Bushedwhacked Groom (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-three

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“Ah, these are pretty.”

Molly stepped into the bedroom that night only to stop in her tracks at the sight of her husband holding a
pair of her lace-trimmed bloomers. Lucky stood across
from her at the bureau with her lingerie drawer open,
examining the undergarment with an expression of
avid interest. The sleeves on his blue-checked shirt
were rolled up to reveal his sinewy forearms and several of his buttons were undone, giving her a tantaliz
ing view of his tanned, muscular chest with its
covering of tawny hair.

And of course he was grinning like the very devil!

Face red, Molly stormed across the room and
snatched the garment from his hand. “Just what do you
think you’re doing, going through my unmentionables?”

“0h, I’m just trying to get to know my wife a little
better,” he teased. He continued rummaging through
the drawer and pulled out a pair of pale silk stockings.

Taking a lascivious whiff of them, he murmured,
“
Ummm . . .sexy. Where are your garters, darlin’?”

“0h!” Molly grabbed the stockings, shoved them in the drawer and slammed it closed. “You stop that right
now.”

He smiled patiently and opened another drawer. “
I’m just hunting up a suitable nightie for you, sugar.”

She shut the drawer. “What?”

“You know, for after your bath.”

Molly froze.
Bath
? What did he mean,
bath?
Hadn’t
his attempted seduction in the hayloft earlier today been torture enough?

Glancing about the room, she didn’t spot the tub.
But she could see steam curling from behind the
dressing screen in the corner, and come to think of it,
she’d been smelling the rosewater she used to scent
the water ever since she’d entered the room. Her stom
ach sank.

“You fetched me a bath?” she finally managed.

He winked and stepped closer.
“
No, your grandma
did.”

“Oh. So it was her idea?”

“No, it was mine.”

Molly gulped.

“So where you been since supper, sugar?”

“Uh—helping Ma with her mending.”

“Liar,” he accused. “You’ve been hiding out from
me—just like you have all day.”

“Have not!” she retorted, though her face flamed.

“Did I make you too hot in the hayloft?”

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered. “
That—that was about kittens.”

“Yeah, and about babies—and a lot more.” Laugh
ing, he reopened the drawer and pulled out a long
blue flannel nightie. He whistled.
“
My dear wife, how
very unsexy. This goes to the rag heap.”

“What?”

Before she could stop him, Lucky rent the garment
from neck to hem and tossed it onto the floor.

Molly was livid. “Damn you to hell, Lucky Lamont!
That was my warmest nightie. You want me to freeze
my butt off in winter?”

Expression utterly rakish, he hauled her close, running his hand provocatively over her backside. “Oh,
don’t worry, I know plenty of tricks to help keep that
pretty backside of yours warm.”

Face crimson, she shoved him away.

Undaunted, he turned and pulled a white linen
nightgown from the drawer. “Now this is more like it.
Demure and virginal, but also lacy and low-cut. Just what I had in mind. I’ll lay it on the bed for you, dar
lin’—although you won’t be needing it for long.”

Molly was panicking. “I—I just remembered I prom
ised Ma I’d—er—take the slops out to the swine—”

He shook a finger at her, then reached for a button
on the low, lace-trimmed bodice of her dress. “To heck
with the slops. You’re my wife tonight, Molly, not a pig
farmer. You’re staying right here while your husband undresses and bathes you.”

“What?” Eyes huge, Molly jumped back three feet.

He chuckled, while steadily advancing upon her.
“We’re hitched now, honey, aren’t we? Why all this false
modesty? Isn’t this just what you wanted—a truly
inti
mate
relationship? Doesn’t it say in the good book that
the man and the woman were both naked and were
not ashamed?”

“B-both?” she managed to stammer.

“You know, that’s a great idea,” he replied eagerly.
“Why don’t I join you in the bath? That should help ease another kind of joining, eh, love?”

Molly tried to flee out the door, only to discover
she’d headed straight for the wall. As she turned, Lucky
easily pinned her there, eyeing her in perverse tri
umph, pressing his heat into her pelvis. All at once she
could hardly breathe.

“Why are you doing this?” she gasped.

“Why?” He arched against her. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“But, I thought you didn’t—”

“Didn’t want sex?” he provided. “Perhaps I’ve recon
sidered. I seem to be trapped here, in this shotgun mar
riage, so why deny myself certain—er—pleasures? You
being the original virgin and all.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

She panted helplessly. “Lucky, please stop it.”

Now he was nuzzling her neck. “Why so coy, Molly?
Last night you were trying to climb all over me—today
you turn into a skittish kitten. Are you really as innocent as you let on? Or are you hiding some deep, dark secret you don’t want me to know?”

Angry, she pushed at his shoulders but might as well have been trying to budge a rock. “Stop it.”

He drew back slightly, toying with another of her buttons. “Then madam is ready for her bath?”

Molly’s face was bright red as she slapped away his
fingers. “Please, I can do it myself.”

He grinned. “Very well, then. I’ll just watch.”

“You’ll what? No!
”

He pointed at the screen. “It’s the only compromise
I’m offering, Molly. Either skedaddle into that tub right now or I’ll strip you naked and drop you in it myself.”

Mortified, Molly dashed behind the screen, grinding
her teeth at the sounds of his infuriating laughter.

Removing her clothing with trembling hands, Molly
felt a tumult of conflicting emotions—anger, humilia
tion, fear, but most of all, an overwhelming sense of ex
citement. Why was Lucky doing this? Pursuing her so
hotly, when he’d shunned her until today?

At any rate, she had little time to ponder this. Know
ing he might join her at any minute, she hastily fin
ished stripping and settled into the water, which felt warm and soothing but did little to assuage her agi
tated state. She drew her knees up to her chin to cover
her nakedness as best she could.

Then she gasped as her husband rounded the dress
ing screen and joined her by the tub. The look on his face took her breath away. His eyes were devouring
her alive, roving her body intimately. Oh, Lord, she was
in deep, deep trouble. When she’d contemplated taking a husband, she’d thought of the marriage act as
something mechanical, a path to procreation, a way to
accomplish her goals. Never had she imagined that
just her husband’s burning look could rouse in her
such a purgatory of emotion. Longing that made her
heart race. Desire so sharp and deep it took her breath
away and made her throb inside.

And that was just his look. If he touched her . . .

Just when she thought she could bear no more, he
removed his shirt slowly, very slowly, revealing all the
glory of his tanned, naked torso. Then he unbuckled
and pulled off his belt with that same leisurely ease. His gaze scorched hers as he unbuttoned the top but
ton on his jeans—just that one button. So sexy, with
that patch of downy hair revealed at his navel. Her
mouth went dry.

If he touched her, she would surely die!

He sank to his knees beside her and did so now, reaching out to stroke her damp auburn curls. She
winced in helpless longing.

“Well, Mrs. Lamont,” he murmured at last, voice husky
with need, “reckon I’m feeling pretty lucky tonight.”

The raspiness of his voice, his calling her Mrs. La
mont for the first time, his saying he felt lucky, all conspired to put Molly in a torment of desire. And that was
before he kissed her. When his mouth took hers with
unbearable gentleness, his lips teasing, caressing her
own, she thought she might expire of the emotions consuming her. Then the kiss, which had begun so
sweetly, turned carnal, demanding, his tongue ravish
ing her mouth and enticing her surrender.

Molly was breathless, spinning, wantonly exploring
Lucky’s mouth with her own tongue. He responded
with savage sounds as his free hand began roving her
body intimately. For long moments he drew his rough
thumb in tormenting circles around one tight nipple,
then the other, driving her to distraction. Afterward he kneaded each breast in turn, squeezing almost
roughly; the stimulation was shattering, exquisite. Just
when she could bear no more, his hand slid lower,
stroking her belly, his fingers slipping between her
thighs.

Molly clenched her thighs, gasped and tore her
mouth from his. “Please, don’t.”

He only smiled at her. “But you’re mine now, darlin’. Here, too. Especially here. Now open to me like a good
wife.”

Molly could only cry out helplessly, and when Lucky
kissed her again, claiming her mouth so masterfully, she did his bidding, easing her thighs apart. When he
touched her there her back arched and her nipples
tightened in rapture. She heard his moan of pleasure
as his fingers explored, finding the tiny nub where so
much of her ecstasy seemed to be centered. She
squirmed in delicious torment. As he began expertly
stroking her, tears of mingled confusion and pleasure
fell from her eyes. His free hand gripped her fingers
and drew them to his own crotch. She felt his hardness
with fingers dampened by rosewater, and heard his
tortured grunt as she caressed him, driving him toward
a pleasure to match her own.

Abruptly he pulled back and stared at her face—so
flushed, rapt and vulnerable. “Damn,” he muttered with
unexpected vehemence. “Damn it all to hell.”

And before her disbelieving eyes, he stood and walked away. Seconds later she heard the bedroom
door slam shut.

For a moment Molly remained stunned. She struggled hard not to cry. What did Lucky think he was do
ing, driving her insane with desire, then walking out
on her? Was this his cruel way of showing her his true feelings, all the contempt he
really
felt for her?

Remembering the loathing in his voice, the heart
less way he’d turned and left her, she had her answer.

That realization broke the dike, and Molly sobbed her
heart out.

***

Lucky stood trembling outside the bedroom door. He
hated himself. Trying to wreak his revenge on Molly was not bringing him the satisfaction he’d anticipated.
In fact, the whole scheme had backfired squarely in
his face.

He’d intended to seduce her, only to become se
duced himself by her loveliness and innocence. He’d in
tended to rouse her to unbearable desire, then leave her
hanging. Instead he’d visited that very vengeance on
himself. He’d become totally ensnared in his own game—
and had taken things much farther than he’d intended.

What was worse, he’d pushed her to tears with his
cruelty.
Tears.
So what if she was a pain in the butt
and no one’s idea of a proper wife? Even she deserved
her dignity.

As for him
. . .
He deserved a good horsewhipping
for treating her so badly. Now he would spend a miser
able night in the barn, with only himself to blame.