"No."
His eyes darkened. He pulled away her skirt and chemise with one swift tug. Garnet felt giddy and free and strangely breathless. Wyatt's eager hands grabbed hold of her drawers. As soon as she had loosened the ties, he slipped the garment down over her thighs, then her knees, then off entirely.
She lay before him utterly naked. Her breath caught, and she felt a little shaky, but with excitement, not fear. At the sight of Wyatt gazing down at her with wonder bright in his eyes, she knew she had nothing to fear, nothing to be anxious about. He would not hurt her.
Their gazes met and held. She saw only him, powerfully strong, endlessly tender. He reached out to touch her hip, and she closed her eyes.
His fingers grazed her like the wind, light, teasing. But unlike a wind, his touch lingered, grew bold, and skimmed down the length of her thigh. Every place his fingers went, she felt a burning sensation along her skin, a sensation that didn't fade but kept expanding. Soon, her entire body felt on fire.
This pleasure was overwhelming. She shifted on the bed, restless beneath his touch. But Wyatt didn't stop. His daring hands skidded down and then up her legs. He lingered to brush slow caresses along the soft inner flesh of her thighs. Her entire body began to quake. She wanted more of his touch. So much more. She dared to part her knees, and his fingers didn't hesitate. He caressed a tingling trail closer to a very private part of her. A moan escaped her throat. A brilliant pleasure sliced through her suddenly, the way lightning cuts across the sky.
Garnet snapped her eyes open and stared at the man who kept caressing her. His persistent fingers probed her apart, spreading the dampness collecting there like dew. Desire coiled tight in her belly. Heat simmered in her veins. Those slow strokes continued, and she could only welcome his touch. She could not, would not move away. A searing hot pleasure more intense than pain snapped through every nerve in her body.
Garnet came up off the bed, sitting up in her surprise.
Wyatt smiled, his eyes appreciative. "I take it you liked that."
"Yes." So bold, she blushed. "I don't want you to stop doing that. But . . ." She couldn't dare ask such a question.
"What? Tell me, Garnet."
She swallowed, trying to find the words. She had read of the physical act, had unavoidably witnessed it on the farm, had even seen pictures of Grecian statues in books. But she had never seen a fully aroused man, and she had always wondered . . .
"I want to see you," she confessed.
A strange grin skidded across his lips. "Sorry. That's forbidden."
"Stop teasing me." Blood thundered through her aroused body. She was hot and quivering. How she wanted him. Just him.
"Then help me," Wyatt invited.
Her hands visibly trembled as she reached out. She unbuckled his belt with slow, uncertain fingers. He kept still, kneeling on the bed beside her. He didn't dare breathe when Garnet pressed her hand there, where that part of him ached to be touched. She met his gaze and he saw wonder shining in her eyes, half-hidden, mysterious, intangible.
In all the years since he'd been divorced, he had never taken such a risk as this. If he made love to her, then she had the power to hurt him. A wise man would stop, but he was not wise. Nor could he halt the feelings in his heart. He didn't want to. He wanted to love her, to make love with her.
He snapped open his trousers and pulled down his drawers too quickly, he feared, betraying too much emotion, too much need. But Garnet didn't notice. Her gaze was fastened on him, staring at his jutting hardness.
Her hand reached out. "Can I?"
Oh, he understood her question. His voice came out rough and raw. "Yes."
Her hand closed over him. He trembled, afraid to breathe, afraid to speak. He didn't want her to move away, to stop touching him. But his fears were unfounded. She knelt down for a closer look.
Garnet, the scholar, appeared to be taking careful notes.
"You're like velvet," she commented, brushing the tip of his arousal with a light finger. It might as well have been a hard, long squeeze for the jolt of sensation she caused. "And much larger than I would have guessed."
Wyatt smiled. He could have made a joke about that, but he didn't. He was afraid to ruin the moment. He didn't know how to say the words, how to tell her what was in his heart. Hell, he couldn't even tell her how she was everything to him.
Her hand enclosed over the length of his shaft. "Can we–"
"Yes," he interrupted.
She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling, and he could see her need as great as his own. He caught her mouth with his, kissing her hard, daring to take her in his arms and press her down onto the bed.
"Do you want me inside you?" He had to ask, because if she was uncertain, if she wanted to stop, this would be the best time to do it. "I don't want you to ever look back on this with regret."
"How could I?" She brushed one hand against his cheek. It was the softest, most loving gesture he had ever known. "I could never regret knowing you." She gazed up at him hopefully, as if she were unsure he felt the same way.
How could he not? Wyatt felt a great tearing in his chest, a great wash of emotions he kept so carefully buried away. He kissed her with the strength of those feelings, determined to make her know just how much he cared for her.
He touched her, and she moaned. He laid his knee against her thighs and she parted for him. Her kisses were as frantic as his. Her arms wrapped around his back and she pulled him to her. Desire warred in his blood. His shaft nudged her swollen softness, and she smiled. She kissed him with that smile and squirmed beneath him. He wasn't alone in his needs, in his wants.
He reached down to trail kisses along her mouth. Her tongue lashed up to catch his, and she arched her hips. Her message was clear. So, he did what she wanted and pressed into the resisting heat of her body.
As he entered her, her eyes widened. She gazed up at him, her mouth parting, her breath held. He waited for her to adjust to the feel of him.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Never better." They were nearly nose to nose. She could see so much of his eyes, not just the chocolate flecks buried amid the black of his irises, but the emotion. This meant something to him, too. She could feel his hot hardness nudging her apart. She felt as if there were too much of him, so very much of him. It didn't exactly hurt, but it wasn't comfortable, either.
"We'll go slow. There's no hurry." He kissed her again, deeply, passionately.
Her body adjusted to his thickness. He pressed deeper and she felt a quick pain. Before she could cry out, it was gone. He pressed kisses to her forehead, as if to comfort her. But she needed no comfort. She arched her hips to take more of him inside, and he filled her completely. She clasped her knees to his hips and held on. He moved, setting a rhythm of pulling away and thrusting deep that left her breathless and weak. She could only hold onto him, her arms tight around his back. Heaven could break apart and the world end, but still it couldn't stop this spiral of pleasure that tore through her, like something breaking loose. It tumbled away and rolled back again, higher, harder, hotter. Garnet took one tiny gasp and her body simply exploded.
Hard, searing spasms uncoiled in her tight muscles. The pleasure was like beauty, like the sharp edge of pain. It rolled over her with a force she couldn't stop, not even when he stiffened above her. He groaned and thrust heavy and fast. Still, her climax continued. She felt the warm throb as he spilled his seed, and still that rippling pleasure did not stop. Even when he relaxed over her, she kept moving against his thickness. Goodness, it felt so good she just couldn't stop.
Wyatt started to laugh. She saw only affection and acceptance and a whole lot of humor.
"Don't wear yourself out," he teased. "We can do this again."
"We have all night," she agreed, leaning back in his arms.
* * *
Garnet awoke tucked against the heat of his body. In a blink she knew they were both naked and that last night, before they fell asleep, they'd made love several more times. Contentment felt like sugar in her veins. Her body felt so relaxed and light. She stirred, and Wyatt mumbled in his sleep, reached out, and drew her back against him.
Goodness, the things she'd done with him ought to embarrass her in the light of day, but they didn't. She crept from his hold and out from beneath the covers, and met the new day shivering.
The air was cold. Was it still snowing? Part of her hoped so, the part that was sad at the thought of leaving. She hurried into her clothes, but not the dress she'd worn last night. She hung it up in the wardrobe, touching the beautiful fabric one last time. Wyatt had given her this dress. How she cherished it.
But today, in case she had to ride, she would wear something more practical. She chose the calico dress she'd packed. It was one of her prettiest dresses. She spent extra time with her hair, and in the end left it down and tied it with a length of lace.
"You decided to get dressed. I'm disappointed." He sat up in bed, the covers at his waist, showing off his bare chest. The memories of kissing that skin and other parts of him made her blush.
"I'm hungry," she explained.
"So am I. You didn't have to leave the bed to appease your appetite."
"There are other hungers, Wyatt." Trouble was, she just couldn't think of any. Only the pleasures of last night, of the intimacies they'd shared, came to mind. Her blood heated just remembering.
"Then let me get dressed and join you. You shouldn't satisfy hungers all by yourself."
"Only certain hungers can be satisfied in public," she pointed out, earning his laughter.
She would love nothing more than to climb back into bed with him, but it was time to face the new morning and the coming day ahead. It took all her willpower to draw back an edge of the curtain and look out the window.
Silence beat in her heart, filled her from head to toe. Snow covered the silent town like a wool blanket, fuzzy and uneven and rippled from the night's wind. More snow fell in heavy flakes, descending from sky to earth.
She had another day of grace, another day of loving Wyatt. His hand fell on her shoulder, ever tender. He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, and she knew he was thankful, too.
Chapter Thirteen
"Where are you going?" Garnet reached for the sheet and covered herself.
"To put more wood on the fire." Wyatt shot her a happy grin as he strode away. "I don't want you catching a chill."
"There isn't much chance of that. You've been doing a fine job of keeping me warm."
"A man has to do his best." He knelt down at the hearth. He began stacking split wood in the grate.
"So, that's the best you could do?" She settled the sheet over her breasts.
"What? You weren't satisfied?"
"Oh, I was satisfied." She laughed. "But we have yet to achieve perfection."
He stood, all male perfection as he strode toward the bed. "Are you suggesting we need to practice more?"
"Yes. I believe with a lot of practice and hard work you can improve your lovemaking skills."
He sat down beside her, the quirk of his brow hinting that he liked her suggestion. "Then I guess we had better get to work."
He swept her up into his arms and she laughed, leaning back, adoring the feeling of being held by him, loved by him. His mouth clasped over her breast and she held him there, kissing the crown of his forehead, pushing the sheets out of the way so they were flesh to flesh.
* * *
Wyatt watched Garnet sleep. It was afternoon, but they'd hardly slept last night and with all the lovemaking, they were both tired. Except she had a clear conscience, so she could sleep. He did not.
He brushed a finger along the edge of her heart-shaped face. She hadn't combed her hair in a while, and it fanned in unruly curls against the white of the pillow slip. She felt warm, soft as heaven, like everything good and gentle he didn't deserve and knew nothing about.
What did he know about love? About families? About caring for a woman? His only wife had found him in-adequate, confessing she'd never loved him. There was nothing to love. And in that he was like his father. He thought of his old man, violent when he drank, mean-spirited when sober. There had been nothing to love, nothing redeeming. Wyatt feared he was no different. He had spent his entire adult life using a gun to earn a living. He was little more than a paid killer, first when he'd served in the cavalry, then as a lawman, and now as a deputy marshal.
He pulled on his trousers and a clean shirt. The snow was letting up, falling straight from sky to the earth instead of sideways, driven by the wind. This was only the first cold weather of the season. The coldest weather was yet to come.
A knock on the door startled him. Garnet didn't stir and he hurried across the room to open it.
"Wyatt?" Beneath that black hat was a familiar face.
"Good to see you, Murphy."
"I heard from Reardon you were back in town. Did you find your brother's killer?"
Wyatt looked over his shoulder. Garnet was still fast asleep. He stepped out into the hall and closed the door. "Not yet. I've been making good progress in the case. Is the judge keeping you busy?"
"Too busy. We miss you at work."
