Bedded Then Wed (2 page)

Instead of heading for the ladder to climb back to the main floor of the barn, Mitch moseyed over to a couple of bales of straw stacked against the far wall and sat down.

“What’s your hurry?” he asked, leaning back on his elbows until he was nearly lying flat. “If we wait for the kittens to fill their bellies, you might get to pet them again.”

Stuffing her hands into the hip pockets of her jeans, she rocked back on her heels. She could play with the kittens anytime, which he probably knew perfectly well. But he seemed to want to hang around a while longer, and she didn’t get the chance to talk to him very often anymore, especially alone. Besides, as tired as she’d been only half an hour ago at the picnic area, she didn’t feel at all sleepy now.

Feet dragging slightly through the loose straw that covered the loft floor, she took a seat beside him. She kept her spine straight, her hands on her knees as she searched for something to say. The problem was, she’d already ex-hausted her list of small-talk topics on the drive home. She didn’t have a clue what else to say that wouldn’t sound forced or too probing into his personal life.

Thankfully, Mitch kept the moment from turning awkward.

“So how’d you enjoy the celebration today?”

“It was fine,” she said. “The Fourth of July picnic is always fun.”

“Yeah.” He picked up a long strand of golden-yellow straw and twirled it between two fingers, casting shadows in the dim light. “I got a slice of your cherry pie before it was all gone. It was good.”

“Thanks.”

“You made some of the other food, too, right? I thought I heard somebody mention you always cook a lot for the picnic.”

She nodded, remembering all the times she, Mitch and his brother, Chase, had hung out together just like this. On those long summer days when it was too hot to run or play, they’d found a shady spot to do nothing more than lie around and shoot the breeze. The happy childhood memories eased her nerves and she began to relax.

“Mom used to cook up a storm for all the town celebrations, you know. After she died, I guess I picked up where she left off. I had her recipes, and I didn’t want anyone to be disappointed.”

“I think people would have understood,” he said seriously.

“Probably. But I enjoy it, and I think it makes Pop feel more like Mom’s still around.”

“She did make the best potato salad in Texas.”

“Yes, she did,” Emma agreed with a smile.

“Yours was pretty tasty, too.”

She met his storm-gray eyes and grinned. “How do you know it was my potato salad you were eating?” There had to have been at least four or five bowls of the stuff, all prepared by different cooks.

He sat up and leaned closer to her, one corner of his mouth quirked with amusement. “Because I saw you arrive and watched you set the bowl on the table with the rest of the food. Then I made sure to get there early before it was all gone.”

His face was inches from her own, hovering over her, smelling of some crisp, clean aftershave she couldn’t quite identify. Whatever it was, it made her think of waking up in the arms of a strong, sexy man. This man, in particular. Running her fingers over his stubbled, unshaven jaw…kissing his warm, pale lips…feeling the full, bare length of him pressed against her while they slowly stirred each other’s arousal.

“I didn’t see you,” she responded quietly, unable to tear her gaze from his tempting mouth. “Not until much later.”

“I was hiding out to avoid those nosy questions I get whenever I show my face in town. But I could still see every move you made.”

She shivered with awareness at his words. He’d been watching her at the picnic and she hadn’t even known it.

Instead of feeling unnerved that he’d essentially been spying on her all day, she was flattered…and suddenly incredibly turned on.

“I wish I’d known you were there,” she said, boldly lifting her hand to caress the strong line of his jaw. “I would have asked you to dance.”

He wrapped his fingers around hers, pulling her hand away from his face and turning it to press a kiss to the center of her palm. Tiny flames of desire flickered to life in her belly and started to spread outward.

“We could dance now,” he offered softly.

She shook her head. “There’s no music.”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, brushing her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, “I definitely hear something in the air.”

And then he leaned forward, covering her mouth with his own.

Emma’s heart kicked up, pounding in her chest like the hooves of a galloping horse. Mitch Ramsey was kissing her. Finally. Gloriously.

His lips were firm, skillful. He knew exactly where to press, where to move, when to open his mouth and encourage her to do the same. While his tongue darted over and around hers, she tasted the coffee with just a touch of cream and sugar that he must have drank before bringing her home.

Her nipples turned hard and pressed against the inside cups of her bra as he stroked her from hip to breast. The heat of his touch burned through her blouse, raising goose bumps along her flesh and sending her core temperature soaring.

She ran her hands over his back, feeling the sleek muscles beneath his shirt, the way they rippled and flexed as he moved. Using her nails like claws, she tore at the tail of his shirt, dragging it out from the waistband of his jeans until the pads of her fingers encountered smooth, bare skin.

Between them, he was loosening the buttons of her blouse from top to bottom, opening her to the night air. And Emma let him…more than let him. She moved however she thought was needed to grant him the best access.

It was amazing, wonderful, spectacular. Everything she’d ever imagined and more.

She was panting for breath when Mitch grasped her shoulders and pushed her slightly away. His own chest heaved as he stared down at her, his eyes dark with desire.

“Don’t stop,” she blurted out, thrusting her fingers into the hair at his temples and drawing him near once again.

She was so afraid he’d stop. So afraid the tight line of his lips meant he was about to apologize and say that kissing her was a mistake.

But it wasn’t a mistake; it was what she wanted. Had wanted, more than anything, for years.

“Please,” she said again, more softly this time, uncaring that she likely sounded desperate and pathetic, “don’t stop.”

“Not a chance,” he murmured, just before he lowered his head to kiss her again and sent her world back to the realm of temporary perfection.

Four years. It had been four years since his divorce from Suzanne and four long years since he’d been with a woman. The time had taken its toll and stretched his control to the breaking point.

And now here he was, with a warm and willing woman in his arms.

Never mind that it was Emma, childhood friend and neighbor, a woman he shouldn’t even be contemplating sleeping with.

But she tasted like peppermint and smelled like flowers and reminded him of a time in his life when he hadn’t been miserable. Back when they were kids, without a care in the world, when he was first married to Suzanne, head over heels in love and believing they would always be that way.

Emma was safe and familiar…and sexy as all get out.

How had he never noticed that before? The way her small, firm breasts filled out the front of her blouse and her soft lips formed a seductive little moue. Or the way her strawberry-blond hair fell to her shoulders and perfectly framed her heart-shaped face.

He shouldn’t be thinking of her in those terms, shouldn’t be touching and kissing her. But she felt so good, so right, he couldn’t seem to stop.

She made soft mewling sounds as their tongues tangled and her body writhed against his. He pushed her shirt the rest of the way off her shoulders, letting it fall to the bale of straw behind her.

Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, as rapidly as his own. But he didn’t let it keep him from sliding his right hand over her left breast, beneath the lacy material of her bra. His fingers caressed the pillowy softness while his thumb teased and flicked the hardened nipple.

She moaned in pleasure, sending shockwaves rippling through his bloodstream. Her head fell back, exposing the long, smooth column of her throat, and he couldn’t resist kissing her there, licking the pulse point and nibbling at the taut line of muscle.

He used his free hand to unhook the latch of her bra and skim the loosened straps down her arms.

In the back of his mind, he hoped she would protest. If she asked him to stop, suffered a sudden bout of embarrassment, he was gentleman enough not to pressure her to go farther than she felt comfortable. But on his own…

On his own, he wasn’t sure he was man enough to let her go.

He had full access now to her bare chest and took a moment to admire the pale splendor of her small, pert breasts with their tiny cherry nipples. They reminded him of ice cream sundaes, sweet and delectable and good enough to eat.

Shifting around on the bales of straw, he supported her back with one arm while leaning in for a taste. He kissed the side of her breast, then opened his mouth to sample the silken skin.

She raked her hands through his hair, grazing the scalp and anchoring her fingers near his nape. His tongue drew circles around her tightened areola, the movements growing smaller and smaller until he engulfed the entire tip.

She straddled his thighs like a champion rider, tilting her hips, straining for a more intimate touch. And he wanted to give it to her, was desperate for it himself. Sweating, shaking, more aroused than he could ever remember being before in his life.

Releasing her breast, dragging in great gulps of air, he returned his mouth to her lips. At the same time, he tried to get his trembling fingers to work on the snap and zipper of her jeans.

With the denim loose around her waist, he slipped his hands inside, palms flat against her skin as he slid them down, beneath the elastic edge of her panties. He skimmed her hips, then moved around to cup her buttocks.

When she moaned and ground herself into the hard bulge behind the zipper of his own jeans, he knew he couldn’t wait much longer to be inside her. Not without embarrassing himself and depriving them both of something he was beginning to suspect would be earth-shattering.

Laying her back along the bed of straw bales, he sat up only long enough to yank off her shoes and drag her pants down her legs. Then he was with her again, tearing off his shirt, unbuckling his belt and opening his fly before covering her with his body.

He lifted her legs around his waist, gently probing her warm, moist folds. Brushing thin strands of strawberry-blond hair away from her face, he met her eyes and offered her an encouraging smile. She returned his grin and lifted her hands to his shoulders, applying just enough pressure to tug him down for a kiss. While his tongue plumbed the depths of her mouth, he cocked his hips and entered her in one long, strong stroke.

The instant friction and intense sensation made them both gasp. Mitch held himself perfectly still, feeling her tight inner muscles flexing around him, all but blowing off the top of his head. He knew if he moved, if she shifted even a millimeter, things between them would be over much too soon.

So he gritted his teeth, concentrating on his breathing until the blaze in his gut sputtered to a low forest fire and he thought he could open his eyes, gaze down at Emma’s angelic features without exploding. She was staring up at him with liquid blue eyes, the same stunned expression on her face that he suspected mirrored his own.

Taking a deep breath, he let the air shudder out of his lungs, and then brushed his lips across her mouth.

Her breasts brushed his chest, her arms and legs locked around him like tentacles. With a minor shift, just a small forward movement, he was inside her, buried to the hilt.

He groaned, the sound rumbling up from his diaphragm even as she flexed around him and he began to move. Short, slow strokes growing slightly longer and faster as the tension built. Blood pumped through his veins, hot and flowing like molten lava to pool between his legs.

Emma threw her head back and he kissed her throat, nibbled her ear, trailed his lips down to her breasts. His belly clenched at the noises she was making. Low, erotic mewling sounds that drove him senseless and made him thrust harder, faster, striving for completion.

Sweat dripped past his temples and down the middle of his back. Her fingers tangled in his hair, caressing and keeping him close as her hips rose and fell to meet him.

“Emma,” he growled out.

She met his gaze and smiled even as her mouth opened on a rush of ecstasy. “Mitch,” she breathed in return.

And that was all it took to send him over the edge. White-hot pleasure pounded through his pores, filling every cell of his being to near bursting.

With a deep groan, he drove into her one last time, relieved to feel her pulse and shake, following him over the cliff into mindless pleasure.

Emma couldn’t keep her lips from curling up in a grin as she ran her hands over Mitch’s silky-soft hair and sweat-slickened back, his strong, muscular bicep and broad chest.

His face rested in the hollow of her neck, his body still covering hers after the most intense session of lovemaking she’d ever experienced.

She still couldn’t believe it had happened. Her body hummed with recently released passion, the lingering effects causing her muscles to twitch and a delightful warmth to spread all over.

And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that with anyone but Mitch Ramsey, the sex might have been good, but it wouldn’t have been phenomenal.

So many times, private wishes and forbidden fantasies lost their luster in the bright light of day. She’d dreamed of being with Mitch for so long that when he’d begun to kiss her, a part of her had been worried she’d be disappointed.

Or perhaps she’d been worried that she would disappoint him.

Instead, being with him had been everything she’d hoped for and more. So much more.

He’d been gentle and caring and…amazing. Not only in the way he touched her—although the memory of that alone was enough to curl her toes and cause a renewed warmth to pool deep in her belly.

No, he’d been kind and considerate all evening. Offering her a ride home, helping her tend to the livestock, climbing into the loft with her to check on the kittens.

It was a side of him she hadn’t seen in a very long time. Since Suzanne had ripped his heart out and stomped it into the ground, leaving him an empty husk of his former self.

Mitch thought he’d handled his ex-wife’s infidelity and the subsequent divorce well. He thought he’d been impervious to the pain that woman had caused him and had recovered quickly to return to his normal life.

But everyone around him knew it was a lie. He pretended to be okay while his insides remained shriveled and cold.

Emma often thought that if she ever ran into Suzanne again, she would slap the cheating bitch for what she’d done to Mitch.

But then, Emma had never liked the woman. From the moment Mitch had brought her home to Gabriel’s Crossing, having met her at a truck stop in Abilene, Emma had known that every dream she’d ever had of spending her life with Mitch was destroyed.

Suzanne was tall and blond and built like a 1920s pinup girl, while Emma had always had a more boyish figure. Small breasts, narrow hips, no feminine curves to speak of. She was a bit of a tomboy, and had always been proud of the fact, until Suzanne Yates had waltzed into town and reminded her of all the things she wasn’t, stealing Mitch in the process.

It had been a silly dream to start with, thinking that just because she and Mitch had grown up together he might fall in love with her. She’d grown up with Chase, too, but had never had an erotic or ever-after thought about him.

And until tonight, she’d truly thought she was over Mitch Ramsey. Or, if not over him, at least had come to terms with the fact that he was never going to completely heal from Suzanne’s betrayal. He was off the market and more out of her reach than ever before.

Now, though, she wasn’t sure what to think. Her heart wanted to believe this was the start of something permanent. That by driving her home tonight and making love to her in the barn loft, he was showing that he was recovered from his lousy marriage and willing to love again.

But her rational, more somber brain warned her to be careful. Reminded her that one night of passion did not a marriage proposal make.

She would keep that in mind, play it safe and follow his lead, whatever it may be.

“Mmm.” He moaned low in his throat like a man waking from a good night’s sleep and pushed himself up on one elbow.

Cool night air washed over her skin where his body no longer covered, and she fought not to shiver. Not because she was cold, but because she missed the intimate contact.

“You okay?” he asked, still leaning over her, staring down at her with those slate-gray eyes.

She nodded, biting the inside of her lip to keep from saying more.

He shifted again, rolling farther away on the bales of straw. She felt bereft without his touch, but curled her fingers into fists at her sides and took deep breaths until she got the urge to reach for him under control.

“We should think about getting dressed before your father gets home and catches us out here.” He shot her a wicked grin. “I’ve made it almost forty years without getting chased off by an angry, pitch fork-wielding father. There’s no sense in starting now.”

Moving around her, he climbed to his feet and began gathering their discarded clothes from the straw-strewn floor. She sat up and accepted her things when he handed them to her, taking her time putting bra and panties then her jeans and blouse back on.

She ran her hands through her hair, picking out pieces of straw and wishing for a brush to smooth the tangled mass. When she looked back at Mitch, he was dressed and just fastening his belt.

When he was finished, he slapped his hands against his thighs and fixed her with a lopsided smile. “Should we head down?”

She glanced around, surprised to find no visible signs of what had happened between them. After their explosive joining, she’d expected to see burn marks, singed straw, smoke still rising from the ashes. But, instead, there was just plain yellow straw, a little flat in places, but ordinary enough, and the litter of kittens curled up sleeping around their mother.

Turning back to meet his gaze, she nodded, then climbed down the ladder ahead of him.

Just as they reached the door of the barn, they heard tires crunching on the dirt and gravel drive, and saw headlights headed their way.

“That’ll be Pop,” she told him.

“Looks like we made it just in time.” He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, his thumbs hooked over his belt and waistband.

If he was nervous about coming face-to-face with her father only minutes after having her naked and writhing beneath him, he didn’t show it.

Her father pulled his pickup into the yard and cut the engine. A second later, the door opened and he climbed out.

He didn’t look completely steady on his feet, and she rushed forward to take his arm, hoping he’d kept his word about only finishing off that one last beer.

His head snapped up when he felt her hand on his elbow, and he smiled through his shaggy gray beard and mustache.

“Well, there you are. I thought you would have been in the house, asleep by now. What are you doing out here?”

“Mitch and I were just…um…”

“Checking the livestock,” Mitch offered, stepping out of the shadows of the barn and into the glow of the house’s front porch light.