Travis shrugged again, not so carelessly this time. “It’s not something I like to talk about…” He ducked his head, his eyes sliding away from hers as he spoke.
“No,” Eve agreed instantly, feeling contrite. He was obviously sensitive about the incident. And it wasn’t any of her business, anyway. “I’m sorry I—”
“It’s real embarrassin’ when the bull gets the best of you that way…seein’ as how it reflects so poorly on my standing as a rodeo champion an’ all,” he drawled, giving her a sly, tongue-in-cheek look from under his thick, gold-tipped lashes.
It took her a moment to realize he was teasing her, a moment in which she stared up at him, blue eyes gaz ing directly into brown from less than an arm’s length away. A moment in which she forgot the need to be on guard with this man.
“There was even some talk of taking away one of my buckles,” he said with mock peevishness.
She couldn’t help but smile at the look of indignation on his face. He smiled back and lifted his arm toward her.
She stiffened and her smile faded. Her fingers fisted in the fabric of her nightgown.
Pretending not to notice her reaction, Travis tossed his shirt onto the back of the rocking chair and took a step closer, deliberately invading her space, deliberately trying to overwhelm her with his much larger presence.
Eve stood her ground and lifted her chin, bracing herself for what she knew was coming.
He advanced another half step, bent his head and…sniffed. “You sure do smell nice,” he said, and straightened away from her. “Is that jasmine?”
Eve blinked in confusion; she’d been sure he was going to kiss her. “Uh, yes. Jasmine.”
“Thought so,” he said, well pleased with the success of his ploy. The trick—with a cautious woman or a skittish mare—was to make her feel the power of his presence and his strength without giving her a chance to feel truly threatened by it. He wanted her watching him, focused on him, tensed for fight or flight—and then be required to do neither. It would confuse her, unsettle her and, ultimately, rouse her curiosity while calming her fears. She had to learn that he wasn’t going to hurt her, then she would relax and begin to trust him.
He sat down in the rocker, making himself even less threatening by putting himself below her eye level. He began to tug at his boots. “That was some selection of songs the girls picked this afternoon, wasn’t it?” He chuckled and shook his head bemusedly. “Who’d have thought Willie and Waylon singing ‘Good Hearted Woman’ would qualify as wedding music?”
“Laura told me they picked it because it was one of their father’s favorite songs,” Eve said, watching as he struggled with the tight-fitting footwear.
“And ‘Papa Loved Mama’?” he asked, flashing a quick, playful smile up at her.
That got another smile out of her. A small one. Despite the sentimental title, that particular country song was about adultery and vehicular homicide carried out with an eighteen wheeler. “I’m sure none of the girls had any idea what that one’s about.”
“Let’s hope,” Travis said and looked up at her through his lashes, gifting her with his best, least threatening, good ol’ boy grin. The one that all the la dies said made him look as sweet and harmless as a gaptoothed kid. “How ‘bout giving me a hand with these?” he asked.
“A hand?”
He thrust one booted foot toward her. “Just give a good hard tug on the heel.”
Eve bent over and gingerly tugged on the heel of his boot. It didn’t budge.
“You need more leverage,” Travis said helpfully, motioning with his hand for her to turn around.
Eve nodded. The expression in her exotic eyes was still watchful, but no longer wary or unduly suspi cious. She was finally beginning to relax a little. He watched her turn around, bend over from the waist and carefully gather the skirt of her voluminous cotton nightgown up between her legs. He grinned at the sight. Obviously, she had no idea what kind of a devious scoundrel he really was.
“Okay,” she said, motioning for Travis to slip his foot between her thighs. When he did, she grasped his heel in both hands and yanked—hard—before he’d had time to brace himself. The boot flew off of his foot and out of her hands, skittering across the hardwood floor. He slid forward on the slick wooden seat and the rocking chair tottered backward, thudding against the wall. They both froze and looked toward the alcove where Timothy slept—Eve with just a glimmer of hope in her eyes; Travis with trepidation. The baby didn’t stir.
Travis let out his breath. “What say we take it a little easier on the next one?” he suggested softly as he resettled himself in the rocking chair. “You take hold—” he slipped his booted foot between her legs “—but don’t pull until I tell you,” he said as he placed his unbooted foot against her backside. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Eve croaked, fighting the urge to jump forward, out of his reach.
He began to push, steadily, slowly. Eve pulled. But the boot was tight, and it didn’t help that Travis had flexed his instep to keep it from sliding off too easily. “Keep pulling,” he encouraged her and snuggled his sock-clad foot more firmly against the rounded globes of her buttocks. She definitely had a world-class ass. It was softly curved, fleshy, firm, flowing out from a trim waist, tapering into long, slim legs. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on it. “Here it comes,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. He relaxed his foot inside the boot and gave an extra little push.
Eve stumbled forward but managed to hang on to the boot this time. Travis rocked forward in the chair, hooked an arm around her waist, and hauled her back into his lap. She tensed, instinctively trying to spring up from his lap before she could tell herself not to. He tightened his arm easily and held her where she was, reaching around her with his other hand to pluck the boot away from her and set it on the floor.
“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and crooning. “Just relax, Eve. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know,” she said. And she did know. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not intentionally, anyway. She forced herself to lean back in his embrace.
Travis wasn’t fooled by her acquiescence. Part of what had made him a top rodeo champion was his ability to gauge mood and intentions from subtle physical signs. He could tell when an animal was sick or scared or mad, reading the flick of an ear, the tilt of a head, the tenseness of the muscles beneath the skin as easily as another man read a newspaper. The process wasn’t much different with a human being and though Eve leaned back against him in seeming acceptance, he could tell she was far from relaxed. Her slender back was ramrod stiff, her hands were curled too tightly around his forearm, which was wrapped around her slim waist. Her muscles quivered with tension.
Apparently, neither his lethal cowboy charm nor his clever diversionary tactics were going to work with this woman. Maybe a plain statement of his intentions would clear things up and make it easier for her.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Eve. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said softly, unknowingly echoing the words he had spoken to her in the kitchen the day before. “And that’s a guaran-damn-teed promise. You can call a halt whenever you want to,” he assured her, confident that that would never happen. No woman had ever called a halt to his lovemaking once he’d actually gotten started. “How far we go, how fast, is entirely up to you.” His voice was low and soft, his words whispered into the tangle of curls over her ear. “If you want to postpone this until we know each other better, that’s fine with me, too,” he lied gallantly.
Eve was tempted to take him up on his offer. Very tempted. But no matter what he said to the contrary, she knew turning him down on their wedding night could do irreparable, irrevocable damage to their marriage before it even began.
“I’m not afraid of you. I’m just nervous, is all. And I’m pretty sure waiting will only make it worse,” she admitted. “I want to do it—” She almost said get it over with. “Tonight.”
“Are you
sure?” Travis murmured. “I don’t want to rush you into anything.”
“I’m sure,” Eve said firmly, and waited tensely for what he would do next.
Five seconds ticked by in silence.
“Well, then?” he prompted.
Eve realized that he meant for her to take the initiative. Steeling herself to do what she knew she must, she shifted around on his lap, trying valiantly to ignore the rock-hard erection pressing against her bottom. Slowly, cautiously, she lifted her hands to set them on his bare shoulders.
He smiled at her encouragingly, still waiting, watching her with that intense, focused look she was already beginning to realize was as much a part of him as his blond hair and his rogue’s smile. Unable to bear the scrutiny of that look at such close range, she closed her eyes and tilted her head, offering her lips for his kiss the way she had done in the judge’s chambers.
But he surprised her again.
Instead of claiming her mouth, he bent his head and gently nuzzled the soft underside of her jaw. “Damn, you smell good,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her throat as he spoke. “You feel real good, too.”
He squeezed her waist with one hand, kneading the supple flesh through the thin cotton of her nightgown for a moment before sliding his palm down to ride the lush swell of her hip. She was a sweet, delicious armful. Soft. Fragrant. Arousing. And as of that afternoon, every last luscious, satiny inch of her was his. All his. Just the thought had him hard to bursting, wanting to pull her nightgown up and slip his hand between her legs, claiming what she’d given him the rights to. Common sense told him she’d bolt if he tried it. You didn’t mount a mare until you’d prepared her to be ridden; it was the same with a woman.
He lifted his other hand to Eve’s hair, brushing back the fiery curls as he nuzzled his way up the side of her neck to nibble delicately at her ear, and then down again, to that soft, sensitive place where the curve of her neck melded into her shoulder. He opened his mouth there, tasting her, and felt her pulse jump wildly in response. He smiled against her skin and nuzzled lower, cupping her shoulder to hold her in position while he rained soft, butterfly kisses over the delicate white skin of her upper chest, above the scooped neckline of her nightgown.
She held herself absolutely still, like an unbroken mare sometimes will when the saddle is placed on her back for the first time and she hasn’t quite decided what to make of it. But he heard the catch in her breath, felt the rapid beating of her heart beneath his lips, sensed the almost infinitesimal backward tilt of her head to give him freer access. He pushed her a tiny bit more to ward passion, letting his palm glide down the back of her shoulder, under her upraised arm and along her side, coming to rest with his fingers splayed along her ribs and his thumb pressing against the outer curve of her breast.
Her skin rippled in response, gooseflesh rising in the wake of his hand. Her fingers curled against his shoulders, tightening, pressing into the hard, resilient flesh. The catch in her breath turned into a soft, shuddering sigh. But she didn’t move, either to pull away or move closer.
He slid his hand over her breast, cupping it, plumping it up in his palm so that it swelled luxuriantly, then bent his head lower and pressed his mouth to the rounded mound of succulent female flesh he had revealed. She gasped then, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath that ended in a whispery moan. Satisfied that she was ready for the next step, unable to wait any longer, Travis lifted his head and pressed his mouth to hers.
He ran his tongue over the seam of her lips, seeking entrance, and she gave it to him, obediently opening her mouth to his tongue, expecting—wanting—to be ruthlessly plundered. But he tasted her delicately, skimming his tongue over the polished surface of her teeth, sucking at her plump lower lip, dipping lazily into the honeyed warmth of her mouth, skillfully coaxing her into giving him the response he wanted.
She moaned softly, fretfully, and her hands slid slowly, almost unwillingly, inch by inch, from his shoulders to his nape until, suddenly, her fingers were entwined in the silky strands of his hair. Only then, when she seemed to want it as much as he did, did he thrust his tongue into her mouth and give her the kiss he craved with every fiber of his being.
It was a rapacious kiss. A ravenous kiss. A greedy, giving, shockingly intimate kiss that overwhelmed her overwrought senses. His mouth possessed hers completely, hotly, tenderly, seducing her with its sweetness. His arm behind her back was like a steel band encased in the softest velvet. It cradled her. Encompassed her. Sheltered her. The hand on her breast was gentle and fierce at the same time, soothing her desires while rousing them to a fever pitch. She felt devoured by him. Wholly desired. Utterly adored. Worshipped. Loved.
Alarm bells went off in her mind, a cacophony of discordant sound that had her pushing frantically at his shoulders and yanking her mouth away from his. He pulled back immediately and stared down at her, confusion and concern written in his face.
“Did I hurt your he murmured, alarmed at the possibly that he might have been careless enough to cause her any pain. He knew his own strength and was usually careful with it, but something about his woman drove him right to the edge of control.
“No…no, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just…I…” But she didn’t know what to say. Make love to me but don’t love me? Don’t try to make me love you?
“It’s just what?” he demanded gently.
“Nothing.” She slid one hand to the back of his neck and tried to pull his head back down to hers. “It’s nothing.”
But Travis wouldn’t let her get away with it. He stared down at her for a long moment, his eyes hot and searching, his heart still pounding, his breathing ragged and uneven. And then something he saw in her wounded, wide-eyed gaze turned him cold. He straightened and his hand dropped away from her breast.
“I don’t appreciate being made to feel like a rapist,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “If this wasn’t what you wanted, all you had to do was say no.”
“No. I mean…I do want it—you,” she amended, thinking to placate him. “I do. It’s just—”
“Don’t lie. You want me about as much as you want a sharp stick in the eye.” He pushed her off his lap. Keeping a hand on her arm to stop her from moving away, he stood. “I’d like to know what’s really going on here, Eve. Why the act? I said I’d wait until you were willing.”
“I’m willing now,” Eve said, determined that it wouldn’t be she who set this marriage off down the wrong road.
“Yeah, well, there’s willing and there’s willing. And I’m sure as hell not willing to make love to a woman who’s going to lie there hating every minute of it. And hating me, for making her do it.”
“I don’t hate you. I don’t know you. I just—”
“That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? You don’t know me. And that makes you nervous and a little bit afraid.” He reached up and touched her cheek, gently, with the back of one finger. “I told you I’d wait until you were ready, darlin’. I meant it.”
“And I told you I’m ready now.”
“Ready to what? Do your duty as my lawfully wedded wife?” he guessed shrewdly. Shaking his head, he said, “That’s not good enough. I don’t make love to a woman unless she wants me as much as I want her. I can wait.”
“You’ll wait forever, then,” Eve warned him, forced to be brutally honest in the face of his stubbornness. “I don’t have it in me to want any man that way.”
The look he gave her was almost comically incredulous. “Now who went and told you a damn fool thing like that? A woman like you…” He shook his head in patent disbelief. “Hell, darlin’,” he drawled, “a woman like you was made for lovin’.”
“I don’t want to want any man that way,” she said fiercely, clarifying it for him. “I won’t.”
“You don’t want…” He let go of her arm and stepped back, staring down at her in confused frustration. “Why in hell did you marry me, then? Why in hell would you marry anybody if that’s the way
you feel about it?”
“You know why. I told you why. Because I need security for my son.”
“Were you raped?” he asked gently, thinking that might explain her reluctance. “Is that it? Is that what makes you think you’re unable to respond to a man? There are people you can talk to, you know, even in a town as small as Sel—”
“No. No, it’s nothing like that. I’m not unable to respond to a man, I’m just…” Her hands fluttered between them as she struggled for the words. “I just can’t let myself go.” She didn’t dare to let herself go. “I can’t respond the way you so obviously want me to, is all.”
“Because you don’t know me well enough to let yourself go,” he agreed, still intent on finding a reason.
“Because that’s who I am,” she said fiercely. “And I honestly don’t think that’s going to change, no matter how well I get to know you.” She reached out and put her hand on his arm in an act of entreaty. “I’m your wife,” she said. “And I’m willing to accommodate you. Can’t that be enough?”
Travis stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown another head. “Accommodate me?” he repeated, shocked by what she had said. He was the acknowledged heartthrob of Selina, Texas; a four-time PRCA National Bull Riding Champion, the best-looking, sweetest-talking, most-sought-after cowboy on the rodeo circuit and she—“You’re willing to accommodate me?” he said, outraged.
“Within reason,” she stipulated.
“Damn, that tears it!” With the quickness that had made him a champion, Travis reached out and pulled her to his bare chest. “You want to accommodate me?” he growled furiously, insulted, indignant and just plain damn mad. “Fine! You can accommodate me!”
He plunged his tongue between her lips and ravaged her mouth, heedless of her wants or needs. He slid his hands down her back and gripped her bottom, pulling her tight against the straining front of his jeans and ground himself against her.
Luck Of The Draw Page 8
