Branded (23 page)

Holding her hands at her thighs and slightly away from her body, she asked, "Is this better, then?"

After the initial shock, his lips tipped into a surly smile. His eyes traveled the length of her with such slow, thoroughness, she felt heat wherever they focused. She'd pushed him too far.

"Darlin', I told you, I don't take well to teasing," he said, when his eyes met hers.

"And I don't take well to orders."

"Come here," he growled.

A warning shiver snaked up her spine. "Another order?" she asked, but her courage had dwindled to nothing.

She was attempting to stoop gracefully and retrieve her garment when he moved toward her, his boot heels sounding over loud in the small room. Snatching the chemise from her hand, he tossed it to the bed. Before she could move to the side, he had her pressed beneath him against the wall.

She never thought a person could feel this naked. His chaps pressed against her thighs, his cool metal buckle against her stomach. His leather vest chafed her nipples.

She told herself there was nothing to worry about. The man hadn't demonstrated much talent at lovemaking, considering the chaste kisses he'd given her.

His mouth slanted over hers. It was just as she'd suspected it would be. He simply grazed his dry lips across hers. The worst of it was, Lacey was disappointed.

He held her away from him. His lashes lowered as he looked down. "No curled toes, I see."

Actually, her toes were resting on the tips of his boots. She was scrunching them over the tough leather in embarrassment. It was quite obvious, her feet were the last place he was looking. Her nipples grew taut beneath his fierce gaze. He lifted his eyes to peer at her, and it was clear he'd seen her reaction to him.

With desperation, her mind leapt to the one thing that could save her. "I daresay, Grady did not have this degree of closeness in mind when he sent me on ahead to meet his family." She offered him an amused smile and hoped he didn't notice how her lips were quivering.

Expecting Slade's predictable response to his brother's name, she dropped her hands from his well-muscled arms, which she was annoyed to find, she had been clutching. She took the tiniest step away since the wall was nearly at her back. His eyes were pale blue slits as he studied her face.

"Nice try," he said. He tossed his hat onto the bed.

One thing she’d come to learn--when a cowboy removed his hat, he meant business. Scooping an arm around her waist, he toppled her forward so she nested between his legs. His tongue rubbed over the seam of her lips, and she gasped. He took advantage, driving his tongue deep into her mouth. It was a carnivorous kiss. Definitely no talent for lovemaking, she thought wryly, as her eyes rolled back in her head. When he pulled away from the kiss, it took her a moment to focus on his face.

He looked more surprised than she felt. "Well, I'll be damned," he drawled.

He took a step back and let his hands travel the curves of her waist, his eyes following every movement. Lacey watched, too. She bit her lip, suppressing a gasp as his hands moved to cup her breasts. He teased her nipples with the rough pads of his thumbs. She lifted her eyes to his face and caught the flutter of his long dark lashes as he groaned.

"Woman," he said in a husky half-whisper. He bent his head, taking one of her nipples between his teeth. His brown head bowed. She couldn't help thinking how vulnerable he looked as he began sucking. Her fingers dived into his silken hair, cupping his head, bringing him closer. His talent for lovemaking was on par with everything else he did. And he did everything well. His expert mouth and hands brought her to the edge of a sensation that made her whole body tremble.

She raised herself on her toes, until the most overwhelming feeling she'd ever experienced, coursed through her body. He lifted his head, his mouth clamping over hers, muffling her cries. Suddenly, her limbs couldn't support her. She melted into him, curving herself into the hollow of his chest, and nestling her face against his worn cotton shirt. His heart thudded against her cheek.

"Amazing," he muttered. She nearly giggled at the tickling sensation of his fingers stroking the length of her back. A soft laugh did escape her as he nuzzled her neck.

He swept her up in his arms and tossed her onto the mattress. "My finish is a whole lot better on a bed."

Clearly, he hadn't come to the same delicious completion as she had. With shock, it dawned on her what he intended. Moments ago, she'd worried about his talent for kissing and now he meant to demonstrate all of his talents. Mentally, she made a note to herself--in the future do not strip naked in front of Slade Dalton. It has earth-shattering consequences.

With a mixture of panic and anticipation, she watched him unfasten his chaps. She wondered if he’d sensed her reservations because he leaned over and gave her an open mouth kiss that sent her mind spiraling again. He lifted his head and gave her a crooked smile, evidently, pleased by her reaction to him.

She stiffened at the sound of footfalls in the hallway.

"Slade, dear. Tait's having a problem installing the new stove in the cook shed. Can you give him a hand?" There was a sharpness to Dora's normally serene voice. She sounded as though she were down the hall a bit and probably facing Slade's door. Lacey suspected that Dora knew very well where Slade was. She was grateful and disappointed all at the same time for the interruption.

Frantically, Lacey snatched at the corner of the coverlet and yanked it around her, spilling the pillows on the floor. His lips lifted in a wry smile as he watched her awkwardly wrap the quilt around herself.

Lacey heard Dora leave. She couldn't help thinking, she'd never heard Dora step so loudly before.

"We'll pick this up later."

In response, she shook her head slightly, a half-hearted no.

He reached for her, but she pulled away. His fingers caught and tangled in her hair. "Oh yes, sweet thing, we most definitely will," he assured her, his eyes determined.

She was thoroughly annoyed with herself and the effect he'd had on her.

He put his knuckles under her chin and lifted her face so that she was forced to stare into his eyes. "You know I want you, Duchess."

"This was a mistake. You know as well as I do that it can’t happen again." The look in his eyes hovered between fury and hurt. "Please. I want you to leave me alone."

"You've got it, darling." With sharp, frustrated jerks, he rebuckled his chaps. "I’ll give you a little advice, though. Next time you decide to play with fire, you better know how to handle it." He grabbed his hat and slammed it down on his head. "I came in to tell you. There's an orphan calf that needs some looking after in the barn. Thought you might find it in your heart to see to him." He said it as though he doubted whether she even had a heart.

He exited soundlessly through the sewing room, having to turn his broad shoulders just to squeeze his big frame through the opening.

Lacey woke the next morning feeling as if she’d consumed champagne instead of food for dinner. She felt lightheaded, on edge, and a little shaky from her experience with Slade. Her mood was as gray as the rain clouds that threatened outside the kitchen window.

She strode past the numerous pies and cakes lining the kitchen counter. She took a whiff of a particularly delicious looking one with golden peaches peaking through the elaborately latticed crust. It was a reviving aroma.

She wondered at what ungodly hour Dora must wake to prepare this array. Every Friday, a similar collection of pies could be found lining the counter.

"How on earth do you make all these desserts by yourself?" Lacey asked the moment Dora entered the kitchen.

"I don't make those. The girls 'round here come every Friday, like clockwork, bringing those things." She shrugged her shoulders. "Don't know why Fridays, or why all at once. Must be, they want him to compare their cooking against the others. The boy's always had too many admirers. That's what got him into trouble in the first place," she said with an indulgent shake of her head. Lacey didn't need to be told which boy she was talking about.

So while she slept, in the dark of morning, women were parading by her window with their enticing wares. Widows and unmarried women, alike, she was sure. Not one of the men had ever mentioned it. Though, they'd all shared in the spoils.

Suzanne Ludlow, his most ardent admirer, often sat sipping tea on the porch with Dora. Lacey had noticed Suzanne staring longingly off in the direction of the fields or the barn. Lacey found it hard to judge the woman. After all, that was a habit she was finding impossible to break herself of.

When introduced, Suzanne had acknowledged her with a smile. At least, the semblance of a smile. Her lips had curved, revealing pretty little teeth, but the smile hadn't extended to her eyes.

Miss Ludlow's contribution accounted for only one of the pies. Lacey glanced at the desserts and took a quick count. Ten items. Ten lonely females looking to interest Slade Dalton in marriage. She could envision them bustling into the kitchen, already relegating Dora to a secondary place.

The desserts no longer had any appeal to Lacey. She vowed to make Fridays a dessert free night. She knew she couldn't stomach taking one bite of any of those tarts.

Dora was leaning over the peach pie and broke off a piece of crust to take a nibble. With a conspiratorial smile, she said in hushed tones, "Finally talked him into spending the evening at the Ludlows."

"But it’s going to rain." Lacey hoped she didn’t sound whiny.

"If a drizzle keeps a man away, there ain’t no hope for the relationship," Dix opined. He walked up behind them and peered over their shoulders. He picked up a cherry pie.

"Here Dix, let me cut you a piece of that."

He put up his hand in a don't-trouble-yourself gesture. They watched as he got himself a fork, sat down at the table, and proceeded to eat the entire pie. "So Ludlow's girl finally won the Slade Dalton lottery."

Lacey nearly choked on her coffee. Suzanne was pert and pretty. A woman who would obey a man's every word. A woman who would never do anything outrageous and impulsive. Exactly the kind of woman that would make Slade happiest.

Lacey had effectively banished him from her bedroom. Had she really expected a man like that to pine away? With a shiver up her spine, she recalled for the thousandth time, what it felt like to kiss him and, instantly, deemed Suzanne the luckiest woman on earth.

After clearing, scraping, and washing the enormous pile of supper dishes, Lacey stepped outside and called for Oliver. She gave his shaggy fur a tussle and walked around the house to where the ancient elm stood. Oliver instantly plopped down and rolled onto his side. She untied her boots and removed them. Then she tugged off her woolen socks.

Without a care for how unladylike she looked, she pulled herself up the tree to a high branch. She balanced precariously on the rather narrow perch. Hugging the trunk, she looked out over the fields. There was a sprinkling of small houses. How many of these, she wondered, held daughters aching for attention from Slade Dalton? Too many, she guessed.

The first heavy drop splashed on her cheek. It was soon followed by more. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back letting the rain run down her face and throat.

The back door opened.

"Slade, honey. Hurry and fetch the linens off the lines before they’re ruined!" Dora hollered.

Lacey jerked her head up with a start. Oh, bloody grand. It had taken her hours to wash the darn things.

She looked down to see the top of Slade’s hat. He was already yanking down the laundry.

She reached for a branch to begin her descent. It snapped off in her hand. Slade stood stock-still for a moment and then looked up.

She removed one of her hands to wave to him, and he made a lunging motion toward the tree. She gathered up a handful of her skirts and awkwardly maneuvered into a sitting position.

He finally spoke. "Get the hell down from there, Lacey."

He was worried. The thought gladdened her heart.

He was wearing a handsome, brown broadcloth jacket and an embroidered vest. Slung low on his hips was the ever present gunbelt. Suzanne would be more than pleased with his appearance.

"Your nice clothes are getting soaked."

"Never mind my clothes. Get your bottom down here."

She obstinately remained seated in the tree. He wouldn't come up after her and risk ruining his fine clothes. She swung her bare feet. "You look very handsome."

"Lacey, I'm not keen on heights. But if you make me haul you down, I will."

A streak of lightning and an ear-splitting crack of thunder made her jump, and she nearly unseated herself.

"Have you ever seen a bolt of lightning split a tree in half?"

That was all she needed to hear. She scrambled down, scraping and scratching her hands and legs as she did so. She waved him away when it looked as though he would attempt to catch her. She jumped, landing in a crouch. She straightened and pressed her raw hands against her damp skirt.

"What are you trying to do to me, woman? Put me in an early grave?"

"Why don’t you go on your little date? I’ll collect the rest of the laundry." She looked over at the sheets. His gaze followed hers.

"It's a lost cause, don't you think?"

She had to admit he was right. The bottom of the sheets were already splattered with mud.

Spotting a sheet that still looked savable, she dove for it. She tripped on her rain-laden skirts and fell to her knees in a muddy puddle in her effort to rescue it. She looked up from her humiliating position.

The rain was clinging to her lashes. It clumped her hair together in cold, wet pieces, which fell into her face.

She swiped the heavy strands of hair from her eyes. Something about the ridiculous situation struck her as funny, and she began laughing.

"That's it then." She stood up and gently brushed her stinging hands together. She thought perhaps her clumsiness would have made him at least smile. Instead, his lips had a surly tilt to them.