Gerrity'S Bride Page 19

Claude’s bushy brows lifted, and one corner of his mouth twitched as he considered the thought. “Well, I reckon I could manage to take a little nourishment, since Maria’s gone to so much trouble.”

  “Yeah, I reckon you could,” Matt agreed. Ignoring the shallow steps, he stepped onto the porch and halted. His eyes squinted as he caught sight of the slim figure standing behind the screening on the door. “Damn it, Emmaline, what are you doin’ out of bed?”

  “Good afternoon to you, too, Mr. Gerrity,” she said with haughty precision. “In case you’re interested, I’m tired of eating from a tray and counting the flowers in the wallpaper. I decided to get up and get back to normal.” Her fingers were clasped behind her and her chin was lifted in a posture he knew only too well.

  Coming to a halt just inches from the door, he glared at her through the screen. “You got a lump on your head the size of a man’s fist, Emmaline, and your hands are all scraped up. I watched the doctor clean dirt out of your cheek—” He took a deep breath, his jaw clamped shut, and he scanned her with concern in his eyes.

  It was the soft reply that threw him. He’d expected an explosion, at the very least a snapping rejoinder. What he hadn’t expected was the smile that lit her face, turning it into a glowing welcome as she pushed the door open and offered her hand.

  “I’m sorry... I know you’ve been worried, Matt. I truly appreciate it. But I need this—I need to be out of bed, I really do. Please don’t be angry with me.” She moved back as he reached for the door, and then he was over the sill and reaching for her.

  Hard and callused, more suited to holding a recalcitrant calf or the reins of a bucking horse, long fingers and hard palms closed about her waist with a tenderness that betrayed him. He drew her against him, ignoring the hiss of her indrawn breath when she caught sight of Claude, close at hand.

  His dark head was tilted, and his mouth and nose were buried in the fragrance of her hair. Inhaling deeply, Matt savored the freshly washed scent and closed his eyes. What is it about this woman, he wondered with a surge of fierce passion that tightened his thighs and brought him to needy arousal with astonishing speed?

  He held her with barely concealed frustration, bending his head low to speak to her with hushed intensity against her curls. His voice was a low growl, the sound muted and rasping.

  “You can eat dinner with us, and then you’ll go back to bed, Emmaline. Or I’ll carry you. Afterward, I’ll just stay there with you for an hour or so,” he promised with seductive intent. His mouth lowered to brush against her ear, and his whisper was warm and beguiling. “What do you think, darlin’?”

  Her gasp was indignant, and she pushed with all her might against him, forcing her arms between their bodies to press against his chest.

  “You can’t budge me, sweetheart,” he said, that same deep growl once more smothered in her curls.

  Her head tilted quickly, and then he was face-to-face with snapping eyes and scarlet cheeks. Her nostrils were flared and her teeth were clenched, but not too tightly for words to escape from rigid lips.

  “I tried to be nice, Gerrity. I even said please! And all I get from you is a nasty ultimatum.”

  “Yeah, please is a word that seldom gets spit out of that sassy mouth of yours, I’ll admit that,” he drawled, struggling to control the amusement that begged for release.

  She glared up at him as he compressed his lips and shook his head. “I reckon I know what a chore it was for you to use that word, Em,” he acknowledged, with as much sobriety as he could muster. “I’ll even reconsider my—”

  “It won’t do any good. I’m not going back to bed today, and that’s the end of it.” Her mouth pouted, the bottom lip pursed and plump, and it was more than he could resist. Claude or no Claude, he had to taste it.

  His head dipped quickly the few inches it took to cover her mouth with his own, and he gathered her even closer to himself, her arms and hands imprisoned against his chest. His lips were warm, firm and demanding, begging and gaining entrance to the secrets of her mouth. She resisted for only a moment, then gave him what he asked for.

  She’d lost the battle. Relaxing against his hard body and tilting her head to one side, she savored the flavor of him. That clean man taste she’d learned to relish over the past weeks. His embrace was hard and ungiving, his possession of her mouth a masculine force that held her in thrall, and she basked in the heated desire emanating from his touch.

  He retreated slowly, his mouth softening and becoming tender against her flesh. Then, with a final sound of satisfaction, he lifted his lips from hers and watched the hot flush of anger she’d worn fade into a rosy blush that pinked her cheeks. Her eyes opened, languid and heavy as her lashes blinked twice.

  “You haven’t kissed me like that since...” she began.

  “Shh...” he said, lowering his head once more.

  “Reckon I’d better head around to the other door, so’s I can get some dinner,” Claude grumbled from the porch. “Seems like some folks aren’t as fond of Maria’s dumplings as the rest of us.”

  “Oh, my...” Emmaline squeezed her eyes shut in dismay.

  “No point in gettin’ all flustered, Em,” Matt said, turning her about and heading her toward the dining room. “Claude’s pretty closemouthed, you know. He won’t tell anybody that we hug and kiss like married folks.”

  He looked back at the man in the doorway and nodded toward the kitchen. “Go on and wash up, Claude. I’ll be right behind you.” One big hand on her shoulder halted Emmaline’s progress, and she waited. Then, turning about, she peered past him.

  “It was bad enough at our party that you kept putting your arms around me, Matthew. I’m mortified you kissed me right in front of Claude.” She wore the look of a woman who was struggling between passion and pride, and her eyes met his accusingly.

  “Well, you weren’t mortified a few seconds ago,” he reminded her. “And besides, old Claude knows all about kissin’ and huggin’, Emmaline. Anyway, I wouldn’t have kissed you if you hadn’t looked so tempting in that pretty dress, with your curls all ruffled and your eyes all shiny.”

  Her mouth pursed and she shook her head. “Don’t think you can sweet-talk me, Gerrity. I’m on to your tricks.”

  “Yeah?” His grin was back, and she slapped at the hand that reached for her.

  “Go wash up.” Her finger stabbed at his chest. “Maria won’t let you eat at her table with half the barn on your hands.”

  He reached for her, his big fist enclosing her finger as he bit gently at the tip of it. His eyes swept her face, and his husky voice spoke her name with soft emphasis. “Emmaline.”

  She blinked at the sober tone. “What is it, Matt?”

  “I don’t want you to leave the house alone. You can stay up today, but stay indoors, you hear?”

  He left her no room to maneuver, and she acknowledged it with a nod. “All right, for today,” she conceded. “We’ll talk about it tonight.”

  He planted a soft kiss in the center of her palm before he released her.

  He’d gained a small victory, he decided. One more day... But soon she’d balk at his ties on her. His frown was back in place, the tension of not knowing radiating to every nerve, and he readied himself for dinner in silence.

  * * *

  “This is the best part of being married,” Emmaline whispered into the quiet night. Curled against his long, firm length, she felt the warmth of that solid body against her back. Her feet pressed snugly against the hard length of his shins and his arms surrounded her, wrapping her with tender strength against him. Gently, so gently against her flesh, his hands formed themselves to fit with exquisite care, one nestled just beneath the soft swell of her breasts and the other pressed against the curve of her belly.

  The soft batiste of her nightgown clung to her, providing a fragile shield against his touch. Carefully, tenderly, his fingers moved, skimming the curves and hollows of her form. His hard, muscled frame cradled her, exuding a warmth that penetrated to her
very bones.

  “Sleepy?” he asked against the top of her head.

  “Umm...” Her mouth curved in a smile she was sure he could not detect.

  “And what is that mumble supposed to mean?” His words were a rumble above her head, and amusement was rampant in his tone.

  “I’m almost asleep.” Her eyes shone with anticipation as she felt his fingers move with lazy purpose, gathering the fabric of her gown into his grasp, easing it up the length of her legs.

  “The hell you are,” he growled, sliding one hand across her belly and then scooping his palm beneath the firm, plump breast that had been tempting him ever since he’d nestled behind her. His big hand cradled and gently squeezed, lifting the firm flesh he’d captured with such ease.

  Carefully, with practiced movements, he turned her onto her back, regretfully abandoning his prize for a moment, tugging her hands into place about his neck.

  She felt the chill as he moved his warmth from her breast, suppressing the need to draw him back, marveling at the yearning of her very flesh for the friction of his fingertips, the touch of his callused hands. With renewed senses, she recognized the teasing mood his lips were creating. Now, brushing phantom kisses across her forehead, then down the short length of her nose, murmuring nonsense as he went.

  “Don’t curse at me, Gerrity,” she muttered, nudging him with her knee as she lifted it to one side of his long leg.

  “When?” he groused, and then recalled his words. “I didn’t curse. I just doubted your claim. You don’t act sleepy to me.”

  “You don’t think I should be tired?” she asked with a yawn that lacked substance. “After all, I spent the whole afternoon and evening mending your shirts and putting the hems down on Tessie’s dresses. And I was almost asleep when you crawled in here with me.”

  “Liar,” he murmured as he lifted his hands to the buttons that closed her gown. He slid one from its buttonhole and sought her eyes in the faint light from the window. “I planned this all day, Mrs. Gerrity, and if you were almost asleep when I snuggled up to you, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” His fingers concentrated on the row of buttons as he spoke, and they submitted to his handiwork quickly, until a narrow strip of pale skin lay exposed, almost to her waist.

  “I’ll be chilly. I’ve been under the weather, remember?” Her words teased him as she moved her fingers through the heavy, dark strands of hair that fell against his neck.

  “I’ll keep you warm,” he promised gruffly, tugging the gown to her waist, freeing her arms in the process and lifting her against his bare chest as he pulled the gown down her back. She lifted her arms once more to curl about his neck, raising herself until her breasts were flattened against him, and his hands worked to shove the gown down her legs, to be lost in the sheets. She relaxed and lay back against the pillow.

  “I could have gotten up and taken it off.” She smiled, peering up at him, her mouth tilting in a smile that promised much.

  “I don’t mind doin’ it myself,” he said, settling himself against her softness, leaning on his elbows with both hands surrounding her head, his fingers spread wide and moving gently against and through her hair.

  He caught the faint scent of her, a blend of the soap she used and the sweetness of her woman’s flesh. Inhaling it gently, he tasted the creamy skin that covered her cheek, just the tip of his tongue flicking against her flesh.

  “Umm...” With a satisfied murmur, she turned her head away so that his mouth would brush instead along the curve of her ear.

  “Like that?” he asked, his breath warm against her. His head dipped, and he kissed the tender skin that lay just under the curve of her jaw. Then his nose nestled into the sensitive hollow behind her ear, and she shivered.

  “You give me chill-bumps.”

  “Yeah?” His mouth pressed damp kisses against her throat, and he shifted against her, moving lower, his hands following the line of her shoulders and arms, until he enclosed her fingers within his own and brought them to his chest.

  “Touch me here, Em,” he said roughly, guiding her to the dark hair that covered him almost to his waist.

  “Where?” Her hands moved slowly, fingers tangling in the softness of his curls.

  “I’ll let you know when you get to the right place,” he said thickly, his voice muffled as he bent to drop another kiss on her brow.

  He lifted again, rising once more on his elbows, and watched her with anticipation as she moved beneath him, her hands brushing and caressing, her eyes wide in the dim light, intent on his every change of expression. His lashes lowered suddenly and his jaw clenched as he swallowed a moan that begged to be heard.

  “Matt?”

  “Yeah, honey,” he breathed. “You’re doin’ just fine.”

  “Do I give you chill-bumps, too?” It was a quavering whisper.

  “Oh, yeah, you sure do, honey,” he agreed with a sharply indrawn breath. Her fingers moved against him, more knowledgeable now, teasing the small buttons she’d located, and her breath caught in wonder as she recognized the force of his arousal.

  “I don’t think I can take many more of your chill-bumps tonight, Emmaline.” Shifting from her touch, he moved with relentless purpose against the soft contours of her body. Grasping the slender fingers she had spread against the expanse of his chest, Matt lifted them once more to rest against his shoulders.

  He bent low over her, his breath a hot brand against her flesh. His mouth was hungry, seeking her with a needy passion he had controlled for too long. She felt his lips open wide, and then his teeth were against the plush cushion of her breast. He suckled her flesh, leaving his mark, knowing with a savage delight that a small bruise would remind her of his touch when she looked into her mirror in the morning.

  Against her softness, his murmur was low, but the words reached her through the haze of desire he had woven with his touch. “I didn’t hurt you?” he asked gruffly, his tongue already soothing the surface he had claimed, the desire to brand her warring with his need to treasure the gift of her body.

  She shook her head, aware only of the fluid heat that filled her, of his openmouthed kisses and caresses, which even now were seeking another goal.

  Capturing the crest that promised greater purchase for his lips, he drew on her gently, then with stronger purpose, felt the shiver that swept through her body and heard the low groan of surrender she smothered against his brow. Her head tipped forward and her hands grabbed him tightly, holding him firmly to where he lavished her with the pressures of his mouth and teeth.

  “Matt...Matt...” She could speak only his name, in a small whisper that gripped his heart with an emotion beyond his ability to describe. Emmaline clutched at him, her hands tight against his head, her legs moving in an urgent dance, coaxing him to settle in the cradle of her body.

  “Em, let me...” He slid down her body, kneeling as he lifted her knees to make room for himself, careful as he moved her about, aware of the relative innocence of his bride, his touch gentle against the fragile flesh he was arranging for his pleasure.

  “Matt?” Her whisper was wondering, but her fingers were eager against him as her hands moved to touch where she could, running her fingers with frantic brushes against his skin, reaching as far as she could over his shoulders and then back to the muscular width of his chest once more. As if eager to trace every inch of flesh, she explored, trembling with anticipation, even as her breath quivered within her chest.

  “Emmaline,” he growled, the name a plea against her softness. Again he called her name, this time with a tender voice he’d used with no other woman. “Emmaline?” It was smothered against her flesh, but she heard it, heard the questioning sound of her name on his tongue, heard it and knew it for the plea that it was.

  She drew in her breath, her heart pounding in a thundering cadence within her. “I’m here, Matt.” Her whisper was soft, trembling in the quiet of the room, and her hands clutched against the dampness of his head.

  Within her, the churning
, swirling pressure he had created curled like a living presence, and her hips shifted beneath him, sensing that only his possession would free her from its grip.

  “Please,” she gasped, tugging at him, drawing him up to fit against her body, her hands clutching wildly against the slick surface of his skin. He obeyed the unspoken command, and sought the embrace she offered. Her arms enclosed him with eagerness, her legs twining with his as she twisted beneath him. And then she was lifting to surrender herself to his seeking manhood.

  He needed no further urging. With a groan of delight he came to her, with muffled words of encouragement he coaxed her to his will, and with a soaring sense of fulfillment he took her with him to that place called pleasure.

  * * *

  “I knew you weren’t overly intelligent, but I didn’t think you were stupid.” The words were spit from the woman’s lips with impetuous fury, and she spun on her heel, her anger visible as she stalked the length of the barn.

  Deep within the shadows, his voice followed her, sniveling and contrite. “It looked like a good chance to grab her. She was all alone in the kitchen, and I was just gonna scare her a little when she came out on the porch. An’ then I thought I’d just tie her up and leave her someplace for a few hours. Thought I’d just scare her some.”

  His voice trailed off and the woman glared her frustration. “I don’t want her scared,” she said, malice coating her words. “I want her...out of the picture.”

  His eyes lit with greed at the thought of this new demand and his shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m thinkin’ the stakes ain’t high enough, lady. If you want her dead, you shoulda said so.”

  “I want her gone! One way or another—out of here!” The woman tilted her head, her gaze challenging, her mouth twisted in a parody of mirth. “Now I’m wondering if you’ve got the guts to do—”

  His snarl was her only warning. Her shoulders were seized with brutal strength, his hands harsh, his fingers grasping with vicious force.

  “I’ve got more guts than brains right now,” he told her, his words a guttural threat, reinforced by the bruising grip he maintained.