His Yankee Bride (14 page)

~Chapter Twenty-Two~

John flexed his fingers to get the blood flowing to them again. He'd been so nervous during his impromptu wedding ceremony that he'd clasped his hands too tightly to conceal his nerves and had cut off the circulation.

Carolina peeked up at him from beneath her lowered lashes, her full, pink lips beckoning his to take them in a passionate kiss to mark the start of their marriage.

He couldn't deny her that, could he?

He reached forward and cupped her face with his still numb fingers then pressed his lips to hers. Reluctantly, he pulled away, reminding himself it would only be a little while longer before he could explore every inch of her and make her his.

The blush that stained Carolina's cheeks was his reward for being patient, he supposed.

“There's a little place called Tuffy's just up the road a block or two,” said Mr. Murphy, the man who Gabriel suggested he seek out to marry them. He put his pipe back into his mouth and then added, “It's not much, but it'll do for a pair of young, penniless newlyweds, I should think.”

Had John thought Carolina actually cared about this man's opinion of her, he'd clarify that there was no reason for a hasty marriage other than genuine feelings between them. Instead, he briefly exchanged nods with the dark-eyed stranger who appeared anxious to get back to his game of cards, then took Carolina's clammy hand and led her outside where Hammond was waiting.

“Your steed, Mrs. Banks,” John said, helping her onto the horse.

She giggled and a broad smile took his face. “Thank you, Mr. Banks.”

John mounted Hammond and they headed down the street to the inn Mr. Murphy had indicated. A cry that sounded decidedly like that of woman of ill-repute entertaining a customer filled the air.

“What's that?”

“Nothing,” John said. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps there's a stray cat in heat around here.” It was an attempt to satisfy her curiosity and not scare her at the same time.

“Not that. Lord knows I've heard Silas and Bethel getting 'better acquainted with one another' more than enough to know what
that
was. I was curious about
that
.”

Praying he wouldn't regret what he was about to see, John followed the imaginary line from her outstretched finger to the boardwalk beside them where a small, brown triangular object lay.

“It looks like hair,” she said before he could form a response. “Like the hair that's—”

“It's a toupee,” John blurted, choking—whether due to his indirect lie or from shock at seeing a merkin just lying on the ground, he'd never know. He slapped his chest twice with his open palm, but it did nothing to relieve the pressure that was clogging his throat and crushing his chest.

“What's a toupee?”

“Pardon?” he croaked. “Oh, right, it's a wig.” That was true enough. Unfortunately, this particular wig was not worn by a man, but was definitely
for
a man. That made it qualify as a toupee, didn't it?

“I've never seen a wig like that before. Where does one wear it?” The innocence in her voice brought him from his fog.

He gave her an affectionate squeeze. “That's enough, Carolina. Sometimes there are things you don't want to know the answer to, and I can assure you, that question is one of them.” He was pleased beyond measure that she didn't question him any further, because he doubted he'd be able to make up anymore lies to avoid explaining exactly what kind of wig that was and why it was used. “Let's be off. I know of a superior inn we can stay at.”

“We don't have to stay in something so fancy,” Carolina said as they approached an inn across town.

John chuckled at her weak protest. “Of course we do. It's only fitting for a groom to take his bride to the best lodgings available on their wedding night.”

“Does that mean we'll have to spend tomorrow night in that other place?”

He shuddered. “God willing, neither of us will ever have to clap eyes on a place like that ever again.”

Carolina looked at him in interest, but didn't ask anything.

But he'd have told her if she had. She was his wife and he owed her that.

Brushing away a fleeting thought of uncertainty, he flashed her his best smile and escorted her inside the inn.

“We'd like a room,” John said, approaching the counter.

The grey-headed man behind the counter looked at him through his spectacles, pursing his lips.

John pulled a handful of change from his pocket and slid two coins in the innkeeper's direction. “I can pay upfront, if you'd like.”

“No, no, that won't be necessary,” the innkeeper said. He flipped open his log book and ran his finger down the page. “You're in luck. We have a vacant room on the third floor.”

“Very good; we'll take it.” John slipped his coins back into his pocket. “And a bath, please.”

The innkeeper nodded and handed him a brass key from one of the pegs behind him. “Fifth door on the left from the top of the stairs.”

John turned to Carolina and scooped her up.

“What are you doing?” she said laughingly.

“Carrying my bride to my bed,” he whispered in her ear. Ignoring the stares they were receiving from the onlookers they passed, he brought her to their room and, with minimal help unlocking the door, carried her over the threshold and to the bed. “Are you crying?”

Carolina wiped away a tear. “Yes, John, I am. I know you, being a gentleman, don't understand feelings and emotions, but I find this all very romantic.”

He shook his head. It was always one emotion or the other where Carolina was concerned. He placed one forearm on either side of her and brought his face closer to hers. “As long as that's the only reason for your tears tonight, I'll gladly offer you my handkerchief.”

***

“You don't think I'll regret what happens between us tonight come tomorrow morning, do you?” Carolina asked, pushing a swath of his blond hair away from his eyes.

A shadow crossed his face. “I hope not.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I know you've dreamt up some version of love at first sight from the moment I entered that ballroom, but you might regret your decisions when I cannot keep you living in the same style you are accustomed to.”

His solemn, honest statement made her heart ache. “Never,” she murmured before giving into the temptation she'd been fighting all night and brushing her lips across his.

John's blue eyes grew darker and more intense, holding her captive. Before she could even think to move away, John's lips were back on hers, kissing her in a way that was more demanding than he had before. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she gasped his name.

“Carolina,” he whispered in return, framing her face with his large hands. His heavy body pressed against hers, crushing her swollen breasts against his hard chest and setting her blood to simmer in her veins at his closeness. He drew her bottom lip into his mouth and raked his teeth across it, exerting just enough pressure to make her gasp his name again.

He released her lip and sought to deepen their kiss. She froze at the sensation of his tongue exploring her mouth, but her uncertainty didn't last long and she boldly pushed her tongue past his lips to mirror his actions.

A gasp, followed by a groan sounded, but Carolina didn't know who'd made which noise, nor did she care. John's left hand was suddenly on her right breast. Instinctively, she arched her back, pressing her breast more firmly against his palm.

He pulled back, panting. “Too many clothes,” he rasped. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed audibly and reached for the buttons that went the length of the coat she wore. He leaned forward and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her lips each time he slipped a button free. Then, when he'd undone the last, he straightened to his full height and pushed open the coat. He lowered his lashes and held his hand down toward her.

She accepted his help to stand and then stood stock-still as he bent to remove her boots and peel her coat from her. She remained motionless as nothing more than a thin piece of silk, which was soon to be removed, stood between his eyes and her body.

Nervous excitement set her pulse to race as he lowered his lashes and pushed the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders, baring her to his hungry gaze in one short second.

John's eyes swept her from her flushed face to her swollen breasts, then all the way down to her toes.

“Am I what you expected?” she forced herself to ask to fill the intense silence.

“Better,” he growled, capturing her lips in another demanding kiss.

Carolina wound her arms around his neck and shamelessly pressed her bare breasts against his hard chest, the coarse fabric of his shirt lightly scratching her sensitive, erect nipples; but she didn't care, she wanted more. More of his kisses. More of his touch. More of him.

He pulled away again and yanked his shirt over his head in such haste the seams along the shoulder split. Seemingly oblivious to the recent destruction of his shirt, John pulled her to him again; this time the soft skin of her chest was pressing against the smattering of wiry hair that covered his.

His large, callused hands roamed up and down her back while she kneaded the hard muscles in his broad shoulders and back. He ran his fingertips up and down her spine, making her shiver. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the wide plane of his chest, succumbing to the delicious sensations his wandering fingers created in her.

Pressing a row of kisses along her hairline, John pulled a pin from her long, curly hair. Then another. And another. Never had she taken her hair down in front of anyone except Bethel, and then it was only to wash or comb it. John pulled another pin free and dropped it to the floor with a soft
clink
.

Carolina closed her eyes and let the comfort and excitement from his touch envelope her, sighing with both pleasure and relief when he'd pulled loose the final pin and combed his fingers through her locks, freeing them to fall completely.

He leaned his face closer, burying it in her hair and inhaling. “Mmm.”

Carolina swallowed, her body reeling at the simple gesture.

John moved her backward until she felt the edge of the mattress against the back of her legs. He pulled back then, putting about a foot of space between them, and unfastened the flap of his trousers then lowered them to the floor.

He broke eye contact with her, his eyes sweeping her naked body once again. Abandoning all shame, she did the same, taking note of the rigid planes of his chest and the large, rounded muscles of his shoulders and arms. His stomach was flat with twin ripples of muscles that started just below his ribs and stopped at his waist. Between his two muscled thighs, rested a large patch of brown, curly hair that surrounded his long, thick erection. She swallowed past the lump of unease that formed in her throat. She'd grown up on a plantation seeing plenty of farm animals procreate, so she knew what it was for. She just didn't believe for one second that it would fit where he was intending to put it.

The thought was pushed from her mind a moment later when his warm hands found that sensitive dip just above her hips and applied the slightest amount of pressure before slowly moving up her sides to skate over her ribs. He stilled his hands and brushed both of her hardened nipples with the callused pads of his thumbs. She gasped at the sweet torment. A wolfish smile took his lips; then he did it again, harder and with a longer stroke this time. She was prepared for it this time and bit her lip to keep from calling out, but it mattered naught for her body jerked on its own accord, revealing to him just how much she enjoyed his touch.

Would he enjoy hers just as much? Moistening her lips, she reached her hand forward and trailed her fingertips down the front of his body, loving the way his body tensed and his muscles leapt under her touch. She made ten slow paths all the way down to his waist, taking her time to feel every edge, plane, and dip of his chest and abdomen along the way. She had no idea who this excited more: him or her. The fact that she could hear his ragged, uneven breathing over the sound of her blood pounding a loud, steady tattoo in her ears might suggest it was him; but only marginally.

He lowered his head, his eyes fastened on where her fingers had stopped just above his waist, and he moved his hands to gently grip her hips, keeping her from moving away from him.

With a deliberate slowness that went against every ounce of curiosity she possessed, she moved her right hand down and wrapped it snugly around his erection.

His loud groan and tightened grip on her hips emboldened her more. Keeping her firm hold on him, she glided her hand up and down his length. Another groan passed his lips, and his shaft grew thicker—if such a thing were possible.

She slowed her movements, taking her time to go all the way down to the base, then up to the tip where a little pearl of moisture formed at the slit when her fingers reached the tip. She brushed her thumb over the drop of fluid and watched it dissolve on the velvet-soft skin at the tip of his erection, barely registering the hitch in his breath as her thumb moved across his swollen flesh. She moved to do it again; even slower this time.

His hand suddenly encircled her wrist. “Stop.”