"You haven't said one word about your new husband." Sophie peered up from behind her hand of cards.
"Lots of good sex can leave a woman speechless." Blanche counted out her pennies.
"Embarrassment can do the same." Lissa couldn't help laughing. "Really, Jack is an injured man. He needs his rest."
"I bet he likes you nursing him." Maggie winked.
Lissa studied her hand of cards, blushing harder. She remembered the hard planes of his body, so masculine and fascinating, how she felt her own blood heat whenever he touched her, remembered the tingling sparks of his kiss. Physical intimacy—it was something she'd been dreading since she agreed to Jack's handwritten proposal. Yet there could be benefits, too.
"I wouldn't let that man rest too long, if I were you," Susan advised before she made her bet.
Lissa knew darned well what her friend meant, but she took a sip of coffee instead of commenting. "He's been having bad headaches, but he refuses to admit it. He's building Chad a tree house up in the maple out back."
"What a man." Maggie sighed. "Does Chad like him?"
"Chad adores him." Lissa's heart glowed. "Jack has promised him a puppy next."
"I'm glad you found such a wonderful man." Blanche tossed ten cents into the pile. "After all you have been through, you deserve it, Lissa."
She tried to smile. Then the dealer called and the cards were laid down. Maggie won with a squeal, and Felicity took the cards and shuffled.
"How I miss that part of marriage." Elise Pickering tossed three pennies into the center of the table. "My Harry has been gone three long years, and the nights seem longer."
Lissa missed that part of marriage, too. Yes, there were benefits to be had: Comfort. Pleasure. Maybe a new baby.
"Lissa, your bet."
Susan's words brought her back. She studied her cards, trying to decide, but there Jack was—still at the back of her mind, with his sexy, lopsided grin and sparkling gaze.
Well, the hand she'd been dealt wasn't bad, not bad at all. She would make the best of it, both of her new life and her pair of tens. She tossed a nickel onto the growing pile of coins. Her thoughts returned to Jack, to the way her skin heated at his touch, and how her heart drummed when he was near.
She did miss that part of marriage.
"Here comes Mama!" Chad dashed through the house, bare feet pounding on the wood floor. His little fist gripped the spray of wildflowers they had picked together from the meadow.
"Quick. In here." Jack knelt to hold the cup.
Water sloshed as Chad dumped the flowers, stems first, into the offered tin. "She's gonna like these."
"I think so, too. Let's put them right in the middle of the table."
"Oh, Winston." Chad laughed at the smug cat already sitting directly in the center of the table. Winston pulled back one guilty paw and pretended she wasn't trying to knock the lid off the cookie jar.
"Get down, silly kitty."
The feline obliged, eyes eagerly watching the boy's hands. Chad snatched a cookie and dropped to the floor, ready to share.
Well, Jack figured, one cookie couldn't spoil the boy's appetite. He set the cup of flowers right in the table's center and admired his work—not bad. Maybe the forks and knives weren't in the right places, but the plates, the napkins, and the cups sure were.
"I see Winston's been hunting again." Lissa stood on the back porch, surrounded by light, lit from behind by the brilliant green world. "Not every cat is so good at catching cookies."
"We were hungry, Mama." Chad laughed, caught red-handed.
"I couldn't say no," Jack tried to defend himself, but knew from Lissa's glittering eyes that she wasn't angry.
She lifted her skirts with one hand, the other balancing her pie plate, and swept into the house. She brought the sunshine with her. Desire wrapped around his spine, leaving him weak.
"Any of that dessert left?" Some appetites he could satisfy.
"Enough for tonight's dessert." Lissa breezed close to him. "You're lucky Blanche brought her dark chocolate cake, or there wouldn't be one slice left for your sweet tooth."
"Then I owe Blanche a great debt." Jack ached to brush those curls out of Lissa's eyes. He yearned to just touch her. "How was your meeting?"
"Productive. We're raising funds for a lending library." She laid her slim fingers on his forearm, her silken skin hot against his. Flecks sparkled in her big, luminous eyes.
Every inch of his body responded. "And just how are these funds raised?"
A mysterious smile touched her lips. "We're hosting the annual harvest dance, as always."
She passed by him, and the tiny hairs on his arms stood up. The surface of his skin prickled. He felt like the air right before a thunderstorm—charged and strung tight.
"What have you done?" She looked around. Her reticule thunked to the floor.
He knelt to retrieve the drawstring sack that looked suspiciously lighter than before she left for her meeting. "I thought Chad and I would make supper so you wouldn't have to."
"You even set the table. Look at the flowers."
"We thought you would like those, too." He straightened and laid the reticule on the counter.
"I do." She beamed, her eyes aglow. "You thought of this. You did this, Jack. I can't remember the last time I didn't have to get supper."
"Just trying to satisfy you, ma'am."
"Well, it's working." Her smile pleased him, all sweet curves and luscious softness. "I can't believe you can cook."
"It's an undiscovered talent." The breeze through the windows carried her scent—sunshine and sweetness all wrapped up with spice. "I'd do anything for you. Anything at all. Even peel potatoes."
"My kind of man."
"I hope so." He didn't know where these feelings came from, but he wanted Lissa like no other woman. He didn't need his memory to know this. He only needed his heart.
* * *
Jack's voice rumbled low through the house, blending with a contentment she hadn't known in a long while. Even though it was night and darkness shadowed the corners and the parts of the house not brushed by lamplight, Lissa had never felt so safe.
An owl hooted outside and coyotes called in the distance. She wasn't startled—not even when the night wind drove a low branch from the tall hawthorn bush up against the side of the house.
Lissa set down her embroidery. The wooden hoop clacked against the low table. The low timbre of his voice drew her down the short hallway, to outside Chad's room. With every step closer, she listened as he read about one of Tom Sawyer's exploits. Jack's voice rose and fell with the excitement of the story, and she nearly missed a step, just savoring the sound of him, all substance and heart.
Her throat ached. She tilted her head to peer around the half open door. Jack sat in a chair, the book held open in both hands, his head bent. Low lamplight brushed across his face, burnished his hair, and gleamed off the surface of the pages.
Chad turned on his side, finally asleep.
Jack closed the book and stood. His gaze swept up to hers, and he looked surprised. He hadn't heard her approach. The glitter in his eyes let her know he was glad to see her. "I was just thinking about you."
"Not about Tom Sawyer?" She held out her hand.
He gave her the book. "Tom Sawyer isn't as beautiful as you."
She bowed her head. Golden curls, cascading like sunlight, fell over her shoulder and hid her breasts. Jack thought about what it would be like to brush those curls away. His fingers ached. His whole body ached.
Then she moved away, and his opportunity was gone.
Her skirts whispered, and her shoes gave a light tap against the wood floor as she stepped into their room. She walked in the darkness, drawing him. Starlight silvered the shadows and painted her in hues of gray.
She set the book on the shelf among a half-dozen others. "It means a lot to Chad that you've kept your promises to him."
"It's the least I can do. He's a nice boy. I'm proud to be his ste
pfather. He's smart as a whip. He learned to hammer nails, straight as you please, in no time. He's building that tree house as much as I am."
"It means a lot to me, too. Not many men would do what you've done. Even reading Chad to sleep every night."
"It's my pleasure."
"You're still an injured man, Jack." Honest concern textured her voice, and he liked it. He liked knowing he mattered to a woman as fine as her.
"I'm on the mend, Lissa. In fact, I'm as fine as ever. And as strong. With strong appetites." He couldn't take his eyes off her, even when all he could see was her silver-limned form, all slender grace and feminine curves. Sharp, physical need speared through him, pumped in his blood, heated his veins. "I want to consummate our marriage."
"Tonight?" she squeaked.
"If you're ready."
She bent to light the lamp. He could not see her face enough to read what emotions resided there, but he knew what he wanted—and hoped she wanted the same.
"I don't know if I will ever be ready, if I can ever have time enough." Gentleness softened her face, shadowed with regret. "If I make love with you—" She stopped, fell silent.
He felt her sorrow ripple through the darkness like shimmers across a deep pond, and he understood. "Then I've replaced Michael completely."
"Yes."
"I didn't come here to replace anyone. All I want is you to look at me and see me—the man who has kept his promises to you, who has made a commitment to you." Truth ached in his throat, raw and honest. "You are everything to me, Lissa. You and Chad are all I have."
His words brushed over her like first light, gentle and stark all at once, changing everything. How could she say no to him? How could she say yes?
He closed the distance between them, laid both hands on either side of her jaw. His big fingers framed her face. She looked up and saw desire color his eyes, intent shape his mouth.
His kiss was hard and exciting. Not tentative, not timid, but as powerful as the man. His lips were commanding, and he seemed to breathe her in until she was without air, without wits, without anything but need—burning, growing need.
She laid her hands flat on the solid wall of his chest He made her dizzy and hungry and confused. He made her feel so much more. A light heat drifted through her, bright as a rising moon, as enchanting as midnight.
She tilted her head, and he deepened the kiss. Of their own volition, her lips molded to his. She shouldn't want a kiss this much. Yet, as he brushed his big hands down over her jaw and caressed the length of her throat, her pulse stopped. All conscious thought ceased. There was nothing, only the hot, velvety caress of his tongue against hers and the brush of his thumbs at the hollow where her collarbones met.
"I can feel your heartbeat" He spoke with her breath, never breaking their kiss. It felt as if his words were hers. "You want me."
"Yes." It wasn't a lie. She was torn, and yet he was right. She did want. Her pulse snapped light and fast in her veins, beat in her chest with the rhythm of such sweet wanting.
His arms wrapped around her, holding her safe and tight to his chest. She pressed her face into the hollow of his throat, breathless, her lips tingling from the remembered sensation of his kiss. She felt the iron band of his forearms against her back and his steely chest against hers, the solid length of his torso, the muscled strength of thighs.
He was so much man. She tipped her head back. His gaze fastened on hers. He drew in breath, and she knew he wanted her but he wasn't going to push her. The next move was hers, and hers alone. She thought of all he had done for her, all she wanted to give him. He wanted this. She had felt so alone—but not since he'd come into her life, not now, in his presence.
She loosened the delicate button at her throat The gingham fabric parted. Warm air teased her exposed skin as she freed one button, then another. Jack's hand closed over hers. His fingers spread tingling heat across her sensitive fingertips.
"Let me." How low, those words, how heady, that request.
Lissa took her hands away, lifted her chin to watch his face change. She saw shadowed light caress his cheekbones, saw desire shade his eyes. She felt butterfly tugs at her placket, felt the dress loosen. Fabric slid over her shoulders, catching at the crook of her elbows.
In this heat, she had worn nothing but a chemise. She felt her nipples bud tight against the nearly sheer muslin, saw appreciation quirk in the corner of Jack's mouth—his kissable, beautiful mouth.
He loosened one final button and her dress slid down her hips. Cotton puddled around her ankles, and she shivered—not from cold, for the night was warm. His fingers hooked around the straps of her chemise. Her hand caught his.
"The lamp is on." She blushed.
"I know." His eyes darkened. He wanted to see her, wanted to see everything.
She dipped her chin. "I don't think—"
"Whatever you want." He reached past her to turn down the wick. The sharp scent of kerosene tickled his nose. Shadowed darkness crept back into the room, dominating it.
She was nothing but shade and form. Then, when he touched her, she was flesh and blood woman, silken skin and curves. Desire thudded in his veins. He reached this time and wrapped two fingers around the cotton straps. Fabric slid away, whispering to the floor.
"Jack?"
He wished he could see her. The tremor in her voice told him this wasn't easy for her. "Do you want to change your mind?"
"No." Her hand found his. "I want to do this for you, Jack."
"Not for you?"
He heard her quick intake of breath and sensed she was blushing. "Haven't you missed this?" He ran his finger across her collarbone, felt her shiver.
"Yyes. I miss the comfort." Her confession whispered across his skin, low and sweet "My friends have advised me I shouldn't waste any time. After all, I suppose we aren't truly wed until we consummate our marriage."
"Wise friends." He couldn't hold back his grin, especially seeing Lissa's. "Before we make love, I want you to know I'm not doing this for the pleasure. It's my sworn duty as your husband."
"Yes, duty." A smirk lightened her voice. "You are required to give me more children."
"It's a tough job, but I'm ready for the challenge."
She laughed, their breaths mingling. How could she not like this man of strength and humor? "I'm glad you take your work so seriously."
"Very seriously." He gave into the urge to brush those tantalizing curls from her twinkling, shadowed eyes.
He'd come here to replace another man. Looking at Lissa made him want to erase all traces, all memories, all remembrance. He wanted Lissa as his own, all to himself—if not tonight, then in time. In time.
There was not enough light in the room, not enough shadow and shade for him to see her with. His skin prickled with awareness. Except for her muslin drawers, she was naked. Judging by the sharp intake of her breath, she was a little nervous about it.
Hell, he was nervous, too. She was placing her trust in him not to hurt her, not to use her. He would not let her down. He gave a little gasp when he first touched her, felt her body tense slightly at just his fingers on her wrist. He could feel her fast pulse, feel the heat of her.
"Your touch feels nice." Her confession came low, like a caress, soft as the darkness.
"I'm glad you think so." He laid a hand along her jaw, felt the silk of her hair whisper across his knuckles. "I intend to touch you a lot."
She lifted her chin, inviting his touch, inviting his kiss. The world stood still, silenced as his lips descended on hers. She was no longer shy. Her mouth slanted open, ready for the brush of his tongue across the top edge of her bottom teeth. She moaned, a sound of desire low in her throat. Unlike the other times they'd kissed, she opened more to him, inviting him in.
How could he resist? Jack cupped her head with both hands, deepening the kiss, searching out her mouth with his. She tasted like apple, cinnamon and passion, a combination that made his heart thunder, that drove a greater desire through his veins.
He found the tip of her tongue with his and sucked gently.
"Undress me," he whispered against her mouth, speaking with her breath.
"I've never—" She laughed, maybe nervous, maybe embarrassed, and leaned her forehead against his throat, just beneath his chin. Her hair tickled his jaw, caught on the stubble of his day's growth. "I've never undressed a man."
"Well, it's time you learned."
That made her laugh again. "Michael and I just—" She twisted half away from him, turning in the direction of the bed, only a few feet away, soft and comfortable and waiting for them.
"I'm not Michael." He caught her chin, drew her gaze to his. Even in the darkness, he could feel the touch of her gaze, felt her shiver.
"I know."
"And I'm not trying to be. I want you to remember that tonight every time I touch you, make love to you. I'm your husband now."
Possessive. He didn't know he could feel this way, towering over her in the darkness with no way to see her, to read the emotion in her eyes, coloring her face. But he felt her, felt her heart, her being, without pretense. She was gentle and kind, loving and giving. He liked all that—more than he ever could have guessed when he first decided to marry her, to honor his promise to her.
In answer, he felt the brush of her hand at his throat. Felt the button at his collar release, then one after another until his shirt slipped open with a simple shrug of his shoulders.
Yes, her touch was all the answer he needed. His shirt fell to the floor, and he reached for her, took her hand, and led her the few steps to the bed.
Soft cotton quilt met his fingers as he pulled back the covers. Darkness enfolded them. His pulse thrummed as Lissa settled onto those line-dried sheets, which smelled of sunshine and morning fresh air. He wished he could see her. He wished there was enough starlight to cast faint shadows to see her by.
Then her hand caught his, velvet soft and as hot as fire. He didn't need to see her. He just wanted her touch, wanted to touch her.
"Where are you?" He felt like boiling liquid, ready to explode. She tugged. The strength in her hand pulled him onto the bed.
Jillian Hart Page 9
