.

  Instead, she collapsed in his arms, gripping his shoulders hard enough to make her fingers tingle with the same ache that lingered between her legs.

  She felt him against her hip, huge and hot, a silk-covered shaft he could have already shoved inside her if that had been his intent. Without kisses, or gentle touches, or any sort of passionate overture at all. But he’d brought her to such unfamiliar, maddening, delicious heights . . . asking nothing in return.

  Tentatively, Retta relaxed her hands. Slid them down his chest, enjoying the hair-roughened skin against her palms. While he traced his tongue in a lazy pattern under her chin, she trailed one hand lower, her curiosity a live thing.

  She had never touched Cal.

  She wanted to touch Harrison. My husband.

  His swiftly-indrawn breath let her know he realized what her hand sought, and he pressed his forehead to hers, the skin along his brow damp with sweat. “Retta, you don’t have to.”

  “I know.” Two words, uttered almost soundlessly, but he must have heard them because he shuddered in reaction. “Can you—would you—” She paused, her cheeks flaming hot, then gulped and eased back.

  He tipped her chin up, his gray eyes gone almost black. “What do you want?”

  “Can you please keep kissing me? And sh-show me. What you want. What to do.”

  His sudden smile dazzled her as he bent to her mouth and his palm gently guided her lower, and then lower still. Until she fisted him, her fingers unable to meet around his girth. His lips took hers fiercely, yet his hand cupped hers carefully as she clutched his flesh and moaned on his tongue.

  So hard, like satin-coated iron. So hot, with a heavy pulse
that matched the thudding of her heart.

  “Stroke it, root to tip,” he rasped against her mouth. “Your hand feels so good.”

  “Like this?” She let her palm slide over him, fascinated with the way skin, so flexible and velvety, could cover something so steely. Her thumb brushed the very tip and the slippery wetness she found there was unexpected and thrilling. When she pulled gently, he groaned into their kiss and stole her breath as he pressed her hand down firmly on his heated flesh.

  He broke off and rasped, “Harder, Retta.”

  Blindly, Retta obeyed, tightening her grip, stroking faster, then harder, worried she could be hurting him but unable to stop or let go, that wild heat building again, pounding in time with the thrust of his hips against her palm—

  And when he threw back his head and shouted aloud, his shaft pumping thick and hot over her fingers . . . Retta buried her face against his shoulder and trembled, finding no shame in what she had done.

  Only womanly pride.

  Chapter 7

  An odd pressure against Harrison’s chest woke him slowly from a dream in which he held his warm and sated wife. His lips curved as he stroked a hand down soft, tangled hair, all too willing to slip back into slumber with her curled over him like a heated blanket . . .

  A wet, heated blanket.

  What the hell—?

  Tiny, probing digits slid over his closed lids, along his lashes as he struggled to rouse himself. Prying open one blurry eye, he found Addie’s gleeful face an inch from his, her hair a mop of ringlets around her cheeks and one pudgy finger extended toward him, no doubt reaching for his eyelashes. Resigned, Harrison held still and allowed the prodding intrusion. Those little fingers tickled, damn it.