Ellis deepened the kiss, opening a world of feelings and sensations so amazing she followed every swirl of his tongue, felt every touch of his fingers, wanting to experience each moment to the ultimate fullest.
When his mouth left hers, she rolled her head against the door at how the muscles between her legs contracted with sharp spasms. He kissed her cheeks, her nose and closed eyelids. The trail of his kisses went up and down her neck next. It was divine and heavenly, the way his lips danced along her skin, awakening sensations that had her gasping for air and craving more.
Ellis’s breathing was hard and laborious as his lips lingered in front of one ear. “Constance,” he whispered in such a way the need inside her soared hotter. “This could get dangerous.”
A flash of fear that he’d step away had instincts she hadn’t known existed taking over. She hooked one leg around the back of his knee, tightening her thigh muscles that twitched frantically. “It already is.”
His mouth caught on her neck, suckling her skin as he brought his hip to grind against her center. She felt his arousal, and her body bucked at the connection, meeting his with a forcefulness that had her senses reeling. An inner drive had her yearning for more. She buried her face in his neck, kissing and nipping his skin.
He grasped the bottom of her thigh and lifted it higher. Her body slid downward while he brought his knee up, planting it between her legs. Arching against the door, she heaved for air as the pressure of his knee ignited an inferno inside her tender folds. The fire and desire was enough to drive her mad. She tightened her hold on his shoulders, pressing her body against his as tightly as possible.
His lips found hers again. In between deep, wild kisses, he whispered, “We…shouldn’t…be…doing this.”
The heat of his palm penetrated her pantaloons and played havoc on the underside of her thigh as he gently caressed the area. She shivered at the delectable sensations. “I…know,” she admitted, returning every kiss he gave. “But we are.”
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked in a rush, stealing her lips before she could answer. The intensity of his kisses, of his hands and body, had her tingling from head to toe. Every touch, every kiss, made her want more, need more.
Gasping for air, she responded, “No, I don’t want you to stop.”
Ellis groaned and pressed her deeper against the door. The pressure was intense, heavy and the most wonderful thing she’d ever known. His kiss lasted until she thought she saw stars dancing in her head. He drew his lips away, and rested his forehead against hers.
“I don’t want to stop, Constance,” he said hoarsely. “You know what happens next.”
“Yes, Ellis,” she whispered. “I know what comes next.” Her mind knew, but her body shouted it didn’t. It had never been to these heights, had never craved the things Ellis’s touch promised.
The sigh that left his chest was so thick and mournful she pressed the back of her head against the door. His hand slipped from her thigh, and he gently eased his knee away. Grasping her hips as her toes bumped the floor, he held her tight as he shifted them around so his back was now against the door. He folded his arms around her, creating an embrace that allowed every inch of her body to press against his firm, hard frame.
“We can’t do it here. Not with Angel reading in the parlor.”
Constance rested her head on his shoulder. “No, we can’t.” Disappointed by the knowledge, knowing what he said was true, she groaned. The tidal wave deep inside her raged on, burning and begging for release.
Ellis held her close, running his hands along the length of her hair and along her sides, while kissing the side of her face in a gentle and soothing way. She lifted her head, caught the sincerity in his eyes.
“Shh.” He pressed her head back onto his shoulder. “Just stay right here. Let me hold you.” His hands, now soft and tender, continued, stoking and calming the commotion inside her. As it ebbed, he continued to cradle her in his arms, lightly rocking until the last flame
dwindled into little more than a deep and honing ache. Then he wrapped her in an embrace that was so tender and endearing, tears pressed against her closed lids. She’d never felt so cherished. A profound sigh of contentment flowed easily from her lungs.
Ellis laid his cheek against her temple. “Better?”
She nodded.
His hands ran down her back and cupped her backside, holding her center against his. “Later, when Angel’s asleep, may I come to your room?”
The unsatisfied ache inside her flared like a struck match, ready to rise to the surface again. She lifted her face. The feel of him—hard and pressing against her stomach—told her, but still she asked, “Do you want to?”
His lips twitched with an endearing smile. “You know I do.”
Her cheeks flamed.
He chuckled softly and one hand caressed her cheek. “I want you, Constance, like I haven’t wanted something in a very long time.” There was a glint in his eyes she’d never seen before. She couldn’t read it, couldn’t decipher exactly what it was, but it made her heart beat with elation.
“Then I’ll be waiting,” she whispered. “I’ll be waiting.”
He kissed her again, and this time, his tender actions held so much promise she swayed. The way he smiled, and caught her, had Constance swooning against him and sighing with a great longing.
Ellis held her until he felt her spine stiffen with resolve. His hands shook as he ran his fingers through the long mass of silky hair a final time. Fighting the urge to keep her right where she was, he kissed her temple before he opened the door, and then watched as she glided out of the office as if they’d simply been talking instead of attacking one another in a heated exchange of frantic kisses.
The door closed beneath his fingers, and he leaned heavily against the solid wood. Just as he feared, the heavy hand of reality slapped him as soon as he was alone. What had he done? Furthermore, what had he promised? Threading his fingers together behind his neck, he pressed his tension-filled body into the hard wood of the door. God, he wanted her. Wanted Constance with every ounce and inch of his being.
But it wasn’t right—no matter how strongly he desired her or how willing she was. He’d hired her to cook and clean and educate his daughter, not to satisfy the hunger tearing apart his insides. It had been building, this want that had overtaken him, all day, and watching her hips sway as she’d walked out of the parlor earlier had jolted his desire into mammoth proportions. He’d never craved something so fiercely. Never felt it so keenly in each cell of his being.
He pushed off the door and walked to the window. The moon shone down on the snow-covered earth. A few flakes still fell from the sky, but nothing like earlier in the day when they’d tumbled down with the ferocity of a stampede. His gaze went to the single oak tree that stood inside the small wrought iron fence. He’d chosen that spot to put Christine just for this reason. So he could stand here and look at her.
He grew still. The lingering pain he’d grown so accustomed to was no longer. Hadn’t been there, gnawing at his insides, since he’d awakened after being ill. He’d carried it for years, wanting Christine back. He still loved her. Always had and always would.
The calluses on his hands scratched his face as he rubbed his palms over his cheeks. Pressing his fingertips against his eyelids, he searched for the lost pain, wishing it would engulf his body and ease the throbs pulsating in his britches.
The pain didn’t come, and his body still ached.
Is that why he kept Constance here? Almost held her prisoner—since she could move out to Ashton’s place—because she made him forget?
Frustrated, he leaned against the windowsill. To hell with his needs. What about hers? He couldn’t bed Constance because it wasn’t fair to her. She’d come west looking for a husband, not some cowpoke who’d been without a woman too long. They were a dime a dozen out here. And not what she deserved. She deserved a man to love and cherish her until death—or beyond. His gaze went back to th
e fence.
Running his hands through his hair, he rubbed at his scalp. His brain hurt from all this thinking. “You, Ellis Clayton, are one sorry-ass critter,” he chided aloud. “You are doing exactly what you told the group of men sitting in your front parlor less than a month ago not to do.”
He took a seat then, not behind his desk as usual, but in one of the arm chairs, and hopped the chair around until he faced the fire. There, he stared at the flames, wondering how Constance would react when he didn’t show up in her room as promised.
Nothing good could come of it. He couldn’t marry her. Not that she’d necessarily expect it—though she’d have every right to—but he would. That’s the kind of man he was. Or had been until sparkling blue eyes had led him astray. He pinched his lips together, refusing admittance to the smile pressing forward as her image formed in his mind. It wasn’t her fault. It was his, and no matter how dire his need, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—bed her just to appease himself. Besides, she wasn’t ready for that. Still needed time to get her bearings after all she’d been through. Even though her kisses and body said otherwise.
A log rolled, spitting sparks through the mesh gate. He stretched forward and grasped the poker, but didn’t nudge at the log. Twirling the rod between his fingers, he watched the tiny sparks on the hearth fizzle and become nothing but tiny spots of ash.
What if he did bed Constance, and marry her? There was the chance she’d become pregnant, a very likely chance, the way his body still throbbed. His throat swelled and a raw tightening happened in his chest. She could die in childbirth just as Christine had. His gaze went over his shoulder to the window. He couldn’t take that again. He’d be even more bitter and lonely with two graves to stare at instead of one. Matter of fact, this time it might just kill him.
The poker fell to the floor, thumping on the carpet. He should have told Constance about her inheritance. That’s what he should have done. She’d be living out at Ashton’s place now.
With no protection and most likely freezing to death.
He twisted, first left then right, wondering where the words had come from. Emptiness surrounded him. His mind did that every once in a while. Shot a thought out of nowhere. In the past, he’d assumed it was Christine, since the thoughts were more sensible than the ones he created.
Grabbing the poker, he stood and pushed aside the grate. She wouldn’t be here now, telling him what to do about Constance.
Why not? Someone has to.
He jumped this time, spinning around in midair. Bookcases, a closed door and furniture. Not another living soul in sight. Without banking the fire, he pushed the grate back into place and stuck the poker in its holder.
Ellis left the door open and strolled down the hall, ignoring the urge to look over his shoulder. The lamps in the parlor had been doused, and no glow came from beneath the kitchen door. Cautiously, he pushed the door open and, noting the room was indeed empty, made a dash for the back door, where he donned his boots and coat and then met the freezing wind of Wyoming with hopes it would clear his spooked mind.
Chapter Ten
Constance fought heavy eyelids until the ability to do so left her exhausted. Then she tumbled into a deep, depressed sleep that didn’t lift until sunlight filled her room and a clatter echoed in the house.
Tossing the covers aside, a squeak caught in her throat as icy air bit her naked flesh. Little good it had done to worry whether she should wear a gown or not last night. Ellis had never come to her room. The desire to be in his arms remained as strong as it had been last night. Had he come and found her asleep? Perturbed, she completed her morning necessities within minutes and left the room, all the while wondering how one goes about apologizing for such a thing.
Slowing in her rush down the back stairs due to the soft thuds echoing from below, she eased off the steps.
“Morning, ma’am,” Thomas Ketchum greeted. “Hope I didn’t wake you. I dropped an armload of wood.” He finished filling the box and then brushed his gloved hands together over the logs.
The rest of the room was empty. “You didn’t wake me,” she lied, walking to the sink to fill the coffeepot.
“You up most of the night, too?”
“Excuse me?”
Thomas paused by the swinging kitchen door. “Nothing to fret about. Coyotes can’t get in the house.”
“Coyotes?”
“Yeah. A pack of them moved in last night. Ellis and a few other men were out all night keeping them off the young stock. With the snow coming so early and all, the coyotes are already getting brave. Gonna make for a long winter.” Thomas tipped his hat as he pushed open the door. “G’day, ma’am.”
Constance squeezed her temples. No wonder Ellis hadn’t come to her room, he’d been out in this weather all night. The poor man must be frozen. She’d been warm in her bed, acting like an expectant bride, while he’d been outside fighting snow and ice and wild animals.
Fueled with determination, she quickly prepared the beans and set the coffee to perk. A thud came from somewhere in the house. It was probably Thomas, but it could be Ellis, up in his room. Then again, he may already be seeing to the morning chores. Glancing between the stairs and the back door, she chose the stairs. With her skirt hitched to her knees, she raced up the steps and down the hall.
At his door, she paused to catch her breath and tap lightly. When there was no response, she eased it open and noted the still-made bed. Within a minute, she was back downstairs, cutting strips of bacon for breakfast.
Two hours later, what she and Angel hadn’t eaten sat cold and limp on the counter.
“Pa probably ate in the bunkhouse,” Angel said from where she sat at the table writing her book report.
Knowing he had reason to be out all night didn’t ease the frustration eating at Constance’s insides. The desire their actions had instilled last night was still alive inside her, churning and sputtering in a way that filled her with a keen disappointment. “I suspect you’re right.” She tried to sound like her unfulfilled cravings weren’t irritating her, but knowing that was impossible, she changed the subject. “How’s the report coming?”
“Fine.” Angel nibbled on the end of her pencil. “You never did answer my question yesterday.”
“What question was that?”
“How long your boat ride from London was.”
“Well,” Constance began, her mind only half on the answer, “London is inland a short distance, so I had to travel overland to Southhampton and there I boarded the steamer to New York. All in all it took me about thirteen days, I believe.”
“You believe? You don’t know?”
The days had meshed in Constance’s mind, forming a few months of little more than awful, yet significant events, all of which were better left forgotten. “Yes, I know,” she replied. “It was thirteen days.” Not up for conversation, she pulled a towel from the hook near the sink. “I’m going to go do some dusting.”
“Well, don’t wear yourself out,” Angel muttered. “Come summer there’ll be enough dirt to dust three times a day.”
“Finish your book report.” Constance marched to the door.
“Sheesh, someone has a bee in her bonnet.”
“I heard that,” Constance replied as she pushed open the door.
“I know,” echoed behind her as the door fluttered shut.
Constance slapped the rag against her thigh. She had no to right to snap at Angel. It was just that she wanted to see Ellis, make sure coyotes had been the reason why he hadn’t come to her room.
The big windows in the office filled the room with sunlight. Standing in the rays, she took a deep breath. The aromatic fragrance she treasured filled her nose, and she drew in air until her lungs threatened to burst. Letting her breath out slowly, a small slice of tension slipped from her shoulders.
“That’s better,” she assured herself, moving toward the window to wipe the wide sill.
Nothing looked purer than a fresh layer of snow, and the wh
ite span outside the window caught her full attention. She took in the scene, accepting the simple beauty of the rolling mounds of fluffy white, until her gaze locked on a single image.
The rag fell from her fingers.
Ellis, on one knee, knelt near the headstone inside the little wrought iron fence. His hat was pressed to his chest and his head bowed. The wind whipped at his hair and jacket, yet he remained statue still.
Constance grew shaky. She’d been out to the grave with Angel shortly after the first big snowstorm. Closing her eyes, she covered her mouth and nose with both hands. The sight out the window tore at her chest. Words shouted at her back in New York sprung into her mind with as much venom as they’d held months ago. Husband stealer.
Constance spun around and hurried from the room, closing the door tightly behind her.
In her own room, she paced the floor. What a malady she’d caused. She couldn’t bed down with Ellis—no matter how badly she wanted to. What had overcome her to the point her thoughts were blundered? That first week—the days following Ellis’s illness—she’d feared the men would return, expect her to choose a husband. Knowing Ellis would step in had been her saving grace. He wasn’t like the rest of them. Had that been it? She’d been so thrilled at his friendship and companionship that she’d turned it all around. Was her life so futile she’d do anything to have a home? It appeared so. She’d married Byron, and then accepted a stranger’s marriage proposal, and now…
Plopping onto the bed, she hung her head. Though she’d planned to, and started to once or twice, she’d never told him about Byron. It had just never seemed to be the right time, and the way snow continuously fell from the sky, impeding travel, the urgency that the authorities might be looking for her must be diminished. Well, that and how the camaraderie she and Ellis had formed had given her an invisible security blanket. There were times she’d half imagined she and Ellis were married and Angel was their daughter, and life was as wonderful as it had been all those years ago back in Virginia.
Unclaimed Bride Page 15
