Including the real and terrified preacher who’d been fed a story of Hannah’s “mental incompetence” to convince him of the need for the unusual time and place of the ceremony. Hannah snorted—apparently marrying crazy but rich heiresses to ambitious suitors was nothing new among these Brahmin. She’d even signed that real and legal document the red-eyed preacher’d presented for her signature this morning at first light, thinking it was part of the charade.
Then, seeing that Slade had already signed it, she’d asked the preacher when he’d done that. Only then had he divulged the truth, talking to her as if she were a simple-minded harridan. Well, certainly no amount of yelling and screaming from her at that point had convinced the man of her mental competence before he fled the premises, coattails flapping.
That damned Slade had even purchased her ring before the fact. Hannah looked at her finger. A real and hugely glittering diamond. If she could get the tight-fitting thing off, she’d heave it into the pond.
She glanced at the tall clock’s face on her next pass around the room. Three hours. Dudley, his tail tucked between his legs, had left an hour ago. Would Slade never come down? She’d awakened the lout three hours ago. What was he doing? Hannah reached into her brown cashmere skirt’s pocket and pulled out her pistol. She checked the chambers for the tenth time. It was loaded. All she needed was a target.
Where was he? Hannah stomped to the room’s sliding-panel doors and yanked them open, startling the passing Serafina, cloak in hand, into standing stock-still, somewhat like a surprised deer. The thousand-year-old maid hunched her shoulders, clutched the thick garment to her pouter-pigeon chest, and squinted fearfully at Hannah. “I was being quiet, miss. Missus. I swear it.”
Hannah huffed out a laden breath. “I’m not going to harm you. And tell everyone to quit tiptoeing about. Haven’t they ever heard a body yell before?”
“Yes, missus. I mean—no, missus. Not for three solid hours, missus.”
“For God’s sake, call me Hannah. I’m not anybody’s missus.”
“Yes, Mrs. Garrett, ma’am.”
Hannah eyed the maid, screamed out her rage, and wrenched the paneled doors closed again. Death was too good for him!
Turning, Hannah eyed the room, hating everything in sight. Then, she settled on her revenge. Storming across the highly polished wood floor, nearly losing her slippered footing twice, she stepped onto the thick, rose-patterned square of carpet that set off the room’s centerpiece like a river’s island. The grand piano.
Flinging herself down on the piano bench, Hannah banged out her frustration on the ivory keys of the delicately wrought and finely tuned instrument. She played no tune known to man. Instead, her original rendition was simply noise. It was violent-sounding. Therefore, it was good.
Just as she built to a heart-stopping crescendo of a finish, a large male hand, attached to a muscled male arm, reached around her and grabbed her raised hand. Her proposed grand finale ended up nothing more than an anticlimactic, petering-out, one-handed, sickly plinking of the keys.
In the ensuing and blessed silence, the owner of the hand and arm, close enough behind her to be touching her back with his legs, said, “I’ll double my earlier offer of a thousand dollars, if you’ll cease and desist torturing this fine instrument, our ears, and my grandmother’s entire household staff. All of whom have wisely retreated to the summer cottage. The general feeling is I created this beast, so it’s my job to tame it.”
Vowing he didn’t yet know the meaning of the word “beast,” Hannah frowned up her mouth and narrowed her eyes at the big hand holding clawlike onto hers. She tried to wrench her hand free, but succeeded only in feeling his grip tighten. That did it. Snarling like a badger, she turned as best she could to stare up into his … shockingly pale, sickly frowning, squint-eyed face. At least he was restored to his sartorial splendor and smelled of better things than the bottom of an ashtray, a whiskey bottle, and a brothel.
Even though surprise at his state widened her eyes momentarily, sympathy for him died an easy death in her heart. “Take your hand off me.”
“Not until you give me your pistol.”
“So you admit I have good reason to want to use it.”
“The best. Now give it to me.”
“Never.”
“Hannah, I’m not in the mood for games.”
“Games? I assure you I’m not playing any game.”
“Then you actually intend to shoot me?”
“Yes.”
Slade’s face darkened into a storm cloud. “Just give me the damned peashooter so I can talk with you without dodging bullets.”
“You want to talk? It’s a little late for that. We’re married.”
“Right you are. Much to Isabel’s tremendous delight. And Dudley’s laughing sarcasm. And apparently your anger.”
“Oh? My anger’s only apparent? Well, what can I do to make it more obvious? Hmm, let me think.” She raised her free other hand—the one bearing his wedding ring—high above the ivory keys and curved her fingers, preparatory to attacking the piano again. Positioned as it was, stray sunbeams caught her hand, splintering rainbowed light off the gem’s facets, sparkling her and Slade.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her bodily off the stool.
Hannah kicked and screamed, sending the bench and its seatload of music scattering about, like so many thrown playing cards.
“Scream all you want,” Slade breathed into her ear as he fought to gain control of her scratching hands. “We’re—ouch, dammit—totally alone, Mrs. Garrett. And as you so rightly pointed out, it’s too late for talking.”
Hannah stilled instantly, absorbing his words—and their veiled meaning. She then renewed her efforts with vigor, kicking back at his shins, wrenching in his arms and calling him every cuss word and foul name she could remember hearing the cowboys use back home. When the raw verbiage ran together into a blue streak, she smirked malevolently. Until she realized he was hauling her over to the narrow fainting sofa that reposed against a near wall.
“Impressive, my sweet. But words will do you no good. You’re—dammit, Hannah!—mine now. Under my control—if you bite me, I swear I’ll bite you back!—with the full sanction of the—give me that!—law and the church on my side. I can do with you—that hurt!—as I please.”
Slade abruptly turned her to face him and then flung them both down onto the sofa. Every bit of air whumphed out of Hannah’s lungs when his weight landed squarely on top of her. She made shallow gasping noises, like a fish out of water, as she tried to haul air back into her lungs.
Red-faced from their brief skirmish, Slade edged his knee between hers, forced her skirt-tangled legs apart, looked into her eyes … and leered. “Why, Mrs. Garrett, I do believe you’re under me now.”
Hannah stiffened and then began to fight in earnest. For more than ten minutes she struggled uselessly underneath her equally determined husband. Finally, close to tears and wrung-out emotionally and physically, she stilled. And stared up at Slade’s dark and handsome face. He grinned and oh-so-nicely asked, “Are you through, my sweet?”
That did it. “Get”—teeth gritted, the word hanging in the air, she again grappled with him, but he caught her wrists, clasped them in one hand, and held them over her head—“off me, you rotten, snake-bellied, dung-covered—”
“Son of a sway-backed mule. You’ve already used that one.”
Breathing hard, resigned to his weight, and too tired to be angry, she nearly grinned at his drollness, even as she promised, “I’ve got more.”
His eyebrows rose. “Really? I’d love to hear every dirty one of them—especially while I’m making you my wife.”
Hannah frowned up at him. “What did you say?”
“I said I’d love to hear every dirty—”
“Not that. About making me your wife. I signed a paper three hours ago that says I am. And I have on a gold band with a diamond as big as a calf’s head that says I a
m. So … aren’t I already?”
“You did sign the document? Interesting.” He ran his gaze over her face and settled himself more fully in between her parted legs. Eyebrows raised over glittering black eyes, he informed her, “You are already. But in name only.”
Grinning like a satyr, he lay atop her, watching her intently. Hannah met his gaze, raised her Lawless chin a notch and narrowed her eyes. In name only? What was his meaning? Then, it came to her. Her eyes flew open wide and her mouth became a perfect O. “Never!”
He nodded fatalistically. “It will be much more frequently than never. Much more, my sweet.” With that, he lowered his head at a slant and, catching Hannah by surprise, claimed her mouth.
As his firm and practiced lips moved seductively over hers, as his tongue forced her lips apart, Hannah closed her eyes and tried to resist him. She really did. For a moment. But where the spirit defied, the flesh was all too willing. After all, the man was her husband. A whimper, a mewl of defeat, sounded low in her throat. She wanted this. Wanted him. With every part of her being.
She was too honest with herself to pretend this was against her wishes. For if it were, her soft womb wouldn’t already be responding to the hard pressure of him against it. Her mouth wouldn’t be opening to allow his tongue inside to explore. Her arms wouldn’t be going around his neck the instant he let go of her wrists. Her heart wouldn’t be responding to the rapid beat of his, or her hips to the rhythmic thrust of his. She wanted him, yes. But she couldn’t let him. Because if she did, she’d be lost forever.
When he broke their kiss, Hannah breathed out. “Oh, God, Slade. If you do this, I’ll hate you forever.”
A gleam backlit his eyes as he hungrily ran his gaze over her face and jaw and neck. “You already do, remember? You just tell me when to stop. And I’ll stop, baby.”
He waited, staring at her. A slow heat roiled low in her belly. Her breath caught in her throat. He’d never been more darkly handsome. His seductively lowered eyelids, the dusky redness of his face, the moistness of his full lips all inflamed Hannah’s senses. Her pulse racing, she gave in. Defeated. Lost. In love. “Slade, I never—This is—I don’t know how … to love you.”
A look of great tenderness, and perhaps relief, claimed his features. His eyes also reflected his naked desire, his towering need for her. Then he nodded slowly. “I’ll show you.”
With that, he once again claimed her lips, reconquering virginal territory, heightening Hannah’s desire to fever pitch. When she was sure she couldn’t feel anything more, when she was sure the raging flood inside her would break and drown her … he broke off the kiss and pulled himself up and off her.
The rush of air between their bodies fluttered Hannah’s eyes open. Confused, dazed, she pulled herself to a half-sitting position and looked around. He was gone. Dear God, he was gone. Had it been a dream? Then, the room darkened ominously. Hannah swung her legs off the sofa, jerking around.
Slade. He was closing the curtains. Hannah slumped back onto the sofa, flinging an arm over her eyes. For a moment, she’d thought she was losing her mind. Then she realized what she was feeling under her other hand. Exposed undergarments. Eyes widened by shock, she jerked again to a sitting position. Why, her blouse was completely undone. When had that happened?
She looked from her chest to Slade as he swaggered confidently, like the full-grown, healthy male that he was, back to her. Hannah jerked her blouse closed over her exposed camisole.
Slade seemed to know immediately what was wrong. He smiled tenderly and lowered himself to a squat in front of her. He pulled her hands from her blouse and held them lightly in his, resting them on her thighs. Then, he reached up to brush back a wisp of hair from her face. “I won’t hurt you, Hannah.” His voice was low and throaty and alluring. “But we can’t do this with our clothes on, sweetheart.”
When he moved as if to pull himself up, Hannah grabbed at his shirt. “Slade!” He stilled, waiting for her to speak. “Will you … tell me what’s happening when … it’s happening, so I won’t.…” Again she looked down at her other hand clutching his so tightly.
Slade reached out his free hand and cupped her chin, raising her head until she met his eyes. “Your eyes are so blue right now, they outdo the sky. Yes, sweetheart, I’ll talk you through it. Don’t be afraid.” He gently ran his thumb over her jaw. “Are you ready?”
Her gaze still on him, her mouth dry, Hannah swallowed and nodded. Chuckling, he stood up with all the natural grace of a mountain lion, and held his hand out to her.
Hannah looked into his eyes and then lowered her gaze to his hand. Square-palmed. Long-fingered. In perfect symmetry with the rest of his body. It was the hand of a man of the world, a man who commanded respect. A man of power and charisma. A man of flesh and blood, and wants and needs. And right now, he wanted her.
When she took his hand, there’d be no going back. Hannah tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. Here was her last chance. Who was she kidding? There’d never been any question. She reached out her diamond-bedecked hand, placing it—as well as her heart and her life—into his keeping.
He exhaled softly, again as if relieved, and then gently, firmly closed his fingers over hers, making her feel adored, protected, needed. Perhaps loved.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Hannah stood, her hand in his, she allowed Slade to tug her forward as he walked backward with sure and measured steps, stopping only when they were once again on the rose-patterned carpet. Sheets of music crunched under his boots. “You’re so beautiful, Hannah.”
Overcome with shyness, Hannah dropped her gaze to the sight of her hand held in his against his chest. Feeling she was supposed to say something back, she said, “So are you.”
Chuckling, he tipped her head up with his finger under her chin. “I am?”
She nodded, certain that the beating wings of the butterflies in her stomach were creating the heat on her cheeks. “I’ve always thought so.”
“So have I—that you’re beautiful, I mean. Not me.”
Hannah was so grateful for his softly teasing, romantic manner that she could have wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fully. Why don’t you? He is your husband. No, she couldn’t. She didn’t dare. He is your husband. Half terrified he’d laugh at her or frown in scorn, Hannah blurted out, “I want to kiss you.”
A grin lit his face. “Then why don’t you? I am your husband.”
Shocked to hear him repeat her thoughts, Hannah’s eyes widened as she freed her hand from his and backed up a step.
Slade put out his hand, but didn’t touch her. “It’s more than all right for you to want me, Hannah. You don’t have to be ashamed of your feelings.” He grinned teasingly at her. “Did your mama tell you that only bad girls like it?”
Hannah shook her head, watching his expression sober as he heard his own words, his mention of her mother. “No. Mama told me that it was beautiful between a man and a woman”—she looked down—“when they love each other.” She looked up at Slade and suspected that he, like her, was thinking of his father and mother. And of her father and mother. “Mama told me never to be ashamed of my desires and to give myself fully to the man I love. She said nothing else in life matters … if you don’t have love.”
Slade eyed her quietly for a moment. “Words to live by. Sounds to me like your mother was a … a smart woman.”
“Yes, she was.” Hannah stepped up to him and flung her arms around his neck, claiming his mouth with all the hunger she held inside. Slade’s arms encircled her back, his mouth responded to hers. Relieved, Hannah melted against him. He could just as easily have walked away, what with her mother’s memory popping up like that. But he didn’t. And that spoke volumes.
With Slade returning her ardor, Hannah thought no more of problems between them. She instead gave herself up to the sensations that were uniquely Slade. He tasted as good as he smelled, like soap and leather and warm sunshine and bay rum and cool breezes and musky male. Breathing
deeply of him, Hannah tried to press herself more fully against him, wanting his delicious length from lips to toes imprinted with her desire. And with her claim on him.
When she broke her kiss and pulled back, resting her hands on his so-broad shoulders, and looked up into his eyes, she saw herself mirrored in their black depths. And knew she loved him. Now and forever. But before she could say what was in her heart, before she could decide if she would or could say the words, Slade spoke first.
“Hannah, my sweet, I want to see you as God made you.”
She swallowed her words of love in a gulp. “What if you don’t like how He made me?”
Laughing, Slade pulled her to him, placing a smooching kiss on her forehead. “I’ll love how He made you. I swear it.”
“You will?” Her words were as breathless as her emotions. She then looked around them. “Are we—are we going to … do it here?”
He nodded lazily, moving his hands to her hair and loosening the combs. “A bed in a darkened room is but one place for making love.” As her long curls fell, he lay her hairpins and ornaments on the piano and then ran his fingers through the dark tresses.
They were making love. Hannah watched Slade enjoying her hair. Her scalp tingled with the warm pressure of his touch. Making love. She liked that—the notion that two people could meet and make a love that hadn’t existed before. Did he mean all that when he said it? Hannah ran her gaze over his handsome face. His features seemed to be lit with a wondrous something deep inside him. Was it love?
She suspended thought when Slade stepped back and ran his gaze over her, as if assessing how she looked with her hair down. Speaking in a soft, husky drawl, and touching her nowhere, his voice alone inflamed her senses. “The first time I saw you—at the depot—I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You looked so afraid, so innocent. Right then I wanted to take you in my arms and love you.”
Hannah's Promise Page 18
