The Rebel Wife Page 21

  Jack slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Lance is alive and well. And we’re going to see he stays that way.”

  We. Tears stung her eyes. He was such a good man. Who would’ve thought an arrogant, pig-headed Yankee would turn out to be her champion?

  “Thank you, Jack,” she whispered past the lump in her throat. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  “I’d do anything for you, Kitty. You know that.”

  The air went out of her at his sweet words. She leaned against him, no longer able to fight her feelings. She loved him. Loved his sincerity, his unwavering devotion.

  Devotion she didn’t deserve.

  She swiped away her tears and pushed upright. “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “I have to leave.” She shot to her feet. “Find another hotel room.” Something she should have done earlier. What had she been thinking? Her fussy sleep the night before should’ve been warning enough. And just now, her reaction to his undressing...

  He stood and tucked his hands behind him. “There’s no need to do that. There’s plenty of room here.”

  “I can’t stay.”

  “Why not?”

  “I...you...” She swallowed back the words. What if she was wrong? What if he’d lied about caring for her? And here she was about to lay her feelings on the chopping block.

  His concerned gaze tunneled into her. “What is it, Kitty? Why must you leave?”

  “I-I can’t stay here with you...and not want...”

  “Not want what?”

  Misery tightened like a noose around her neck. She blinked back a fresh batch of tears. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it does.” He reached up and thumbed her chin, tracing a fiery trail over her skin. “Everything about you matters. Tell me.”

  If she told him, she risked rejection. If she didn’t, she’d wonder for the rest of her life what might have been. Lordy, how had it come to this?

  “Tell me what you want.”

  Nothing ventured; nothing gained, Papa would’ve said. She wished Papa could’ve met Jack. He would have approved of the straight-shooting journalist, a man cut from the same cloth as himself.

  “I want you, Jack,” she finally answered. “Your kisses. Your love. I want to be your wife, in every sense of the word.” There it was out in the open. Her heart thudded in anxious beats as she waited for his response.

  He studied her with that deep, thoughtful stare, the one that made her insides quiver. “Why did you think you couldn’t have those things?”

  “Because you deserve a well-bred lady. Someone of your own class.” She picked at the wrinkled folds of her store-bought skirt. “Not some poor, uneducated, backwoods hoyden.”

  “I don’t care about your up-bringing. All I care about is you.”

  “But I’m soiled and—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her. “What Bart Lawrence did doesn’t lessen what I feel for you. I’d kill the man myself if he was still alive.” He leaned forward and covered her mouth with his. His kiss was gentle and sweet and over far too quickly.

  A bonfire burned in the dark depths of his gaze. “I want you, too, Kitty. Your kisses, your touch. Your body next to mine. But only if that’s what you truly want.”

  “I do. More than you know.” She smoothed a crease in his sleeve with her fingertip. “But, I don’t know if I can. Bart was...” Her throat closed around the words. Kisses were one thing. What would happen when Jack touched her naked body? Would she fight and scream like a mad woman as she’d done when they first met and he’d rolled atop her? Or would she freeze? Either seemed likely. How could she give him pleasure if she couldn’t take pleasure herself?

  “Look at me.”

  She glanced from the painting on the wall to the mantel to the fire poker leaning against the hearth, anywhere but his all-seeing gaze. It’d kill her to see pity for her etched on his face.

  “Look at me, Kitty,” he repeated, more forceful this time.

  She briefly closed her eyes, gathering her courage, and then looked at him. Her breath caught in her throat. His expression was full of love and tenderness.

  “Who do you see?”

  “You, Jack.”

  “Me. Your friend. Not Bart Lawrence. Not Calhoun. I would never hurt you.” He gently thumbed the corner of her mouth. “Ever.”

  “I know you wouldn’t, but what if I can’t stop the memories of what Bart did?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  With all my heart. She managed a nod.

  “Your body will recognize the difference. I promise.” He again captured her mouth, this time, teasing her lips with his tongue and tormenting nips of his teeth. Heat unfurled in her lower belly, and she couldn’t hold back a moan.

  He lifted his head. “What do you feel?”

  “I-I...” She pressed fingers to her lips that still burned from his assault.

  “Pain? Fear?” His gaze narrowed. “Disgust?”

  She shook her head. “None of those. It was very...” Embarrassing warmth climbed up her neck. She’d never spoken so openly with a man. Not even Lance with whom she shared everything. “...Nice.”

  “Hmm. Nice. Not quite the word I was looking for. But it will do for now.” He lowered his hands to his side. “Would you like to touch me?”

  Her pulse tripped in a rousing mixture of alarm and excitement. “Wh-what?”

  He glanced down at his exposed chest. “Slip your hands under my shirt if you’d like. Feel the warmth of my skin beneath your fingertips. The beat of my heart.”

  Tingles shot down her spine. Oh, what a delight it would be to explore his smooth, satiny skin. Slide her fingers over all that firm muscle. But she knew deep inside once she started down that path, she could never turn back, whatever the outcome.

  She pressed trembling hands against her stomach. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. Come. See how pleasurable touching can be.”

  A soft ache filled her. She wanted—needed—to do this. To know she could touch him and not be afraid.

  At his encouraging nod, she took a hesitant step forward and reached out. Downy hair brushed her fingers as she eased her hands under his shirt. A tremor rippled through her. She pressed harder, relishing the feel of heated skin and solid muscle. Her breasts grew tight with want.

  “Not so bad, was it?”

  She smiled and shook her head.

  “Why don’t you pull off my shirt? It’d be easier to explore with it out of the way.”

  She swallowed her last bit of moisture and eased the shirt off his shoulders. It fell to the floor and pooled at his feet, baring his smooth chest and rippling stomach. She drank in the sight of him with greedy gulps.

  “Roam where you please, my sweet.”

  She played her fingers over his skin, from the dip at the base of his neck, across his broad shoulders, and down his muscular arms. He remained still, allowing her to explore at will, when she knew from his fisted hands and taut muscles he ached to join in. Her heart soared. Only a man filled with loving patience could do such a thing.

  Encouraged, she traced a path across his rock-hard stomach to his navel and down the dark column of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. The soft hiss of his indrawn breath drew her gaze upward. Jaw muscles twitched under flushed skin as though he clenched his teeth.

  “Jack...?”

  He shook his head and muttered a gravelly, “Don’t stop.”

  She hooked a trembling finger in his buckle, then stilled. Clothes fastenings were her bugaboos. “I’m not sure I can do this.” She swallowed again. “Will you help me?”

  “With pleasure.” He cupped her hand and like a skilled puppeteer, manipulated her fingers over buckles and buttons until his pants joined the shirt on the floor. He stood before her, legs braced apart, his engorged staff rising from a dark nest.

  She sucked in a breath, pulling air into her starving
lungs. Magnificent. Absolutely magnificent. The prime stud of the stable.

  “Take me in your hand,” he whispered.

  She wanted to hold him, to explore in pleasure what had been thrust at her in violence. But such a desire was surely unseemly and wanton. She fisted her hands and shook her head.

  “Go on,” he urged. “It’s perfectly acceptable for a wife to touch her husband.”

  “But I’m not your wife. Not in the eyes of God.”

  “You will be.”

  Was he just saying that to mollify her? Pretty words offered in hopes of a romp between the bed sheets? “Jack, you don’t have to make any promises.”

  “Shhh. We’ll talk later. Right now, just focus on the pleasure we give each other.” His chest rose as he drew in a deep breath. “Hold me, Kitty.”

  Her pet name riding his ragged exhale nudged her onward. Wife, mistress, concubine, she didn’t care which, as long as this delight didn’t end. She reached for him, then hesitated. What would happen when she touched his most intimate part? Would he turn from an unmoving statue to a raging beast?

  “Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Feel my desire and know you control it.”

  Heartened by his steady gaze, she curled her fingers around him. Velvety heat scorched her palm. She tightened her grip, and he pulsed in response. Warmth flooded her and pooled at the juncture between her legs.

  The only beast that needed taming was the one flailing inside her.

  ****

  Want ricocheted through him like a careening bullet. He pulled in a deep breath and called on every ounce of willpower he possessed. His release would have to wait. Kitty needed to control their lovemaking, to see for herself how pleasurable joining with a man could be—on her terms.

  Her hand slid up his shaft, fingers brushing his tip in mind-shattering strokes. Fire exploded inside him, and despite his efforts to hold strong, he groaned and leaned into her grasp. Gripes, she learned fast. Teaching her new things was going to be pure delight.

  He fisted his hands at his sides to keep from hauling up her skirts and taking her against the wall. “Why don’t you take off your clothes?” he asked instead. “Get out of that stuffy dress.”

  Hooded eyes that could tempt a saint lifted. His control slipped a notch. “But only if you want to,” he rasped. Better his voice cracking than his willpower. “No one’s forcing you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

  She licked her lips, then released him, giving him some much needed time to collect himself. Trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons at her collar. Her hand slipped, and she grimaced. Fasteners sure did give her fits.

  He reached up and gently covered her hand. “May I?”

  She nodded and with a flick of his fingers, he made quick work of the tiny buttons. Her dress slipped away, revealing dusky nipples just visible beneath her cotton undergarments. He ached to caress her tantalizing mounds, taste those taut peaks. But he held back. She needed to make the offer, give herself to him of her own accord.

  As if reading his mind, she peeled off her underthings and stood before him, chin lifted, shoulders back. Not a cowering bone in her sweet, naked body. The breath hung in his throat. She was perfect. A Goddess sent from the Heavens. He could span her tiny waist with two hands. And her hips. They were wide and inviting and just made for cradling a man—him.

  She freed the pins from her bun and shook her head. Fiery locks tumbled around her bare shoulders. A timid smile tipped her lips. “Your turn.”

  Desire slammed into him, fast and hard. He wanted to touch her. Wanted to feel her heated skin against his. But he had to be certain this was what she wanted. If it wasn’t, he needed to leave—now—before he reached the point of no return.

  “Are you certain?”

  “I want you to touch me...like I touched you.”

  Her lips trembled as she spoke. From fear or desire? A sheen of perspiration glistened on her brow. Her pert breasts rose and fell with each breath she took.

  Probably a little of both.

  He nodded at the four poster. “Would you like to lie on the bed?” He held up his hands to show her he meant no harm. “It’s only a suggestion. Your choice whether we do or not.”

  She glanced at bed, then at him, her gaze dark with desire and near-to knocking him off his feet. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  “Good.” Damned good. His legs were growing far too wobbly to keep him upright. He crossed to the bed and lounged back, hands laced behind his head in as casual a pose as he could summon, considering his body was pulled tighter than a bow string.

  A breeze sifted through the open window, lifting the gauzy curtains and carrying with it the faint odor of roasting meat. Dinnertime was nearing. And so was his feast. Creamy mounds jiggled with each step she took. Her stomach was pancake flat. And those legs, slender and milky...

  She was all the sustenance he needed.

  He remained motionless as she eased onto the bed, letting her decide how close to get. To his surprise, she scooted next to him and pressed her body along his length. Flames licked at his loins. He ground his teeth around a moan and stared at the ceiling, tracing the swirls in the plaster to keep from pouncing on her.

  She reached up and pulled his hand free. Smooth fingers pressed delightfully into his palm. “Find the places that ache for your touch.”

  He’d dreamed of her secret places often enough he could find them blindfolded. But it’d be best to have her lead the way. He shifted onto his side. “Show me.”

  She guided his hand to her breast, and he cupped the satiny mound. “Here?” he asked.

  Her quick exhale caressed his neck. She closed her eyes and nodded.

  He kneaded the supple flesh, his hunger for her rising with each stroke. A rosy nipple beckoned. Unable to resist, he leaned over and latched onto the bud. Sweet, ever so sweet. Like a summer ripened berry.

  “Oh, Jack...”

  He lifted his head at her soft plea. “You liked that?”

  “Yesss. I never knew...” her voice trailed away on a contented sigh.

  “There’s more. Much more. Do you want me to continue?”

  “Yes, please. I want...”

  “What? Tell me what you want.”

  She ran a pink tongue over her lips. “I want all of it, all of the pleasure you have to give.”

  Those words were manna from Heaven. He claimed her mouth, this time sweeping his tongue between her lips and plunging inside. Her tongue met his, tentative at first, then with more daring as she grew bolder.

  Lava flowed in his veins. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to keep his lust corralled before he’d explode like a Fourth of July firecracker.

  ****

  Louisa curled her hands around Jack’s neck and grazed her fingers through his wavy mane. So satiny. It was the only softness on his rock-hard body. She skimmed her fingernails down his spine and relished the deep moan that rumbled at the back of his throat. It appeared she pleasured him as much as he did her.

  He moved his tormenting lips to her breast and flicked her nipple with his tongue. Heat blossomed inside her like a bud opening up to the sun. It was the most delightful sensation she’d ever felt.

  His fingers trailed a scorching path over her ribs, past her navel, and down to the juncture of her legs. He brushed her curls in slow, maddening caresses. She arched against his hand, wanting more.

  He obliged, plunging his fingers into her flesh in an intimate invasion that left her gasping for breath. He dipped deeper, stoking her desire into a bonfire of need. She thrust her hips to meet him.

  “You’re ready, sweetheart.” His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “More than ready.”

  She met his blazing gaze. “Ready?”

  “Hot and slick with want. As am I.” He cupped her hips. “Sit up and straddle me.”

  Straddle him. Like a horse. Her heart went out to this gentle man who cared enough to let her control their lovemaking. How could she not love him?


  She slid her leg across his stomach until she sat astride his lower belly. His shaft pulsed against her backside. “What now?”

  “Lift your hips and guide me inside you.”

  She shifted and slowly fed his length into her until all she felt was his incredible fullness. A deep sense of completeness filled her—as if she’d finally come home after a long journey. “Oh, Jack...”

  He bent his knees, throwing her forward and intensifying the delightful sensation. She rocked back and forth, pursuing the thread of something new, something wondrous.

  He slipped his fingers between them and stroked her sensitive flesh. Heaven. Pure, heaven. She rocked faster, her body aching for more. Fire roared inside her, building and building, until finally cresting in pleasurable tremors that engulfed her.

  Groaning, Jack grasped her hips and pushed deep, spilling his warmth inside her. Her breath coming in soft pants, she clung to him, riding the final wave of pleasure.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She opened her eyes to find faint sunlight streaming through the open window. A cool draft wafted across her bare skin. She shivered and cuddled closer to the solid warmth beside her. Jack lay on his stomach, one arm stretched over his head, the other draped between them and heating her skin where they touched.

  Head burrowed in the pillow, he faced her, his eye closed, dark lashes fanning his tanned cheeks. His lips were parted in a boyish pout she knew to be deceiving. Not after last night. Not after all the enjoyable things he’d done to her with that very grown-up mouth. And she’d responded. Totally. With only the barest hint of hesitation.

  A happy glow bloomed inside her. She was whole again—no longer tortured by what Bart Lawrence had done to her. And she owed it all to this man.

  The memory of his skillful lovemaking surfaced. The breath-robbing nips from his teeth. His hands finding and caressing her secret places. His staff filling her. A ribbon of pleasure pulled through her, and she shook from the force of it.

  “Chilled?”

  He was awake. Was he aware of her lustful thoughts? “A little,” she whispered, unsure how to greet him after a night of intimacy.