Lacy (27 page)

Blake was still shaking. He felt her move and
scowled, lifting his head to ask if he was hurting her. He saw her expression,
then followed her stare and cursed viciously as he fought to get his breath
back. "You sick little pervert!" he said accusingly.

He dragged himself away from Katy and went after
Danny, who managed to get into the next room before Blake caught up with him.
Obscenities passed back and forth wildly as their voices raised. The sound of a
struggle reached Katy, and then a gun discharged once, twice.

Katy jumped out of bed and ran into the next
room in time to see Danny lying on the rug in a pool of his own blood. It
flowed from a tiny wound in his forehead, from his chest. His eyes were open,
but they didn't see her. They didn't see anything. Blake was standing over him,
fiery-eyed, the smoking pistol in his hand and a robe draped carelessly around
him.

"The crazy fool," he spat. "The
crazy fool! He tried to kill me! Weasly little pervert— He had it coming for
what he did to you! Katy?" He moved toward her. "Katy, it's all
right, girl! He'll never beat you again. Katy?"

Katy screamed, then felt the world go black
around her as the sordid scene impeded on her shaky consciousness. She crumpled
in pain and terror, unconscious before an anguished, cursing Blake Wardell
caught her.

Chapter Twelve

Lacy had noticed a new attitude in Marion for the past few weeks. Ben phoned home frequently now, and he'd agreed without
protest to let her give him a party. The older woman was brighter, more alive.
She rested and took good care of herself. There were no more sick spells
lately. It had to be an omen.

There was a cold silence between Cole and Ben
since their confrontation. But Lacy and Cole were getting along better than
ever. They talked, went places together. He'd even taken her with him to a
cattlemen's association meeting in San Antonio, which had culminated in a
banquet supper. He'd had to work hard today to make up for the lost time, but
he didn't seem to regret his night off. Things were looking up. The party for
Ben was tomorrow night, and Cole hadn't even muttered about having the men
butcher a steer for food. Lacy had baked for days getting ready, and Marion had done as much as she could. The cowboys' wives had cleaned up the house and were
going to help hang Japanese lanterns and decorate with fall flowers the next
afternoon. Everything was under control.

It was Friday night, and Lacy was having a bath.
The water was warm and bubbly. She'd added powdered soap to it, lightly
scented. She felt absolutely decadent with the water just up to her waist, her
pretty breasts bare. The air on them was curiously arousing. She felt free, all
woman. She stretched lazily, her eyes closing with a drowsy smile as she
savored the warm water on her skin.

The door opened suddenly.. .and she met Cole's
shocked eyes as he froze inside the room.

"I didn't know you were in here," he
said, but he didn't move. His eyes were on the stark beauty of her alabaster
breasts with their small red crowns dark and hard. He'd never seen a woman like
this. Even if he had, nobody could have compared with Lacy. She was beautiful.

Lacy couldn't speak. The impact of his eyes took
her breath away. She'd imagined having him see her this way, but imagining
hadn't prepared her for the way her skin tingled or the softly wanton impulses
that throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

He hesitated at the door, color running along
his cheekbones. "I'd better go," he said harshly.

"You're my husband, Cole," she
reminded him huskily. "It's all right. You can look at me if you want
to."

He did. His face colored even more, but he
couldn't have averted his eyes to save his life.

"I wanted to wash my hands," he said,
trying to sound normal.

"Go ahead, then," she invited.

He had to force himself to walk to the sink, to
wash away the grime and horsehair. When he'd dried his hands, he turned back to
Lacy, his gaze going helplessly to her breasts.

She tingled as he looked at her. Involuntarily
her body arched.

"Lacy," he whispered in anguish.

"Oh, come here," she pleaded softly,
holding out her arms.

He was in work clothes, as he usually was these
days. He knelt beside the tub, his chaps making a creaking sound, his spurs
jingling. She was so beautiful, and she belonged to him.

He bent to kiss her soft mouth, and while he
kissed her, one lean hand went to her breast, cupping it. Her skin was cool and
silky, and he groaned.

The gasp she made went into his mouth.

He lifted his head, breathless. His eyes were
dark and intent, and his hand didn't move. "Is it all right if I touch you
like this?" he asked.

"Yes." She ran her fingers over his
hand, holding it there.

His body tensed with pleasure. He smiled gently,
looking down to where his hand rested, so dark against her marble skin. He
cupped her, his thumb sliding with sensual abrasion against the nipple. She
gasped, and he liked that, so he did it again. She moaned this time.

He was feeling his way, literally, but he was
beginning to discover what she liked. He shifted her a little and moved so that
he could take her breast into his mouth. He suckled at it, hearing her whimper
and he increased the pressure.

"You taste sweet "he whispered.
"Like warm silk in my mouth." His tongue rubbed the nipple. She
clutched at his shoulders. "Tell me if it hurts," he said, swallowing
her up again.

It didn't hurt. It was heavenly sweet. She clung
to him, inviting his mouth to the twin of the place he was tormenting, adoring
the feel of his hands gliding down her body while he nuzzled her.

When he lifted her clear of the tub, she didn't
say a word. He put her down on her feet, gently, and reached for a towel. He
dried her in a soft, tense silence. She stood before him trembling—while he
learned all of her with his hands and his eyes until she was dry at last.

"You look like a fairy," he breathed.
"All white and pink."

"You can't imagine how I feel inside,"
she said shakily. She pressed close against him, feeling his arousal. She was
wild for him, but she didn't know how to say it.

Tentatively her hands went to the buttons of his
shirt. She looked up, waiting.

His jaw tightened. "I don't think I can let
you do that in the light," he began.

"Just the front," she whispered.
"I want to feel your chest against mine."

His cheeks went ruddy. "All right. Just
that."

It was a milestone. Her fingers fumbled buttons
while her heart threatened to burst. She pulled the fabric aside. There were
white streaks mixed in with thick, dark hair and muscle, but it was the size
and strength of his chest that fascinated her. She slid against him, closing
her eyes as she felt skin against skin, the soft abrasion of body hair teasing
her nipples into even harder peaks.

She moaned, moving softly against him.

His hands slid up her back, pulling her to him,
and above her his face was rigid with desire. He looked down at where they
touched, at her breasts lying on his chest.

"You're lovely," he said, his voice
deep in the stillness. "You're the loveliest sight I'll ever see."

"I'm glad." She laid her hands flat on
his chest and tugged gently at the thick hair. "I love the way this
feels," she whispered. "It's so soft against my skin."

He smiled. It wasn't as difficult as he'd
thought. His chest, at least, wasn't bad. Not like his back. He ran the knuckle
of his forefinger down her breast until it was stopped by the junction of her
nipple with his chest.

"Move back enough so that I can touch
you," he whispered.

She laughed nervously as she complied. "I
thought you didn't know much about women."

"I know enough to get by, I suppose."
He took the nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and she gasped. "It's
sensitive, isn't it?"

"Very."

He let go and slid both his hands down her sides
to her hips, feeling the silkiness of her body with awe. He drew her up and
pressed her against the hardness of him.

She stiffened involuntarily at the stark heat of
him.

"Don't be afraid," he said gently.
"I won't hurt you."

"I know." She swallowed. "We're
taught all our lives not to let men touch us in certain places, in certain
ways. Then we marry, and poof, anything goes. It takes a little time to
adjust."

"For me, too. I've never seen a woman
without her clothes. It intimidates me. I didn't realize how pretty you were
going to be like this."

She smiled shyly and buried her face in his warm
chest. "I'm glad you think I'm pretty."

He drew in a sharp breath at the feel of her
lips on his skin. "Lacy..."

Her hands slid up his chest and down again while
she pressed her lips a little clumsily to his throat. His heart was beating
very quickly, and there was the faintest tremor in his legs.

"Marion's asleep," she whispered.
"No one else is in the house."

He held her arms tightly and tried to think.
"I need a bath," he said gruffly.

"Then take one," she said. "I'll
keep for a few minutes."

He looked down at her with heated impatience,
his face as tight as his body, his inhibitions plain on his face.

She reached up and brushed her mouth softly over
his. "I'll put out the lights."

His eyes winced. "Lacy, you deserve so much
more than I can give you," he said.

"I love you," she replied, her eyes
adoring him. "You're all I want."

He wondered if any man had ever been as blessed
as he was right now. He touched his lips to hers in a whisper of sensuality.
"All right," he said. "I'll come to you when I finish in
here."

"I'll wait."

She tugged out of his arms and slid into the
toweling robe hanging on the door. She glanced at him with teasing eyes and
left him there.

It was barely fifteen minutes later when he came
out of the bathroom. She could see little more than his silhouette in the
unlighted room, and there was no moon.

He slid under the covers and pulled her to him,
delighted to find her as nude as he was. He smiled to himself as he molded her
body to his, shivering at the ecstatic contact of her flesh with his.
"You're warm," he whispered.

"You're not, but you will be." She
moved closer, careful to keep her hands at his chest and nowhere else. Her legs
brushed his and she sighed as she laid her face against his hot throat.

The gentle submission made him guilty. He'd
given her nothing last time, but she was as trusting as if he'd taken her to
heaven. He tried to remember every single thing Turk had told him. Tonight, he
was going to make her glad she'd married him if it took until dawn!

He kissed her slowly, ignoring his own needs
while he set himself to kindle hers. His hands learned her, touching secret
places, listening for the sounds that would tell him what pleased her.

He took his time, delighting in her eager
responses, working his way over her breasts with little soft kisses that
eventually led to hungrier ones and made her writhe.

The cover was hot. He threw it off, confident
that she couldn't see him. The reverse was also true, and he spared himself a
moment's regret. But he could feel her, smell her, taste her as he drew her
small breasts into his mouth and made them firm and hard-tipped. He touched
her, as Turk as instructed, to make sure she was ready for him. Then he eased
over her, his mouth covering hers, and lowered himself between her soft thighs.

She stiffened helplessly, remembering.

"It's all right, little one," he whispered.
"It won't hurt. I promise you it won't.. .not this time." "I m
sorry..."

"Shh." He nibbled at her mouth while
he positioned himself, one lean hand easing under her. "I know how bad it
was the last time. But your body knows how to fit itself to mine now. It will
be easy. No, don't stiffen like that, it will hurt."