Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2) (28 page)

“If it would make you feel any better, we can see the justice of the peace tomorrow before we leave. Make everything legally official.”

“No. I’d rather wait and have a church wedding, even if it’s something small.”

Leaning in close enough that she had to feel my breath on her lips, I said, “Whatever you want, sweetness. I’ll marry you—again—wherever and whenever you want. Just know this—as far as I’m concerned, you’re already my wife, no matter what Randall wants.”

Before she could protest in any way, I kissed her. It had been several days since we’d really touched, much less kissed, and I craved her like a starving man craved a meal.

She stepped into me and pressed her body to mine. Her soft warmth made me hard and hot. For such a shy woman, she took to the marriage bed with enthusiasm.

I fisted my hand in her hair and tipped her head back so I could reach her neck. I’d been gentle with her before, but all I wanted now was rough and savage.

I kissed her neck from ear down to clavicle, then sank my teeth in just enough to sting. She gasped and dug her fists into my shirt.

“You like that?”

Her breathless yes made my cock throb. Returning to her mouth, I kissed her again. When her tongue pushed at my lips, I didn’t need to be asked twice. Blood thundered in my veins and it took some strength of will not to tear her bodice open.

Instead, I took her hands from my shirt and pushed her back against the door, shoving her arms over her head. I kissed her like I couldn’t get enough of the taste of her—because I couldn’t—at the same time thrusting my hips against hers.

“God, Lydia,” I said, opening the top buttons of her blouse and licking the exposed skin. She squirmed and panted in response, driving her hips into mine. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“Me either,” she said, forcing a hand out of my grasp and reaching for my cock. Her caress tore a groan from my throat.

“This isn’t going to last long if you keep that up,” I said. I almost didn’t recognize my own voice, it was so strained. My whole body tensed, on the verge.

She freed her other hand, and I rested both of mine on the door frame on either side of her head. I tried to kiss her again, but she looked down to concentrate on the task at hand. I didn’t need to look to know—she fumbled to unbuckle my belt. I sucked in a ragged breath. As she opened my pants and reached inside to free my cock, I widened my stance to give her better access.

It throbbed in her hands, but when I looked down, the sight of both of us fully dressed except for her stroking my cock almost made me come right there.

She looked up at me, her pupils dilated with desire, and eagerness in her eyes. “I want it inside me,” she said.

Not one to disappoint, I spun her around and hiked her skirts in a clumsy hurry. “Hold on, Lydia. This isn’t going to be gentle.”

“I don’t want it to be,” she said, bending and bracing her hands on the door as I threw her skirts over her back to find her beautiful round, soft bottom completely naked underneath.

“You’re not wearing anything under your skirt. You’re turning into quite the naughty girl.”

I swear her bottom blushed pink, which only made me want to drive myself hilt deep into her in one motion.

Instead, I used my foot to shove her feet apart, giving me more room.

Using my fingers, I found her clitoris and pinched. She cried out and her body convulsed, arching toward me like the petals of a flower opening for the sun.

I sucked in a hissing breath. I couldn’t wait anymore. More than anything, I needed to be inside her.

I rubbed the tip of my cock at her opening. “You feel so good,” I told her, then drove straight into her all the way to the hilt. “Hot,” I said, gripping her hips, “wet,” I said pulling out and plunging back in, “and mine.”

“Yes,” she moaned.

“You’re mine, Lydia,” I said, driving harder. “Mine.”

“Yours,” she panted.

“Don’t. Ever. Forget. It.”

She leaned back into each thrust, and on the last word her body tightened around me, squeezing and pulling me in. She cried out as she came, pushing back into me as if to try to keep every last inch of me inside her. Her cry sent lightning straight to my balls, and I came hard and fast, and with a long, low groan.

I pulled out, fumbling to tuck myself back into my pants, horrified I’d treated her that way. Cramming her skirts back down, I helped her up and turned her to face me.

“I’m so sorry, Lydia. I never should have…”

But I didn’t have a chance to finish, because the look on her face stopped me cold. When she turned toward me, brushing hair out of her face, her cheeks were rosy and her smile was deeply satisfied.

I swallowed the rest of my apology and chuckled under my breath. Lydia was full of surprises.

“You’re awfully pleased with yourself,” she said.

I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her against me, looking down into her happy face. “You seem awfully pleased, too.”

“I am. I’m so incredibly pleased,” she said, resting her forehead on my chest. “I didn’t know it was possible to be so pleased.”

I didn’t think she was talking about the sex, anymore, but before I could ask her about it, she pulled away and smoothed her skirt, then picked up the clean shirt she’d dropped.

“And now I’m starving, so let’s hurry up with the baths so we can go find something to eat.”

Falling in love with Emmett had turned me into a harlot. I had no shame left, so much so that while we ate supper, I could only think about what we’d done earlier and when we could do it again. What was wrong with me? Where was my dignity? Did all women behave this way with the men they loved? Did Beth? Had Daisy she felt this way with all the men she’d been with, or was it different, being in love? I suddenly wished I could talk to them. I missed them more than I’d expected.

Emmett leaned across the table, a conspiratorial look on his face. “Are you still not wearing anything under your skirts?”

I looked around the room—nobody even noticed us—then smiled and told him, “Still not wearing anything under my skirts.”

I’d probably burn in hell for eternity. Maybe there was some loophole that would allow God to forgive my newfound enjoyment of fornication. Right now I didn’t care.

He chuckled and sat back, taking a sip of his soup. “If I’d known you’d adopted that practice, I’d have taken more advantage of it.”

I
tsked
him. “We’ve only been married a few days, and you’ve certainly taken advantage of me plenty in that time.”

“Taking advantage implies some degree of force. As I recall, you were a more than willing participant.”

“Um, yes, well, I…” I stumbled over my words like I’d been caught red-handed stealing candy.

“Take it easy,” he covered my hand with his, “I’m sorry if I upset you,” and I let out a nervous breath.

“I’m not used to talking about this sort of thing in public.”

“Then we’ll change the subject. We should talk about our future.”

That was another subject I wasn’t sure I wanted to address. It seemed so daunting as to be impossible to tackle. “Yes, we probably should, but maybe we can get through the meeting with Randall first?”

“We can, if that’s what you’d prefer. But we’ll need to make some decisions, and the sooner we start discussing them, the sooner we’ll have it done. We can’t put it off forever.”

“I know.”

I focused on scooping and swallowing slow spoonfuls of soup, studiously avoiding the conversation. Loving a man and sharing his bed in a daring adventure was very different from living a daily routine that depended as much on stability and tedium as anything else. My secret dream fought to burst from its mooring and sing triumph. After all, I’d somehow managed to secure one of the most important lynchpins of the dream—a husband. But what if a marriage born in daring adventure couldn’t withstand the long-term erosion of real life? What if, once we settled into a home and jobs and had children, Emmett became bored with me? I knew myself well enough to acknowledge that although I was comfortable with my nature, most people would find me sorely dull. I struggled to imagine a storybook happy ending.

Emmett was right that we couldn’t put the future off forever, but a few more days couldn’t hurt.

As I scooped another spoonful of soup, I sensed Emmett’s eyes on me. He waited for me to contribute to the conversation.

“Are you full of soup yet?” he asked, the words gently mocking me.

I summoned the courage to meet his gaze. “Yes, thank you. It’s quite good.”

He lifted a dark brow, transforming his handsome face into a handsome skeptical face. How could a man so classically beautiful, so supremely patrician purport to love
me
, the most mousy, invisible woman ever?

His expression changed, falling into a hard mask, closing off so I couldn’t read any emotion. He placed his silverware, precisely, on either side of his plate, and removed the napkin from his lap before smoothing it and placing it on the table; all this before he met my gaze again. I suddenly felt like my students must when they’d pushed my patience to the breaking point and they knew the consequences were on the way.

Still, I held my head high. I’d weather whatever he had to say.

“I thought we’d established, not an hour ago, in dramatic fashion, that you are mine, Lydia Wilder.”

Deep between my legs, parts of me convulsed at the exhilaration of him pointing out in such a public place how he’d claimed me so unequivocally. The fact that he’d used his last name in addressing me only added a frisson of pleasure to the mix.

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“You’re jumpy and ill at ease, which makes me suspicious.”

I looked down at my lap, lifting up, smoothing, and replacing my napkin, but not responding.

“Do you know what I’m suspicious of?”

“No,” I said, lifting my chin again.

“I’ll tell you.” He leaned a little closer, his eyes iceberg blue. If I didn’t know him even a little bit, I’d say he was furious, but underneath I saw the hint of hurt and betrayal. My heart cramped that I’d made him experience those things. “I’m suspicious that you’re afraid, and that you’ll bolt like a frightened rabbit. We’ve been over this, and we’ll continue to go over it as often as we need to for you to realize that we belong together. You’re mine and I’m yours—I love you and you love me—and that’s the end of the discussion. The rest will fall into place the way it needs to.”

Despite his cold, firm delivery, the words had a calming effect. His unwavering confidence had to mean something. Still, I wrestled the secret dream back into its box. Time would tell whether I’d ever let it back out.

The train ride to Omaha passed, blessedly, without event. No bandits, no blizzards, no dramatic interruptions. It was exactly what a train ride should be, yet my nerves were strung so tight it was all I could do not to squirm in my seat.

When we finally pulled into Omaha, I expected Randall to meet us at the station. We’d telegraphed him before we left Cheyenne, letting him know when we’d be in. My stomach knotted itself into contortions a sailor would be proud of.

At the door, before disembarking, I craned my neck searching the crowd. I hadn’t seen Randall for a long time, but not so long that I wouldn’t recognize him. Tall, though not as tall as Emmett, he likely still wore an austere black suit, just like Father had. Whereas I’d inherited all of the plainness in our family, Randall had been luckier. His wavy brown hair, dark, rich brown eyes, and charming smile hinted at a warmth that was only artifice; but he sold the ruse to his congregation, and they loved him. However, I knew his true nature.

Even straining at the top of the steps, I didn’t see him in the crowd.

Emmett’s hand at my low back, urging me forward, distracted me from my search. “We’ll find him, but right now we’re holding up the other passengers.”

We collected a satchel with the few things we’d purchased in Wyoming to replace the valises we’d lost on the first train, and cut through the train station to the street out front.

“He’s probably busy,” Emmett said, his finger caressing my cheek on the way to tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear.

I gave him a dubious look. “Don’t apologize for him. I don’t know what I expected. He’s never been overly fond of me, but he did invite me here, and I am family. The least he could do is meet us.”