Regan [The Sisters O'Ryan 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Jenna Stewart

  “No,” he said in so low a voice she almost didn’t hear. “I’m not deservin’ of that.” He faced her. “I’m not deservin’ of your interest.”

  “You have it, nonetheless.” For a brief moment they looked at one another, the horse slowly walking on. Regan heated from the inside out, seared by Seth’s smoldering gaze.

  Seth spoke first. “Whoa, whoa, horse!”

  Jethro stopped and then whipped his mane with a sharp shake of his head. He cast the humans a glance, then, disinterested in the fury of emotions taking place on the buckboard, bent to snatch a quick snack from the choice vegetation along the trail.

  “I appreciate your kind words, Regan.”

  When he said her name, “Re-gan,” with that rough, Texan drawl, her insides melted. Desire rose like the eagle she had seen that morning soaring into the sky. She wanted him. If she saw even the slightest hint in his eyes that he felt the same, she would act. Society forced women into niches, first as daughters under the thumbs of their fathers, then as wives under the thumbs of their husbands. The restrictions were the same yet different. She had played both roles, and now, here in the West, she was out from under both impediments. She was her own woman, free to do as she pleased.

  “They’re more than kind words. They’re heartfelt. They’re deep.” Very deep. Her heart stuttered. A fiery yearning came to life, like a snake uncoiling, twisting from between her legs right up to her throat. She could barely breathe. The need to touch him, to kiss him, to consume him overwhelmed her.

  Regan angled toward him on the seat. She removed her right glove and slid her hand up his arm, purposely gliding over his left elbow, past the hard muscles of his shoulder and around to his nape. Gently, she tugged his head.

  “Regan, think. You can’t want this,” he whispered with what sounded like a note of desperation. “I’m a damag—”

  “If you say ‘damaged man,’ I’m going to scream.” Instead, she kissed him.

  * * * *

  God almighty! The sweetness of her lips burst on his tongue like a blackberry on a hot Texas summer day. Her scent invaded his nostrils, the clean smell of soap and a subtle floral bouquet that could be a dab of perfume. His head spun with the smell of her, the taste of her, his desire for her, and the sheer madness that came with knowing he was kissing Regan Stone. That she had kissed him. How could that be?

  His throbbing cock, hard as a rock, fought his trousers for freedom. If he didn’t stop this right now, he wouldn’t be able to. He tore his lips away. “Regan, we can’t do this. Your husband—”

  “Is dead, may God bless him. I’m alive, and so are you. Do you want me, Seth?”

  “Yes.” He spoke without thinking since he had never been surer of anything in his life. He wanted her, yes. Should he have her, did he deserve her? No. “God yes, I want you.”

  “Then…” She rose to meet his lips again.

  He didn’t resist. Dropping the reins, he trusted the horse to stay put. The wagon bumped forward and then stopped dead.

  Testing her resolve, he brushed his tongue across her lips, and she opened. He thrust inside, conquering her mouth, taunting her tongue. She moaned and pressed her breasts against him. Her nipples jabbed the bodice of her dress and the fabric of his shirt. He wanted them in his mouth. He wanted to run his tongue over the pebbly nubs and suckle her like a babe. He wanted to crush her to him and feel her tits scrape his bare chest as he plowed the furrow of her lower lips and dipped into the deep well of her cunt.

  How could he do all he wanted using only his right arm? He couldn’t. Did he want her enough to expose the stump that had once been his arm? Did he want her enough to risk her disgust when she saw him as he really was? No need to worry about that now. He was clothed and intended to remain that way.

  Using his upper arm muscles, he held her firmly with his left, controlling not only her movement but her very breath. Angling his head, he moved his mouth over hers. She kissed him back with equal fervor. He knew the moment she submitted. Her body sank against him, her heartbeat matched his. Breath for breath, tongue thrust for thrust, their bodies slid into a synchronization.

  “Unbutton your dress,” he whispered. “I need to feel your skin.”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned away from her and watched as she followed his instructions. Her hands shook, but she obeyed. With each inch of skin she willingly revealed, his desire grew.

  He edged the dress away, exposing her neck, luscious, smooth, and white, then her collarbone. The soft round top of her breast came into view above her chemise. He used every bit of willpower to keep from ripping the remaining buttons and feasting on her bareness.

  “Such a pretty dress.”

  “I have to see the banker or I would have worn something more plain.”

  “I’m glad you wore this. I’m glad you’re dressed your best for him and are half-bare for me.”

  “Do you want me to take off more?” Her voice held a breathlessness that set his heart to racing.

  “I want you naked. Naked and glassy eyed with need for me.” Where had he found the words? He’d never said anything like that to a woman before. He’d never wanted a woman as much.

  She rose. The lap rug fell to the floor of the buckboard, her dress twisted around her ankles. Half sitting, half stumbling, she fell onto his lap. Her lips sought his.

  This time she took charge, exploring his mouth while his hand slipped beneath her chemise to touch and then hold her breast. Her nipple fit into his palm, hard and rough. He kneaded the tender flesh of her tit. Finally, unable to hold back any longer, he bent her back on his half arm and took her breast with his mouth, through the fine linen. In seconds the fabric became transparent from his hot breath. His tongue flicked her nipple, red as a raspberry with just as much texture. He bit her lightly, enjoying her gasp of surprise. She held his head to her, arched her back, and invited him to take more.

  Oh, his cock ached, throbbing with need. He reached to the hem of her dress where it hung loose and rubbed her lower leg, just above her leather boot. Then he found her calf, muscular from the weeks of walking to arrive in the West. Her stocking was smooth as silk, and he realized it must be silk. She was a lady, after all. A garter held it snugly on her thigh, but he passed it by, moving over her satiny-smooth skin to find the treasure he sought.

  At last, he reached the center of her heat. The scent of arousal rolled off her in waves, escaping the confines of slip and dress to fill his nose. Her undergarment, damp and warm, gave no resistance when he ripped it off. Instead of the shock he might have expected, Regan merely groaned and flexed her hips up to meet his fingers when he pulled the thin material barrier out of the way.

  Wet. She was so wet. His fingers slipped and slid along her lips, and he fit two digits into her passage easily. If her husband died outside Cheyenne, then she had been without a man for a few months. He wanted to be the man to break her long sexual dry spell. The way she freely gave of herself told him their coupling would provide a great deal of pleasure to both of them.

  He sucked her tit and stroked her pussy, running his thumb over her clit. Regan killed him by writhing on his lap, saying without words that she wanted more. He gave it to her. He crooked his fingers and rubbed the secret spot he knew from experience that women loved, all the while circling her clit with his thumb. Lightly biting her nipple, he sent her over the edge.

  Her pussy gripped his fingers, and cream coated his palm. She trembled on his arm, holding his head to her breast so tightly he couldn’t have escaped if he wanted to.

  Suddenly she went limp. Seth rested his head on her breast while he calmed himself. With little effort, he could swing her around, lift her skirts, and nestle her on his raging erection. From her response to his touch, he knew he could make her come again, and maybe a third time, before giving himself some much needed relief.

  Bringing her to a sitting position, he removed his hand from beneath her dress. Her eyes shone bright. She tilted her lips into a saucy
smile. They were red and swollen from his kisses. No woman had ever looked more beautiful. Using his middle finger, he painted her mouth with her pussy juices. She stared into his eyes, licking his finger and then taking it into her mouth to suck.

  She was beautiful, yes, but a seductress such as he’d rarely met. Never would he have imagined a wild tiger lurked beneath the exterior of the woman he met briefly on their trip west. Even without the knowledge, he’d been attracted to her immediately, the reason he’d ignored her after his initial greeting and concentrated on David Stone. Had he known she held fire like this, he wouldn’t have been able to think about what to say to her husband.

  “Seth?”

  “Hmm?” If she kept moving, he’d have to take her off his lap or rearrange her onto his cock. He longed to do the latter.

  “Let me see it?”

  “What?”

  “Your arm. I want to see your arm.”

  His erection deflated immediately, and he turned cold. “Why?”

  “It comes between us. I want to see what concerns you so much.”

  He shifted her to her place beside him on the buckboard. He stared ahead, seeing nothing. “Is that why you let me touch you, as a bribe?”

  She swung on him. “No! How can you say that? You have no idea, do you?”

  “About what?”

  She buttoned her dress as quickly as her fingers could move. Her lips formed a thin line. With economy of motion she removed her hat, smoothed her hair back into place, and pinned the hat back on. “Never mind. I think we should be going now.”

  Misery filled him. The answer to his earlier question rang clear. Did he want her enough to bare himself to her? No. “I can’t show you. I hope you understand.”

  Having checked her clothing as best she could, she finally looked at him. “I thought you might have feelings for me. If they aren’t wealthy, most women have very little of value to give a man. I exposed all that I hold precious to you, my body and my trust. When you are ready to trust me, I hope I am still free and interested.”

  A chill ran through him. “You said it. You gave yourself to me, maybe not in a full way, but in spirit. A part of you belongs to me.”

  “Je n’appartiens à personne. I belong only to myself.”

  First she pierced him with her coldness, and now she turned her learning against him. “You know what I mean. No other man should touch you as I just did.”

  She flounced on the seat and half turned from him. “You should remember that you aren’t the only man in my life at the moment.”

  There it was, just as he thought. She and Hay were suited for each other, suited for a future. He was good for only a quick, flirtatious moment in the buckboard with a horse looking on. He swallowed his frustration, hurt, and pride, and picked up the reins.

  “Git on, boy!” Jethro cast Seth a glance over his shoulder, took a last munch of grass, and continued down the trail.

  “Just so you know,” he started, “I thought all along you and Hay were well matched. He’s a good man. You could do a lot worse, and not much better.”

  “Yes, I thought the same,” she murmured. “Of both of you.”

  What did that mean? No matter. He knew where he stood now. Every so often on their silent journey into town, Seth reached into his pocket and ran his fingers over her linen panties, still damp from her moisture. That would have to keep him going until they completed the well and he moved on.

  Chapter Five

  Hiram Barker stepped out the back door of Barker’s Hardware, his beefy face creased with wrinkles. “Hello, Mrs. Stone. How are you today?”

  “Mr. Barker, how nice to see you.” Regan cast a quick glance over her shoulder at Seth, watching with careful attention as Barker’s men loaded pipe for the well into the back of the wagon. She hoped he wouldn’t give away the show when Mr. Barker asked after the “couple” he sent out to help her on the farm. Then again, she’d rarely known anyone who hid his feelings as well as Seth. “How is Mrs. Barker?”

  “She’s fine, thank you. I’ll tell her you asked after her.” He pointed his chin at Seth. “I see you hired the couple I sent out?” He lowered his voice. “I wasn’t sure about the man, having one arm and all. But I thought the woman—Fannie, or Francis or something, wasn’t it?—would be of some help around the house and in planting a garden.”

  Regan stiffened. “Seth is very capable, and Francis is a pleasure to be with. Thank you for thinking of me.”

  “Not at all. Happy to do it.”

  “I’m much obliged, Mr. Barker.” With the stealth of a cat on the prowl, Seth appeared at her side. Regan feared he had heard Barker’s comment about his arm, but his face held a pleasant expression. “It’s real fine to be workin’ for someone as special as Mrs. Stone.”

  Barker’s mouth dipped into a frown. “Mrs. Barker and I worry about you out there all alone, Mrs. Stone. You’re too far from town, by half, and secluded in those hills.”

  “There’s no need. I was content before but am happy now for the company. Perhaps I can get the farm up and running.” She gestured to the back of the wagon. “This well is a big start.”

  “We’re loaded now, ma’am,” Seth directed at her. “We just have to stop at the grocer’s.”

  “Everything there should be boxed and ready to load, Seth. Goodbye, Mr. Barker.”

  “Don’t forget we’d love to see you in church on Sunday, Mrs. Stone, and for dinner afterward.”

  Regan smiled and waved, avoiding addressing the invitation as Seth expertly guided the wagon away from the hardware store. With the thoughts she had regarding Seth and Hay, church might be where she needed to be, but not where she wanted to spend her Sunday mornings. Lately, when checking on the men as they looked for water, her mind turned to what it would be like lying under one of them. Holy mother of God, I need to douse myself with cool water. The devil himself has me.

  Her heart already knew Seth when he appeared at the farm like magic. Seeing him again deepened her feelings. What she hadn’t counted on was Hay.

  Handsome as sin and twice as fun, Hay brought memories of home, her past, her upbringing. Like her, he came from money, had a good education, and understood and appreciated the arts. Witty and of a pleasant nature, he made her laugh. With him, she found companionship the likes of which she would have had in Asheville. Marrying Hay would have assured her a place in society and made her father happy.

  If she had met him a year or two ago would she have been drawn to him? Probably not. She had wanted Davey with a perverse stubbornness that surprised her and everyone else in her family, possibly because she loved him but more likely because her father so strongly disapproved of the match.

  She had been wrong to marry Davey. A few days out of St. Joseph, that fact hit her like a sack of flour though she would have been loath to admit it. But she knew without doubt that her estimation of Seth and Hay was true. Because of that, she feared neither man would consider the idea crouching closer each day to the front of her mind. In truth, she barely credited it herself.

  Coming west freed her as a woman, providing the opportunity to explore who she was and what she was made of. She had been a spoiled child. Perhaps she still was. A year ago she knew beyond a doubt she wanted Davey. Now she knew she wanted Seth. Or maybe Hay. Would having just one of them satisfy the wild longing stealing into her thoughts and dreams? Maybe, just maybe, the West was wild enough for the biggest of dreams, the most passionate of desires.

  Seth wanted her. She wanted him. But would he want to be part of a trio? Would Hay? Her head spun with the very notion.

  * * * *

  Hay spent an interesting and fruitful day alone at the farm. Seth had disliked the idea of going into town, or rather he hated the idea of going into town alone with Regan. Whatever he’d found in the woman—and Hay sensed some of it himself after a few days in her presence—the man had it bad.

  He spent the first hour or so in the bunkhouse, penning a letter to his father. He described the
magical section of Oregon where the Stone farm was located, as well as the trails he and Seth had taken to reach there. He told about the game they’d hunted and which they’d seen and left alone. In lyrical terms he explained the mountains and rivers that held more furred creatures than trappers could capture and told about unknown species of flora. He asked about his mother and sister and closed with deepest regards for the senior Lawrence’s good health. Then he folded the paper and placed it at the bottom of his writing desk along with the dozens of other letters home he’d never mailed.

  A sense of despondency washed over him. “This will never do,” he muttered to the empty room. “‘Our virtues would be proud if our faults whipt them not, and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherish’d by our virtues.’” He smiled, not because of the quote but at Seth’s surprise if he knew Hay cited Shakespeare even when alone. “He talks to that damn horse. I’m allowed to use whatever verse I feel like.”

  Rising, he strode to the cabin, deciding to try to get a feeling for Regan. Curiosity urged him to her bedroom where secrets would be kept, but he fought invading her private space. Instead, he stood in the open doorway, reasoning that if she had minded his seeing her room, she would have closed the door.

  A silver-framed daguerreotype rested on a table beside the double bed. Four unsmiling women surrounded an equally unsmiling older man. Irish looks tied them together, and the age similarities among the girls marked them as sisters. A colorful hook rug lay on the floor, and a coverlet with quilted flowers lay over the maple spindle bed. Flowers in a crystal vase sat on the chiffonier.

  Hay stepped back to soak up the atmosphere of the kitchen and living room. A china press revealed fine porcelain. When a woman died, her good china often went to her oldest daughter. Is that where Regan gained these dishes? No older woman had been in the daguerreotype. Like the bedroom, the main living space was tidy and cheerful.