The Emperor's New Clothes

by Victoria Alexander

  Why couldn’t she compromise? After all, she didn’t have to be completely unclothed. What a brilliant idea. What a clever solution.

  What a relief.

  Where on earth was she? He’d have this stick whittled down to nothing if she didn’t reappear soon.

  Still, he supposed a few more minutes or so made little difference. They had the entire afternoon, and no Aunt Lorelie anywhere in sight to spoil it. He had all the time in the world. Or at least, all the time he needed.

  Now, she probably looked ridiculous.

  It was a compromise, all right, but it definitely lacked something—aside from clothes, that is. And she felt nearly as awkward as she had without anything whatsoever on. She sipped her wine and considered her options. No indeed.

  Shoes alone simply wouldn’t do it.

  All things considered, the afternoon was progressing quite well.

  Another glass or two of wine and Ophelia would, no doubt, spill all of her secrets. He could see it clearly in his mind’s eye.

  First, he’d forgive her, after extracting a promise that she would reform her questionable ways. Next, he’d tell her of his love. And finally, he’d ask her to marry him, sealing the proposal with, at the very least, a kiss and, hopefully, much, much more.

  He grinned. And maybe he’d even teach her to fish.

  She scrambled back into her dress, leaving her shoes and corset and all the other articles respectable women wore under their clothing these days lying in a lacy heap. She cast a regretful glance at the pile of unmentionables. The real countess did have such lovely undergarments, but they wouldn’t do her a bit of good right now.

  The obvious answer, although why she didn’t think of it earlier escaped her, was to discard everything but her dress. That way, once the seduction was in full swing, when the point came for him to rip her clothes from her body in a frenzy of passion—and she did hope there would be a frenzy of passion—he would find no need to battle his way through garment after garment. Goodness, seduction took a great deal of planning.

  She lapped the last drop of champagne from her glass. Normally, champagne affected her senses a great deal, but today she barely noticed it at all. What she noticed quite distinctly was the sensual feel of the bare whisper of her summer frock against her unprotected flesh and the wonderfully sinful sensation of freedom from the lack of undergarments.

  Determination squared her shoulders. The curtain was rising on Act Two, and her big scene lay directly ahead. The scene where the virgin actress pretending to be a widowed countess entices the cowboy mayor into an amorous adventure.

  She could hear the applause now.

  Ophelia sailed into his view with all the grace of a milkweed dancing in the wind. The breeze molded her dress against her. Lucky breeze. He caught his breath. It must be a trick of the light. For a moment, it looked like she had nothing on beneath the frock.

  “Are you ready for my lesson?” She cast him a flirtatious smile, and it was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms.

  “Lesson?” What was she talking about?

  “Fishing?” She nodded at the forgotten stick in his hand.

  “Oh, yeah.” He shrugged. Fishing was the last thing on his mind. Was there anything beneath that dress? “But I don’t have a string. You really need a string for a fishing pole.”

  “Does that mean you can’t teach me…to fish?” She gazed at him, her eyes wide, a slight pout on her lips. Lips that were too tempting to resist and made to be tasted and crushed…

  “Tye?”

  “I…” Why was his mouth so dry again? “I guess not.”

  “Oh, dear.” She heaved a sigh of disappointment and glanced at the stream. At once her expression lightened. “I have it. We can still have our lesson.”

  “Can we?” The lesson he wanted to teach her had nothing to do with fishing and everything to do with the curve of her breast straining against the confines of her dress and the—

  “We’ll just…um…act.”

  “Act?” Oh, he wanted to act all right. He longed to play the role of the charming rogue to her version of the merry widow.

  “Yes indeed.” Her eyes sparked deep, emerald fire. “I’ll be the fish.” She gathered her skirt up above her knees. Lord, she’d taken off her shoes and her stockings. What else didn’t she have on? “And you can try and catch me.”

  She laughed and ran toward the stream. Tye stared for a moment as if frozen to the spot. He knew exactly what would happen if he followed her. Ophelia splashed into the creek with all the abandon of a water sprite. Damn. It wasn’t suppose to happen this way. First, he had to get the truth; next he’d declare his love; then, he’d—what the hell.

  Tye hopped on one foot, then the other, struggling to get off boots that were abruptly far more difficult to remove than they’d ever been. Lord, what if she changed her mind before he got there? He started to unbutton his shirt, then stopped. What if he’d misunderstood her intentions? Hah. Only a dead man could misunderstand Ophelia’s intentions. Still, it’d be better to let her take off his shirt. That’s it. An experienced woman like Ophelia would probably prefer that.

  He hooked his thumbs on his belt loops and strode casually toward the creek. With every step, he forced himself to remain in control. Women liked men who were in control. Besides, it wouldn’t do to let Ophelia know she had him right where she wanted him. He stopped by the edge of the water and lifted a brow. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m a fish, Tye.” Ophelia laughed and waded in farther. She had reached the middle of the creek. Not that it was very big. Maybe twenty feet wide at best, and for the most part fairly shallow. “And I thought you were a fisherman,” she teased.

  “I love fishing,” he murmured. His gaze traveled along her exposed legs, and he remembered how those limbs had felt beneath his touch. Even though she held them up, the bottoms of her skirts were wet and clung to shapely thighs.

  “Aren’t fishermen supposed to catch fish?” She grinned and twirled around in the water.

  He returned her grin and bent down to roll up his pant legs, her carefree laughter and the sound of the creek ringing in his ears. He wanted this woman in the worst way. He’d just have to revise his plans, that’s all. First, seduction, then confession, then—

  A scream and a splash cut through the air. Tye jerked upright, his heart in his throat.

  Ophelia had disappeared.

  Without hesitation he jumped into the creek, promptly slipped on a rock and fell. He pulled himself up, spitting and choking, and staggered blindly toward the spot where he’d last seen her, crashing straight into a sputtering, coughing body. He clutched at her, and they both tumbled back beneath the water with a cry and a curse and a splash. Again he struggled to the surface and shook the water from his eyes. Before him stood a wet, shimmering vision. A water fairy, a nymph, a goddess.

  A quivering, seething goddess.

  “What in the hell were you trying to do?” Fury flashed in her eyes. Anger rang in her voice. And where was her accent? “You almost drowned me.”

  “Wait just a minute, Ophelia.” He glared with irritation. “It isn’t deep. Besides, I was trying to save you.”

  “Save me? Hah! I’m soaked to the skin. My dress is ruined.” She spread her arms out and glared. “Why, just look at me, Tyler Matthews, I’m a mess.”

  “Well, Countess, you’re the one”—he glanced at her sodden dress—“who went in the stream”—clinging to every curve and valley—

  “—in the…um…first”—molding so tightly to breasts that heaved with every angry breath that he could clearly see the points of her nipples hardened by the cold water—

  “—um…place and”—the fabric plastered against her midsection to reveal the cleft of her navel—

  “—I…um…only thought…um”—the material adhering to her thighs and the point at which they met leaving nothing to the imagination.

  “Damnation, Ophelia, you don’t have an
ything on beneath that dress!”

  “Oh, dear!” She glanced down in surprise, and crossed her arms over her chest. A charming but pointless gesture. A becoming blush washed up her face. “I forgot.”

  “You forgot?”

  “I forgot.” She sighed. “It was suppose to be a surprise.”

  He pulled a shaky breath. “It’s a surprise all right. Why?”

  “I wanted to make it a little easier for you.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes indeed.” She nodded, and droplets of water flew off her hair like glistening crystals caught in midair. “When I seduced you.”

  “When you seduced me?”

  She laid a hand on his chest and gazed up into his eyes. “Do you want to be seduced?”

  “Do I…” His heart caught in his throat and his blood pulsed, and he stared down at her into eyes so green and intense he wanted to lose himself in their depths. Desire surged through him, and he hardened with the need to make this woman his. This woman he loved. He pulled her hand from his chest and kissed the palm, never taking his gaze from hers. “Only by you.”

  “Well, then,” she sighed up at him, “kiss me, Tye.”

  He gathered her into his arms and met her lips with his. The heat of her body permeated his through the layers of wet clothing between them, the thin, sodden fabric nearly nonexistent. He could feel every delicious curve, every delightful inch of her. Her body melted into his, and he wondered how long he could keep from ravishing her right here in the middle of the creek.

  Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled him tighter against her. Her mouth opened, and his tongue swept inside to pillage and plunder and claim her forever. His breath joined with hers, and he wondered if she was simply the most magnificent woman he’d ever known or if love heightened all sensation. Or both.

  His mouth explored hers, then slipped away to taste the line of her jaw, and lower to the curve of her neck. She moaned and her head fell back. Beads of water pooled in the hollow of her throat, and he lapped them up as if they were the nectar of life itself. She clutched his shoulders, and he marveled at the sweet taste of her and the urgency that rose between them.

  He bent his head and cupped her breast, pulling the taut, cloth-covered nipple into his mouth. She gasped, and her nails bit into his shoulder. He moved one hand to the nape of her neck, and stared into eyes stormy and dazed with a need that throbbed though every inch of him, and his lips crushed her with the strength of it. His other hand splayed the small of her back, and drifted lower to caress her buttocks and stroke the firm flesh beneath the clinging material. Impatiently, he pulled the fabric higher until he reached the heated flesh of her leg. Slowly, he pulled his hand up the hot, solid length of her until he cupped her bare bottom in his hand. He embraced her softness, and his hand skimmed lightly around her hip to the top of her leg and the silken hair that guarded her womanhood. Gently, his fingers pushed farther until he touched the velvet folds of flesh and more and she gasped. She was slick with wanting, and he stroked her until she sagged against him with a hunger that matched his own.

  She shuddered at his very touch. His hand was so skilled, his lips so knowing, his body so firm and taut against her own. She could happily die under his caress, or stay in his embrace for all eternity. His lips ripped from hers, and again her head dropped back. One hand fumbled with the buttons at the bodice of her dress, and she thought to help him, but even breathing seemed a battle. It took forever or only a moment, and he peeled the wet, garment down her arms and over her hips until she stood before him covered only by aching need and yearning desire.

  He stared at her for a long moment, and she stared back, not knowing what to say, not caring about words. She pushed her wet hair away from her face and waited. He caressed her with a look that shivered through her body and into her heart. Without a word, without taking his gaze from hers, he slipped his clothes off and faced her like a proud warrior or a Greek statue or a flesh-and-blood man.

  She should have been embarrassed. She should have been nervous. She should have been scared. Instead, with a knowledge culled from somewhere deep inside, she knew this was the moment she’d waited for all her life. Here, under the blue sky of Wyoming, with a stream dancing around her legs and nothing but the vast expanse of this land—his land—as witness, she faced everything that would make her whole and real and live in her soul forever.

  The look in his eyes reflected her own. This was more than a mere seduction. She knew it, and so did he.

  “Ophelia?” His voice was strained, as if he couldn’t bear not to have his flesh next to hers. Neither could she. He opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace.

  His body pressed against hers, the rough hair on his chest arousing and tantalizing the sensitive skin of her breasts. His lips met hers with a fierce demand she recognized and returned. His manhood, solid and strong and not to be denied, pushed against her. His body molded to hers as if made for this purpose and this purpose alone. As if made for her.

  Slowly, he pulled her into the water until he sat on the pebbled bottom and she just above him. He pulled her closer and she settled on his lap, the hard, throbbing length of him insistent between them, the water lapping around their waists. Tye cupped her breasts in his hands and bent his head to lavish attention first on one, then the other. Hot delight shot through her, and she ran her fingers through the gold of his hair. As if he knew when she could bear no more, he pulled his head up and locked his gaze to hers.

  “Ophelia?”

  She nodded and bit her lower lip, and he sighed as if he had feared her answer. With a gentleness she should have expected, the hot, solid length of him slid into her with a surprising ease, then stopped as if halted by an unforeseen barrier. Damnation, she hadn’t thought of that annoying virginity of hers. She clutched his shoulder and thrust herself forward, a keen pain stabbing her. She gasped, and he looked at her sharply. She closed her eyes and threw her head back and rocked and the minor pain faded, replaced by an increasing delight. With every move her pleasure grew, shocking and intense. She urged him to a rhythm she’d never known, but a rhythm as familiar as the breath coursing through her lungs or the blood surging through her body or the very beat of her heart.

  They moved together in a play without words, a performance without end, a drama that evoked the essence of life and death and everlasting existence. Two actors in perfect harmony, their roles so entwined neither knew where one left off and the other began. Higher and higher they danced, until their purpose was lost in the sensation and ecstasy and sheer bliss of their joining. And when she feared she couldn’t bear the sweet coil of yearning tension within her another moment without madness or death or joy that transcended anything she’d ever known or ever dreamed, he groaned and clutched her tighter as if he too were dying and she alone could save his life or his soul. She cried out and shuddered with an explosion of a thousand footlights or a million stars, in a stunning release that sacrificed her will and her strength and her spirit.

  They collapsed together into the shallow stream. The creek where Tye’s father taught him to fish bubbled around them, cooling bodies too heated by desire and too spent by passion to move.

  And applause thundered in her ears.

  Chapter Fifteen

  She sacrificed her virtue to him twice more.

  Ophelia and Tye lay on the blanket finishing up the last of Alma’s tasty supplies. Ophelia never would have suspected seduction worked up such a hunger. And such a lack of concern for propriety. They didn’t have a stitch on, and it didn’t bother her in the least. It simply didn’t seem necessary when this golden glow of heady satisfaction and blissful exhaustion surrounded them. Gad, sin was delightful.

  “Bite?” Tye propped his head with one hand, and held a piece of chicken over her mouth with the other.

  “Thank you.” Ophelia’s manner was as polite as if she was at a ladies tea party instead of lying naked on a scarlet blanket in the middle of Wyoming. She took the b
it of fowl as well as the fingers that held it, sucking the last drop of juice from them.

  Tye’s eyes narrowed with desire. The man was truly insatiable. She liked that about him. Liked as well how he looked stretched out long and powerful by her side like an untamed beast. Her gaze ran lazily down the strong, magnificent lines of his body and back to his eyes. His delicious chocolate eyes.

  “Dessert,” she murmured.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said dessert.” She lifted up on her elbow and leaned forward as if to kiss him. Instead, she licked a pie crumb from near the corner of his mouth and slowly drew it between her lips. His eyes smoldered, and she flicked a quick glance lower at the rest of him and trembled with her own rising need. “I love dessert.”

  “Me too.”

  “And I doubt if our clothes are quite dry yet.”

  “Probably not.”

  She giggled. “I will never forget the sight of you trying to rescue our clothes from the stream.”

  He shook his head. “Well, your dress hung up on some rocks, and the buckle on my pants pretty much weighted them down, so those were easy, but that damn shirt.” He laughed. “The current moved it pretty fast, and I was starting to think I’d have to chase it clear into Colorado in my birthday suit.”

  “I would have liked to have seen the reaction of the Community Betterment Committee to that. I can hear them now. Isn’t that the mayor? Surely he’s not bare-bottomed now, is he?”

  He grinned. “I doubt if even Dead End would see the humor in that, and it definitely wouldn’t be funny in Empire City.”

  “No doubt.”

  She could lie next to him like this forever. Just the two of them, with no obligations or responsibilities or demands save those of one body for another. Idly, she ran her hand along the firm, solid planes of his chest. His muscles tightened beneath her touch.

  “Ophelia.” There was a growl of warning in his voice.