His Heartbroken Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch - Spicy Version Book 4) (8 page)

Libby’s mouth dropped open to protest that it was impossible. The determination in Mason’s eyes stopped her. “How?”

A victorious twitch pulled at Mason’s mouth, and the confidence in his eyes increased. “Well, that I don’t know. Yet.” He took a step closer to her. “Every man has a weakness. Hector came here because he wants you.”

“And his baby.” She lowered her eyes.

“No.”

She jerked up to meet his resolute gaze. “No?”

“No,” Mason repeated. “Men like that, like I suspect Hector to be, have no interest in babies. Theirs or anyone else’s. I watched that man stand at the back of the church and call you names, try to hurt you with his words. His sort don’t make good fathers. And frankly, he didn’t give so much as a second glance to Petey or Matthew, either to warm up to them as a prospective father or to threaten them. No, my guess is that children in general are invisible to him.”

A spark of hope ignited in Libby’s breast. “They are.” This time, it wasn’t a question. Mason was right. She searched back through her memory to every time she and Hector had spoken. She couldn’t remember him ever looking at the boys. Her mother’s instinct had needed to get them out of harm’s way before Hector took notice of them. Even after she’d told Hector about the baby, it wasn’t the promise of a family that had lit Hector’s eyes, it was lust.

She shook her head to clear away the fear associated with those thoughts. “It’s me he wants.”

“He can’t have you.” Mason finished her thought.

She pressed her hand to her stomach. “So…do you think he’ll go away now that he’s seen that?”

Mason rubbed a hand over his jaw and winced. “I want to say yes, but something tells me no.”

Libby dropped her shoulders in disappointment.

“I’ve met his sort before,” Mason went on. “They’re fueled by pride and their own self-importance. If he can’t have you, he’ll try for revenge, I just know it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Libby sighed.

To her shock, Mason smiled. “Finally.” He stepped closer, slipping his arms around her in a comforting embrace. “I finally know what you’re afraid of.”

“But…what…” Libby could only stare at him in puzzlement, wondering why he didn’t sneer at her cowardice or push her away.

No, instead of casting her off, he kissed her. His mouth was warm and soft, though full of power at the same time. He was patient, yet demanding. His lips parted hers, and their tongues brushed against each other. Patient, considerate, and smoldering with desire. Currents of longing zipped through Libby, coalescing in her center. Baby or no baby, the sudden, undeniable urge to give herself to this man flared to life inside of her. The joy that came with knowing she could still feel passion, could still want a man the way she wanted Mason nearly lifted her off her toes. The answer to a question she had carried locked away in her heart for ten years—what if Mason was the one—rushed through her.

He broke their kiss. “There’s something else important we need to do to begin our marriage,” Mason said, his lips a breath away from hers. He’d shifted his embrace so that his hands traced the lines of her sides, one venturing up toward her breast.

“Oh?” she asked, trembling. Her body already knew what he had in mind, and her heart thundered against her ribs, alive again.

“Libby, I need you to know that I do not now, nor will I ever think of you as a soiled dove,” he said, voice rich with longing. “I need you to see and to feel that I want you and will honor you as an upright woman. I need to show you that I’m your husband, and that I will always adore you as such. But only—and I mean this more than I’ve ever meant anything in my life—if that’s what you want. I won’t so much as look at you if you don’t consent to it.”

The excitement of those words should have led Libby to take a step back and cool down, but it didn’t. Far from it. She leaned into Mason, circling her arms around his shoulders and tracing her fingers through his hair.

“I consent,” she whispered. “You make me feel safe. You make me want to remember that I’m a woman, a wife.”

She kissed him, opening her heart to him along with the rest of herself. Guilt knocked at the door of her soul, but a louder, stronger voice argued that, unlike Hector, this was right. This was inevitable. If not for Teddy, this would have happened a long time ago. She wanted it to happen, needed it to happen so that she could be whole again. She wanted to give pleasure of her own free will and receive it with gladness.

“I will be your wife, Mason,” she whispered, looking into his eyes. “If you’re not afraid of my past and not ashamed to take me to your bed, then there must be something good about me.”

“Everything about you is good, Libby. I’ll prove it.”

He lowered one hand to her backside and lifted her against him as their mouths met once more. The world around her ceased to feel real. All of the stress and grief of Teddy’s loss and Hector’s menace slipped away as the heat between her and Mason grew. His kiss was gentle, yet passionate, drawing her in and pushing her worries further and further aside. He wanted her, in spite of her troubles and sins.

Just as she thought she would lose her head and forget herself completely, Mason stepped away. “Are you certain this is what you want?”

Her heart leapt with growing excitement at the question. “Yes, Mason, it is.”

His eyes burned with wanting, but he took her hand like a gentleman and led her into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. It was still afternoon, and whoever had set up the room for the two of them had left the curtains open. Cheery sunlight poured through, highlighting a pot of late chrysanthemums on the bureau. Mason left Libby standing by the bureau as he crossed to the windows to draw the curtains. When he turned back to her, he wore a smile that was almost boyish in its anticipation.

“Mrs. Montrose” He spoke her name like a song as he strode slowly back to her. He shrugged out of the jacket he’d worn under his coat and tossed it onto a chair in the corner of the room, then shrugged out of his suspenders. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Libby’s pulse beat faster, the excitement in Mason’s eyes reverberating in sensitive spots inside of her. “Yes.” She reached behind her to begin unfastening the row of buttons down her back. A thrilling sort of power pulsed through her, knowing she was doing this willingly, that they would both enjoy it in equal measure. She would reclaim that part of herself she’d lost by sharing everything she’d learned in ten years of marriage with a worthy man, her husband. Mason worked his shirt loose as she unbuttoned hers. By the time he tugged his shirt up over his head and made quick work of the buttons of his long johns, Libby had only managed to undo half her buttons.

“Turn around,” Mason told her.

She knew full well he wanted to finish with her bodice, but with his long underwear hanging open, there was too much to look at just the way he was. A tempting slice of his torso was open to her view, dark hair dusting firm muscles. His stomach was tight and well-defined, and the line of hair that trailed down to the sagging waist of his trousers had her licking her lips.

She was no stranger to a man’s body. Teddy had always been fit and masculine because of his work. The same was clearly true of Mason. She longed to run her hands along his sides, to cradle the arch of his hips, to caress his backside. She ached to touch and even taste the length of his staff, to watch the pleasured reaction she knew he’d have at her touch. That was the way things should be between a husband and wife. Her eyes studied the bulge in his trousers, attempting to judge his size.

“Turn around,” Mason repeated, laughing. “There’s plenty of time for all that. It’s just afternoon, and we’ve got all night besides.”

The idea of “all night” with Mason tickled a need inside of Libby that she thought she’d never feel again. She had been so certain Hector had banished those feelings in her forever. They were back now in full force, and when she turned around to let Mason reach for her buttons, the brush of his knuckles against her back sent spirals of lust through her.

Yes, lust. She was too old and world-wise to trick herself into thinking it was anything as innocent as love. But lust between a husband and wife was not only acceptable, it was right. She might not have been able to come to Mason as a pure and innocent bride, but at least she could be a passionate lover.

“Your skin is so soft,” he said, pushing her bodice down over her arms. Gooseflesh prickled up across her skin. “I want to touch and kiss all of you. But only if you want it.”

His hands slid down her arms, tugging her sleeves off. He reached quickly for the tie of her petticoats under the unbuttoned waist of her dress. As soon as she felt both garments go loose, Libby turned toward him, swiveling her hips so that they dropped in a pile around her. She stepped out of the pile and toward Mason.

“I do want you. I want to kiss and touch all of you too,” she whispered, sliding her hands underneath his long johns.

Mason gasped, the fire in his eyes flaring, as she pushed the top off of his shoulders, then reached for the fastenings of his trousers. Bitter-sweetness filled her as she remembered how eager she and Teddy had been to undress each other in the early days of their marriage. That thought was fleeting, though, and with it came the certainty in her gut that Teddy would approve of the heat in her blood as she looked at Mason now. That heat was a healing that was long overdue.

The weight of so many winter clothes helped pull the garments down as soon as Libby swept her hands over Mason’s hips. His trousers and underwear landed with a thunk around his ankles. She continued her hand’s journey, circling around front then drawing her fingers up over the impressive length of Mason’s manhood. He growled deep in his throat as she tested his length, brushed her fingers over his head, and closed her hand around his girth. He jerked in her grasp as she worked him, and tilted his head back with an expression of such intense pleasure that Libby smiled, proud of her boldness and delighted with his reaction.

She lowered herself to her knees, reaching to untie Mason’s boots. He let her, lifting his feet one at a time so she could take them off and slip his trousers and underwear off while he gripped the bureau with one hand. When that was done, without warning him first, she raked her fingertips up his legs, took firm hold of him, and closed her mouth around his tip.

“Libby,” he gasped, shaken. “You don’t have to…aaah…” One hand still gripped the bureau, but his other moved instinctively to bury his fingers in her hair.

She loved the feel of him tensing in shock and pleasure. She loved the salty taste of him and the way he filled her mouth as she took in more and more of him, then pulled back only to do the same again. Giving him pleasure this way filled her with a sense of power, a sense that he was as helpless as she was when it came to enjoying physical sensations. He growled—uncontrolled and masculine—as she continued to explore him in the most intimate way she knew. Heat radiated from his body, and he began to jerk his hips instinctively, pushing deeper. It was almost too much for her, but knowing that this powerful, good man was losing himself in the pleasure she was giving him made everything worth it.

“Stop.” He took a large step back from her, slipping out of her mouth and away from her hands.

Through lowered lids and the haze of passion, Libby glanced up at him. Before she could begin to worry that she’d offended him, Mason laughed.

“I’m not ready to finish that fast,” he panted, running a hand through his hair.

Libby’s gaze slipped to his erection. She already knew what he felt and tasted like, but it was glorious to see him standing there, so large and proud and upright, dark with desire and slick from her ministrations. The sight of him made her ache to have him fill and stretch her.

“Besides,” he went on, watching her watching him. “You’re still half dressed.”

She blinked and glanced down at herself. She was still wearing her corset, chemise, drawers, and stockings. With a wanton’s grin, she lifted her eyes to him and stood, leaning against the edge of the bureau. “Do you want to do something about that?”

Mason let out a breath. “I most certainly do.”

He rushed to her, heedless of his thick length between them, and fumbled away at the clasp of her corset. Libby found herself panting, her breasts almost painful in her need to expose them to him. She wanted to rub her legs together and spread them far apart at the same time, inviting him in.

It was different—so very different—from how she’d felt with Hector. He had yanked and tugged and ripped. He’d pressed her back into the wall and held her shoulders so she couldn’t wriggle away. But regardless of his brutality, Hector had discovered the same thing Mason did when he pushed her drawers down and slipped his fingers between her legs.

“You’re so wet,” he hissed, delving deeper.

Libby closed her eyes, trying to turn the shame of his observation into something to be proud of. “For you,” she whispered.

He responded with a possessive growl, teasing the cleft of her womanhood before thrusting a finger inside. Her body had always reacted to a man’s touch, even when it shouldn’t have.

“Mason,” she whispered, half in response to the teasing thrust of his finger and the way he played across her aching nub, and half to remind herself who she was with. “I want you. I want
you
.”