A Lady of the West (43 page)

“No.” The word was strangled. She turned her head to the side, away from him. “Please.”

“You know I'll please you,” he murmured, removing his finger to shove her skirt and petticoats completely
off. Without their concealing bulk, her slender body was clearly outlined by the form-fitting shirtwaist blouse, shift, and the thin cotton drawers that clung to her thighs. She had very pretty legs, slim and well-formed. Her white stockings were held in place by plain white garters. He'd seen black lace garters and sheer silk stockings that hadn't excited him nearly as much.

Using the toe of his boot, he scraped her soft, flat-heeled slippers off of her feet and kicked them from the bed. “Don't want you getting the bedcovers dirty.”

She didn't take kindly to the gentle teasing. “You've still got your boots on, you jackass!” She Was seething, steam practically rising from her. He laughed low, inordinately amused at his very proper wife cursing at him.

“I'll take them off if you want me to,” he offered.

“No!”

“Damn, you're a hard woman to please. Guess you're lucky that I'm a hard man.”

She had no doubt what he meant, and if she had had one of her arms free she would have slapped him again. She was tiring rapidly; she hadn't recovered her strength from the long weeks of almost constant nausea. Devoutly, and without result, she prayed for one of the sickening bouts now.

She gathered her fading strength for one last desperate attempt at escape, tensing her muscles and surging wildly. He controlled her without effort, and Victoria was forced to the galling knowledge that there was nothing she could do. Hot, bitter tears slid down her cheeks, and she turned her head away as her body went limp.

“Don't cry, honey.” Like the predator he was, he sensed her capitulation, and his voice was low and comforting. He released her arms, knowing she no longer had the strength to fight. “I 'm sorry I didn't believe you, but it's over now. Let me make it up to
you. It's been a long time since we've done this; haven't you missed it? Don't you remember how good I made you feel?”

She drew a deep, shuddering breath, fighting for control. “I remember everything you made me feel.” Her voice was thick with tears.

He knew what she meant. He paused, his face tightening as the guilt over the pain he'd caused her almost overwhelmed him. Then he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his callused thumb. “Then hate me for it, but by God it won't make any difference. You're my wife, and your place is here with me.”

She was tired, her muscles shaking. It was useless to fight him. She closed her eyes.

He rolled her to the side and unbuttoned her shirtwaist, then pulled it down her arms and tossed it aside. The shift went next, and she lay with her arms motionless, making no effort to cover her breasts.

The differences in them excited him. They were larger, firmer, readying themselves even now for the milk that would feed his baby. Her little nipples had darkened and seemed distended. He paused to remove his boots and shirt, his eyes never leaving her breasts. Without touching her anywhere else, he leaned over and lightly circled a pouting nipple with his tongue.

She gasped, her body arching. The touch of his hot tongue burned, and the heat gathered and pooled in her lower body. Her breasts became almost unbearably tight, just from that light touch. They were so sensitive that she almost burst into tears again, unable to decide if this was ecstasy or agony.

His breath washed over her wet flesh, making it tingle even more. He moved to the other nipple and subjected it to the same light, exquisitely gentle washing by his tongue. She trembled, fighting the blinding heat. Her hands gripped the sheet beneath her, twisting. No, no, she cried silently, he had to stop, she couldn't bear it—

With acute attention to her tender state, he sucked the nipple into his mouth and applied the lightest pressure.

A strangled sob tore from her throat, no longer in protest. Her hips lifted.

His hand went between her legs, and this time they parted easily. He rubbed lightly at her soft, exposed flesh, then slipped his finger into her. His memory of her tightness had tormented him, but he was amazed anew at how small her passage was. Sweat glistened on his naked torso.

“Do you remember, the time in the study?” he murmured, kissing her neck. “We were in too much of a hurry to take your drawers off, and I tore them so I could get at you better.”

She moaned, her body twisting on his impaling finger. She opened her eyes but the lids were heavy, and her lashes fluttered. “Jake.”

The sound of his name, uttered in that thick, helpless, wanting tone, made his heart leap. She was his. She was no longer fighting, no longer even thinking. Her hips lifted again.

He kissed her mouth, his tongue plunging deep. It was too late again to pull off her drawers. He tore the seam open, sliding down to explore the secrets revealed. Her woman's flesh was deep pink and glistening; he pressed his mouth to her in a deep, avid kiss, needing her taste, needing all of her secrets. She screamed, the sound muffled by the pillow she pulled over her face, and her cotton-clad thighs tightened convulsively around his head. He prised them open again, and held them wide. His tongue darted and dipped and circled, and continued as he felt the deep shudders begin. Her heels dug into the bed, both of her hands clenched in his hair, and she cried out again.

When it was over, her legs fell weakly open. She lay with her eyes closed and her breasts shining with a fine mist of perspiration, her chest heaving up and down
as she fought for breath. He tore at the tapes holding the ruined garment about her waist, and stripped it away, then attacked his own belt and pants. Naked, he mounted her, and her eyes flared open at his slow, inexorable penetration.

She had almost forgotten the overpowering sensation of fullness. Her body had been preoccupied with its own gravidity, but he had brought lust surging back. He grunted as he squeezed inward, the sound changing to a groan as he stopped. “Is it hurting you?”

Her hands were hot. She gripped his sweat-slick shoulders and twined her legs around his buttocks. “No. Don't stop. Don't stop, Jake, please—”

He gave a strained laugh, a sound of satisfaction rather than mirth. “No, I won't stop. God.”

He didn't drive into her; he was too acutely aware of her pregnancy. He rigidly controlled his thrusting to a certain depth and rhythm, but it was enough. She convulsed again, greedily lifting her hips and taking the inches he had denied her. His senses exploded, and with a tight sound of defeat he gave her what she wanted as his loins pulsed and emptied.

Her white-stockinged legs remained locked around him. Her defeat, on this level at least, was shatteringly complete.

His breathing had steadied, his heart was once again beating normally instead of trying to burst out of his chest. Victoria, lying limp and unmoving at his side, seemed to be dozing. The sweat had dried on their bodies, and as he watched, the first faint chill roughened the skin of her upper arm. He heaved himself up and grasped the sheet, pulling it over them and tucking it around her shoulder. Her blue eyes flickered open, then she sighed and let them close again.

She seemed content to lie there, so close beside him. But he realized she was essentially alone. Before, she
had lain in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder and her delicate hand sleepily stroking his chest. There was none of that mute intimacy now, no gentle touching, no lying tangled together and inhaling the other's scent. He hadn't known before what had made those drowsy hours after lovemaking so special, but now he did. The difference now told him that he may have won the battle, but he'd far from won the war. He wanted her willing touch, not this silent distance that told him she had been defeated, but not won.

Winning her back would take time, but he knew how to be patient. He'd been patient for twenty years, planning his revenge on McLain. He was willing to spend another twenty years teaching Victoria that she could love and trust him, if she would only allow him that much time.

He turned onto his side and pulled her into his arms, cradling her there whether she wanted to be or not. Closeness worked its own magic, and the sort of physical ecstasy they had just shared forged a bond he knew she couldn't easily ignore. He would use what weapons he had, because he dared not lose her.

“Tell me about it,” he invited softly, nuzzling the fine hair at her temple.

“About what?” she asked in a cool, even little voice. Her eyes were still closed.

“About McLain.”

The last thing Victoria wanted to do was discuss McLain; she was exhausted and wanted only to sleep. Even if she had been wide awake, however, she wouldn't have wanted to discuss the subject with Jake. He had forced her to a capitulation that deeply scoured her pride. What with her other grievances against him, she wasn't feeling very obliging.

She bit her lip, wishing that he would just go away. It was obvious that he had no intention of moving, however, so she said, “No.”

“I need to know,” he murmured, kissing the fragile hollow right below her temple.

Her eyes opened.
“You
need to know!” Her voice trembled with suppressed emotion. Her pregnancy had brought all of her emotions alarmingly close to the surface. “Tell me why I should care what
you
need! I needed my husband's support, and trust, and care; did you care about
my
needs?”

“I'm sorry, love. I'll do anything I can to make it up to you.” He was completely sincere, and perhaps it was in his low voice because she gave him a quick, sharp look.

“How can you make up for something like that?” she asked, and closed her eyes with a weariness that was both physical and mental. “I can't think how it would be possible.”

“Let me try anyway. We're married; we're having a baby.” He smoothed his big hand down over her warm belly, wishing that he hadn't already wasted three months. “What does it feel like?” Painful curiosity leaked into the words. “Can you tell anything yet?”

She gave a wry laugh. “Oh, yes, I've been able to tell a great deal. I've been deathly ill, so nauseated I could barely lift my head from the pillow. The smell of food is disgusting. I have an almost constant urge to … to wet,” she said, stammering with embarrassment that she had said such a thing, but it had tumbled out without thought. “There is a sense of pressure, here.” She laid her hand low on her belly. “I can scarcely bear for my clothes to touch my breasts, and I get dizzy if I try to move quickly. I cry several times a day, for no reason. I'm so tired I can scarcely get through the days, yet I can't sleep at night. I've really been enjoying myself.”

He smothered a chuckle and planted another kiss, this one on her mouth instead of her temple. “When is it due?”

“Late in March.” She found she couldn't deny him this knowledge about his child, now that he was asking.

His stroking hand smoothed over her belly, then
down between her legs. She gasped, stiffening as his fingers leisurely parted and stroked. She would never have believed she could respond so soon after such explosive lovemaking, but her loins tightened.

“You feel wonderful, so warm and wet and tight. I want you so much I just couldn't understand how McLain didn't.” His voice was muffled against her throat.

Victoria caught her breath, dazedly aware of the truth in his husky tone. He simply didn't understand it. She didn't know why McLain had been as he was, either, only how it had been.

“He tried,” she whispered. “Twice. But he couldn't get hard, the way you do. It made him angry and he hurt me, but it still wouldn't work. After those first two times, he never tried again.”

Jake closed his eyes, fighting the pain her words brought him. “How did he hurt you, love?”

She didn't notice the endearment. More and more of her attention was focusing on what he was doing. One long finger slipped into her and she moaned aloud. “He did … what you're doing now. But he hurt me, and there was blood. It was awful; I hated it, and I hated him. But when you do it… ah! Yes. Yes. It feels so good.”

He leaned over her, increasing the brush of his thumb over her tiny nub. His heart squeezed as he thought how it must have been for her, a virgin ignorant of everything sexual, with a brute like McLain. Now he knew why she hadn't bled when he'd made love to her the first time. He didn't regret for himself the loss of that small membrane, only that she had been hurt and frightened.

He was the only man who had ever made love to her, the only man she had taken into her arms and her body. The knowledge flooded him with possessive pleasure. Whether she wanted it or not, she was irrevocably his. He would never let her leave him.

J
ake had Carmita move Victoria's things back into his room. If he had thought Victoria would do so he was disappointed, but he knew well enough that their situation had improved to nothing more than a truce. She didn't again try to fight him physically, but her manner was reserved, her eyes still cool, and he knew he wasn't forgiven. It was enough, for now, that she was back where she belonged.