He was talking in riddles and she was very puzzled by the look in his eyes when he spoke to her. Odd, how reluctant he sounded to have her leave. But surely he was marrying her for the reasons he'd mentioned. He'd been through his own time of pain. She knew that there must be times when he ached for the child who had died in such a terrible manner. But for whatever reason, he was offering Lisa a marriage of companionship, protection for her baby. She couldn't have turned it down to save her life. Living with him would be heaven, even if he kept her at arm's length.
"Are you sure it's the right thing to do?" she asked worriedly.
"Yes, I am," he said firmly. "And the sooner, the better."
She toyed with a fold of her sweatpants. "I might be in the way."
His chest rose and fell heavily. His eyes narrowed. He looked at her with such hunger that it was blatant when she met his eyes.
Involuntarily she let her knees down. The T-shirt was thin and his eyes went instantly to the thrust of her breasts against it. Her mauve nipples were very noticeable, making soft peaks under the fabric.
His breathing changed. Her own eyes went to that broad chest and she wondered how it would feel against her.
"Don't push your luck," he said in a husky tone. "It's been three years. More than that. I didn't want her after my son was born, and the feeling was mutual."
Her eyes lifted to his. "You want me."
He nodded, very slowly. His eyes went back to the T-shirt and her own roamed over his bare chest like seeking, exploring fingers. In the silence of the bedroom, the sound of their breathing was harsh and loud. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, see his at the base of his strong throat.
She shivered and his teeth clenched.
"That baby is just starting to develop," he said, almost choking on his own voice in a throat as dry as desert sand. "And you've had cramping. I won't risk it."
"I wasn't offering, really," she managed unsteadily. She bit her lower lip and frowned as she searched his lean, hard face. "I don't understand. I never...felt like this. I'm scared."
"Felt like what?" he asked, not at all embarrassed. "Tell me, Lisa."
She flushed. "I can't!" she bit off.
He took her by both arms and pulled her gently across him, so that her head lay in the crook of his powerful arm. His free hand went to her throat and caressed its way under her long, loosened dark blond hair. She relaxed against him helplessly, her breath coming in tiny little jerks as she looked up into his quiet, gentle eyes.
"Then I'll tell you," he said softly. "You want to pull the fabric out of the way and show yourself to me," he whispered. His thumb moved slowly over her parted lips. "You feel hot and swollen all over, and you aren't quite in control. That's what frightens you."
She shivered again. "It wasn't like this with Walt."
His big warm hand slid from her neck down to her collarbone and as he held her wide eyes, it moved blatantly over the hard peak of one small breast and pressed there.
She whimpered, closing her eyes with a faint shudder. Her hand pressed hard into his hair-roughened chest and she leaned her hot face against the cool, hard muscle of his upper arm.
His cheek lay gently against hers. He caressed her almost absently, with a slow, restrained tenderness that made her whole body tremble with passion.
Her nails bit into his chest as the hunger grew with every soft brush of his fingers.
She felt his mouth on her closed eyelids as his hand found the hem of the T-shirt and moved under it. She arched helplessly to the sensuous delight of that expert touch.
He smiled against her mouth as he kissed her very tenderly. All the while his hand explored the softness of her silky skin, arousing a need that made her moan helplessly.
She moved closer, her eyes opening, wide, dazed, soft as a doe's.
He slid the fabric under her chin and looked at the firmness of her young breasts while he traced them. Odd, he thought, that her breasts showed no evidence of a pregnancy that should be approaching its fifth week. He'd seen his wife's body, and he remembered the changes pregnancy made in it. He wondered if women differed in the physical signs.
"I'm very small," she whispered unsteadily.
"Do you think size matters?" he murmured with a wicked, soft smile.
"If it didn't, men wouldn't buy those picture magazines..."
He bent and brushed his mouth against hers. "The men who buy those magazines don't have real women to practice on."
"Is that why?" she asked, laughing breathlessly through her shyness.
"You're just right," he breathed, letting his fingers sketch her body. "And if you weren't five weeks pregnant, I'd do more than talk about it."
"Would you?"
He lifted his head and looked down at the soft thrust of her creamy pink breasts. His eyes narrowed as he imagined the feel of them under his mouth. He felt his body tense with desire. It made him ache.
"You want to put your mouth on me, don't you?" she asked daringly. "I...would let you."
"I know," he said in a choked tone. His eyes met hers. "And what do you think would happen then?"
Her face colored helplessly as images flashed through her whirling mind.
His eyes narrowed. "I haven't wanted a woman for a long time. I want you very badly. Don't make it hard for me to walk away."
She forced herself to breathe slowly, to deny the ache inside her. She was suddenly ashamed of the way she'd behaved, and she grimaced as she tugged her T-shirt down and lifted herself out of his loosening arms.
"I'm sorry," she said without looking at him.
"No need to apologize." He got to his feet. His arousal was noticeable but he didn't turn away. He looked down at her with lingering traces of desire, and she looked at him the same way.
"First, we get married," he said in a subdued tone that didn't match his stormy eyes. "Then we talk to your obstetrician. If it's safe, I'll make love to you. Assuming that you want me to."
"I want you to," she said honestly, avoiding his probing gaze.
"That makes two of us."
She slipped back under the covers and only then lifted her eyes back up to meet his. "I'm glad those men didn't hurt you," she said.
"Harley took it hard," he replied.
"Of course he did. He's not so bad," she added with a smile.
He didn't like hearing her say that. She was young and she had all the normal urges. He wanted to marry her right away, before Harley got to her. Maybe she'd have felt the same desire for anyone who offered her tenderness. She'd barely been married and she hadn't wanted her husband. She was ripe for an affair. If it happened, it was going to be with him. He wasn't letting Harley near her.
"You look angry," she commented.
He forced a smile. "Frustrated," he said, deliberately letting his gaze slide over her.
"Oh."
"Your breasts aren't swollen," he remarked bluntly, "and your nipples aren't enlarged or dark. Has the doctor explained the normal changes pregnancy will make in them?"
"Well, yes," she said, fighting embarrassment. "I imagine I'm not far enough along for it to show much."
"That makes sense." He moved back to the door. "If you need me, sing out."
"Would you like musical comedy or grand opera?" she mused. "Because I can start right now and save you the trip back to your own bed."
He chuckled softly. "Not yet," he told her deliberately. "First the ring, then the doctor. First things first."
She sighed. "Okay. You're the boss."
"Yes, I am," he mused. "But that won't last much longer, I imagine," he murmured, and left her sitting there with puzzlement all over her face.
A week later, with Eb and Sally Scott for witnesses, Cyrus Jonathan Parks married Lisa Jane Taylor Monroe in a quiet civil service in front of a justice of the peace. She wore a simple beige dress and carried a small bouquet of orange autumn maple leaves and yellow chrysanthemums that seemed just right for an autumn wedding.
They'd d
iscussed rings and chose simple gold wedding bands with no ornamentation, just right for a marriage of convenience.
Except that it was more than that. Lisa began to tremble every time she got within five feet of her handsome, taciturn new husband. He knew that she wanted him. He wanted her, too. But despite the flare of desire between them, all he'd really offered her was a refuge, not love eternal. He'd said quite bluntly that he wouldn't have married her at all unless she'd been in danger, and he didn't plan to stay married to her after Lopez was arrested or subdued. She had to remember that.
There was time for a small reception at the Jacobsville Methodist Church fellowship hall, where friends still suffering from belated shock at the sudden wedding of Jacobsville's most reclusive rancher had laden a table with delicious tidbits while cakes for both bride and groom graced a side table. Cy and Lisa were required to cut the bride's cake together and share the first piece. As she looked up into his eyes, the photographer Cy had hired took a photograph so revealing that when Lisa would see it a week later, she would be too embarrassed to show it to anyone. She'd looked like a woman absolutely besotted with the man beside her.
They went back to his ranch together after the reception, and she went inside quickly, to spare him the humiliation of not being able to carry her over the threshhold with his damaged arm. Incredibly, the well-meant action ignited an argument that had explosive consequences.
The front door slammed audibly as Lisa went down the hall. He caught up with her in the bedroom she'd been occupying.
Green eyes blazing, he closed the door behind him. And locked it.
"Why didn't you paint a sign and have it hung on the front door?" he asked in a menacing tone. "We both know I have limited use of this," he extended his left arm. "But I could have carried you over the threshold. You aren't exactly a challenging weight!"
She just stared at him, stunned by the furious anger in his lean face. "I was only trying to spare your pride," she said tightly. "I never meant to insult you."
He threw off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. His strong fingers went to his tie. That followed the jacket. He unbuttoned his shirt, all the while walking deliberately toward Lisa.
She'd never had cause to be afraid of him. She wasn't now, although her knees felt weak as water under her. He was devastatingly attractive to her, and if her heartbeat was shaking her, it wasn't out of fear. She wondered if he knew.
His hands caught her by the waist and brought her against him firmly. His glittery eyes searched her wide, surprised ones. His fingers contracted. He wasn't behaving rationally, and it wasn't much of a surprise. He'd gone without a woman for over three years and here was Lisa, his wife, who made him hungry as he'd never been hungry before. He thought briefly of the child she was carrying, and hesitated.
"Did you speak to the doctor about the baby...?"
"Since I haven't had any more cramps, he said it's all right," she said huskily, drowning in the strong arms enfolding her.
She was hardly aware of meeting him halfway when his head bent. He kissed her slowly, softly, and then with a hunger that made fires in her blood. She reached up on tiptoe to press hard against his strong body, clung as the kiss deepened and became slow and hungry, devouring her soft mouth.
Her submissive moan made him wild. He lifted her quite easily with his right arm, catching her neatly under her knees with the left one, and carried her to the bed with his mouth still demanding and rough on her eager lips.
It was broad daylight. The sun filtered in through the blinds, but she didn't feel inhibited by the light. Walt had always wanted the darkness, but Cy didn't seem to care at all. He caressed her out of her neat beige dress and the things under it, his mouth ardent and expert in a way she'd never experienced with her husband. Walt had always been in a hurry. Cy wasn't. Long before his shirt came off, she was twisting under him in a veritable orgy of pleasure, her nails biting into his shoulders, her gasps audible as each pleasure was eclipsed by a new one. It was like the night he'd proposed, but without his stoic restraint. He didn't seem to mind her knowing that he was desperate to have her, although he was patient and tender and restrained.
She wouldn't have believed that a man who'd gone without a woman for so long could be so patient. He acted as if he had all the time in the world. He laughed softly at her obvious desire, but he didn't satisfy it. His mouth worked its way lazily down her soft body to her breasts while she trembled in the wake of new and mysterious pleasures. She seemed to hang in midair as his mouth hovered over the hard peak of her breast. Then, tenderly, his mouth worked its way completely over it and began to suckle her, and she cried out in surprised ecstasy.
Her headlong response delighted him. She'd mentioned once that her husband hadn't been patient, and now he was willing to believe it. Despite her marriage and her pregnancy, she acted like a woman who'd never been intimate with anyone. Her ardent clinging, her soft cries of pleasure, her trembling made him feel more like a man than ever before. His own wife had hated this part of marriage, hated her child, hated him. In the old days, before his marriage, there had never been a shortage of women. But since he'd been widowed, there had been no one. Not until now. And this soft, eager woman beneath him was his wife. He groaned harshly against her breast as a wave of hot pleasure swept over him. His control was suddenly gone.
He wrestled the rest of his clothes off and jerked back the bedspread, moving Lisa onto the cool, crisp sheets. His body covered hers, feeling the heat and eagerness of it. He heard her faint gasp and felt the ripple of her soft body as she moved to accommodate him.
"Cy...!" she whispered, her nails gripping his upper arms.
His mouth closed her lips as he eased down. "Don't be afraid. I'll be careful with you," he whispered, reading the helpless fear in that soft exclamation. "Very, very careful. I won't hurt the baby."
That wasn't at all what she was thinking, to her shame, but she was too shy to tell him that she wasn't sure her slender body could adjust to his. He wasn't made like Walt, she could tell...
She gasped again as he moved lazily and a violent spasm of pleasure shook her entire body. Her nails bit into him and when he lifted his head to look at her, she knew her eyes must be like saucers. She was aware of her legs relaxing, her slender hips arching, her body trying to incite him to repeat that lazy movement of his body, to give her that shock of ecstasy again.
His soft, possessive eyes met hers. "Is this what you want me to do?" he whispered lazily, and he smiled as he moved and she tensed again, trembling.
She couldn't get the words out, but he didn't seem to need them. He shifted their positions and the next time he moved, she closed her eyes on a shuddering moan of exquisite pleasure. Never like this. She hadn't dreamed that a woman could feel such...!
He heard her voice, barely audible, pleading with him, sobbing at his throat. He was near the end of his endurance, but from the sound of her, he needn't be patient any longer. He caught her mouth firmly under his and moved deliberately, roughly, quickly, feeling her body take up the rhythm and echo it. The silken brush of her skin took the last of his control. He could feel her going up the spiral with him, he could hear the pleasure in her choked sobs, feel it in her clinging hands and arching body, in the grip of her long, elegant legs as they curled around his and tightened in spasms.
It was more than he'd hoped for. She fell with him into the white-hot heat of ecstasy, throbbed with him as reality became nothing more than a glimpse of light somewhere in the distance. He felt his body stiffen even as hers convulsed under the pressure of him. It was like being buried in warm, soft velvet...
"No!" she cried out as the pleasure fell away from her just as she'd grasped it. "No, no...!"
"What is it?" he asked huskily at her ear, his body shivering a little in the aftermath as he lay heavily above her. "Did I hurt you?"
"It didn't last," she sobbed, clinging. "I couldn't... make it last...!"
He understood at once. His mouth moved softly over
her damp eyes, across her wet cheek and down to her parted lips where her breath came in husky little jerks. "Pleasure like that would be lethal in long doses," he whispered into her lips. He bit at her lower lip gently and then rubbed his mouth over it in soft little caresses.
She moved experimentally and felt the intimate pressure of him. Her eyes lifted to his, a little shy, and very soft.
His thumb brushed her lower lip while he searched her eyes in a silence so profound that she could hear their accelerated heartbeats.
"It was like making love to a virgin," he said in a deep, slow tone.
"It was like being one," she whispered honestly. Her fingers smoothed over the hard muscles in his upper arms. The one that had been damaged was only noticeable from the elbow to the hand, she observed. The rest of him, despite a few scars and depressions, was absolutely perfect.
He brushed back the loose strands of blond hair and, impulsively, took all the hairpins out to let it fall around her shoulders.
"That's better," he murmured, smiling.
They were still intimately joined, and her eyes searched over his lean, dark face with wonder.
His hips moved very sensuously and her whole body clenched visibly.
He reached to put the hairpins on the side table. He looked down into her eyes and moved again, with deliberate sensuality, watching her lift toward him helplessly.
He bent and put his mouth tenderly over hers, shifting onto his side with both lean hands on her hips as one long, powerful leg slid between both of hers. He felt her shiver as the pleasure began all over again. His last sane thought as she pressed into his body was that he hoped he had the stamina to survive what they were going to do to each other this time...
Much later, after a shower and a change of clothes, they had a small wedding supper of bacon and eggs and toast and coffee at the small kitchen table. Cy couldn't force himself to take his eyes off Lisa, and the attraction seemed to be mutual just at first. She couldn't stop touching him, even just to pass him the sugar or refill his cup. It was more than physical desire. It was a sort of intimacy he'd only seen in old movies. He'd had brief affairs, liaisons, even a wife. But with none of the other women had he felt this deep emotional bond.
Books By Diana Palmer Page 268
