by Jillian Hart
He’d made the right choice, he told himself as he studied the warm curves of her cheeks. But he wondered what his new wife was thinking, so quiet and withdrawn.
Chapter Six
The wedding ceremony was over and Sophie’s thoughts shifted to the next hurdle. How would their night together in the bedroom go?
Sophie couldn’t shake the nervousness from her mind an hour later as they sat in John’s house at the dinner reception, surrounded by folks, mostly men, she’d never met before.
While they passed along the trays of food to the dozen or so tables squeezed into every part of his home, Sophie sat stiffly beside her new husband. Feeling like the newcomer she was, wishing to fit in with these people, wishing she felt a thread of love from John.
Callie waved to her from across the room, and Sophie smiled back. Callie was seated next to her tall husband, Edward, who worked with John at the stables. The woman placed her cheek against the lapel of her husband’s jacket and he touched her chin. Both young, in their early twenties. Edward drew back stiffly from his wife’s attention, though, appearing uncomfortable at his wife being so affectionate in public.
Sophie wished John would be affectionate with her.
“Here, Sophie, try the venison.” One of John’s friends stabbed a couple of pieces onto her plate.
“Thank you.”
The din of chatter and laughter was loud enough to reach the livery stables a hundred yards away, she was sure.
The house itself was much more opulent than she had expected when she’d passed it on the street.
Tucked onto the edge of the block, near the far side of town away from the harbor, the two-story plank building had been built only last year. Wood sawn and cut at the brand-new sawmill. Victorian furniture ordered and shipped directly from London. Plush rugs from the Orient. A kitchen filled with fragrant spices from Italy and Europe.
She’d had no idea John was this wealthy.
Of course, she’d had an inkling, seeing that he owned a livery stable—in fact, three—but she’d had no clue about the pride he took in creating a home for himself here in Alaska.
She had been accustomed to the wealth of her father’s home, although she’d never felt tied to it, seeing as she’d done nothing to earn any part of it herself. Later, when she lived with Miles—he without an income for five years and dependent on her father—her stature had dropped considerably in their modest two-room home.
So much so that she felt uncomfortable in this wealth.
Taking a deep breath, Sophie vowed she would do her best to earn her place at John’s side, contributing to the town in her midwifery practice and seeing to it that she never had idle hands.
The guests were gracious to her, smiled whenever Sophie glanced their way, commented on how pretty her dress was and how tasty the food—prepared by a wonderful neighbor, thin and frail Mrs. Norton, who was still fussing over John’s platter of venison and potatoes. However, there didn’t seem to be much more the men could think of saying to Sophie as she watched them pour champagne into her crystal flute.
John, however, didn’t have that problem with his friends. She admired how everyone wanted to talk to him.
“A toast,” said his best man, Hugh, rising to his feet. His red hair fell over his shoulders. “To a man we’ve all come to admire and respect, since the day you first put a shovel into this soil and bothered your neighbor—me—for an hour of my time. Little did I know you’d come knocking on my door every day for the next month.”
The gathering laughed, including John.
“And a toast to your new bride,” Hugh continued as the chuckling subsided. “I hope Sophie won’t be as troubled by your calls as I was.”
Sophie smiled at the good-natured ribbing. Hugh sat down. Another couple of men stood up and spoke.
“Here’s to a long and happy life.” An old gent in a weathered blue suit toasted them.
He was followed by a younger man in gold spectacles. “To a dozen kids!”
Sophie’s cheeks blistered with heat as John cleared his throat. What was his opinion on that?
To her right, two other men were discussing something even more embarrassing.
“Word is Paulette Trundle got married two days ago. Same day she landed.”
“You don’t say? She was his first choice, I heard tell.”
“Shh. Best not to speak of it here,” the first man said.
A quiver shot up her throat. Sophie lowered her head and tried not to dwell on the gossip.
She sipped champagne and rolled the sweet bubbly liquid on her tongue. John touched her elbow, the brush of contact against her sleeve and skin causing her stomach to expand and dip like a block of ice bobbing and melting in water.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He lowered his face next to hers.
His soft voice whispered against her cheek and she blushed at the thought of the night ahead.
“Yes, thank you. It’s a lovely wedding and you have very interesting friends.”
John chuckled when she said the word interesting. Whatever more he had to say was interrupted.
“John, when do you expect your Thoroughbred will be ready to breed?”
Another called, “Can I bring my buggy in Monday for oiling?”
And yet another. “Won’t you come look at my mare and tell me what you think of her injured hoof?”
They ate in this noisy manner and John never had another opportunity to speak privately to her as they finished the meal, rose and shook hands with the guests.
There was no music. No dancing, either. No time, she supposed, to prepare for any of it.
She was a good dancer. She missed it. Hadn’t really had the opportunity to dance for the past few years, since her late husband had suffered from his fever and illness.
Two hours later the guests began to leave and Sophie’s stomach went tight again with the question rolling through her mind.
How would their night in the bedroom go?
Sophie looked scared.
Finally alone with her, John extinguished the lanterns downstairs and carried one up the stairs as he studied her. She glanced at him as they turned at the top of the landing.
He hooked the lantern just inside the bedroom door and whirled around to face her. “I never got a chance to do this outside, since there were so many people about. But I can do it now.”
With a cry of delight, he scooped her up and carried her over the threshold of the bedroom. She was light and soft in his arms, squirming to catch her balance. She smelled nice and he liked the feel of her.
When he lowered her to her feet, however, right in front of the wide-berth bed, she stepped away and hastily smoothed her skirts.
“You do want this, don’t you?” He frowned in the moonlight cascading from the windows.
“Yes. Of course. It’s all very natural. Yes.” She spun to the four-poster bed and grabbed the bottom post, gripping it as if she were hanging on for dear life.
He couldn’t see the full color of her face due to the dim lighting, but sure to God, that red stain flushed through her cheeks again.
“Then why do you look like a cornered badger?” He was trying to make her laugh, let her see the amusement in the situation.
Her spine stiffened to a rod. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You look like you’re trapped in the wilds, and I’m about to swoop in.”
“Well…that comment certainly does nothing to put me in the mood.”
“I’m trying to help you relax. We’ll get through this together, Sophie.” Although he didn’t need any help with this night, for he knew exactly what he wanted to do, maybe if she thought he was a bit nervous, too, it might ease her mind.
“Yes, of course.” Her voice reached a higher pitch. “Let’s get through this business.”
“Business?” Now her choice of words was getting to him. “This night isn’t a business deal.”
“If you’re going to jump on every word I say—”
“Why don’t you just order me to get onto the bed—”
“If you weren’t so uptight—”
“Uptight?” She stepped away from the bed, fists at her sides, eyes widened in disbelief. She strode into the adjoining bathing room, closed the door and turned the latch with a loud click.
Oh, great. This was just great.
With a loud sigh at the closed door, he waited for her to come back out again. Waited and waited. When he heard the soft thud of her shoes being removed, he realized she had no intention of coming out anytime soon.
With resignation, he removed his jacket and pants, hung them in the armoire and slipped into his side of the bed, stone-cold naked. Not that she’d ever discover the fact.
Not tonight, anyway.
He listened to the sounds coming through the closed door—water sloshing in the basin, her luggage being slid across the Oriental carpet where he’d ordered it delivered, and the thudding of her bare feet.
With a sigh, he punched the center of his pillow and adjusted his awkward frame on the mattress.
When he was younger, he’d had his share of women. On the trails in Texas, flitting from town to town, easy women who’d made themselves available. But no one like Sophie.
Earlier this evening he’d had visions of undressing her himself. Of having the pleasure of slipping that pretty gown off her shoulders, or perhaps unlacing her corset and rolling down her silk stockings.
Fat luck.
All right, he admitted, so she was nervous. That was understandable. They barely knew each other. For her it was a new land, new town and new people. A new husband, to boot. But hell, it wasn’t easy for him either.
He waited and waited and waited for her to come out and join him on their wedding night, but his lids couldn’t carry the weight any longer. He’d just rest them a moment, for surely he’d awaken when she finally slid in on the spring mattress beside him. Surely then, the two of them…
In the blackness of the night John’s eyes bolted open. Who the hell was in his room?
With a start, he turned his head and saw Sophie’s feminine shape outlined by quilted covers tucked up to her waist. Sleeping soundly.
No need to panic, he thought with a soft groan. He was married now.
And she’d finally come to bed.
He wondered what time it was and twisted toward the night table, about to look at his pocket watch, but couldn’t seem to move his eyes away from the picture she made.
He settled back onto his shoulder and watched her breathing, her breasts moving up and down in the frilly white nightgown she wore.
Sophie was his wife. His to protect. He had an urge to tell her things would work out, that he understood her difficulties here, but that she’d grow accustomed to the town, the folks who were her neighbors and to him.
When she stirred, moonlight skimmed her soft features, accentuating her high cheekbones, straight nose and the lushness of her lips. She had a gorgeous mouth—an unusual one, with a distinct curve to her Cupid’s bow at the top and full bottom lip that always looked ready to be kissed.
Her lashes flickered in the soft glow. Still sleeping, she turned toward him, tucked her covers beneath her chin and settled her warm body mere inches away from his.
His muscles tightened in response. His hard body came to full alert. He inhaled the scent of his wife, the sounds of her soft breathing, the delectable vision she made.
This was too much torture, he thought. He leaned over and ran his fingertips along the warm muscles of her slender neck.
Chapter Seven
Was she dreaming? Sophie felt the warm touch of his fingers and leaned into him. Her pulse began to throb and her body flushed.
He felt so real…she struggled to open her eyes. Had to lift the lids… She strained and strained until they finally opened.
John was staring at her from his pillow.
“Ah,” she mumbled, startled at his proximity.
“Hey, don’t be scared,” he murmured in the moonlight.
“I’m not scared,” she said. “I’m…surprised.”
Her eyes traveled over his open lips, the flared nostrils and the shimmer of his blue eyes.
But maybe she was scared, just a little. The way her heart was hammering, he might as well be a total stranger lying in bed with her.
He leaned forward and kissed her neck and she lurched backward, suddenly panicked.
He chuckled into the base of her throat, kissing the private spot before working his way down her opened neckline and making every inch of her skin tingle.
“You want this as much as I do,” he proclaimed with no shame at all. As if she had as little control as he did over his physical needs.
She could control herself.
He brought a hand up from between the sheets unexpectedly, ran it over the fabric along her rib cage, and she jumped with alarm.
She got another chuckle in response.
“It’s not a matter of you giving in to me,” he said in a low rumble. “It’s a matter of wanting it for yourself.”
“That’s ridiculous. I do not…it’s not as if I’m a man who’s gone without for so…so long….”
His daring hand worked its way up her ribs and the side of her bosom. The heat of his touch and tantalizing strokes as he cupped her heavy breast, while working his mouth down her breastbone and parting her neckline with his lips, moving ever so closer to her nipple, made her objections melt away.
And when his hand suddenly left her side to lift the low hem of her gown and slide its way to her naked thigh, she audibly gasped.
He continued to laugh softly, irking all sensibility from her thoughts.
His fingers on her thigh made her turn to mush, unable to fight him, unable to turn her body away. It felt so good to be caressed by John.
Expertly he slipped his hand up to her belly, and her muscles contracted involuntarily. His soft smile told her he was noticing and enjoying his effect on her.
She had many insecurities coming into this night, and she wondered if he knew them all.
How could he?
How could he know that she worried about being enough for him in bed?
He was very much younger than her late husband, physically more robust and demanding, had more stamina and expectations of her. Of making love.
On many levels she felt as inexperienced as a virgin. Certainly since her late husband’s stroke she hadn’t had sex a single time.
And now this…this… John’s fingers were drawing from her an exhilaration she hadn’t known existed…or perhaps had buried deep in her heart, figuring that passion in bed would never come to her again.
As John drove his hand upward and cupped her breast, she gave in to the temptation and turned her body willingly toward him, pleasuring in the contact, the way his fingertip circled her nipple and made her womanly parts throb. Blood rushed to her center, wet and pounding, as he lowered his face to her breast and sucked.
An instant pang of heat and desire flew through her. He positioned himself closer, between her legs, and she readily splayed her thighs, urging him inside.
His shaft bobbed on her stomach, so large and hard she nearly gasped. He worked his fingers downward and parted her wetness, rubbing the sensual button till it drove her wild with want.
When she was near the brink, he moved his fingers away and guided himself into her, firm and tight.
The pleasure…the feeling of being filled from top to bottom with John, the ecstasy of allowing him to thrust in and out as he bore into her with an urgent need of his own.
With his hands on either side of her hips, her nightgown scrunched up above her breasts, he moved with an intensity that pulled the muscles of his face into handsome planes and angles.
She ran her hands up the muscles of his chest, broad and angular, and watched him, mesmerized by his beautiful strong body in the moonlight as he rocked into her, caught in the splendor of
her own mounting climax.
She neared the brink. The contractions came, a wonderful spasm of release that thundered through her limbs and throbbed in the womanly part of her that came alive with John.
With his eyes half-hooded, he watched her move beneath him and suddenly he clenched his own muscles, closed his eyes and came inside her with the power and glory Mother Nature intended.
He was incredible to watch, the glow of light from the window cascading upon his tight muscles, the tan lines of his chest ending near his flattened stomach, the sheer power of his force spinning her heart with awe.
When they were finished, he rolled off her and patted her thigh affectionately.
She lay there, shocked at how much she’d taken pleasure from this, shocked at how much he’d been able to make her respond.
“I enjoyed that, Sophie,” he whispered up to the ceiling.
“Mmm. It was a lovely surprise.” She wanted to tell him all the things she felt, the insecurities she had, the desire to make this union right in every regard.
But he spoke first. “You see…it was a matter of wanting it for yourself.”
“There’s much more here than the physical act alone.”
“Of course. But even so, physical desire is not a bad place to start. And I appreciate you coming back to bed to—”
“I did not come back to seduce you. It was you who—”
“No sense fighting it. What this proves is that your appetite is as big as—”
“What this proves is that you’re good in bed and terribly conceited for knowing it.”
When he laughed softly again, she rose to go to the bathing room, tossed a pillow at him and watched him duck.
John let her rest the following day, Sunday, thinking she might not take too kindly to his advances so soon again.
Not that he didn’t want her. After the exhilarating time they’d shared last night, it was all he could think about as they ate breakfast, served by his housekeeper, Mrs. Dickson.
