Sunset Embrace (35 page)

"I thought you hated me," she whispered.

She moved her head from side to side, loving the feel of his mouth against hers.
Ross's mouth.
It was a heady thought that made her stomach quiver and her breath quicken.

"I tried to. I couldn't. I'm tired of punishing both of us."

Then the aggressive side of his nature reasserted itself. His mouth slanted over hers possessively as his hands splayed wide and held her immobile against his chest. Her lips were acquiescent as his tongue pressed between them and caressed the soft, wet lining. She moaned and raised her arms to encircle his neck.

They indulged the desires that had bedeviled them for the past few days. They celebrated each others mouths, letting their tongues engage in playful combat.

When at last Lydia pulled away and laid her cheek against his chest to regain her breath, she whispered softly, "I never knew people did that with their mouths."

He tilted her chin up and smiled mischievously. "Few people do."

Her heart thumped erratically against his ribs. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Don't know any better, I guess."

"I'm gladyou do. Know better, I mean."

He laughed then, a rich, rumbling sound that rolled out of his vibrating chest. "Are you?" She nodded vigorously. "Let's get back to it then," he murmured before pulling her close for another deep, passion-inducing kiss.

Keeping their mouths sealed, he put space between their bodies and let his hands find the buttons on her high-necked bodice. Her response had made him confident. As a youth, he had been too eager to employ finesse. When he had been an outlaw, time hadn't permitted leisure, and it hadn't been necessary, because whores had found his lustiness exciting. Victoria's primness had made him nervous and clumsy. He had been afraid of offending her with every move. But Lydia . . .

When all the buttons were undone, he lowered his mouth to her neck and nibbled it gently as he peeled the dress off her shoulders and down her arms. "You always smell so good." His breath fanned her skin, eliciting that tumbling weightlessness in her stomach.

With her arms free of the sleeves of her dress, she lifted her hands to his head, sank her fingers into the black richness of his hair, and held him close as he continued to nuzzle her.

Raising his head, he looked at her. The lantern had been turned down low to eliminate telltale shadows on the canvas, but it burned brightly enough to cast a golden glow over her skin. The lacy edge of her chemise rode low over the top curves of her breasts. The shadowy cleft between them intrigued him with its texture, which he imagined velvety against a man's fingers, a man's tongue.

His index finger ran along the top of her chemise from one side to the other and back again, slowly, while his eyes tracked its progress. When he lifted his eyes to her melting gaze, he smiled his pleasure in her. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. His belt came next and then he unbuttoned his pants. She remained entranced and looked at nothing save his
eyes.
Her own were wide and darkly amber.

"Do I frighten you, Lydia?"

She shook her head. "No. At one time, yes. No longer."

"Well, you frightened me too." He laughed softly.

"I?" It was incomprehensible that he could be frightened of anything.

"Didn't you realize how hard it was for me to spend the night in here with you, especially when you were nursing Lee, and not touch you?"

"Do you still want to touch me?"

He squeezed his eyes shut as though in pain. "Very much."

Taking his hand in hers, she guided it to her breast and pressed. "Like this?"

"God, yes." He groaned. He brought his other hand up to join the first. He massaged the soft globes lovingly, lifting, pushing them together, then letting their plumpness settle in his palms. She sighed his name when his fingers circled her nipples. With gentle fingertips he explored and implored until they budded to hard contraction.

"You opened my chemise that first night," she whispered dazedly.

Incredulous green eyes sprang up to meet hers. "I was drunk," he said hoarsely.

"Oh," she replied, ducking her head in shame. By his expression she knew she had said something terribly wrong. "I'm sorry. I don't know about these things. I thought you would like—"

"I would, but . . ."Hell, if his wife was one of the few on the whole damn continent who didn't demurely shrink from her husbands caress, he would be a sap to tell her.

He cursed the tiny buttons as his fingers grappled with them. After a frustrating moment, she gently closed her hands over his and moved them aside. Her movements were slow and unconsciously seductive as she released the buttons one by one.

Only a ribbon of skin showed at first, then the inside curves of her breasts, finally the shallow groove that divided her stomach. She leaned forward, the top of her head almost touching his chin, as she pulled the chemise off. Her hair fell forward, so that when she straightened, it covered her bewitchingly.

There was a roaring in Ross's ears that hadn't been there since he had taken his first woman so many years ago. He had been no more than a boy, yet he could remember the dryness in his mouth, the sweat lubricating his palms and beading his upper lip, the drumming of his heart. He felt that way now.

He brushed aside her hair and gazed at her breasts. They were full, coral tipped, beautifully shaped, high, rounded, maternal, sexy. The breasts of a madonna—and of a mistress. He remembered the first night he saw her, saw those milk-laden breasts and his son's avid mouth sucking on the nipples. A new surge of blood filled his manhood and he grew hard to the point of pain.

He put his hand on her and it burned with a thousand sensations that shot up his arm and straight into his heart. Beguiled, he caressed the soft flesh, loving the way it conformed to the shape of his hand and the movement of his fingers. His skin looked dark against its creamy whiteness.

He fanned the nipple lightly and it pearled temptingly; the dusky areola surrounding it wrinkled sweetly. Whispering a curse, he folded his hand around her breast and lowered his head.

First Lydia felt the silky-scratchy touch of his moustache, then the moist kiss. She placed her hands on his cheeks and held him fast. Her head fell back. His tongue rolled over the bead of rosy flesh, again and again, bathing it with the dew of his mouth. Then he trapped her in the scalding, wet vise of his mouth and sucked lightly.

Gasping with surprised delight, she inched closer, instinctively aligning her body to his. A serrated cry escaped his lips. His arms formed a brace across the small of her back and she arched backward over it. He devoured her sweetly, savoring every morsel of flesh he had dreamed of tasting for weeks. He sponged her nipples with his tongue, dried them with his moustache. His mouth was hot and fervent when he drew her between his lips, tugging rhythmically.

It was a carnal rhythm and they were both responding to the beat. Ross knew that if he didn't curb his desire now, he would take her savagely again. He lifted her up and cradled her head beneath his chin, hugging her damp breasts against his naked chest.

"Lydia, Lydia," he repeated over and over as he rocked her against him until they had both quieted. He didn't want it to be quick and rough this time, but slow, lingering.

She pushed away from him and ran her hands over his hairy chest. "This tickles," she said, wrinkling her nose comically.

"I'm sorry. I'll shave it."

"No!" she said. Her earnestness made him laugh, but he sobered when she quietly observed, "You've got so many scars." She touched the puckered scar above his left breast. Then her fingertips wandered over him to find every other nick and scar on his chest and shoulders.

"I'm afraid so."

"The war?"

He lifted her hand away and kissed the back of her fingers. "Some of them, yes." He said it in the voice she knew meant he wasn't going to say any more. He had been idly studying how her breasts swayed when she made the slightest movement and how strands of hair that fell ovei her shoulders fiirted with her nipples. Lydia seemed not the least shy at his absorption, but was almost childlike in her curiosity about him.

"Let's go to bed," he said huskily.

Ross had already made up his mind that he wasn't going to sleep in his breeches. And he sure as hell wasn't going to drag out one of those ridiculous nightshirts Victoria had insisted he wear in their bed. He was going to sleep the way God created him and if Lydia didn't like it ... Well, she would just have to like it. He pulled off his boots and socks and stepped out of his pants, tossing them to the other side of the wagon.

Lydia scooted to the bedroll and remained motionless when he blew out the flame of the lantern, plunging the wagon into darkness. Her ears were now trained to follow his movements and she knew that when he lay down beside her he would be naked.

She was both thrilled and terrified at the thought. Clancey had obscenely exposed himself to her through the fly of his pants, but she had never seen a grown man totally naked before. Of course Ross was beautiful from the waist up. She couldn't imagine the rest of him being ugly. Still, she was stiff and afraid when he lay down beside her.

Ross countenanced no resistance when he pulled her to him. His arms went around her tightly as he found her mouth in the darkness and captured it with his. Under the expertise of his kiss, Lydia felt her fear dissipating.

Her bare feet touched his legs, and that wasn't so awful. Her breasts were cushioned against the furred wall of his chest and the contact was thrilling. Ross naked was still Ross. She knew she had nothing to fear from him.

Her arms went around him and smoothed over the rippling muscles of his back. She let her hands slide past his waist and then touched what she had admired that morning at the river. Her palms coasted past the indentation at the small of his back and over the taut curves of his buttocks.

"Godamighty," he groaned as he eased her to her back. He was grateful for the moonlight that aided him in untying the waistband of her petticoat and pantalets. Bunching the material in one fist, he pushed down dress and underthings all at one time to form a bundle of calico and linen at the foot of their bed.

Then his eyes wandered up, admiring the small feet and trim ankles, the shape of her calves, the slender columns of her thighs. His breath rushed in on a sharp inhalation when he saw the nest of tawny curls. The shadowy delta defined womanhood, as did the gentle roundness of her hips, the slope of her belly, and the perfection of her breasts. Her beauty captivated him and he stared at her for long, ponderous moments, drinking it in.

Since puberty Lydia had never been completely naked in front of anyone, not even her modest mother. Ross was so engrossed, it alarmed her. Didn't she look like other women? Was she horribly ugly and didn't even know it? Was something wrong with her? "Ross?" she questioned shakily and covered her femininity with a shielding hand.

He shook himself out of his trance and lay beside her, pressing his rough body to the silkiness of hers to feel the sheer eroticism of the contrast. "My God," he sighed, resting his head on her breasts. Several minutes ticked by while he held her, just held her, disbelieving that such a gift Had been granted him. That he had ever thought her coarse and common was inconceivable to him now. She was rare and beautiful . . . and his.

He propped himself up and leaned down to kiss her mouth. He barely let his tongue enter the sweet recess, but twirled it lazily against the lining of her lips. Lydia put her hand on his head, matching his touch for lightness.

Cupping her breast with his hand, he bent down and brought it to his mouth. He kissed the warm fullness in ever-closing circles that drew his mouth closer to the peak. He caressed her nipple wih a circular motion of his lips until it was a perfect bud of arousal. Then he drew back slightly and laved it with his tongue.

Lydia shuddered and lifted herself off the pallet before felling back restlessly. Deep inside her, between her thighs, she felt that familiar stirring, that craving for something undefined and unknown. With such a heralding as this breathless anticipation, the culmination couldn't be less than splendored.

His hand was at her waist, and he squeezed her lightly before sliding his palm down the curve of her hip to her thigh. Her skin was like warm satin. Caressing it was the same as being caressed. His fingers stroked up her thigh, and he paused but a heartbeat before he let them feather over the luxuriant tangle of tawny hair.

He heard no objection, only a soft moan from Lydia's lips. Tentatively he pressured her thighs to part and wedged his hand between them. Pliant flesh, warm and wet, enclosed his fingers.

"Lydia." He grated her name between his teeth as he acquainted himself with the mystery of her.

"Ross!" she cried sharply.

Immediately he withdrew his hand and laid it on her knee. "I'm sorry. I'll stop. I only wanted to touch you."

"Do you have to?" she asked timorously.

"No," he whispered soothingly. "I don't have to. I'll never touch you that way again if you—"

"No," she said a bit hysterically. "I meant, do you Have to stop?"

His rasping curse singed her lips a moment before he kissed her. His hand was bolder now, but no less gentle as it fondled. Two of his fingers found the snug cleft and slipped into its liquid embrace. His thumb massaged the tiny, magical hood.

He watched her face take on that expression of sublimity he had seen once before when she was nursing Lee. He had coveted that expression and wanted it to be of his making. Now he watched her nipples tighten, her stomach convulse, her breathing quicken, and he nearly burst with his own desire that was now demanding release.

He covered her, replacing his fingers with his sex, pressing forward until he was swallowed by her body. For moments he lay perfectly still, panting into her neck, wrapped tightly inside her. Then he raised his head and looked into her eyes.

"I've never felt this way before, Ross, Is this the way it's supposed to be?" she whispered, running her fingertip over his moustache.