Tempting a Texan

by Carolyn Davidson

  His thighs tense, his buttocks taut, he held his breath as she allowed her hands a greater degree of freedom, venturing toward his apex of sensation. With shuddering delight he reveled in the promise fulfilled as slender fingers touched that part of him—the throbbing length that threatened to burst from the pressure of months of celibacy.

  Fingertips fluttered into the nest of curls, and he forbade himself the pleasure of thrusting into her palm, holding himself rigid as she explored the length of him, curling her fingers to encircle the pulsing ache he could barely control.

  She was eager, unafraid by her own admission, and he blessed the day he’d found the good sense to urge her into the hasty marriage vows they’d spoken. And then a dubious whisper reached his ear. “I don’t think this is going to fit, Nicholas,” she said, and he smiled softly at her doubts.

  “Oh, yes. We’ll fit just fine,” he told her, edging away from her gentle caress, even as his body urged him to move with longer strokes within the circling fingers. He clasped her hand, moving it to lie beside her head. “It’s my turn,” he decreed. “Let me touch you, Lin.”

  “You are,” she murmured, her hand escaping his grasp to return to the exploration she’d only begun. Her movements slowed upon reaching his waist, her fingers spreading wide as she shifted to his hip, and then shaped the slope of his flank.

  It seemed she would not be halted, and he gritted his teeth against the temptation she offered, then murmured his intentions aloud. “I’ve touched only a bit, sweetheart. But not where I need to.”

  She stilled, almost ceasing to breathe as he rolled her fully to her back and lifted himself to rise over her. His hands caressed her inner thighs, urging them apart, a firm pressure she allowed. And then he knelt there between her knees, watching her, only too aware he might have gone beyond whatever degree of modesty she clung to. Her hands twitched against the sheet, then rose, her fingers moving along the muscular length of his thighs, testing the sinews that firmed beneath their pressure.

  “You’re beautiful, Lin,” he said, barely able to speak the words, his throat almost closing as he appraised the trusting smile she offered, noting her trembling lips. He moved slowly, allowing his hands to trace the length of her body, forming her breasts, measuring the slender circle of her waist. He enclosed the fullness of her hips in his wide palms and then brushed with tender care across the vulnerable flesh of her belly.

  Long fingers threaded through the curls that guarded her most tender parts, and he eased gently through the layers of sensitive flesh, finding a satisfying dampness. Then he discovered hot, wet moisture, there where he would seek to join them for the first time. His index finger explored, circling and entering carefully, and she lifted her hips to allow him entry.

  “I won’t hurt you, sweet,” he whispered, even as he prayed the words would prove to be the truth. His experience had never included a virgin, but in his earlier years in the city he’d heard tales that had chilled him—stories of blood and screams of pain from first couplings. Perhaps most of them had been exaggerated by youthful egos in need of sustenance, but probably some of those adventures held a germ of truth. This, he determined, would not be such an ordeal, no matter how long it took to ready Lin for his taking.

  Yet she seemed eager, willing to believe his promise, allowing his touch. He watched her face as he tested the depths of that narrow sheath, sensed the moment he reached the fragile veil of her maidenhood. It was but a thin membrane, yet it gave promise of a bride untouched, a woman pure and unsullied by any other hand but his own. And he rejoiced in the knowledge that she came to him a virgin, even as he acknowledged the unfairness of it all.

  Women lived under restriction that had never applied to the men of the world. And having reached his mid-thirties, Nicholas was well versed in the sexual arts. Yet, in this moment, he felt almost as untried as the woman before him. This was new territory for him, a fresh beginning, and he, who had not darkened a church door in his life, sought strength from whatever gods might be listening as he prepared to take his bride.

  “I love you, Nicholas,” she whispered, and his heart surged in his breast at the softly spoken pledge she gave. He’d not asked for her love, only her desire and passion. Yet it seemed they came as a whole, a gift given into his care.

  His fingers moved against her, teasing the sensitive places he sought out, urging her into a rhythm that would bring fulfillment. She obeyed his coaxing, and her head jerked to the side as her breath caught in a quick spasm.

  “Nicholas?” It was a cry of surprise, a plea he responded to as he recognized her first taste of the dark flavor of sensual adventure. Never ceasing the movement he’d set into motion, he bent low over her, opening his mouth against her breast, suckling hard, holding the crest against the roof of his mouth and drawing it deep.

  She jerked against him, her hips rising and falling in the age-old rhythm he recognized, and her hands clasped him, nails digging for purchase against his back. Again she cried out his name, a sob accompanied by the syllables, sounding them in a drawn-out bewildered wail.

  “Nicholas!” It was a cry of release, a sound of pleasure sought and found, and he thrust against her, rising to join their bodies even as she lifted her hips, offering herself, joyously accepting his invasion.

  The membrane gave without protest and he was deep inside, where hot, pulsing muscles tugged at him. He withdrew and she groaned, grasping his shoulders as if she would cling to each increment of flesh he denied her. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’m here, sweet,” he assured her, his voice husky with the urgency of his need. Again he slid to the depths of the channel he’d invaded, then eased back, only to return, establishing the rhythm that would bring them to the peak of pleasure.

  She shivered, trembled and held him close, her knees bent, her hips rising to meet each thrust he offered. Tight, almost unbearably tight, her muscles tensing with each stroke, she held him prisoner within her. And then he could hold back no longer, felt the hot rush of release, knew the heartrending moment of delivering his seed into the depths of her feminine heat. He was without defense, his control at an end as he emptied himself of this most intimate of gifts.

  She possessed him, her arms and legs enveloping him, even as shuddering cries escaped her lips and tears slid in silver streaks across her face, visible in the moonlight as he chanced a look, fearful of finding her tears to be a sign of pain. He was heavy, pressing her into the mattress with his long, powerful frame. Yet she clung, as if she would pull him into herself, make him a part of her soft, welcoming feminine body. He tilted his head, the better to kiss the dampness from her cheek, and felt a pang of guilt for the pain he had caused.

  “I’m sorry, sweet,” he said. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “Just a bit,” she answered, her eyelids fluttering open, the dark depths mysterious in the moonlight. “I knew it would hurt some, but it was…” She hesitated as if she searched for words to describe the moment of her passage from innocence to knowledge. Her smile was quick, fleeting, but filled with satisfaction. “You’re a part of me now, Nicholas. We’re one flesh.”

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he agreed, his fingers tangling in the lush curls that lay close to his face. She carried the scent of her soap and another aroma he recognized as the slaking of desire, of her female essence.

  She touched his cheek, drawing his attention.

  “You haven’t read the Bible much, I suppose. Or have you?” she asked, and he shook his head, strangely embarrassed that he must make such an admission of ignorance.

  “There’s a place where it speaks of a man and woman…being together, like we are. I thought the words were strange, and almost forbidden, when I was younger and read it the first time.”

  “In the Bible? There are words to describe making love?”

  She nodded. “I think I understand now what it meant when it said they would become one flesh.”

  “Maybe there’s more to this Bible re
ading than I thought,” he said, amusement tingeing the words.

  “Don’t make fun, Nicholas.”

  “Oh, I’m not. I’ve just never been exposed to religion much in my life.”

  “I didn’t think you were much of a churchgoer,” she whispered. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’ll find it an interesting avenue to explore.”

  “You’re going to make me go to church?”

  She smiled again. “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want. But I’d like you to give it a chance.”

  If she only knew the power she held in those slender hands. He shuddered to think what lengths he would go to in order to please the woman. “You have me at a disadvantage, you know,” he said, lifting his weight to his forearms. “Right this minute I’d do about anything you asked of me.”

  Her mouth trembled a bit as if she tried to cover a smile, and then she lost the battle and a grin appeared, followed by soft laughter. “Anything, Nicholas?”

  Hesitating, he quibbled a bit. “Most anything, I suspect.”

  “Would you kiss me?” Her arms slid around his neck and she pressed her hands against the back of his head. It was an invitation he didn’t think to turn from, and his mouth took hers in a deep, intimate blending of lips and tongue. She gasped for air as he lifted his head, and her eyes were wide.

  “I’m thinking the night’s not over,” she whispered. “I’m beginning to wonder—” Her nostrils flared as she drew another deep breath. “Are you still interested in…I mean, can you do that again?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m still interested,” he said, his lips returning to press a series of short kisses against her throat. “And yes, I can do that again. But the problem may lie with you, sweetheart. I don’t want you to be hurting in the morning.” He eased from her and rose from the mattress. “I’ll be back,” he said, sliding into his trousers and opening the door, just in time to see her snatch at the sheet.

  Lin moved gingerly, stretching out one leg, then the other. She was aching with a delicious tenderness in places she’d never before thought much about. Her breasts felt swollen to the touch, and the sheet brushing against them reminded her of the sensation those female parts were capable of. She’d never before considered herself a sensual person. Even Irene’s short, embarrassed monologue when she’d considered it late enough in Lin’s life to be made aware of the usual events of a wedding night, had not made much of an impression.

  She’d known there would be a degree of pain, known she could anticipate a certain amount of familiarity from whomever she chose to marry. But the reality had gone far beyond expectation. That Nicholas would come to her without nightclothes was not a surprise, but his swift disrobing of her had come as a shock.

  Her panic had mounted to new heights when he’d knelt between her splayed thighs and taken her measure. With heated gaze and warm hands he’d inspected her from top to bottom, and then, to her surprise and pleasure, had pronounced her beautiful.

  Whether she was truly as lovely as he supposed it mattered little. That he thought it was true was what counted. His close scrutiny and his murmured words of appreciation as he’d elaborated on each and every portion of her body at great length was enough to raise her spirits beyond belief.

  She’d somehow managed to satisfy the man, and heaven above was well aware that her own expectations had been swallowed up in the reality of his claiming. Even now she felt tingling nerve ends vibrate as she shifted to her side, knew the aching reality of flesh newly introduced to the marriage act.

  “I’m his wife,” she whispered. “Mrs. Nicholas Garvey. Lin Garvey.” And then she bit at her lip, recalling the words she’d offered so willingly. Words he had not repeated, only accepted as a part of this night.

  I love you, Nicholas. She could not recant, could never regret the speaking of that vow. And if this…this shattering expression of passion was all she ever received at his hand, she would accept it gladly and be pleased that his desire for her body ran strong.

  “Lin?” He stood in the doorway, his body pale in the darkness, and she whispered his name.

  “Nicholas. I’m awake.”

  “I brought a warm cloth to wash you with,” he said, closing the door quietly behind him. He bent to her, offering the cloth. “Shall I do it?” he asked.

  “No. I can.” Now this, she decided, was more than she’d bargained for. That he would come back to her, expecting to help her bathe the tender tissues, the secret, feminine parts of her body, was not to be considered. And yet he banished those thoughts as he sat down beside her.

  “Don’t be ashamed of your body, sweet,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen most all of it, and it’s beyond perfect.”

  “Nothing is beyond perfect,” she said firmly. “Me, least of all.”

  “I think we’re going to argue this point, here and now,” Nicholas informed her. He took the cloth from her hand and tugged the sheet aside, exposing her to his view once more. With gentle touches and murmurs of praise for the curves and hollows he touched, he washed the residue of his passion from her, then wiped the dampness from her skin with a clean towel.

  “If we’re truly one flesh, as you said, dear heart, then I have the right to tend you and set to rights the damage I did to you tonight.”

  She retrieved the sheet with haste, burrowing beneath it, and he smiled at her action. It probably wasn’t fair to expect instant intimacy from a young woman who’d never been exposed to a sexual relationship, but all in all, Lin had managed to accept everything he’d offered her tonight. And if tucking the sheet under her arms made her feel better, he’d just have to crawl in beside her and share the covering with her.

  Setting aside the cloth, he bent to kiss her again. “Just think of it as a part of our wedding night.”

  “Well, it’s a part I hadn’t planned on,” she told him. “No one has ever…” She waved a hand at the damp cloth and towel he’d used.

  “I’ll let you wash my back the next time I get into that washtub,” he offered, succeeding in prompting a smile as she chuckled at his nonsense. “But for now, let’s just see if we can get a few hours’ sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  He crossed to the other side of the mattress and stretched his long length out beside her, offering his shoulder for her use. Without hesitation she rolled toward him, snuggled against his warmth and made herself comfortable. The curves of her breasts pressed firmly against his side and she entwined her leg with his, rubbing the sole of her foot against his shinbone.

  “You sure you’re comfortable?” he asked, well pleased with the familiarity she assumed with his body.

  “Oh, yes, I’m fine.” A yawn followed her words of assurance and, with a bit of reluctance, he set aside his half-formed plans. She’d no doubt be agreeable, but it seemed only fair to allow her a few hours for her tender flesh to heal from the initiation she’d undergone tonight.

  “You sure you’re all right?” he asked softly, scooping her even closer.

  Her head nodded, and a muttered reply was muffled against his chest. “Umm…” she murmured. “Fine, thank you.” And then she was limp, her body twitching once as she slid with ease into a depth of slumber he envied.

  His own thoughts were in too much turmoil to allow the luxury of dreamless sleep tonight. The doors and windows were secure, his gun was at hand and he’d checked the outbuildings at dusk. Cleary’s methodical mind had seen to it that locks were installed, and each door was capable of withstanding a nominal amount of force. There was nothing else to be done for tonight.

  Tomorrow he could set about cleaning up the barn and putting the corral fence to rights. The hay on the wagon and the oats they’d brought were sufficient for several days. Then the horses could be put to pasture, where the grass was tall and green, heavy with the lush growth of summer.

  He closed his eyes, listening to the measured breathing of the woman he held. She’d told him she loved him, and he’d given her no reply. He’d admitted freely just the other day
to feeling more for her than any other woman in his life, and she’d accepted that, it seemed. Beside her declaration, his own paled.

  She loves me. He savored the thought, reveling in the memory of the hour just past. Lin had given herself without reservation, allowed him total freedom of her body, and he’d been able to bring her satisfaction and pleasure. His sigh was deep, and he bent to touch his lips to her forehead. She murmured, lifting her face a bit, and he obliged with a brush of his mouth against hers.

  And then returned for a deeper caress. He couldn’t have asked for more.

  She loved him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Six days. They’d been here for six days already. Lin looked out the kitchen window, watching as Nicholas rode from the pasture on the far side of the corral and across the yard. He sat proudly atop the horse, straight in the saddle. And in front of him, perched high above the ground, Amanda viewed the world around her with no trace of fear or foreboding to mar her small, perfect features.

  She rode with her shoulders back, and yet seemed relaxed, in a stance very much like that of her uncle, rolling with the gait of the gelding as though she were a part of the creature. Nicholas was proud of the child. His feelings gleamed from blue eyes that watched her every move, shone with each flashing smile he cast in her direction. Acceptance had come easily to him, as if Amanda gave him a living link with the sister he’d never known.

  “She has my eyes,” he’d said, late in the night when Lin had thought him asleep, silent beside her for so long she’d closed her eyelids, courting slumber.

  “You think so?” she’d asked idly, and had not been surprised when he rolled to face her.

  “Don’t you?” His query held a note of doubt, and she couldn’t bear to tease him further.