by Vonnie Davis
Hadn’t she cleaned and scrubbed Cam’s house all day? Hadn’t she cooked his meals and made sure he carried food when he went off to check on his cattle? Hadn’t she cared for his son? But I haven’t warmed his bed.
A ragged sigh escaped, and she swiped at a few tears. What almost happened between them last night came to mind. His gentle touches, his dizzying kisses, the way he moaned her name. Her mother’s instructions floated back. “When you marry, and your husband demands his husbandly rights, just close your eyes and think of Ireland. He’ll be done soon enough, happy as a cow in clover, and then he’ll roll over and commence to snoring.”
Working at Madam Dora’s she’d heard soiled doves talking. They laughed over wives who refused their husbands, sending the frustrated men to them. Would Cam go to one of the prostitutes if she continued to hold him off? She swiped at more tears as she stirred the stew.
A hand rested on her shoulder, and she jumped. Her gaze swept to Standing Bear’s.
“He hasn’t touched you yet, has he?”
Before she could offer a terse reply to his insensitive question, her husband opened the back door in the kitchen.
****
The first thing Cam saw when he stepped inside was his best friend’s hand on his wife. The rage that roared in his soul surprised him. Was he jealous? No, hell, no. He placed the squirming burlap sack on the floor. Two cats slowly crept out.
Eli squealed and ran toward the cats, who arched their backs and hissed.
He squatted next to his son. “Let the cats be, Eli. They didn’t enjoy their ride very much.” Once he was sure Eli would obey, he straightened and was none too pleased to see Standing Bear’s hand still on his wife. “I wasn’t expecting you to stop by.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to marry again.”
They stood there for a few beats, gazes locked.
“Daddy. Daddy, look.” Eli waved a piece of beaded deerskin at him and then rubbed it against his cheek. “Soft. Bear give me.” He held it out to show him.
“Isn’t that nice?” Just how long had the Lakota been there? Alone. With his wife? “Something smells good.”
“Our guest brought us rabbits for stew.” Sophie Catherine fixed him with a strange look, almost as if she were miffed about something. “Are you hungry? I can put supper on the table.”
Was Standing Bear staying? He’d been looking forward to a quiet dinner alone with his wife. He was eager to see her reaction to his gifts. “Sounds fine, Sophie Catherine.” He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a peg by the door. The wrapped packages made a soft crackle. Foolish, they seemed to say.
She bustled to the hutch to retrieve plates and silverware. “Everybody wash up while I put vittles on the table.”
Cam rolled the sleeves on his chambray shirt and pumped water into a basin. “Eli, come wash your hands for supper. Standing Bear, are you staying?”
“Yes. Your wife has already asked.” Cam’s molars clenched in irritation while a smile teased the corners of Standing Bear’s lips. What the hell did his friend find so damn funny?
The meal was eaten in relative silence. Sophie Catherine sure knew how to make a tasty stew. Her dumplings were perfect. For dessert, she served a molasses pie. He hadn’t eaten this good since before his maw passed. What bothered him, though, was the way Standing Bear kept watching his wife’s movements out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t like it one bit. How soon could he get rid of him?
After the meal, he walked outside with Standing Bear. “You don’t usually come by unless something’s wrong. Everything all right with you?”
The Native stilled and stared off into the night. “Singing Dove has chosen another.”
Cam clasped his hand on Standing Bear’s shoulder. “She made a foolish decision.”
“I’d hoped she’d warm my teepee this winter. It’s good to have a woman in your bed, don’t you think?” He turned toward Cam.
“Yes,” he choked out, wishing it were so. Would his wife warm his bed? Would she ever come to him?
After he tucked in Eli, Cam found Sophie Catherine sitting on the vanity bench, brushing her hair. He handed her two packages wrapped in brown paper.
“What’s this?” She set her brush down and fingered the packages.
“Presents for my wife.”
“It’s not my birthday. Nor is it Christmas.” A blush shadowed her fair face when she cast those green eyes on him.
“A man doesn’t need an excuse to indulge his wife.”
She fingered the twine, wrapping the ends around her finger. “Is that what you were doing with the cats? Indulging me? Where did you get them? With company here, I didn’t get to ask.”
“Dora got them for me. Are you going to open your gifts or not?”
She set the smaller of the packages on the vanity and undid the twine around the thicker package. “You went to her place, then?” Her voice held a tinge of irritation. Why was that?
“Yes. You said she used cats to rid her house of mice. I figured she’d know who to get them from.” He stooped in front of her, so he could gauge her reaction. For some reason, her delight was important.
“I see.” She folded back the stiff paper to reveal four cakes of soap. “Oh, my, store-bought soap.” She held a cake to her nose and sniffed. Her eyes drifted shut. “Roses,” she breathed. “I’ll use them sparingly, so they last.”
His wife was thrifty, he’d give her that. “Use them. I told Mr. Thatcher at the mercantile to keep them in stock for you. Whenever one of us goes to town, we’ll get more.”
“It’s a lavishness, so it is.”
“It’s an extravagance I want you to have. I like how it makes you smell. I’ll benefit from it, too.” He took the soap and paper from her lap and rested the items on his thigh. “Open the other one now.”
She undid the wrappings and gasped. “Oh, Cam, what have you done?” Her green eyes widened, and her hands trembled slightly as she picked up the combs.
Relief whooshed from his lungs. “They’re mother of pearl.”
She held them up to her hair and peered into the mirror, turning her head from side to side. “They’re beautiful, is what they are. I’ve never had anything so nice. I’ll be afraid to wear them.”
“I hope not. I bought them so you could wear your hair down around me.” He reached out and curled a strand of hair around his finger. “Put them in. Let me see.”
“You were too extravagant, Cam McBride.” Even as she admonished him, she smiled and her eyes twinkled with pleasure. “Beautiful things like these were made to grace lovely ladies, not someone plain, like me.”
“What makes you think you’re plain?”
She placed the combs in her hair and swept them back, securing them against her scalp. Then she shrugged. “I see how people look at me.”
He saw, too. Saw how Standing Bear couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. His friend’s fascination with his wife still rankled. “What should be important to you now, Sophie Catherine, is how your husband sees you.”
With an innocent yet coquettish look, she lowered eyelashes and whispered, “How do you see me?” Her fingers twisted folds of her thin nightgown, the movement showcasing her breasts and pink nipples.
He placed the soaps on the vanity, stood and pulled her toward him. “Let me show you.” With his gaze locked on hers, he placed his hands on her cheeks and slowly tilted her face toward his. He pressed light kisses on her eyes and across her cheekbones. Her lips parted. He brushed his lips across her lips, once, twice, before claiming them.
A moan escaped from her, and he was lost.
He stepped closer, so their thighs touched. Desire ran pell-mell through him. Her breathing hitched when he ran kisses across her jaw and down her neck. He hardened even more. That’s when he realized he was trembling with need and craving for this woman. He kissed her sweet mouth again, urging her to open for him. When she did, he slipped his tongue inside to get drunk in the taste of her. Good Lord, the woman wa
s intoxicating.
Small hands wrapped firmly around his wrists, as if she needed to hang on, until his one hand slid down her back and cupped her buttocks. She moaned again, and he nearly dropped to his knees.
He broke the kiss and hoped his words wouldn’t scare her. “This is how it’s supposed to be between a husband and wife, Sophie Catherine. Gentle. Sweet. Each giving pleasure to the other.”
Green eyes, heavy with passion, stared at him. Slowly, she untied the strings to her nightdress and, to his amazement, she tugged it over her head. A vibrant blush rose from her chest to her cheeks. “How…how do you see me, Cam?” Her voice barely a whisper.
His gaze slowly traveled down her round firm breasts, nipples peaked in the cool air of the room.
Blood rushed from his brain to his loins. A man could feast on her breasts forever. Her waist was tiny and flared out to round hips.
Pale red hair curled at the juncture of her legs, legs that were shapely and long.
He was so hard by this point, he was in pain. “I see you as beautiful.”
Chapter Eleven
If only she could believe Cam. Did he see her as beautiful? Taking off her nightgown was an experience in total humiliation, yet she also felt exhilarated. Suddenly it occurred to her he was still fully dressed. Did she dare?
“Take your clothes off, Cam McBride. Your wife demands equal looking rights, so she does.”
He began to unbutton his shirt, a slow smile spreading across his face. She loved that smile of his. Something about it warmed her heart—and places south of that. Her hand fluttered to one of the new combs he’d bought her. What a sweet gesture. This man standing before her, his warm blue eyes taking their fill, had a generous heart, a good heart. His going to Madam Dora’s displeased her. What if he’d visited one of the soiled doves?
“How long were you at Madam Dora’s?”
He tugged his arms out of his shirt. “Long enough to tell her you wanted some cats to rid the house of mice.” He shot her another smile, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “And to ask where she buys her soap.”
Should she ask if he’d gone upstairs? Would he tell her if he had?
Cam hopped around on one foot as he tugged off first one boot and then the other. In one swift motion, he shucked off his pants and long johns. His member stood straight out, long, thick, ready. She swallowed at the enormity of it. Was she prepared? “Close your eyes and think of Ireland,” her mother had instructed. Did she know enough about Ireland to fill her mind while he took his pleasure?
His warm hands touched her cheeks again. Serious blue eyes searched hers. “Do you understand how this coming together works?”
“I…ah…you…ah…” She swallowed her fear and nodded. His member rubbed against her belly, creating strange yearnings. Her whole body trembled as he took her hand and led her to bed.
“I’ll do my best to lessen the initial pain, Sophie Catherine. I hope you know me well enough to realize I take no pleasure in hurting you.”
She’d only met him yesterday, yet she did trust him. She scooted across the bed and brought the covers to her chin—a chin that chattered so hard with cold and fear he had to hear it. Her gaze kept dropping to Cam’s swollen appendage, wondering how she was going to take it all in. Saints preserve me, I’m going to be split in two. He’ll have to bury me in two graves.
After he slid under the quilts, he leaned over her. One calloused finger trailed down her cheek and across her trembling chin. “Relax.”
A kiss light as butterfly wings touched her temple. “Relax,” he whispered against her ear, and she shuddered.
He nuzzled her neck below her ear, and she sighed. “Relax, my beauty.”
Kisses gentle as an angel’s touch pressed against her eyelids and her fists uncurled. “Relax, sweetheart.”
Then he covered her lips with his, and his hand slid to her neck. While he did scandalous things to her lips and mouth, his thumb made slow circles on her throat.
He was taking his time, she’d give him that. Carefully and sweetly he tortured her with kisses and touches. Her body and mind gentled and enjoyed. Sighs and whispered words of praise filled the air while he slowly initiated her body to his touch.
“You’re going to be mine, Sophie Catherine. Mine.”
She wanted to tell him he sounded like Eli, but the languid state of her body made speaking impossible. By turns, he kissed, nipped, and licked her neck and shoulders. Her restless body writhed beneath the quilts, seeking something unknown.
When his mouth found her breast, she thought she’d died and gone to heaven. A gentle kiss followed by a swirl of his tongue brought her nipple to a peak. “Beautiful. You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.”
Although his trained mouth created new sensations, it was his praise and terms of endearment that enchanted her. Tommy’s groping had been rough and uncaring. Cam’s leisurely enjoyment of her body made her feel important, desired, cherished.
When he drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked on it, her response was so intense, so mind-numbing, her hands went to the back of his head, pressing him further into her breast. “Don’t stop. Sweet Mary and Joseph, don’t stop.”
He chuckled and continued his current method of sensual torture. His broad hands swept to her waist while she wrapped her feet around the calves of his legs, trying to anchor him to her.
“I’m going to rub my hard-on over you. Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to enter you yet, not until you have your release.” He raised himself on his elbow and held his member in his hand and rubbed it over her privates, settling on a spot that made her moan when he touched it.
“Re…release? Women can have a release, too?”
“Would it be fair if you didn’t? If I didn’t take the time to help you soar to the stars, would you want to do this again?” He began making slow circles around a certain spot with the end of his hard-on. “Look at me, sweetheart. Let me watch your beautiful eyes while I pleasure you.”
Cam’s voice was deep, intimate and languid, just as his effect on her. Although her eyes were focused on his, her mental focus was on that part of him touching her, torturing her, taking her higher and higher. Her belly coiled tighter and tighter. She was reaching for something, if she only knew her destination. Even so, the sensations he created, with his slow rubbing of a spot she never knew she had, held her captive.
“Cam.”
“Yes, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.” He never stopped rubbing over her spot, circling it, teasing it.
“I…I can’t say it out loud.” Of all times, with a naked man on top of her and her nipples puckered from his sucking, she was blushing.
“I’m your husband, Sophie Catherine. You can tell me anything.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. His breathing labored.
How could she tell him she was on the edge when she didn’t know what she was on the edge of? Her hips rose and fell as if they were searching for something, too. Then finally—suddenly—she slipped off the edge and soared. Spasms so strong they bore a cutting sensation. So beautiful they stole her breath. So potent her body craved more. A cry escaped her lips. Stars exploded in vibrant colors before her eyes.
It was then Cam entered her, filled her, stretched her. Something tore, but her focus was on the powerful, all-consuming spasms inside her most private space. Sweet heavens, don’t let them end.
When she slowly floated back to earth like a feather on the wind, Cam’s face was contorted with focus as he continued moving. His eyes were closed, nostrils flared, jaw clenched. Sweat ran down his face. Her hands rose to his cheeks. “Look at me, Cam.”
Stormy blue eyes opened, hooded with passion and searing with possession as his thrusts increased in speed. “You feel so good, sweetheart. So tight. So…” His head reared back, the cords of his neck standing out as he roared her name. Her effect on him was obviously as powerful and sweet as his was on her. She gloried in that fact and tumbled all the way into love.
After he emptied himself into her,
he collapsed against her neck, gasping for breath. With his arms around her, he rolled over and pressed her face to his shoulder. Strained breathing filled the room. His heartbeat was rapid under her palm. Hers pounded in her ears. Her throat was dry from breathing so hard. And she wondered if she’d ever felt so light, so relaxed, so close to anyone in her life. Possessiveness of this man rooted in her soul.
When her lungs finally recovered, she knew she’d never be the same again. Cam had claimed her, well and true. She was his wife in every way now. Her mother’s remarks made her smile against Cam’s chest. “You never gave me the chance to think of Ireland.”
He pulled back and studied her. “What?”
Her fingers trailed through the mat of dark hair on his chest. “Momma always said when a man demanded his husbandly rights, it was best to close one’s eyes and think of Ireland.”
Laughter rumbled from his chest, and she loved the sound of it. His fingertips tipped her chin upward, and he covered her lips with his. When he pulled back, he enveloped her in his arms and held her tight. “Sweetheart, thank God I found you.”
****
Cam brought the coffee cup to his lips to hide his smile. He didn’t think his wife’s blush had dimmed from the time she woke up naked in his arms. Every time she looked at him, her face reddened even more. Damn, if she wasn’t something when she was flustered. He hardened; she’d certainly been something last night. They’d made love three times, and if he could he’d take her by the hand and lead her back to bed again.
She wore her hair down today, secured with the pretty combs he’d bought her. His fingers itched to twine themselves in her long, curly tresses. Her lips—made for kissing, in his opinion—were pursed in concentration as her fingers made quick work of their various jobs.
Sophie Catherine’s remark last night about thinking of Ireland during sex made him laugh, something he hadn’t done since before losing Amanda. This woman kneading bread dough while he ate the hearty breakfast she’d fixed was melting the ice in his soul. Watching her bustle about the kitchen was a tranquil pleasure he was loath to end. Yet chores beckoned.
