The Rancher's Christmas Princess (13 page)

Last,
he reminded himself, dizzy
with the wonder of her.
Make it last...

He groaned and he kept kissing her as he sought and found the
heart of her pleasure. She lifted up on her elbows to kiss him more deeply,
gasping into his mouth when he moved his thumb around that most sensitive spot.
He focused on that, narrowing his attention down to that tiny core.

It didn’t take long. Within a few short, beautiful moments, she
was going over. He felt the tiny, rhythmic pulsing of her climax against his
hand.

She whispered his name and collapsed back across the bed.

He wasted no time. Grabbing the condom from the bedside table,
he tore off the wrapper and rolled it into place. She gazed up at him, her eyes
bigger, deeper than ever, her body limp, her beautiful skin dewy, flushed.

Still standing above her, he bent again to lift her,
rearranging her, so her head was cradled on the pillows. She moved where he put
her, his to command.

His.

It was true. For now, she
was
his.
And now was what mattered. Now. Tonight. Tomorrow. And the next day. The few
magical days she would stay with him.

It was enough for him.

Because it would have to be.

She lifted those slender arms to him. “Preston, come here.
Closer, here, to me...”

The mattress shifted as he joined her, easing himself between
her smooth thighs, lowering his body to hers with great care, trying not to
crush her, not to smother her with his greater bulk and weight.

She was braver, wilder, bolder. She wrapped her arms and legs
around him, pulling him to her. Reaching down between them, she clasped him. He
let out a strangled sound as she guided him into place.

His mind spun away. He forgot to be careful. There was only the
pleasure, only the feel of her as he sank into her waiting heat.

She...surrounded him, took him,
owned
him completely. She was so sweet and tight. Dangerous.
Wonderful. His very own princess.

For tonight.

For a while.

But he wasn’t going to think about time limits now.

About losing her. About later. About how it would be when this
sweet insanity was over.

Right now, he could almost believe that this, the two of them,
was forever. That what they’d found together was so special, so good, so true
and real and right that it couldn’t end.

It
wouldn’t
end.

She pulled him down and he went, gladly. He couldn’t stop
himself. Couldn’t hold himself back. Not now. Not anymore. He surged into her.
She lifted those slender legs higher, tighter around him, hitching them behind
him, pulling him closer, deeper still.

Her mouth was under his, her tongue boldly sweeping the
surfaces beyond his lips. He was lost in a tossing, stormy sea of sensation. Her
skin. His skin. Her mouth, his. He moved within her and she took him, claimed
him, branded him.

She gave his own need back to him, her eagerness and
willingness somehow amplifying every frantic, hungry thrust.

He tried to slow it down, to take control again. But he had no
control. There was only Belle, her body holding his, her arms so close around
him, her legs squeezing him tight, drawing him down deeper and deeper into her,
into the sweetness, into the heat and the softness of her.

They moved as one, rocking together, spiraling deeper and
deeper into a velvet darkness, a darkness that split wide open at the end into
blazing-hot, blinding light.

Chapter Ten

B
elle woke when the bed shifted. She was
smiling as she opened her eyes. The room was dark and Preston’s tall shadow
loomed above her.

“What are you doing?” She covered her wide yawn with the back
of her hand. “What time is it?”

He was already out of the bed, but he paused and bent close to
her again. With those big, gentle hands of his, he tucked the covers closer
around her in a way that made her feel cared-for—cherished. “It’s a little
before five,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“But where are you going?” She dragged herself up against the
pillows and turned on the lamp by her side of the bed.

He was sticking his feet into his jeans. “Morning chores. They
don’t wait.” He zipped them up and sent her a glance that held all the wonder of
the night before within it. “Not even for a man lucky enough to have you in his
bed....”

Oh my, he was one fine figure of a man. Just looking at his
broad shoulders, at the hard muscles of his long arms, she felt quivery and warm
inside, love struck and very young. It would be so lovely to simply lie here in
his bed and wait for his return.

But then she thought of Ben, of the real reason she was here,
in this house, with this man. There was much in the world beyond her own selfish
pleasure. And sometimes it was simply wiser to maintain a certain pretense of
decorum. For now, at least, it was probably smarter to keep their new
relationship private, just between the two of them.

She said, “I should probably go down the hall to my own bed
anyway.”

He pulled on his white T-shirt. And then, for several sweet,
endless seconds, he just stood there gazing at her. “You’re something special. I
still can’t believe it, that you’re here. In this room. With me.” He whispered
the words.

She wanted to leap from the bed and throw herself into his arms
again. But there would time for that.

Tonight.
The word whispered through
her, full of promise. Once Ben was in bed and Marcus had retreated to his room
off the kitchen and Charlotte came up with yet another excuse to visit Silas
across the yard, it would be just the two of them. They could be together. In
every way.

He was on the move again, putting on his heavy shirt, buttoning
it up. She sat, all warm and cozy under the covers, and watched him as he
buckled his belt, dropped to the chair by the window and pulled on his socks and
his boots.

“Breakfast,” she commanded, as he turned for the door.
“Seven-thirty. Be there.” Some days he didn’t come in until after nine or ten
and some days he and Silas took food with them and didn’t return until
afternoon.

“Yes, ma’am.” He sent her one last lovely, intimate glance and
then he was gone.

* * *

Pres came in for breakfast as he’d promised Belle he
would. He washed up fast and then joined the rest of them at the kitchen table,
taking the empty seat between Belle’s chair and Ben’s high chair.

“Good morning.” He gave Belle a grin he hoped didn’t reveal too
much.

“Good morning.” Her answering smile was merely cordial. The
look in her eyes, however, made him want to leap up and haul her high against
his chest and carry her up the stairs and straight to his bed again.

Ben made a gurgly sound. “Hi, Dada!”

And that reminded him to stop staring at her like he wanted to
gobble her whole, to turn to his son. “Hi, Ben. How are you this morning?”

Ben answered him in a long string of enthusiastic nonsense
syllables, after which he picked up a handful of dry cereal, stuffed it in his
mouth and chewed.

Pres said, “Good to hear it, son,” as Charlotte appeared at his
shoulder with the coffeepot. “Thank you,” he told her. She filled his mug, then
went around the table topping off cups.

When she sat back down, they started passing the bowls of
scrambled eggs and sausage, the platters of flapjacks, the butter and the warmed
maple syrup. It was their usual Sunday breakfast.

“Silas,” said Charlotte in an admiring tone, “you weren’t
joking. You really can cook.”

The old man looked proud as a turkey gobbler in a hen pen. “A
man ought to be able to iron his own shirts, fry up a mess of sausage and
scramble a dozen eggs at the very least, I always say.”

Marcus, silent as usual, looked from Charlotte to Silas, eyes
narrowed. And then he glanced at Belle, after which he looked straight at
Pres.

Pres got the picture. The bodyguard knew everything. He knew
about Charlotte and Silas. And he knew where Her Highness Arabella had spent
most of last night.

Did Belle know that Marcus knew? Would it matter to her? After
all, it was the bodyguard’s job to keep her safe.
And
to keep her secrets.

Pres didn’t like it. He didn’t understand it—the kind of life
where you needed a professional soldier protecting you constantly. It was just
another example of the vast difference between her world and his, more proof
that he was living in a fantasy with her. And another indication that there was
no way this amazing thing between them could ever go anywhere.

And as long as he kept that in mind, well, there was no
problem, right? He wouldn’t let himself go getting ideas. He would enjoy this
time with her.

And not start expecting there to be more.

Beside him, Belle spoke. “We should keep the time in mind. We
don’t want to be late for nine o’clock Mass. I was thinking we could take two
vehicles as usual. Preston can drive Ben and me. Silas and Charlotte, you can
ride with Marcus.”

“What the hell?” groused the old man at full volume. “Leave me
out of it. I’m not a churchgoing man. I haven’t set foot in a damn church since
Pres’s mother passed.”

Ben, in his high chair, stared wide-eyed. “Pawpaw.” He put his
little index finger against his lips. “Shh.”

Charlotte said quietly, “Silas, language. The child...”

The old man sputtered some more, but he did tone it down a tad.
“I’m just saying I ain’t going, that’s all.”

Charlotte clucked her tongue. “Of course you are.”

“No, Shar, I’m not.”

Shar.
He was calling her
Shar
now? Pres couldn’t resist sliding a glance at
Belle to see her reaction. She was playing it downright demure, carefully
slicing a bite of sausage, bringing it delicately to her lips, chewing with
slow, measured care.

“As I recall,” Charlotte reminded his father in a fond,
indulgent tone, “just yesterday afternoon you stood right there on Main Street
and told that lovely Deluca couple that you
would
be
at Sunday Mass.”

The old man made a huffing noise. “Pres told them. I didn’t say
a thing. People can make up their minds to whatever they want as far as I’m
concerned. That doesn’t mean I have to do what they decide is good for me.”

“But it isn’t
for
you,
specifically,” Charlotte said gently. And she tipped her head in Ben’s
direction. “Silas,” she added. “Please.” That was all. Just the old man’s name.
Softly. With that ladylike “please” right after it.

His father huffed and grunted and knocked back a big slug of
coffee. He set the cup down harder than he needed to. “All right. Okay. Sunday
Mass. Why not?”

* * *

When they reached the pretty white Church of the
Immaculate Conception, Pres and Belle took Ben to the nursery provided for the
youngest children. They kissed Ben goodbye and told him they would be back soon.
He waved at them, opening and closing his hand in their direction the way he
liked to do, but he didn’t make any fuss at all. So they left him there with two
pretty teenagers, both of whom seemed affectionate and attentive with the kids
they would be looking after.

Mass was short. Nobody in their group took communion. Did they
all have unconfessed sins, then? Pres had a pretty good idea of what his
father’s and Charlotte’s sins might be. And he knew his own and Belle’s
intimately. He had no idea what sins Marcus needed forgiving for—if any.
Strange, to think of the bodyguard that way, as someone with baggage like
everyone else.

A man. A sinner.

Marcus seemed much too self-contained and disciplined to have
any sins to account for.

Pres spotted Lucy and Monty a few rows in front of them. He was
careful not to waste any time looking at them. The last thing he needed was for
Lucy to try and catch his eye—let alone for Monty to see her doing it.

Belle sat beside him. He couldn’t keep from stealing frequent
glances at her. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. And since
last night, to him, she seemed even more beautiful than ever—if it was possible
for her to get any better looking than she’d been before. He loved the fine,
pure line of her profile, the way her hair caught the light, reflecting copper
glints in the shaft of sun coming in the stained-glass window at the end of
their pew.

Once or twice, she turned and saw him staring. She didn’t seem
bothered by his gaping at her like a lovesick puppy. Each time she caught him
looking, she gave him a secret, tender smile, a smile meant just for him. A
smile that only made him want to stare at her some more.

He kept reminding himself to get a grip. And he would. For a
few minutes, he would pay attention to the droning of the priest. And then he
would find himself turning her way again, getting hypnotized by the perfect
curve her chin, the smooth line of her throat. He would be dazzled by the sight
of the sun on her hair.

After the service, the Delucas asked them to come on over to
the Sweet Stop for lunch. Pres was thinking he ought to get back. He had a sick
mare he wanted to look in on.

But all of a sudden the old man was Mr. Sociable. “A fine
suggestion, John. Don’t you think so, Shar? Lunch sounds mighty fine about now.
After a generous helping of religion, I like a nice big burger and a jumbo order
of fries at least as much as the next man.” He accepted the invitation for the
rest of them.

And why not? Pres found himself thinking.

A man needed to eat.

They caravanned over to the diner, which was packed with the
after-church crowd. It took an hour to get a table.

They didn’t get back to the ranch until after three. Ben was
fast asleep in his car seat by then.

When he stopped the quad cab and turned off the engine, Belle
asked, “Shall I take him in?”

He indulged himself and looked at her again. She’d made him
crazy all day long with wanting to touch her, to kiss her, to be free to wrap
his arm around her and have everyone in town know that she was with him.

What would that be like, to have Belle at his side every day
for the rest of his life? To sleep beside her in his bed every night? There was
a dream worth dying for.

A dream the likes of him was never going to make into
reality.

He knew that, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. He
accepted that.

He leaned close to her across the console between their seats,
drawn as if by a magnet. He had treated windows in the cab, so it wasn’t all
that easy to see them in there. Plus, the others were already filing into the
house, not even looking their way. “God, you’re so beautiful....”

She gave him that smile again, that little secret one that made
him want to grab her close and never let her go. “Oh, Preston...”

He loved the way she said his name, making it sound both formal
and intimate at the same time. Because he couldn’t stop himself, he leaned in
even closer and captured her mouth. He tasted her soft lips, felt her sweet
breath across his skin.

With great effort, he made himself pull away and answer her
original question. “No. It’s all right. I’ll get him.”

He got out of the truck. The car seat was on the driver’s side,
so Pres opened that door and leaned in to unhook the sleeping kid from the
seat.

Ben woke with a start. He blinked furiously and then let out an
ear-flaying shriek. “Mama! Mama...” He looked all around him, frantic. “Mama,
Mama!”

Stunned, Pres just stood there, holding the hook end of the
seat restraint, as Ben waved his arms and screamed some more. “No, Dada. Mama.
Mama....”

Belle touched his shoulder. “Here. Let me...” She sounded
unruffled. Not shocked in the least by Ben’s sudden outburst.

Pres dropped the restraint belt. He couldn’t jump aside fast
enough. “All right. Yeah. Please...”

Ben kept screaming, calling for Anne as Belle calmly eased the
restraint over his head and pulled him from the seat. She hugged him close,
kissed his cheek and murmured gentle reassurances, even though he kept flailing
and struggling and crying for his mama. Pres would have sold his soul about
then, to have the power to bring Anne Benton back, to give the boy what he
wanted so desperately.

But Anne was never coming back.

And when Belle left, if this happened, he was damn well going
to have to be ready to step up and deal. “Here, let me take him.”

She frowned over Ben’s squirming body at him.

He spoke again, levelly, “It’s okay. Let me...”

“No, no, no, Dada. No, Belle. Mama, Mama!” Ben screamed even
louder as Belle passed him to Pres. “No, Dada, no!”

“Tell him it’s all right...” She held his eyes, spoke in an
even tone.

Pres got to work on that. “Shh, Ben. Ben, it’s okay. Mama’s not
here. Mama can’t come, but you’re safe. You’re all right. We...love you.” Damn.
Was that the first time he’d said that? He said it again. “We love you so much.
You’re safe. It’s okay....”

Ben wasn’t convinced. He went on wailing, flailing his fists,
shaking his head. Snot flew and tears streamed down his hot, flushed cheeks.
Pres just held on, as gently as he could, and went on babbling about how it was
okay and how Ben was safe.

Slowly, the small body relaxed and the cries grew less frantic.
In the end, with a watery hiccup and a sad little sigh, Ben leaned his head on
Pres’s shoulder. “Dada,” he said, the word a sort of surrender. His body still
quivered with the aftershocks of his outburst. Pres cradled him closer, pressed
his lips against his sweaty temple, rubbed his back—and followed Belle into the
house.