Marry Me (17 page)

“Of course I do—”

“Then it’s settled.”

“—but I would feel grossly inconsiderate if my comfort is put in front of yours.”

“You are not. And, given that I have traveled all this way, it would be remiss of me not to embrace the true Western experience. I am quite looking forward to sleeping outdoors.”

“There’ll be bugs,” he warned her with a tinge of desperation as the thought of being left alone with Emily caused a riotous spurt of panic. And of something else, which worried him even more.

“Good. Then I won’t be lonely,” she said with an admirable show of bravery.

“I haven’t been in the tent for days. It might leak for all I know.”

“The weather looks perfectly fine to me.”

Before he could think up another objection, she’d gathered an armful of blankets, a pillow, and a nightdress, and flounced out the door.

“Well.” Emily couldn’t look at him. To keep her hands busy, and to prevent them from shaking, she went to the kitchen and took down a bag of flour and a big, green-glazed bowl. “I apologize if that embarrassed you. She thought she was being helpful.”

Jake leaned against the nearest wall and crossed his arms, watching her with intense, unsettling concentration. “Why the sudden approval?”

“I don’t know that she approves, precisely. Kate’s quite good, however, at giving in to the inevitable once it becomes apparent, and never looking back.” She dared a glance at him; his face was unreadable, his gaze unwavering.

“And here I thought she’d succumbed to my charm.”

“Oh that, too! Of course.” She tried a smile; no luck.

He watched her as she pulled a small bowl from a warm spot behind the stove. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d get some bread started.” Anything that would keep her occupied and
not
thinking about the fact that they were alone, for the whole night, a night Kate expected them to spend in wild and uproarious passion. “For breakfast,” she clarified.

“I see.” He hadn’t moved. If he kept standing there, staring at her, she might just throw something at him. “And I’m sure that your sister will be convinced of our…entertainment, once she smells bread baking. I must be more creative than I thought.”

“Oh.” She set the bowl down and gripped her hands together to keep them still while she fought for an innocuous topic of conversation. There was none. Her thoughts kept circling around, worrisome to shameless and back again, unable to settle into a comfortable middle ground.

Silence simmered with expectation.

“Nineteen, huh?”

“Yes, well.” Her voice cracked. “I’ve always been so…mature for my age that I often forget the precise figure.”

“No doubt.” He had a disturbing capacity for stillness; no wasted energy, no wasted effort. Nothing that would reveal his thoughts. She, on the other hand, had to work hard to keep from twitching under his heavy regard. “You must forget exceptionally well to be unable to dredge up the correct number when you filed and Longnecker asked you if you were twenty-one.”

“Oh hell,” she said, startling herself. “I give up. I checked before I came to assure that single women could apply, but it never occurred to me to investigate how old you had to be. Heavens, if I’m old enough to marry legally, surely I’m old enough to claim a few acres of land as my own. So there I was standing in front of Imbert, with this beautiful plot all picked out, dreams dancing around my head, and all my money spent. What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t think. I couldn’t bear the idea of giving up after coming so far. So I just said yes, one little word. It didn’t seem such a big lie at the time.”

“Of course not,” he murmured.

Caught, she sank into the nearest chair and sighed. “Oh, why should the government care? Dr. Goodale lied about his age to join the army when he was fourteen. After the War Between the States they gave him a medal and called him a hero. The government wants these territories settled, this land developed. As long as I can do it, why should they care about minor technicalities?”

“You justify better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I know.” Disconsolate, she dropped her elbow to the table and plopped her chin in her hand. “Though in most cases ignoring depressing details works for me, every now and then I’m unexpectedly brought up short by it.”

She drummed her fingers against her cheek. Well, she’d also prided herself on her ability to get over things, rather than wallow in regrets. Time to prove it.

“I realize that you owe me nothing now. You could tell Kate the truth, and there’s nothing I could do to stop you. You’d only have to tell Imbert my age and the land would be yours. Certainly I don’t expect you to pay me for the sum we agreed on, but I am asking you to refrain from telling Kate what I’ve done. I’ve nothing to offer in return but my gratitude.”

“I bet you could…encourage Longnecker to overlook your slight…” He paused, searching for the right word.

“My
lie
, you mean?” she suggested unflinchingly.

“Anticipation?” he offered.

“You don’t really think I’d do that, do you?” The thought wounded her; surely he knew her better than that by now. But then, considering what he’d just learned of her, why wouldn’t he think her capable of such a thing?

“No,” he said without hesitation, and relief spread through her.

“Thank you.” The darkness had deepened while they’d talked, cloaking him in shadows. She could barely make out his expression. Only his eyes, a hot, lively glitter, and the occasional gleam of his teeth as he spoke. So much mystery there; she’d learned so much about him tonight, and it only made her hungry to know more.

And she’d never know, she thought bleakly. Their days were numbered now, less than a week, and she’d never see him again. “And thank you for not giving me away to Kate immediately.”

He was silent, absolutely still, as if he didn’t even wish to disturb the air. Yet she
felt
him, as if she absorbed the breath he exhaled and was warmed by the heat that radiated from his body.

Finally he said, “And, as far as I’m concerned, your little exaggeration with the government is just that—between you and the government. I’ll honor our original agreement.”

“That’s—”

“If you thank me again, I’m taking it back.”

“All right. We’re agreed, then.” She extended her hand, and he contemplated it for a moment before enveloping it in his. He pumped it once, quick and hard, before pulling his hand away.

Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have touched her,
Jake thought. He was too susceptible to her now. Too aware that they were completely alone.

He couldn’t believe all he’d spilled to her when she’d followed him from the Blevinses’. He’d kept the story locked away for the past year and never felt any urge to burden someone else with it. Even deep into his cups, he’d never been one to pour out his sad tale. But she—she’d drawn it all from him with just a few soft words and the warmth of her arms around him, as if she knew precisely which twig to tug to get the entire dam to come tumbling down.

It stripped him bare, left him feeling raw and tender and all-too-susceptible to her. What must she think of him now?

Unable to stand there any longer and feel the weight of her regard on him, unwilling to peer through the gloom and find unwelcome emotions in her eyes, he turned abruptly. He shoved aside a bench, snatched a pillow from the bed, and tossed it to the floor. Then he grabbed a blanket and began to wrap himself in it.

“What are you doing?” Her quiet voice floated to him through the darkness, a siren call.
This is what you don’t have anymore. This is what you’ll never have.

This is what you’ll miss.

“Going to bed.” He snarled it, surly enough to make himself wince, but damn, if she spoke to him again…if she so much as touched him, he’d forget all the things that it was his sentence to remember.

He’d just gotten the scratchy wool wrapped around him when he heard the whisper of her footsteps and he froze. She stood a foot from him, her head bent. A cloud shifted outside, moonlight washing through the small window. He could see the straight, pale line of her part, the gloss of her hair streaming down and merging with the dark.

The sound of their breathing saturated the air, seeming louder than it could possibly be because he was so attuned to it. His own, heavy and ragged; he could feel his lungs dragging it in. Hers, shallow and quick, perhaps frightened. As well she should be, he thought, since just the sound of her respiration spurred the savage bite of desire.

And then she lifted her head, her eyes huge in the dark. She brought up her hand—slow, so slow, agonizing—and touched the fold of blanket where he held it against his collarbone.

“There’s no reason for you to sleep on the floor.”

I
t was a struggle for him to speak. Even more so to make the words come out that he
must
say.

“There’s every reason for me to sleep on the floor,” he told her. “Even more reason to run out the door, sprint a few miles, and sleep where I drop. And if you don’t know that, you’re far more of a fool than I believed you to be.”

“You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “And you have no idea at all what you’re playing with here.”

“I think I do.” He hurt and Emily wanted to make it go away. Maybe not forever—she’d few illusions about that—but for a few hours, one night, yes, she’d mute it if she could. “And even if I don’t, is that yours to decide?”

She stepped closer yet and slid her arms through the gap in the blanket. In the brief time it had swathed him, he’d heated the space inside, and his warmth enveloped her immediately. It held his scent as well, and she breathed in, memorizing, reveling.

Jake held himself completely rigid. Because if he moved he couldn’t be sure of what he would do. If he would run, if he would push her away. Or if he would grab her and hang on, bury himself in the succor she offered and never let go.

So long.
So long since he’d felt the promise of possibilities. So long since he’d let himself sink into the delight that human touch offered, allowed the fantasy of what might be to carry him away.

Her hands rested lightly against his sides. She rubbed her cheek against his chest, and his heart hammered.

“Mmm. You smell good,” she whispered. “Why is that, do you suppose? Like warmth and home and a hundred good things all rolled into one.”

“Em—”

“Shhh. Don’t talk.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, lowered his head, and breathed in. Flowers, soap, spice. Even a little smoke.
Emily.
“You smell good, too.”

“Good. I’d hate to think that, when I’m standing this close, you think I stink.”

He burst into laughter. He’d been dreaming of passion, and she’d been pondering odors!

“Well, that eases my worries,” he said. “And here I thought you might have been attempting seduction.”

“You did, did you?”

“Or at least flirtation.”

She leaned her head back, her smile pleased, enticing. “And what if I am?”

“Emily.” He grabbed her arms. He was almost sure he meant to push her away. But her breasts lay against his chest, soft and sweet and feminine, delicious, forbidden, and he couldn’t force his arms to do what they should.

“Don’t scold,” she said, and pursed her lips in a way that she must know looked delectably kissable. “I didn’t say which.”

“Oh,” he replied, sounding more disappointed than he should, given that seduction was impossible and even flirtation forbidden.

“Would it be so bad? Even the flirtation?”

“
Bad,
no.” It’d be so much easier, he thought, if he could keep from looking at her. So he didn’t view the pretty curve of her mouth, the fine slope of her nose. He knew her eyes, knew the way they softened in sympathy and lit up in laughter. Wanted, far too much, to see how’d they darken in passion. He’d no right to want that and even less to hope for it. “I’m sure it’d be very, very good,” he continued. The rough edge to his voice would tell any woman with experience just what effect she had on him; his only hope was that Emily couldn’t know. “But just as wrong.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Exasperation spiked through the simmer of desire, warned him just how near the edge he was. “Em, you know why.”

“Do I?” And then she lifted to her toes and kissed him. Just kissed him, mouth closed, warm lips, a simple kiss that burst upon and flooded his senses. Sweet, so very sweet, a kiss that pretended to be nothing, portended nothing, meant nothing but
I want my mouth on yours
. And yet it dissolved good intentions, blunted worries, brushed aside all the
should
s.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. And she was inexpert, holding her mouth still, no tricks with her tongue, no lips rubbing to and fro to draw him in. It made no difference. She was enchantment enough, the delicious wonder of her lips, soft and warm, pressed against him. And the lack of motion became enticement itself, spurring him to notice details that might have been lost in the rush: the precise temperature of her mouth. The brush of her breath against his cheek. The plush velvet texture of her lips. The gentle press of her breasts against his chest.

And then—a moment of time, an eternity—she at last pulled away. Her hand rested against his chest, mostly on cotton, one fingertip in the V of his collar, one tiny point bare against his skin. It was the most arousing thing he could imagine, that little bit of her touching him. So small and innocuous, yet he flamed beneath her touch.

“There,” she murmured. “Look at that. The earth didn’t open wide and swallow us up. Lightning didn’t strike. Nothing terrible happened at all.”

Nothing terrible? It was utter disaster. For he understood with brutal truth that his life had just changed. He could not go back; he could no longer ignore that his body still lived, his passions still lived, his need for warmth and companionship and, yes, sex, was still very alive. He’d not permanently buried them as he’d assumed. And now awakened they held a sharp and cruel urgency all the more powerful for being ignored so long.

Stop.
He was almost certain he meant to say it.
No more.
Surely he intended to shout it. But then she took her hands and spread the collar of his shirt, widening the V, and pressed her mouth right there, in the curve of his neck, and a groan tore from his throat of its own accord.

She slid her hands—small, sweet, healing hands—down his chest, over his ribs, letting them settle for a moment at the sides of his waist. Her mouth burned his skin, a light press. And then—ah, a miracle!—her mouth opened, warm, damp, and her tongue slid into his throat’s hollow, and he had to struggle to draw in air.

“Jesus, Em.”

“Hmm?” The word hummed against him, her lips vibrating.

His teeth clamped together, he had to force the words out. “You gotta stop.”

“I do?” Her mouth roamed higher, below his chin, the angle of his jaw. She kissed the corner of his mouth, and his thoughts twisted and tangled so he had to work his way through them.

How could she not know? “Yes,” he repeated.

“Yes?” In order to look at him she stopped kissing him, and before he thought to stop it he groaned again, this time from sheer disappointment. “You haven’t given me a good reason yet.”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

Anger burned low, an anger he knew she didn’t deserve, born of frustration and wanting.

“I like touching you,” she said. Without warning, those hands that were resting, still and wonderful, at his waist grabbed fistfuls of cloth and yanked, pulling both his shirt and the knit one beneath it from his waistband. She kept right on going, shoving the fabric up, exposing his belly and half his chest. It left him gasping, too shocked to protest.
Not that you would have anyway
, the guilty, honest part of him whispered.

“You like it, don’t you?” she asked. “And don’t lie to me, Jake. I can tell you do.”

“Of course I like it,” he snapped. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It should have a lot to do with it, don’t you think?” Her gaze was fixed below his neck. He could see her only slightly, mysterious and seductive in the dusky gloom. “Heavens, I wish it was lighter, so I could see you.” She touched him instead, her palms flat against the naked flesh she’d exposed, fingers wide, covering as much area as she could manage. He jerked, felt every muscle in his body leap to full alert, just in case she’d be heading their way next. “Oh, you feel good.”

“Emily!”

“Oh, you’re not going to make me stop, are you? I’m having fun. Aren’t you?” It should have sounded coy. Except her voice was sensible and interested. As if there was nothing outrageous in her actions, nothing wild and out of character, nothing that threatened to roar through his world like a tornado, leaving utter destruction in its wake.

“How can you not know it’s not that simple?” Her thumb had found his nipple, and she was brushing it back and forth, her face a study in fascinated concentration, and he thought his knees threatened to buckle beneath him.

“Why can’t we let it be simple?” she asked seriously. “We’re not…I’m not suggesting anything irrevocable. Just letting myself indulge my curiosity a little, and you letting yourself be…cherished for a few moments. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not even the beginning of it. It’s just…us. For this one moment. Not even the next one, not the next second. Just let me touch you for right now.”

It sounded easy when she put it like that. Utterly forgivable, outrageously tempting. Her eyebrows made a perfect arch over her eyes, the most elegant curve he’d ever seen. And since when did he notice women’s eyebrows? Or the way the corners of her eyes tilted up just a fraction, which made her look happy even when she wasn’t?

Helplessly caught, he said, “Jesus, you’re so
pretty
.”

“Pretty?” She beamed, a sudden glimpse of daybreak, completely delighted. “You think so?”

“Oh yeah,” he admitted fervently. He could feel okay about saying that; if no one had told her, it was about damn time someone did, and he was glad to be the one to do it. “Prettier than morning. Prettier than the prairie the first day it blooms.”

She hugged him. And he just stood there with his eyes closed and let the warmth seep into him, lighten up dark corners, ease pains that had been a part of him so long he wouldn’t know what to do without them.

“Can I ask you something?” she mumbled against him.

He couldn’t help but be suspicious. She was obviously more devious than he’d given her credit for or they wouldn’t be in this position right now. “I guess so.”

“Not exactly swinging the door wide open, are you?”

Her hands got busy again, in slow, easy strokes that brushed along his spine and flirted with his waistband. To distract himself, he told her, “I guess I’m not a wide-open kind of guy. But go ahead.”

“Then I will.” She licked his nipple. He yelped, jumped away.

“My Lord, Em.”

“Oh,” she said, sighing in disappointment. “You didn’t like it?”

“
That
was your question? If you could do that?”

“Yes. Not a good idea, huh?”

“No.” Not a good idea at all. It had lasted all of a second and he still felt it, thrumming through his veins, pooling low in his belly, making him so damn hard it hurt. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

“I didn’t learn anything, isn’t it obvious?” He’d been so hot, Emily remembered. A hard, tiny pebble against her tongue. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Oh, don’t look so sad. I can’t stand it. You didn’t hurt me.”

“You jumped.”

“Because it felt so good it damn near killed me.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said, sounding most unhappy about it.

“Good.” She sidled closer, slow and calculating as a stalking cat. “Then I can do it again.”

“You—” The battle was easy to see, the strain in his face, the fierce struggle in his eyes. “Do it again,” he ordered, voice harsh, almost cruel. Maybe it should have scared her, but instead excitement spiked.

And so she did. He shuddered when she flicked him with her tongue. Shook when she licked, flat and long and slow. Moaned when she tangled her fingers in the soft hair that covered his chest.

She’d only meant to give him some small joy. She’d thought she could make him forget for a few brief moments, this man who never allowed himself respite. She’d planned to stroke him, soothe him, give him a little peace and happiness despite himself.

But she’d underestimated the effect it would have on
her
. She loved having that big, strong body at her disposal. The discovery that one small caress from her along his ribs could make him shake intoxicated her. The taste of him fascinated her; she wanted to hold the flavor on her tongue and savor the richness.

Such a marvel. She lost track of the time she stood in the middle of that room and just touched him. She loved the feel of his chest as it expanded with each breath, contracted as he released it. She took it as a challenge to discover a soft spot on him but couldn’t find one. His ribs were like iron, his belly ridged with steel.

She loved knowing that, right at that moment, he thought of nothing but her. Loved even more knowing that he’d wanted to say no and hadn’t been able to. It made her feel powerful and sexual, irresistible in a way she’d never even wanted to be before.

But, finally, it wasn’t enough. She tingled, in all sorts of places. Burned.
Wanted.

She cuddled up close and rubbed her breasts against his chest. There, that was what she’d needed. It seemed like it might be even better if her own shirt was gone like his, but the pressure eased the ache for a moment until she realized it had only moved it further down.

“Em!” He kept saying her name. It burst out of him, short, hard, as if it gave him some release. And she knew he never once forgot who touched him.

Helplessly, Jake thrust his hips against her once, need surging painfully through him. “Em, you gotta stop, it’s been so long, I can’t—”

“Let me do this.” She’d wrapped herself around him, close as her petticoats allowed. There must be lace on her cuff; he could feel it at the small of his back, scratching as her hands streaked over his skin, now greedy and searching with an expertise that she’d learned with astonishing speed.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he told her, though it cost him.

“Yes, I do,” she said with absolute conviction. “I know exactly what I’m doing. Exactly what I
want
to be doing.”

Just a little more, he promised himself. Surely he’d stop her then. What could it hurt, just a little more? Though it
did
hurt, that sweet, joyous pain he’d denied himself for so long. He’d almost convinced himself that it wouldn’t feel like this, that he’d be able to go on without it. God, what a fool he’d been! He should have known the instant he’d seen her, the first second he wanted her, that he could never go back.