Jane Bonander (14 page)

A
s they rode home, it began to snow. Big, thick, dry flakes floated quietly on the windless air. Corey was asleep in Susannah’s arms, covered by the buffalo blanket.

“Now, was it so bad?”

Nathan’s voice warmed her and she stifled a sleepy yawn. Huddling closer, she answered, “I guess it could have been worse.” She tucked her free hand beneath the blanket; it landed on his thigh. She was quick to remove it.

“Put it back, Susannah.”

She placed her palm over his leg, feeling the warmth of him seep through his jeans into her hand. Sensations stirred within her again, and she curled her hand around the inside of his thigh, where it was warmer still.

The snowflakes thickened. “I hope we don’t miss the cutoff to the cabin,” she mused, a little worried.

“No,” he answered. “It’s right there. See? The double oak trees.”

Max’s greeting guided them into the yard. Susannah hurried into the house to put Corey to bed. He woke up long enough to use the pot she hid under her bed. Nathan came in and fed the fire just as she was taking Corey toward his room. The child stopped.

“Can Corey sleep in big man’s sleep roll?”

“Oh, Corey, I don’t think—”

“Well,” Nathan interrupted, “I did promise you didn’t I, little whistler man?”

Corey nodded, fighting to stay awake. “Corey hasn’t peed his bed for this many nights,” he said, holding up seven fingers. “Big man say I could sleep in his sleep roll if I didn’t pee my bed for ’free nights,” he finished, holding up three fingers.

Nathan glanced at Susannah, his eyebrow raised.

She bit back a smile. “He’s got you there.”

“I can’t believe he’s been keeping count.” Chuckling, Nathan unfurled his bedroll in front of the fireplace.

Susannah found it hard to swallow as she watched him. He was so perfect with her son. So competent in areas that she didn’t understand. She could play with him, teach him games and songs, but she had no sense about the father-son routines of a three-year-old boy. She would never have known how much she’d needed someone like Nathan if he hadn’t arrived.

Nathan stood. “Get your pillow, little whistler man.”

Corey scurried into his room, emerging with his pillow and his blanket, and scooted into the bedroll.

Nathan adjusted the homemade screen in front of the fire, making sure no sparks could fly out.

Susannah gnawed her lower lip. “Do you think he’ll be safe there?”

“When he falls asleep, we’ll move him away.”

She was jittery, trying to pretend nothing was going to happen. “You . . . you think of everything, don’t you?”

He gave her a disquieting look. “I can’t possibly think of everything, Susannah, but I’m thinking of something very important right now.”

She let out a whoosh of air and toyed with the closure at her bodice. “Nathan, I—”

“Come on,” he whispered, drawing her toward the door. “One last dance.”

She made a halfhearted attempt to stop him. “Outside?”

“Outside. In the snow. We wouldn’t want Lettie and Alvin Hatfield to think we’re liars, now, would we?” He tugged her old cape close around her and led her outside. It still wasn’t windy, and the snowflakes were falling softly to the ground.

He coaxed her off the porch and onto the gravel, which had a fine layer of snow on it. Pulling her close, he hummed against her ear, and they swayed together.

Susannah was falling deeper and deeper in love. It frightened her, almost more than the intimacy she knew was going to occur.

“N-nice night for a dance, Mr. Wolfe man. And . . . and look at that moon—”

“No small talk, Susannah,” he whispered, pulling her closer. “Think about us, together in your bed.”

She tried, but somehow she couldn’t imagine such a wonderful thing. They moved together, rocking back and forth, their arms around each other. Snowflakes melted on her hair, dripping slowly onto the collar of her cape.

“Think about me undressing you, peeling off the layers that cover your magnificent body.” He reached up and stroked her breast, pressing his hand inside once again, where he’d been before.

His arousal grew against her stomach, and she, in turn, found all of her sensations centered in that place between her legs, that place she’d feared for so long was dead. That place she’d feared, period.

“You . . . you’re going to undress me?”

“Umm-hmm.” He nibbled her earlobe and she shivered with anticipation. “If it weren’t snowing, I’d undress you right here, in front of God and everybody. There are many exciting places to make love, Susannah. A bed is at the bottom of the list.”

“Wh-where else besides a hayloft?” That had sounded exciting enough.

“In the sunshine, naked on a blanket of leaves.”

She thought about it, deciding it wouldn’t be what she’d choose. “But, wouldn’t the leaves scratch my bottom?”

He flicked his tongue in her ear, sending shivers over her skin. “Not if you were on top.”

Again, a rickety breath. “Me? On top?”

He chuckled against her ear. “Ah, Susannah, you have so much to learn.”

Nestling close, she asked, “Where else?”

“In the river.”

Oh, my . . . “How . . . how does a person do it in the river?”

“We face each other; you put your legs around my waist and we float.”

She rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “I think I’d like that.”

“We’ll try it. Maybe tomorrow.”

Blood pounded in her ears. “And . . . and then, what?”

He laughed again. “Have you no imagination, woman?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not when it comes to this.” And she meant it. She might just as well have been a virgin.

“Come on, then.” He whisked her back into the house, helped her off with her cape and led her to her room. He lit her lamp, then brushed snowflakes off his shirt and hair.

She stood, helpless, wanting him so much . . . so very, very much.

He came and stood before her, reached around and removed the pins from her hair. With his bandana he wiped the strands that were wet from the snow, then he pulled the heavy mass over her shoulder.

“Cinnamon. Your hair has always reminded me of dark, rich cinnamon. You’re a beautiful woman, Susannah.”

That he found her pretty thrilled her. His hands went to her bodice and, with skillful fingers, unfastened the closure, pulling the dress down over her arms. The look of approval in his eyes gave her a measure of pride.

She glanced down and found her breasts quivering over the top of her camisole. When he bent and planted kisses there, she almost collapsed.

He reached behind her and unfastened her sash. She stepped out of her dress, standing before him in her petticoat, feeling very vulnerable.

“Don’t be afraid, Susannah,” he whispered, bending to kiss the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat. He untied the laces on her camisole, pulling it open, freeing her breasts. He touched them. “Beautiful. God, how beautiful.” His voice was filled with reverence.

Shrugging out of her camisole and petticoat, she stood in front of him, unable to raise her eyes to his.

He drew her to the bed, made her sit on the edge, then spread her thighs, kneeling between them. He kissed her breasts, drawing the nipples in, loving each separately.

The most exquisite feeling flooded her, and she pulled him close, running her fingers through his hair, pressing her thighs against him as if she were afraid he would escape. She felt one of his hands untie her drawers. Feeling a twinge of fear, she tried to push him away.

He pulled her to her feet. “It’ll be all right, Susannah. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

She wanted this. She
did
. Her drawers fell to the floor, and she stepped out of them.

“Come here,” he whispered, tugging her toward the bed.

She frowned. “But . . . but you aren’t even undressed.”

“I know,” he said around a sultry half smile. He pulled off his boots and drew her with him to the bed, pulling her against him, spoon-style. The roughness of his clothing aroused her; the fact that he was dressed and she wasn’t excited her.

His arms came around her, and he stroked her breasts with one hand while the other moved over her stomach. He dipped a finger into her navel and she gasped, pressing herself against him. His hand snaked lower, feathering over her, barely caressing her. She wanted him, for she ached down there, where he wouldn’t quite touch her.

“I . . . I . . . I think you should touch me there,” she said, her breath snagging in her throat.

“In time, Susannah.” His fingers stayed there, just above the place that throbbed. She squirmed against him and opened her legs, inviting him in. He dipped into her, grazing a spot that was so rich with sensation, she nearly choked, her need was so great. His fingers circled her, dipping and stroking, nudging the spot that sent her soaring.

Against her ear, he whispered, his own voice a shaky rasp, “You’re wet, and swollen, and oh, so ready, Susannah.”

If she could have spoken, she would have agreed. But she thrust her leg to the side, urging him to continue. And he did. He stroked her until she felt a tensing in her pelvis, and all at once she couldn’t control it, nor did she want to. She jerked at the sensations that tumbled through her, stiffening as they reached a peak so incredible, she whispered his name, trying to keep from screaming.

She floated down from her climax, feeling boneless. Turning in his arms, she clung to him, one leg riding his hip. Tears pressed, and she didn’t stop them. “Thank you for that,” she said, when she could finally speak. He was still hard beneath the fly of his jeans.

“I’m going to get undressed, Susannah.”

She gave him a half-shy, half-provocative smile. “Is that a warning?”

He touched her chin “I don’t want to scare you away.” He got off the bed, and Susannah crawled under the covers.

“Will you toss me my nightgown?” It was a soft request.

He gave her a lopsided smile as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Nope.”

She made a face and stuck her tongue out at him.

He shrugged out of his shirt, then started unbuttoning his jeans. “Do that again, and I’ll show you what else it’s good for.”

She knew what he meant, and briefly, memories stirred, and she had a sick feeling in her stomach. It vanished as she watched him undress. He’d been beautiful bare to the waist. Naked, he was magnificent. Hard and masculine. And he was ready for her. Desire and anticipation raged inside her as she observed that part of him. It was hard, and so thick and long that it bobbed slightly as he came toward the bed.

He turned down the lamp and slid in beside her, pulling her gently into his arms. “Touch me, Susannah.”

She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath.

“Lower, Susannah.”

She swallowed hard and moved her hand beneath his breasts to where the skin was sleek and hard, but no hair grew.

“Lower, Susannah.”

With tentative fingers, she explored his hair-covered navel, then spread them lower, into the thick thatch of hair that surrounded him. As she touched him, she felt her own desire growing again. She took her hand away and pushed against him, riding the ridge, pressing it against the spot he’d discovered earlier.

When her breathing became erratic, he moved over her and entered her. She took his length, could feel him expanding that place that had always been tight, had always hurt. But this time, it did not. He was still for a moment, as if waiting for her to decide. She enveloped him, wrapped her legs around him and held him close.

His hands found her bottom, and he rocked against her, deeper and deeper, with an intensity that shook her. She hadn’t imagined there could be such bliss, such ecstasy, but when she felt herself coming again, she bit his shoulder to keep from crying out her pleasure.

He surged against her, stiffening above her. She swore she could feel him all the way to her soul.

When they were huddled together under the blanket, Nathan said, “Don’t hold back, Susannah. Don’t feel ashamed to let yourself scream, cry, shout when you feel that pleasure coming.”

She was cuddled in the crook of his arm, one hand stroking his hard, muscular hip. “I had no idea it could be like this.”

“I know,” he answered, caressing her breasts.

She stopped and hoisted herself up on one elbow. “How did you know?”

His fingers tunneled through her hair, dragging it over her shoulders. “I can tell when a woman has never been satisfied, Susannah.”

She sat, cross-legged, beside him. “How?”

His fingers danced along her inner thigh. There was a rushing sensation where he’d just pleasured her. “When a woman has been on the brink but has never been satisfied, she’s itchy, anxious, like she’s going to jump out of her skin when I fondle her.”

He fluffed her triangle of hair, sending another jolt through her. “How else can you tell?”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “When a woman is not a virgin, but has been treated badly by a man, she draws back, afraid it’s going to happen again with any man she meets.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. “And which am I?”

He pulled her down to him and held her close. “Your husband, whoever he was, didn’t treat you with the respect you so richly deserved, Susannah.”

She felt tears threaten. “Oh, God. Is it that obvious?”

He held her, stroking her gently. “I’m glad the son of a bitch is dead. If he hadn’t been, I’d have killed him myself.”

As she lay wrapped in the warmth of Nathan’s love, she began to have some hope for a future with him. Maybe what she’d done wouldn’t send him away. Maybe if she explained what she’d been through . . .

But something still gnawed at her. Thoughts of Sonny still wiggled into her sweet, new life, and when they did, they weighed heavily on her heart.

Nate lay awake, waiting for her to stir. He wanted her again, but he knew she needed her rest. He left the bed and lit the lamp, lowering the flame until there was just a soft glow in the room. Turning back to the bed, he stood and studied her as she slept. Beautiful. She was beautiful. A twinge seized his heart, and he pressed his palms against his eyelids.