Rogue in Texas

by Lorraine Heath

  But it did. Hot and moist, it blazed a trail along the column of her throat, his tongue tracing what she was certain was a heart-shaped path in the hollow at the base of her throat, before his mouth continued its sojourn. She had been unaware of Grayson loosening the buttons of her gown, but the material parted and he continued his journey along the inside swell of her breast. His warm breath fanned her flesh—so deliciously wicked.

  His tongue circled her nipple and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. His mouth and all the heat it carried covered the hardened tip. Her breath came in small panting gasps. When he gently suckled, she dropped her head back and her legs gave way beneath her. “Oh, Lord.”

  He wrapped an arm around her, supporting her, laying her on the pallet. With a speed that belied his earlier lovemaking, he whisked her nightgown off her body. When she started to curl on her side, his hands spanned her hips, holding her in place.

  “Don’t turn away,” he rasped.

  Within the moonlight spilling through the opening in the loft, she saw the intensity of his gaze as it roamed over her exposed body. “We’re supposed to do this in the dark.”

  He snapped his gaze up to hers. “Why?”

  Silence reigned for the span of a heartbeat before he said quietly, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Abbie?”

  She felt the heat warm her cheeks. Beautiful was not a word anyone had ever associated with her.

  Stretching out beside her, he took the braid draped over her shoulder and began to unravel the strands. “No, I can see that you don’t know.” He combed his fingers through her hair, smoothing it over one side of her body as though it were a blanket. “I intend to make you feel beautiful.”

  His mouth met hers with an urgency that sent waves of heat coursing through her. She tightly squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on his kiss, blocking out the feel of the movements that she knew meant he was removing his clothes.

  Where was the blessed darkness? Why hadn’t she insisted that they move to the shadows?

  She felt the heat of his body pressing against her side, burrowing against her thigh. He took her hand. “Touch me, Abbie.”

  Her eyes flew open. Curiosity warred with fear. He wanted things of her that John had never asked—and oddly, she found herself wanting to give more to him than she’d ever given. Her fingers momentarily tightened around his before they unfurled and reached down to touch him as he’d asked. Closing his eyes, he released a long slow moan.

  “See how beautiful you are, Abbie?”

  She furrowed her brow, her hand closing around him. “This isn’t me.”

  A corner of his mouth quirked up as he opened his eyes. “No, sweetheart, it’s not. But your beauty certainly makes it stand at attention.”

  She released her hold as he rolled between her thighs. She stiffened, bracing herself for the discomfort that always came at the beginning. He pressed a kiss to the pulse beating at her throat. Then he moved her hair aside and nibbled on her ear. She wrapped her arms around him, grateful for the distraction, wishing she could be as relaxed and comfortable with her body as he was with his.

  He nipped at her shoulder, his tongue swirling over her collarbone. He moved lower and she thought of his comment that he’d been known to lick up all the buttermilk. His roughened palm cupped her breast and she felt his callused thumb skim over her nipple, drawing it up, causing it to strain for another touch, a touch that was answered with his mouth closing and suckling. Pleasure speared her. If his body wasn’t pressing down on hers, she would have curled into a ball that had nothing to do with embarrassment. He gave the same tender ministrations to her other breast before moving lower. He dipped his tongue into her navel, then pressed a kiss to hollow of each hip.

  He moved lower and kissed her intimately. She drew her knees up, pressing her thighs against his shoulders. He slipped his hands beneath her hips and lifted her slightly. His tongue darted and swirled.

  If he heard her startled cry, he ignored her. If he spoke, she did not hear the words as sensations rocketed through her. She braced her hands on either side of his face, needing to touch him as she’d never needed anyone. Her body curled, coiled, tightened. Her shoulders came off the pallet as the pleasures increased. And then she felt as though everything within her exploded as her back arched and she cried out.

  Gasping for breath, she stared at his blond curls wrapped around her fingers. Slowly, he lifted his head. And she wished she had died. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He furrowed his brow. “Sorry?”

  She nodded jerkily. “I don’t know why I did that…I…I…Oh, God.” Tears welled in her eyes as the embarrassment slammed into her. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt the tears roll along her temple. How could she ever again meet his blue gaze? “I’m so sorry.”

  Grayson moved up and cradled Abbie within his arms, drawing her against his bare chest, feeling the warm tears trailing along his skin. He was not a man prone to violence, but right this moment he had never known an anger so intense. Abbie had three children and although he knew her husband had never kissed her, he had hoped beyond reason that the man had not withheld the pleasure from her as well.

  He felt the shudders wracking her body and wanted every movement to be the result of pleasure, not embarrassment or shame. He cupped her cheek and lifted her face away from his chest. Her eyes were squeezed closed so tightly that he feared she might never open them. “Abbie, look at me.”

  She shook her head slightly. So he spoke the words that he knew would make her look at him. “I love you.”

  Her eyes flew open, and he saw the doubts swirling within the violet depths. Regretting his roguish ways as never before, he combed the stray strands of hair behind her ear. “Know that I have never spoken those words to another.” He released a derisive chuckle. “Have never even considered speaking them before I met you. I’ve never known anyone like you. You give everything to others and never ask anything for yourself. I fear you came to me this evening expecting to receive nothing in return. That you would willingly give so much to me humbles me.” With his thumb, he captured a solitary tear that trailed from the corner of her eye. “It was my intent to gift you with pleasure…not embarrassment.”

  He saw her lower lip tremble. “I…I never…”

  “I know that now, sweetheart.”

  “Elizabeth told me once that it was different when you loved the man. I didn’t come here tonight as a sacrifice. I came here because I love you.”

  Nothing in Grayson’s life had prepared him for the impact of those three little words slamming into him. Not all the years he’d longed for someone to say them to him, not all the nights when he’d wished to hear them directed his way. Cradling her face, he pressed her against his chest, hoping that the pounding of his heart wouldn’t bruise her delicate skin. “No one ever has.”

  “I don’t believe that. There’s too much about you to love. Just because they didn’t say the words doesn’t mean they didn’t feel the love.”

  Perhaps he did possess his father’s love, but he knew beyond a doubt that she was the first woman to ever love him. Christ, but it was a joyful burden to bear. “Tell me again.”

  “I love you.”

  He felt as though someone had just delivered a well-aimed punch to his midsection. “Even if I’m disreputable?”

  “I don’t think you’re disreputable at all.” Drawing away from his chest, she gave him a shy smile. “But your mouth and tongue are terribly wicked.”

  He grinned. “The rest of me can be terribly wicked as well.”

  Raising her hand, she threaded her fingers through his hair. “I don’t doubt it.” He watched as her teeth tugged on her lower lip, something he’d seen her do often. Only now did he realize it was a sign that she was nervous. “Show me,” she whispered.

  “With pleasure, sweetheart,” he said as he rolled her back onto the pallet and kissed her as tenderly as he knew how. Like her, all the women in his life had been married. Unlik
e her, they’d all been experienced. The romps had been designed to bring the greatest amount of pleasure in the least amount of time—before their husbands came home.

  He wanted with Abbie nothing that he had ever shared with any other woman. He felt the need to protect her innocence, the desire to maintain her simplicity. Her faint scent of roses followed him as he nestled himself between her thighs. His hands outlined her curves. His mouth taunted the swells, the peaks, and the valleys. He rejoiced when he heard her breath catch, smiled inwardly when her low moan accompanied the slight roll of her body against his.

  When she welcomed his body into hers, he’d never felt more complete. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to explode at that very moment. But he’d be damned before he gave to her less than she deserved.

  “Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

  She did as he bade. “No shadows tonight, Abbie.”

  She nodded, and even with the ashen light, he thought he saw the love reflected in her eyes. He rocked against her and watched as her eyes widened with wonder. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her body straining to meet his. Rising above her, he quickened his thrusts. She writhed beneath him. When she cried out his name, her body arching against his, he felt the wave of pleasure ripple through her, close around him, and he barely had time to withdraw before his body responded. He buried his face between her breasts, spilling his seed into his hand.

  Breathing heavily, his muscles quivering, he thought the culmination of fulfillment had never felt so empty. He felt her comb her fingers through his hair.

  “Why did you leave me?” she asked quietly.

  “Because I won’t leave my bastard growing inside you.”

  Her fingers stilled. “I would love your child.”

  “That would not change the fact that he is a bastard.” He lifted his head and met her gaze. “You told me that you have no desire to marry.” He grazed his fingers along her temple. “I promised you that with me, you would always have a choice. Besides, you don’t need another child hanging onto your apron strings.”

  “You don’t know what I need, Grayson Rhodes.”

  He quirked a brow. “Don’t I? Watch your tone, sweetheart, or I’ll give you a good sound licking.”

  “You mean a spanking?” she asked indignantly.

  “No.” He smiled warmly and ran his tongue along the underside of her breast.

  He heard her sharp intake of breath. “We can’t do this again.”

  “I can’t for a while, but you certainly can.” And he proceeded to teach her of things she’d never dared dream.

  Abbie stared at the white tufts dotting the fields. Lord, but she did not want to pick cotton today. She thought she might never want to pick cotton again.

  She had lain through the night with a man who wasn’t her husband. She should feel shame. Instead, she found herself wondering how sinful it would be if Grayson slipped through the window into her room at night. She couldn’t imagine anything finer than waking up in his arms in the morning.

  She thought she might simply curl up and die when he moved on, and he certainly seemed to have it in his head to do so. But living through a war had taught her one thing: you never knew what tomorrow would bring.

  Maybe he wasn’t the marrying kind, but her heart didn’t care. She did think he loved her, and she knew she loved him. For now, it was enough.

  She saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning slightly, she watched as Grayson strolled across the field. Her mouth went as dry as the cotton. She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Morning.”

  He smiled warmly. “Good morning.”

  “We’ll start picking the cotton today. I imagine people will start arriving soon—”

  “Then I’d best not delay.”

  Before she knew what he was about, he’d taken her in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. Standing on the tips of her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck. She reveled in his throaty growl and tightened her hold, wondering how she’d keep her mind on picking cotton when all she wanted was to think about him.

  He drew back, his gaze holding hers. “I didn’t sleep a wink after I walked you home last night.”

  It was almost dawn before she’d returned to the house. He’d walked her to the front door and gave her a kiss that almost had her going back to the barn with him. She felt the heat fan her cheeks as she ducked her head and lifted a shoulder. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you? I don’t want anyone knowing that we sinned—”

  She felt him stiffen before he drew his arms from around her. “Believe me, sweetheart, no one will have a clue, but think on this. You made love to a husband you didn’t love. You made love in a hayloft to a bastard you claimed to love. Which is the greater sin?”

  He spun on his heel and began walking toward the barn. She dashed after him, caught up to him, and grabbed his arm. He came to an abrupt halt.

  “Do you think your father sinned with your mother?” she asked.

  “Until last night I did. But if he loved her half as much as I love you, then I think the greater sin lies in the fact that he married a woman he didn’t love simply to gain a legitimate heir.”

  “You think I sinned with John?”

  He released a great gust of air. “No. I don’t think you could sin if the devil sat on your shoulder and whispered the instructions in your ear on how to do it.” He cradled her cheek. “I think I’m simply too sensitive about my lack of my parentage—”

  “But you had parents, and it doesn’t matter to me that they weren’t married—”

  “But it matters to me.”

  12

  Grayson shifted the heavy sack off his shoulder as Abbie took his hand and began to wrap thin strips of linen around his fingers. He thought it was uncanny the way the cotton formed five little pads—five pads for five fingers—and those with experience were whipping those little balls off the plants. It was the little tines that had protected the cotton while it grew that he hated. The damn things were constantly pricking him.

  “You want to be more careful,” Abbie said as she tied off the linen. “Blood on the cotton lessens its value.”

  “Well then, we certainly don’t want to get my blood on the damned cotton.”

  She snapped her head up. “How’s your back?”

  “It hurts worse than my hands.”

  “Don’t bend over to pick the low-growing cotton. Drop to your knees—”

  “If I drop to my knees, I’ll never get back up to my feet.”

  The smile she gave him made him want to take her in his arms.

  “I wish I could tell you that it’ll get better—”

  “But it’s only going to get worse,” he finished for her.

  She nodded.

  “How long will we be picking?” he asked.

  “If the weather holds, a month.”

  “If the weather holds?”

  “Sometimes a storm comes up from the coast. The cotton becomes worthless if it gets hit with a heavy rain. That’s why we pick as fast and long as we can.”

  “There has to be an easier way to provide for your children.”

  She gave him a sympathetic smile. “When you figure it out, you let me know. Meanwhile, watermelon is waiting for you at the end of the row. When you get there, just break it open and eat the heart.”

  He didn’t know what watermelon was, but he’d seen men stacking the large green balls at the end of the rows. “Sounds positively barbaric.”

  “You won’t think so when you get to the end of the row.”

  He watched her stroll away, her hips swaying provocatively. Yesterday his body would have reacted at the sight; today nothing. Good God, he hoped all this hard work wasn’t going to turn him into a eunuch.

  “Wool,” Kit mumbled.

  Grayson turned. Kit approached each boll of cotton as though he thought it might bite him. Wise man. “What did you say?”

  Kit glanced over his shoulder. “From now on, I wear onl
y wool. Let the sheep do all the work.”

  “I’ve worked with sheep,” Harry said, plucking the cotton with an efficiency that had Grayson envying his friend. Little wonder he could whisk a card from the center of the deck. “I’ve seen that shearing the buggers is damn hard work.”

  “Silk then,” Kit said. “I can’t imagine that working with worms can be that much of a chore.”

  “Do you know which end of the worm the silk comes out of?” Harry asked.

  Kit placed his hands against the small of his back and bent backward. “No.”

  “Neither do I, but either way I find it rather disgusting.”

  “You need to stop your gabbing and get to work. You’re burning daylight,” a smoky, indignant voice commanded.

  Grayson turned to see a young woman with fiery red hair glaring at Harry. He had never seen her before, but then a lot of people who had not worked the fields before today had come to help with the harvest. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  She narrowed her gaze, and he suddenly felt like a slug inching over the ground. “If you’re a friend of his, then I consider myself blessed not to know you.”

  She spun around and tromped through the fields. It was embarrassing to note that despite her small size, her sack was almost full.

  “Who was that?” Grayson asked.

  “Jessye,” Harry said, humor laced through his voice. “Her father owns the saloon and on occasion, she serves the drinks.”

  “Harry thought she served more than drinks,” Kit said with a chuckle.

  Harry straightened into an indignant stance that usually meant he found no humor in a situation. “In my own defense, you must admit that it is not uncommon in England for a serving wench to offer her services—”

  “Yes, but when she tosses the ale in your face, it means no.”

  “It was whiskey, not ale, and I thought she was playing hard to get.”

  Kit grinned and gave his head a jerk in Harry’s direction. “That’s why he grew the beard.”