Nobody had ever seen her without her clothes on.
With her nipples in tight buds and her skin flushed with gooseflesh, she was assaulted with a sudden and unwanted shyness. A feeling of insecurity about her body overwhelmed her. It took everything she possessed to remain absolutely still, to not cover her breasts and the private place between her legs. She was tall. Too tall. Not slender at all.
It was agonizing to let him stare at her, his gaze roving up and down her body. She couldn’t watch him looking at her.
“You’re beautiful, Truvy.”
The awe in his voice was real.
Even so, she couldn’t help herself. “I’m tall,” she whispered thickly.
“You’re just right. For me.”
He brought her to him and kissed her tenderly, mouth touching mouth. Nothing else. It wasn’t enough. She fell into him, into the warmth he offered. She clutched him, bringing her fingernails down his naked back. Everything was so untried. So new. Each thing about them, about touching, was like a myriad of foreign sensations.
His hands rose to fondle her breasts, fingering her nipples, teasing and arousing. He had light calluses on his fingertips, the harder skin against her soft and sensitive flesh bringing forth an eruption of dizzying bliss. It seemed as if she were spiraling down into an abyss of raw pleasure.
Truvy moved her hands along the sides of his neck, feeling the strength in the tendons. Their lips broke apart when she began to pant, their foreheads touching. She marveled at the softness to his brows where they blended with hers. His nose met hers, tip to tip. They gasped, their breath spent.
She lifted her face, holding his between her hands, searching his eyes. They were hooded and filled with passion she hadn’t anticipated. Everything in his gaze was for her—desire, wanting. She marveled at his need for her. She ran her fingertips over his mouth. His teeth nipped at her while he unfastened his trousers, then kicked them off.
She knew he was naked, but she hadn’t looked when he’d undressed, hadn’t dared watch him shed the last piece of clothing between them.
Now, her eyes lowered, slowly, toward the part of him she’d wondered about.
Once her eyes were there, she stared in amazement. He was larger than she’d thought possible, extended and thick, a long shaft of smooth skin with a rounded end and cleft. At its base, dark hair curled. Like hers.
“Is . . .”—she cleared her throat—“. . . are you average?”
“Not hardly.”
Not hardly. He’d said that about marriage. And he’d meant it. He had to mean this. He was larger than most men. Of course he would be. He was taller than any man in town, broader and wider, thicker. My goodness . . . how would they manage this?
The question was broken in her mind as his body loomed over her, then came down on top of hers in a pleasant weight. She felt his penis next to her leg—between her legs, brushing her hotly. With both of them lying on the bed, the mattress sank. Springs creaked.
Jake rested on his elbows, his hair falling over his brow. She touched a corner of his mouth. He briefly kissed her fingertip. Every one of her senses was heightened, making her ecstatically radiant.
Natural impulses.
This felt natural, right.
“I have to tell you something,” he said, very seriously.
She grew fearful and bit her lower lip. “You’ve changed your mind.”
“No.” He shook his head, keeping his arms straight and his upper body off of her. She felt his lower body stir. “If I don’t take myself from you,” he said, his chin lowered so that he drew her full attention, “at the most sensitive part of our making love, I could get you pregnant.”
“Oh . . .” Truvy knew about that detail. The chapter entitled “The Marital State” was quite clear on con ception. “You don’t have to worry,” she said, surprising him. “It’s not a time for me to . . .”—the words were difficult for her to speak—“. . . get into a situation. The book I told you about that I was reading—”
“The science book.”
“Yes, that’s the one. I figured out the pattern of a woman’s time—not for myself but in general—from the ‘Table of Conception and Barren Periods.’ ” Unable to keep a warm blush at bay, she revealed, “It’s not my time.”
“You’re sure?”
She couldn’t go as far as telling him the date of her last menses. It was mortifying enough that she’d said what she had. “Quite.”
A log in the heater fell, causing an eruption of fiery sparks and snaps to fill the room.
Truvy’s passion-swollen lips longed for his kiss, some signal that what she’d said hadn’t shocked him.
Jake lowered his face toward hers; the ends of his hair brushed across her collarbone. Then he did the most exquisite thing. He pulled her nipple into his mouth; his free hand teased the other into a peak. The newfound discovery of intense pleasure brought a deeper longing to her. He suckled her for a long moment, and she felt as if she were being pulled toward a heady direction of complete surrender. It was a sweet pain, not a mad pain.
There was no thought of consequence or tomorrow.
Truvy wanted today and this moment to last forever.
She let herself be lost in Jake, his mouth, his hands, his body.
He trailed kisses between the valley of her breasts and took her nipple inside his hot mouth. Her hands kneaded his back, the sinewy cords of pure muscle.
In the middle of this bliss, there came a moment when Truvy realized where they were going. She instinctively parted her thighs for him. As he broke away from her breast and captured her mouth, he slid a finger inside her. Shock left her lips, but he caught it in a searing kiss. The length of him pressed against her. She felt as if everything converged to that one spot in her, a pulsing knot begging for release, for something to fill its emptiness.
As Jake stroked her, harder and faster, she cried out. A torrent of pleasure skimmed her skin. She trembled.
He moved his knee between her already parted legs, wanting her wider and ready for him. Slowly, he probed her slick entrance. Then lifting his face so that he could look into her eyes, he inched himself inside her. For a split second, Truvy braced herself against the sharp pain that knifed through her womb. She’d wanted this, to know him like this. She hadn’t known the sweet ecstasy would dissipate for the actual act.
She clutched his shoulders, holding tight, as he began to move deeper. Each time he pushed a little farther, the pain eased. When he had buried the entire length of himself and stopped, the discomfort ebbed to nothing.
His eyes fastened to hers.
Truvy stared, confused. “This is it?”
The crisp hairs of his chest rubbed against her as his chest vibrated with gentle laughter. “Not if I can help it.”
“Oh . . . do we rest now?”
“Maybe later. After the first time. Not now.”
Then he began to move within her, a methodic rhythm, the friction of his smooth penis against her innermost private place. The steady and driving rock of his hips puckered her nipples and made all her earlier desires come flooding back. The emptiness was gone—filled by Jake.
Her heartbeat thrummed beneath her soft breasts, which jiggled gently from the motions he made with his lower body. Raising her arms, she clenched his hips, feeling an urgency for . . . something more.
Without modesty, she matched his tempo, the rhythmic labors of his lovemaking. A drop of perspiration dropped from his brow, splashing her cheek. His breath came out in choppy waves. She held onto him, bending her legs so that her knees bumped the sides of his torso. In this position, when he drove into her, he went much deeper. The sensation enveloped her, causing her to suck in her breath.
The entire moment was an awakening the likes of which she’d never experienced. She needed to release tension she wasn’t aware she’d had. With Jake’s every thrust, the tension built and built, until she was sure she couldn’t stand the coil growing tighter and tighter any longer.
&n
bsp; Then everything released deep, deep inside her. He groaned, and her body let go of the tension, a whirlwind of heat flooding her as Jake plunged one last time, harder than he had before. She felt the muscles on his back tighten like ropes, and she clutched his damp skin.
She held onto him, eyes closed, lost in the sexual desire she’d repressed for weeks. Fulfillment claimed her in every way.
Jake’s ragged breath hotly caressed her ear as he nipped her lobe and his body shuddered on top of hers. They lay there, entwined, the place where they were joined still throbbing, pulsing and wet.
And as for Truvy, she now knew what it felt like for every nerve inside her to be thrilled.
Truvy buried her face in the crook of Jake’s shoulder. Her soft, sweet breath touched his neck. He tried to regain control of his senses. The fragrance of lemony flowers came to his nose. His breathing was labored. He pressed his mouth to her ear, kissing her. Still deep inside her, he rose on his forearm, needing to see her face, to search her eyes and see how she felt.
The cloud of her hair fanned about her head, cushioned on the softness of the pillow. Her lips were parted; her breasts rose and fell beneath his chest.
There were no dictionary words for Jake that could describe what had just happened. He’d never been with a woman before and felt like this, total and complete. A quiet peace filled him.
He was in love with Truvy Valentine.
More than he’d thought possible. It had crept up on him, taken him by surprise, and roped him in. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, so many things she didn’t know about him. Hundreds of questions plagued his mind. A future between them would mean digging into the past; namely, it meant telling her that he’d had a wife before. If they were to consider marrying, Truvy had to know.
Marriage.
The idea came at him in a rush. But if he asked her now, she’d think he felt obligated to. He did need to reassure Truvy of one absolute truth: he had no regrets and he hoped she didn’t either.
“Truvy, I—” That’s all he was able to say.
The length of fingertip placed to his mouth stopped him. Seriousness overtook her face. “Jake, there’s no reason to say anything. I don’t want you to feel like you have to. We had a nice time.” Slowly lowering her hand, she almost begged, “Please, let’s leave it at that.”
Jake’s muscles tensed. Her implication didn’t go unnoticed. With her meaning as crystal as the glass on the bedside table, she might as well have said: It was just sex. Nothing more.
How many times had he just “had sex” and he hadn’t cared? When he finally did care beyond his imagination, the woman he was with gave him his stock answer.
Jesus. Anyway . . . what did he think she would say? Do? Throw away her teaching position for him? She’d never given any indication she wanted to. Or would. Yes, she’d questioned being at that school of hers a while ago, but she’d been feeling the brandy.
Nobody just walked because of good sex.
“All right, Tru.” Jake nodded. “We’ll leave it at that.”
But his words belied the ache in the pit of his belly.
Chapter
18
T he following Tuesday, Edwina went to the dance studio to meet Truvy for a late-afternoon tea at Rosemarie’s Tearoom. Baby Elizabeth remained at home with Marvel-Anne.
The baptism had been the previous day. Jake was at the church and sat in the front pew beside Tom and Shay, with Truvy, Edwina, and Crescencia at the other end. Before and during the minister’s sermon, there had been no opportunity to speak with Jake; Truvy had given him a glance here and there, trying to keep the butterflies from fluttering in her stomach. Afterward, he’d been asked to the Wolcotts’ house for refreshments and cake, but he’d passed on the invitation. Truvy’s pride concealed her inner turmoil at his decision.
Four days had passed since Truvy and Jake had been together, and each day went by more slowly. Her spirits fell and longing, mixed with doubt, swirled through her head.
She had pushed him away, and he had allowed her to.
Yesterday, out of fear Jake wouldn’t appear at the studio, Truvy hadn’t arrived early for their private dance instruction. Nor had she stayed late. He hadn’t been in one of her classes, so she hadn’t seen him the entire day. She threw her energies into the lessons, having made great improvement on her technique . . . thanks to Jake. She was somewhat successful during daylight hours at keeping him out of her thoughts. But at nighttime, it was more difficult not to think about him while lying in her bed, unable to sleep.
His scent lingered on the cotton sheets—the spicy smell of his shaving cologne, the woodsy shampoo for his hair. She told herself that she’d just had her linens washed the day he’d spent the night; they didn’t need to be brought to the laundry. But she’d been deluding herself. Lying in bedclothes that reminded her senses of Jake Brewster wasn’t something easy to give up to the harshness of borax soap.
Out of concern for his being discovered in her room at an inappropriate hour, Jake had left well before dawn last week. Throughout the night before he’d left, they’d made love. And each time, she’d enjoyed the coupling more than the last. He was better than brandy, the sensations he evoked moving through her slower than the torrid liquor, fanning hotly through her body.
Longing for him was foolish. By telling him that their encounter had no emotional attachments, she made it easy for him, knowing he would feel bad for taking her virginity and afterward offer some sort of apology or condolence. She couldn’t hear it. It would make her crazy if he pitied her or felt sorry for her in any way.
She would have to face him tomorrow, talk with him, dance with him—force herself to remain unaffected in his arms. The men of the Barbell Club were coming for their final lesson before the Mr. Physique contest. She had to try desperately to pretend nothing had changed between them.
“It’s dark in here,” Edwina commented, putting recordings away.
“I drew the curtains so I could lock up.”
But that was a lie. She’d kept them closed for most of the day, unable to bear knowing Jake was right across the alleyway, available to her . . . but not available.
“I’m ready to go.” Edwina brushed off the front of her coat, then gave the angle of her hat a check. Appearing stunningly beautiful, she’d blossomed into motherhood like a rare rose.
“Me, too.”
Truvy locked the studio and she and Edwina made their way over to Main Street.
The sun was high in the late afternoon sky, the temperatures in the low fifties. Unusual for January, but Harmony enjoyed the unexpected warmth, and most everyone was on the streets walking and socializing.
A commotion rose from the train depot a block away. Men’s voices came up Sycamore Drive. Truvy recognized Lou Bernard, the porter, as he fired off a disclaimer about railroad policy. Several men argued his point—loudly, undeniably excited.
Within minutes, approximately a dozen men appeared at the top of Old Oak Road with Lou in the front of this makeshift procession. Behind him, the fire department’s draft horses pulled a low-bed wagon. Sitting on the bed was a towering wooden crate—one full story in height and at least six feet wide on all sides. The massive box had writing burned into its cedar siding and caused quiet an instant attraction.
Businesses emptied as Lou Bernard led the entourage toward the town square.
“Good heavens! I wonder what that is.” Edwina rose on the balls of her feet to get a better look over the group of teetering young ladies who’d just departed Rosemarie’s Tearoom. Their hats were high and trimmed, but Truvy had no problem seeing.
That crate was the largest she’d seen. And had to be heavy as sin. The draft horses strained and pulled, their shod hooves pounding over the bricked street.
“Come on,” Edwina said, gleefully curious. “Let’s go see what it is.”
Truvy snuggled into her cape and walked swiftly behind Edwina to the town square, where it seemed as if the entire town gathe
red to wait and find out what would happen. The wagon made its way through the east pathway and stopped dead center in front of the white gazebo.
“All right! Stop!” Lou shouted with a raise of his hand. “Where’s Jake Brewster?”
“Here he comes!”
Voices rumbled through the crowd, while a surge of anticipation fired through Truvy’s pulse. She quickly craned her head with the others. She couldn’t miss him as he walked forward. The crowd parted in a rush. Faces anxiously peering up at him, children yanked on their fathers’ coattails and their mothers’ skirts with wonderment. Nobody knew what the crate meant to Jake, least of all Truvy, who drank in every inch of him as he came to the wagon.
He took her breath away, made her heartbeat sing. There was nothing like the feeling of looking at him, of knowing she’d been with him in the way a woman is with a man. She’d seen him naked, had him inside her, intimate and sated. Of that, she was glad. She knew him in ways that were private. It seemed as if the town expected him to be larger than life, and he was. And he also seemed as if he liked living the legend. But for all his notoriety, Jake had made her feel special for one night.
And as their eyes finally caught and held for mere seconds, she fell even more deeply in love with him than she’d thought possible.
Jake looked away first, his gaze lingering just an instant. He went straight to Lou and bracketed his wide hands on his hips. “Milton said you wanted me.” Jake looked at the crowd. “Looks like you all wanted me. What’s going on?”
Lou took out a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his navy uniform. “It took sixteen men to get this crate off the inbound Number 101 and I cannot legally let anyone open it but you, Bruiser. It’s for you.”
Sidling his gaze over the crate, Jake stood back. “What’s it doing here?”
“Instructions.” Reading a docket, Lou said, “ ‘Shipped from New York City’ ”—an impressed gasp rose—“ ‘for Jacob Brewster of Harmony, Montana.’ Here’s the good part—‘Special terms of the Railroad Code of Ethics to be followed.’ ” Then he read: “ ‘This crate is to be brought to, and opened, at the eastern location of Harmony’s town square and displayed for public view.’ ”
Hearts Page 28
