Tom and Amy were sensitive to the tensions at the table. Tom was especially tactful when Cricket picked up the wrong spoon for the soup. He held up the proper implement and remarked, “I’ve never understood how they expect a lady to eat soup from a spoon as large as this.”
Cricket remedied her mistake but simmered under his censure.
“Tom and I have decided we’d like to have a party for you and Jarrett,” Amy said, introducing a topic which she hoped would clear the air and improve temperaments. “A sort of reception to introduce you to our friends and neighbors. What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Cricket replied. “I’m not very comfortable at parties.” Which probably had something to do with the fact she hadn’t been to one since she was eight years old.
“It’ll be fun. And it’ll give you a chance to practice all that you’ve learned,” Amy said with an encouraging smile.
Cricket turned to Creed, who merely shrugged and said, “It sounds like it would be a fine idea.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Amy said enthusiastically. “Would you be willing to help me plan it, Cricket?”
Just then Cricket reached for a bowl of peas halfway across the table, and Amy gently rebuffed, “Tom will get those for you, Cricket, dear. You don’t have to bother yourself.”
Cricket watched the bowl make its ponderous way around the table to her. It would have been quicker to get it herself. The simmer became a boil. As the meal progressed, she was constantly corrected on subtle points. The more careful Tom and Amy and Creed were to be solicitous of her feelings, the angrier Cricket got. The angrier she got, the fewer attempts she made to observe what table etiquette she knew.
When the peach pie was served, she made sure Creed was watching, then deliberately scooped it up in her hands and took a bite that consumed half the slice, smacking her lips as she relished it. She caught a piece of peach with her thumb as it started to dribble onto her chin and shoved it back into her mouth.
“All right, Brava, that’s enough,” Creed replied quietly. “You’ve made your point.”
“And what point is that?” Cricket snarled. “That I have barnyard manners? I do, don’t I? You’ve all made that perfectly clear these past two weeks.”
Amy’s face mirrored her dismay, and Tom’s eyes slid to his hands in his lap. Creed simply glared.
“Do this, Cricket. Don’t do that, Cricket. This is the way we do it, Cricket. I’ve managed fine on my own for seventeen years. I don’t see why I have to change everything now.”
Before she had a chance to say more Creed was out of his chair and had her by a sticky hand.
“Excuse us,” he muttered in the direction of Tom and Amy. “Cricket and I want to have a talk in private.”
“I don’t have anything more to say to you,” she ranted. “I don’t want to play this game anymore.”
Creed picked Cricket up and threw her over his shoulder. “Put me down!” Cricket screeched. She pounded on Creed’s back as hard as she could with her fists, but she might as well have been a pea left on his plate for all the attention he gave her. The last thing she saw as they left the dining room was Tom and Amy’s horrified faces.
Creed marched through the house and out the front door, carrying her only as far as the giant pin oak that grew in the side yard before he let go. Cricket thrashed once more, not realizing he’d released her, and her momentum threw her off Creed’s shoulder so she landed in a heap on the grass before him.
“On your feet!”
Cricket was already on her feet and swinging her fisted right hand as hard as she could at Creed’s chin. But her knuckles only grazed him as he instinctively feinted sideways when his eyes caught her movement.
“That does it!”
Before Cricket knew what had happened, Creed had grabbed her by the waist, dropped to one knee, and thrown her face down across his other thigh, yanking her skirt up so it impeded the swing of her fists. Her face was mashed against Creed’s pant leg, and Cricket just naturally opened her mouth and sank her teeth down deep into his thigh.
Creed’s outraged yelp coincided with the first stinging slap of his hand on her buttocks.
“Let go, Brava.”
She bit harder.
“I said”—smack—“let go!”
Cricket groaned through the teeth she had clamped in a death-grip on Creed’s leg.
It became a contest of wills to see who would first succumb to the pain inflicted by the other. Cricket finally howled in anguish, admitting her defeat . . . and her self-disgust and humiliation at her defeat.
It wasn’t until Creed heard Rogue that he came to his senses. The wolf sat next to Cricket’s head, his nose turned to the sky as his howls blended with the cacophony created by Cricket. Creed looked at the stinging redness of his hand in some awe, surprised at the violence Cricket had elicited in him.
“Dammit, Brava,” he muttered under his breath. “What am I going to do with you?”
Cricket tried to compose her features when she felt Creed pulling her skirt down from over her head. Her body felt hot, flushed, quivery, achy. She didn’t think she could move. He turned her gently so she lay nestled helplessly in his arms. She couldn’t hide the tears that threatened to spill, but she fought to control her quivering chin in the face of Creed’s intense perusal.
“If you wanted to back out of our agreement, Brava, all you had to do was say so. There was no need to embarrass Tom and Amy.”
Cricket wanted to argue back, but feared if she spoke she wouldn’t be able to control her voice, and she simply couldn’t endure any further disgrace. To be spanked like a child. And then to cry like a baby. It was unbearable!
Creed’s thumb came up to intercept the tear that spilled down her cheek. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, ashamed of her weakness.
“Don’t,” he pleaded. Creed’s large hand cupped her cheek and turned her face back to him. She felt his lips kiss away the next tear that fell, and then softly caress her cheek, her feathery eyelashes, and finally her lips, which were swollen as a result of her attack on him.
Cricket knew she should flee Creed’s dominating presence while she still could, but she was captivated by the strange feelings evoked when Creed’s tongue slipped past her lips and barely into her mouth, coaxing again, until she opened her mouth fully to him. Creed teased the inside of her mouth with his tongue, claiming gentle possession of her. Cricket lost track of where she was, as she absorbed the taste and feel of him. His mouth was soft and warm on hers, and he tasted . . . of peach pie.
Creed kissed her thoroughly, demanding a response that she gave . . . and gave . . . while her muscles clenched and tightened all over. Cricket could feel her whole body trembling. When Creed raised his lips from hers, she turned her face toward his chest, while her hands clutched his shirt. Her breath came in raspy heaves echoed by Creed’s.
At last, she shoved herself away from Creed and staggered to her feet. Between her sore buttocks and her rubbery legs she nearly fell, before she stood at last, swaying, across from Creed, who had risen as well. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she rasped.
Creed faced Cricket squarely, trembling himself, aware of the boundary she’d crossed when she’d opened her mouth to him. “No, I shouldn’t have,” he agreed. “I don’t know what it is about you, Brava, but it seems every time you goad me I rise to the bait. At this rate, neither of us is going to survive this ‘marriage.’ ”
“Then why don’t you let me go home?” she cried. “I can’t stand this anymore. I’ll talk to Sloan. I know there must be some misunderstanding.” Cricket was appalled at the desperation she heard in her voice. What was happening to her? This wasn’t like her at all. Was it the kissing that made her act like this? She had to get control of herself. She took a deep breath and said firmly, “I want to go home.”
Creed hesitated before he replied, “I wish it were that easy, Brava, but I’m afraid I can’t let you go.” When Cricket’s chin jutted mulis
hly, Creed added, “So I guess we’ll have to make the best of this situation. That means both of us giving a little.
“For my part, I’ll talk to Tom and Amy and tell them you’ve learned enough. How about you? Do you think you can get along with my brother and sister-in-law for two more weeks until we’re supposed to meet Commodore Moore in Galveston?”
“No more trying to change me?”
“I think there are a few things you could learn from Amy—”
“Creed, I won’t—”
Creed held up a conciliatory hand. “No more lessons.”
Cricket sighed in relief. “In that case, I think we should all get along fine for the time we have left here.”
“All right, Brava. Shall we go back inside and say good night to Tom and Amy?”
“After you,” Cricket said, gesturing toward the front door.
“Ladies first,” Creed countered.
“Of course.” Cricket nodded her head in acquiescence and preceded Creed to the house.
From the corner of her eye Cricket saw Creed struggling not to limp. He was going to have a whopping big bruise on his leg, she thought, and smiled. Then she considered the condition of her rear end, and the smile faded. He’d given as good as he’d got.
They found Tom and Amy in the parlor, where Amy was having a sherry and Tom a brandy.
“Did you work everything out?” Tom asked straight-faced, all the while eyeing Creed’s limp and Cricket’s reddened eyes and stiff-legged walk.
“Yes, we did.” Creed took Cricket’s hand in his. “Cricket and I have decided the New Orleans ladies will have to accept her as she is. There’ll be no need for you to trouble yourselves any further.”
“It was no trouble,” Amy said. “Really, it was our pleasure.” Amy’s eyes admonished Creed, while they questioned Cricket whether she was all right.
“Thanks, anyway,” Creed said, his arm going around Cricket’s shoulder to show they’d reached an amicable settlement of differences, “but we won’t be needing any more help.”
Cricket cringed inside at the look exchanged between Tom and Amy. It was apparent a great deal of what had happened under the pin oak had been heard inside. But she didn’t want or need their sympathy. Her chin came up another notch. She would manage on her own for the next two weeks. She didn’t need anybody’s help.
“Cricket and I are going on up to bed now,” Creed said.
“Won’t you have a brandy?” Tom asked.
“No thanks,” Creed replied. “It’s been a long day.”
“And you’re still on your honeymoon, aren’t you,” Tom said sardonically. “Well, good night, then. Sleep tight.”
Cricket suddenly realized she should have bargained harder under the pin oak. She’d gotten Creed to agree to end the lessons from Tom and Amy, but she’d done nothing to negotiate separate places to sleep. And she was awfully tired of sleeping on the floor.
“Do you by any chance have an extra be—”
“Come on, Cricket,” Creed interrupted, taking Cricket’s elbow to usher her toward the stairs. “It’s time for bed.”
“But—”
“Keep talking, and I’m going to kiss your mouth shut,” Creed murmured in her ear.
Cricket hurried ahead of Creed up the stairs, only belatedly remembering to call good night to Tom and Amy.
“Good night,” they chorused back.
Once Cricket and Creed were in the bedroom with the door closed behind them and the candle lit, Cricket decided it was worth a try to bargain with Creed over their sleeping arrangements.
“I’m tired of sleeping on the floor,” she began.
“So sleep in the bed.”
“With you?”
Creed unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off before answering, “Why not?”
Cricket perused the braided rug on the hardwood floor, and then let her gaze stray to the ladder-back chair in the corner, with its rawhide seat. She shuddered. Neither one was a comfortable alternative to the feather bed. She ought to know, since she’d tried them both. Well, she wasn’t going to be a martyr any longer.
“All right, I will,” she announced. She wasn’t going to let the need to avoid Creed’s touch force her onto the floor again tonight. She glanced back to Creed, and her breath caught at what she saw.
When she’d slept on the floor, Creed had found excuses not to come to bed until she was settled. It was dark each night by the time he came to the room and undressed. But not tonight. Cricket was mesmerized by the expanse of bronzed chest before her. Once again, her eyes found the scar that began at Creed’s left nipple and angled down into his trousers. Thus, her eyes were focused on Creed’s trousers when he unbuttoned them and began to pull them down. Quickly, Cricket’s eyes snapped up to Creed’s face.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting undressed to go to bed.”
“You can’t take your clothes off in front of me.”
“Why not? You’re my wife. Besides, there’s nothing under these trousers you haven’t seen before.”
“Seeing you at the pond wasn’t the same thing as seeing you now.”
“Oh, no? How was it different? I assure you I haven’t changed.”
But I have, Cricket thought. She was aware of him as a man now, in a way she hadn’t been then. The secret to dealing with this situation had to be to pretend a nonchalance about Creed’s sex that she didn’t feel. She took a deep breath and began to unbutton her dress.
“You’re right,” she said. “I’m being silly, aren’t I? We’ll probably be stuck in closer quarters than this before we’re through.”
They turned their backs on one another and continued to undress, each pretending to be unaware of the other. When Creed felt the beads of sweat rise on his brow, he knew he didn’t have to see Cricket to know she was there.
For Cricket, the trembling in her legs revealed her nervous agitation. Cricket had stripped down to her chemise and pantalettes when Creed blew out the candle without warning and slipped into bed. The lack of moonlight made it necessary for Cricket to feel her way in the dark.
“If you’re going to get into the bed, Brava, get in,” Creed said when Cricket didn’t join him immediately.
“I will if I can find it,” she bit out. “You could have given me some warning you were going to blow out the candle.”
“I thought you saw me.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
Cricket yelped when she stubbed her toe on the bedstead.
“Are you all right?”
“I can’t see a blamed thing.”
“Here, let me help you.” Creed crawled across the bed on his knees until he reached Cricket’s side, then reached out blindly until his hand came in contact with her cotton chemise. It took only a second for him to recognize the shape of Cricket’s breast.
“Aw, hell,” Creed muttered.
Cricket jerked sideways at the touch and started to climb onto the bed past Creed, but he moved at the same time. She crashed into him, and the two of them fell into a jumbled heap on the feather bed. The mattress gave with their weight, and when they stopped rolling, Cricket lay sprawled underneath Creed at the center of the bed. Both were intensely aware of bare flesh meeting soft cotton . . . or more bare flesh.
His hair-roughened legs pressed against her thighs.
Her rounded breasts rose and fell under his chest.
His arms captured her shoulders.
Her cheek lay smooth against his neck.
His fingers caught in her hair.
Her moist breath warmed his throat.
His manhood grew hard and hot against her thigh.
“Get—off—me,” Cricket said through gritted teeth. She waited, not breathing until Creed finally shifted away to lie on his back on his side of the bed, staring at the ceiling. They lay in silence on opposite sides of the bed for several minutes before Creed spoke into the darkness.
“You’re a desirable woman, Brava. No matter how m
uch you try to hide it, or deny it, nothing will ever change that.”
Cricket waited for him to say more, but all she heard was his steady breathing. How could he say something like that and then go to sleep? She lay awake, restless and antsy to be doing something, irritated that Creed could so easily dismiss everything that had passed between them this evening.
She could hardly believe she’d allowed Creed to kiss her. Not only that, but she’d enjoyed it! Since the Ranger had shown up, her life had been turned upside down. What was she doing in bed with Jarrett Creed? Where was her gumption? Why was she letting this man tell her what to do?
Cricket climbed down from the bed, taking the light quilt that had covered both of them with her. She grabbed a pillow and threw it down on the braided rug at her feet, then wrapped the quilt around her several times, before she dropped to the floor. She settled her head on the pillow and wriggled around until she got the lumps out of the quilt. There. That was better. No man was going to start ordering her around, husband or not. And if Jarrett Creed thought he could kiss her willy-nilly like that, he could just think again. This marriage wasn’t her idea. She didn’t need Jarrett Creed. She didn’t need anybody.
“I don’t believe it.”
Cricket hadn’t realized she’d said her last thought aloud. “What?”
“You said you don’t need anybody,” Creed repeated quietly. “That sounds like Rip talking. I don’t think it’s true of you. I think you need other people more than you think you do.”
“Rip may have suggested the idea to me, but it applies, all right. I don’t need anybody.”
“I don’t agree. Oh, you’re independent, I’ll grant you that. But, there are ways, and ways, of needing people, Brava. I don’t think you’d last a day all by yourself.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” she snapped back. “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
“Of course you don’t.”
Cricket bristled at his patronizing response. “You don’t think I can do it, do you?”
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