She didn’t move as he cradled her, just stared at him, big eyes wide and measuring the veracity in his words. He couldn’t blame her for the doubt. Brushing his lips over her temple, he mentally kicked his ass. A man didn’t come at a virgin crazy with lust. “You’re not going to be in control when it happens, Evie, but you don’t have to worry. I will be. I’ll keep you safe.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
Her lip slipped between her teeth. “What if you forget?”
To stay in control?
The devil’s loose in you boy. I can see it.
He never forgot. His life, as far back as he could remember, depended on remembering. “I won’t. Ever.”
There was a long pause that stretched finer than his control and then her lids dropped and she eyed him from behind the screen of her lashes. “Good.” She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and smiled as he shook first one and then the other arm free. “Because I believe I mentioned I’ve spent a long time waiting for this moment?”
That smile shot past his control and wrapped around his heart, squeezing tightly. In the golden flicker of the lamp, her skin took on a creamy luminescence, her eyes a seductive shadowing, but what held him enthralled was the sheer vibrancy of her personality, which she was letting free tonight. With him. For no other reason than because she believed a promise he’d made kept her safe. Brad touched the tips of his fingers to the edge of her cheekbone. And maybe it did. It was hard to fathom, but Evie really did bring out the decent in him.
“I think we both have.”
I THINK WE both have.
Evie slowed her frantic tugging. The cotton shirttail wrapped around her fingers as she studied Brad’s expression. She had the impression of seriousness, a hint of surprise, definitely wry acceptance, and something soft. That touch on her cheek was incredibly tender. Special to her in the possibilities it presented. She’d accepted that she had Brad’s passion and was prepared to enjoy it, but passion, she’d observed, could be a fleeting thing for a man, something he only held dear until the newness wore off. But tenderness was bigger than passion. Stronger. Tenderness was the first step toward a bond on which she could build. She wrapped her fingers around his wrists, feeling solidness of bone and muscle and a ridge of scar tissue. Tenderness was a beginning.
“Make love to me, Brad.”
If she’d taken a whip to his flesh he couldn’t have reacted more strongly. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. Tracing her hand back up his arm, she worked it between their bodies, skating down the rigid plane of his stomach. “Please.”
His lips brushed her ear as his big body shifted down. “You don’t have to beg, Evie darling.”
No, she realized. She didn’t. And neither did he. That moment of tenderness had given her something to hold on to when that searing, scary, overwhelming passion came back. And it would come back. Brad did not have the look of a man who intended to settle for half measures.
“Promise me something.”
He lifted his head from where he was nibbling on her neck. She missed the press of his mouth. “What?”
“Don’t get mad if I get nervous.”
“Promise me something back.”
His eyes were so dark with passion beneath the rakish fall of his hair that she couldn’t see the blue. He looked like a bandit, an outlaw, a predator, and she was the only game for miles. Having that much desire focused on her should have been unnerving. Instead, she found it exhilerating. “What?”
Tucking his fingers between her neck and the pillows, he pressed gently, arching her mouth up to the descent of his. “Promise me that when you get scared, instead of running away, you’ll sink those pretty little nails into me and hold on tight.”
It was remarkably easy to give that promise. “I can do that.”
His lips touched the right side of her mouth and then the left, featherlight brushes that tormented more than satisfied. “Good.”
He kissed her hard and deep, parting her lips with a gentle nip on her bottom lip, taking possession with a firm swipe of his tongue. After that, all she could do was hold tight as joy, desire, and anticipation spilled through her. He tasted of man, whiskey, sex, and pleasure. He tasted of him and faintly of her. It was shocking. It was heady. She wanted more.
Against her stomach, his cock throbbed. It felt harder than before. Bigger. She worked her hand between them, under the waistband of his pants. The sharp contraction of his stomach muscles eased her way. Her fingertips brushed smooth, hard flesh.
With a shake of his head he broke the kiss. “No.”
“But I want to know.”
“And I want this to last.”
She made note of the want. So much want just waiting to be unleashed. “What can I do?”
“I already told you, practice your sighs of pleasure.”
His hand cupped her breast. The pressure was divine. The ribbon slid against the side in a sultry caress. With two tugs, he freed her nipple from the intimate bondage. At first there was nothing, but then sensation came back, starting with small tingles that soon turned to darts of fire that flickered over her skin, stealing her breath. “Oh.”
Against her stomach his cock throbbed. Above her his chuckle drifted. “That will do, too.”
Languor chased the fire through her body. While her emotions pulled into a knot of eager expectation, her muscles relaxed in preparation. Hooking her ankles over the back of his calves, she squinted through the shadows concealing his chest. Was that a scar? She wished she was wearing her spectacles. She touched the faint depression two inches above and to the right of his nipple. It felt like a scar—thin and long, with an ultrasmooth center. Above it was another; this one was round with puckered edges. As she swept her palms over his broad shoulders and down his back, she felt more rough places that disappeared to smooth. More scars. How had he gotten so many? The wet heat of his mouth closed over her ultrasentative nipple, searing the question from her mind. Dear heavens, that was so good. How had she not known this was going to be so good? Bliss snapped her up into the pleasure, the suction . . .
A high-pitched sigh whispered around them—hers. She switched her grip to Brad’s shoulder, holding his mouth to her, wanting more, needing more. Prepared to fight for it, if necessary.
It wasn’t necessary. With a growled “Yes” Brad responded to her demand, milking her breast in a smooth rhythm that matched the suction of his mouth, drawing the taut flesh deeper in, coaxing the pleasure from her, yet somehow replacing it with an aching hunger that rippled over her body in a flash of heat before sinking deep to her center. The desire that had so scared her before surged again. Her pussy throbbed in counterpoint to the beat of her heart. Sharp and piercing, it demanded appeasement.
“Brad . . .”
The whisper of his name was all she could manage. For a second she thought he misunderstood the need housed in the broken syllable because he lifted his body away from her, depriving her of his weight. His hand worked between them, touching her thigh in odd movements and then with a grunt, he gave his weight back, coming over her with a smooth flow of muscle, casting them in the intimacy of shadow. Between her legs something broad and hot tucked into the receptive well of her vagina. Pressed . . .
Fear swept through her, passion cooling in a rush. His cock. And from the feel, it was nowhere near the sensible size she had guessed. Digging the heels of her hands into his shoulders, she shoved. “You said you were proportional.”
She might as well have tried to move a rock wall. Brad was all big bones and heavy muscle.
“How do you know I’m not?”
If he laughed she would brain him with the lamp. His cock was still tucked tightly against her. And despite the fear in her mind, her body issued an invitation by softening and conforming to his shape. “Because there’s no way you’ll fit.”
Switching his grip so his finger and thumb captured her nipple he accepted the unconscious invitation, parting h
er with that broad cock head that felt impossibly big. “I’ll fit.”
Fear, pain, and pleasure. They all blended together. She bit her lip.
“Slowly, just a little bit at a time,” he explained in a drawl hoarse with strain as he pressed forward. “In an easy, sweet hug of pleasure.”
It wasn’t possible. She closed her eyes against the enormity of the moment. Something brushed her temple, her cheek. His lips delivering more of that tenderness she so needed. She held on to it, held on to him.
“Please don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing, Evie darling.” His fingers skimmed down her thigh, making her vividly aware of her nakedness, her vulnerability, her total lack of control. She stiffened. His mouth brushed hers once, twice. His thumb grazed the top of her cleft, worked between, found that spot of flesh that so hungered for the pressure. “I’m pleasuring you.”
And he was, too much. She remembered her promise.
“You’ll keep me safe?” she gasped as desire drove through her in a devastating spike, thrusting her deeper into the maelstrom.
“Always.” The promise flowed into her with her next breath, weaving through the chaos. “Just hold on to me.”
She did—was—with everything she had as his thumb swirled around her clit, creating a haven of pleasure from the burn as his cock spread her.
“You’re in me.”
“Almost.” The guttural response forced her eyes open. His face was honed by passion into a primitive beauty. His eyes glittered down at her. As her gaze met his, his cock jumped within her. It was too intimate.
“No, don’t look away.”
She couldn’t, seeing his pupils dilate as he stretched her farther. For an instant his thumb didn’t move and she felt the inevitability of his complete possession.
“You’re mine, Evie.”
The answer stuck in her throat. Her inner muscles rippled a protest as Brad held himself still, depriving her of the joy he’d promised as he waited. For her, for her consent. Did she dare? The answer came in an airy whisper, “Yes.”
He surged against her, slow and steady, emphasizing his claim with the inexorable penetration that was so much more than sex. So much more important than pleasure. Eyes locked with his, she couldn’t evade the moment, the connection. His thumb swirled as he went deeper than he had before. There was a sharp pain. She bit her lip.
“Your virginity.”
“Then why are you stopping?”
“This is your last chance.”
For what? To go back to a life full of tension, devoid of magic? “I don’t want chances. I want you.”
The circling of his thumb was constant now, creating such sweet havoc that it was almost pain, but a sweet pain that hungered for an explosion that was just out of her reach.
“No matter what, there’ll be no going back after this.”
She cupped his face in her hands, her body as taut as a bow-string under his as she gave him some tenderness of her own.
“No matter what.”
“Shit.”
His fingers closed on her clit, milking it strongly as his hips pressed down. Her orgasm crashed over her as his cock tore through the shield of her virginity. She screamed as her muscles clenched around the incredible sense of fullness. Brad caught the cry in his mouth, muffling the sound, pressing her into the mattress, his harsh curse burned forever into her mind as he wrapped his arms around her and pumped into her with hard thrusts that tossed her higher into the storm before he drove into her one last time, holding himself high inside her as he filled her with his seed.
“Mine.”
She didn’t argue, couldn’t, not when every pulse of his cock caught on the ripples of her climax, spiking it to new, higher peaks. Not when he held her through it all with a sheltering tightness, so tightly she’d have bruises. Not when she’d cherish those because they stemmed from that tenderness she was beginning to understand he held only for her.
As he mated his mouth to hers, she had the strangest thought.
Maybe this marriage wouldn’t be so bad after all.
THE KNOCK AT the door woke him up. Brad glanced over to the moonlit face of the clock. Nothing good happened at four A.M. He eased his arm from beneath Evie’s cheek. She whimpered a protest, but slept on, exhaustion and alcohol taking their toll. He touched the faint love bruise on her neck. He hadn’t meant to be so demanding, but once he’d gotten within her snug little body he’d been almost possessed in his need to mark her emotionally, physically, permanently. As if by doing so it would keep her with him. He shook his head. A woman like Evie wasn’t for him. All he’d have with her was all he’d ever had with anyone. Stolen moments until the inevitable occurred. He’d do well to remember that.
The knock came again. He slipped over to the window, instinctively avoiding the floorboard halfway across that had a tendency to creak. Below, at the bottom of the porch steps, a woman stood looking up, impatience in every line of her posture, her identity hidden by darkness, a blanket covering her head. He could only think of one woman who would interrupt his honeymoon, and only one reason.
Glancing back to make sure Evie slept on, he leaned out the window. “I’ll be right down.”
Nidia nodded. He wasn’t fooled. He wouldn’t have long. The madam did not have an ounce of patience in her voluptuous body. He gathered his clothes and dropped them by the chair. He pulled the covers down Evie’s body. She rolled onto her back, legs splayed. Between them, he could easily make out the swollen folds of her pussy. More proof that when it came to her he had no control. She was going to be raw and sore for a few days. With a hand on her mound he kept her still as he slipped his fingers inside and withdrew the sponge. She frowned and moaned, but didn’t wake. Very sore. He tossed the sponge in the small waste can before wetting the washcloth and cleansing her with the same gentleness. Dropping the cloth back in the bowl, he pressed a kiss on the top of her cleft.
“I’m sorry.”
For a lot of things, but mostly for being bastard enough to steal a bit of the normal others took for granted. Pulling the covers over her well-loved body, he memorized the moment before turning on his heel and leaving it behind. He was an outlaw. Hiding out as a preacher might extend his life, but eventually the hangman would find him, and when that happened, there would be no avoiding his fate.
Nidia was pacing when he reached the porch. She was also alone.
“Where’s Elijah?”
“He is having one of his moods.”
Which meant his demons had gotten to be too much and he’d headed off to ride them out. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
Her laugh was mocking. “I am the madam of the local whorehouse. What could happen to me that anyone would say I didn’t already deserve?”
A lot, but there was no talking to Nidia when she got in this mood. “Elijah’s not going to like it.”
“Elijah is not my boss.”
Maybe, but Elijah took Nidia’s safety pretty seriously.
“Besides,” Nidia continued, “if you would not drop your problems at my doorstep, I could still be sleeping.”
“My problems?”
Nidia shrugged. “She heard you married.”
Brad took a deep breath. Immediately, he was inundated with the scent of roses. Beside the porch, a lone rosebush thrived, one of the blooms just opening. He imagined trailing it down between Evie’s breasts, waking her with the kiss of the bloom against her lips. Evie would like that rose.
“Shit.”
“Brenda’s words were harsher.”
He just bet.
“She is disturbing my women. You must handle this.”
“It’s my wedding night.”
“That is not my concern.”
With a sigh, he tore his gaze away from the rose and settled his hat on his head. “Then I guess that makes it mine.”
Eight
BIRDS WERE SINGING. Humid morning air wafted through the window, bringing with it the subtle fragrance o
f roses. Without even opening her eyes, Evie knew it was going to be a beautiful day. She eased onto her back. Memories of the night drifted through her mind with the same sweet, lazy flow of the breeze. Desire resurrected in a hard clench as she remembered the rasp of Brad’s tongue, the way her body opened to accept the thrust of his cock, the delicious havoc of making love on her sensitive inner muscles, her senses, her emotions. Her mother had definitely been right. An experienced husband between the sheets was nothing to shake a stick at. Rolling over, Evie reached out, expecting to encounter warm muscle. Instead, all she found were cool sheets.
Through the divide in the curtains, she could see the sun was just clearing the horizon. It was early. What could he be doing? She listened, straining to detect any sound of Brad’s presence within the house. There was no aroma of coffee brewing. No sound of movement, just that particular sense of emptiness that told a body they were alone. Grabbing Brad’s pillow, Evie hugged it to her chest, dread pursuing satisfaction. This wasn’t good. Common sense dictated that a satisfied man didn’t sneak out of his wedding bed before the crack of dawn. He’d reached for her four times, and she’d thought that meant he was pleased, but maybe he’d just been hoping she’d improve?
The more Evie thought on it, the more the latter seemed likely. A well-pleased man did not sneak out of bed like a thief in the night. Remembering the things she’d whispered, the way she’d responded to his touch . . . She buried her face in the pillow. Had she really been that wild? Done all that? No wonder Brad wasn’t here. He was probably horrified.
She heaved the pillow at the door. The soft thud it made as it hit the wood was not the least bit satisfying. Neither was the subsequent plop when it hit the floor. Both were too soft, too delicate for the violence seething inside. Even if Brad found her lacking in that area of marriage, she deserved better than being left to figure it out for herself. And before her morning coffee, no less.
She kicked the covers back, threw her legs over the side of the bed, and hopped out. Outside the birds still sang, but her smile was long gone. Brad had no right to do this. Dipping a clean cloth into the pitcher, she took a quick bath, her anger mounting with every minute that passed. Even if she’d been the biggest disappointment in the world, he owed her better than this. Opening her satchel she took out a clean blouse and skirt. As her nightgown drifted to the floor, she kicked it. It wasn’t enough. The dang thing had gotten her into so much trouble. Making her believe that this marriage just might be a place for someone as unconventional as her. But despite all Brad’s big talk, she must have done something to upset him, something to convince him she wasn’t the wife he wanted. He just hadn’t had the guts to let her know, the coward. He’d just run out. And when he came back, he’d probably have a perfectly logical explanation for why he’d left like a thief in the night, leaving her to wonder and come up with her own reasons, which were probably much closer to the mark than the drivel he’d present.
Promises Reveal Page 12
