Coming Up Roses (23 page)

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Zach set a boot on the stair, wincing when it creaked beneath his weight. It'd be his luck Miranda would wake up.

As much as he loved the little imp, he had one destination in mind tonight and didn't relish the thought of making any side trips into the child's bedroom.

Kate was waiting. At the thought, Zach's pulse quickened, his body sprang taut, his breathing became ragged, and his throat constricted. If this kept up, he'd be winded before he got out of the gate. She deserved better than that.

Once upstairs, he paused outside her door. He knew it was her door because Miranda's room was down the hall and he could see light coming out from around this one's cracks. Kate was in there, waiting for him.

He envisioned her nude body. Then he backtracked, deciding Kate wasn't that sort. A modest gown would be more to her taste. White muslin, probably. Sleeveless, with a scooped neck and those little pink bows that women liked all down the front. Anticipation filled him, and he felt his hands start to shake.

Whoa, boy.

She was a lady, for God's sake, from the tips of her toes all the way up. If he went in like a bee after honey, he'd unsettle her, not to mention the very real possibility that he might disgrace himself. He leaned against the wall and tried to recall the baseball scores he'd just read in the paper. His brain refused to function. Clearly, thinking about something else wasn't going to dampen his enthusiasm.

He reckoned most men probably had the same problem on their wedding nights. Randy as hell, and tired of waiting. Not that the knowledge was much consolation. He wanted to make it nice for Kate. Perfect for her, if he could. If he could make this part of their marriage beautiful, maybe she would find it less difficult to adjust to the rest. He had no illusions; she wasn't the least bit happy about being his wife.

At least she hadn't seemed nervous when she'd left the kitchen. Resigned was a better word. Zach smiled to himself. He'd use a slow hand. Give him a month. That lack of interest he sensed in her would become a thing of the past. And eventually she'd begin to see how much better her life could be, married to him. Less work, a nicer home, pretty clothes, and someone to protect her from bastards like Ryan Blakely.

The light shining out around the door began to dim. Zach pushed away from the wall, swamped with disappointment. She had doused the lamp. He had been hoping she'd leave it lit. Now that he thought on it, though, he realized that had been a stupid expectation. Naturally, she wasn't as blasé about this as she pretended to be. He hadn't even kissed her yet. The unfamiliarity between them would make any woman feel nervous.

He took a calming breath. That was fine. He didn't need light. And what man worth his salt couldn't work his way past a little initial shyness? He grasped the doorknob and pushed slowly into the room.

In the dying illumination of the lamp, he saw Kate standing at the dresser. Modest didn't describe her gown. She was covered chin to toe, fingertip to shoulder in white muslin. Yards and yards of muslin. Her dark hair hung in silken, unbraided ripples down her back. He closed the door behind him but she didn't turn to look at him when the latch clicked into place. He supposed a woman had nightly rituals to perform, even on her wedding night.

She'd probably been brushing her hair.

He walked slowly up behind her and grasped her shoulders. As his fingers curled around her anus, he half expected her to stiffen, but she didn't. He pressed his face to her loosened tresses and inhaled. Lord, she smelled wonderful. So sweet and wholesome, not at all like the lilac-doused whores he'd been forced to settle for these last few years.

Roses and cinnamon, yeast and vanilla. She was enough to make a man salivate. He sniffed his way to her neck, only to be frustrated by the high collar of her gown. Pearline Washing Compound. He smiled and closed his eyes.

"Can I help?" he asked softly.

"With what?"

"With brushing your hair."

"I'm finished."

She leaned slightly forward and braced the heels of her hands on the dresser's edge. Swathed in moonlight and folds of white muslin, she looked childlike, her insubstantial frame diminished by the fabric and shadows.

Her forward movement pushed her soft rump against his thighs, reminding him of the womanly curves that he knew were concealed under the cloth. His lower regions snapped to attention. A muted groan caught in his throat.

Thankful for the restrictions of his britches, he ran his fingertips lightly down her arms. Now he knew where the saying "keep your pants on" had originated. He intended to do just that—as long as he could bear the agony. If it was the last thing he did, he wanted to make this a night she'd fondly remember.

His lips found the velvety nape of her neck. Lord, she was so incredibly, impossibly sweet. He trailed his fingertips over her hands where she clasped the dresser, then back up to her wrists. The fine network of her bones tantalized him. He'd never touched a grown woman so delicately made.

Beneath his lips, chill bumps sprang up on her neck, and he heard her breath catch. He nipped the silken lobe of her ear, and she quivered, images of how she might react when he captured an erect nipple in his teeth made his own breathing become labored.

He dipped his tongue under the collar and lapped seductively at her skin. God, he wanted to taste every inch of her. She made a strangled sound in the back of her throat and crossed her arms to capture his hands where they caressed her shoulders. He hesitated, not quite sure how to read her. Was she frightened, after all?

"Katie, if you'd rather wait…" He could do that, couldn't he? Just at the thought, his body throbbed in protest. "I don't mean to rush you. Exchanging vows and signing a piece of paper … if you need some time, all you have to do is ask. Just because we're married doesn't mean you don't deserve to be courted a little. Anything that'll make this easier for you."

As he spoke his breath washed over her skin, and she shivered again. "No, it isn't necessary to wait," she replied tremulously. "I'd just like to get on with it. That's all."

Zach didn't need to be asked twice. Turning her slightly, he bent to catch her in his arms. She squeaked as he lifted her. When her head fell back, he settled his mouth at the hollow under her jaw and drank of the throbbing pulse-beat there. Feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart clear to his toes, he imagined thrusting into the wet, pulsing heat of her, and another moan issued from his chest.

He carried her quickly to the bed. As he settled her carefully on the mattress, he moved a hand to the bodice of her gown. Buttons, not bows. Two dozen, at least. The itty-bitty kind, fashioned by females, he was sure, to drive men mad. They extended from her waist to her high-necked collar in a frustrating line. First thing tomorrow, he'd go over to his place and get his new Montgomery Ward catalog so she could order some decent gowns. Or maybe a more appropriate description would be less decent. She wasn't a nun, for God's sake.

As he freed buttons, Zach followed the trail of his fingers with his lips, nibbling softly at the silken flesh he bared. When he found the swell of a breast, she whimpered low in her throat and grabbed handfuls of his hair.

"Wh-What are you doing?" she asked in a panicked little voice.

Her tone splashed over Zach with the same shocking coldness of ice water. He drew back, perplexed by the confusion and uncertainty he heard in her voice. In the dim glow of moonlight, he could see that her eyes were huge and filled with alarm.

"What am I doing?" he repeated hoarsely.

Until that instant, he had thought he was making love to an experienced woman. Now he was no longer so sure.

She looked as scandalized as a virgin, her face white, her lips parted to emit shallow breaths. Her fist closed on her gown to hold the front plackets together. He had a feeling he'd have a battle on his hands if he tried to pry those slender fingers loose.

By way of explanation, which he couldn't believe was necessary, he said, "I'm making love to you."

She swallowed hard. "Wh-Why can't you just do it the regular way?"

"The regular way?" He closed a hand over hers, and sure enough, she had her fingers clenched on her nightgown in a death grip. "What way is that, Katie?"

"A-At the d-dresser."

He shot a glance through the darkness at the piece of furniture. Granted, she didn't have scent bottles and a lot of other feminine accessories on the dresser top like most women, but the available space still didn't look suitable for what Zach had in mind. Knowing her as he did, he couldn't quite believe she had suggested such a thing. Ten years into marriage, maybe, when new spots and different positions kept the excitement high. But now? Their first time together?

He gently massaged her clutched fist, hoping to relax her fingers and get back to where he'd left off. "I reckon we can do it wherever you'd like." He bent his head to kiss her whitened knuckles. "First, let's get this nightgown out of the way."

She brought up her other hand to grab another handful of muslin. "It doesn't get in the way. You—you can just raise it up in back. That's what Joseph always did."

In back? Zach remembered how she'd pressed her bottom against him when he'd come up to stand behind her, and a warning bell clanged inside his head. He studied her taut features.

"Katie, how, exactly, did Joseph make love to you?"

She licked her bottom lip. "He, um…" She jerked her gaze from his. "He just did it."

"How?" he prodded cautiously. "From the back? With you standing?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of what?"

Even in the moonlight, he saw her face flush crimson. "Sort of standing. I bent forward."

Zach curled his fingers more tightly over hers. "And did you like it that way?"

"Like it?"

From her tone, he could tell that her preferences had never been a priority. His guts knotted on an awful suspicion. "Didn't Joseph—" He broke off, a little uncomfortable with the turn of this conversation. How did a man go about asking these sorts of questions? "Didn't he kiss you and touch you?"

She looked scandalized. "Lands, no."

"'Lands, no?'" he echoed.

"He was always very polite."

Polite? How in the hell could a man make love to a woman properly and be polite about it? Zach knew he was gaping at her, but he couldn't seem to stop. "Honey, didn't he try to—to make it nice for you?"

She seemed to shrink into the feather mattress. "I'm not removing my nightgown," she informed him in a quavery voice.

Zach could see that concessions on his part were indeed in order. He tried a smile, hoping that might reassure her.

"That's fine. Like you said, I can work around it."

She looked none too thrilled by that thought. He sat up and began unbuttoning his shirt. She watched him with unmistakable wariness. "Relax, Katie."

"Wh-What are you doing?" she demanded to know.

"Taking my shirt off." He tossed the garment in question toward the foot of the bed and then leaned over to unlace his boots. Toe to heel, he prized each of them off.

As he stood to take off his pants, she wiggled over to the far side of the bed and bolted upright. In an accusing tone, she cried, "You're undressing!"

That was fairly obvious. His fingers froze on the fastening of his jeans. "Joseph didn't?"

Her eyes huge in her pinched face, she stared up at him. Of course Joseph hadn't undressed, Zach realized. How could a man be polite if he was bare-assed naked? He decided his first inclination had probably been more appropriate for the occasion; he'd best keep his britches on. Angling a knee onto the bed, he braced his fists on the mattress and leaned toward her. She reared back.

"Katie, don't be frightened."

"Kate, not Katie. And it's absurd to think I'm frightened! I'm a grown woman with a child! But if you think I'm going to do it naked, you have another think."

Zach had already had another think. Several of them. Steadying his weight on one arm, he reached to trace a finger along her cheek. "I said we could work around the nightgown. No problem. And I've still got my trousers on."

As he spoke, he brushed his lips lightly over hers. Her breath tasted as sweet as honey blossoms. He ran his hand into her hair. "Ah, Katie," he whispered. "My precious Katie girl. Don't be nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

As his lips descended to her throat, he felt the rigidity in her. Not nervous? That was the biggest understatement he'd ever heard. Cupping one hand behind her head, he used his other to knead the stiffness from her. Every place on her back that his fingers probed, he felt her muscles retract.

With a muffled little moan, she finally relented and dropped her head back. Zach had a feeling tonight might prove to be far more memorable for her than he had guessed. Polite?
Jesus H. Christ.

He kissed his way down her lovely throat to where her fists clenched her nightgown together. Not wishing to alarm her by forcing her hands down, he waged his assault on the exposed V of her chest and then went to work on her fingers, nibbling and suckling her knuckles. She shuddered, and he felt her hands spasm. The result was that she loosened her grip a bit.

"Zachariah?"

"Hmmmmm?" He found an opening in the cloth and invaded with his tongue to lick at the warm swell of flesh beneath. She jerked her wrist down to cover the spot. He circled and found another. "Lower your hands, Katie,"

he urged huskily. "Don't be afraid. It'll feel nice, I promise."

"Nice?" She executed another frantic maneuver with her wrists. "I'm not that kind of woman—"

He found more skin, and she broke off with a startled murmur of protest. Her wrists shifted again to intercept, and in her attempt to frustrate him, she left a length of unfastened plackets unprotected. Like a magnet drawn to the head of a nail, his mouth went to the crest of her breast.

"Wha-What are you—?"