Her knees gave out. “Oh.”
The right corner of his gorgeous mouth tipped up. “Anything else you want to know?”
She shook her head.
“Good.” Stepping down into the street, he switched his grip to her waist and swung her down beside him. There wasn’t a thing improper about the way he did it, but everything in her snapped to vibrant, yearning attention. She couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth. “Where are we going?”
His arm came around her waist. “Home, so I can deal with your hysteria.”
She planted her feet so hard dust rose up. “I am not hysterical.”
“Trust me, you want me stewing on the fact you’re hysterical rather than the fact that you have just, for the third time in twenty-four hours, humiliated me.”
His arm tightened and he propelled her forward. The satchel bumped awkwardly against her knee. “Me? Humiliate you? You’re the one who took off in the middle of the night.”
“For a damn good reason.” He steered around Homer and Brian where they sat outside the now quiet saloon. “Morning, gentlemen.”
“Morning, preacher.” The only greeting they gave her was a reproving glare.
She glared right back. “For your information, he’s the one in the wrong.”
Homer spat tobacco juice to the side. “You don’t say? The preacher?”
Brad didn’t slow down for the conversation, forcing her to yell over her shoulder, “Yes!”
“I don’t think they believe you,” Brad grunted, as he waited for her to step back onto the high wooden walk. “Must be your reputation is worse than mine after all.”
That stung. The church loomed before them. She blinked rapidly to keep the tears out of her eyes, not wanting him to see. One got past her control. She rubbed at it with her shoulder. Brad would choose precisely that moment to look down.
“Shit.”
He reached for the doorknob of the church door. She braced her feet. With a simple heft, he popped her off the ground. In the space of a heartbeat, they were inside. The dark interior was cool compared to the heat outdoors, the sudden dimness blinding. Evie only had a second to register the place was empty before Brad hefted her up onto the small table just inside the door. With a push of his hand he tumbled her back. There was barely enough time to catch her weight on her elbows before her skirts flew up over her face. As she fought to push the material aside, Brad’s hands smoothed up the inside of her thighs. Her breath lodged in her throat. With a frantic look at the door, she gasped, “What are you doing?”
His drawl was as deep as his touch was potent. Last night had trained her in many things, including what that low rumble meant. His fingers flirted with the slit in her drawers. Inner muscles contracted in delight before relaxing in anticipation. “Curing your hysterics.”
She shoved the skirt down, managing a swat at his head before she had to brace herself again. The table rattled. Brad chuckled. “For the last time, I’m not hysterical.”
His “I disagree” was muffled under the folds of material. The rasp of his morning beard against her inner thighs stole her argument. The instant his tongue touched her flesh, hot and moist, fire licked across her nerve endings, racing up her spine, spreading to her breasts, raising goose bumps, anticipation, before plunging back down to gather in her core. Her nails scraped across the polished wood as he dragged her forward. The satchel hit the floor with a loud thud.
Another pass, another gasp. “This is the cure for hysteria?”
She was sore, but he was tender, laving her gently, finding those spots he’d trained to respond to him last night, stimulating them, her. His shoulders wedged beneath her thighs. “Only one known for the female variety.”
It was only natural that her legs draped over his shoulders, that her ankles crossed, that her knees spread wider. Natural that she gave him greater access. Even more natural that he took complete advantage of it.
Cotton tore again as he made room for the press of his mouth. The church door rattled under the breeze. She almost jumped out of her skin. From the corner of her eye the cross over the altar loomed.
“We’re going to hell for this.”
His tongue slipped between her folds in a leisurely pass. “It’ll be a fun trip.”
“You’re angry at me.”
“Getting less annoyed by the minute.” His tongue laved, lips kissed, teeth nipped.
She gasped under the searing bolt of lightning that shot deep. “Someone could come in.”
“Then you’d better pay attention and get over your hysteria fast, because I’m not stopping until you do.”
The door shifted again. Dust motes drifted in the thin beam of light. She knew how they felt. Ever since she’d met Brad she’d been floating along, subject to forces she didn’t understand. Still was, because despite the fact that she just knew somebody would come in that door and catch her with her legs spread and her husband kneeling between them, desire outgrew caution. “Someone will see. It’ll be humiliating.”
The cool silk of his hair slid up her right thigh as his mouth pressed against her left. There was a slight suction and then a sharp stab of pleasure, which left her gasping and clutching his head to her long after he ended that particular kiss. “No more humiliating than my friends thinking I’ve got a penis the size of a smidge or the whole town thinking my wife wants a divorce because I didn’t satisfy her in bed.”
“No one thinks that!”
“The hell they don’t.” He didn’t sound angry. Why didn’t he sound angry? Working his hands under her buttocks, he lifted her to his mouth, each word a heady invitation to the joy only he offered. “Now, I want you to concentrate on coming for me.”
“I can’t,” she gasped, her eyes locked on the door.
His tongue flicked over that high point at the top of her mound that held all the sensation in the world. Desire shot through her again like lightning across the summer sky, flashing and flickering.
He rubbed his chin against the flesh he’d so recently kissed. Lightning turned to fireworks at the delicate scrape. “Then I guess I’m going to have myself a long, leisurely lunch.”
Another breath-stealing pass of his tongue. “Oh God.”
“God’s not going to help you here, Evie. I’m all you’ve got to hold on to, so give me what I want. Give me those sweet little cries as you come.”
She didn’t have a choice. Where before he had been gentle, now he was voracious, a predator intent on devouring his prey, stalking her response, tracking every catch in her breath, herding her desire into a tight ball that pulsed and expanded with each lap, each nip, adding the rasp of his beard, the edge of his teeth, until she was twisting on the table, pulling him closer with her legs, trying to get the pressure where she needed it, craved it. “Brad!”
“Right here.” His fingers slipped inside the aching emptiness of her pussy, first one and then another. “Come, now.”
She did, reality splintering away on the next thrust, hurtling her out of herself into the wildness beyond.
It could have been seconds or minutes later that she became aware of her surroundings again and blinked. She was facedown over the table. The weight of her skirts were piled on her back and her legs dangled off the edge, her toes just touching the floor. The table creaked as Brad’s hand came down beside her cheek. As the palm flattened on the smooth surface, his cock pressed intimately. Her muscles clenched. With her passion satisfied, she was once again aware of the precariousness of their location. She closed her legs, trapping the hard ridge of his cock between.
“Brad . . .”
A hot sting spread through her right buttock in a burning heat. “Open for me.”
She reared up. Her hair fell over her face as she tried to look over her shoulder. “Did you just spank me?”
A foot kicked hers apart and she lost her leverage, falling forward over the table. “Yup. And if you play your cards right, I’ll do it again.”
She didn’t know if she wanted h
im to do it again. “We can’t do this.”
“Too late.” The small, sweet sting came again, but this time the heat went deeper, lingered in her womb before spreading to her clit, and she had her answer. Again was shockingly good. “This is already happening.”
And it was. In a slow steady glide, his cock parted her swollen tissues. The burn was delicious, the mixture of pain and pleasure almost too much for her mind to absorb. Her muscles clamped down. Brad grunted. This time he didn’t stop at one spank. There were two, three, four, and with every spank came the pulse of pleasure, the mesmerizing prelude that melted her resistance until she couldn’t remember why she’d been fighting.
She pushed back. “Oh heavens.”
The next spank came hard and hot on the heels of the previous, ripping through her resistance as the force of the following thrust shot her forward again. The table hit the wall. His thighs hit her buttocks, his cock a depth she didn’t know was possible. Her shriek was little more than a tangle of sounds. He didn’t back off, just held himself there, as his big body came over hers. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back. His lips grazed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, the line of her jaw. “More?”
Oh God, she couldn’t take more. He was so deep. She shook her head.
He growled. “Yes.” His mouth closed over the chord of her neck, sucking hard. “All of me, Evie.”
Everything in her responded to the primitive declaration, rose to the challenge. The tendons in her neck strained to improve the angle of his kiss, the muscles in her thighs struggled to push her hips higher, her pussy ached to stretch wider, to take that last inch . . .
A knock came at the door. “Evie?”
Oh dear heavens. Her mother! She tried to twist away.
Brad held her firm. The door rattled, hit something. “No.”
His foot, she realized. He was holding the door shut with his foot. She tried to remember how big his feet were. He pulled out, the thick length of his shaft caressing every nerve along the way, and she gave up. They had to be big enough. He forged inexorably back in, the force dragging her clit across the edge of the table. She bit her lip on a small cry.
“Yes,” he muttered, tilting her head back a fraction more, watching her expression as her muscles rippled around him. “Take me just like that.
“My mother—”
“Will have to wait.”
The knock at the door came again. Pearl called, “Are you all right?”
Oh God, she didn’t know. She couldn’t do anything but sprawl passively on the smooth table while Brad rode her hard and fast, forced to accept her pleasure as he chose to give it, able to do nothing, each entry a jolt to her senses, every withdrawal a mournful loss. The table flicked her clit like a hard finger, the burgeoning ache building to unbearable heights. His hand left her hair. She collapsed forward. His forearm cushioned her fall.
Brad’s next thrust was so hard she bit down on his arm and screamed—so close, so close.
“Son of a bitch.”
The curse was little more than a hiss of breath. His weight left her back. His hand fumbled between them and then something thick tested the point of their joining. His thumb?
“Tell your mother ‘just a minute.’ ”
She shook her head. There was no way she could manage speech.
“You don’t tell me no, Evie.” For once she didn’t want to argue. All she wanted—needed—was for Brad to give her just a little more.
“Just a minute, Ma.”
“Are you all right?”
Brad’s thrusts grew shallower, faster.
“Yes. Just give me a—” His thumb swirled, slid higher, pressed. Another scream built as a dark pleasure swirled through her. She held it back and choked out, “A minute.”
Above her, Brad commanded, “Now, Evie.”
Her world ruptured. Brad swore and pulled out. The door rattled. Hot liquid splashed on her buttocks, spilled between.
His seed, she realized with an erotic shock. She rubbed her hips in counterpoint to his shallow thrusts. His mouth brushed her ear. His thumb pierced her that first tiny bit. “Next time, I’ll take you here.”
She couldn’t help herself, she pushed back into the sensual tease. “Yes.”
Brad swore. Stepping back, he pulled her up. Her skirts fell about her legs. Catching her face between his hands, he kissed her hard, before growling, “Let your mother in.”
She could only blink uncomprehendingly as he turned on his heel and strode away.
Nine
SHE WAS GOING to kill him. She was going to learn to shoot a gun, and she was going to kill him. One bullet at a time until the darn thing was empty, Evie decided as she watched her husband stride, with his usual arrogance, down the narrow aisle to the back of the church. The door vibrated against her foot as her mother pounded with more urgency. Brad skirted the shadowed altar, his black clothes rendering him all but invisible as he moved from light to shadow. There was an ease to the blending that fed her irritation. He was entirely too good at disappearing.
The door swung inward. Evie braced her feet, using her weight to push it back, understanding why Brad had placed her here, but if he thought giving her the opportunity to control when her mother gained entrance was going to make up for anything, he had another think coming. She still had to face her mother with the last remnants of her orgasm pulsing through her. And somehow she had to look normal. Damn him.
This time the door hit her back hard enough to bruise. “Evie, open this door right now.”
Evie had grown up with that tone. There was an end to Pearl’s patience and she’d just reached it. One touch was all it took to verify that her hair was past repairing. Before stepping back, she checked her skirts. At least they seemed to be in place, likely wrinkled in the back, but at least the front was not too horrible. She took one breath, two, reached for her hair and jumped back.
“Come in, Ma.”
The door swung open hard enough to hit the wall. Bright sunlight streamed into the dark interior. Her mother’s silhouette—tall, plump, still curvaceous—stood framed by the doorway. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.” Flipping the disaster of her hair over her shoulder, she brushed her hands down her skirt. Sometimes a brave front carried a woman past the embarrassment of the obvious. From the back of the church there came the sound of a door closing. Brad had left, the coward.
Pearl took one look at her and clucked her tongue. “I told you, you can’t go aggravating a husband like you aggravate everyone else.”
“I wanted to see for myself.”
“And now look at you. You’re a mess.” With a motion of her hand, Pearl indicated Evie should turn around. “And did you get what you wanted or did you simply lose your temper?”
“The latter.”
Her mother sniffed and gathered up Evie’s hair. “That’s what I thought.”
“Are you sick or was that disapproval?”
“Just fighting off a cold. I got caught in that downpour last week.”
Finalizing plans for her wedding. Evie sighed. Sometimes it felt like guilt was going to be her constant companion. She glanced back. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Pearl started braiding with familiar efficiency. “I’m going to give it to Millicent, and after that I’ll be fine.”
Evie glanced over her shoulder, struggling with a smile. “What did Millicent do this time?”
Pearl snorted with disgust. “She’s been practicing her recipes.”
Practicing recipes meant interest in a man. Millicent and her mother might be friends but when it came to men, they were also rivals. “The new blacksmith?”
“Don’t you get smart with me, young woman.”
“What? He’s a fine-looking man. Those white streaks at his temples make him look very distinguished.”
Pearl grunted and slapped a ribbon into Evie’s hand. “He can’t be that distinguished if he’s blinded by a fancy dessert.”
; “You’re a beautiful woman, Ma. If you want him, go after him.”
“Don’t underestimate the value of good food to a man.”
Evie turned as best she could, struggling to see her mother’s face. “I also wouldn’t be overestimating it.”
Pearl gave Evie’s braid a tug. “Hold still or everyone is going to be thinking you’ve been cavorting in church, and that you won’t live down.”
Evie was suddenly, vividly aware of all the evidence that said she had done just that. Her thighs touching through the tear in her pantaloons, her swollen lips, the stinging spot on her neck where Brad had nipped her as he’d ordered her to hold still for the thrust of his cock, the faint scent of lovemaking permeating the warm interior . . . Thank goodness for her mother’s cold. Clearing her throat, she agreed, “We wouldn’t want that.”
Pearl took the ribbon from her hand. “Even if it is true.”
The heavy weight of the braid struck her back. Evie spun around, appalled. “How did you know?”
That got her a pitying shake of the head. “Your lips are swollen, your hair is mussed, and you don’t have the look of a beaten woman.”
Evie could only gape.
Pearl shrugged and pulled another ribbon from the seemingly endless supply she always had in her pocket. “I wasn’t born forty-three, Evie. There were times your father and I kept someone cooling their heels while he stole a kiss.”
A kiss. Her mother thought Brad had only kissed her. Some of Evie’s mortification died back, but not much. “You’re not upset with me?”
“I could wish you didn’t enjoy provoking your husband so much, but I’m glad he’s the type to stake his claim with a kiss rather than a fist.”
They really didn’t know Brad at all. The man was too thorough to settle anything with just a kiss.
Promises Reveal Page 14
