Rawhide and Lace (15 page)

"I'm sorry," she said dully. "I had no right to get upset like that. We did get married to keep gossip down, after all."

He was sorry he'd opened his mouth when he saw the life drain out of her. All the lovely brightness, all the excitement that had given her such beauty yesterday...gone. He hadn't thought about it from her point of view. Women took things so seriously. His eyes narrowed as he watched her sitting there, slightly stooped, and it suddenly occurred to him that she might have expected him to behave like a...well, like a bridegroom. He'd been so busy trying not to frighten her that he'd obviously gone overboard. Now she thought he didn't want her, that he didn't care.

"Did you want me last night?" he asked gently.

"No," she said.

He knelt beside her and tilted her chin up, forcing her wounded eyes to meet his.

"Yes," she mumbled.

"Then why didn't you say so?" he asked.

"What did you expect me to do, walk up to you in the middle of a discussion on artificial insemination and tell you I wanted to make love? I'm sure your neighbors would have found that interesting."

He smiled faintly. "I guess they would have." He touched her hair, feeling its dampness. "I don't know much about being a husband. You'll have to bear with me until I get the hang of it."

She searched his eyes. "Maybe I'm just expecting more from you than you want to give. Things have never been normal for us. I've been so confused...."

"And so hurt." He grimaced. "And I seem to do more of it every day. Hurting you is the last thing I want."

"And pity is the last thing I want." She touched his hand where it rested on her shoulder. "I'm having some problems with this hip." Well, that's almost the truth, she told herself; it does ache. "It's made me irritable. I'm sorry I've made things difficult for you. I won't be troublesome anymore, I promise." She got to her feet, moving away from him, oblivious to the stunned look on his face. "What Conchita said yesterday reminded me that I haven't done any Christmas shopping, either. I don't relish walking around a lot, but I need to buy some things. Could you spare someone to drive me over to San Antonio?"

His face hardened. "I'll drive you myself," he said coldly. "When do you want to go?"

"Saturday would be fine."

"All right." He turned and left her without another word. She didn't let herself think about why. She wasn't going to beg for his attention; if he didn't care enough to give it, she'd learn to live without it. Somehow.

It was a long week, during which she and Ty met at the table and nowhere else. She found things to keep her busy, as did he, and they communicated only when it was absolutely necessary. Conchita just shook her head and mumbled, but she was too wary of Ty to come right out and say anything. His temper went from bad to worse. Erin could hear him out at the corral, giving people hell for everything from leaving gates open to breathing. She felt responsible, and she kept out of his way as much as she could. The marriage that had started out with such promise was turning into a fiasco.

Finally Saturday came, and Ty was ready, as promised, to escort Erin to San Antonio. He looked rich and important in his cream-colored dress Stetson and boots-and every inch the Texan in faded jeans and a denim jacket. Erin felt a little dowdy beside him in a simple gray jersey dress. She didn't have many clothes, but she wasn't going to spend money buying new ones. She still didn't feel entitled to her share of the ranch, despite the will and everything that had happened to her because of the Wades. She'd never forgotten what Ty had said in the car, how he'd accused her of wanting to live off him. She didn't realize that he hadn't actually meant what he'd said, so she'd taken the words at face value.

"Is there any particular place you'd like to go?" Ty asked politely as they reached the outskirts of the city.

"I don't care," she murmured, staring out the window at the sprawling metropolis. Despite the fact that a million or so people lived in San Antonio, it seemed nicely spread out except for right downtown near the Alamo Plaza. At least there were plenty of parking lots around, she thought.

"It's a big city," he said. "It would help if I knew what you wanted to shop for. Are you looking for new clothes?"

"Why? Do I look like I need some?" she asked, glaring at him.

"You wear that same dress every time we go out," he remarked. "It's wearing on my eyes."

"Then by all means, I'll buy another one," she said coldly.

"Go ahead, take it personally," he said, his eyes never leaving the road. "Better yet, why don't you sit down and cry? That would make me feel even worse than I already do."

She bit her lower lip hard as sidewalks and pedestrians blurred past the window of the Lincoln. "I haven't had money to spend on clothes."

He glanced at her angrily. "Do you know what Staghorn is worth at current market prices?" he demanded.

"I am not spending your money on clothes. I'll spend what I made modeling."

"For God's sake! What the-"

He broke off as a parking lot caught his attention, near the Alamo. He pulled into the last vacant spot and parked before he turned to her with blazing silver eyes.

"Now look here..." he began. Then he caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes, despite the fact that her face was averted. Instantly he calmed down. He reached for one of her hands, tightly clenched on her purse, and pried it loose. It was soft and slender and very cool. He touched her pulse and found it was racing wildly.

Erin jerked her hand away and glared at him.

"Could we go shopping, please?"

"Yes, I think it's about time we did," he murmured. "And I know the perfect spot for it."

He took her arm and escorted her down the street, into an elegant old hotel. She watched, wide-eyed, as he booked a room, then drew the manager off to one side and murmured something. A minute later, he took the key, signed the register, and led her into the elevator.

The room was old but elegant, done up in shades of green with all the modern furnishings coordinated to please the eye. And there was a huge king-size bed.

"What are we doing here?" she asked hesitantly.

He locked the door and laid the key on the dresser before he turned toward her, his eyes as deep and mysterious as a winter day. "I'll give you three guesses," he said, moving toward her.

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't move. He took her purse away from her and then proceeded to undress her.

"You and I need a lot of privacy." He removed the dress and her slip and laid them aside. "We haven't had it at the ranch. But we'll have it here."

She swallowed. "We're going to...to...?"

"Yes." He bent and put his mouth softly over hers, feeling it tremble. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Erin," he murmured. "I won't hurt you this time."

"But-b...it's daylight," she faltered.

"We have to get used to each other sometime," he said reasonably. "And the curtains are drawn. It isn't so much light, is it?"

His hands were behind her, feeling for the clasp of her bra. He found it and loosed it, then gently removed the wisp of lace and silk. His eyes adored her for several long moments before he bent and removed the last silken undergarment. She was a little self-conscious, especially about the scars; but he didn't seem to mind them, and after a minute she relaxed and let him lower her to the bed.

"Get under the covers," he said gently, as if he knew how difficult it was for her. "You don't have to watch me if you don't want to. We've got plenty of time to get used to the sight of each other."

There were rustling sounds as he undressed, and a minute later she felt him slide under the cool sheets beside her.

"Now," he whispered, moving above her so that he could look down into her eyes. "Now, here, our marriage begins."

She pushed at his chest until she felt the erotic combination of hard muscle and abrasive hair. Her hands were fascinated by it, by the pulsating feel of it.

He moved the cover down to her waist and looked at her breasts with warm, curious eyes. His hand reached out and touched her there, feeling her go hard, watching her.

Her own eyes followed his, and she saw his long fingers exploring her, discovering the textures, with exquisite tenderness. Her breath caught, because it was new and exciting to realize that he was her husband now, that all the old taboos had been lifted.

"We're married," he said as if reading her thoughts. "Will you try to remember that it's all right for us to do this now?"

"I'll try...." Her eyes were drawn to his broad, tanned chest. "You must strip to the waist when you work outside," she said curiously.

"I do."

"I look white compared to you."

He lifted himself above her, letting his narrow hips move completely over her flat belly, watching her face contract at this new intimacy.

"Now move the cover away," he said, arching over her, "and watch me."

She trembled all over at the soft command, obeying him without even thinking, caught up in a growing tide of erotic pleasure. Her eyes traveled the length of their bodies, to where he was as white as she was; then he moved over her, and she felt the strength of him in an embrace that seemed more intimate than anything they'd done before.

"Oh Ty...!"

"Put those soft hands on my hips," he whispered, "and hold me to you."

She moaned as his mouth came down over hers, feeling him tense, feeling the weight and warmth and maleness of him settling against her. His tongue probed inside her mouth, and she opened her lips to give him access, feeling him tremble as she moved and lifted toward him.

"You're my woman, Erin," he murmured, his lips a breath away from hers. He caressed her hips, urging them upward, moving them against his. "You're my wife."

She shuddered at the exquisite sensations flowing through her. She reached up, trembling as her breasts brushed against his hard chest, feeling him shudder too, feeling the tide of hunger overwhelm him.

"Sweet," he groaned, nudging her legs apart. "God, you're sweet, you're so sweet, so sweet...!"

His mouth shuddered against hers. He felt her move, heard her moan, and all at once it was happening. His head seemed to explode with the helpless urgency of his body. He moved feverishly against her, over her, feeling her body accept him with only a small spasm of protest.

She clasped his neck with her arms and gasped a little, but before she could begin to feel anything, it was over. He could feel her disappointment and damned himself for his infernal impatience. He was still shuddering helplessly in the aftermath of their lovemaking, but there was no pleasure in it for him now, no satisfaction. Erin had felt nothing.

He lifted his head and looked down at her, seeing the suspicious brightness in her eyes even as she tried to smile.

"Don't do that," he said gruffly. "Don't pretend. Don't you think I know how it was for you? You didn't begin to feel anything; I didn't give you time."

"It's all right-"

"No, it's not all right." He drew in a harsh breath and smoothed the hair away from her flushed face. "Oh, God, honey, I'm sorry," he whispered, bending to her mouth, kissing it with aching tenderness. "I'm sorry. Erin, I don't know how...." He groaned, burying his face in her throat. "I don't know how!"

He lifted himself away from her and got to his feet, reaching into his discarded shirt for a cigarette. He went to the window and stood staring out the slightly opened curtain, smoking, silent.

She stared at him curiously, uncertain. "Ty?"