She moaned his name, and her voice was high and wispy as her hands slipped through his dark hair, holding him in place, lest he leave her, robbing her of the strange spiraling pleasure he brought her.
Carefully his other hand slid between them, his fingers gentle as he discovered the warmth of her woman’s flesh, relieved at the discovery of her readiness. He could wait no longer.
“Hold still, honey,” he whispered against the softness of her breast, moving against her carefully, cautiously positioning himself and praying fervently that he would not bring her pain.
It was a futile hope. She was wonderfully snug, gloriously tight about him, and he pressed forward with all the tenderness he could manage. Breathing deeply, eyes closed against the passion that surged within him, he heard her gasp of pain, felt her buck against him, and then recognized the barrier of her innocence as it blocked his way.
His hands slid to grip her hips, holding her in place, and his mouth tightened against gritted teeth as he took her with one thrusting movement.
She cried out, shuddering against the invasion of her body. But then, with a trembling acceptance, she enclosed him within the cradle of her embrace, her arms tight about his back.
“Is that all?” she asked in a tight little voice against his shoulder.
He shook his head, concentrating on holding back the flood tide that begged to be released from his aching loins. “No, honey, there’s more,” he groaned, holding himself still, waiting for her tender flesh to accept him.
“I feel so full,” she ventured, shifting her hips to ease the aching pressure.
“Lay still,” he cautioned her quickly, unwilling to spill his seed without bringing her pleasure from their joining. Easing back, he allowed room for his fingers to reach her soft woman’s flesh once more, and she shivered.
“I’m not hurting you?” he asked, ceasing his gentle movements.
Her answer was a moan and a subtle lifting of herself against his hand. He felt the muscles of her bottom tighten as he held her firmly in place, and he soothed her, squeezing gently against the soft flesh. Her knees lifted higher, and her breathing quickened, her moan becoming a soft cadence of whispered words.
“Oh, please, Matt...please... I can’t....” Her voice was a pleading cry, and her head tossed on the pillow as she surrendered to the fierce pulsing pleasure of his caress.
He slid his arms beneath her, up her back, until his hands clasped her shoulders, holding her against him as he lifted himself and slid deeper within the narrow channel he’d claimed. Again, and then again, he sought the depths of her woman’s warmth, his breath shuddering against her throat. Until, with a final groan, he surged within her.
“Emmie?” He lay against her, aware of her silence as his weight pressed her slender body into the mattress beneath him. The word sounded harsh to his ears. His lungs were expanding more slowly now as his breathing became normal. “Emmie?” he repeated, lifting his head to gaze at her with hooded eyes.
Wordlessly, he watched her, watched the slow tears that slipped from beneath her lids, leaning to brush them with his own cheek. “Don’t cry, baby,” he whispered. “It won’t hurt the next time.”
She looked up at him, blinking against the tears that fell, smiling as she lifted her fingers to touch his face, tracing the wide lines of his forehead and down the hard angle of his jaw. She shook her head in an almost imperceptible movement, and her words were soft as she eased his worry.
“I’m not crying because it hurt.”
“Then why?” he asked roughly, bending to steal another tear, this time with the tip of his tongue.
“Because of...all of it,” she breathed. “You...me...the touching, the closeness of our bodies. I feel like I’m part of you,” she said in wonderment.
His grin was teasing as he moved, shifting with a subtle motion that reminded her of his position. “Are you now?” he asked as he brushed back the hair that curled against her forehead and temples, his fingers tempted once more by the silky texture. And then he bent to string a line of damp kisses across the flesh that he’d exposed, unwilling to meet her gaze as he felt the tendrils of caring tighten about his heart.
Chapter Ten
The face peering back from the mirror was a bit flushed, a bit anxious, but not what Emmaline had thought to see. Most certainly, it was her own, but somehow she had expected...what?
She frowned, one finger tucking at a stray curl that refused to be contained within her bonnet. Surely she should look different. Certainly the events of a wedding night should have made her look older, or more mature, or...something.
“Emmaline, are you ready to leave?”
She whirled to face the man who had entered the room while she was gazing at herself so intently.
“Don’t creep up on me,” she blustered. “You startled me.”
His gaze encompassed her, from the top of her bonnet to the tips of her shoes, which peeped from beneath the hem of her dress. He took his time about it, grinning as she clutched at her skirt with nervous fingers. Her cheeks were rosy with the same embarrassed confusion she’d struggled with since early morning. And, even as he watched, it intensified until she blinked and lifted her hands to lay cooling palms against her flaming skin.
“Reckon I know now what the phrase ‘blushing bride’ means, Emmaline,” he drawled with humor.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she blurted. “I hate it that I always blush.”
He was before her in two quick strides and his hands were spanning her waist, drawing her against his long, lean frame. She stiffened for a moment and opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head.
“Hush, Emmie,” he whispered, in a raspy, deep admonition that widened her eyes as she obeyed. “I like your blushes,” he said, in that same whisper, and she felt the tension once more grip her, aware with sharpened senses of the strength in his hands as he held her firmly, yet with a gentle touch. With narrowed eyes he focused on her mouth, and he smiled as he bent to bestow a brushing caress against the lips tempting him.
Her lashes drifted closed, and she drew a breath, caught up in the emotion that clutched at her. With a teasing pressure of his mouth against hers, he once more called into being a strange, mind-boggling awareness of him that pervaded her body at his touch. It filled her, this combination of scent and texture, as she inhaled his essence and moved her lips against his in a cautious exploration.
She reveled in the sense of triumph flowing through her like warm molasses, savoring the joyous knowledge that he wanted her. Hadn’t he said so? In the hours of the night past, hadn’t he whispered those very words into her ear?
“I want you, Emmie,” he’d muttered, just before he—
Her gasp of dismay as she recalled those heretofore forbidden and unknown intimacies was smothered by his mouth. But he lifted his head as she moved abruptly within his grasp.
Her eyes opened, fastening on the grin he wore. “What is it, Emmaline? Afraid I’ll cart you off to bed again?” He rocked her within his embrace, his arms tightening and his hands moving to fit themselves against her back. “I won’t, you know,” he said, a touch of regret lacing his words. “We need to head out to the ranch this morning. Tessie will be wondering what happened to us.”
She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t thinking that at all.”
His low chuckle mocked her. “I’ll bet you’ve spent more than a few minutes this morning worrying about being a bride.” His keen eyes rested on the telltale movement of her mouth as she bit against the corner of her lower lip. “Was it so bad, Emmie?”
Her eyes met his, and she shook her head again, more slowly this time. “No, it wasn’t bad at all,” she answered with inherent honesty. “Just...” Words failed her. It had been a revelation, an awakening. Nothing had prepared her for Matthew’s loving during those night hours. The unexpected pleasure she’d found in his touch, the joy she’d discovered within his embrace and the tenderness he’d brought to their lovemaking, were memories
she would cherish. But she certainly couldn’t talk about them!
It was enough that she couldn’t escape the memories this morning. I’ve become a carnal woman, she thought mournfully. Just like those unmentionable creatures who make themselves available to men. The ones that Grandmother talked about when she warned me about impure thoughts.
“I never knew before what happens between men and women,” she said, her words a whisper as she admitted her ignorance.
“I kinda figured that,” he said gruffly, his hands still against her slender back. “Didn’t anyone ever talk to you about it?” His brow furrowed as he wondered at the lack in her upbringing.
She shook her head, her eyes fixed on the second button of his shirt. “Delilah just told me that when I married, I must be a good wife and submit to my husband.”
His snort of disbelief tightened her lips, and she lifted her chin defensively. “Grandmother warned me against impure thoughts and told me to always be a lady,” she said, with precise emphasis on the words. “You made that very difficult for me to do, Matthew.”
“To tell the truth, honey, I’m amazed we made it through as well as we did, what with all the wonderful ideas that must have been floating through that curly head of yours.” He clasped her shoulders with gentle strength. “Look me right in the eye, Emmaline, and listen to this bit of advice to a new bride. You don’t have to submit to your husband. I just want you to enjoy what we do together.” His grin was knowing as he watched her eyes widen with comprehension.
“I’m not sure we should be talking about it like this,” she said primly, and she pushed with futile pressure against his broad chest.
He laughed, a full, robust chuckle that caught her unawares, and his eyes lit with delight. “I doubt I need to worry about you being too submissive to me, anyway, Emmaline. You’re about the least pliable woman I’ve come across in my time.”
“Really. And have there been a lot of women ‘in your time’ to compare me with?” she asked tartly.
“Probably not as many as there could have been,” he said bluntly. “I’m twenty-eight years old, Emmaline, and I’ve met up with a few females along the way. But I’ll tell you one thing right now. You don’t need to worry that there will be anyone besides you in my life from now on.”
* * *
The welcoming committee was out in full force as their horses neared the house. “Someone must have seen us coming,” Matt mused. “Sure looks like all the females in the place are ready to pounce, doesn’t it?”
Emmaline nodded, her thoughts in a quandary. Already she was aware of the telltale warmth of her cheeks as they drew rein near the back door of the low, sprawling building. The thought of facing Maria, Olivia and the hired men as a new bride was daunting, but the anticipation of scooping Theresa into her arms for a welcoming embrace was heartwarming.
And there her little sister was, balancing on one foot as she gave them her best scowl. “You didn’t come home last night,” she said darkly. “I didn’t have a good-night story.” Her eyes were focused on Matthew, but they slid quickly to Emmaline as she thrust her lower lip out and frowned her displeasure.
“I’m sorry, Tessie,” Matt began as he swung from his mount. “We got held up in town longer than we thought and just couldn’t make it back before dark. So we spent the night at the hotel.” He dropped his reins to the ground, moving with long strides to where she stood. His smile was warm as he reached down to pick her up, and she clung to him, her smile matching his own.
With Tessie held high in his arms, he stepped back to where Emmaline waited, still astride her horse. “Did you know that Emmaline is going to live here from now on?” he asked the child, his mouth next to her ear.
She shook her head. “Nobody told me anything, Maff— Matthew,” she complained dourly, and she poked out her lower lip as she considered her sister.
“We wanted to tell you ourselves, Theresa.” She smiled at the swift brightening of the little girl’s doleful countenance, and cupped the small chin as she bestowed a warm caress on her brow.
“You’re never gonna go back to Lexing—that place where you came from?” Tessie asked hopefully. “You’re gonna stay here with Maffew...I mean Matthew...and me for always?” Her eyes darted to Olivia, and then she whispered, for Emmaline’s ears only, “I keep forgetting.”
Emmaline nodded and bent once more to kiss the child. “It’s all right. We all forget things, sometimes.”
“Not Miss Olivia,” Tessie confided. “She reminds me of things all the time.”
Emmaline’s glance met that of the dark-haired woman watching the tender scene and caught a look of cold derision aimed in her direction. Olivia’s lashes fell quickly, covering the evidence of chilling animosity she’d made no attempt to conceal. Emmaline felt a shiver snake its way up her back, and she blinked disbelievingly.
I must have been mistaken. Surely the woman could not feel so hateful. Why would she?
She chanced another look. Olivia’s hands were smoothing her skirt, her eyes were still downcast, her face was placid and unreadable. I was wrong, Emmaline decided, relief flooding her.
“Emmie, are you gettin’ down off that horse pretty soon?” It was a plaintive query, and Emmaline responded with a laugh.
“I certainly am, sweetheart. We have something to tell you.” Lifting her right leg, she rose in the saddle, ready to slide to the ground, but Matt was quick to lay a hand on her knee.
“Here, Tessie. Get down for a minute,” he said, lowering the child to the ground. Then, with a possessive gesture that caught Emmaline unawares, he held her by the waist and lifted her from her mount, hesitating while she kicked free of the stirrup, and then lowered her to the ground to stand facing him. With one arm possessively about her waist, he turned her to where Maria and Olivia waited.
“Emmaline and I got married in town yesterday,” he announced briefly. Theresa tilted her head back and gazed at them with wide eyes. Maria’s smile was brilliant, and she nodded as she stepped off the low porch.
“Sí, I figured that out when you sent for the bundle of things you bought for her. Tucker said you were at the hotel and looking very pleased with yourself.”
Emmaline glared at Matt as he shrugged diffidently. “Things went well, I thought,” he allowed, tightening his grip on Emmaline’s ribs.
“My congratulations to you, Mr. Gerrity,” Olivia said smoothly, smiling politely as she waited near the porch. “And good wishes to you, Mrs. Gerrity,” she added, her eyes veiled, once more calm and self-assured.
“Thank you,” Emmaline replied, intent on escaping from the confining grip Matt had placed upon her. She bent to embrace Theresa, and Matt’s hand slipped from her waist, freeing her reluctantly.
“I’ve got things to tend to,” he said, his eyes already seeking the figures that moved about the barns. Claude lifted a hand in greeting and Matt stepped to take the hanging reins of both horses, his mind already focused on the chores that awaited him.
“I’ll try to be in for dinner, Maria,” he said over his shoulder as he led the animals behind him, his strides long and purposeful, heading for the men who awaited him.
“I killed chickens this morning,” she answered. “We’ll have dumplings.”
Emmaline’s nose wrinkled. “You killed the chickens?” she asked unbelievingly.
“Sí.” Maria nodded firmly. “Who else would do it? I don’t let those men in my hen yard. They are all big hands and loud yells, and they scare my laying hens.” She glanced slyly at Emmaline. “Maybe that would be a good job for you. You could feed them and gather up the eggs.”
Emmaline shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t know anything about chickens, except that they somehow get from the coop to the table.”
“You can’t cook?” Maria was disbelieving.
Emmaline shook her head again. “I’ve never been in the kitchen much,” she admitted. “Our cook didn’t like anyone in her way, and I didn’t expect I’d ever need to know how to
, anyway.”
Maria inspected her with measuring eyes. “I think you will find it a little different here,” she said, gathering her skirts and turning to step up onto the porch. “Everyone has to be able to take care of themselves on a ranch. And that means knowing how to cook.”
Emmaline shuddered at the thought of what must surely be involved in the process of killing chickens for dinner. “I think I could get vegetables from the garden and fix them,” she offered, willing to be obliging. “But I’ve always been more interested in working in the barn with the horses than wondering what goes on in the kitchen.”
Maria shook her head in wonder. “Ladies don’t work in the barns where the men are. Hired hands come and go, and ladies have enough good sense to stay away from them. Mr. Matt would not want you out there.”
Emmaline followed her into the house, intent on explaining her position. “I’ve been out with the men. Well, with Claude, anyway.”
Maria turned to her and shook her finger admonishingly. “You are safe with Claude. Perhaps with the others, too, but it is not a good idea. You let Mr. Matthew decide that. You are a pretty woman, and now the lady of the house. You must do what your husband says, you know.”
“Oh, you sound like Delilah and my grandmother,” Emmaline said scornfully. “I may have married Matt, but that doesn’t mean he can tell me what to do,” she announced with a trace of scorn.
“Matthew tells us all what to do,” Theresa said primly from behind her. “He runs the place, doesn’t he, Miss Olivia?”
“Your brother owns the ranch, Theresa. And we don’t argue with those in authority.” Olivia spoke her piece as though it were well rehearsed.
“Oh, pooh!” Emmaline snorted. “Any woman worth her salt could learn how to take care of the horses.”
“Emmaline!” His voice was strident behind her, and when she spun to face the door, Matt towered before her.
Gerrity'S Bride Page 14
