Rancher Wants a Wife (10 page)

Chapter Ten

T
heir breathing quickened, until they were panting together in anticipation.

In the dappled moonlight, Jack reached out a brawny hand and closed it upon her upper arm. Poised above Cassandra, leaning on one elbow, he gasped at her loveliness.

“Would you kiss me again, Jack? Just like before?” Her voice was mellow, like a violin resonating with some spiritual force that had the power to move mankind. She was a woman; women had been moving men with their souls and bodies for eternity.

He groaned at the rawness in her eyes, the inescapable mix of emotion that always seemed to be so close to the surface. She seemed so attentive to details around her, so aware of the sharp pain of Mrs. Dunleigh’s grief. What he saw now in Cassandra’s face was hope. She was so gorgeous lying beneath the stars that he devoured every inch of her flesh with his gaze.

Aroused as he’d never been before, he clawed through her braid and let the gold strands cascade over the grass. Gripping the tendrils in one hand, he swooped down to press his lips against the divine sweetness of hers.

She was an angel, come to deliver him from earth.

Her mouth responded in kind to his—the pressure gentle at first. The tiny ripples of pleasure. The growing intensity. She purred beneath him, indicating her pleasure, and he was thrilled at her reaction. It went on and on in prolonged splendor.

Unable to control himself any longer, he slid his hand beneath her blouse, over the stiff ribs of her corset, delighting in the slender proportion of her waistline, moving up to the swell of her breasts.

“Cassandra...you drive me to distraction....” Breathing heavily, he released her so he might unfasten the multitude of buttons on her blouse. The lace at her throat parted. Her loop of pearls fell against the creamy lushness of the upper rounds of her breasts.

He swallowed hard as he saturated himself with the wondrous sight of her femininity. Such a pristine, white lace corset, gently faded from obvious years of wear. She didn’t need brand-new fashions to showcase her beauty. Any man within ten feet of her could well imagine her astounding figure, naked beneath his own.

Jack let his fingers trail along the valley of her cleavage, grazing the warm soft flesh. As he reached the top of her corset, he tugged on a pull-string, undid a clasp, and it opened. Then another string, another clasp, until she was bare from her throat to her rib cage to her belly, the corset concealing only the tips of her breasts. He swallowed in breathless need, and wished for a moment that their sexual time together could last much longer than he knew it would.

All night long would not be long enough.

She drove him mad.

He glanced back up to her eyes, clear blue, sparkling jewels netted by half-closed lashes. Her expression of desire was mesmerizing, as was the pout on her kiss-swollen lips and the dewy curve of her cheek.

When he turned back to her captivating body—his canvas of art—he adored how the moonlight showered her skin with flecks of gold dust.

Whatever was happening between them tonight went beyond the physical. Perhaps it was because of what they’d both witnessed this evening; the passing of a man who’d been wed for fifty-two years to the adoring woman at his side; the sorrow that was coming for her, which everyone knew would be unbearable. Or perhaps the buildup of feelings between Jack and Cassandra had started earlier that day, on Finley’s ranch, with her generously allowing him to do his professional duties despite the other woman being there, and Cassandra not voicing an ounce of complaint.

And now, as he tugged away at the last remnant of her corset, his heart hammered in his chest and his blood coursed through his arteries, pounding with a fervor he’d never known.

The fabric glided away, exposing those shimmering pink peaks. A warm breeze blew over her skin and her areolas hardened. He slid a warm, tanned hand over one.

“I like the way you touch me, Jack,” she whispered. “You know just what to do....”

That sent him over the edge, and he was lost.

He ravished her, kissing her full on the mouth again, while his hand explored her other breast, his knuckles brushing along her underarm, the side of her ribs, then lower.

As their mouths melted together in the riptide of desire, he tugged at the buttons of her skirt, yanked the fabric low and trailed his fingers over her curls.

“I want to make love to you, Cassandra, beyond your expectations.”

She helped him tug off the last of her skirt, petticoat and pantaloons, then assisted him in sliding out of his shirt, boots and denim jeans until he, too, was fully exposed in the tranquil moonlight.

She had bunched up her skirts along one side of her as if using them for a blanket.

“Are you chilled?”

“Not anymore.”

He ran his hand up her wrist, stroking the length of her arm, then reached beneath her armpit and did the same along her rib cage, hip and thigh.

He was hard, as stiff as he’d ever been, and it was torturous to try to resist her any longer.

“Cassandra, can you move on top of me?” It was a plea.

“Like this?” She rose on her knees and straddled his waist. He could feel the moist heat of her, her thighs parted on his stomach, and he wanted inside.

Yet he restrained himself.
Go slow
, he told himself.

Her breasts swayed above him, dangling orbs with pink nipples that needed to be held. He lifted his head and took one in his mouth. She fed him the other and he eagerly took it as her long hair flowed around her shoulders.

When she pulled back, nipples hardened, sensual eyes glazed with heat and lust, he grasped her upper arms and pushed upward, indicating she should lift herself up, then slide down to engulf him.

With her bare, beautiful toes pressed alongside his hips in the velvety grass, she responded. Emitting a moan, she slid her moist center along his shaft, lubricating him in a natural rhythm as she moved forward, then back. Then in a daring swoop, she rose up again and impaled herself on his large shaft.

Such rapture...

Was he in heaven?

She moved then, up and down on his erection as if Mother Nature had made her specifically for this purpose. Hell, Mother Nature
had
.

Cassandra’s supple skin was illuminated by the moon’s orange glow.
What a shape
. Breezes whispered around them, swaying the palms. Night animals called and sang.

She moved with more haste, more force, more raw desire. Jack could barely restrain himself; if this kept up, he would soon find release, and disappoint her.

But then he put his fingers there for her, allowing her to slide back and forth on them, at the same instance filling herself up as deeply as she wanted.

She thrust her hips harder, closed her eyes in fierce concentration, and then it happened for her. Her body quivered, her muscles squeezed in spasm, and she called out his name into the night. It was sweetness itself. “Jack...Jack...”

Loving the look of her, the feel of her, the scent of her skin and the sound of her voice, he waited until she subsided. Then in an unexpected turn, he lifted her to her side, then onto her back, until she was laid out before him on the pliant grass. He pinned her arms above her head, relishing the cascading waterfall of blond hair that spilled around her sweat-dampened face, and lowered himself, found his spot inside her and entered.

Hot flesh enveloped him, smoldering heat that felt like a river of fire. He moved up and down inside her while he devoured the side of her silky neck, sucking her flesh and cupping her full breast.

He pressed deeper and firmer and she responded by wrapping her long bare legs around his waist, taking him fully until he couldn’t hold back any longer. He released inside Cassandra, calling her name softly and silently begging for more.

* * *

Jack’s grip on her arms had tightened almost to the point of pain without him realizing it, Cassandra sensed. Lying beneath his flexed muscles outlined in the moonlight, she shivered with expectation about what their parting this time might bring.

He relaxed, wearing such a wicked grin he reminded her of the boy he used to be—marching out of the house he shared with Troy and his family, to see what great team of horses could be heard plodding down the cobblestone streets of Chicago.

Jack’s exuberance was just as clear now, his intentions not so much.

He buried his face in her hair in a surprisingly gentle gesture, then rolled off her body to lie beside her, staring up at the half-moon. He reached for her hand and entwined his fingers with hers. She turned ever so slightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice her studying him—the muscled legs, the flat abdomen, the rock-hard chest and the erection that was slowly subsiding, yet still looked so fascinating the way it fell across his thigh.

“Well, I must say,” he said playfully, “that was quite a lot more than
I
had expected.”

She looked up to the sleek dark lines of his cheeks and jaw. “You didn’t think it could be so good between us?”

“Oh, I knew,” he murmured, turning his face to stare at hers, scorching her again with that blazing hot gaze. “But it surprised me this evening...with all that happened.”

She nodded in understanding.

He turned completely toward her, his dark head nestled on his propped palm, stroking her belly with delighted little circles that tempted her in many subtle ways.

How could she still be wanting more of him, when they’d both just reached their pinnacles? What was it about him that set her skin afire and her heart thrashing wildly beneath her breastbone?

She responded to his hand with a sigh.

He raised an eyebrow in amused fascination.
Again?
he seemed to say.

She smiled in response.
Of course. You do it so well
.

He ran his curled fingers along her stomach, traced the outline of her belly button, used one finger to toy with her skin, causing a mad rippling of sensations throughout her center. The swelling crescendo tugged up her body, reaching her nipples and other sensitive, urgent spots.

She brought her legs up, knees bent, the soles of her feet flat on the earth.

Inhaling sharply, Jack watched her like a mountain lion eyeing his prey, eager for just one bite. Without looking at him, she sensed his desire to watch, and she allowed it. Too timid to look at him squarely, she closed her eyes and thrilled at his tickling fingers, which seemed to know exactly how to twist and stroke and reach....

He was inside her with his beautiful fingers, wanting to please. Kissing her shoulder, her cheek, her ear, her forehead, as she swooned and rode his firm hand. The feeling built and built. Only the moon and stars were witness to Jack’s charms and her glorious undoing.

With a mounting need, she took all he offered with his touches and caresses, until the night wind absorbed the sounds of her climaxing for the second dazzling time this night. Jack kissed her breast at that exact moment, and she didn’t think she could ever bear to part with his hand, so strong and massive was her pleasure.

When the tremors of her body subsided, he gently loosened his grip and she turned to look at him, flushed with lovemaking and the newfound sensations in her body.

“Aren’t you a vision?” he said softly.

She sighed in utter bliss, amazed that she could lie here naked with a man and not feel any sort of shame for being so exposed. “It seems so natural with you, Jack.”

“It is natural between us. Lying together like this is vital, and key to a marriage.”

“Well, I think I’m ready for bed now,” she said in a lighter tone.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy grin. “You do tire a man out.” In one sleek movement, he sat up, then rose to his feet, still as naked and handsome as nature had intended. He gathered his clothing, then held out his hand to her.

“Pick up your skirts and I’ll carry you inside.”

With a soft smile, she did as he asked, clasping her clothing as he swooped her up and carried her from under the stars into the house.

It was dark and tranquil inside. They were the only ones who would share it tonight. With a sliver of moonlight streaming through the windows, he carried her through the house until he reached the private bathing room nestled below their bedroom.

The door was open. He nudged it with his big biceps, then stepped in and settled her on the plush rug by the fireplace. It didn’t take him long to fan the embers, while she lit a lantern. The golden light washed over the planes and curves of his angular, massive shoulders.

Her eyes could barely stay open, she was so exhausted. But she didn’t wish to go to sleep just yet, knowing that tomorrow morning would hold more sorrow.

He must’ve felt the same, for he continued playing with the fire, whispering softly about how he’d like to heat the water for her bath, and then watch her taking it.

When the fire was lit, the cauldrons boiling and the cold water pumped into the tub, he prepared it, pouring hot water into the cold, checking the temperature before he allowed her to step inside, and then, kneeling beside her to help wash her long hair.

When they finished, he stepped over to the hip tub, dragged it up beside her, but turned it so they’d be staring at each other face-to-face, and filled it for himself.

“Jack,” she said, feeling comfortable in the warm liquid, watching his lazy eyes roving over her.

“Yes?” He leaned back in the water, but he had to stick out one leg, for he was so tall he couldn’t fit in the tub.

She gathered up her courage to discuss the one topic that had been beating in her heart for weeks.

“Jack,” she said as gently as she could, “we didn’t finish our discussion in the café. Remember? About what I wish to do with my life.”

Chapter Eleven

“T
hat’s true.” Jack leaned back in the hip tub and the steamy water splashed around his chest. “We were interrupted by the call to Finley’s ranch.”

Cassandra lay in her porcelain tub, naked and stunning. Her long hair was pulled back over her shoulders, and she gazed at the fieldstone fireplace several yards away, which was spitting out sparks and heat.

“Let’s see...we were talking about you building a library. What more did you wish to say? I’m all ears.”

She slid down lower in the water, still not looking over at him, watching the crackling red logs and concealing her body as if she were building a wall again.

Why was she feeling so awkward all of a sudden? The lovemaking they’d just shared had been monumental to him. Their intimacy seemed to bridge that gap that had been between them since she’d arrived.

Her face suddenly filled with emotion, then her lashes dropped, masking her expression. She swirled the dark liquid with her feet, and the bathwater shimmered, outlining her creamy thighs, nipped waist and those gorgeous breasts.

“It’s not a library I wish to start.” She finally looked his way. Her lashes were clumped with moisture. Her deep blue eyes had a way of piercing straight to his heart.

“I don’t understand. We were talking about the type of books you like to read. And you mentioned the newspaper article about the Pinkerton...” His shoulders stiffened as a different thought came to him, a much more dangerous one. “Oh, no...you’re not thinking of...” His voice rumbled through the air between them. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Cassandra.”

She inhaled and swallowed. “Being a lady detective.”

His hands dropped into the water with a splash. Shocked, he glared up at the ceiling rafters. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why?”

He turned toward her, his face tense and knotted. “I won’t allow it.”

“Why not? Please, let’s discuss—”

“As your husband, I say
no.
”

“You don’t even know what I’m thinking—”

“I know what a detective does. He chases criminals and works with bounty hunters and spies on people. I won’t have you subjecting yourself to—”

“I wasn’t thinking of taking the most dangerous cases—”

“What man in his right mind wants his woman subjected to that kind of terror—”

“If you’ll only listen, I noticed plenty of offices in town where I might start working. I could work with lawyers and the sheriff, and help people with legal documents, or searching for missing persons—”

“A ridiculous notion—”

“You know how involved I was with my father’s work, always listening and watching and reading—”

“You take me for an idiot—”

“I do
not
—”

“Everyone will think I can’t control my wife. That I can’t provide for you—”

“Who cares what others say—”

“Working undercover?” he snapped, unable to control his escalating emotions. “It’s a losing proposition. Because if you turn out to be a lousy detective, you put yourself at risk with any criminals you’d be trying to infiltrate. If you turn out to be an excellent detective and cause anyone to be sent to prison, they’d come after you. With your scar, you’d be noticed a mile away. You could never go undetected. Criminals could track you down easily, right to our door!”

She stopped speaking, her expression crestfallen.

He’d gone too far. He should never have mentioned the scar.

“I said that because of my concern for you, Cassandra. I can’t take it back, as much as I dearly wish to. But I am sorry.”

She turned away for a moment and collected her composure. “I wasn’t thinking of working undercover,” she said calmly and coolly. “I wasn’t thinking of traveling overnight alone, or chasing any criminals on my own. I don’t wish to be a Pinkerton detective. I wish to work solo, in this town and in this vicinity. And if you think my scar hampers my ability in any manner...” She looked mortally wounded as her voice trailed off.

He fought the guilt and sorrow and every other damn thing he felt every time he looked at that blasted injury to her face. By deserting her in Chicago, he was just as responsible for what had happened to her afterward as if he’d been standing as a spectator watching the burning timbers rain down on her, and doing nothing to help.

Damn that fire and damn him for leaving.

“I’m sorry, but my answer is still no.” Without his agreement, no one in town would hire her. He didn’t wish to use his power over her, but he was deathly afraid for her safety.

“Now, I think it’s getting terribly late,” he said, believing the conversation was over, “and we have the funeral tomorrow.” He rose out of the cool water with a noisy splash and wrapped a towel around his waist.

But she kept talking in her tub, frighteningly calm as she watched the fading embers across the rug. Her bathwater had to be stone cold. “When I was at the boardinghouse, I did some investigation work for some of the ladies. I located a missing brother for one, found missing grandparents for another and got papers redrafted for documents lost in the fire. There were lots of missing papers. In one case, I helped the police track down a burglar who had stolen forty dollars from another woman.”

“At the boardinghouse you did this?”

She nodded.

None of it had been mentioned in the report he’d been given. “But my investigator—” He stopped and quickly tried to rethink his words. “You never mentioned it before.”

The ripples in the water ceased. She was as still as a piece of marble. “What investigator?”

“Cassandra, it truly is getting late. We’ve got to rise early. Tomorrow’s going to be another tough day.” He reached for her towel and offered it to her. “Shall we?”

She rose, eyes locked with his. He inhaled deeply and watched the firelight cascade over her wet shoulders, and beads of water drip off the tips of her pink nipples. Her skin was smooth and glistening, her hair golden and smooth. Her lush lips, ruby in color, pressed together as she took the towel and wrapped it around her. She used one end and rubbed it against her wet skin, then tucked it above her breasts, once more concealing her body from him.

“What investigator, Jack?”

Should he lie? How could he?

He gave her a partial truth. “I hired a private investigator to try to find you after the fire. Well, six months after, when I returned from Alaska. Remember, I said I sent the letters and they were returned? Well, the investigator couldn’t find you, either. I gave him your maiden name, and what I thought was your married name, and your father’s address, but there was no sign of anyone left alive.”

The golden arches of her eyebrows knitted in confusion. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

“Come, let’s go, shall we? I’ll have the cook from the bunkhouse arrange for temporary help tomorrow, to tidy this room and help around the house.”

“All right.” She seemed resigned to the fact that he didn’t wish her to be a detective, for which he was grateful. But there was still an unsettled tension between them that had shattered the intimacy they’d shared earlier.

She peered at the fire, which was almost out. A few red embers remained, but it would be safe to leave them, and the heat would rise to warm their bedroom above. “I can certainly do all the cooking myself, though. I’d like to do that, Jack.”

“Fine.”

If only all her requests were that easy. He indicated that she lead the way up the stairs, then took a deep breath and tried to regain his equilibrium. He followed her up the steps, watching the twist and turn of her bottom, the slender curves of her calves, the flex of her sultry ankles.

When they reached the landing, she turned again and asked, “What else did you hire the private investigator—this detective—for?”

Her palm gripped the knot in her towel at her chest. Her hair spilled in golden rivers over her shoulders, and her face, half concealed in darkness, was silhouetted in the moonlight that trickled in the bedroom window.

Jack wished that she wasn’t so aware of every nuance in his tone and every implication to what he said. How was he supposed to answer this without upsetting her further?

* * *

Cassandra knew it was late, that both she and Jack were exhausted from the day’s tragic turn of events. But she had an overwhelming need to know exactly what had gone on that he wasn’t telling her.

Clearly, there was something more about Chicago that was troubling him. She could see it in the tension of his massive shoulders, the rigid musculature of his chest and the tightening of his jaw.

And if he thought she was giving up on her plans to become a detective, that he could simply forbid her to do so, he was out of his mind.

She wanted to live a life filled with challenges and interesting work, helping others with troubles and problems she knew how to solve. If losing Mary in the fire meant anything at all, it was that life was short and had to be packed with love and meaning. And Cassandra could do it without bringing excessive danger to herself, if only Jack weren’t too stubborn to listen.

Outlined by the moon’s rays, he looked to their square canopied bed. His biceps bulged when he raised a hand and ran it through his damp black hair.

If he wasn’t going to answer, she had to guess. “Did you hire the detective for
me?
To look into my personal affairs?”

“Cassandra,” he moaned, “that was a painful time for you. It was awful for me, too, not knowing where you were and what had happened to you or your family. I wanted to find you and help you. I don’t think bringing any of it up now helps anyone.”

“But it didn’t work, your hiring him,” she said, feeling very exposed all of a sudden. “He searched too late after the fire, and couldn’t find me. I can understand your looking, Jack. I appreciate your looking...but then why, when I was so in need of a kind word from someone...did you stay away when he finally did track me down?”

He seemed tormented by the memory. “I thought you’d left and gone with Troy to Europe somewhere.”

“So then when did the search happen? Not the initial one, but the one you seem to be so determined to keep from me? You hired him twice, didn’t you?”

He shook his head, more in exasperation than in answer, she thought, for he didn’t deny it. He strode to the bed, found her nightshift and tossed it to her. “Let’s slip under the sheets. You need a good night’s sleep.”

He was avoiding the question. She grappled with what he was hiding, and tried to piece it together. “The second time you hired him happened later, when you knew where I was. I gather that was after you spotted my ad in the San Francisco paper? You had me investigated after that, Jack?” she asked in disbelief.

He sighed, tightened his lips and then, broad-shouldered and bare-chested, took a few steps closer till he was towering over her again.

“I was shocked to find you in that condition,” he said in explanation. “Living where you were.”

She sank back on her heels. “You knew. You knew I was living at a boardinghouse for desolate women.” Shame, deep and fast, cut through her. She’d done what she had to do to survive, but to think his decision in marrying her might have evolved more from a state of sorrow than any real desire on his part to be with her was overwhelming.

“I don’t care about where you lived.”

“But don’t you see? You got the luxury of deciding what you did and didn’t care about in that situation. You’re playing the upper hand in
every
decision. Don’t I get a say?”

He stiffened. “You had the choice whether to tell me everything before we got married. You chose not to share it with me.”

“For no other reason than I was embarrassed.”

“I understand, I completely understand. That’s why I never mentioned it. But it’s what a husband and wife
should
share. We’re supposed to help each other through the pain as well as the joy.”

“Sharing? You tell me I can’t work as a detective, but when it comes to your own personal use, you have no qualms in hiring one! How hypocritical!”

He moaned and put his hands on her shoulders, but his touch was like dousing alcohol on a burning fire. She shrugged him off and stepped back.

“And you hired him
after
you asked for my hand in marriage. When I was living in that house, aching for anyone I knew to reach out and show some little gesture of kindness, the man I thought was going to marry me relied on a paid stranger to seek the truth. And now I’ve got to wonder—what was it that made you so distrustful? Did you think I might come after your money? Your ranch and your horses? Was that it?”

“No.
No.
”

“And speaking of honesty, and what a man and wife should share, where was the honesty on your side?”

“Elise again? We’ve been through that.”

“You never told me about Derik Thornley, either. But mostly what you never told me about was what happened to you, Jack. When you were younger, you used to say whatever was on your mind. Whether we were going to parties with Troy, dining with his parents or rowing on the lake with our group of friends. You’d be the most charming, the most eager to please, the first to laugh. And now what I see is someone who relies on paid messengers. And don’t tell me your best man at the wedding thinks you made a wise decision in marrying me, either, Jack.”

He stiffened at her appraisal.

“I’m not so thickheaded that I couldn’t see how Hugh Logan was watching and judging me when he first met me. Why does he remain at a distance, Jack? He’s supposed to be one of your closest friends, yet he avoids us. Everyone in town seems to know my story, and has picked their side. Should the dashing veterinarian choose the lovely local woman who shares the same love of animals? Why does he feel the need to marry a woman he sent for by mail? And what about that awful scar? Blazes, did you tell them all where I was living and how I was coping? You know what
I
think they say whenever we can’t hear them? ‘If she meant so much to him, he would’ve stayed in Chicago and fought for her!’”

They glared at each other, ever so silent and ever so threatened by each other.