Lorraine Heath (22 page)

Immediately the door opened a crack, and he wondered if she’d been waiting for him on the other side. She peered out, her brown eyes large, her smile tremulous. Then she opened the door wider and stepped back.

He walked into the room. Her lavender fragrance permeated the air, along with the lingering scent of her bath.

She clicked the door closed, and his mouth went dry. Sweet Lord, he hadn’t been this nervous when he had visited a whorehouse for the first time, not really certain what to expect.

And he realized with sudden clarity that he had no idea what to expect tonight. He only knew that he wanted to give to her as much as he had to give, wanted to ease the way for her, wanted to keep the fear out of her eyes.

He turned and looked at her. She was wearing the white gown she’d been wearing that first night. Every tiny button was captured snugly within its corresponding loop, clear up to her throat where the lace rested beneath her chin. Why did he find that bit of innocence more alluring than any half-clothed woman he’d known in his youth?

He held up the bottle and glasses. “I brought some wine. I thought it might help you relax.”

She smiled timidly. “I’m incredibly nervous.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

Her eyes widened in awe. “Are you?”

He nodded and walked to the dresser, setting his offering down before the bottle and glasses slipped from his sweating hands. He wiped his palms on his trousers and pulled the cork. Then he filled each glass halfway.

He picked up the glasses, turned, and handed one to her. He clinked his glass against hers. “To our son.”

Her cheeks turned a lovely hue of crimson, reminding him of the sunset. Staring at his chest, she touched the glass to her lips and took a small sip. She released a tiny gasp and lowered her gaze to his bare feet.

“Dee, look at me.”

She lifted her eyes to his. “I’m sorry. I forgot this is business.”

He took the glass from her hand and set their glasses on the dresser.

“It’s hardly business.” Threading his fingers through the black hair she had brushed to a velvety sheen, he braced the heel of his palms on either side of her face and lowered his mouth to hers.

He skimmed his tongue over her lips. So soft. He tasted the wine that lingered and felt the tiny quivering of her mouth beneath his, wondering if she could feel the tremors racing through him. Like a cowboy with a trick rope, he swirled his tongue over hers in a figure eight.

She took a step nearer, her gown brushing against his chest. An unexpected pleasure shot through him with a gesture that coming from her was as bold as brass.

He angled her head, running his tongue along the seam of her lips, teasing her mouth until it parted slightly. The he plunged his tongue into the welcoming abyss of warmth and flavor unique to her.

He felt her hands moving between them. He continued to plunder her mouth, waiting for the moment when her hands would touch him, his breath locked in his chest, his body straining for her touch.

But all he felt was the strange knotting and unknotting of her hands.

He drew away from the kiss and glanced down. Raised above her knees, her gown was bunched in her fists.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Confusion plunged into her eyes. “Boyd told me I was supposed to lift my nightgown for you. I … I wanted to do this right.”

He slammed his eyes closed and hurled silent curses at her brother.

“I’ve made you angry,” she said quietly.

Opening his eyes, he brushed his knuckles along her reddened cheeks. “No, you haven’t made me angry, but your brother is a fool. I want you to forget everything he ever told you.”

Reaching down, he pulled her gown free of her clutched fingers, watched as the white linen fell back toward her bare ankles, and wished he were a man of tender words.

He lifted his gaze to hers and could see that she was fighting the fear lurking in the corner of her heart. He cupped her face in hands that were too rough for her smooth skin. “Dee, when a man and woman come together … there is no right, no wrong. It’s simply a matter of doing what each of us is comfortable with.” He stroked his thumbs beneath her chin. “If I do something you don’t like, all you have to do is tell me and I’ll stop.”

“And if you do something I like?”

He smiled warmly. “Then you can tell me that, too.”

“How will I know what you like?”

His smile deepened. “You’ll figure it out.” He trailed his mouth along her throat, up her neck, until his lips were near her ear. “But I guarantee I don’t want you lifting your gown for me. When I truly make you my wife, I don’t want you wearing anything at all.”

She gasped and stiffened. He ran his tongue along the delicate shell of her ear. “I’ve spent a month wondering if your body is as lovely as your face. Tonight I intend to find out.”

“Are you going to be wearing anything?” she asked breathlessly.

He dipped his tongue inside her ear before taking a quick nibble on her earlobe. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Is that the way it’s done?” she asked.

He lifted his head and met her gaze. “That’s the way we’re gonna do it. And if it takes me all night to get you comfortable with the idea, then we’ll take all night.”

She smiled warmly, her large brown eyes aglow like a thousand candles burning in the night. She placed her palm on his chest, her fingers splayed just above his heart, her hand steady. The only tremors he felt were those running through his body as he held his urges in check, not wanting to frighten her. He never again wanted to see fear of him reflected in her eyes.

“I don’t think it’ll take all night,” she whispered.

“Thank God for that,” he rasped as he again took possession of her mouth.

She ran her hands up his chest, and twined them around his neck. Groaning, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her body flush against his. Their bodies met exactly as he’d imagined it a hundred times: perfectly, the way the sky dipped down to touch the land at the horizon, blue against green, soft against hard.

He thought he could feel her heart pounding in rhythm with his, beating against the cloth that separated her body from his. Slowly, he moved his hands around to the lace that decorated her throat.

With a patience he hadn’t known he possessed, he worked the first tiny button free and trailed his mouth down to press a kiss to the newly exposed flesh.

Her arms fell away from him as he worked another button free and then another, his lips following the virgin trail that the parted material revealed. Her breath hitched as his knuckles skimmed the inside swells of her breasts. He planted a fervent kiss in the valley between her breasts as his fingers gave freedom to the last of the buttons.

He straightened and slipped his hands beneath the material at her throat. He could feel the slight tremors cascading through her, and feared they had little to do with passion.

“Look at me. Dee.”

Her eyes met his. “I think Boyd’s way was easier,” she whispered.

“His way would have cheated us both. I give you my word on that.” He raised his hands to cup her cheeks. “But I won’t force you to share your body with me.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips, tears welled in her eyes, and his heart sank. Boyd’s way may have been easier but he’d be damned before he’d only know a portion of her when he wanted to know all of her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, inside and out.

“Share?” she asked. “I never thought of this as sharing.” She lowered her hands and smiled softly. “It’s not so frightening when I think of it as sharing.”

“I want to know all of you, Dee. Not just your face and the shape of your toes, but all of you.” He glided his hands down her face, her neck, and along her shoulders. Then he slipped the parted material off her shoulders.

The gown slid down her body and pooled at her feet, taking his breath with it. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

Gently he laid her down. He began to unbutton his trousers. Her almond-shaped eyes rounded.

“Don’t be afraid, Dee.”

“I won’t be,” she said.

“You can close your eyes if you want.”

“Don’t you think I’ve wondered what you look like?”

He suddenly wished he’d doused the flame in the lamp, that the room was clothed in darkness. Being self-conscious wasn’t something he was accustomed to feeling, but after putting her through the ordeal of baring her body, he couldn’t very well deny her the chance to see him. Holding her gaze, taking a deep breath, he dropped his trousers.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, his voice low.

“I know.”

Her gaze dipped down, then shot back up to his.

“Don’t be afraid,” he pleaded gently. “I’m not afraid.”

He eased onto the bed. She jumped when his thigh touched hers.

Cupping her face with his palm, he placed his mouth near her ear. “I can’t stand it when you’re afraid of me, Dee.”

“I’m just nervous.”

He trailed his mouth along her neck and dipped his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat. She tasted fresh, pure, and unused—unlike any woman he’d ever tasted.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said.

He lowered his face until his mouth touched the swell of her breast. She gasped. Without moving his mouth, he glanced up to find her watching him. He moved lower. His tongue circled her nipple.

“Dallas?”

“Shh. Every night I dreamed of tasting you.” He closed his mouth around the taut bud and suckled gently.

Closing her eyes, she moaned. He skimmed his mouth over the valley between her breasts and swept his tongue over her. He glided his hand along her stomach, a stomach as flat as the prairie. Months from now, it would swell, swell with the son he might give her tonight.

He nestled his hand between her thighs, and when she might have protested, he covered her mouth with his, his tongue delving deeply, devouring her sighs, her moans.

Not until she twisted her body toward his, did he give himself the freedom to move his body between her thighs. Then as gently as the wind blew across the plains, he eased his body into hers.

She stiffened and he held still, knowing as fact what he’d only before known as rumor. He had no choice but to hurt her.

“I’m sorry, Dee,” he rasped as he blanketed her mouth with his, plunged deeply, and swallowed her cry.

Cordelia wrapped her arms more tightly around him, the plea for forgiveness she heard in his voice bringing tears to her eyes. He stilled above her, his body taut. He continued to kiss her, only to kiss her, as though he couldn’t get enough of her.

His mouth blazed a scorching trail along her throat. “It’ll get better, Dee.”

She plowed her fingers through his hair, cradling his head, turning his gaze toward hers. “I want this,” she whispered. “I want to give you a son.”

He released a guttural sound low in his throat, and she felt his chest vibrate against her breasts. He returned his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply, his tongue plunging, sweeping, caressing.

He moved against her, slowly, almost hesitantly. The pain receded, and a warmth deep inside her began to unfurl.

He slid his hand beneath her and lifted her hips. “Follow me, Dee,” he pleaded in a ragged voice near her ear.

As though she had any other choice. He raised himself above her, his thrusts growing deeper, faster. She watched the shadows within the room play over his chiseled features.

And then as he had done from the beginning, he began to guide her toward the sunlight. To a place where no shadows hovered. She cried out his name as a myriad of sensations exploded within her.

Dallas felt Dee’s body tighten around him as she arched beneath him. Pressing deeply, he followed where she had gone.

Glory had never felt so sweet.

Dallas awoke. He had turned down the flame in the lamp before he’d fallen asleep beside Dee. Now only moonlight spilled in through the parted drapes. He rolled to his side and reached for her.

All he found was the fading warmth of her body. Squinting through the shadows, he saw her standing beside the window, peering into the night, her arms wrapped around herself.

He eased out of bed and joined her. “Dee, are you all right?”

She glanced at him and smiled timidly. “I just wanted to hold it.” “Hold what?”

“The baby you gave me tonight.”

He trailed his fingers along the curve of her cheek. “I might not have given you a baby.”

She furrowed her brow. “But we—”

“It doesn’t always happen the first time.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Well, we have two choices. We can wait and see if you have your woman’s time or”—he smiled warmly—“we can assume you’re not carrying my son and we can keep trying. The choice is yours.”

She averted her gaze, and his heart sank. “You shouldn’t feel any pain the next time. It hurt tonight because you were a virgin.”

She nodded quickly. “I think we should wait and see.”

He’d given her the choice and she’d taken it. He didn’t know which hurt worse, his pride or his heart.

“Fine, then.”

He walked to the bed and snatched his trousers off the floor. “You just let me know.”

He strode from the room, closed the door, and headed for his cold empty bed. He wished he’d bedded her as Boyd had suggested.

It’d be a hell of a lot easier to stay away from her if he didn’t know how perfectly her body aligned with his, how snugly she fit around him, how wonderful she felt.

Cordelia wondered how in the world a wife looked at her husband the morning following the night that they had made love.

How did she meet his gaze without remembering the hint of wine that had lingered on his lips, the bronzed shade of his skin, the muscles that had tensed as he’d risen above her, the sweat that had beaded his throat and chest as he’d rocked against her, the groans, moans …

She splashed more cold water on her face, trying to drown the images of Dallas’s clenched jaw and his smoldering gaze.

She couldn’t face him. She would simply stay in her room until she knew if she was carrying his son. She would … miss out on so much of life.