But knowing that didn’t make it any easier for him to bear as she struggled with the words.
“I held my father’s hand while he died,” she continued, her voice muffled against his chest. “And Luke stood there and told me how he hadn’t had any choice….how my father was going to stop us. That he wanted to marry me.” She snorted with disbelief. “He would have said anything at that point. He probably would have shot me, too, except the gunshot had woken up the sheriff, and he came running down the street to see what had happened. Luke lit out, but I told the sheriff where to find him—at our special place, out in the woods. They got the money back, and they put Luke in jail. But last week he managed to get away—and now he’s back. For revenge.” She sniffled, her voice thick with tears. “When everyone found out that I had been…meeting…Luke, my reputation was ruined. It was only the newspaper that made them accept me.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
She finally cried then, a torrent of healing tears. He simply held her, wishing he’d gotten the opportunity to do some damage to the bastard who had hurt his woman.
Outside, the storm railed, and rain splattered against the old wooden structure. Sarah’s sobs lessened as Donovan held her close, stroking his hands over her back and hair. Finally she raised her head and stepped away from his embrace. His arms dropped to his sides.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her cheeks flaming red in her wan face. “I didn’t mean to fall apart that way.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You’ve been through a rough patch tonight.” He shrugged out of his coat and shook the water from it. “This thing kept me fairly dry, but I can’t say the same for you. You’d better get out of those clothes.”
“Excuse me?”
Her shocked tone made him smile. This was the Sarah he knew. “You need to get those wet clothes off before you get sick. You can wear my shirt.”
Sarah gaped. She had just spilled her secrets and her sorrows all over him, and he wanted her to take off her clothes? Didn’t he care about what she had just told him? Or didn’t he realize what it meant? “I’m fine,” she insisted, watching him with a puzzled frown.
“Don’t be stupid,” he retorted, unbuttoning his shirt. “This is about survival. But if you want to preserve your modesty, I’ll turn my back.”
She hesitated. He didn’t glance up from his buttons. This was even worse. Had she repulsed him? The Jack Donovan she knew would have at least tried to steal a kiss in this kind of situation, yet now he wouldn’t even look at her.
Had she ruined everything by telling him the truth?
A shiver wracked her, and she realized that it would be the height of idiocy to come down with a chill while she tried to puzzle out his motivations. “I would appreciate the loan of your shirt,” she replied with prim dignity, turning her back while he did the same.
No more words were spoken. Only the rasp and slap of wet material against skin broke the silence between them. “You can look now if you want,” he said finally.
She glanced back over her shoulder, and his shirt hit her in the face. As she spluttered and tried to untangle herself, he issued more orders.
“Get out of your skirt and shirtwaist. Take a couple of those tools down and hang your clothes from those nails in the wall. You can keep your camisole and bloomers on if you’ve got a mind to, for modesty’s sake.”
“Your knowledge of women’s undergarments is shocking and inappropriate, Mr. Donovan,” she said with a sniff. Then she sneezed.
“Inappropriate, hell, Miss Calhoun,” he retorted. He pulled out the wagon cover he had discovered earlier and spread it on the ground. “What it is, is plain good sense. Now get out of those wet clothes, sassy girl, before I come over there and strip you myself.”
He looked up then. For an instant, something stretched between them, an unspoken dare. Her heart pounded. His eyes narrowed as he got to his feet. Then he clenched his hands and turned his back again. Unsettled by the sudden tension, she retreated to a corner of the shed. Not that it was a far distance; a man could lie on the floor of the structure and touch one wall with his hands and the other with his toes.
As she stripped off her wet garments, Sarah periodically glanced over her shoulder at Donovan. He still wore his trousers, and his long underwear clung to the muscles of his arms and chest. He busied himself arranging a tidy bedroll for the two of them and didn’t even glance at her. Strangely disappointed, she hung her clothes on the nails as he had suggested, then turned to face him just as he went over and shut the door. Dragging an old plow blade over, he propped it under the door latch and then piled more rusted tools at the base of the door.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure no one gets in here without us knowing,” he answered. Swiping the dust from his hands, he finally faced her.
Her pulse skipped as he scanned her from head to toe. She followed his gaze, noticing the way the wet material of her bloomers clung to her legs and displayed glimpses of the flesh beneath. She had buttoned his shirt up to the neck, and the tails hung well over her thighs, but she still felt as if she stood before him stark naked.
When his eyes met hers, she saw a hunger there that staggered her.
He still wanted her.
She glanced at the makeshift bed he had laid out for them. The lure of spending the night pressed against Donovan made her want to give in to that side of her that was wild and spontaneous. She wanted to close her eyes and surrender to the fire that lived inside her, the slumbering coals that Donovan had stoked to life.
Could she trust him with the passion that simmered inside her? Or would it end in disaster? Could she take the risk?
He was a man who had protected her, a man she respected and loved. She wanted to lie with him, to feel his strong hands touch her and his body join with hers. Tonight, she wanted to become Donovan’s woman.
And if the way he watched her was any indication, he wanted that, too.
She lifted both hands and smoothed her wet hair, very much aware that the shirt rode up with her movements. He swallowed hard, and tenderness swelled inside her. Heady with feminine power, she lowered her hands and smoothed the shirt over her chest and belly, watching him carefully. His jaw clenched, and his hands fisted.
“Sarah.” His tone was rough, his eyes hot with need. But his words were gentle. “You’ve had a bad scare. You need to rest.”
“I’m not scared.”
“By the time this rain lets up,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “it’s going to be dark. There’s no way we can get back to town tonight.”
“All right.” She tugged at the hem of the shirt, then smiled at him.
“Damn it, it’s not all right!” He kicked an old axe handle, sending it flying to land in the heap at the door. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I courted you properly. I asked you the right way. Yet now your reputation is going to be ruined again.”
“You saved my life, Jack.”
He glared at her. “I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by and watch them rip you apart again, sassy girl.”
“I can handle it.”
“I don’t want you to have to handle it!”
“Let’s worry about that tomorrow.” She took a deep breath, twisting her fingers together. This was it. She was about to take a step that would either be the smartest decision she had ever made in her life—or the greatest mistake. “I want to be with you tonight, Jack.”
“What?” The quiet word echoed like thunder in the tiny shed.
“I said I want to be with you.”
He stared at her. “You’re upset. You’ve had a shock.”
Her determination wavered. “If you don’t want me, just say so, Jack.”
His expression softened. “How could I not want you, sassy girl?”
“Then—”
“I just don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re vulnerable right now.”
“I’m hot and bothered right now!” Her ardent
words startled both of them. She flushed. He grinned.
“Hot and bothered, huh?” He chuckled. “Sweetheart, I had no idea you even knew that expression.”
Sarah took a deep breath. “The rumors are true, Jack. I’m not a virgin.”
“So? Neither am I.”
She huffed out a sound of exasperation. “You know very well it’s different for a man.”
“For people who care about things like that.” He stepped toward her. “I know you, Sarah Calhoun. You’re passionate, but you’re not a whore.”
She flinched at the word. “The town doesn’t agree with you.”
He smiled with grim amusement. “They do now.”
“I heard something about that. What did you do, Jack?”
“Nothing at all. And neither did you, according to the current gossip.”
She shook her head, and a chuckle escaped her. “I don’t know what to do with you, Jack Donovan.”
“Just love me, Sarah. The way I love you.”
Her smile faded, and she stared at him. “What did you say?”
He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “I said I love you, damn it.”
“Oh, Jack.” She raised a trembling hand to her mouth. He loved her? After everything she had just told him? “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
She took a step toward him. Hesitated. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll marry me.” He opened his arms. “I need you, sassy girl.”
“Yes!” She flew into his embrace. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“About damned time,” he muttered. Then he kissed her, and passion erupted with a force that shook both of them.
Chapter Fifteen
Sarah gave herself up to his kiss, her heart singing with joy. He loved her!
“Sarah,” he panted, breaking the kiss. “We should stop.”
“Why?” She twined her arms around his neck, feeling gloriously alive. “This has been coming for a long time, Jack.”
“It’s about to get out of hand.”
“Maybe I want it to.”
He groaned, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers. “Maybe isn’t good enough, Sarah. We can stop here and wait for the wedding night. That’s what we should do.”
She smiled, doubts and fears melting away like brown sugar on the tongue, leaving only sweet passion behind. “Since when does either one of us do what we’re supposed to do?”
He tightened his fingers on her waist. “Be sure, Sarah. I don’t think I can stop this time.”
She leaned up and brushed her lips against his. “I’m sure. I want to be with you, Jack. No regrets.”
“No regrets,” he repeated.
This time when he kissed her, she met him halfway.
No man had ever stirred her like this. No other man ever would. She pressed herself against him, longing for his warmth, hungry for the taste of him. His arms were strong and sure as he held her close, his mouth deliciously demanding.
Arousal simmered, slow and hot, as the rain battered their tiny haven. She thought she knew what to expect, but she was so wrong. Nothing had prepared her for the tenderness of his hands as he slowly peeled the damp clothing from her body. Nothing had warned her how her knees would weaken at the way he looked at her, as if she were something rare and precious. Nothing in her wildest imaginings had hinted at the slow, drugging desire that flowed through her like hot wax when she finally stood naked before him—and he touched only her cheek.
Her limbs trembled as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with exquisite sweetness, as if nothing existed for him but her mouth.
“Sarah,” he murmured, nipping at her lower lip. “You’re mine now.”
She made a soft sound of assent. He lifted his head and looked at her, stroking his hands down her neck and over her shoulders. Holding her gaze, he continued downward until he cupped her breasts in his palms. Desire spiked through her as he rubbed his thumbs over the nipples. She didn’t try to hide her reaction from him. She couldn’t.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Every inch of you, inside and out.”
“Jack…” His touch utterly devastated her.
“I need your hands on me, Sarah.” He guided one of her palms to his chest. She flattened her fingers against the broad expanse, then flicked open one of the buttons of his long underwear. A glance at his face made her smile, and she popped open another button. He leaned back against the wall, his hands resting on her hips, letting her set her own pace.
Finally she had unbuttoned to the waistband of his trousers. Spreading the edges wide, she smoothed her palms over the hair-roughened muscles. He simply watched her, his eyes slitted. Then she leaned closer and pressed a kiss to his chest. He groaned, and his eyes slid closed.
Such power. Her lips curved, and she dragged her nails lightly down the exposed flesh. He shuddered, sending a thrill through her. She scored him again with her nails, enjoying the way her lone wolf gritted his teeth and quivered beneath her touch. She did it again and again until he grabbed her wrist.
He opened his eyes, and she almost stepped back. Her wolf had returned all right, and he was hungry.
Taking her hand, he led her to the pallet he had made.
She lowered herself to the makeshift bed, sitting back on her heels and watching as he stripped off his garments. His boots went first, tossed carelessly at the foot of the bedroll. Then he stripped off his trousers, sending them flying after his boots. His long underwear hid nothing, his arousal stretching the white cotton to the limit even as he ripped open the remaining buttons. One popped off and zinged across the shed. In moments, he was as naked as she.
He came to the edge of the bedroll and looked down at her for a long moment. She waited, her heart pounding. Donovan without his clothes was a sight to behold. His body was solid and lean, marked here and there with scars. She longed to kiss each and every one of them. Here was a man who had lived hard and survived. Here was a man she could trust with her heart.
He knelt on the bedroll, shifting until their knees touched. She stretched up to meet his descending mouth, linking her hands around his neck once more. With a groan, he clasped his arms around her, pulling her against him with desperate strength. Wrapping her braid around one hand, he tugged her head backward, breaking the kiss while he nipped at her neck and sent her senses soaring.
“I need you,” he muttered against her throat. “Let me love you, Sarah.”
“Yes,” she whispered. And again, “Yes.”
He released her hair and cupped one hand possessively over her bottom, urging her closer. His erection pressed into her belly, hotly insistent. She slid her hand down, closed her fingers around him. His guttural moan urged her to stroke him. Their mouths met in reckless greed. He squeezed her bottom, stroked her back. She smoothed her hands over every sleek muscle she could reach, always coming back to the hungry flesh between his thighs. He returned the favor, parting her thighs and caressing her with a tenderness that hinted at his tenuous control, even as it edged her to the boiling point.
“Jack.” Mindless with need, she reared up and nipped his earlobe. “Jack, please.”
“God.” He shuddered, still stroking the slick heat between her thighs. ”You’re so ready for me, sweetheart.”
“Yes.” Trembling, she dug her nails into his shoulders. “I want you so much.”
“Sweet Sarah.” He tumbled her backward, cushioning her with one arm until she lay fully beneath him. She didn’t even care about the rough blankets against her skin. Her world was filled with Donovan. She stroked her hand over his forehead, combed the sweat-dampened hair back from his face. Dropping a kiss on her breast, he shifted, hooking his elbows beneath her knees and spreading her wide for him. “I love you, Sarah,” he murmured against her mouth. Then he slipped into her.
A cry of surprise escaped her lips. There was no pain, only a slow, satisfying stretching as he pressed insistently forward until he fill
ed her completely. There he paused, waiting for her body to adapt to the sensual penetration. She instinctively clenched her inner muscles around him, little ripples of adjustment that wrung a groan from him. He began to rock his hips, and she clung to him, her movements echoing his as he plunged harder, faster, deeper. Nothing else felt like this, that pleasure and the heat, the instinctive rhythm of loving. She met his kiss eagerly, her tongue teasing his, imitating the age-old mating dance.
When he buried his face in her neck and called her name, she tumbled right behind him into rapture.
The door crashed open with a clatter of rusty tools. Donovan sat bolt upright, his knife already in his hand. With a sleepy murmur, Sarah snuggled closer to him, flinging an arm over his thighs.
“Here they are!” Mort peered into the shed, Gabriel just behind him. Amos pushed them aside and stuck his head in.
“There ya are, boss!”
Sarah stirred, no doubt disturbed by the commotion.
“Ya had us right worried,” Amos continued, entering the tiny edifice as if he owned it. “When your horse come back without ya, we thought something awful had happened to ya. Shoulda known better.”
“Keep your voice down,” Donovan said. He tucked his duster around Sarah’s shoulders as she settled into slumber once more.
“That gal must be plumb tuckered.” Matt peeked in, his rifle in hand, along with Mort and Gabriel. The four men looked at Donovan with raised brows.
“She was attacked by that bastard, Petrie,” he said in response to the unspoken question. “He stole her horse, and mine ran off, so we had to bunk down here. End of story.”
Amos rubbed his chaw-stained beard and glanced at Matt. “Well, boss, I reckon there’s something we ought to tell you…”
“I heard the commotion,” said a new voice.
Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1 Page 18
