No, it was another dance that had precipitated everything, including her inability to believe the lies of any man named Jarrett.
But he stood like he had stood before, an arm propped against the door facing, looking like he looked then. Words of rebuke stuck in her throat, allowing her to mutter simply, “Why?”
His brown eyes, serious and earnest, held her spellbound. His voice was husky, slightly breathless, earnest. “Because I love you, Molly.”
The words were what she had expected, yet they drove into her with the power of a sawmill blade, propelled by an expression on his face so intense she gave no thought to not believing him. Her skepticism vanished; her hurt vanished; her fear of loving two men with the same force vanished. For she didn’t love two men with equal force; she had never felt for anyone what she felt for this man.
All else was child’s play.
She stood stock still, drawn to him by that intense gaze that seemed to pull her heart out through her eyes. She stood still, scarcely breathing, waiting. He pushed away from the door facing, and still she waited, expecting him to say “Come here,” in that husky voice, like in the foyer the night after the dance.
But he didn’t. He came to her. Striding into her bedroom, he closed the door with a kick of his boot.
They fell into each other’s arms. Their lips met hungrily. They held each other so close, breathing became difficult. But breathing was the last thing on their minds. Their mouths slanted, lips open, tasting, exploring, offering, demanding.
Molly felt herself awash in his presence. His powerful arms gave her security; his sweet wet lips brought her joy; his roving hands intensified her already unbearable yearnings. She pressed herself against him, inhaling the essence of him. No bay rum or fancy toilet water for him. Jubal Jarrett smelled of natural things—of pine forests and green grasses and sweat and man. All man.
His hands splayed against her back, traveled to her waist, and up, up to her breasts, which he captured, each in a palm. Lifting his face the space of a breath but no more, his eyes searched hers as he stroked her breasts. He watched her eyes seem to float, languid and aroused. He felt her labored breath blow softly against his lips.
Their eyes silently confirmed their needs, their search, giving mute agreement to a second round. Their lips met again; they kissed with a fervency that bespoke their wasted days…and nights.
She pressed herself against his taut body, moving against him in ways that were ultimately tormenting, tantalizing, tempting.
His hands went to her head. He removed a pin from her bound braids. A second pin. Then his hands suddenly stilled. He lifted his lips again.
“We gotta get out of here, Molly.”
Not understanding, she reached with her lips. He kissed her soundly, breaking away with a great suckling. “Now. We gotta get out of here.”
She watched his Adam’s apple bob, saw him glance over her shoulder, felt a tremor course his body.
“If we stay here another minute, ten feet from that danged bed of yours, I’ll have you in it, sure as shootin’.”
His tortured voice belied the weak grin on his lips. He kissed her quickly. “We can’t do that; the kids are downstairs.”
With that he took her hand and dragged her out of the house. Using the front staircase, so as to avoid the children in the kitchen, they tiptoed across the foyer, passed the dining room, and finally made it outside.
At the edge of the porch he kissed her again, a quick, urgent kiss, afterward instructing, “Wait here. I won’t be long.”
Dazed Molly stood on the porch grasping a pillar with both arms, seeking to steady the world, which had begun to spin beneath her feet.
Rubal returned leading his horse and hers, both saddled. Not until they were a good hundred yards down the street did she find words to speak.
“Where are we going?”
“I just had to get out of that house, Molly.”
She curled her lips together, smiling. A deep sense of joy suffused her. “Sometimes kids can be a botheration.”
He grinned back. “We could have locked the door against the little boys and they would never have known the difference. But Lindy…We can’t do that to Lindy.”
Molly had never allowed herself to consider how deeply she loved this man. She had never allowed herself to consciously think: I love Jubal Jarrett. She had always held back, afraid of being hurt again. Never, that is, until now. Until this moment when he proved himself, beyond doubt, to be a selfless, caring, compassionate man.
He spurred his mount and she followed. They raced down the narrow clay road, with the trees forming a canopy above their heads. Like a bridal arch, she thought. For the first time in a year, such a thought was welcome.
Welcome and wonderful.
Finally after the wind had cooled him off, Rubal drew up and they proceeded at a leisurely pace. “Petersen told me about your visit to the timber office.”
“That man! I’ve never been so mad.”
“Me, either. But we’ll show him. Since we’re out this way, we might as well take care of some business.”
Explaining while they rode, he led her to a tract of timberland where cutters were working.
“Cliff Parker’s the logger.” Rubal pointed to a sandy-haired man in his mid-forties who was busy marking a line of trees with blue chalk. “Far as I can tell, he’s honest. One of the few I’d trust to do your cutting.” Rubal turned back to Molly. “How ’bout we talk to him, see when he can get to your place?”
“Oh, yes.”
Rubal introduced Molly to the logger, and during the next half hour they hashed out a deal, while around them fallers and buckers felled trees and hewed away extraneous limbs, after which, flatheads working in pairs used handsaws to cut trees into the desired length for transport. Above the din of axes and saws, the woods boss bellowed orders.
“Now you know why he’s called bull of the woods,” Parker commented, when Molly jumped at the man’s first roaring command.
“We only want to take out the loblollies,” Rubal reiterated.
“I understand. And I’d like the job. It’ll be a couple of weeks before I can get to it, though. Couple of weeks of dry weather, that is,” he added.
“You’ll take no more trees than we need?” Molly asked.
“I’ll cut what you tell me to cut, no more.”
“A day or so before you get ready to start,” Rubal suggested, “come by the Blake House, and we’ll settle things. We’d like your suggestions on which trees to cut and how many.”
They left with handshakes all around, Molly marveling at the difference between doing business with Cliff Parker and trying to communicate with Oscar Petersen. They talked about that, then Molly realized they weren’t headed for Apple Springs.
“Now where’re we going?”
“Thought you might like to take another look at those trees before Parker cuts ’em down.”
By the time they reached her property, Molly had spun a web of fantasies thick enough to float the Blake House down the Angelina River. Fantasies that had absolutely nothing to do with pine trees or forests or even with sending Travis to school. Her senses buzzed with one thing, and one thing only.
Jubal Jarrett. He said he loved her. Now he intended to show her.
Rubal was the first to dismount. Taking Molly’s reins, he helped her alight. This time neither of them made the slightest pretense of denying their intentions. They each possessed such intense, pent-up yearnings that it was a wonder they didn’t start a forest fire, or that’s what Molly thought. She watched him hitch their horses to the low branch of a young oak. When he took something from behind his saddle, her eyes widened.
“That’s one of Mama’s quilts! Where did you get it?”
“From the clothesline.” He shrugged. “Sort of a last-minute idea.”
She tried to smile, but already she wanted him so badly, her movements were stiff. Arm in arm they walked through the forest, listening to birds twittering far overhead, hearing p
ine needles crunch under foot, feeling the soft summer breeze whisper softly over their heated skin.
At long last, after they’d walked deep into the woods, Rubal stopped, spread the quilt over the pine needles, and held out his arms. Words were unnecessary, redundant—impossible.
Molly came to him with so many emotions tangling inside her, she felt heavy and choked. But by the time his lips covered hers, only one thing mattered. Only one.
Passion. Mutual passion, too long denied.
Pausing to gasp for breath, they stared into each other’s eyes, absorbing the myriad sensations that spread like spider webs around them, entangling them, binding them together in their heated, frenetic search.
“Jubal, I…”
The name speared guilt through Rubal’s joy, guilt chased by fear. Fear of losing her. “Sh, Molly. Sh.” He kissed her tenderly, trying to dispel the image of a liar from his brain. “I know I sometimes get the cart before the horse. But this…” Working while he spoke, he removed her steel hairpins, then untied and unbraided her long strands of black hair, at length running his fingers through the kinks made by her braids. He felt lost in her eyes, in the want of her. “…this has been too long in coming. Let’s take care of this…”
Mumbling into her mouth, he fumbled with the buttons on her bodice. Once it was freed, he slipped the gown over her shoulders, pushing and tugging the fabric, his lips following with sprinkled kisses down her neck, across her chest, while her fingers threaded through his hair, clutching his head in her hands.
When she stood in chemise and petticoats, he swept her in his arms and deposited her in a billowing cloud of white cotton on the quilt. “…this.”
Her eyes invited, welcomed, begged.
Everything inside him cried for speed, but suddenly, kneeling over her, Rubal froze in place. This was one time he couldn’t listen to his own needs, great as they were. Nor even to Molly’s needs.
Her eyes drew him to her. Her creamy skin and heaving bosom beckoned him. His own body prodded him. Yet he was suddenly hesitant. He’d never given thought to what kind of lover he was. Rightly, he guessed, he wouldn’t be a good judge of such things. If his needs were relieved, it was good. Simple as that.
But this time was different. Everything about this time was different. Because the woman lying beneath him on the forest floor was different.
Molly Durant was different from any woman he had ever made love to before, different even from the Molly Durant he had spirited off to the barn a year back.
Different, because he loved her. And if he didn’t catch the next miracle that happened by, he was danged sure to lose her.
In a moment of lucidity, Rubal saw his future. He had one chance at that miracle. One chance to dispel her memories of that other night. One chance to prove to her that she loved him enough that it wouldn’t matter what his name was.
One chance to take her so high she could never look down and see him as a scoundrel again. One chance to erase the past horrible year from her brain and implant his love so deeply inside her that she would never feel whole without him again.
Time stood still while Molly watched him study her with a faraway look in his eyes. She knew—at least, she feared—he was thinking about the last time they lay on the forest floor. About her jumping up, admitting to having made love with his brother. He said it didn’t matter. But did it?
Lifting her arms, she caressed his face with hesitant fingers. Had he changed his mind? Had she believed his pretty lies for nothing?
She felt her fingers tremble against his skin. Her heart actually ached. “Tell me again.” She took at deep breath. “Why?”
His eyes focused on her then, on the moment. Even before he spoke, she knew the answer. It was written in the desperate probing of his eyes. “Because I love you, Molly.”
He made it sound like the most wonderful, the most astounding thing in the world. And it was.
One by one she undid the buttons on his shirt. She tugged the shirttail out of his britches and slid her hands inside, feeling him tremble at her touch.
“Show me,” she invited.
“Dang it, Molly, I love you so much I don’t think that’s possible.” Speaking, he discarded his shirt, then untied the ribbon on her chemise. “But I’ll give it my best shot.”
And he did. She was sure of it. Nothing could have been better. While he untied her chemise, she wriggled out of her petticoats. Her corset went next, then his britches, and her bloomers, and they lay still except for the rising and falling of their chests, their eyes dancing off each other, drinking in the longed-for sight, drowning in sensations so erotic all thoughts of other times, of other lovers burned away, as in the fury of a forest fire.
His fingers trailed along the red lines left by her stays. “Don’t know why you women put up with such contraptions.”
She threaded her fingers through the covering of brown hair on his chest. She found the nubby ends of his nipples the same time he found hers. His touch sent fiery trails coursing through her. She wondered what her touch did to him.
Someday she would ask.
Someday. A glorious word. Someday. Because he loved her, she could think of somedays.
His fingers trailed down her rib cage, lingered at her belly button, then moved across her belly, pausing again at the patch of black hair between her legs.
Anticipation built to such heights that she felt as though a giant tree had fallen in the forest and lay across her chest. His eyes held hers, worshipful, emboldening her. With only a slight sense of self-consciousness, she dipped her fingers over his ribs, as though counting them, skimmed his belly button, and stopped, feeling a flush creep up her neck. His eyes continued to probe hers.
His fingers threaded through the curly patch of hair at the base of her abdomen.
She found his. And in the next instant her fingers bumped his heated arousal. Her eyes widened.
His begged.
She let the backs of her fingers skim the surface. Her heart thudded in her ears. He dipped his fingers into her slippery core. Her eyes slid closed. Her fingers curled around his arousal.
He groaned. She felt his life’s blood throb in her hand. At long length, she opened her eyes and saw the want in his. Embarrassment flooded her, embarrassment and the want of him.
“Are you afraid?” he asked at last.
She nodded her head.
“It won’t be bad, Molly love.” Not like last time, he wanted to add, but dared not bring up the past.
“I know.”
“Then what frightens you?”
“That you can’t forget about Rub—”
His lips found hers, silencing her words. He kissed her deep, hard, wet. His tongue imitated his hand, delving and dipping, exploring and enticing her to respond in kind.
Which she did. Her arms flew around his neck. She drew his furry chest to hers, nuzzling her breasts in the softness of it. When she thought she couldn’t stand it a moment longer, he lifted his lips, but instead of entering her, he suckled at her breast, drawing out her passion, creating more. She felt as though they were spiraling toward the faraway treetops, empowered by their mutual fiery yearnings.
So mindless was she, he had shifted above her and began to enter her before she fully realized it.
“Open your eyes, Molly love.”
He entered her gradually, with a reverence born of respect and love and all the hurt he had caused her. He held her gaze, watched wonderment fill her eyes. Patches of red splotched her cheeks, but her eyes reflected the great passion she was unable to hold inside. He moved slowly, with great difficulty, because his body cried for her, cried to thrust boldly in constant repetition until all was spent. But he didn’t.
He filled her fully. She held his gaze, awash in the passion in his eyes. She knew she glowed, and only partially from self-consciousness. Mostly from the powerful sensations that rocked her as he thrust deeper into her body. She felt as though he had pierced her with a shaft of golden sunshine,
and once ignited inside her, it spread heat and light to every corner of her body, erupting finally in a single brilliant burst that fired her body. Her eyes closed against the blinding sensations of heat and power…and love.
Only then, did Rubal allow his own release. It came fast and powerful, rocking him with spasm after spasm of pure sweet release. “Oh, yes, I love you, Molly. Yes. I love you. I love you.”
She clung to him with arms that were limp and useless. She was able to hold them around him only by twining her fingers together.
He nipped a kiss to her nose, then grinned into her pleasured face. “Now will you answer my question? Will you marry me?”
She smiled, a broad smile that spread her lips across her face like sensuous curls. “Yes…Oh, yes, I’ll marry you.”
Dusk came early in the forest, creeping in on shadowed feet, whispering benedictions on the wind. Cradling her in his arms, Rubal stared into the canopy of pine branches above them, soaking up the wonder of it all. “If anyone had told me falling in love would be this wonderful,” he mused into her mass of curly hair, “I would have done it a long time ago.”
She tensed. Immediately he regretted his words, for to Molly Durant, a long time ago meant Rubal Jarrett, lyin’ and leavin’ Rubal Jarrett. This was the time. Right now. He would tell her the truth, get it over with. Now.
She snuggled to his side. Her fingers twined in his curly brown chest hair. His body reacted.
“You love me, don’t you, Molly?”
She inhaled, slowly, like an animal sniffing the scent of a mate. “Oh, yes.”
“There isn’t much that could kill your love for me—”
“Nothing.”
“I’m far from perfect.”
She kissed his lips softly.
“Fact of the matter, Rubal and I, we’re pretty much—”
Her fingers stilled his words. Then she traced them up his neck and around the outline of his lips, spearing shafts of yearning through him. Yearning and guilt.
“I know how much you want me to forgive your brother, Jubal. Now that I love you, maybe I can, someday. But let’s not talk about him right now.”
He cringed at the thought of not finishing what he’d found so difficult to begin.
Secret Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Four Page 21
