Intimate Strangers (Eclipse Heat Book 2)
Read Intimate Strangers (Eclipse Heat Book 2) Online
Authors: Gem Sivad
Gem Sivad
Mr. Quince, by unusual circumstances, we are perfect strangers with two children in common.”
“Yes and no. We made the kids together and
you’re
no stranger to me.”
“Well, I don’t know
you;
I prefer to keep it that way.”
“Nope.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll get to know each other when we talk.” He paused to emphasize his next words. “Then we’ll touch.”
…intriguing suspense, a sizzling hot romance, and an insightful exploration of the building blocks of marriage. Definitely a keeper to be read again and again. Carol~ Love Western Romances.
“
…grabs you by the heart and reels you in… an excellent and enchanting novel. Tahlia ~Joyfully Reviewed
“…this [story] is a most wonderful kind of serendipity. ~ Mrs. Giggles
Intimate Strangers
Gem Sivad
Lucy and Ambrose Quince share passion in and out of bed. But in 1874, after eight years of marriage, Lucy mysteriously disappears. Some folks say she’s left her family and run off with a lover. Others claim she’s dead.
Three years later, scarred in mind and body, Lucy is drawn back to Eclipse and the life she’s forgotten—and it includes a snarling, lustful husband named Ambrose Quince.
Although she claims she can’t remember him, Ambrose hasn’t forgotten a damned thing. Lucy left him and their two children and he owes her nothing. Trouble is—his heart remembers too and Lucy’s the only woman who’ll ever own it.
Note: Winner of the 2010 EPIC Award for Best Western and Best Erotic Western. Intimate Strangers is an adult romance that contains graphic sexual situations and some violence.
COPYRIGHT
This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only and may not be sold, shared, or given away.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
*****
This title was previously published as Perfect Strangers. The author has refreshed and added content to the original story.
Intimate Strangers
Copyright © 2016 by Gem Sivad
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews. Manufactured in the United States of America.
Published by Gem Sivad, LLC
ISBN-13:
ISBN-10:
Editor: M. L. Davis
Cover Design: Dawn Seewer
Sivad, Gem (2016-02-16).
Gem Sivad LLC. Kindle Edition.
CreateSpace Publishers Print Edition
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Gem Sivad, LLC.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Stetson: John B. Stetson Company
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
1874—High Plains, West Texas
“You and the mister’s caterwauling interrupted everyone’s sleep in case you didn’t know it.”
Lucy Quince stiffened her spine before entering the kitchen as her housekeeper greeted her with a cup of coffee and a scold. When Lucy remained silent, Mrs. Carmichael handed her a plate accompanied by another unsolicited comment.
“Thought you were going to make up last night. He’s worse today than he was before.”
“We arrived at the social, he’d turned into a crazy, jealous beast, and I flirted with every man between eight and eighty for spite. We left the dance and quarreled all the way home.”
“Well it didn’t stop when you got here. I expect the kids are staying clear ’til they’re sure it’s simmered down some.” Lucy accepted the housekeeper’s rebuke, embarrassed and ashamed her children had overheard the fight.
She shuddered, trying to forget the horrible event.
“The mister grabbed a biscuit and went lickety-split out the door this morning.” Mrs. Carmichael’s voice was loaded with disapproval.
Lucy left her plate untouched and retreated to the barn, avoiding everyone. Entering her horse’s stall, she knelt, inspecting Starlight’s legs. “You’re a beauty,” she crooned, trying to focus on her mare and forget about the evening before.
“Papa would be so proud of me.” Her murmured words made her feel more miserable. She caught her breath, forcing back a sob. Resentment filled her.
He ruined this moment for me.
The
he
in her thoughts was Ambrose Quince—her husband. Lucy braced her shoulders and refocused on her mare, forcing a smile. Her equine breeding venture had begun.
Inhaling the pungent aroma of horse as if it were one of her expensive perfumes, Lucy caressed the steel-like sinews in the foreleg. Such strength and power were predictors of fine offspring. She’d imported the Morgan mare from Boston, planning to use her for breeding stock on the Double-Q Ranch.
Filled with pride at her acquisition, Lucy stepped back, admiring the muscled hindquarters and powerful shoulders. Starlight butted her with her nose, asking Lucy to scratch her between the ears.
Oh, if other affections could be so easily swayed.
She stroked the mare absently as she made her silent wish.
She’d been heady with excitement when Quincy had asked her if she wanted to go to the Eclipse social the night before. Dressing with care, she’d worn her most sedate costume to avoid further conflict. The children had remained at home with the housekeeper and it had been a rare treat to have Quincy alone.
They’d been quarreling for months and the ride to town was a reminder of what peace between them felt like. She’d leaned against Ambrose, resting her head against his chest and laying her hand on his thigh. He’d hugged her close, rumbling a low growl, letting her know she wasn’t the only one who anticipated a night of pleasure in their marriage bed. Of course, it hadn’t turned out that way. He’d said she acted like a floozy.
Lucy clenched her fists, squeezing her eyes shut in frustration.
If I had not danced, the gossips would have said he’d forbidden it because he couldn’t trust me.
Her husband’s jealously was ludicrous.
If I didn’t love him so much, would I have buried myself in Eclipse, Texas?
That answer seemed so obvious to her, Quincy’s current bout of possessive suspicion made her grimace in disgust.
Recently he’d even insisted on escorting her to town if he knew she intended a trip. His surly behavior the previous night increased her spiteful wish to defy him. Recognizing the impulse as that of a child, Lucy discarded the temptation. “When the mares arrive, I’ll have something to occupy my time and won’t be so bored.”
After supper, it had become custom for Ambrose and her brother-in-law, Hamilton, to shut themselves in the ranch office, working endless hours. She’d given up delivering coffee or treats when the brothers greeted her presence with silence, pointedly waiting for her to leave.
Each night Ambrose walked her to the door and said the same thing. “Are you going to bed now?” As though he couldn’t continue until he knew her absolute location.
Frustrated, one night she’d snapped, “Where else would I go?”
His expression had become fierce, his voice holding an undercurrent of violence. “Nowhere.”
The previous night’s fiasco left her depressed, feeling totally helpless. She’d hoped the dance would serve as a means to regain their former affections. Instead, it had deepened the ever-increasing chasm separating them. Rather than preparing the other horseboxes, Lucy hid in the stall with Starlight, trying to block out Quincy’s words.
Someone entered the barn, interrupting her somber contemplations. Prickles of awareness slid over her nerve endings.
Quincy. S
he kept her back turned, murmuring affectionate words to her mare. But Starlight tensed, her ears flicking forward, her relaxed stance becoming alert as she sensed Lucy’s roiling emotions.
“Come out of there.”
As always, the deep growl of her husband’s voice sent shivers up Lucy’s spine. When she turned, Ambrose reached across the stall door, offering her a piece of linen for wiping her hands.
“Isn’t she beautiful, Quincy?” She was speaking of her mare, but her husband’s gaze remained fixed on Lucy when he agreed.
“Pretty as a picture.”
The coil of tension in her stomach loosened. He was decidedly different from last night. Maybe he’d regained his senses enough to say he was sorry for his hateful words.
No apology was offered. Instead, he unlatched the stall door, swinging it open for her to step out. As soon as the gate clicked shut behind her, Quincy slid his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into an embrace, nestling his arousal against her bottom.
“Ambrose Quince, have you no shame?” she scolded halfheartedly.
Displaying rare playfulness, he nipped her ear before whispering, “No.”
Lucy ducked under his arm and said with mock severity, “It’s broad daylight, husband. No decent woman…” Her words were cut short when he turned her in his arms, capturing her mouth and scooting them both deeper into the shadows of the barn.
“Decent time or not, I want you now. Come give me some sugar.”
Lucy blushed, instantly aroused by the promise in his voice. Quincy lifted her onto a bale of straw and flipped her skirts up to her thighs. His hands were already fumbling at her pantalettes as he covered her mouth with his at the same time he slid his calloused finger into her hot slickness.
Oh God, yes. I’ve wanted you so much.
She kept her need silent, arching against him, her cunny grasping his digits eagerly as he added a second finger.
Quincy’s low rumbling sounds of pleasure accompanied her pants of desire as he pushed her thighs wider. Lucy relaxed, rolling her hips as he stroked in and out of her tight passage.
Sliding her arms around his neck, she fused their lips, penetrating his mouth with her tongue.
She was almost there, almost ready to fly to heaven when he interrupted the kiss, dropping to his knees, jerking her pantalettes down around her ankles and positioning himself between her splayed thighs. Her whimpers of frustration were blanketed by his lusty growls as he flicked his tongue against her molten flesh and gave her his fingers again.
“Oh God, Quincy…” Lucy thrust upward, seating his magic fingers deeper as he tasted all of her. She was consumed by fire, twisting to get closer, thrusting her pelvis shamelessly to intensify the sensations.
She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching at Quincy’s hair while he pleasured her with his mouth. Begging for more, she moaned, “Yes… Please… I need you inside of me.”
When his lips nuzzled her stiff clitoris, she shivered—her release, a brilliant offer of relief tantalizingly close. Clasping his head in her hands, she ground her pearl against his lips and her orgasm broke over her in cascading waves.
Not until she’d come twice more did he stop his sensual tonguing, kissing his way to her sprawled thigh before sitting back with a grunt of satisfaction. “As God is my witness, I love the taste of you, Lucy.” And then, as if he couldn’t resist, he nipped the ruby bud at her apex, teasing the sensitive nub.
Lucy shuddered and strained toward him again, and he sucked her pearl gently. Curling his fingers inside her sheath, he touched that special spot ’til ripples of pleasure floated across her nerve endings one more time.
She sprawled on her back, knees open wide, her silken folds filmed with the silvery essence he’d called from her. ”Fill me,” she urged him to merge his flesh with hers. Her cunny flexed, anticipating the feel of his thick shaft’s penetration.
“You love it, don’t you, sweetheart?” He was pure male arrogance.
She savored the evidence of his desire, his cock, ruddy and dark with engorgement, white fluid leaking from his slit. She whispered, “Yes. Hurry.”
“Tell me how much you still want me.”
“I’d rather show you.” Lucy arched upward, squeezing the tip of his shaft, contracting the muscles in her passage. Liquid heat spilled from her, wetting his engorged flesh. He rubbed the head of his cock in the honey flowing from her channel, teasing both of them, waiting for her to answer.
Finally, she melted under his sensual assault, groaning, “Yes, Quincy, you still make me burn. Please stop toying with me and love me.”
He penetrated her depth, sliding through clenching muscles she tightened around him as he invaded her heated flesh.
He thrust hard and deep. “More,” she whispered, only satisfied when her nether lips folded back and the hair on his groin mingled with her feminine curls. He covered her, his hips jerking with short thrusts, inching closer to her core, his cock tapping a place high inside that made her moan, “Yes, yes, yes.”
When he tried to withdraw, she followed and refused to give him up, her passage a tight fist clenched around him, demanding more. He slid his hands under her rump and held her.
“Let me see if I remember what you like,” he growled. Holding her bottom higher, he stroked in and out of her cunny, filling her with his shaft ’til she convulsed in a paroxysm of pleasure that left her lying limp and muzzy beneath him. Muscles taut and back arched, he held her gaze and thrust one more time, reaching for her womb as he spilled deep inside.
For a moment he slumped over her, nuzzling her neck as they lay in each other’s arms, one entity reduced to a satiated heap. Lucy finally regained her senses, uncomfortably aware of their emissions wetting her thighs. She squirmed underneath his heavy weight and Ambrose withdrew, sighing as he stood.
Using his handkerchief, he cleansed her drenched flesh before tucking her drawers back into place. After straightening his clothes, he lifted her from the stacked bales of straw to seat her on his lap. Lucy rested her head against his chest, enjoying this intimate aftermath of their coupling. She could smell herself on him and it made her feel primitive and wild.
“Quincy, what if one of the children had come in while we were…” Attempting to regain her dignity, she rubbed her cheek against the rough fabric of his shirt and scolded him. Her reproach didn’t get her anything but a squeeze and a hug as he nibbled absently on her ear.
“I shut the barn door, just like I always have in the past. Young’uns know better than to come in.”
Passion no longer colored his voice, and his words reflected his belief that his orders were always followed, even high-handed, arrogant orders. Unwilling to disturb the moment, Lucy kept her thoughts to herself.
She stood, self-consciously smoothing her skirts. “Anyway, I have to get these stalls ready. My mares will be here soon.”
The stern man facing her bore little resemblance to her lover of moments before. “Mares aren’t coming.” He delivered his news in a gruff tone.
Anxiously, Lucy asked, “You mean they’re going to be delayed? Did Hamilton have trouble in Wichita?”
Ambrose put on his hat, pulling it low, concealing his eyes before hitching his gun holster back into place. “They’re not coming because I canceled the order.” Avoiding her and her questions, he headed toward the closed double doors at the front of the barn and threw them open.
She grabbed his arm before he could stride away, stopping him. “What did you do?”
He looked down at her, finally answering. “I did what needed to be done.”
Embers of her earlier anger blazed into an inferno of rage.
“Tell me this is only a cruel joke,” she begged. Lucy felt dizzy, as if all the blood in her head had dropped to her feet. “Why?” she whispered. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I’ve no time to manage this harebrained scheme of yours. I’m the head of the family, I run the ranch, I decide what will be raised on the Double-Q spread and right now, it’s not Morgan horses. The only breeding program you need to worry about is popping out young’uns sired by me.” His expression was stern, his tone inflexible.
“You refuse to believe I’m anything but dandelion fluff,” Lucy accused him.
“Dandelion fluff’s about right. You’re meant to be an ornament, a pretty bauble made to be a mother to my children and a pleasant companion in my bed. Isn’t that what they taught you in that fancy school you attended in Boston?”