by Kathy Shaw
She was a vision in white.
And she was pissssed!
Funny how, even though he’d spent less than eight hours with her since they met, he could so easily read her moods. Her blue eyes sparked with anger, not the dewy-eyed, tender expression of a woman marrying the man she loved. Her cheeks were flushed crimson with fury instead of the bashful pink of a blushing bride. He could almost hear the gritting of her teeth behind the fake smile she’d plastered across her lips.
But her biggest tell was the way she practically stomped down the aisle toward him.
Oh yeah, she was pissed—and he wasn’t the only one who noticed.
Sam Carter smirked as he moved his gaze from Rachel to Donovan then crossed his arms over his chest to not-so-casually slip his hand inside his jacket. Donovan would bet a dollar to a donut hole the Pinkerton man wore a shoulder holster under his coat. Etiquette might mandate no side arms at a wedding, but Carter wouldn’t have come unarmed.
But then neither had he.
With two small caliber revolvers strapped to his calves, his Colt hidden in the shrubbery beside the back door, a rifle tucked under the seat of the buggy he’d hired from the livery and the horse he’d ridden into town tucked just out of sight in the tree line, he figured he was prepared for almost anything.
Except a fire-breathing woman hell-bent on screwing up his future. Even if she wasn’t aware of the consequences of her actions.
Hopefully he could calm her with a soothing tone and gentle touch, much like he’d used on the horse earlier.
When Sheriff Hale and his daughter reached him, Donovan held out his hand to Rachel. She glared at him and his extended hand for a too-long heartbeat.
Her father patted her hand, leaned toward her and whispered just loud enough so Donovan could hear his assurances too, “You’ll be fine, I promise.”
Donovan glanced at her father. He glared back, his gaze hard and menacing. The man’s silent expression practically screamed “hurt her and I’ll kill you.”
Or was there more behind the man’s antics than the standard father-of-the-bride intimidation? Hale’s forewarning seemed a little over the top.
Donovan nodded his acknowledgement then looked to Rachel waiting for her to take his hand. Finally, she laid her fingers over his, lifting a weight off his chest.
There for a moment, he wasn’t sure she’d go through with the ceremony.
Hale stepped to his seat. Carter, seated a row behind the sheriff, was obviously ready to pounce into action if he saw fit.
The pastor cleared his throat to begin. Donovan, still holding Rachel’s fingers, stopped him before he could speak. “Just a second, sir.”
Turning to Rachel, he squeezed her hand gently and murmured, “I know you’re upset with me. Do you want to talk now or later?”
The already hushed onlookers seem to catch their breaths in unison.
Why in the hell had he given her an out? Why hadn’t he just let the preacher say the words that would bind them together forever? Well, at least as long as he lived his brother’s life.
Because he didn’t want her to regret today. He wanted her to be happy.
Unbeknownst to her, she was the final piece of his charade: Sullivan Langley-successful rancher, husband, and family man. A contented man living a quiet, peace-filled life.
Rachel turned to look at her father. After a moment that seemed to stretch past the point of comfort, she nodded toward Donovan. “You can explain yourself on our way home.”
He raised her fingers to his lips then softly kissed her knuckles. “Thank you.”
He didn’t know, and didn’t care, if his kiss followed the rules of etiquette. He was a handful of “I dos” away from the tranquil life he craved so much.
Chapter 6
Rachel was going to rip off the man’s head off and spit in the hole!
His buggy had thrown a wheel. Really?
Did he think she’d fall for that old-as-dirt excuse for being late?
She glanced behind her at the lone horse tied to the buggy. Poor thing looked worse for wear. Like she’d been rode hard and put up wet.
And why did he have to hire a buggy from the livery? She knew for a fact the Legacy had just bought a shiny new buggy. Sullivan would have loved to be seen in it.
A picture formed in her mind’s eye. Sullivan sipping coffee laced with the Kentucky bourbon he loved so much. After a moment, he shrugged and drained his cup. “Hell, why not?” he grumbled and headed off toward the barn for his horse.
Rachel shook herself from her thoughts and asked, “So, you want me to believe the buggy you bought only last month lost a wheel?”
Sullivan glanced at her and nodded. “That’s what happened.”
She seriously doubted that. She thought as she tapped her foot against the floor boards. “Hmm.”
Sullivan glanced her way, sighed, then pulled the buggy to a stop under a shade tree. “Is there something you want to say?”
Rachel squared her shoulders then nailed him with her most stern look. “I can tolerate most anything but dishonesty.”
Sullivan flinched, suddenly very interested in the reins he still held in his hand. His reaction was all the conformation she needed. “Why lie?” she asked. “I married you before you explained your tardiness. There’s no backing out now. Why give me a cock and bull story? At least, we wouldn’t be starting our union on a lie.”
Good Lord, woman, if you only knew.
Donovan scrubbed his hand over his face. The woman was right. A marriage formed on lies had no chance at happiness. Hell, right now, he’d just settle for harmony.
By marrying him—which solidified him as Sullivan in the eyes of the law, Rachel gave him the opportunity to have the life he wanted above all else. It was only fair that he did everything in his power to make her life as his wife a contented one too.
He couldn’t promise love. Hell, he wasn’t sure he was capable of love. There was too much stain on his soul for such a tender emotion. But he could give her respect, loyalty, and honesty—up to a point.
“You don’t trust me much, do you?” he finally said into the thick silence around them.
“I don’t know you well enough to trust you,” she countered.
“Really?” Donovan cocked an eyebrow. “Then why did you marry me?”
Rachel squirmed against the leather seat. “You know why.”
He nodded even though he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Leaning against the seat, he draped his arm over the backrest and studied her.
She studied him just as intently.
With a sigh, he said, “I’ve heard it said that you don’t really know someone until you marry them.”
Rachel nodded and remained silent.
“I propose,” he continued, “we start fresh, with a clean slate with no pre-existing expectations or assumptions. What do you think?”
After a lengthy pause, she nodded once more. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”
To lighten the mood, Donovan clasped her right hand in his and shook. “Hello, my name is Sullivan Langley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She gave his hand a hearty shake and grinned. “Hello, I’m Rachel Langley. I hope we become good friends.”
A hitch caught in his chest, be it from hearing her name linked to his or the amused glint in her blue eyes that seemed to warm him from the inside out, he couldn’t tell. Either way wasn’t good.
“Me too,” he answered as he urged the horse and buggy back onto the road.
A few minutes later, Rachel grasped the edge of the seat. “Is that Reaper’s Ravine up ahead?”
“Yes.” He noticed her knuckles had turned white with the force of her grip. “You okay?”
“I hate this part of the drive out to the Legacy. Every time I go over it, I think about the Pattersons.”
“Oh yeah. Why’s that?” Donovan asked, only halfway paying attention to their conversation as he focused on the path ahead of them.
/> “Why’s that? Are you kidding me?” Rachel turned her full focus on Donovan.
Well, shit! He’d forgotten to be vague with his comments—again.
He gave her his best sheepish grin, hoping she’d fall for his next half-truth. “I’m sorry to admit, but I was caught up in my own thoughts and wasn’t listening to you.”
That was the half truth.
“I think about the Pattersons when I travel around the ravine, too.”
That was a bald-face lie. He had no idea who the Pattersons were.
“It was so sad. The whole family killed, the youngest only six months old.” Rachel shuddered. “It was the first major accident Papa had to oversee after we moved to New Dawn Springs. I think the baby’s death haunted him the most. Papa didn’t sleep well for weeks.”
“A baby’s death is always a little harder to accept.” Donovan slowed them to a crawl when they reached the narrow path above Reaper’s Ravine, more out of respect for Rachel’s fear than necessity. Once they’d maneuvered around the ravine and Rachel relaxed beside him, he sped the horse up to a gentle gait.
A moment later, Rachel tensed again—but not out of fear. Yep, she’d just seen the Langley’s new buggy, one wheel missing with its axle impaled into the road. “Oh, Sullivan, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.”
He wanted to smirk and say, “I told you so.” But he didn’t.
Instead he gave her a roguish wink and took her hand in his. “Clean slate.”
Rachel laid her other hand over their joined hands. “Clean slate.”
Chapter 7
Rachel stared into the mirror of the small dressing table that had obviously been moved from one of the other bedrooms of the main house into Sullivan’s bedroom to accommodate her needs. She looked the same as she had this morning—when she was Rachel Hale—but she wasn’t. She was Rachel Langley now.
Mrs. Sullivan Langley.
“For better or worse,” she whispered to her reflection. A nervous sigh escaped her lips as she reached for her brush. With the first stroke, she turned to study Sullivan’s—no, their—bedroom.
A sleigh bed dominated the room. The bedstead was beautiful dark wood and obviously custom made to accommodate Sullivan’s tall, wide-shouldered build. A fluffy-looking quilt of tan and blue squares covered the oversized mattress, making the bed look both masculine and inviting.
Would her husband claim his marital rights tonight? Or would they carry their newly formed “clean slate” into the bedroom. Would he allow them to get to know each other better before they lay as man and wife?
Obviously, he intended for them to share his bed—but to what level of intimacy?
Part of her wanted the extra time to feel more comfortable with her husband. Yet, an equal part of her wanted to feel his arms around her, his lips teasing hers.
Over the last few days, she’d seen a different side of Sullivan, a more thoughtful side, a kinder side. Their first kiss as man and wife had sent a tingle of warm awareness zinging through her, momentarily burning through her ridiculous irritation at his tardiness.
A tingle that had been missing during their few courtship kisses. Maybe knowing they had emotionally committed their lives to each had sparked her new physical response to his touch.
Rachel heard the door click open and spun around to face her mirror, her back to the door. The last thing she wanted was for Sullivan to catch her staring at their marriage bed. She resumed brushing her hair, hoping her husband would let her know his intent before they retired for the night.
Sullivan closed the door behind him then stepped into the reflection of her mirror. Shirtless, with a towel draped over his left shoulder, he studied her as intently as she knew she studied him. His hair, still damp from his bath, fell across his forehead.
But it was his hazel eyes that spoke volumes. They darkened with desire—and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
He moved closer, stopping to stand directly behind her. Their gazes met in the mirror, his tender—hers tentative.
“We’ll take this slowly,” he promised as he took the brush from her hand. “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
She nodded, her gaze held on the brush as he slid it through her hair. Why was she so nervous? She was no coward and he—if he stayed true to his word—was no brute. With a bracing breath, she raised her gaze to the reflection of his face in the mirror.
The look of awe on his features stunned her. His attention, as hers had been only seconds ago, was riveted on the brush as it glided through her hair.
“Your hair is like spun gold in sunshine, soft, glorious. As alluring as a Siren’s song.” He rubbed a thick lock of it between his thumb and forefinger. When he raised his eyes to meet hers in the mirror, they smoldered with… what?
Rachel’s breath caught in her throat, an ember of heat kindled to life in her lower stomach.
Sullivan straddled the bench behind where she sat, giving her no choice but nestle between his legs or fall to the floor. She stiffened when her thinly covered bottom contacted his inner leg. So did he.
“Your hair was the first thing I noticed about you,” he murmured as he resumed sliding the brush through her already tangle-free hair. “I wanted to run my fingers through it, wondered how it would feel against my skin.”
After a moment, he gently swept her hair away from her neck, exposing the sensitive skin behind her ear. He placed a whisper of a kiss in the juncture of her neck and shoulder. When she didn’t pull away, he kissed her again, slightly above his first kiss, a tic more demanding, lingering a tad longer before moving up the column of her neck. And again, and again, until he reached her ear where he nibbled and sucked on her earlobe.
She closed her eyes and shuddered as intense pleasure rippled over her from where his teeth and lips played to the center of her core. When she opened her eyes a heartbeat later, she saw Sullivan staring at her through the mirror.
“I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer than she already was. “I’ll keep your safe.”
Rachel turned to face him, unwilling to settle for only his reflection in a mirror. As she cupped his jaw in her hand, she murmured against his lips. “I know you will.”
Then she layered her mouth over his. She poured every bit of emotion swirling through her into their kiss—hope, trust, and a burning desire to have him touch her as a husband touched his wife.
Sitting very still, perhaps afraid that if he moved she’d reject him, Sullivan accepted her kiss. Half a heartbeat later, he joined her in their kiss. Half a heartbeat after that, he took command of their joined mouths.
He nibbled on her bottom lip then pushed his tongue between her lips, deepening their kiss. His hand that had been holding her close moved upward, gently cupping her breast in his palm. When his thumb grazed across her nipple, Rachel moaned her pleasure into his mouth.
Suddenly, he swept her into his arms. Never breaking their kiss, he carried her to the edge of their bed. He held her firmly to his chest and released her legs. Her body brushed against his as her feet found the floor.
She missed his heated embrace when he stepped back slightly and studied her. Somehow knowing he waited for consent before proceeding, she smiled up at him and laid her hand on his chest where his heart lay beneath.
He took a sharp intake of breath and closed his eyes.
Amazement threaded with a surprising sense of power filled her. How had she brought him such pleasure with a simple touch?
He opened his eyes, holding her mesmerized with his half-lidded, sultry gaze. Taking her hand from over his heart, he brought her palm to his mouth and kissed it then licked the spot where his lips had been.
She shuddered against the wave of heat rippling through her.
Sullivan squeezed her fingers gently. “That’s how I feel, too, when you touch me.”
“Really?” Rachel murmured.
He chuckled softly as he released her hand then made short work of the knotted tie of her dressing gown. “Yes, really.”
So focused on his admission of her effect on him, she almost didn’t realize her dressing gown puddled at her feet. Modesty slammed into the forefront of her thoughts, dampening the heat curling in her stomach. When she started to cross her hands over herself, he gathered her into his arms and held her.
“Don’t, please,” he whispered against her hair. “Please don’t hide from me.”
His plead, drenched in both desire and promise to comply to her wishes, defeated her battle with modesty. When she gently nudged him back a step, disappointment lined his features until she reached up and tugged at the little pink bow holding her nightgown’s neckline demurely fastened.
With one shoulder completely bare and her gown barely covering her left breast, she admitted, “I don’t know what to do next.”
“That’s all right. I do,” he replied, his voice thick with…hunger?
He traced his finger along the edge of her gaping gown, ever so slowly pushing it down to expose more of her. She shivered against the titillating sensations zinging across her flesh.
“May I touch you?”
“God, yes. Remember, my body responds much like yours. If it feels good to you, it’ll feel good to me.”
She nodded as she mimicked his caress by lightly tracing his collarbone from the crest of his shoulder to his breastbone with her fingertips. He whispered an encouraging yes as goosebumps prickled over his skin.
He bent and kissed the tip of her shoulder where her gown rested. The gossamer fabric floated to the floor to join her dressing gown. Rachel raised onto her toes and kissed his shoulder then ran the tip of her tongue over the spot where she’d kissed him, much like he’d done with her palm.
Surprise mingled with disappointment ran over her when he took her hands in his and stepped back. “Have I done something wrong?”
“I want to look at you, want to drink my fill of you.” He shook his head and smiled, awe shining in his hazel eyes. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
