His Christmas Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch (Spicy Version) Book 9)

by Merry Farmer

  She sighed with longing as their mouths explored each other. Her hands dropped to his back, and she wriggled under him, circling around his arms so that she could splay her palms against his chest. Everywhere she touched him felt as though it ignited. And he knew this was only the beginning. There could be so much more between them.

  He shifted to balance on his knees over her, his hands making quick work of the buttons on her bodice. She didn’t fight him or give him any indication that she didn’t want him as he pushed the fabric aside and went to work on the hooks of her corset. In fact, she wriggled under him, tugging her bodice off and loosening the fastenings at the back of her skirts. Together they managed to make quick work of her clothes, all but her chemise and drawers.

  “I’ll stop if you don’t want this,” he said, his words darker than usual with the force of his need for her. “We don’t have to go any further.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not afraid. You’re not Bruce.”

  A burst of guilty anger hit him. He hadn’t stopped to think that she might be frightened because of her past experiences. He didn’t need to ask if they’d been unpleasant. She’d given him that answer without saying a word. She also proved that the words she had said, that she wasn’t afraid, were true as she reached for the fastenings of his trousers. He sucked in a breath. Ripples of pleasure radiated through him as her fingers brushed over his erection, first through the fabric of his trousers, and then at her direct touch.

  He let out a groaning breath. “Holly, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “I want this,” she assured him. “I want you.”

  Her hands caressed him, drawing him out to where she could see him. It was all he could do to hold still and let her explore. He pushed the waist of his trousers down off of his hips so that she could see and touch more of him if she wanted to. There was a curious light in her eyes as she tested his length, closed her hand around him to feel his hardness. When she began to stroke him with her closed hand, he let out a guttural sound of pleasure.

  He wouldn’t last long if he continued to let her touch him that way. As gently as he could, he pulled his hips away so that she lost her grip on him. Instead, he slipped his hands beneath the hem of her chemise and lifted it up, raking his fingers across her stomach and breasts. It was almost as potent to touch her as it was to have her caressing him. She raised her arms and wriggled so that he could pull her chemise over her head and discard it. With that out of the way, he balanced on one arm and lowered his lips to her breast.

  She gasped as he closed his mouth over her nipple, cradling her other breast in his palm. So many times in the past, he’d imagined that he was making love to Holly when he was with other women, but the reality of her was so much more than he could ever have dreamed of. Her skin was so soft. The sweet, salty taste of her was as heady as wine. He flicked and rolled her nipple with his tongue, pinching the other one lightly, and she gasped and shuddered beneath him. Her hips moved, restless and frantic, telling him she was ready for more.

  She might have been ready, but he wanted to take it slow. He wanted to savor every inch of her. He teased her breast with his tongue and teeth until her nipple was a hard knot, and then he suckled and teased some more.

  “George,” she panted. “So good.”

  A smile flittered across his lips as he switched to give her other breast the same treatment. His body was already urging him on to do more, explore more, reveal more. If she was this sensual as he played with her breasts, he could only imagine how she would react if he shared all of his carnal knowledge with her.

  He rocked back to balance on his knees and let his hands trail down, hooking his fingers in the waist of her drawers as he went. Slowly, he drew his mouth away from her breast, trailing kisses downward and exploring the plain of her stomach and abdomen. He flicked at her belly button with his tongue, then continued downward still.

  As he crossed the line of her waist, taking her drawers with him to reveal more and more, her breathing tensed. He reached a sensitive spot low on her abdomen, and she shuddered. The pressure was building steadily inside of him as well, and he was all too aware of his penis, full and throbbing and straining upwards. The urge to take her was so strong that it required a will of iron to resist and continue his pursuit of her pleasure. He wasn’t above speeding things along, though.

  He circled his hands around her hips, keeping his fingers under the waist of her drawers, until he was able to pull the thin material down over the curve of her backside. He took his time, squeezing and caressing her, fingers reaching toward the juncture of her thighs. She let out a squeak that told him she enjoyed everything he was doing, and indeed, her hands were now bunched in the coverlet. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her nipples still pert and pink.

  He couldn’t wait much longer. In a rush of movement, he drew her drawers down her thighs and moved so that he could take them off entirely. Then he stroked his way down her legs until he reached her knees. It took all of his self-control to move them apart gently and not to thrust them apart like a cad intent on plundering her. She gasped all the same, and so did he when met with the sight of her sex, dark pink and glistening.

  In that moment, he wanted so many things, but first and foremost among them, he wanted her to experience the pleasure she deserved. He stroked his fingertips back up along the tender flesh of her inner thighs, but he didn’t stop there. He dipped the first two fingers of one hand into her silky moisture, tracing the outline of her womanhood. She hummed with pleasured desperation, flinching as though she wanted to both move and stay perfectly still for him. He continued tracing her inmost curves, delving deeper, exposing her more and more. His own breathing grew heavy as he watched his handiwork.

  “George.” She spoke his name like a plea as he circled deeper still, and when he sunk his fingers inside of her, stroking along her inner wall, she cried out wordlessly. One of her hands left the coverlet to caress her own breast. When she pinched her nipple, he was lost.

  He bent forward, seeking out the nub of her pleasure with his mouth. His tongue found her and flickered across the sensitive spot as his fingers continued their work inside of her. She yelped in surprise at the onslaught, and within seconds, her body was shuddering and convulsing around him. Her cries of pleasure continued as her orgasm went on and on. Deep, sensual pride filled him that he was able to make her come so powerfully and for so long.

  When the furor of her orgasm began to fade, he withdrew his fingers and shifted to cover her body with his own. He positioned himself quickly at her still trembling entrance, then slid inside of her with a deep groan.

  She let out another cry as he joined with her. “Yes. Oh, George.”

  He was beyond words, and could only growl with loving possession as he moved inside of her. It was the fulfillment of everything he’d wanted, everything he’d dreamed of for so, so long. He couldn’t hold back. He just wanted to be one with her, fill up every part of her and every part of himself with her. The compulsion to thrust and take her was too powerful to resist, and within no time, he felt the growing storm and tension of passion build and build inside of him.

  At last, it burst like thunder, and he released a lifetime of passion into her. The sensation of pure pleasure, no, pure love unfettered and flowing at last dragged him under as he thrust into her with abandon. “Holly,” he cried, uncertain if he’d actually called her name or if the rush of passion was nothing more than a wordless promise.

  All too soon, the energy drained out of him, and the grip of passion loosened into warm, pervasive contentment. His muscles relaxed a bit at a time until he could barely hold himself above her. That didn’t seem to matter to her. She circled her arms and legs around him, and he collapsed at last, spent in her arms. He managed to roll them to their sides so that he could embrace her as well. Finally, everything was perfect and free between them. He never wanted to let her go.

  Chapter 13

  Did I do the right
thing?

  The first thought that passed through Holly’s mind as she awoke, warm, naked, and snuggled against an equally naked George, was not what she figured it should be the morning after finally consummating her marriage. Not just consummating it. She loved George with her whole heart. He had said he loved her as well. Everything should be right with the world, but she couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that she’d done something wrong.

  Why had George been so quick to forgive her for all the trouble she’d put him through? Truly, she didn’t deserve him.

  At the same time, it felt so wonderful to lie there with him. Neither of them were as young as they once were, but they were both still in the prime of life. George’s body was muscular and fit. It was probably some unique kind of sin for her to be so fond of it, but she was even more fond of the man who inhabited it. That didn’t stop her from spreading a hand across his slowly rising and falling chest, though, or from reveling in the feel of her leg draped over his. In fact, certain parts of him rested against her thigh, sending thrills of excitement through her. She was allowed to enjoy those things, after all. And unlike Bruce, George was tender and giving. He loved her.

  The smile brought on by those thoughts was still on her lips when George stirred into wakefulness. He blinked and rubbed a hand over his face, then turned his head to her. For a moment, a vaguely confused look came into his eyes. The next moment, it was replaced by a fond smile. He rolled to his side, drawing her into his arms and fully against him.

  “Good morning.” His voice was gruff with sleep, but Holly didn’t mind at all. He kissed her, and that made up for everything.

  “Good morning.” She lowered her lashes, not exactly embarrassed to be in that position with him, but feeling suddenly shy all the same.

  He stroked her back, sending shivers up and down her spine. As far as Holly was concerned, they could stay in bed together all day and she would be happy.

  But when she glanced up at him, George’s smile had tightened, and a darker emotion filled his eyes. She was far from being an expert at reading faces, but to her it looked like…like guilt.

  “We’re married,” she whispered, not sure if it was an answer to what she saw in his eyes or a statement to remind himself.

  He took a long time before replying, “We are.”

  They were just two words, but she took them in and started rolling them around in her mind as if they were an entire sermon. Was he reassuring himself? Was he reminding her? Or was he just saying them to echo her? She would have given anything to know what he was thinking.

  Several more seconds passed, each more tense than the next. Finally, George loosened his hold on her and inched away. “There’s so much to do today. Christmas is in two days, and we need to make sure everything is ready.” He twisted so that he could climb out of bed.

  Confused, doing her best not to be hurt by the wall that still seemed to divide them, Holly let herself drink in the sight of him fully naked. He was so well-formed that it took her breath away. She’d never considered herself a wanton, but with her heart aching for closeness with George, all she wanted was to reach for him, bring him back to bed, and explore every part of him.

  “You’re right,” she forced herself to say instead, rolling out of bed herself. “We have so much work to do.”

  She headed for the wardrobe to select clothes for the day. Their clothes from the night before were still strewn around the room. As she chose a new skirt and blouse and tossed them onto the bed, then turned to pick up yesterday’s clothes, she caught George watching her. In spite of everything, a giggle rose up in her throat. He was appreciating the sight of her as much as she had enjoyed looking at him. It made her want to be bold. But before she finished collecting clothes and putting them in the hamper beside the wardrobe, George had turned away and started to dress. He was grinning, however.

  The tangle of grinning, significant looks, and moments of awkwardness continued as they dressed, tidied up the bedroom, then moved into the main room. Holly fixed a breakfast that was more elaborate than it needed to be, but she had to find some way to distract herself from the itchy feeling that there was still something trying to come between her and George. George ate everything she prepared heartily, but there was more that he wasn’t saying, as they discussed Haskell’s upcoming Christmas events, than the things he did say.

  “Katie and Emma were telling me the other day that the money and blankets and clothing they’ve collected for the Cheyenne will be accepted and put to good use,” Holly said.

  “Was there a possibility the Cheyenne would have rejected them?” George asked.

  “A very strong possibility, apparently,” Holly told him. A nagging voice in her mind told her this wasn’t what they should be talking about. They were so close to clearing up everything between them that surely they could discuss that one last block. “The Cheyenne are a proud people. They don’t like accepting help from those who many of them feel are their enemy.”

  “Hmm.” George frowned. “I fear that they might not have any choice before too long. More and more people are moving out to the frontier. So many that I’m not sure it can even be considered frontier anymore.”

  They continued talking about the Cheyenne and the burgeoning West as they finished breakfast and cleaned up. Holly’s back was itching with eagerness to ask George what it was that kept them from being perfectly at ease with each other. It felt like she had the ideal chance as the two of them swept and cleaned the church, but she just couldn’t find the words.

  She had finally resolved to say something, anything, when George called from the back of the church, “Have you seen the donations box?”

  Holly glanced up from the chancel, where she’d been sweeping pine needles and bits of straw from the manger. “It was by the door, where Robbins put it, last night.”

  George stood in the space between the last pews and the door, twisting every which way. “I don’t see it.”

  “I’m sure it’s there.” She left her broom and dustpan propped against the wall and headed to the back of the room. “I know it was there before pageant rehearsal. Katie mentioned something about donations to the Cheyenne. That’s what made me think of them this morning.”

  But when she reached the back of the church, the donations box was nowhere in sight. The pedestal that it usually sat on was in its normal place, but the box was gone.

  “Did you move it somewhere during rehearsal?” George asked, rubbing the back of his neck. His expression was growing more serious by the moment.

  “No.” Holly let out a breath and met his eyes. It was clear that he was thinking the same thing she was. Robbins’s plan to discredit George had been thwarted in front of everyone the night before. There was as good a chance as any that he had taken the box and run on his way out.

  “What should we do?” Holly whispered, still searching the back of the church as though the box would appear and everything would be fine.

  George shrugged and shook his head. “We should report this to Trey at the very least.”

  “We should,” Holly agreed.

  To her surprise, George smiled. It wasn’t a smile that said everything was all right, but rather one that said they could solve the problem together.

  Without another word, they hurried through the church and on through George’s office to the apartment, where their coats and winter things were waiting. It took only a few minutes for the two of them to bundle up and head outside. The air was crisp and icy as they made their way around to Station Street. A train was already at the station, and passengers were climbing off and on as porters rushed around loading and unloading baggage.

  The jail was on the corner of Station and Main Streets, and by the time George and Holly got there, whatever doubts they had about foul play were confirmed.

  “I don’t know how it happened.” Lex Kline, owner of the general store, was already at the jail. So was Russell Smith, Haskell’s tailor. “I didn’t hear anyone break into the
store in the night,” Lex went on. “But when I came downstairs this morning, the till was empty.”

  “Same thing happened to me,” Mr. Smith said. “Not a sound in the night, but this morning, when I arrived at the shop to open up, the suit I had displayed in the window was gone.”

  “Robbins’s donations box is gone too,” George added.

  Trey glanced over the heads of the others, nodding to George and Holly. “And Gunn was by earlier to say someone tried rifling through the hotel’s front desk. But they were out of luck, because he keeps the money locked up in his office at night.”

  “And no one’s getting in there,” Mr. Smith added with an impressed growl.

  “It has to be Robbins,” Holly whispered to George.

  He nodded once in agreement, then told Trey, “Holly and I sent a telegram to Gunn’s friend, Allan Pinkerton, last week. We haven’t heard an answer yet, though.”

  “So you suspect Robbins isn’t who he says he is?” Trey asked.

  “But he’s a preacher,” Mr. Kline said with a frown. “He’s a man of God.”

  “Did you let him into your shop at all recently?” Trey asked.

  “Of course, I did,” Mr. Kline blustered on. “He’s been coming over to give my family religious instruction after supper.”

  Trey and George exchanged a wary look. Mr. Kline seemed to realize what could have been happening. His shoulders sagged.

  “Rev. Robbins was at my place the other day,” Mr. Smith admitted. “He asked to borrow a key to use as a demonstration in a sermon.”

  “You gave Robbins a key to your shop?” Trey asked.

  Mr. Smith lowered his head.

  “Well, we know who the thief is,” Trey said.

  “We should get over to the train station to see if Athos has a reply to our telegram yet,” George said, then shrugged. “It’s not much, but it’s the only thing I can think that would help.”

  “Meanwhile,” Trey said, starting for the door, “I’m gonna go looking for that swindler.”