They'd started off on the wrong foot. She'd assumed she knew everything about him, that he was just as bad as her father, and sooner or later he'd prove it. Then she'd gotten angry when he tried to make her feel better about herself. She'd been certain he was a flirt, a man who toyed with women's feelings for his own amusement.
Then he'd attacked William, first saying William was unworthy of her and finally that she didn't love William. She'd fought him tooth and nail on that score, but in the end she'd had to admit he was right.
She'd been furious with him for causing her to have to move out of Ida's house, for insisting on moving out to the ranch, for helping her, for paying for the materials, for deciding she needed a bigger house.
She'd spent so long being angry at what he was doing, she'd never stopped to figure out how she felt about him. She almost laughed aloud. She'd been trying to get rid of him, and all the time she wanted to marry him.
That accounted for her actions, but why had he stayed despite her strenuous efforts to drive him away? Surely a man didn't do all the things he'd done just to prove she'd judged him unfairly. Was it possible he did like her enough to think about wanting to marry her?
That thought scared her as nothing ever had.
It made her vulnerable in a way that nothing else could. She had spent her whole life building a defense around her emotions, preparing to be unloved, accepting it, convincing herself she didn't want love. She could have married William and been safe. There was nothing safe about Owen. He'd spent weeks trying to build her self-confidence. If she admitted she loved him, she would be defenseless.
But she couldn't deny that hope had taken root. Ben had only put into words what she'd been feeling but wouldn't let herself believe.
She had to make sure she hadn't mistaken love for gratitude or even friendship. The idea that she might again consider marriage for the wrong reason gave her a cramp in the pit of her stomach. But she got a worse cramp when she thought of missing out on love because she was too afraid to believe it could happen. She would have to study Owen, view his actions in a different light. She would have to be absolutely certain she wasn't making a mistake.
But she had to do one thing more. She had to let him make love to her. She knew that the physical was an important part of any relationship. She didn't know exactly how it would fit into the responsibility and dependability she valued so highly, but she knew it was important to Owen. Ida would say she shouldn't do this, but then Ida would probably think of the physical relationship only in terms of having children or satisfying her husband's needs.
Hetta wasn't going into marriage if every aspect of it didn't offer her the same satisfaction and chance for happiness it offered her husband. She had to know, and the sooner the better.
Owen was certain that Hetta was looking at him differently. It had started just after Ida's visit. She must have said something to make Hetta suspicious, but what?
"Have you ever built a house before?" Hetta asked him.
They'd eaten supper, cleaned up, and were sitting on the front porch, something else he had insisted she must add to her house. He couldn't imagine a house without a front porch. It was the way you welcomed the world, where you sat as you contemplated what to do next.
"A few," he replied. "My pa was a carpenter. It's hard to make a living in the mountains just farming."
He was looking up at the sky--they hadn't put up the railing or the roof--still unable after more than a year in Texas to get accustomed to its vastness. He grew up seeing the sky through breaks in the trees. He always had the feeling of being closed in. But here the sky was so huge, so enormous, it seemed to wrap around you. And much to his surprise, that was comforting.
"It was my way out of the valley and away from parents who hated each other, their children, and probably themselves."
"I expect you were a success."
He'd measured his success by the women he could attract rather than the quality of his work. After a lifetime of being powerless to affect the dynamics within his family, to protect his sister, he'd enjoyed his power over women. Maybe Cade was right when he said Owen found power intoxicating. It had taken hold of him and wouldn't let go.
"Do you miss it?" she asked.
"No."
If the war hadn't come along, he'd have been in a comfortable position that would have given him the time and means to pursue the women who had become his passion.
But the war changed everything.
He met his cousin, became part of a group of men who took honesty and dependability as the basic ingredients of life, men who were willing to give their lives for what they believed. For each other. It had been a revelation to him. And though he'd ridiculed their creed at first, he was drawn into it. Yet the more he was drawn to it, the more he hated himself and what he'd become.
Then he'd met Hetta and everything changed again.
"You've never been a rancher," Hetta said. "How will you know when you find the right place?"
"It will feel right."
"Suppose the owner won't sell?"
"Then I'll marry the daughter of the family and take over." He didn't know why he'd said that. The only way for a man to have a successful marriage would be never to allow himself to develop any feeling for his wife, never to allow her any chance to betray him.
"Actually, I don't plan to get married," he said. He flashed what he hoped was his most disarming smile. "I couldn't give up all the women in the world for just one."
"From what Myrl says, people in town think you already have."
"They must have realized you're the pick of the women in Pinto Junction."
"They don't realize any such thing. They're wondering about your intentions."
"Are you?"
"Of course I am. You come to town and set yourself up as a gambler and a lady's man. Next thing I know, you're defending Ben and Myrl, taking on Newt and the rustlers, and setting yourself up as my guardian angel. If you were any other man, I'd think you were courting me. Since I know you don't want to marry me, I have to assume you're working up to asking if I'll have an affair with you."
Owen was glad they were talking in near darkness. He was certain this was one time his poker face would have failed utterly. "Would you?" His voice sounded unnatural even to himself.
"No."
Odd. He felt both disappointment and relief. He wondered what it meant.
"But I might go to bed with you under certain conditions."
The tension returned, increased many times. "Such as?" He tried to see her face, but she'd turned away from him.
"You said men kissed friends. Do they ever ... have relations with friends?"
"Sometimes."
"It would have to be like that. Just friends. It might be once. It might be more."
"But you wouldn't expect me to fall in love with you?"
"No. We'd have to be just friends."
"I don't understand why you're doing this."
"I'm not sure, either. I just know it's something I want to do." She turned to face him. "Are you saying you don't want to?"
"No. I just want you to be sure."
"I am."
The silence between them was awkward.
"You want to try it tonight?" she asked.
"Do you?"
"If you want."
"Okay."
Silence fell again. After a few moments she stood. "I'll go into the bedroom. You can come in when you're ready."
Owen had never felt so strange in his life. Many women had invited him into their bedrooms, but never like this. He did want to go to bed with Hetta, but he wasn't sure he liked the way she was going at it. He'd always gone to bed with women purely for physical enjoyment, but he didn't want it to be that way with Hetta. He'd imagined something quite different.
He'd imagined making love to her.
For the first time he'd be making love to a woman he respected, admired, liked a great deal. It wouldn't be simply an exercise in physical pleasure. It
would be an extension of what he felt for her, how he'd come to regard her during these past weeks. He wanted to feel some connection to her, some sense of sharing, the sense that there was something more between them than mutual pleasure.
He couldn't shake his vague feeling of uneasiness. Despite what he'd told her, he couldn't imagine how friends could be lovers. He'd never been friends with a woman, never stayed around any woman as long as he'd been around Hetta, never waited this long for a woman to agree to sleep with him.
The whole situation was a first for him. Was that why he was disappointed? Because this was the first time he'd felt close to a woman and didn't feel he had to go to bed with her, and she'd proposed it to him? Somehow he felt he'd lost something.
He was powerfully attracted to Hetta, so why did he feel so conflicted? Maybe he would know afterwards. He didn't want to keep Hetta waiting. She might think he didn't want to make love to her.
And that was very far from the truth.
Chapter Twenty-four
Hetta sat on the side of the bed, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze on the doorway Owen would walk through. She had made her decision. All she could do now was wait. She hoped she was doing the right thing.
She had fallen in love with Owen. That was the first and most important thing to know. The second was that he didn't want to marry her. Of that she was certain. William might have been negligent in not mentioning marriage, but Owen had avoided it. Marriage wasn't in his future. Women were.
Did she want to marry him? Not as things stood now. So why did she want to make love to a man she wasn't going to marry, something she would never have contemplated even days ago?
Was it because this was all she would ever have of him, and she wanted all she could get before he left? Because she'd never love anyone else, and this was as close as she'd ever come to a loving relationship with another man? Because he'd taught her there was a physical side to marriage that was wonderful and powerful in and of itself and she wanted to discover it with him?
Probably all of those things. She wondered if this was how her mother had felt, but decided it wasn't. If the man she married cheated on her, she'd attack him with a branding iron. Besides, she didn't think Owen could love any woman enough to be faithful. So she was going to take what life offered her. She wouldn't be satisfied, but she would have had a taste of what might have been. And a taste was better than nothing.
A shadow in the doorway shattered her thoughts. She would never stop being surprised at how big he was.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Have you decided I'm not attractive after all?"
He crossed the room quickly, dropped down next to her on the bed. He unclasped her hands and took them to his lips. "I find you even more attractive than at first," he said in between dropping kisses on her knuckles. "I just want to make sure you're not doing this for me."
A wry chuckle escaped her. "This is entirely for me. I imagine you've already had more than your share."
But he didn't know what it was like to make love to the woman he loved. She would have something he didn't. Might never have.
"If you're sure?"
"Kiss me and judge for yourself."
To be held in his arms was wonderful. To be kissed as well was bliss. She wondered if William would have ever learned to hold her like this. Not tenderly as if she were something precious that might break, but roughly, as if he couldn't get enough of her. She was certain he would never have kissed her like Owen kissed her.
Owen attacked her as if she were a luscious fruit and he was famished. There was nothing gentle about his kisses. They were hungry, sloppy, even noisy. Ida would have been horrified. Hetta loved it. She needed to feel he wanted her so much he couldn't control himself. She didn't want manners. She didn't want decorum. She didn't want sensible. She'd had that all her life. She'd made a conscious decision to cast them aside for tonight. If this was to be her one time, she wanted to experience everything.
She threw her arms around Owen and kissed him back with a wildness that surprised her. She had spent so many years denying the physical, telling herself she would never have a relationship such as this, didn't want it, and wouldn't miss it, that she hadn't realized she had such a physical nature, such a deep, flowing need. She was certain it was a legacy from her father. She would never let it control her, but tonight she intended to give it free rein. She wanted to experience everything in the arms of the man she loved.
She was surprised how good her decision made her feel. She knew he didn't love her, that he would never be her husband, but none of that could destroy the happiness that infused her with a sense of well-being. She loved! And it had made her a more whole woman.
They lay down together, their arms still around each other. Hetta had always considered herself a big woman--especially next to petite Ida--but she didn't feel big next to Owen. She could barely get her arms around him. She felt small, vulnerable, and she discovered that wasn't half bad. It was nice to feel she had someone bigger and stronger to protect her.
Feeling the muscles as they moved across his back provided a kind of erotic pleasure she found impossible to explain. Maybe it tied into the feeling of being the weaker of the two, of needing his strength to protect her and being assured it was sufficient. She only knew she gained pleasure from the feel of his strong arms around her, the certainty that his body could overpower her at any moment. The sensation was almost as powerful as his kisses.
But not quite.
His kisses were wonderful. She especially liked it when he kissed her eyes, her nose, her hair, any part of her he could reach. It made her feel he wanted her so badly he couldn't kiss her fast enough, often enough, deeply enough. Then he would kiss her on the lips and his tongue would thrust into her mouth begging for more of her. She fought back, her tongue launching its own invasion, countering the attack, locked in such fierce combat that her breath came hot and heavy. They fell back to regroup.
But while she lay breathless, drained by the force of the emotions that filled her, Owen's hands moved restlessly, insistently, inquisitively over her body. After exploring every part of her back, arms, and sides, they moved to the buttons of her dress. A cascade of sensation followed the movement of his fingers from neckline to waist as he undid the buttons and slipped her dress over her shoulders. A repeat with the buttons of her shift raised her temperature further.
She anticipated his touch on her breasts. She knew it would come, knew it would send hot currents along her nerves, alerting other parts of her body, bringing them to a fever pitch of anticipation. She could already feel his touch, imagine its impact.
Yet when it came it was even greater than she'd anticipated. The moment the tip of his tongue touched her nipple, she practically rose off the bed. When his teeth tugged gently, she did rise, her back arching and a long, shuddering moan escaping her parted lips. He cupped her other breast with his hand, gently kneading it, teasing, torturing her nipple with his thumb and fingertip. She tried to pull him away from her breasts, to pull his lips to her own, but he was like a starving man who would not leave what sustained him.
She ran her fingers back and forth through his hair, the movement of her hands becoming more rapid, more unpredictable, as his assault on her body intensified. She felt she had to push him away, yet she pressed him hard against her, arched her body against him.
"Lift your hips," he whispered.
Her body stilled when his hands moved her clothes down and off her body. In a matter of seconds, she lay naked beside him.
"You, too," she urged, knowing she wouldn't feel so vulnerable if he weren't still fully clothed.
If she'd thought he would have to leave her alone while he removed his clothes, she was mistaken. He seemed to have twice as many hands as he ought. They were everywhere. On her breast, unbuttoning his shirt, exploring her body, removing his clothes. It was almost like magic. Soon he lay next to her, as naked and vulnerable as she.
Hetta had never imagined
what it would be like to lie next to a man completely stripped of his clothing. She'd never imagined what he would look like, feel like, act like. She never tried to imagine it because she didn't want to, wasn't supposed to, was afraid to. Now she felt she was about to explode from the force of the sensations that rocketed through her body. With trepidation, she reached out to touch him.
His skin was soft. Somehow she'd expected it to be leathery, even hard. Heat radiated from him like from a stove in winter. His body trembled under her touch. Did she affect him as strongly as he affected her? She moved her hand down his side and over until she touched his bottom. She felt brazen--maybe too brazen--but she received her reward when Owen groaned softly.
"That feels good."
Emboldened, she squeezed gently. He responded by pressing against her until she could feel his arousal against her side. At the same time, his hand moved over her hips and between her legs. The double shock sent her body into a frenzy.
"Don't be afraid," Owen whispered. "I won't hurt you."
She didn't think he would. Her muscles relaxed, and she felt Owen's fingers part her flesh. Determined to be equally bold, she reached out and took hold of him.
"Touch me anywhere but there," Owen said.
"Why?"
"I'll explode if you don't remove your hand."
She didn't understand. She felt like she was exploding, and he didn't remove his hand.
"Why?" she asked.
"Women build slowly, men all at once."
She didn't feel like anything was happening to her slowly.
Owen's fingers entered her, found the spot that caused her body to shudder with ecstasy. She felt the waves beating within her, the heat churning in her belly, the tiny pinpoints of fire racing along the pathways of every nerve in her body.
But as Owen continued to massage gently that magic spot, to tease and torment her breast with his teeth, lips, and tongue, she had less and less thought to give to him. Everything centered on her own body, on the myriad of sensations bombarding her. She felt surrounded by them, helpless in their thrall. She moved against him. She moved away from him. She wanted to escape. She never wanted to be without his touch. The heat in her belly grew more intense, began to spread to the rest of her body like a heavy liquid.
Texas Bride Page 24
