One Day, My Prince, page 11
“Maybe I should,” Sarah said softly.
Dammit, someone should have the talk with Sarah, because his own intentions were far from honorable at the moment.
Anxious to change the subject, he glanced about the crowded dance floor. “At least Mayor Larry’s found some other poor woman to harass.” Drake was asking a blonde to dance, and his unfortunate prey was shaking her head vigorously. All he could see was the back of her head, but the woman seemed to be quite adamant.
“I do believe that’s Miss Sheppard,” Sarah said. “She’s renting the room I vacated at the boarding house. She said she’s planning to open a café in town. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
Joe spared only a glance for Miss Sheppard, who made a hasty retreat from the mayor. About that time Faith ran into his line of vision, her bright pink checkered dress whipping around her legs.
“Poppy,” she cried as she wormed her way past dancers to stand at his side. His dance with Sarah came to a too-soon end. “What side of a chicken has the most feathers?”
Joe considered the riddle for a moment, stroking his chin and shutting one eye briefly before turning his gaze down to Faith. “I have no idea. What side of a chicken has the most feathers?”
“The outside,” Faith said, delighted to have stumped her Poppy.
Sarah laughed brightly as Evie arrived on the tail-end of the punch line. “That’s a dopey riddle,” the other little girl said, “and you are a dope.” She turned her eyes up to Joe. “I’m tired, Poppy. When are we going home?”
“Soon,” he said. He caught Alice’s eyes, and when she came to the edge of the raised dance floor he told her to round up the others and get to the wagon. It was time to go home. When Evie asked if he and Sarah were going to help, Joe turned his eyes to Sarah again.
“One last dance,” he said, not yet ready to let her go.
Sarah knew she’d remember this night always. Years from now, when she was an old woman, she would close her eyes and remember in great detail watching the full moon rise above Jacob’s Crossing, laughing at Faith’s silly riddle, smiling at Alice’s awkward first romance. Dancing with Joe all night.
He was a good dancer, better than she’d expected. In deference to his healing wound, he’d sat out the more vigorous dances, the jigs that required more effort than was wise at this point, but there were lots of more sedate, slower dances in which he participated.
She’d never enjoyed a ball this much, had never enjoyed a dance partner more. Goodness, she still had on her face the silly smile she’d worn all evening.
They walked now toward the wagon, away from the stage and the noise of the town social. Sarah was tired, warmly and pleasantly sleepy, and ready to go home and collapse into her comfortable, warm bed. Alice had rounded up her sisters, and the girls waited for Joe and Sarah so they could begin the journey home. They had parked the wagon at the end of the street, a fair distance away but not terribly far.
The farther away from the town square they walked, the darker it became. The light from the lanterns strung about the square didn’t reach this far into the night. Of course, since there was a full moon they were never in danger of walking into complete darkness, as long as they avoided the shadows beneath the boardwalk awning. Sarah kept her eyes on the end of the street, waiting for the wagon and the girls to come into view.
All of a sudden, Joe came to a halt. In the middle of the street he just stopped. He crooked his head and set his eyes on her. “Hear that?”
“What?” she asked, wondering if he heard something threatening, or one of the girls crying or calling.
“A waltz.”
It was a waltz she heard when she strained her ears to listen. Though the band that had played all evening was less than magnificent, somehow there was a magic in the air. “So it is.”
Joe reached out and grabbed her, and spun her into the middle of the deserted street. The move surprised Sarah, took her breath away, made her heart stop beating for a long moment. But she recovered quickly, falling into step as he twirled her around to the faint strains of the waltz.
This she would remember, too. The rush of her blood, the way Joe’s hand felt in hers, the way he led her so gracefully across the dusty street and back again. She looked into his face, a visage more beautiful than ever in the moonlight.
She glanced up and her smile widened. Goodness, here she was, dancing by the light of the moon just as she’d dreamed. She was free, and happier than she’d ever been.
Joe had made two of her whispered wishes come true in the span of a week. He was teaching her to shoot the revolver, and now he danced her about by the light of the moon. A cool breeze washed over her face and her heart beat furiously. She savored everything, every breath, every heartbeat. The way Joe cradled her in his arms. Dust rose about their feet, and in another unexpected move Joe pulled her closer than was proper. As a matter of fact, the way he held her as he whirled her toward the boardwalk, his body pressed against hers from chest to knee, was quite unseemly.
She liked it. She liked it very, very much.
The music ended, and they came to a halt near the shadows. Joe didn’t release her, but held on as if he weren’t ready to let go, as if he enjoyed embracing her this way.
She wondered what he’d say if she told him about her other wish. The one she’d kept to herself. The kiss she still dreamed of. A real, true, heart-stopping kiss.
Perhaps she didn’t need to tell him. His mouth moved toward hers slowly; dipping, slanting, softening. He hesitated when his mouth was almost touching hers, but his moment of reluctance didn’t last any longer than the span of a heartbeat. He touched his lips to hers.
A rush of something wonderful and exciting raced through her blood at the touch of his mouth. It was as if the whole world changed in an instant. She tasted Joe with all her senses, felt his spirit to the center of her soul, and became a part of him in one instant.
His mouth lingered on hers for a moment longer, moving gently in a way that affected her heart and her knees and finally the pit of her stomach. She found herself reaching for Joe’s arm, holding on for support, answering the kiss with a gentle brush of her own lips.
He pulled her close, so that the length of her body pressed tightly, intimately, against his. How shockingly wonderful it was. She leaned into him, falling bonelessly against his solid warmth, resting in the shelter of his arms while she tasted him more deeply as his mouth moved over hers.
Joe broke the kiss, moving away slowly, as reluctantly as he’d approached. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered huskily.
“Probably not,” she answered, her voice surprisingly feeble. And then she reached up to boldly place her lips to his again. Just once.
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Chapter Eleven
Joe lay in his place on the floor at the foot of the bed, aching, aroused, and miserable.
What had he been thinking? To be with Sarah was impossible, he knew that. Taking her to the town social had not been a good idea, and dancing with her had been foolish. And to kiss her—that had been downright stupid.
If only she hadn’t kissed him back. Where was her prudish, “Oh, Joe, stop that!” when he needed it? Where was the nonchalance that he had expected?
He closed his eyes when he heard her moving about on the bed. Surely she wasn’t going to torture him with their nightly ritual, soft conversation in the dark.
Sure enough, her head appeared just over the foot of the bed. “You’re not asleep, are you?” she whispered.
“No,” he said, soft and low and almost menacing. Didn’t she know what she was doing to him? Probably not. She was so naïve, his Miss Priss.
She didn’t immediately launch into conversation, as she usually did, but rested her head in her hands and looked down at him for a moment. She seemed to be studying him. Uncertain. Maybe even curious.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“Who’s Tess?”
It wasn’t exactly the question he’d been expecting. “Tess is my sister.”
She sighed, a long, seemingly relieved sigh. “Your sister. That’s wonderful. I mean, I was just curious and…” She leaned a bit further over the end of the bed. “I just wanted to be sure that she wasn’t a sweetheart or a … maybe even a wife.”
“Nope.”
“When I asked you about her before, you said she was a friend.” There was accusation in that soft voice.
“I was pretending to be Albert Shorter at the time, remember? And Albert didn’t have a sister, according to Alice.”
“I see,” Sarah said thoughtfully. For a moment she was silent, her head in her hands, her eyes cast downward. “Well, do you have a sweetheart or a wife out there somewhere? I know you have some very strong opinions about the institution of marriage, but that doesn’t mean you’ve never been tempted.”
Tempted? Who was she kidding?
“I hate to think that maybe there’s someone out there who’s worried about you right this very minute and wondering where you are,” she finished softly.
“Nope,” he said with certainty.
He hoped his short answer would put an end to this conversation. Heaven help him, he couldn’t handle it. Not tonight.
“You know,” Sarah continued. “They say the moon calls out the madness within us.”
“Do they,” Joe muttered.
“Yes. I never believed it until now, but as I am about to do something completely mad….”
He pinned his eyes on her. All he had to do was reach up and grab her, pull her to the floor to lie beside him, kiss her again and then there would be nothing left between them. No walls, no promises, nothing. “Completely mad,” he repeated.
For a few seconds he thought the conversation was over. Sarah said not a word, but stared out the window. “Do you remember what you said to me a few days ago, about giving up so much for these girls, about how I’d never have a real marriage and a real husband?”
“Yep.” Was she having doubts now about staying here with the girls? Ah, he couldn’t blame her. It was a lot to ask of anyone.
“You’re right about that, of course. No man will want to take on a woman with seven children. And of course, I’ll have to pretend to wait for you for a while, after you desert us. Years, I imagine.”
He said nothing. There was no argument, no persuasive logic he could use. Even though he had grown fond of the girls, he certainly could not fault this beautiful young woman for wanting a life of her own.
“So I imagine I’ll live the rest of my life right here. Alone, but for the girls and perhaps one day their families. I don’t mind, really, but … but…” She continued to stare out the window.
“But what?” he prompted, a little surprised that she hadn’t backed out.
She cocked her head slightly to the side and took a deep breath he both heard and felt. “But I should like to know what it’s like to … to lie with a man the way a wife lies with a husband.”
Joe was stunned speechless. Surely he’d misunderstood.
“Sorry,” Sarah said as she backed away where she had leaned off the bed. “I shouldn’t have said a word,” she muttered, her voice no longer clear. “It’s the moon, I tell you. The moon.”
Joe came slowly and quietly to his feet. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated the bed and the squirming lump beneath the quilt. Sarah had pulled the covers all the way over her head again. She was hiding. Possibly from him and maybe even from herself.
If he was smart he’d lie down and suffer in silence all night. He was already too close to this woman, he liked her too much. He wanted her too much. Leaving this place was already going to be harder than it should be.
He moved to the side of the bed and reached down to pull the quilt away from her head. She immediately turned her eyes up to him.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s too much to ask.”
He smiled down at her. “Too much to ask? If you think that’s true the moon really has made you mad.”
“You wouldn’t mind?” she asked.
“Mind?” He sat on the bed and peeled the quilt away from her body. Even in her prim nightgown she looked tempting and delicious and seductive. He reached out, and with one hand unfastened the top buttons of the unnecessary garment she wore. He felt himself giving in, letting go, releasing every doubt that had filled him just a few minutes ago. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”
“You have?” She trembled beneath his hand, but not with fear. He knew she wasn’t afraid of him. She never had been.
He peeled muslin away and kissed the skin just beneath her throat, flicked his tongue slowly across the sweet flesh there, sucked lightly as he settled one hand at her waist.
“Wh … what are you doing?” she whispered.
He lifted his head and smiled at her. “Licking away your freckles.”
She knew with all her heart that this was right. Joe was her husband. Though the name he’d signed on the marriage certificate was not his own, and he didn’t intend to stay with her, the words they’d said in a church had to mean something. They had to.
She didn’t know exactly what to expect. Basically, yes, but exactly … no. She only knew she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life an oblivious virgin, wondering what she’d missed and berating herself for passing up the chance to lie with the only husband she’d ever have.
Joe unbuttoned her nightdress as far as possible, nearly to her waist. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry at all, but lingered over each button, touching, kissing her. She wondered, as he kissed her chest once again, if she had any freckles left.
He peeled back the fabric of her nightgown, exposing her flesh to the night air and then covering her breasts with his roughened yet tender hands. Her nipples pebbled against his palms, and when he shifted his hands and flicked his thumbs over those hardened peaks she sucked in her breath and held it. Sparks shot through her body, faint, deep, surprising shocks of sensation.
“Sit up,” he whispered, slipping one hand behind her head and lifting her into a sitting position. Here she could look him in the eye, see his face as he began to unbraid her hair in smooth, unhurried motions. She reached out to caress his cheek with nervous fingers, to feel the rough warmth beneath her fingertips. When that simple touch was no longer enough to satisfy her, she moved her hand to his neck, settling it comfortably there. Her fingers rocked against his skin, and she leaned her head back slightly so that she felt his hands in her hair and at her back. She was overcome by the need to touch him, to have him touch her, to absorb his warmth and energy.
When her hair was free Joe speared his fingers through it, finally cupping the back of her head and pulling her mouth to his for a long, slow kiss.
His mouth was more demanding than it had been on a Jacob’s Crossing street. Harder. Hotter. Finally forcing her lips apart to allow his tongue access to her mouth. As his tongue danced with hers, the throb low in her belly that had been tormenting her all night increased, grew more insistent and distinct. She wanted this. Wanted him. A cry from deep in her throat broke free.
Joe grabbed the hem of her nightgown and worked it upward. His fingers brushed her legs as he slowly lifted the nightgown away, his hands slipping beneath her hips to lift her away from the mattress until the muslin was bunched at her waist. Cool night air brushed her bare legs.
An unexpected trembling wracked her body, but not because she was afraid. She was anxious, and curious, and a flickering of uncertainty shot through her, but she was not afraid. She knew full well why she wasn’t afraid of what was to come, how she had found the courage to ask Joe to lie with her.
She loved him. In the days since she’d first seen Joe lying in this bed, she’d fallen in love. Slowly, certainly, and deeply. It was impossible, but oh, so true. She wanted him, not just with her body but with her heart.
Taking the muslin in his hands, Joe made quick work of ridding her of the nightgown completely, lifting it over her head and dropping it to the floor. She sat before him completely naked, vulnerable and achy and uncertain about what she should do next.
She didn’t know what came next, but she did know that Joe was going to have to divest himself of his sleepwear, as well. She reached out and untied the tapes at his waist, and slipped her hands beneath the waistband. Even his hips were hard, his thighs, the way he looked at her … when the red flannel was on the floor next to her white muslin, she glanced at his manhood. A glance, only, since she was not so bold as she sometimes tried to be.
He pressed her back, pushing her into the mattress and hovering above her. Sarah held her breath, trying to ready herself for what was to come. Pain, perhaps. An end to this ache within her, surely.
But Joe didn’t delve between her legs and push to enter her. He hovered above her, kissing her deeply, then flicked his thumbs over her nipples once again. A deep tremor snaked through Sarah’s body, hot and tingly and insistent.
Joe moved his warm kisses to her throat, to her freckled chest, and then to a nipple he sucked deep into his mouth. Sarah came off the bed, arching instinctively into the man above her. Her entire body was one exposed nerve, and she felt everything; the cool of the night air, the breath in her mouth, the brush of Joe’s body against hers, his tongue, his lips, the throbbing between her legs—and then his gentle hand forcing her thighs apart.
She waited, again, for an insistent thrust that would put an end to her virginity. But again, Joe surprised her. He touched her, brushed his fingers against her throbbing flesh. She felt herself melting at his touch, her entrance growing wet for him. Her thighs fell further apart in invitation. He stroked harder, and then slipped a finger inside her.
Her entire body was unsettled, shaking, pulsating. When she felt the tip of him pressing against her she rocked down and up, searching for the touch that would bring her ease. Wanting, at last, the fulfillment of having Joe inside her.
