It looked as if she felt the same way. She babied him shamelessly, insisting on taking care of him after all he had done for her. And he shamelessly let her. Except in the mornings, when their roles reversed.
Summer was sick most mornings, almost certainly a sign of pregnancy. The thought filled Lance with wonder and fear. Wonder that his kid might be growing inside her. That she wanted to have his baby. Fear that he wouldn’t be able to protect them both from the kind of life he’d led. It was only then that his rage returned to haunt him—rage over his helplessness, despair over his impotence.
He’d had to be satisfied with a sort of slim justice. Prewitt had left the county, run out by the same men who had nearly lynched him. But there was no saying it wouldn’t happen again, or that his neighbors wouldn’t take up arms against him and his family. He meant to live at Sky Valley as one of them, and he knew better than anybody how unlikely it was for white society to tolerate with equanimity the presence of a bastard breed settling in their midst.
At just this moment, though—the afternoon of his second wedding—Lance had no thought for the future beyond the immediate present. For the ceremony, he’d borrowed a fancy suit of Summer’s late brother Tyler, and the thing was killing him. The high starched collar choked him, and the stitches in his side itched like crazy as he waited with Dusty in the front parlor for his bride to appear. Plus the air had started to turn warm, what with the audience of all the Weston ranch hands and their wives crowded into the elegant room. And yet he was willing to endure worse tortures in order to give Summer her special day.
“What’s taking so long?” he asked Dusty in a low voice. “You think maybe something’s happened?”
“You just asked me that two minutes ago,” Dusty returned in a calming tone. “Settle down, Lance. It isn’t even five o’clock yet. Nothing’s happened. She’s just getting spruced up. You know how women are about those things.”
He couldn’t settle down, though. His biggest fear was that Summer wouldn’t show up for their wedding, even though she’d been the one to insist on it. Maybe she’d changed her mind about marrying him again. Maybe she regretted having to make a new commitment to him and wanted to end it altogether. It wouldn’t be the first time a bride had left her groom standing at the altar.
The only thing that kept Lance from bolting out the parlor and up the stairs in search of her was the memory of Summer’s look this morning when she’d made love to him, all dewy-eyed and passion-flushed and content.
He tugged anxiously at his strangling tie and counted the interminable seconds until Summer finally, at last, appeared at the parlor door on Reed’s arm, a vision in lace and satin.
The Sky Valley women had gone to work making her a full-skirted ivory wedding gown whose bodice was embroidered with tiny seed pearls, and the sight of Summer standing there took Lance’s breath away, made his knees weak. She’d never looked so beautiful—and she had eyes only for him.
Lance scarcely noticed Reed’s limping gait when he awkwardly escorted her in, paid no attention when Amelia, as bridesmaid, held her train and arranged it lovingly, then took her place beside Summer before the same minister who’d married them two months before.
It was only when his bride smiled up at him and took his arm, turning him to face front, that Lance blinked and tried to focus his attention on his duty.
The words were a blur in his memory afterward. He vaguely recalled repeating his vows—but he would never in all his days forget the look Summer gave him when she said hers, promising to honor and obey and cleave only unto him till death parted them.
“Yes, I will.” Her eyes were luminous and unafraid. “Oh, Lance, yes.”
And the kiss afterward—so tender and poignant and full of forever—seared his soul and shook him to his roots.
Something of his feelings must have showed on his face, for Reed laughed and slapped him on the back and warned him about getting trod underfoot if he didn’t stop acting like a mooncalf and stand up to Summer from the beginning.
He was aware of Dusty congratulating him, and Amelia, shyly but sincerely, welcoming him into the family. Then he and Summer accepted the well-wishes of the other wedding guests, most of whom seemed genuinely pleased for the patrona and the new master of Sky Valley.
The dinner afterward passed in a daze, the music and gaiety and laughter enveloping Lance like a healing balm. He danced with Summer—or at least he moved his feet where she instructed him to—and the ribbing he suffered as a result was good-natured and friendly enough that he couldn’t take offense. Fact was, it felt good—damn good—to be part of the community, to be accepted in the celebration because he belonged instead of excluded because of who he was.
It was late when the newlyweds slipped off to their own cabin. They walked hand in hand through the chill, starlit night—Summer dreamily humming snatches of a favorite tune, Lance finding pleasure in her pleasure, and both of them stopping every few feet to indulge their ravenous need for a kiss.
They stopped for the last time at their front door. “Say it again,” Lance demanded, unwilling to let her inside until she’d given him the reassurance his heart craved.
“I love you, I love you, I love you…” And those were the last words she spoke for long, breathless minutes.
He carried his new bride over the threshold of their front door, despite her laughing protests and the ache in his side. One of the Mexican women had prepared the cabin for their arrival, leaving a fire burning merrily in the hearth, a lamp lit on the bedside table, the covers turned down invitingly, and a filmy nightdress spread out on the bed.
Ignoring the suggestive garment, heedless of the fragility of her wedding gown, Lance laid Summer on the mattress and followed her down, taking time only to tear off his tie and his strangling collar before sinking his mouth into hers.
Their urgent need had risen to a feverish pitch before Summer finally, regretfully, stopped him by pressing her fingers to his lips. “Lance…my dress. I don’t want to tear it.”
She saw the sudden, bitter hurt that flashed in his eyes before she could explain what she meant. “I don’t care really, but I thought I would save it for our daughters to wear when they marry. And it might be awkward to have to explain how it came to be in less than pristine condition.”
His mouth lost its rigid look and slowly curved upward at the corners. “I guess it might at that.”
He helped her undress, or rather he got in the way with his tendency to plant hot little kisses on her bared skin. The hairpins that held up her hair got lost somewhere on the floor as Lance tossed them away recklessly. Several moments were lost as well when Lance insisted on combing out her silky, shiny tresses with his fingers. He buried his face there, inhaling the sweet perfume, making a sensual feast of the texture and scent, until Summer pulled away, laughing.
Turning, she removed the last of her underwear, giving him her naked back as she reached for the nightdress on the bed.
“You’re really going to wear that thing?” Lance asked, disappointed.
“What, you don’t like it?” She threw a coquettish glance over her shoulder, while her eyes danced mischievously.
“I guess it’s okay, but I’d rather have you without it.”
“You will. Only just not yet.”
She put it on, and the sensual smile she gave him as she turned around was as alluring and provocative as the negligee she wore. The gown was white, but there was absolutely nothing virginal about it. So sheer as to be nearly transparent, it had been fashioned to arouse a man’s lusts, and it succeeded with him entirely. Below the daringly low bodice that revealed most of her swelling white breasts, Lance could see the dusky hue of her peaked nipples, the narrow curve of her waist, the feminine flare of her hips, the dark inviting curls that shielded her womanhood, the slender legs that would wrap around him and take him inside her body. The sight made his blood boil.
He reached out to stroke a sensitive nipple, which made her suck in her breath, bu
t still she refused to rush or allow him any part in his seduction. Instead, she removed his clothing: coat and shirt first, then undershirt, planting her own brand of searing kisses on his chest and abdomen as she went, driving him mad.
Need slammed through his chest by the time Summer took his hand and led him back to the bed. Lance sat to take off his shoes and trousers, but Summer insisted on taking the lead when he tried to unbutton his drawers. With an arch little smile, she made a production out of unfastening each one, stroking the hard ridge beneath the red cotton fabric, teasing his straining arousal in a way that made Lance grit his teeth. When finally she drew the garment slowly down over his hips, his manhood rose thick and eager from its nest of black hair.
She bent and kissed the rigid shaft, and his flesh reacted instantly, filling, swelling, aching for her touch. When she flicked the hot, stretched skin with her tongue, he groaned and reached for her, but Summer, with a soft, musical laugh, pulled back.
She made him lie naked on the bed and then stretched out beside him, her fingers lightly caressing his body, tracing the bronzed hues of his skin, till he quivered like a stallion, till every muscle and nerve and sinew was taut with anticipation. She was the aggressor, controlling the moment. Her arousing strokes trailed over his deep chest, his flat abdomen, down along his narrow hip, up the inside of his thigh, drawing lazy circles closer and closer to the seat of his need.
With gritted teeth and closed eyes, Lance arched his back and spread his legs to allow her stroking fingers better access, but she would do no more than tease him with her touch, offering no relief for his sex, which was heavy and swollen and throbbing with pain.
Only when Lance gave a soft groan did Summer raise herself up on her knees. Bending over him, she kissed his healing wounds and older scars one by one, using lips and tongue and breath to express her own hurt at his suffering, enticing away the pain, hazing his memory, until all Lance could think of was Summer, his beautiful Summer.
He was half-mad with desire when finally she stretched out above him, her lovely breasts nestled against his chest, her soft thighs partly straddling his hard-muscled ones, her silken hair curtaining her shoulders and his. But still she hesitated.
Lance shifted restlessly, wanting desperately to flip her over on her back and take her with savage fierceness, but wanting more to give her whatever she wanted.
What she wanted was to torment him, to postpone the moment of joining until his desire was razor-sharp. What she wanted was to make him need her as much as she needed him. What she wanted was to fulfill his dreams.
There’d never been any softness, any ease, in his life, and she wanted to give him that. There’d been so little love in his past, and she desperately wanted to change his future. He’d been alone too long, with too great a loneliness in his soul. She wanted Lance to know he wasn’t alone anymore, to make him believe that the love she felt for him was strong and enduring. She thirsted to show him her love, hungered to express how huge her feelings were. And she wanted reassurance in return.
“Do you love me?” Summer demanded, her tone more serious than playful.
Lance gazed back at her with eyes that were solemn and smoldering with heat. God, yes, he loved her, with a fierce and proud intensity that filled his soul.
Catching her fingers, he put her palm against his chest where his heart was thudding painfully. “Feel this.” His hoarse, whiskey-rough voice washed over her like a caress. “This belongs to you.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but do you love me?”
“I’ve loved you so long,” he said finally, simply, “I can’t remember what it’s like not loving you.”
“Oh, Lance…” Her soft voice said his name as no woman ever had, as he knew no one ever would, with pride and desire and deep, deep devotion. “I love you.”
She moved over him then, craving his granite hardness inside her to seal their vows, gripped by the primitive need to possess and be possessed. He reached up roughly to pull her nightdress from her body, but she welcomed his impatience, welcomed his hands, which came up to clutch her naked buttocks and guide her down onto his thick, straining shaft.
Summer sighed at the exquisite penetration, in the relief of having Lance finally home. He thrust deep, and the jolt of sensation made her entire body clench with an unbearable surge of pleasure.
Their gazes locked.
“I want you,” Summer whispered solemnly. “I want to be part of you…make you part of me.”
The fierce light that entered Lance’s obsidian eyes seared her and gave her all the reassurance she could want.
“Kamakuna,” he whispered in return as he began slowly to rock his hips and fulfill her heart’s desire.
They made love in the true meaning of the word, confirming their new commitment to each other. Summer held nothing back, offered everything, as did Lance. His roughly muttered words of love and lust and need mingled with her gasping cries.
And when the shattering climax came at last, it somehow felt as if night and day had merged into a glorious, splintering burst of dawn, portending a dazzling, blindingly bright future.
Even when morning came, the feeling persisted. Lance lay quietly in bed, his arms around a naked, sleeping Summer, savoring the knowledge that she was truly his, and the peace that his possession brought his soul.
When she stirred drowsily, he snuggled her closer, keeping her soft bottom nestled against his loins. His shaft was half-erect, despite the physical demands passion had made on his body last night, but he was content simply to hold her and let her wake naturally, knowing there would be time enough in the years ahead to enjoy each other.
It was perhaps ten minutes later when she finally came awake. Turning with a dreamy yawn, Summer curled her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his in a suggestive, totally adoring way, and blinked up at him. In the pale light slipping through the shutters, her green eyes were soft and welcoming as clover, her lips swollen from his passion. She wore, Lance thought, the look of a woman in love, a woman who had been thoroughly loved.
She brushed her mouth over his in a sweet greeting, before suddenly ducking her head and burying her nose in his chest with a muffled laugh.
“What?” Lance demanded, curious to know the cause of her humor.
“Nothing. I’m just happy.” She drew back to look up at him. “It feels different being married this time.”
He knew what she meant. It did feel different. He felt different somehow. Stronger, better, more able to take on his hostile neighbors. Summer had become his wife in front of her family and friends, declared her intent to love and cherish him in front of the world, and then proven it last night with her eager body.
He lowered his mouth to hers, taking it in a kiss that turned hungry and lusty as need rose strong and fierce to seize him. Summer returned his kiss with willing fervor—until suddenly she pulled back. She had turned a pale shade of green, he saw with a sense of alarm.
She hastily clamped a hand over her mouth, but barely had time to turn and lean out over the bed before retching into the chamber pot she’d begun keeping there for just that purpose.
Lance held her head and stroked her damp nape, the gesture tender but awkward in his need to support her.
When she was done, Summer wiped her mouth on a towel and lay back weakly on the pillows, her eyes closed in embarrassment.
“How romantic,” she murmured, and despite their tangled emotions, they both chortled.
In a moment she opened her eyes to gaze at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, Lance, but I don’t think I feel very passionate just now.”
“I’m not sorry.” His own eyes softened as he placed his hand over her still flat stomach. “No woman’s ever wanted to have my baby before. I can put up with a little queasiness if you can.”
“I can, willingly.”
His brows drew together in a thoughtful frown. “Will it hurt the baby if I’m inside you?”
“Maritza said no. We don’t have to
worry for months, at least. And not even then if we’re careful.”
“Well, then,” Lance said with a grin, “I guess we’ll just have to be careful.”
They rose eventually, and lazily took turns bathing each other, then even more lazily dressing one another. Lance did the cooking in honor of their honeymoon. He fixed a huge breakfast of ham and eggs and pan biscuits, which he wolfed down, having eaten hardly a thing the day before because of wedding nerves, while Summer watched him jealously, nibbling on a soda cracker and drinking herbal tea to settle her stomach.
They cleaned up the dishes together, and it was then that Lance noticed Summer kept glancing at her watch.
“Would you like to go for a ride?” she asked when the last skillet was dry.
“A ride? On a horse?”
She flushed and laughed when she realized where Lance’s mind had been. “Yes, on a horse. Not me.”
His mouth curved dryly. “That isn’t exactly how I thought I’d spend today.”
She went to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body suggestively against his, while giving him a smile that could charm a grizzly. “Please, darling? I think the fresh air would do me good.”
He saw through her, even though he hadn’t yet figured out what she wanted from him. Summer was trying to work her wiles on him again—and succeeding all too well. Despite his vow to remain indifferent when she used those female tactics on him, his body had responded instantly to the feel of her rubbing up against him. Still he was content enough to be amused rather than angry.
“Where would we go?”
“It’s a surprise.”
He gave in gracefully, not wanting to disappoint her or see that sparkle in her emerald eyes fade. When he asked her what she was up to, Summer would only smile secretly and say, “I’ll tell you when we get there.”
They took coats, since the weather had turned chilly, but Lance felt warm enough, seeing her eagerness and delight.
The yard seemed deserted, with none of the hands in sight. Lance saddled his sorrel and lifted Summer up onto the horse’s back, then swung up behind her. At her direction, they headed out to the open range.
The Savage Page 44
