He touched her elbow, sending tingles over her flesh as he guided her down the steps. “My other talents? Ah, yes. I know you’ve seen them; it’s nice that you noticed … and remembered.”
She flushed, grateful it was dark. Oh, she’d noticed, all right. Rarely a day went by that she didn’t remember how she and Mahalia had caught him wearing only his birthday suit.
Ignoring the remark, she fell into step beside him. “You can read minds. I thought perhaps you were a magician as well.”
He took her arm and drew it through his, a common enough gesture. Although Libby had the urge to lean into him, she stifled it.
“A magician?”
She nodded. “How else do you account for the fact that you’ve mesmerized Dawn?”
They strolled down the incline to the river. It rushed over the rocks. If she listened hard, she could hear the burbling echo of the water as it raced through the caverns that dotted the landscape along the riverbank.
Frogs croaked lazily. Crickets chirruped. The hoot of a gray owl sounded from somewhere in the trees.
“Not entirely. She won’t be happy with me unless you’re there, too.”
“I know that,” Libby admitted.
“Then why are you unwilling to marry me?”
She smiled sadly to herself. “I’ve been married once. And although it was a cruel thing to do to a fourteen-year-old girl, it turned out not to be so bad. If Sean taught me nothing else, he taught me survival and independence.”
Jackson muttered a mild curse. “Then what are you afraid of?”
Dared she tell him? Dared she bare her soul and tell him she wanted passion? Love? Commitment? “I don’t need your pity, Jackson.”
“Pity?” The word rumbled up from deep within his chest. “What makes you think I pity you?”
“I saw it in your eyes when we were with the lawyer.”
He snorted a harsh laugh. “You’re about the least likely candidate for pity I’ve ever met. Dammit, woman, you’re creating obstacles where none exist.”
She stopped walking and turned to face him. “I am not. I merely want—”
“What? What do you want? Love?” The word came out like a curse. “I can’t promise such a thing, Libby. Look what happened to me when I lost one woman I loved. I abandoned my daughter, fled to foreign lands, and made my living killing people.”
Of course. She hadn’t expected him to promise his undying love. What was wrong with her, anyway? A marriage between them was foolish. She was very possibly half in love with him already, but what did her love matter if it wasn’t returned?
“I can promise you a lot of things, Libby. Whether you want to believe me or not, I can promise you that I won’t abandon Dawn Twilight again. I can promise you that I’ll stay on here as sheriff, the town willing, so you won’t have to give up your business. I’ll be as considerate as I’m capable of being, whether we … er… you know …”
He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “But I’ll warn you right now,” he went on, “that if you agree to marry me, I intend to coax you into my bed by one means or another.”
Oh, my. There was that feeling again, that lush heaviness low in her belly. Hunger for him rose up to meet it. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.
“There’s something between us, Libby. You can’t deny that.”
She took some solace in the knowledge that he felt it, too. Heavens, she continued to feel—that … that overwhelming urge to be with him, to touch him, have him touch her. It had been that way since he’d kissed her. But were those feelings enough? Surely they wouldn’t be, at least not for her, if it weren’t for Dawn. Even so, it was hard to commit herself. For once she said yes, there would be no turning back.
The fervent daydreaming side of her that she’d vowed didn’t exist came roaring to the forefront, and her emotions were a-tumble. She knew without a doubt that if she married him and fell completely and totally in love with him—and she very well could—she’d be devastated if he found love elsewhere. But she’d still have Dawn. If he broke his promise and set out again for the far corners of the world, she would feel as though she’d failed as a wife, but she would still have Dawn.
He drew her close. “Look at me, Libby.”
She lifted her gaze, slowly meeting his. He was a dark silhouette against the moonlight.
“You have some feelings for me,” he announced, his beautiful baritone rumbling through her. “I can see it in your eyes.”
She immediately lowered her gaze, but he tipped her chin up with his forefinger.
“As I said, Jackson,” she repeated, her own voice holding a slight quaver, “I don’t want your pity.”
His lips came down on hers, insistent, probing. She tried to remain passive, but that wasn’t possible. The force of his mouth opened hers. She slid her hands up his chest, grasping at the fabric of his shirt while he laved her with his tongue. A thrill raced through her, causing her to gasp.
At the sound, he groaned into her mouth and his hands moved to her waist and down over her bottom. He pressed her to him, allowing her to feel the hardness behind his fly. Keeping one hand on her rump, he moved the other up her side, to her breast. Even through her clothing her breasts swelled and tingled.
“A kiss is not enough,” he growled against her mouth. His fingers moved to her bodice, fumbling with the buttons. Libby knew she should stop him, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to.
He cursed at his awkwardness, and she helped him, sliding the buttons quickly from their holes. He tugged her dress down over her shoulders, camisole straps and all, leaving her bare to the waist. Vaguely she felt cold air on her skin.
She pressed him close when he bent and pressed his mouth over the pulse that throbbed at her neck, then down over her freed breasts. He laved her nipples with his tongue, sending quivering spasms throughout her body until she was afraid her legs wouldn’t support her.
Raising his head, he kissed her again and took one of her hands, drawing it between them. He cupped her palm around him; he was long and hard the full length of his fly. She bit back a groan of pleasure.
“Is this pity, Libby? I dare you to tell me that what I’m feeling right now is pity.”
She was swimming with desire, allowing her fingers to touch him, stroke him. The memory of his nudity those weeks before spun inside her again, and she felt a yearning new and insistent, a yawning chasm of hunger.
Grabbing her arms, he wrapped them around his neck and crushed her to him, raising her, supporting her so that her pelvis met his.
“There’s heat between us, Libby,” he whispered against her mouth. “You feel it too.” He hiked up her skirt, his palm grazing the back of her thigh.
For the first time in her life, she thought she might swoon. “I … I … can’t stand ups Jackson.”
He sank to the ground with her in his arms and pulled her, facing him, onto his lap drawing her legs to either side of his hips. His hand returned under her skirt. She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her fingers over his chest, loving the feel of the hair as it teased her palm.
The ache between her legs was impossibly strong. Her blood felt thick as warm honey as it pulsed through her veins. She pushed herself closer to him, pressing against the hard bulge, moving her burning flesh over it.
Beneath her, he fumbled with his fly, and in her eagerness, she assisted him, gasping in surprise when he sprang free. Unwilling to think further, she drew him into her through the slit in her drawers, sinking onto him, feeling an urgency well up inside her even through the pain of his entrance.
He stopped briefly.
“No, no,” she murmured, her hunger causing a madness she yearned for.
She sank deep, gasping as she felt him inside her. His hands were on her hips, helping her move, teaching her to please him as his thumb nudged the hot, wet flesh at the apex of her thighs.
He lowered himself onto his back, so that he was lying on the ground. His hands still guided her hips,
his own jutting upward with each thrust.
Something was building, boiling inside her, a pressing urgency that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with passion. She loved it. She wanted it. She let herself go, reaching and grasping for that which she’d never known before.
When it came, rolling over her in swelling, spasmodic waves, she bit her lip to keep from crying out. The sensation was too strong, but before her keening moans of satisfaction echoed through the night, he pulled her to him and kissed her, swallowing her sounds of pleasure.
A brief moment later he stiffened beneath her, gripping her hips hard. He came inside her, groaning into her mouth once again.
She lay on his chest, the drumming of his heartbeat against her ear. She should get up. Really, she should. But having him fill her was glorious. Blocking out conscious thought, she gave herself up to her feelings and nuzzled his neck with her nose.
“Ah, Libby, Libby …”He stroked her rump through her underwear, dipping inside to run his fingers over her flesh. When he couldn’t seem to touch enough, he tugged at her cotton drawers, loosening the string that was tied at her waist. Both of his hands went beneath her dress, and she dragged herself to a sitting position, allowing him to touch her.
His thumbs nudged her where they joined. She felt the urgency build, causing her to move again, slowly, seductively, on his shaft. Her breathing became erratic, and she knew nothing but the eagerness of impending fulfillment.
Suddenly he rolled her beneath him, moving inside her once again. She drew her legs up, pressing her heels into his back, rising to meet his thrusts.
The explosion was no less exquisite than the first time, and Libby wept as the wild pleasure of climax rocked them both. They stayed joined, Jackson resting on his elbows over her.
He bent to kiss her. “God, Libby, you were a virgin?”
“No! N-no, of c-course not,” she stuttered. “Don’t be a fool. It’s just been a while, that’s all”, she lied.
All at once, regret reached like clammy fingers into the farthest recesses of her soul. She pushed him off her, sat up quickly, then rose, fastening her drawers.
He gazed up at her from the ground. “That wasn’t pity, Liberty O’Malley.”
As usual, his baritone touched a chord inside her, but her shame went deeper.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t have … I mean, I’ve never …”Shaking her head, she picked up her skirts and raced toward the house, trying to ignore the stinging pain between her legs.
14
Libby took the steps two at a time and tore into her bedroom, stopping short of slamming the door behind her. She sagged against it, pressing her palms into the wood. Good Lord, what had come over her?
Still awash with shame, she stumbled across the room and threw herself onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. They shook. And why wouldn’t they? In one reckless moment she’d not only lost her virginity, which, in her mind wasn’t that big a thing at her age, but had experienced something she’d heard about but hadn’t believed existed: ecstasy. It was almost absurd. Lord, they’d rolled around on the grass like a couple of dogs in heat.
Her misery deepened. She had to be some sort of freak. How could the feelings she’d experienced be right, or even normal, for that matter? And why, God help her, hadn’t she had any inkling of this feeling before now? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been kissed and groped before.
She crossed to the dry sink, poured water into the bowl, and wet a cloth. As she dabbed at the soreness between her legs, she scolded herself again for submitting to Jackson.
There was a quiet rapping at the door.
She threw the cloth into the porcelain bowl and slipped quickly into her nightgown. “Who is it?”
“Jackson.”
She gasped. “Go away.”
“Libby, if you don’t open the door, I’ll make a scene and wake up the Bellamy brothers.”
Leaning her forehead against the door, she ordered, “Go away and leave me alone.”
“I mean it, Libby.”
When he started to sing “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen,” she flung open the door.
“You are such an ass,” she said accusingly.
He stepped inside, his size dwarfing her. “I wanted to make sure you were all right, that’s all.”
She swung away. “I’m fine. Now will you leave me alone?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him step to the dry sink. And at that very moment, she realized what she’d left there. She sprinted to beat him, but was too late. She felt such a richness of embarrassment that her skin prickled with sweat.
In the porcelain dish, immersed in water tinged pink with her blood, was the soiled cloth she’d used to cleanse away the remnants of her maidenhead.
With a soft curse he took her hands, and although she tried to pull away, he held her firm. “I don’t know what to say, Libby.”
Through her misery, she heard herself say, “It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
She couldn’t look at him. “Fine. I accept your apology. Now please just leave me alone.”
He left without another word, and Libby rinsed out the cloth and poured the water into the chamber pot, all the while feeling her heart pounding so hard, it gave her a headache.
How in the world was she going to face the man in the morning?
When she woke, nothing had changed. She still felt shame deep inside for allowing herself to be seduced by him. And she was sore, both in mind and in body as well as angry, with herself and with him. He wanted her—of that she was certain—but only because Dawn wouldn’t go with him if she didn’t marry him. At least not willingly. She rose and dressed, cringing at the soreness between her legs, then hurried downstairs.
She prepared oatmeal, viciously stirring it, the metal spoon clanking angrily against the sides of the pot. Each movement reminded her that the night before, she’d lost something on which most women placed great value. But not her. She’d decided long ago, after Sean died, that she would give away her virginity whenever she pleased. It just so happened that she hadn’t found anyone she wanted to give it to.
She wrinkled her nose. Until now, it appeared.
Mahalia stomped into the kitchen wearing a frown, Libby’s tan frock—the one she’d worn the day before—over her arm. “What’s this on your dress?”
Libby glanced at it. “Where?”
Mahalia spread the fabric, exposing a green stain. “This.”
Libby felt herself color. “My, my. What do you suppose that is?”
“Looks like grass stain to me. Now,” she continued, “if this were Dawn’s dress, I could understand. I’m forever scrubbin’ grass stains off her clothes. But yours …”She clucked, her gaze probing, as if she expected an answer.
“You’re waiting for an explanation? Sorry,” Libby apologized, continuing to stir the cereal, “I can’t imagine how that stain got there.” Had Jackson not so boldly entered her room and discovered her secret, she might have felt embarrassed about a little thing like grass stains. Now she was angry, and the stain only served to remind her of her shame.
Again Mahalia made sounds in her throat that foretold her mood. “If’n I didn’t know you so well, I’d be givin’ you some suggestions.” She cackled. “Or maybe some advice.”
Libby slanted her a look. “I don’t think I care to hear either.”
“I didn’t expect you would,” Mahalia answered with a chuckle that jiggled her breasts and her belly. She turned to leave as Jackson entered the room.
“Why, good mornin’, Mistah Wolfe. I was just showin’ Libby, here, these funny green stains on the back of her skirt —”
“Mahalia.” Libby’s voice had a threatening ring to it, but Mahalia merely chuckled, then was gone.
Libby’s heart was bumping her ribs, but she kept an icy facade, until Jackson stepped up behind her. Oh, heavens, he was so close she felt the
heat of him the entire length of her, and her body began to betray her. Her facade nearly melted. Nearly.
His hands touched her shoulders, and she swung away, the pot of oatmeal in her grip. “Be careful,” she threatened. “I wouldn’t want this hot kettle to slip and accidentally land on the front of your jeans.”
“Libby, I had no idea—”
“Stop right there,” she interrupted. “The status of my innocence is my business.”
“The hell it is.”
His deep, rich baritone sent involuntary shivers over her flesh. “Well, it certainly isn’t your concern.”
“But you were married, dammit.”
“So that makes seduction all right?”
He straddled a kitchen chair. Her gaze automatically went to his spread thighs, but she forced it away.
“I was seduced as well,” he informed her.
She flushed and turned on him, the spoon gripped in her fist. “Listen, I may have been … celibate, so to speak, but I was in no way innocent. It was … it was time to get rid of the thing anyway.”
“The thing?”
Ignoring the laughter in his voice, she put the cereal on the table with a thud. “You know precisely what I’m referring to.”
He studied her for a long, taut moment. “Most women save themselves for the man they love.”
“Well, I’m not most women. And that’s hogwash, anyway.
I’d have gotten rid of it years ago if I’d had a mind to.” And she would have. She was almost certain she would have.
“I’m surprised you were still virginal, considering you’d been married.”
“Well, there are all sorts of marriages. All of them don’t lead to the bedroom.” Her anger simmered.
“Obviously yours didn’t,” he offered.
“Brilliant deduction,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “It changes nothing. Don’t think I’m going to capitulate and marry you. If that was your plan, you’ll be sorely disappointed.” She was foolish to accuse him of such a thing, but at the moment, she wanted to blame him for everything.
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