Bedded Then Wed (9 page)

She only hoped he never figured that out or she would be in big, big trouble.

“Ready, sweetheart?” her father whispered, patting her arm where it linked with his.

Swallowing hard, she inclined her head, praying she made it all the way to the end of that long, long pathway without fainting or throwing up or screaming.

The music began, and everyone got to their feet, turning toward the house, waiting for the bride to begin her walk down the makeshift aisle.

Mitch watched Emma hover for a moment just inside the house, looking as though she planned to bolt, regardless of her father’s hold on her arm.

He didn’t blame her. If it weren’t for his brother standing on his one side, the minister on the other and fifty of his closest friends and relatives seated all around, he might have made a run for it himself.

Not for the first time, he ran a finger around the inside of his too-tight shirt collar. Damn. He’d wanted to keep things simple and get this over with as quickly as possible, but he was beginning to think a daytime wedding, in Texas, in the middle of September, was a mistake. The sun was beating down like a heat lamp, threatening to make him sweat through his suit jacket before he even said “I do.”

And Emma still hadn’t moved. If she didn’t come out of the house soon, people were going to start wondering just how eager she was to be marrying him.

Catching her eye, he smiled and gave her an encouraging nod.

That was all it took, it seemed, to jump-start her. She raised the collection of flowers that had been hanging at her side to the center of her waist and started forward, stepping onto the porch and then down into the yard, her movements in perfect alignment to her father’s.

Despite her obvious reluctance, she looked lovely. He’d been through all of this before—albeit on a larger scale—but that didn’t diminish Emma’s natural beauty.

The simple white dress hugged her curves and left her slim shoulders seductively bare. Her wavy hair framed her delicate face, one side pulled up and held in place by the small bunch of flowers that matched those in her hands. The strawberry-blond strands shone like a new penny in the sun, and her skin glowed with a slight tint of pink beneath the surface.

She and her father reached the trellis and stopped. His eyes damp with emotion, Wyatt kissed her cheek and placed her hand in Mitch’s with an approving nod before moving to take his seat in the front row of the folding chairs.

Emma turned more fully to face him so that they both stood sideways directly in front of the minister, hands clasped between them. Her fingers squeezed around his, but he suspected it was more from nerves than as a gesture of closeness. Still, he squeezed back, offering what comfort he could and silently trying to let her know that everything would be all right.

They may not have planned for things to turn out quite this way, but they would make the best of it. They would have a child together and do their best to raise that child right.

And he would be a good husband. It might not have been his idea to get married again—not when her father had brought it up, at any rate—but he would still do the best he could to take care of her and see that she was happy.

The minister’s words droned on, speaking of love and commitment. Things Mitch believed in but hadn’t had much experience with—at least not the first time around.

He had no illusions that this time would be better. Emma was a different person, different from Suzanne in a lot of ways. But she was still a woman, and that meant she wasn’t to be trusted.

Hadn’t he caught her in his brother’s arms the night of their engagement party? Seen it with his own two eyes. Both Emma and Chase claimed the embrace had been innocent. But he’d heard claims of innocence before and was no more sure he could believe them now than he could then.

Even if Emma and his brother were being honest…even if there had been nothing going on between them and never would be…he simply wasn’t willing to take the chance. To open himself up to that vulnerability ever again.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a good father and decent husband.

Finally, the minister had reached the important part. “Do you, Mitchell Alexander Ramsey, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

A few seconds later, after the rest of the vow, Mitch looked directly into Emma’s cornflower-blue eyes, still clouded with uncertainty, and said firmly, “I do.”

Emma slipped a ring on his finger and the minister asked her the same question.

“Do you, Emma Louise Davis, take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?”

She may not have looked certain and her fingers might have involuntarily contracted around his once more, but her voice didn’t quaver as she answered.

“I do.”

The minister pronounced them man and wife and, as he added that Mitch could kiss his bride, a cheer went up from the crowd of guests.

Before they were surrounded by well-wishers, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. To his surprise, she kissed him back, her delicate fingers curling into his forearms as she leaned closer.

As much as he might have liked to continue kissing her, he didn’t care for an audience, and guests were moving in to hug them and pat him on the back. Reluctantly, he released her mouth, but kept her at his side, feeling oddly more comfortable with his new wife than he would have expected.

Emma couldn’t help but be amused by the irony of the situation as she left the reception—also held at Mitch’s parents’ house—with her new husband and headed for her place.

Or rather, her father’s place now. It only made sense that after they were married she and Mitch would live together, and the obvious choice was for her to move to his ranch.

So, after dancing and eating and staying only as long as they felt necessary to keep up the pretense of the happy couple, they left to begin moving her things from one house to the other.

After three trips back and forth, she was exhausted, even though Mitch hadn’t let her carry anything heavier than a grocery bag full of clothes and assorted toiletries at any one time. There was still a lot to go…larger things, like her hand-carved hope chest and a few sentimental items…but she had enough to get by. And if she discovered that she needed something, her father’s ranch was only a couple of miles away.

Stifling a yawn, she made her way slowly upstairs, Mitch following close behind with his share of the last load. At the top of the stairs, she turned left and entered the extra bedroom, directly across from his own, where they’d been piling her possessions.

The bed was still clear, neatly made with a patchwork quilt coverlet, and as soon as she set aside the cloth tote she’d been carrying, she took a seat at the edge of the mattress. She was still wearing her wedding dress…another testament to Mitch’s insistence that she not overdo it. He hadn’t let her work hard enough to get so much as a smudge of dust on the soft white material.

“You look tired,” Mitch commented from just inside the door. He leaned over to place the box in his arms on the floor before straightening to face her. “Why don’t you take a nap.”

It would certainly be easy enough to fall asleep. The stress and exertion of the day were taking their toll, making her eyelids droop and her limbs heavy.

But it was her wedding day. Technically, her wedding night, she thought, glancing at the bedside clock. It was barely 7:00 p.m.

When she didn’t respond, Mitch tucked his hands into the front pockets of his black dress slacks, then tipped his head and left without another word, closing the door quietly behind him.

So much for being ravaged. Or passions overtaking them and spending a week in bed.

Hmph.

She fell back on the bed with a groan of frustration. There had been only one thing she was even remotely looking forward to in this marriage, and now it seemed Mitch intended to deny her even that.

Well, she’d just see about that.

Shaking off the traces of lethargy that urged her to stay in bed and drift off to sleep, she sat up and started digging through her bags and boxes of things. She knew she’d packed it. She even thought she’d put it somewhere on top for easy access.

“Ah-ha,” she breathed when her hands closed on what she’d been looking for.

A slinky, satiny negligee, perfect for her wedding night. Or so she’d thought when she’d bought it on impulse soon after Mitch had asked her to marry him the first time.

Opening the bedroom door a crack, she looked out, checking for signs of Mitch. She didn’t hear anything but noticed that his bedroom door—which had been open when they’d made all their trips upstairs—was closed. And the bathroom door was open.

She darted across the hall and locked herself in, setting the folded gown and robe on the closed toilet lid as she began to strip. First she removed the flowers from her hair, then reached behind her back to lower the zipper on her dress. Once she’d stepped out of the gown, she made quick work of her shoes, stockings, panties and bra.

Turning the water on in the shower, she stepped under the strong spray, quickly washing her hair and scrubbing every inch of her body. She wished she’d bothered to unpack some of her more feminine bath salts and hair care products, rather than having to make due with Mitch’s all-purpose soaps. Maybe something in rose or lemon.

Then again, Mitch always smelled exceptionally good, and having his scent on her body from his soap was a decent substitute until—with any luck—she could get it to rub off directly from him.

She used a towel to create a turban for her hair, then rubbed herself dry with another. Once her skin was no longer damp and the delicate material of the negligee wouldn’t stick, she shrugged the gown on over her head and checked herself in the mirror over the sink.

The cream-colored satin set off the red in her hair and the rosy hue the hot water had brought out in her skin. Quite a bit of skin had been left bare by the spaghetti straps and low, lace-trimmed bodice, too.

But that was the goal, after all. To leave just enough uncovered, and to wrap the rest in a seductive package to attract Mitch’s attention.

With her hair hanging in damp tendrils around her shoulders, she slipped into the robe that matched the gown and ventured into the hall, leaving her other clothes behind. Mitch’s bedroom door was open now, but there was no sign of him, which meant he was either downstairs or outside.

Feet bare, she padded down the steps, the hardwood floor creaking occasionally beneath her weight. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard noises in the kitchen and headed that way.

Mitch was moving back and forth along the rows of cupboards, putting dishes away. She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him. Admiring his smooth movements, the sinewy flow of muscle in his back and arms.

He’d changed out of his suit and was now wearing his usual jeans and a plaid work shirt. A few stray pieces of straw clung to the cuffs of his pants, making her think he’d been out to the barn already.

But at least she’d caught him inside. It would save her having to either sit in the living room waiting heaven knew how long for him to return…or traipsing out there in her wedding night negligee, risking the lewd stares and ribald comments of his hired hands.

She wasn’t sure she’d have actually had the courage to do the latter, so it was just as well he’d been out there and back already.

He turned from organizing silverware in the drawer beside the sink and spotted her. His gaze flitting from her head to her toes and back again, and for a moment his grip on the countertop tightened, turning his knuckles white. Then he let go and straightened, deliberately going back to what he was doing.

“Hey,” he said, and she was delighted to hear a noticeable hitch in his voice. At least she’d succeeded in getting his attention, even if he was doing his best to ignore her.

“Hey, yourself.”

He grabbed a couple of coffee mugs from the top rack of the dishwasher and moved to put them away. “I thought you were resting.”

“I’m not tired,” she told him, and prayed an ill-timed yawn wouldn’t out her as a liar.

“Still, you’ve had a long day. You shouldn’t overdo it.”

She shifted slightly to rest against the framed opening that separated the kitchen from the dining area, aiming for a nonchalant pose.

“You had as long a day as I did,” she pointed out.

He finished emptying the dishwasher and clicked the door closed with his hip.

“I’m used to it. And I’m not pregnant,” he added pointedly, still leaning on the edge of the counter.

Well, he had her there. But she’d only spent the day getting married, not hauling horse feed or climbing Mount Everest.

“In case you missed it,” she said, deciding to get right to the point, “this is our wedding night. We aren’t supposed to fall asleep for quite a while yet.”

Pushing away from the wall, she took a few slow steps forward until she stood directly in front of him. She held his gaze, but her fingers were busy teasing up and down the buttoned front of his shirt.

“But we can go to bed any time we like.”

Going up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to the underside of his jaw. It was like brushing against small grain sandpaper, even though he’d just shaved that morning.

She kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, her fingers curling into the waistband of his jeans as she rubbed her body close to his, letting the friction build.

Only when she kissed him full-on, mouth to mouth, did she realize he wasn’t responding. Oh, there was some definite action taking place below his belt buckle, but otherwise he held himself perfectly still, not moving, not kissing her back.

Pulling away slightly, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. His face was impassive, his lips drawn into a tight, flat line.

“Mitch?” She frowned, wondering if she’d done something wrong, been too aggressive for his tastes.

Wrapping his hands around her upper arms, he set her back a step. “You should get some rest. It’s been a long day,” he said without inflection.

She stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, blinking in utter confusion. “Excuse me?”

“It’s been a long day,” he said for what had to be the hundredth time. “You look tired. You should be in bed.”

So rather than making love to his new wife on their wedding night, he was telling her she looked tired and that she should go to bed without him.

She didn’t know whether to be hurt or angry, but a fair share of both were building up in her bloodstream, threatening to send smoke shooting out of her ears. And all she could think to say was, “You’re kidding, right?”

He gave a quick shake of his head, then busied himself with nonsense stuff around the room, like wiping down the already clean counter or moving the dish detergent on the windowsill an inch to the left.

“Get some sleep,” he said, not bothering to meet her gaze. “I have some work to do in the barn.”

And then he turned on his heel and walked out of the house. Leaving her alone. On her wedding night.

Mitch stalked straight across the lawn, climbed over the paddock fence and bent forward, immersing himself up to the shoulders in the cool water of the horse trough.

Dammit. Was she trying to drive him crazy?

It had been hard enough to resist her all day while she’d been dancing around in that snow-white dress that showed off her smooth, pale arms and drool-inducing legs. But did she have to get cleaned up and come downstairs in next to nothing?

She might as well have been naked. Oh, the robe and nightgown were long, running almost to her bare ankles, but the material was sheer and slinky and so thin, he could see the dusky circles of her nipples, the flare of her waist, the dark shadow between her thighs.

Her hair had been damp from her shower, and she smelled fresh and clean, with the scent of his soap clinging lightly to her skin. He’d gone hard in an instant, and it had taken every ounce of control he possessed not to take her right there on the kitchen floor.

And then, to feel those gentle curves pressed against him, burning through his clothes, her mouth hot on his own. He’d had to get out of there or risk doing something he’d regret, something he’d promised himself he wouldn’t.

He was not going to sleep with his wife.

It was expected, he knew, especially on their wedding night, and Emma had made it clear she was more than willing. But to Mitch, touching her now felt too much like taking advantage of the situation.

She hadn’t agreed to marry him this time because she wanted to but because she was pregnant. That didn’t exactly make him feel like a typical groom.

He also didn’t want to risk getting too close to her, physically or emotionally. Not after seeing her in his brother’s arms and having all of his ex-wife’s betrayals come flooding back.

And not now that they were legally joined, forced to live together. There was too much chance of getting more involved, of beginning to care too much. More chance than he was willing to take.

Keeping his distance was the best way he could think of to prevent that from happening and to prevent her from getting too attached or wrapped up in their sham of a marriage.

He lifted his head from the trough and shook himself, sending droplets of water flying in every direction. Stomping toward the side entrance of the barn, he ran his hands over his hair to squeeze out excess water.

The only problem with his brilliant plan, he thought as he entered the dim interior of the large, weather-beaten structure, was that Emma didn’t seem to be on the same page as he was. She seemed more than willing to jump in with both feet and make this a real marriage, in every sense of the word.

And if she took it into her head to seduce him the way she’d tried in the kitchen…how the hell was he going to resist? How long could he hold out?

If his reaction to her today was any indication, not long. His blood was still simmering in his veins, his libido urging him to turn around, stalk back into the house and make love to his wife.

His gut gave a lurch at the image that popped into his head of Emma sprawled on his bed in that ivory nightie, writhing beneath him, curling around him. For a moment, he couldn’t move, the longing thrumming so thickly through his system.

Drawing a deep, shaky breath, he forced himself to take a step forward and then another. He grabbed a bale of hay from the stack at the back of the barn and carried it closer to the empty horse stalls.