Deborah Camp (23 page)

The strange, haunting tune he’d played minutes ago wove through her mind and her heart kept time with it. She thought of the Pied Piper and of Pan and decided that Grandy was a wizard, playing his tunes and seducing with musical notes. But his seduction had taken on a new form. Now his hands played over her, plucking and strumming. He blew against her skin, creating silent notes of pleasure. She gave herself to him because experience had taught her
to submit, but this time her submission sprang more from lethargy than frailty.

He rolled her onto her stomach so that he could massage the tension from her shoulders and scatter kisses down her spine. She smiled, amazed at his gentleness. He pulled the pins from her hair and combed it with his fingers until it spread across her back in waves of autumn fire.

Why was he doing this to her? she wondered. Why didn’t he just take his pleasure and be done with her? Perplexed, she lay still and enjoyed the attention even while another part of her awaited the plunder.

His hand moved to the juncture of her legs and Zanna stopped breathing. He cupped her. Zanna sucked in a breath. He rubbed her. Zanna panted, her eyes flying open as tingling sensations flared through her and melted all thoughts of pain and plunder.

“I … I … oooh … Grandville … I …” She felt she needed to explain, to describe, to question, to apologize for squirming and moaning and thrashing.

“Yes, yes, darlin’.” His voice gentled her, assured her, silenced her.

His stroking fingers mastered her, releasing spirals of pleasure, the power of which she’d never known. She grew damp, hardly aware of anything other than the pressure building up inside. Grandy rolled her onto her back and she looked up, only to fall into the greenish-gold pools of his eyes. Patiently, he guided her hands to his shoulders, giving her something to hold on to while he shifted so that the lower part of his body rested meaningfully against hers.

She felt him, large and powerful and pulsating. It all came back to her, chasing aside the joy and leaving her cold with dread.

“Miss Prim Rose …”

She heard the beat of silence he placed between the syllables and lowered her brows to question it.

“Dear Miss Prim Rose,” he repeated, searching her
face. “How I hate the stinking son-of-a-bitch who put so much fear in your heart that you’re even afraid of me.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. It was Fayne. His legacy to me, the old horse’s ass.” He returned her shadowy smile. “How could he have hurt you? It’s unthinkable. You’re so pretty and soft.” He kissed her lightly, longingly. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” She gripped his shoulders and pulled him down as she raised up. Their mouths met and clung. She wound her arms around his neck, eager to show him she wanted him to stay with her. She wanted him satisfied and pleasured, not tortured and teased any longer. She owed it to him, she told herself. He’d earned it.

“Sweet, sweet Zanna,” he murmured, kissing her neck before tasting her lips again. Her lips parted and he took full advantage, slipping his tongue into the passage and conquering the territory within.

Her response was immediate. She stiffened, arched against him in the beginning of a protest, and then melted as his tongue swept across satiny walls and mated with hers. Not giving her time to assess her new vulnerability, he palmed her breasts until her nipples gathered into tight buds of longing. She squirmed restlessly beneath him, arching her back and tangling her legs with his.

He would have liked to prolong the overture, but he knew he couldn’t give her time to think about her reactions or what might come next. He’d sensed a dread in her. Every time he had backed off, hoping she’d take the lead from him, he’d lost her in whatever ugly memories she held. He couldn’t afford to allow her to think or remember again. He rose up on his elbows, his mouth still flirting with hers, and positioned himself above her. He sent up a silent prayer, asking to become an alchemist who could change her fears into golden pleasures.

She gasped as he entered her, but her reaction was of surprise, not pain. He captured her gaze as he buried his
hands in her flowing hair and moved up into her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her eyelids drooped and she released a long, fluttery sigh that Grandy barely heard past the roar in his ears as his own passion reached a crescendo.

Her slippery inner walls surrounded him, caressed him, overpowered him. Each tiny movement sent an array of sensory pleasures bolting through him, firing him to the core. He was unaware that he was making harsh, guttural sounds until his throat ached from them. Grandy leaned over and his mouth flowered upon Zanna’s as he bloomed inside her, releasing a shower of seedlings. He had been with women before, but he’d never thought of this as planting pieces of himself within them—not until this woman. As he thrust into her one last time and deposited the last of himself in her clinging softness, the knowledge of their union wafted through him like a cleansing rain.

This woman wasn’t just his lover. This woman was his wife.

Grandy lifted his mouth from hers and stared at her, enlightened and encumbered by the realization.

Her hands fluttered from his shoulders to his face, flattening against his cheeks as her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, hanging his head in shame. “I hurt you.” He moved to sever his tie to her, but her hips bucked in protest.

“No, my darling wizard,” she whispered brokenly, green eyes swimming. “You have healed me.”

Before morning he made love to her again. And before sunrise he lay beside her and watched her sleep.

He traced her features with careful eyes and relived each sweet moment of the night, looking for the missing pieces. By the time the sun crept over the horizon, Grandy knew what had happened and what hadn’t happened between them.

Zanna had been pleased, but not pleasured. The fiery
passion she possessed had gone untapped, untouched by him. The pitiful thing about it was that she probably didn’t even know she was capable of mindless, celestial passion. But Grandy knew and was determined to unleash it.

“Next time,” he promised while she slept. “Next time will be all yours.”

Grandy kicked open the bedroom door and carried in the tray.

“What’s this?” Zanna asked, edging up from the tumbled covers. “You shouldn’t have done this. I can eat at the table like any able-bodied woman.”

“Able-bodied, yes. Any woman, no.” He set the tray on the bedside table and handed her the chenille wrapper. “Put this on.”

She thrust her arms into the sleeves and twisted and turned the garment into place, then arranged the covers at her waist. “There. What’s for breakfast?”

“Bacon and eggs. Biscuits and jam. Coffee and cream.” He set the tray over her legs, then sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve already eaten.”

“You didn’t wait for me?”

“Couldn’t. I was as hungry as a bear and you’re a sleepyhead. I’ve already milked the cows, slopped the hogs, gathered the eggs, and fed the livestock. It’s almost eight, you know.”

“Eight!” Her gaze flew to the window. “Oh, dearie me! I’ve never slept so late. What’s gotten into—” She bit off the last of her question and blushed. “This bacon smells good.”

Grandy laughed, thinking she was pretty when crimson stained her cheeks. “How do you feel this morning, Sooz?”

“I don’t know.” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “How do you feel?”

“Lucky.”

She smiled and her eyes glinted with relief. “Me too.
That’s
exactly
how I feel. Lucky.” She held a buttered biscuit out to him. “Sure you won’t join me?”

He leaned closer and took a bite. “I’ve already joined you, but I’ll do it again and again and again and—”

Her giggles drowned him out. “Stop! Are you going to talk like this all day? Am I not going to be able to say anything without you taking it
that
way?”

“Can I help it if I’m smitten? It’s your fault. You shouldn’t be so irresistible.”

“How you go on,” she scolded, wrinkling her nose. “Be careful. You might turn my head and I’ll start believing all your pretty words.” She took a sip of the hot coffee, then flicked her free hand at him. “Are you going to watch every bite I take?”

“Yes.”

“No.” She kissed his cheek.

“I’ll be outside,” he said, then left her.

Zarina finished the breakfast and rose from the warm bed that smelled of Grandy to dress. He had picked up her clothes from the night before and had placed them folded in the rocker. She put them away, remembering and smiling at the pictures floating through her mind. She stood for a long time before the bureau mirror, examining herself for signs of change.

For she was changed. Inside.

Outside she looked the same. Maybe her eyes were more brightly green, she thought, then decided she was letting her imagination sway her. She brushed and braided her hair, then wound the thick braid into a crown, pinning it in place. She changed the bed linens and tidied up the rest of the room. Before she left, she pressed the bouquet of wilted primroses Grandy had given her in her Bible for safekeeping.

After washing the breakfast dishes, Zanna went outside and stood on the porch, soaking up the sunshine and wondering if it had ever felt so wonderful gleaming through the fabric of her dress and undergarments and shimmering
into her hair to caress her scalp. She felt brand-new. Looking out over the boxy structures and flat land, she knew that Primrose had never been so beautiful to her eyes.

Excitement was in the air. Gradually she realized that her hired hands were scurrying about. A rickety chuck wagon stood near the bunkhouse. Butch and two of the other men were making trips back and forth, loading supplies into it.

To market, Zanna thought. The cattle had been herded, branded, and separated. Now it was time to take the chosen ones into town and sell them for the best price they could get. They’d be leaving tomorrow. No wonder things were hopping around Primrose.

Zanna looked for Grandy, but he wasn’t in sight so she called to Butch. “How long will you boys be gone?”

Butch shrugged, removed his hat, and scratched his head. “Dunno, ma’am. No more’n three or four days, I reckon. How you doing this morning, ma’am?”

“Why?” She realized her question came out sharply when Butch blinked in surprise. “I mean, why do you ask?”

“Well, no reason.” He kicked a pebble. “Just being polite.”

“Oh, I see.” Zanna turned her back to him and rolled her eyes, mentally kicking herself for jumping to the wrong idea. An innocent question, she told herself, and you change it into snooping. Do you really think the hands have any notion that you let Grandy sleep in your bed last night? For all they know, he sleeps there every night! “Ahem!” She cleared her throat nervously. “I feel fine this morning, Butch. Thank you for asking.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He shoved his hat back on his head and bent into his work again, obviously eager to end his peculiar conversation with her.

“Have you seen Grandville?”

“Yes, ma’am. I think he’s in the stables.”

“Thank you, Butch.” Zanna left the cook to his chores
and went to the stables. The rank aroma of manure rose up like the clouds of blue flies as she drew near. She stepped over a few fresh droppings and entered the cool shadows inside.

“Grandy?”

He leaned out of a stall. “Well, well. Look who finally crawled out of bed.”

“Cleaning the stables? I thought you’d be out in the fields by now.”

“No, not today. We’ll need to chop the cotton another time or two before it blooms. I might do that next week.”

She looked inside the stall, thinking he’d be cleaning it. Instead, he was examining the horse’s hooves. “What’s wrong?”

“She needs new shoes. I thought I’d get Donny to help me put some on her before the trail ride to market.”

“He can help after he gets back. I’m sure Donny’s got his hands full right now.”

Grandy hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. He kissed her, smiling against her mouth when her arms stole around his neck in a natural, normal response. “Next week won’t do me any good. I wanted to ride Countess on the trail.”

“What trail?”

“To market.”

His answer chased aside the warmth she felt for him. Zanna pushed gently out of his arms, her mind racing to find a tactful way to make him understand that some things had changed between them, but on one issue she was still firm; Grandy wasn’t leaving her behind at the ranch.

“I’m not going to market. I’m staying here,” she said, leaning against the stall and trying to keep her expression friendly, but firm.

He shrugged, reaching out to touch one forefinger to the tip of her nose. “I’ll think of you, darlin’.”

“Grandville,” she said, sighing his name, “you’re not going anywhere either.”

He’d stepped around to the other side of the chestnut. His gaze sought hers across the animal’s scooped back. “Why not?”

“Because I want you to stay here with me.”

“That’s sweet, honey, but I want to go with the boys. It’ll be good for me to get away for a few days. When I come back, me and you will chop that cotton and roll around in the hay and make all kinds of whoopee. How does that sound, honey?”

“It sounds just fine, except that you’re not going to market.”

“Damn it all, Zanna! I don’t want to fuss with you.”

“And I don’t want to fuss with you.”

“Then let’s drop this. I’ll be back in a few days—”

“You’re not going anywhere. What’s so awful about staying here with me?”

“I want to get away!” He nudged aside the horse, ducked under the animal’s head, and escaped the stall, but Zanna was right behind him. She grabbed his arm and turned him around to her. “Zanna, I told you. I want to go off with the men. It’s a
man
thing, honey. I don’t like being tied to your apron strings. It makes me feet like a boy still wet behind the ears and I don’t like feeling that way.”

“You can go some other time.”

“The only other time will be next year.”

“So? It’ll be here before you know it.”

He wrenched free of her hold and lowered his brows until they cast a formidable shadow over his eyes. “I thought that after last night—”