John puffed up like a rooster. Things were going well indeed, but he wanted the fire to be fully stoked before nature took its course. “Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Sure.”
“I know what Adam thought when he saw Eve for the first time. He took one look and thought she was the most beautiful creature on earth. But what did Eve think when she caught a glimpse of Adam—without the fig leaf?”
Stretching fully against him, Abbie stroked his chest. “I know exactly how she felt. She was shocked to her bones at the thought of feeling him inside her.”
John was hanging on to Abbie’s every word. “And after the shock wore off?”
“Well,” Abbie said, dragging out the word. “Once she got used to the idea, she wanted to touch.”
And that’s what Abbie did next. Through the fabric of his trousers, John felt the bend of her knuckles tracing the length of him. He needed to keep his hands to himself a little longer, but Abbie could touch him wherever she wanted. More aroused than he’d been in his life, he laced his fingers behind his neck and blew out a breath. “Hellfire,” he muttered.
Abbie’s smile tickled his chest. She had all the control and was taking full advantage. He liked it that way, at least for now. Someday he’d tumble her to her back and rub his face between her breasts. He’d kiss and stroke her most private places. He’d make her laugh and weep with the intensity of their love. Over the years, he’d learned more than a single man had a right to know about the female body. He intended to put every bit of that sinful knowledge to use for his wife’s pleasure.
But first she needed to get used to him. John figured seducing Abbie was like filling a bathtub. He’d put the cold water in first and then warm it up with kettle after steaming kettle. Right now, he was doing the boiling, but it had to be that way. If he wasn’t careful, she’d end up in a panic and they’d lose ground. As it stood, she was forging ahead by tugging his shirttail out of his waistband and rubbing his belly with her hand.
When she undid the top button of his trousers, John closed his eyes and wondered what she had in mind. Using her index finger, she drew an upward curve to the left and made a downward sweep. Then she made a curve to the right and another soft trail. John chuckled softly. She’d just drawn a heart around his belly button.
“I love you, too,” he said.
When Abbie pushed up on her elbow, he reached down and pulled her into his lap. She wiggled so that her bottom was on the mattress, leaving her thighs loose over his hips and curled against his belly. Turning, she undid the buttons on his shirt one at a time. After parting the sides, she put her hand over his heart and kissed him full on the mouth.
Of all the kisses they’d shared, this one held the most knowledge of the journey to come. She knew what to expect from him—a gentle passion, caresses to her throat and neck, even her eyes and ears. And he knew what to expect from his wife. She was kissing him with something close to a vengeance.
The tangle of their tongues reminded John of pirates dueling on the deck of a ship. Back and forth. In and out. Up, down and all around. At this rate, he wasn’t going to wait for the church’s ceremony to make love to his wife. He wasn’t going to wait five more minutes. With his arms strong around her shoulders, he slid their bodies downward so that they were lying hip to hip and still kissing. Lost in the taste of her, he caressed the side of her breast.
He’d just dragged his thumb over the sensitive tip when he heard a hitch in her breathing. Instantly, John stopped touching her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded in small jerks. “I’m fine.”
But her voice had a shake in it and she had hunched her shoulders. Nor was “fine” the way he wanted her to feel when they made love for the first time as man and wife. John slid his hand back to her upper chest and then down her arm, tugging her close so that his hips spooned her backside. “Sleep with me,” he whispered.
When he felt her body relax, he knew he had made the right call. Sure, he wanted to finish the dance they’d just started, but not tonight. Not until he was sure his wife wouldn’t run crying from the room.
John soon discovered that living without sex completely was easier than living with the hope of it. Every night for the past week, Abbie had come to his room, and every night she had seemed a little more desperate. John had assured her that time and tenderness would solve the problem and that he wasn’t at all concerned, but her frown only deepened.
With the wedding set for tomorrow, he was worried about her, which was why he was sitting on the porch watching the sunset. In another hour he’d be in the dark, a fitting end to a week that had left him confused and frustrated. A cigarette would have been nice. Ah, hell. Who was he fooling? He wanted a whole pack. Instead he hunched forward in the chair and replayed the details of last night. The midnight picnic under the oak had been Abbie’s idea and he’d liked it just fine—until she’d pulled the whiskey bottle out of the picnic hamper. He didn’t want his wife drinking for courage before they made love.
“Reverend?”
Judge Moore’s voice came from the front of the house. John stifled a groan. If the old goat decided to lecture him about the duties of marriage, John didn’t think he could endure it. Nor did he want to hear the judge extolling the virtues of a good education for Robbie, while taking potshots at Susanna’s character. John’s heart had changed completely since visiting the Trents. He could hardly wait to claim Susanna as his own. He knew they’d all need time to adjust, but he hoped that someday she’d call him Pa.
He was imagining hearing that word for the first time when Moore came around the corner. Shaking off his irritation, John pushed to his feet and motioned at the chair that now belonged to Abbie. “Hello, Judge. Would you care to join me?”
“Sure.”
After they both sat, Lawton pulled a pair of cigars from his coat pocket. “Care for a smoke?”
If it hadn’t been for his promise to Abbie, John would have taken the cigar with pleasure. For one thing, it was an eight-inch Cuban, but even more important, the cigar was a peace offering. John considered making the compromise, but a single whiff of smoke would do awful things to his wife, so he shook his head. “I wish I could, but your daughter’s not fond of tobacco.”
The old man waved the cigar right under John’s nose. With each pass, the darn thing got longer and more fragrant. John could almost taste the spicy tobacco, feel the smoke calming his restless thoughts. But he liked the taste of his wife a lot more than he liked cigars.
“Are you sure you don’t want it?” said Moore.
“I’m positive. Smoke it for me later.”
The judge gave a dry laugh. “So you’re henpecked already.”
For the hundredth time, John wondered if he had made the right call when he’d asked Lawton to perform the ceremony. Abbie had gone along with the plan in the spirit of keeping the peace, but John wished he’d been more careful.
The judge lit the cigar and puffed a cloud of smoke. “I want to talk to you about Robbie—man to man.”
The judge could talk all he wanted, but John had an ace in the hole. This afternoon he had received a letter from Jefferson Hodge advising that the transfer of Robert’s estate was final. As John had requested, he and Abbie were joint executors. He planned to tell her tomorrow as a kind of wedding present.
With the papers in order, they no longer had to appease the judge, but neither did John want to offend him more than necessary. “So what’s on your mind?”
“I’d like to enroll Robbie in the Billings Academy for the fall term. It’s run by one of my Harvard classmates.”
“I see.”
The judge blew another cloud of smoke. “Raising another man’s son is a burden I wouldn’t expect you to take on. I’ll pay his expenses, of course. I’d also expect him to visit his mother every summer.”
Between the smoke in his face and the judge’s slight to Susanna, John had gotten a snootful of his arrogance. Wise or not, he decided to take a j
ab of his own. “What about your granddaughter?”
“She’s a bad seed.” Moore tapped the cigar with his finger, crumbling the ash. “You do realize she’s illegitimate?”
John was itching to shout the truth—that Susanna was his and he was proud of her—but provoking the judge would serve no purpose. Instead he made his voice firm. “I know everything—including the fact she’s bright and wants to go to college.”
“That’s none of my concern. I’m here to look after Robbie, which means I won’t be leaving town until my daughter agrees to do what’s best for my grandson.”
John kept his voice even. “We can discuss it after the wedding.”
Grunting, the judge pushed up from his chair. “I feel strongly, Reverend. I intend to take Robbie with me when I leave.”
“Like I said, we’ll talk later.”
For the second time, Moore held out the cigar. “Take it. You can enjoy it behind Abigail’s back.”
Or, John thought, he could shove it up the judge’s…never mind. By the grace of God, he waved off the Cuban and managed to sound pleasant when he said good night.
After watching Moore saunter back to town, John thought about finding Abbie. The old coot had made him irritable and he needed to blow off a little steam, but she was upstairs with Beth, trying on her wedding dress. Tomorrow at this time they’d be alone in the house. Beth had already rented a room for herself, and Robbie would be with his grandfather at the hotel.
With the stars flickering, John breathed a prayer for Abbie. Soon they’d make love. She’d open her arms and welcome him home. Certain of the joys to come, he lingered on the porch, watching as the moon rose above Broken Heart Ridge. The silver glow paled compared to the shaft of light streaming from Abbie’s open window. At the ripple of female laughter, John smiled. He would have liked to have been a fly on the wall, but he contented himself with listening to whispers until the window went dark and he knew Abbie had gone to bed.
He sat for another hour, listening to the hum of the night and thinking about his wife. She claimed she could live with the threats from his past, but John wondered if she understood what he was asking. Guilt for killing Gantry’s sons followed John like a shadow, and tonight that awareness made him peer down the path to town. Gantry would always be a train ride away. Even now he could be in Midas and who would know? John’s dirty bones hadn’t rattled in some time, but they were jangling tonight. Hoping he could sleep in spite of his rushing blood, he walked around the porch to his bedroom.
Even before he turned the knob, he felt his neck hairs prickle. He told himself he was overreacting and stepped inside, but why was the lamp burning? And who had closed the drapes he’d left open? It couldn’t have been Abbie. Just this afternoon, they had joked about the groom not seeing the bride and he’d told her he’d miss her visit.
If Abbie hadn’t opened the drapes, who the hell had? Had Gantry found them? Was this a sick game? John wanted his Colt but he’d left it in the front room. The shotgun was under the bed.
Tense and wary, he finally spotted Abbie standing in the corner by the open window, dressed in her pink robe and inhaling the night air. When she turned, he saw her glimmering eyes and lips that were moist and slightly parted. John wasn’t at all in the mood for talk and touching. He wanted the kind of feverish joining that would chase away every thought, every fear. He wanted to lose himself in her. But he doubted Abbie had that kind of tussle in mind. Feeling surly, he said, “Aren’t we supposed to wait for the wedding night?”
“We’re already married,” she reminded him.
Common sense told John to walk out of the room, but he didn’t want to do it. Maybe he’d hold her for a while—that was all. Just a touch to know she was safe. Just a kiss to help him settle down. With a low-pitched chord thrumming through him, he closed the door with a hard click.
Chapter Fifteen
Abbie felt like a fool standing in front of John, but time had run out. Tomorrow at noon, everyone in Midas expected her to become Mrs. John Leaf, a full partner in her husband’s work and someone they could count on. Abbie loved the idea. She wanted to teach a special class for adolescent girls and to hold a fund-raiser for a scholarship fund. She had dozens of ideas for the town, but first she had to succeed in the bedroom.
She’d come close to making love to John the other night, but her traitorous nerves had twitched when he’d touched her breast. She’d figured out that her throat was her breaking point. Anything north of her collarbone felt good. Anything south made her wary. As for her sensitive nipples, she wondered how she had managed to nurse two babies without falling apart. She had even enjoyed it, especially the rhythm of rocking in time to the baby’s need.
She had to get past that barrier, but how? This afternoon she’d found the answer tucked inside the box holding her wedding gown. Jayne Trent had enclosed a lacy nightgown and a note inviting her to have lunch next week.
That note had taken Abbie straight to her kitchen in Washington where she had sipped coffee with her friends. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Maggie would have told her to be brave. So tonight, after Beth had hugged her good night and Robbie had fallen asleep, she had put on the nightgown, covered it with her familiar pink robe and snuck into John’s room.
Judging by his expression, she had shocked the daylights out of him but he’d recovered quickly. Leaning against the door, he said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
Abbie’s nerves prickled. What in the world was she supposed to do now? John was standing still, watching her too carefully. She hated that control in his eyes. What gave him the right to hold back from her?
Raising her chin, she loosened the belt on her wrapper. Keeping her gaze on her husband’s face, she let the sides drift apart to reveal the sheer lace she wore beneath.
A whoosh of air hissed through his lips, then his gaze traveled downward, not missing a curve. Her skin burned inside the gown. Keeping her eyes locked on John’s face, she slid the robe down her shoulders, praying her fears would go with it. But the butterflies in her belly only fluttered more. Even so, she let the robe fall to the floor. The heat of the lamp pushed through the glass chimney and seared her spine. As she took a step forward, she saw a double shadow on the mattress—the solid one of her body and the winglike one of the lace.
When she had stood naked in the bath, she had been defiant, daring him to look at her scars. Expecting a rejection, she simply hadn’t cared. But tonight she felt every flick of his eyes, the twitch of his jaw as he perused her hips, her middle, her breasts and finally her face.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
The rumble of his voice, dark and hungry, gave her courage. “I am.”
She stayed in front of the lamp, watching as he turned the lock. As the metal clicked, a memory of Robert locking the door to their bedroom surfaced like a bubble rising in boiling oil. She swallowed hard to make it go away, but she couldn’t stop herself from raising her hand to the scars. She would not panic. She’d go numb before she’d break down. She had to remember that John loved her. He’d be gentle and careful. If she focused on his eyes, she’d be fine.
As he crossed the room, his gaze felt heavy on her body just as it had in Kansas. Only tonight his features revealed the expectations of a mature man. In his eyes she saw everything—his need for love, hope for their future and, God help them both, worry for her. She hated that hesitancy. If he asked her again if she was sure, she’d fall apart.
Stay brave…stay strong…
When he was three steps away, Abbie lowered her hand from the scars. The lace of the gown dragged across her nipple, causing the tip to throb. She didn’t like how it made her feel—needy and small—but she couldn’t stop now. John stood in front of her with his back to the bed. The desk and lamp were behind her. Already she felt trapped and he hadn’t even touched her.
To hide her eyes, she dipped her chin. “I want to turn out the lamp.” Fear had made her voice husky, a sound she hoped he’d mistake for passi
on.
“I like the dark, too.”
Leaning forward, he reached around her waist to turn down the wick. As his chest brushed the lace, the nightgown abraded her skin with even more intensity. Just as she winced, the room went dark. Relieved that John hadn’t seen her expression, she breathed evenly until she realized he was pulling back the drapes. As air wafted through the open window, a beam of moonlight fell across the bed, turning the sheets even whiter. John stepped in front of her and rested his hands on her shoulders. Saying nothing, he caressed the muscles in her back.
“If I do something you don’t like, just say stop,” he said quietly. “No matter what, that’s what I’ll do.”
But she didn’t want that temptation. If she failed to make love to her husband tonight, she wouldn’t take vows tomorrow. But neither would she surrender without a fight.
Making her voice seductive, she said, “I appreciate the concern, but I won’t say it.”
To make her point, she put her arms around his shoulders and kissed him, warm and openmouthed. Groaning, he kissed her back with an urgency she recognized as a lifetime of loneliness.
She wanted to reach across that void in his life, to span the gap between Kansas and now, but the gown was scraping more fiercely, bringing with it memories that made her hate the lace. Why did women wear such frilly things? But she knew why—it gave them power. John had lost all resolve at the sight of her in the blasted thing.
That power gave her courage. Breaking the kiss, she raised her hands to the top button of his shirt. She undid it quickly and worked downward until his torso was bare. As she slid her fingers around his waist, she felt the satin of his skin stretched tight from his hips to his ribs. Where Robert had been flabby, John was hard. It gave her courage. So did the ridge of scar tissue on his side.
Dear God, she loved this man. She wanted to give him everything—her heart, her body, her future. Wanting with her whole heart to be brave, she pushed his shirt off his shoulders.
Abbie's Outlaw Page 18
