Short Straw Bride (9 page)

“Luke, please.”

She couldn’t have said just what she was asking for. She wanted him to stop. Of course she did. The stroke of his hand on her buttocks, the pressure of his fingers on her breast were sinful. Anything that felt so wonderful had to be sinful. But she didn’t think she could bear it if he stopped. No doubt she’d pay for the sin of enjoying the deliciously wicked things he was doing to her. But the threat of punishment in the hereafter wasn’t as real as the pleasure he was giving her here and now.

Luke felt the uncertainty in her and knew she was hovering between pleasure and protest. But pleasure would win. There was too much passion in her for it to be otherwise. He eased his leg farther between hers, pressing his hard thigh upward against her soft warmth, feeling her start of surprise, feeling the dampness that revealed her need. He pressed harder, forcing her thighs wider so that she all but rode his leg.

Her shaken whisper was smothered beneath layers of muslin as he swept her nightdress up and over her head. His mouth swallowed any protest she might have offered, his tongue thrusting boldly inside, stealing her breath, stealing her ability to think. No one had seen her completely naked since she was a baby. The very thought had seemed horrifying just a little while ago. Yet here she stood, without a stitch of clothing on, uttering not a word of protest.

She should protest, she thought vaguely. Even though he was her husband, she was quite certain that what he was doing was not at all proper. But there was a liquid heat throbbing low in her belly and instead of pulling away, she found herself with the shocking urge to press closer to him. He pushed his leg harder against her most private places and she opened to him, helpless to do otherwise.

Luke’s mouth left hers and Eleanor sucked air into her lungs, only to have it leave her on a startled shriek as she felt the wet heat of his tongue on her nipple. Her hands had been gripping his shoulders. Now they flew to his head, her fingers clutching his dark hair to pull him away. His mouth opened over her, drawing her into his mouth, and the strength left her hands.

His cheeks flexed as he drew on her nipple, already pebbled to hardness by the touch of his fingers. Eleanor felt that drawing at her breast, felt it echo deep inside her. Her protest became a whimper. Her head fell back, the thick fall of her hair covering Luke’s arm where it lay across her lower back, supporting her, holding her. She’d never felt anything like this in her life, never even imagined such feelings were possible. How could pleasure be so intense that it was almost pain?

Luke felt her complete surrender in the yielding softness of her body against his, heard it in the barely audible whimper that escaped the back of her throat. He’d known there was passion in her. He’d counted on patience and skill to draw it out of her. What he hadn’t counted on was the strain that patience would put on his control.

He wanted her. His gut ached with need, with a hunger that would have surprised him if he’d been in any condition to consider it. But at the moment all he could think of was laying his bride on the bed, stripping his clothes off and sheathing his aching hardness in the damp welcome of her body.

Eleanor felt the world spin as Luke lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. The linens were cool against her skin, which felt as hot as if she were burning up with fever. She opened her eyes and saw
Luke standing next to the bed, his fingers on the buttons of his shirt. He stripped the garment off his shoulders and his hands dropped to the waistband of his pants.

She told herself she should look away, that it had to be sinful to stare at a man’s body, even when that man was her husband. But she couldn’t drag her eyes from him. A mat of dark hair covered the muscled width of his chest, narrowing to a fine line that tapered down his belly, disappearing into the waist of his pants. And then he was shoving his pants over his hips and Eleanor’s eyes widened, her mouth forming a round O of surprise.

Letty had said that her husband would be putting his manly part inside her. Though the thought had been shocking, Eleanor had seen animals mate and she’d thought she had some understanding of the process. But she’d had no idea…

“Luke, I don’t think—”

“Shh.” He was beside her on the bed and she could feel him pressed against her hip. The heat that radiated from him surprised her into silence for a moment, long enough for Luke’s fingers to burrow into her hair, tilting her face up so that his mouth could claim hers.

Her thoughts grew fuzzy. She needed to talk to him, to explain that what he had in mind just
wasn’t possible. But it was so hard to think when he was kissing her like this, when his fingers were touching her breasts, her quivering belly, her—

She bolted against him, the breath whooshing out of her. He couldn’t, he mustn’t—But his fingers had already found her, discovered the embarrassing dampness of her most private feminine secrets. His thigh lay between hers, preventing her instinctive move to close her legs. And then he was stroking her, teasing her sensitive flesh, and instead of drawing away, she was arching into his touch, wanting more, wanting…something. Something that lay just out of reach, something she couldn’t define, couldn’t even imagine.

Her hands clung to Luke’s shoulders as he rose above her, his legs sliding between hers. She felt the hair on his chest brush her nipples, already sensitized by his mouth. She felt him lower still, probing against the heart of her. Fear and uncertainty worked their way past the hunger he’d created and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, staring up at him with huge, dark eyes.

“Trust me,” Luke whispered, seeing her uncertainty. Every fiber of his body screamed for him to find the satisfaction that lay so close, but he waited until he felt a subtle easing of her tension.

He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his as he consummated their marriage with a slow, steady thrust. He tasted her sharp gasp of pain as her maidenhead yielded to him, felt the shock of his possession ripple through her body. He forced himself not to move, to give her time to adjust to the reality of sharing her body with a man.

He waited, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead as he struggled for control. And then she shifted beneath him, an almost infinitesimal movement that made him bite back a groan. He moved, retreating from the heated warmth of her. Her hips lifted slightly, as if in protest. He gave her what she asked and heard the startled gasp that broke from her at the sensation that resulted.

He’d known there was passion in her, and he’d been right. But he was surprised by the depth of her passion. He’d always prided himself on his control, on his ability to bring a woman to pleasure, but Eleanor’s untutored response strained that control to the limits.

Eleanor was oblivious to Luke’s struggle. She was awash in sensation, spinning out of control. Tension coiled in her, starting in the place where they were joined and spiraling out to encompass her entire body. The coil wound tighter and tighter until
the tension was unbearable. She stiffened, suddenly frightened by the power of it.

Luke murmured something indistinguishable in her ear, some reassurance. And then his hand slipped between their bodies, finding her, touching her. And she shattered into a thousand pieces. She spun outward, the broad strength of Luke’s muscled shoulders the only solid thing in the world. She heard Luke groan, a low guttural moan of something akin to pain, and then felt him shudder in her arms, his release spinning her higher still until it seemed as if they touched the stars.

It seemed a long time before Luke could gather the strength to lift himself away from Eleanor’s lax body. She shivered slightly as cool air brushed over skin warmed by his loving. Luke tugged the quilt up over them, pulling her against his side as he sank back against the pillows. She snuggled into his warmth, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her small body curled into his.

Luke allowed his eyes to drift shut, his mouth curling into a satisfied smile. It wasn’t often a man had reason to be glad he’d drawn the short straw.

E
leanor woke to the sound of someone moving around nearby. Startled and still half asleep, she jerked upright in bed, thinking that she’d overslept and Aunt Dorinda had come to get her up. But instead of her aunt’s stern face, she found herself staring at the muscular width of a man’s naked back. What had started out a scream emerged as a squeak when the intruder turned and she found herself staring into Luke’s face.

Luke. Her husband. Memory rushed back. The wedding, the drive out to the ranch house, him showing her around her new home, her terrified anticipation of him joining her in the bedroom. And then it hadn’t been terrifying at all, at least not in the way she’d anticipated.

“Good morning.” His voice was even deeper than usual, husky with sleep.

“Good morning.”

“How are you this morning?” His eyes searched her face and Eleanor felt her cheeks warm at the intimacy of that look.

“I’m fine.” Her voice seemed to be caught somewhere in the back of her throat, emerging as little more than a whisper.

“You look fine.” There was pure, masculine appreciation in his look as his eyes drifted downward. “You look more than fine.”

With a horrified gasp, Eleanor snatched the blankets up to her chin, covering her bare breasts. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire and Luke’s husky laugh did nothing to cool the heat. It was probably foolish to feel embarrassed, considering the liberties she’d allowed him to take with her person the night before. Just the memories of those liberties was enough to make her tingle all over. But it was morning now, or close to it, she amended, noting the gray light that filtered through the thin curtains. And what was acceptable in lamplight seemed like brazen sin in daylight.

Luke took pity on her flushed cheeks and bent to scoop her wrapper up off the floor. She mumbled her thanks as she took it from him, but didn’t immediately move to put it on. Seeing her uneasy glance in his direction, he sighed and turned away from her to pick up his shirt. Obviously it was going
to take a while for her to lose her shyness. But he could be patient. Patience had its rewards, he thought, remembering her response the night before.

As he finished buttoning his shirt and began shoving the bottom of it into his pants, Eleanor walked past him to the dresser and picked up her hairbrush. Luke’s movements slowed as he watched her drag the brush through the wild tangle of dark curls in a slow rhythm. Arousal thrummed low in his gut, but he restrained the urge to reach for her. He had a ranch to run and he couldn’t do it from his bed, no matter how tempting it was to try. Besides, from the way she was avoiding looking at him, he suspected it would take considerable effort to persuade her to come back to bed.

Eleanor could feel Luke’s eyes on her as she brushed her hair, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. The memory of her abandoned behavior the night before was enough to make her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Not that he’d seemed to object at the time. Her eyes met his in the mirror and immediately darted away.

“I’ll have breakfast ready shortly,” she said, grasping at the prosaic as a way to distract her thoughts from what had happened the night before.

“Don’t worry about it this morning. I’ll grab some bread and meat on my way out. That’ll hold me till supper.”

“I’ll have supper ready at noon for you and the hands, then.” She picked up one of the ribbons she’d worn in her hair the day before and used it to tie the heavy mass at her nape.

It was exactly what he’d expected her to say, but Luke hesitated, feeling a twinge of something that could have been guilt. She looked so young this morning. Young and…almost fragile. It occurred to him that in offering her this marriage that gave him everything he wanted, he might not have given as much thought as he should have to what
she
might have wanted.

He doubted many women dreamed of getting up the day after their wedding and cooking for half a dozen cowboys. Not to mention cleaning up three years of neglect. He wondered if he should have offered to take her on a wedding trip, maybe to Denver for a few days. And he could have hired someone to come in and clean up the house.

Luke shook his head. It was too late now, at least for the cleaning. And they could take a trip to Denver later in the year, when things slowed down a bit on the ranch. Besides, theirs was a marriage
based on practicalities. Eleanor was hardly likely to expect romantic gestures from him.

“Just ring the bell outside the kitchen door when supper’s ready,” he said.

“All right.” She’d turned to look at him, those big brown eyes solemn and just a little watchful, as if she wasn’t quite certain what to expect from him. Well, that made two of them, Luke thought. He’d thought he knew exactly what he was getting when he decided he needed a wife. But now that he had one, he wasn’t so sure.

“Do whatever you want with the house.” He gestured vaguely. “Make whatever room you need for your things in here. And move whatever you like.” He frowned at her, thinking that she really wasn’t very big. “Don’t try to move anything heavy. If I’m not around, one of the men can help.”

“All right.”

Luke hesitated, thinking there should be something else to say. But nothing came to mind and he shifted uneasily under the questioning look in her eyes.

“Well, I’ll see you later, then.” He turned and left without waiting for a reply, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something he’d forgotten. He was frowning as he went downstairs.
This business of being married was going to take a little getting used to.

Eleanor watched Luke leave and told herself it was foolish to feel hurt just because he hadn’t kissed her. He’d married her for practical reasons, not romantic ones, and she had no reason to expect kisses for no reason. It was just that, after last night…She shook her head, telling herself not to be a goose. She had much too much to do to spend her time moping.

Eleanor’s impressions of her new home the night before had been vague. Her mind had been on other things and she’d come away with only a rough idea that the whole house needed a good cleaning. In the daylight it was obvious that “a good cleaning” was putting it mildly. If there was a surface that wasn’t coated in dust or grime, she didn’t find it before the time came for her to start supper.

She wondered again why Luke hadn’t simply found himself a housekeeper rather than a wife, but then a memory of the night before brought a flush to her cheeks. Perhaps he’d had more in mind than just a clean house. He’d said he wanted children, and certainly a housekeeper couldn’t provide those.

The thought of a child made Eleanor smile. She pressed one hand to her flat stomach. She could be pregnant already. Her smile widened and her spirits
rose. She’d always wanted children, just as she’d always wanted a real home. That was why she’d been willing to gamble on marrying Luke. Maybe there was more of her father in her than she’d thought. Certainly he’d never risked more on a turn of the cards than she’d risked by agreeing to this marriage. But unlike a game of poker, where once the cards were dealt, chance decided the outcome, she could make her own luck. Or so she hoped.

She looked around the kitchen, seeing beyond the grime to the future, a future that she and Luke could build together, here in this house, on this land. For the first time in her life she was settled in one place. She wasn’t an unwelcome guest in her uncle’s home anymore. She had a home of her own, a place to put down roots. She had her dream.

Her smile faded slightly as she considered that a husband who loved her had always been a part of her dream. But love could grow, and good marriages had been built on less than what she had with Luke. Or so she hoped. He desired her. Innocent as she was, she had no doubt of that. And if she provided him with a comfortable home and, God willing, children, who was to say love couldn’t come of such things?

Her hopeful mood lasted until the noon meal. She’d spent the morning cleaning the kitchen,
scraping three years’ accumulated grime from every surface, then scrubbing everything with strong lye soap and a heavy scrub brush. It was going to take more than one morning’s work to get the room really clean, but she’d made a dent in the job.

At least the larder was well stocked. Her husband and brother-in-law might have let the housekeeping slide but apparently they hadn’t forgotten to eat. The state of the kitchen was testament to the fact that someone had been cooking in it, she thought, grimacing at the abundance of evidence left behind.

At midmorning she paused in her cleaning long enough to get a pot of stew started. That done, she got down on her hands and knees and began the monumental task of scrubbing the floor. By noon the kitchen was almost up to acceptable standards, the stew was done and a huge pan of biscuits was ready to go in the oven. She’d taken a guess at the amount of food necessary to feed half a dozen hungry cowboys and then she’d doubled her estimate.

She slid the biscuits in the oven, then went outside to ring the bell to call the men in to eat. By the time they’d washed up, the biscuits would be out of the oven, piping hot and flaky. She hoped they
wouldn’t take too long washing. Biscuits were at their best right out of the oven.

Her fingers were shaking a little with nerves as she quickly untied her apron and reached up to smooth her hair, patting hopefully at the eternally unruly curls around her forehead. This was her first test as a wife—well, maybe not her
first
test, she amended, blushing a little. But this was her first
public
test, and she wanted everything to be just right.

Eleanor was pouring coffee into thick cups when the squeal of the back door’s hinges announced the arrival of the ranch hands. The room was instantly filled with large, masculine bodies. They crowded into the kitchen, smelling of sweat and manure.

She saw immediately that she needn’t have worried about the biscuits cooling while the men washed up. The idea of using soap and water before eating was apparently hers alone. They appeared in her newly cleaned kitchen wearing whatever dirt had attached itself to their persons during the morning. Luke and Daniel entered last, and she was relieved to see that they’d at least washed the dirt from their hands, but they hadn’t bothered to wipe their feet. In a matter of seconds the floor looked just as it had before she’d scrubbed it. “Sure smells good, ma’am.” The words came
from a tall, skinny young man, who looked barely old enough to shave. He gave her a gap-toothed smile.

“This is Gris Balkin,” Luke said as he sat down at the head of the big oak table. “Slim White. Shorty Danvers. Joe Small.”

Eleanor had already lost track of which face belonged with which name. She smiled and nodded as each man dipped his head in her direction and sat down at the table. She turned to pull the biscuits from the oven, sliding them into a big earthenware bowl, pleased to see that they were lightly browned and looked exactly right.

She turned back to the table and stopped dead, her eyes widening. She’d set the heavy pot of stew in the center of the table and put a big ladle beside it. The ladle was bypassed in favor of a more direct method. She watched as Shorty—or was it Gris?—served himself by dipping his bowl into the stew pot. Gravy dribbled across the table as he set the bowl in front of him and proceeded to lick his fingers clean where they’d apparently been dunked in the stew.

She waited in vain for someone to say something about this amazing display of bad manners. But since the other men were quickly following suit, in obvious appreciation of this expedient method of
serving, it was hard to know just who should utter the necessary reproach. Trying to conceal her distaste, Eleanor edged up to the table and set the bowl of biscuits next to the stew.

“Biscuits!” One of the men—Slim?—greeted the addition with a pleased exclamation. The fact that his mouth was full did nothing to dim his enthusiasm.

The level in the bowl dropped instantly as hands flew across the table, snatching at the golden brown biscuits.

“Hot damn.” The man who spoke began tossing the steaming biscuit back and forth between his hands, trying to cool it. “They’s hotter than a witch’s—”

“Gris!” Luke’s snapped reprimand held a stern warning. He jerked his head in Eleanor’s direction.

Reminded that there was a lady present, Gris flushed a deep shade of red. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. McLain.”

Eleanor managed a weak smile to indicate her forgiveness for his language. If she’d thought that being reminded of her presence might have a beneficial effect on the men’s manners, she was disappointed. While she watched, one of them picked up his bowl to slurp the gravy that remained in its bottom
and then promptly dipped it into the stew pot for a second helping.

From the way the men were eating, she wondered if it wouldn’t have served just as well to throw a raw haunch of meat into the center of the table and let them devour it like a pack of wolves. Certainly, wild animals couldn’t have shown fewer table manners.

It didn’t seem to have occurred to anyone to say grace, but then she couldn’t really see the point of asking the Lord to bless the scene she was witnessing. Hands flew across the table, silverware clanked against bowls—thank heavens it was good, solid china; the sheer force with which they stabbed at chunks of meat would have shattered anything less sturdy.

They slurped their coffee and talked with their mouths full, at least when they weren’t shoveling food into those same mouths. And shovel was the operative word. They ate with a speed that might have been flattering if she hadn’t suspected that they’d have done the same with boiled shoe leather.

Her husband and brother-in-law were marginally better. At least they didn’t stuff food into their mouths with their fingers, she thought. But then Daniel wiped his mouth on his sleeve and the smidgen of relief disappeared. She could only
watch in awe as the mound of biscuits and the huge pot of stew were devoured in no time at all.

She’d never seen anything like it, and if there was a good side to the spectacle, it was that they were gone almost as soon as they arrived, nodding to her as they left the table, one or two mumbling a thank-you as they tromped out the door. Luke lingered behind the others.