As he approached her with sparkling eyes, Emily’s heart thumped in her chest. His hands were warm on her neck, but his gaze made her temperature rise even higher. She reached for him, murmuring his name.
It was all he could do not to rip her underthings off. “Don’t you think you’re a little overdressed?” he breathed.
“What do you plan to do about it?”
Her sultry challenge whetted his appetite even more. Matt lifted her silky camisole, marveling again at the softly rounded peaks it concealed. When his hand slipped down the back of her pantaloons she stood, rubbing against him with a chuckle that told him she knew damn well what she was doing to him. “First things first,” he said in a husky voice. “Step into the tub, young lady.”
Emily smiled demurely, and when she was seated in the warm water, Matt leaned toward her with a cake of rose-scented soap. He took an agonizingly long time working up a lather between his hands, smiling at her.
“Close your eyes, rosebud. We’ll save the best for last.”
His soapy fingers massaged her forehead and temples so tenderly she let her head loll back against the tub. How could a man who’d battled a bartender half again his size coax the dust from her face with such a delicate touch? Matt made swirling circles down her neck and continued in the hollows of her collarbone.
“Close ‘em tighter,” he whispered. “I’ll rinse you before I go on.”
As the water trickled down her cheeks, Emily thought she’d passed into another world. But it was nothing compared to the sensation of his wet, slippery palms caressing the underside of one breast, then the other.
“Scoot forward, sweetheart. Let me in behind you.”
Emily felt the water rise, and then two darker legs were surrounding her. Matt’s hands became more insistent as they rubbed her back in slow, soapy spirals. She rested her head on her knees, inhaling the steamy scent of roses while the problems of the past week slipped away. How did he sense exactly what she needed? It was a little scary when a man she barely knew was so attuned to her innermost feelings, yet she was beginning to feel like herself again for the first time since she’d left home.
When he’d rinsed her back, Matt leaned her against his chest. His hands found the soft roundness of her breasts while he kissed damp tendrils of hair behind her ear. “You’re awfully quiet,” he said. “Is there something else I should be doing to please you?”
Closing her eyes, Emily turned to seek his lips with hers. His cheeks were satiny smooth, and as his tongue parted her teeth, she moaned low in her throat. One broad hand continued to make her breasts ache until she thought they’d burst, while the other was trailing in a leisurely path up and down her thigh. When a single finger found its way between her legs, she arched against him. He stroked her, increasing the pressure until the spasms inside her were traveling so fast she was ready to explode.
Then he stopped. “My turn to be washed, Emily.”
“Dammit, McClanahan—finish what you started!” she gasped.
“You’ll just have to hold it. Like I am,” he replied with a chuckle. “Here’s the soap.”
Emily turned, wishing she knew more about a man’s body so she could wreak the most potent revenge possible. She grinned wickedly. “Lean back and put your feet up. You’re going to suffer for what you just did, Matt.”
“I never doubted it for a moment.” He slid down to rest his head against the edge of the tub, watching her through half-shut eyes. She was soaping his toes, working her way toward his sensitive arch, and he held his breath hard to keep from laughing. Emily’s eyes glowed amber in her ivory face, and he relished her playful punishment.
“Ticklish? Good!” Emily raised his foot, then leaned back against her end of the tub, gripping his ankle. She
slyly slid her leg toward him. “Gonna give you some of your own medicine, Mr. McClanahan.”
When her instep met his manhood, Matt’s eyes widened and he gripped the edges of the tub. Jesus! The little innocent was nibbling at the sole of his foot, making him squirm against her heel as he laughed uncontrollably. “Emily, stop!” he pleaded between howls. “You’ll have me exploding before—”
“Just hold it,” she teased. “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the bathtub.”
“It doesn’t work that way with a man, honey.”
“What makes you think it worked with me?” She kneaded him with her heel, then tickled the tip of him with her big toe.
“Truce!” he cried. “We’ll compromise—we can make love before you wash me.”
“No we can’t.” Chuckling, she withdrew her foot. Matt’s eyes were huge and blue, his cheeks flushed as he flashed her a devilish grin. Emily realized she was no more able to prolong their play then he was—she had to feel his sleek skin rubbing hers, had to satisfy the need gnawing inside her.
She quickly soaped his legs and then submerged them. Avoiding his swollen shaft, Emily leaned forward to rub his stomach and chest, lathering the dark swirls of hair with brisk, eager hands. Then she was kneeling, and Matt steadied her as she placed her knees on either side of his hips. “Lean into me. I’ll do your back,” she murmured. “You’re going to end up smelling as flowery as I do.”
“At this point, I’m beyond caring.” He hugged her, his breath coming in short gasps as her hands worked their way down his spine. She was warm and wet and wonderfully soft against him, except for two hard buds that teased his collarbone. Spanning her ribcage with careful hands, Matt raised her out of the water so he could suckle.
The soap hit the floor and Emily whimpered, clutching him. She slid down his thighs, and instinctively impaled herself on him with a quick thrust.
“Whoa…this is too good to rush, honey,” Matt whispered hoarsely. “Kiss me now. Make me wait, and I guarantee you it’ll be worth it.”
Still straddling him, Emily slipped an arm beneath his neck and kissed him hungrily. She tasted the silk of his inner lips and nibbled gently all the way along his neck. His pulse was throbbing with her own, and she could feel the forces within him growing hot and urgent as he grasped the halves of her bottom.
Guiding her hips, McClanahan realized it was useless to try to control Emily Burnham. She was giving her passions free reign as few women knew how, driving him insane with her unstudied lust. The moans near his ear were sounding more desperate every second, and then she was straining against him, crying out his name again and again.
Emily was aware of water sloshing around her, and Matt’s tightening arms, and an ecstatic frenzy that passed from his body into the deepest parts of hers. She collapsed against him, unable to speak.
He let out a long, satisfied sigh. “I don’t know how this can get any better, rosebud,” he whispered. “Yet I have a feeling it will.”
Chapter Eighteen
“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Burnham,” Matt said as he helped Emily up onto the carriage seat. “Had I bought Crabtree’s lumber myself, I would’ve paid half again as much.”
The frosty morning air was making her cheeks tingle, and she felt them warm with McClanahan’s compliment. “Papa did a lot of business with Homer Kline over the years,” she explained. “What with the rumors about my health, I probably surprised him into giving me a better price…but we’ll have to be careful, Matt. I can’t have family friends suspecting I’ve deliberately lied to them these past few weeks.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Matt clapped the reins over the horse’s back and headed them toward the main business district of Colorado Springs. It pleased him that Emily conducted her business so competently, when only hours ago she’d again abandoned herself to his passionate whims in her four-poster bed. Was it possible to have such an irresistible young woman as both a lover and a friend? Members of the weaker sex were usually so dependent, yet she made him feel as though his life would be incomplete unless she was forever a part of it.
When he pulled the wagon to a halt in front of a familiar row of shops, Emily glanced at him. “Do
you have some errands to tend to? I could look at—”
“You’re going to have a new gown or two made, rosebud,” he said as he went around to help her down. The heir to the Burnham empire should dress accordingly, even if she’s been in mourning, so—”
“But I have plenty of suitable—”
“—the men shell be dealing with won’t think they can take advantage of her bereavement,” he finished. Matt held on to her for a moment after he lowered her to the street, adoring her rosy, upturned face. “Of course, I intend to take every advantage I can, before anyone else has the chance.”
Emily saw the sparkle in his blue eyes and smiled. “And what did you have in mind, Mr. McClanahan?”
Kissing her, showing her off, making her his wife…he had other ideas, too, and McClanahan realized he didn’t deserve an answer to his proposal until he cleared up the unknowns in his past to Emily’s satisfaction. He escorted her toward a dressmaker’s shop, hoping the tightness he was feeling inside didn’t show on his face. “If I told you what I was thinking, would you promise to hear me out before you made your reply?”
Her heart began to pound so loudly she didn’t notice the shop door opening. Could he possibly be considering—
“Emily, dear, how wonderful to see you! The rumors about your condition had me wondering if I’d ever sew…” The tiny, elegant seamstress finished her sentence by studying Emily with concerned eyes, and then she focused on Matt with obvious interest. “Well, let’s just say I’m pleased to see you recovering so nicely.”
Emily chose her next words with care. “Mrs. Andersen, this is Matt McClanahan, a liaison between Papa’s holdings. He’s pointed up the need for some suitable dresses to wear to meetings and—”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d outfit her for some upcoming parties,” McClanahan interrupted suavely. “Social events are every bit as important to Miss Burnham’s image as her business appointments—and a more appropriate way for a young woman to come out of mourning, don’t you think?”
Mrs. Andersen’s eyebrow went up, yet her smile showed her approval. “I have just the thing—and some new patterns from Paris we can look at. If you’ll have a seat, sir, I’ll take good care of her.”
Emily saw the triumphant, mischievous flicker of Matt’s grin and kept her mouth shut; it wouldn’t be proper to argue with him in front of the genteel seamstress, who already had suspicions about their relationship. She followed Mrs. Andersen into a dressing room, her eyes widening when the woman gestured toward a flowing crimson gown on a dressmaker’s form.
“Try this on before we look at patterns, dear,” she said. “It’s a lovely thing, but the customer I made it for decided not to take it. Unless my eye’s not what it used to be, it’s nearly a perfect fit.”
Running a finger along a glistening sleeve, Emily hesitated. “I’d hate to see such a pretty dress go to waste, but—”
“You don’t have to buy it,” Mrs. Andersen insisted, “and I know you’re not accustomed to so much lace, but you do need to consider your age and social status, Emily. Your father would expect me to see to that, now that he can’t.”
Emily suddenly felt as though Papa and Matt and Mrs. Andersen were conspiring against her conservative taste, yet she liked the dress. And a few minutes later she was turning before the dressing room mirror, unable to hide a smile as the red satin skirt rustled around her shoetops. “You’re sure this dress won’t be claimed, Mrs. Andersen? It’s hard to believe someone would order it and then refuse it.”
The petite seamstress knelt to turn up the gown’s hem. “They say this customer’s mistress up and left him for a man who was more the marrying kind,” she mumbled around her pins. “And that was well over a month ago. I’m just pleased the dress becomes you, dear. Perhaps Mr. McClanahan would like a look.”
“Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.” When the little woman left the dressing room, Emily stepped back and made a final appraisal. The garnet fabric added a glow to her cheeks. The rounded yoke was trimmed with narrow white lace and tiny mother-of-pearl buttons, as were the leg-of-mutton sleeves, and the skirt fell gracefully over her hips. She straightened her collar, and then stepped into the main room of the shop.
One spark from McClanahan’s eyes told her what she wanted to know. “What do you think?” she asked as she turned in front of him. “It’s awfully dressy, but I suppose I could wear it—”
“How soon can you finish the alterations?” Matt asked the dressmaker.
“In about an hour. All I have to adjust is the hem.”
“Fine. We’ll take it.” He focused his full attention on Emily, gripping his lapel to keep from pulling her into his arms. She’d turned heads at the Golden Rose in a simple pink gown, but in deep red, Emily Rose Burnham glimmered. “It’d be perfect for a ball or a Christmas party, but I hope you’ll wear it sooner. You can’t forgo your social obligations forever, Miss Burnham—and your father wouldn’t expect you to stay in seclusion all winter,” he added for the dressmaker’s benefit.
Emily nodded, glancing toward the woman at the counter. Mrs. Andersen had made most of her clothing for years, but showed no sign of disapproval because she’d agreed to such a bright color after supposedly being in mourning for so long. “I’ll go change then.”
She hummed as she removed the lustrous dress, oddly pleased at how dainty she looked in it. Plainer clothes had always seemed more appropriate at the ranch, and her frilly underthings were a secret she enjoyed keeping from the men she dealt with each day—until McClanahan came along. But the way Matt’s lashes had lowered when he first caught sight of her convinced Emily that a change was in order. She was, as he’d said, a wealthy young woman of influence, even if society seldom saw her. Perhaps her more tomboyish attire was suitable only at the Flaming B, now that she was almost nineteen. Emily stopped humming to listen to the conversation in the shop.
“…has always looked lovely in browns,” Mrs. Andersen was saying. “And this cocoa with the fawn stripe has been quite popular this fall.”
“How would it look made up like the one she had on?”
“Very flattering, sir. Perfect for daytime functions or—”
“Leave the lace off that one. She’ll be more likely to wear it.”
“Yes, Mr. McClanahan.”
“For this blue dress, though, I’d like lots of ruffles,” Matt continued. “And instead of a collar, give it a neckline with some scoop to it.”
There was a pause. Emily tugged her blouse on, trying to think of a way to give McClanahan a piece of her mind without offending the seamstress. Of all the nerve, assuming he could—
“Emily does have flawless skin, sir. But no proper young lady would be seen wearing…I—I’m certain Mr. Burnham would send the dress back, if he were—”
“How much do I owe you for the three gowns?” Matt said in a low voice. “I’ll pay you for them right now.”
What must Mrs. Andersen think? Emily fumbled with the buttons on her skirt then bustled into the shop. “Put the dress on my account, as usual,” she said in the calmest voice she could muster.
The seamstress scowled in confusion, looking from Emily to Matt. McClanahan smiled indulgently as he glanced at her bodice. “I think you need to check the mirror, Miss Burnham.”
Emily glanced down and then stalked back to the dressing room, flushing furiously. Her blouse was gaping open between the top button and her waistband, and it was all she could do to get it fastened, she was so flustered. Meanwhile, McClanahan was covering his tracks with a honeyed voice that made her blood boil.
“The blue one’s for a costume party. Won’t Emily make a stunning Southern belle ?” he said in a conspiratorial tone.
“Well, now that you mention it—”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t. It’s to be a surprise for her birthday.”
Stray tendrils of hair dragged on her collar, but Emily left them hanging. Recalling Viry’s teachings on etiquette—and who she was—she walked seda
tely out to the front counter again. She smiled at Mrs. Andersen, ignoring Matt. “I appreciate your understanding about this matter, and I’ll look for your bill at the end of the month.”
The dressmaker nodded demurely. “Certainly, Miss Burnham. The garnet satin should be ready in about an hour, and the others—”
“The red one’s all I ordered,” Emily said with pointed innocence.
“And whenever you need anything else, perhaps for the upcoming holidays or a special occasion, you just let me know.”
“We certainly will, ma’am,” McClanahan said with a boyish grin. He opened the door and let Emily precede him out to the sidewalk, chuckling as he read the storm warning in her fiery amber eyes. “You look terribly fetching in red, rosebud. Instead of just picking the dress up, why don’t you change into it before we go to dinner at—”
“I ought to cancel the damn thing, but someone’s already stuck her with it once.”
McClanahan glanced at the shoppers strolling around them, and back to the young woman striding angrily at his side. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting to—”
“And you’re overstepping yourself, Mr. McClanahan. I can certainly afford to buy nice clothes, without—”
“I don’t think all of Colorado Springs needs to hear this,” he said as he steered her toward a deserted alley. When only the backs of the buildings surrounded them, he let her shrug out of his grasp. “Emily, I never
implied that you were short of money. You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?”
Emily glared. “You certainly weren’t whispering to Mrs. Andersen. I’ve known her most of my life, and now she probably thinks I’ve taken up with some decadent—Romeo—who’s been hanging around at the ranch while I’ve been too weak to leave my bed. A Southern belle? A neckline with some scoop to it? Really, McClanahan.”
Matt leaned against a building and crossed his arms, smiling patiently. “I can just see you sittin’ on the lawn, sippin’ a julep,” he drawled. “All that luscious skin just a-temptin’ the young lads who—”
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