The Officer and the Bostoner (Historical Western Romance) (Fort Gibson Officers Series, Book 1) (15 page)

Around them, the men out in the field and the ones sitting on the side started laughing; meanwhile, the officers were either so stunned their slack jaws wouldn’t allow them to form words or they were yelling at Wes to stop this foolishness and take his turn.

Wes paid them no mind and came to stand behind Allison, pressing his body firmly against hers.

She pushed the thought from her mind before she allowed herself to get too distracted and truly did cause them to lose.

“
Relax,” he whispered in her ear, his lips so close she could practically feel them searing her skin. “When the ball comes toward you, you’re going to swing. Like this.” He moved their arms in the motion of swinging. “Do you think you can do that?”

As long as he was holding onto her, she could. She nodded. “But how do I know when to swing?”

“You watch the ball.”

“
But what if I miss or I swing too late?”

“
Shh. Stop worrying about that, I’m right here. I’ll tell you when to swing.”

“
Tell me?” She craned her head around to look at him. “Aren’t you going to swing with me?”

He gave his head a simple shake. “No. I want you to get your turn to play. I’ll just tell you when to swing. All right?”

She swallowed nervously. “I don’t think I can.”

“
Sure you can,” he coaxed. “No, turn like I had you—” he moved her back into proper position, his warm hands searing her skin through her shirt— “all right now, just wait until I tell you to, then swing.”

“
Are you ready now, Captain?” the man with the ball called, humor evident in his voice.

“
Yes, sir, Private Jackson,” Wes said in his usual calm, teasing tone, releasing his hold on Allison and taking a step back.

Private Jackson’s eyes widened when he realized Wes intended for Allison to bat unaided, then he gripped the ball in his hand, pulled it over his head and spinning forward on his right foot, brought his hand forward and released the ball.

Watching the ball sail through the air from the safe haven of her barrel seemed so easy. But now that she was standing right where it was flying, it wasn’t nearly as fun. The ball was coming closer—right at her, and she squeezed her eyes shut and held onto the bat for all it was worth.

“
Now,” Wes called.

Whoosh.

She missed.

“
Strike one,” the scorekeeper yelled.

Allison’s face heated.

“It’s all right,” Wes said softly. He came up behind her and helped her find her position again. It was hard for her to pay attention, however, with his warm body pressing against the length of her backside. “You need to relax your arms. They’re too stiff.”

“
Sorry.”

“
Don’t be sorry, just relax a little. The ball isn’t going to hit you. I’ll be right here to pull you back if I think it’ll be too close.”

She wanted to ask how he’d known what she’d been afraid of, but decided against it. No need to draw any more attention to herself than they were already getting.

“There you go,” Wes murmured as he helped her widen her stance and covered her hands with his on the bottom of the bat. “This time, swing like this—” He swung with her, slow and deliberate giving her a feel for how she should swing the bat. Then he did it once again, faster this time.

In front of her, Private Jackson grinned like a jackal as he tossed the ball up and down in the air, preparing to throw it, if she had to guess.

Suddenly, Wes released her and a chill passed over her at the way she suddenly felt bereft of his touch. Or perhaps that was the increasing rain. She didn’t have much time to think about it because Private Jackson resumed his throwing stance and prepared to toss it at her.

Then he did.

It flew through the air straight at Allison.

She closed her eyes again but refused to keep them that way—opening her right one just a sliver. Not much, but enough to see the ball flying toward her faster than a horse could run. She quickly closed it back and squeezed her eyes to prepare for the hard hit she knew her face was about to receive.

“Now!” Wes shouted.

With a slight squeal, she swung the bat forward only to have either used too much muscle in her swing or thrown her balance off because it came to rest with a not-so-gentle
thump
on her upper arm, followed swiftly by the
smack
of the ball being caught by the man standing behind him.

Then, of course, came the scorekeeper’s booming voice, “Strike two.”

“Wes, get her out of the game,” yelled Lieutenant McCorkle. “You can impress her later. If we get one more strike, that’ll be three outs and we could very well lose.”

Allison winced at his words, for they hurt far more than where she’d hit herself in the arm with the end of her bat.

Wes turned her around to face him. “Don’t listen to him, Allison,” he said, drowning out the other men who were agreeing with Lieutenant McCorkle, saying that Allison needed to go.

“
I don’t want to cost you the game,” she protested.

“
You won’t.”

“
What about your pride? If I don’t hit this last one, your team will be out.”

He eyed her curiously. “Do you not think you can do it?”

“You know that I can’t,” she said weakly.

He brushed a fallen tendril of her hair from her damp forehead. “I bet you also didn’t think you’d survive your time here without starving to death first—but then you tried jerky and dried fruit.”

She nearly blushed. It was only because of him that she’d managed to not have her stomach eat itself.

“
I bet you also didn’t think you’d ever wear anything other than the dress you arrived in,” he said with a chuckle. “Don’t deny it, either. I might not know much about sewing, but I know enough to know that you’re not the expert seamstress you’d have had me believe inside Charles’ store.”

Her face burned. “You’re right and it was only because of you that I have something else to wear.”

“No,” he corrected. “I didn’t sew your skirt. You did. I might have suggested you wear it differently than the way you’d intended—but you made it. Just like you can do this, Allison. I know that you can.”

A million things ran through her mind, one of which being that if the look in his eyes was any indication, he was trying to tell her something else. Something not related to rounders at all. She wet her lips, screwing up the nerve to ask what he’d meant—

“Now, go give it one last try.”

She started. “You won’t mind if I strike out and your team loses?”

He turned his lips into an overdone frown and shook his head. “No. I’d rather we lose, and you to have had a turn rather than us win and you only being able to sit from the sideline.”

“
Wes, hurry up and find the nerve to tell your wife she can’t play and get on with it. The rain is picking up,” a voice called, not taking one drop of her newfound excitement at Wes’ earlier words.

Wes seemed completely unaffected by the man’s words, but must think that she was for he said, “Stop paying them mind. This has nothing to do with them. This is about us. Now, this time, if you must close your eyes, that’s fine. Just hold the bat like this—” he put her arms into an awkward position unlike the first two times.

“Wes, this feels silly.”

“
Why? You’ll be more likely to actually hit the ball this way. Is that not what you want? Do you
want
to get us out?”

She nearly giggled at his tone. “No. But neither do I want people to think I only hit it because I cheated.”

As if seeing her point, he moved her arms back the way they were before. “All right, hold it like this and try to keep your eyes open—just a little.”

She swallowed her unease and allowed him to move her completely into stance.

He moved her left leg out a little and her right one back; then ran his open palms along her back and up to her shoulders where he straightened them. Holding her still, he bent so close to her ear she could feel his breath against her skin. “Don’t forget, Allison, I don’t care if we win or lose, so have fun. Please?”

Allison nodded. It was all she could do. She couldn’t remember him ever styling her by her name. Not that she thought he hadn’t; surely he had and she just couldn’t remember it. But she’d forever remember the soft, silky tone in which he’d just addressed her as Allison and not ‘my lady’.

“All right, Jackson,” Wes hollered, releasing her; by some miracle she did not collapse into the puddle she thought she might, but instead held position as Wes said those simple words: “She’s ready.”

Private Jackson didn’t even try to hide his amusement at the situation, knowing his team was about to win. The men in the field seemed to have just as much confidence in Allison as Private Jackson because they all looked to be grinning and shaking with laughter.

Private Jackson wiped the rainwater from his face, something Allison hadn’t even noticed had covered hers, too, then threw the ball at her again.

Keep them open. Keep them open. Keep them open...
Despite the ball sailing toward her and the rain that was now starting to fall more rapidly than before, she couldn’t and closed them, leaving only a sliver open—just enough to see the ball. She willed herself not to close off that sliver as she’d done last time. If she did, then she’d be swinging blindly, which seemed to result in no  hits—only strikes. She had to do it this time.

“
Now!”
Wes commanded.

Refusing to blink all the way to clear her rain-blurred vision, Allison gripped the bat as tightly as she could and brought it forward.

There was no
whoosh
, the distinct sound of a strike.

There was no bruising hit to her shoulder followed the smacking of the ball colliding with a man’s hand.

There was no
crack
to indicate a ball well hit.

The only sound was a slight
thump—
rapidly
followed by shouts she couldn’t understand.

She dropped her eyes to the ground and a whole six inches in front of her sat the ball.

“Run!”
someone shouted.

But she couldn’t. She was too amazed she’d hit the ball to think, let alone run.

“Wes, I hit it! I actually hit the ball!” she shrieked, turning to face him and his broad grin, then before she knew what she was doing, she leapt into his arms.

Wes’ strong arms came around her just then, catching her to him; then his grin faded and his blue eyes clouded with what could only be termed as raw desire as a thin sheen of water covered his face and drops fell steadily from his angled chin.

Her breath caught at the sight of him, uncertain.

Uncertain, she might be, but the determined look on his face told her that he knew exactly what he wanted and when his lips met hers, she knew it was exactly what she wanted, too.

Other than the quick brush of their lips this morning, the only other kiss they’d shared had come the day they’d married. But even it was nothing compared to this one.

His warm, soft lips covered hers and moved on top of—and in between—hers. She mirrored his actions, heedless to the audience they had. Nothing could make her break their kiss. Nothing.

The crack of lightning rent the air and Wes pulled back, a strong intensity in his eyes.

Suddenly, a strong current of cold water hit Allison.

The light drizzle was over; the clouds had opened up; and now it was a downpour.

“
Shall we finish the game?” one of the men on the opposite team asked.

“
I don’t care what you all plan to do,” Wes said raggedly, as he moved to scoop Allison up into his arms at a better angle, then dropped his voice so only she could hear, “the only home I plan to run to at this moment is my own.”

~Chapter Seventeen~

Wes heard the noise that surrounded him, but that’s all it was: noise.

In front of him, looking up at him with her wide brown eyes and kiss-swollen lips stood Allison, and no matter what was being said around him, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

He wanted her.

All of her.

Now.

The fate of the game could go to rot. All he cared about was in his arms.

Unable to form the words he so desperately wanted to say, he scooped her up again and made a direct path to their room.

Allison seemed not to mind, for she didn’t say anything, nor did she so much as break eye contact with him as he carried her across the now soggy field, to the barracks, up the stairs and to their room.

He set her down and immediately brought his lips back to hers.

He’d kissed her passionately outside, but not as passionately as he’d have liked.

Wes brought his hands up to cup her face and held her lips to his, taking it as a sign of encouragement when she dug her fingers into the back of his hair as if she were holding him to her, never wanting to let go. Just the same as he felt for her.

Wes took a step back and swallowed. The rain had soaked through both sets of their clothes. While he didn’t mind that his felt cold and clung to his wet skin, he rather liked the sight her once-white, now translucent shirt afforded him as it clung to her pert breasts.

He closed the gap between them, bringing his body flush against her chest and kissed her again.

She sighed his name and he took the opportunity to move his tongue into her mouth.

Her hands tightened their grip in his hair, her fingers now twining between the wet, curling locks.

Wes brushed the inside of her cheek with his tongue, then moved it across her teeth and tongue to do the same action on the other side, at which she showed no protest. Just as he was about to pull back, her tongue came into his mouth, which he gladly accepted, making no move to hurry her along from her exploration.

When at last she withdrew, Wes pulled back. His breathing was heavy and strained, similar to the way the fall of his trousers was straining against the force of his erection and the way Allison’s hardened nipples and seemly swollen breasts were straining against the front of her soaked blouse.

Swallowing convulsively, he fought his desire, along with the urges that came with it, and reached forward to the top button on her blouse. His eyes locked with hers. She showed no signs of uncertainty or hesitation as he slipped the top button free. Then the next.

He unfastened the front of her blouse, then let it fall open in front of her. He let his gaze travel slowly from her eyes to her heaving chest. As he already knew, she’d worn her chemise under her shirt this morning; but that garment, which was naturally thinner than paper and just as flimsy, seemed almost nonexistent as it melted against her skin, allowing him a delightful, unobstructed view of her breasts.

He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he’d glimpsed them last night when she’d slipped in the bath, but only for a mere second as his mind was on keeping her from drowning. Even still, he’d glimpsed them in the water, but it was not nearly as satisfying as it was right now when she knew and was allowing him to see her this way.

Wes met her eyes again and reached his hands up to slide her wet shirt off her shoulders and allow it to fall to the wooden floor at her feet with a soft tap.

He brought his hands back to her shoulders; and just as he was about to move them to her breasts, her hands came up, and with shaky fingers, she began to unbutton his shirt.

He stilled and let her, then removed his hands so she could push it from his shoulders.

She lowered her lashes and ran her fingertips over the expanse of his shoulders and chest. A hint of a smile touched her lips when his abdominal muscles twitched beneath her touch. She pressed her palms flat against his hardened abdomen and ran her hands back up to his chest, spearing her fingers into his tangled mat of chest hair.

Echoing her movements, Wes placed each hand flat against her sides, just above her hips, then moved them up her body to settle on her breasts.

Her breath hitched and she met his eyes.

Holding her gaze, he gave her breasts a slight squeeze. A gasp passed through her parted, pink lips. He squeezed again, a little more firmly this time. She gasped again, igniting his blood.

Wes repositioned his hands and ran his thumbs over the crest of each breast.

Allison’s body jerked, then she pressed her breasts more firmly into his hands in what he took to be permission to continue. So he did. He brushed them both again, pressing harder this time; then moved his hands again and closed his thumb and forefinger over the hardened peaks.

Allison made an incoherent sound of pleasure as her face flushed and she bit her lip.

Wes gave her breasts one final caress, then released his hold and grabbed the fabric of her chemise. With quick, unsteady jerks, he tugged it free from the waistband of her skirt, then pulled it over her head.

He took her in again, admiring her full breasts and perfect nipples.

If he wasn’t already harder than the iron barrel of his revolver, this would have done it. She was magnificent and her shapely breasts were begging for his touch. Who was he to deny them? He moved forward and shaped her breasts, growing more determined and emboldened as she thrust them into his hands and sighed softly with each caress.

He bent his head and brought his lips to hers, capturing them.

She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back, mirroring his actions and gasping his name as he massaged her breasts. Continuing their kiss, he trailed his hands down her abdomen to the belt that held her skirt in place and quickly unfastened it.

Her heavy skirt fell to the ground, leaving her clad in her pantalettes.

Wes moved his hands up and down her slightly chilled back, pressing her body ever-so-slightly more against his. He doubted she’d noticed how cold her skin was from wearing that cold chemise. But he saw no reason not to warm her up for a moment, if he could, before moving his hands back to the front of the ties that secured the garment that shielded her most vulnerable areas.

He broke their kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, dropping his eyes to look at the string before he ruined everything by getting it into a tight knot.

He pulled this string, then that, forcing himself to think about what he was doing and not get distracted by the way her fingers danced in his hair, scratching his scalp, or the way her breasts bounced just a little in his line of sight with each breath she took. He released the knot and stood frozen as the cloth slinked down her legs to fall at her ankles, revealing to him the triangle of brown hair that hid the core of what made her a woman.

“Wes,” she whispered.

Wes put his hands on her hips and kissed her again. This time, holding nothing back and not allowing her to hold back, either.

Breaking their kiss, and silently vowing to continue where he’d left off, he picked her up and brought her to the bed; then his lips were back on hers and his hands began roaming her body, touching here, squeezing there. His fingertips brushed over the nest of dark hair that rested between her legs and he almost came undone when she bucked her hips invitingly.

She wanted this just as much as he did.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then across her cheek, and down to her ear while he moved his hand beneath her curls to the warmth that was underneath.

Allison rolled her head to the side and sighed. Pressing openmouthed kisses to her neck, he continued to explore her womanly core then slowly eased a finger inside of her.

She shivered and her body tightened just a fraction around his invasion. This wasn’t exactly what he’d intended to do; but if she liked it, who was he to argue? And clearly, by the way her body had reacted to his, including how she pressed herself more against his hand, she liked this—and if Allison liked it, he would continue to touch her this way. He slowly glided out, then back in. Then again and again until he found a steady pace that made her gasp his name and clutch his shoulders.

He continued moving and was rewarded a moment later when her skin grew warmer, almost to the point of hot, under his lips and her breathing lost all sense of rhythm and came in short, uneven bursts. He sped his movement, leading her to dig her nails into his skin as her hips moved to meet his thrusts.

“Wes,” she panted, her voice hitching mid-word.

Wes didn’t say anything in response, just moved his mouth further down her chest, taking as much of her breast into it as he could.

“Wes,” she said again, this time the word sounded as if it were ripped from her throat;, and perhaps it was, for as she said it, the fingernails of her left hand dug into his shoulder and her right hand gripped his hair so tightly he thought for sure she was going to scalp him. Then suddenly her body stiffened and her intimate muscles clenched around his finger.

He slowed his movements, then withdrew completely. He propped himself up on one forearm and waited for her to catch her breath and open her eyes again.

“Sorry,” she said, releasing the loose grip she still had on his hair.

“
It’s all right,” he told her in a broken whisper before dropping a kiss on her lips. He touched her swollen lips with the pad of his index finger, then trailed his hand along her skin from her lips to her chin, then down the column of her throat to her chest, where he descended the valley between her breasts and didn’t stop until he reached her feminine curls. “It was well worth it, I’d say.”

She blushed as he’d hoped she would. Then a seductive grin took her lips and she moved her hands to his waistband, where she struggled with his belt, then the buttons. His heart pounded in his chest and his blood simmered with excitement again at just seeing her hands that close to him and knowing she was as eager for him to remove his trousers as he was to have them removed.

Her fingers continued their task, inadvertently brushing his erection as they worked, exciting him more than he thought was possible.

The blood pumping down to his erection at a rapid rate urged him to push her hands away to speed this up and claim her as his. But the few drops that were still making their way to his brain wouldn’t let him. She’d allowed him the opportunity to touch her everywhere he pleased. He could certainly wait a few minutes.

Blessedly, she slipped the last button, freeing his erection from his trousers.

Unfortunately, this was not the end of his torment; only the beginning, he realized when her delicate hand closed around his length. He groaned. Then again when he looked down to confirm he was not imagining things. He wasn’t. Her hand was most certainly wrapped around his shaft. And now she was moving it.

He gritted his teeth and encircled her wrist, staying her. “It won’t last as long this time as it will in the future anyway; but if you don’t stop that, it won’t even happen.”

She knit her brows and gave him a squeeze.

“I mean it,” he said on a groan. “You need to stop right now or we’ll both leave this room for dinner just as virginal as we were when we entered.”

“
Oh,” she said with a blush. “I didn’t realize.”

“
What, that I haven’t sampled the wares of those who passed through?”

“
No,” she said, tightening her grip on him, then releasing it. “I knew you wouldn’t be so vulgar as to do that. I just assumed you’d have sowed your wild oats before coming here.”

“
No,” he bit off, trying to think of anything other than her touch. “You’ll be the first woman I ever claim—and the last,” he added with a grunt.

Her hand stilled and a strange expression came over her face.

“Allison?” he rasped.

She released his erection and reached for his shoulders. “I’m ready.”

He stared at her. “You might have been a minute ago, but I’m not so convinced of that now. Is something wrong?”

“
No,” she said, shaking her head. Only a very obtuse man could have missed the waver in her voice.

Wes framed her face and tilted her head so she’d meet his eyes again. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” At least not more than he had to.

“I know that.”

He was doubtful that she truly believed him or her face would have changed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I know that you’ll be gentle with me.”

“
You do?”

A slim smile took her lips. “Yes, Wes. I’m trusting you with my body, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” He drew the word out; still not sure what was putting that distant look in her eyes. He squeezed her hip and kissed her lips, hoping to reassure her of whatever it was that had put distance between them. “Do you not want this?”

“
No, I do. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything,” she rushed to say.

“
Then why aren’t you more excited?” he said, before he could think better of it.