Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (34 page)

What would she think if she knew how many nights he had lain beneath his freight wagons during the dead of winter or the blistering heat of summer thinking of her? While he was driving the lumbering wagons over the mountains, he had never even dreamed that someday he would be her husband, that she would legally carry his name. Somehow he had to make this marriage work. He would use any means necessary to make her see him as a man who needed love and who had love to give.

Pack had never felt so uncertain before. He had lived his life among rough men. His mother and, later, Candy were the only soft, feminine things in his life. He was rough, impatient and at times brutal. Life had made him that way. He felt a stirring of hope that someday she might accept him not only in her bed, but in her heart. His chest warmed with the quickening of his own heart and he questioned himself silently. Could he live up to her expectations?

His hand slid beneath the blanket. His fingers closed around her foot. It was still cold, as was her calf when he touched it. He set the cup down on the floor and placed his palm against her cheek. Her face was cool. Her nightdress would give her extra warmth. She would be mortified if she awakened and found herself naked. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Pack picked up the lamp and hurried up the stairs. He took her nightdress from the peg on the wall, turned down the covers on her bed, and left the lamp on the bureau. The decision to bring her up to her own bed had been sudden.

Pack lifted Mara carefully and slipped the nightdress over her head. Goose bumps covered her arms. Her cold body reminded him of the coldness of his mother’s body when he and Mara had washed her and dressed her for burial. He felt a moment of terrible fear that Mara Shannon would sicken and die.

He went to the front and then to the back door and dropped the heavy bars across them, not that he expected Cullen to return, but he wanted no surprises.

He returned to the bedroom and lifted Mara up in his arms. He carried her up the stairs as easily as if she were a child. It felt so right to hold her; her head lay on his shoulder, her hair hung down over his arm. His heart thumped heavily in response to her nearness.

Before he lowered her to the bed, he lifted her so that his face fit into the curve of her neck. He nuzzled it gently, breathing in the sweet smell of her woman’s body. Reluctantly he eased her down onto the bed, covered her, and pulled her damp hair up over the pillow. He stood for a long while looking down at her. And then, without thinking about the right or the wrong of it, whether or not she would hate him when she awakened, he blew out the lamp and stripped off his clothes.

Pack wrapped her in his arms and pulled the covers up over them. Her cheek lay against his shoulder, her arm across his chest. His large hand moved down her back to her firmly rounded buttocks and long, sleek thighs. He pressed them between his, offering her every bit of the warmth of his body. She fit so perfectly against him. He could feel every bone and every soft curve in her body.

Pack thought he had been in heaven when, with the covers between them, he had lain with her back to his chest, giving her the comfort of his presence the night she had awakened from a bad dream. It was nothing compared to having her in his arms with only her thin nightdress between them, her soft breasts pushing against him, her thighs between his, her warm breath on his neck. Her fragrance filled his nostrils. He closed his eyes tightly as tides of desire rippled over him. The male part of him reared up, hard and painful, and before he could stop himself he flexed his hips to press it against her thigh. Delicious thrills rippled through him. Every instinct in him screamed to bury himself in her soft body, but an even stronger need overrode the physical one—the need to have her love and trust. He groaned aloud. It was torture to move his extended sex away from her, to lie still and listen to the sound of the rain on the tin roof and the thunder of his heartbeat.

Mara stirred and straightened her legs. She was in that state halfway between sleep and reality. She was warm and comfortable, secure in the instinctive knowledge that she was safe.

“Pack,” she murmured. “Pack.”

“Yes, honey, I’m here.” Pack’s voice came reassuringly out of the darkness. “Don’t be scared,” he added quickly when she tried to draw away.

“Pack!” she cried out in alarm as she awakened to full awareness. Her hand moved up to his face. A sob rose in her throat. “You came back!”

“Yes, I came back. It’s all right now. You’re in your bed—”

“I knew you’d come back.” She was unable to stop the tears that flooded her eyes or to choke back the sob in her throat. She clung to him. “Is
he
gone?”

“There’s no one here but you and me. I’ll not leave you alone again,” he whispered hoarsely and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“He said you’d not come back. He said you had two whores—”

“I hurried back to my sweet wife. I’d have been here sooner but for the storm.”

“He said if he killed you, it would solve the problem.” Her arm tightened around him and he snuggled her tear-streaked face into the warm flesh of his neck.

“That’s just talk.”

“I ran out into the storm.”

“I found you in the privy.”

“I couldn’t go to the bunkhouse. He’d have seen me and might’ve hurt the boys.”

“It’s over. Don’t cry.”

The warm safety of his arms was heaven. Mara wanted to forget everything that had happened and that would happen tomorrow. She had never been held so lovingly or comforted so tenderly. This strong, hard man was holding her as gently as if she were a baby. She moved closer in his arms and ran the palm of her hand over his back.

He was naked!

Pack felt her reaction the instant of her discovery and loosened his arms. “Don’t be scared. I was trying to get you warm.”

“I’m not scared. It’s just that . . . I’ve not been this close to anyone without clothes on.”

“I don’t have a nightshirt,” he mumbled apologetically.

“You could have put on one of mine,” she whispered. Then a series of gasping giggles came from her.

Pack lay perfectly still. Was she still out of her mind with fright? The sweet intimacy of holding her and the soft whispers in the dark had erased all else from his mind. He felt a moment of panic. He wanted her to have a clear mind and to know who was in her bed, who was holding her.

“Mara Shannon?” He leaned away and put his fingers beneath her chin. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.”

“You’ve had a bad scare, but you’ve nothing to fear from me.”

“Pack! I know that. Are you going to leave?”

“Do you want me to? I’ll not stay if you want me to go.”

“I know you married me because of Papa, and I won’t hold you to it. I never thought that it would cause someone to want to kill you.”

“Let me worry about that. Do you want me to go?”

“And . . . leave me by myself?”

“I’ll never leave you here by yourself. I intend to stay here, in this house, whether or not we live together as man and wife. If you want me to leave your bed I’ll go. I’m a man, Mara Shannon, with the natural needs God gave me. I promised myself that I’d just hold you. But, God help me, I want more! It’s been torture to have you in my arms and not kiss you and caress your sweet body.”

“I’m sorry you’ve suffered. I don’t know much about the needs you’re talking about. Miss Fillamore said God made men lustful in order to populate the world. She said it was a wife’s duty to satisfy the needs of her husband, and if a woman lay still it would be over in a hurry. If that’s what you want me to do . . . I can do it. I owe you so much.”

“Jesus, my God!” The words exploded from Pack. “Deliver me from stupid, blatherin’ old-maid schoolmarms!” He threw back the covers and sat up on the side of the bed. “That isn’t what I want! And you don’t owe me a goddamn thing.” Anger raised his voice to a near shout. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry if I made you angry,” she whispered fearfully. He felt her hand on the small of his back.

“You didn’t make me angry. That idiot of a woman did! She doesn’t have the brains of a goose.”

“All I know of life is what I’ve been taught. I’m sorry I don’t know more about what goes on between a man and . . . a woman.” There was a break in her voice.

He turned and his fingers found the tears on her cheeks. “Don’t cry. It tears me up when you cry!”

“I can’t help it. I don’t want you to go. There! I’ve said it, and you can laugh.”

“Why would I laugh? Mara Shannon, those are the sweetest words you’ve ever said to me.” He slipped back into the bed and gathered her close in his arms. “I don’t want to go back to that lonely bed downstairs. I want to sleep with you in my arms every night for the rest of my life.”

“You just want to hold me?”

“Hold you, kiss you, make you mine forever.”

“But . . . I am yours.”

“Not the way I want you to be,” he whispered hoarsely. “I want us to be man and wife in all the ways there are. I want to share my life and my dreams with you. If I stay now, there’ll be no going back. It’ll be this way from now on.”

Her lovely, curving form nestled close against him; a warm soft thigh snug between his, an arm flung out across his chest. For a brief haunting moment he wondered if this were all a dream. She had brought something to his life that he hadn’t realized was so all-consuming, a love that went beyond gratifying his physical needs. She filled his heart. He wanted to love and be loved by her. He wanted to put all his thoughts, toil and love into building a future with her.

His skin was warm, the hair on his chest soft and silky, his breath ragged and uneven. She reveled in a happiness that was new to her, but frightening too. Lying against his great trembling body she felt secure, loved. She wanted with all her heart to give him what he wanted, to take away the lust that Miss Fillamore said tormented a man.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone for a long, long time. That’s why I came home.” She realized that she was saying things to him here in the dark with the rain pounding down on the roof, things she could never say to him in the light of day for fear of seeing mockery in his eyes. “Pack . . . I’m not worldly, but I’ll try to be a good wife to you.”

“Ah, darlin’ girl.”

He raised her chin with his forefinger and placed his lips against hers. The kiss began gently without pressure. His mouth lightly caressed her softly parted lips. He took great care not to crush the feeling from her lips but to teach them, second by second, to respond and vibrate to the warm caressing movement of his. The arms that held her to him were loose so that she wouldn’t feel threatened. After a long, delicious moment, he lifted his mouth and put his lips to her ear.

“Kiss me back. Please, sweetheart. . . . ”

Her lips were sweetly hesitant as they searched for his. And although his lips were soft and gentle, they entrapped hers with a fiery heat that created strange sensations inside her. She opened her mouth beneath his; the tip of his tongue entered and swirled gently over her inner lips, then withdrew. He moved his mouth away, then back.

He murmured in her ear, “Do you like that?”

“Oh, yes! Pack?”

“Yes, love.”

“Does it hurt when you get hard?” Her mind whirled giddily, for although she had never seen a man aroused, she knew what was pressing against her thigh.

“Sometimes.”

“I don’t want you to hurt— ever!” She cupped his cheek with her palm.

Pack smoothed her hair and drew his mouth along the line of her jaw. His parted lips touched hers briefly. She felt the thunderous beating of his heart against her near-naked breasts and the trembling in his arms.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will when I go inside you . . . for the first time.”

She pressed against him as innocently as any young female animal that responded by instinct to the male. She lifted her face to meet his kiss, her lips parting as his mouth possessed hers. His hand slid down her back, pressing her hips tighter against him.

“We’ll not have a baby if you don’t.”

“Do you want to make babies with me?”

“Of course! You’re my husband, but even if you weren’t I’d still want you to do it. I’ve . . . never even wanted a man to kiss me before. The ones that did had wet, slobbering mouths. Yours is sweet, Pack. Am I shameful? Miss Fillamore says only depraved women like a man to do
that
to them.”

“Forget Miss Fillamore. She didn’t know what she was talking about. What we do, we’ll do together. I never want you to accept me as a duty. Understand? You’ll want me as much as I want you or I’ll not touch you.”

She pressed warm lips to his cheek. “I want you to touch me.”

“We’ll love each other, enjoy each other, and when you’re ready for me, take me in your hand and guide me to you.” His voice was thick with emotion.

He caressed her with his lips and stroked her with his rough palms. He forced himself to go slowly and was rewarded when a warmth flowed over her and she relaxed. Only then did he dare to slip his hand up beneath her nightdress and cup her firm buttocks. Gradually she responded to his touch. Her hand found its way along his body. With something like wonder, her fingertips moved along his lean ribs to his muscled waist and down his side to hair-roughened thighs. They explored the muscles of his back and shoulders before combing through the soft hair on his chest and resting at the base of his throat. Their breaths merged and became one as his parted lips sought and found hers.

The naked hunger that caught and held them was both sweet and violent. She felt his hand sweep away her nightdress and then her nipples were buried in the soft hair on his chest. Her world careened crazily beneath the urgency of his kisses, and she was swept along in a violent storm of passion. When he lifted her legs over his thighs, her hand moved down to close around him. She felt the jolt that passed through him at her touch. Thinking she had hurt him, she jerked her hand away, only to have him grab it, bring it back and close her fingers around him. A low growl came from his throat. His hand moved over the flat plane of her stomach and into the curly down at the top of her legs. Gradually his fingers slipped into the dark, wet cavern. She almost cried out at the intense pleasure his sliding fingers evoked.