Lucky Penny (52 page)

“I love you so much, David,” she murmured. “You sneaked up on me, kind of like influenza, a symptom here and a symptom there, until I realized I was a goner.”

He laughed and then curled himself around her. “You, my high-minded lady, are the best case of flu I’ve ever had.”

Brianna felt exactly the same. If he was a disease, she wanted him to infect every cell of her body. She felt her gown slip to the floor. Then David’s hands went to work on her stays. When she started to say something, he covered her mouth with his, and she sank into the wet satin heat, startled at first by the invasion of his tongue, and then lost in the sensations he aroused within her. Somehow her corset fell away. Next her underskirts and bloomers departed, forming puddles on the floor with her other garments. He had finally divested her of everything but her chemise.

Nervous but not really frightened, Brianna caught his dark face between her hands, marveling at how pale her skin was next to his in the lantern light. Locking gazes with him—and, oh, my, she’d never seen his eyes in the heat of passion, darkening to a gunmetal blue that danced with sparks—she whispered, “Please do remember I’ve never done this.”

He nibbled at the corner of her mouth, suckled at the V of her collarbone. “Neither have I, never with anyone I loved, anyhow. Just trust me, Shamrock. Can you do that? Forget everything and just come with me.”

Her lungs grabbing for air, Brianna clung to him as if she’d been swept off the lily pad and was going under for the third time. “Just say you won’t hurt me.”

His mouth, warm and moist, found her bare shoulder. “I can’t promise that, darlin’, not with this being your first time. But I can promise that I’ll make it as painless as I can.”

Visions of Moira after the rape flashed through Brianna’s mind, but then David’s gentle hands were there, and the images dimmed, and when she searched his face, his chiseled countenance and those compelling eyes became her only reality.

“Just turn loose, Shamrock,” he whispered, “and be with me.”

He swept her up into his arms and laid her on the bed again. She felt exposed. Her chemise had drifted up, but when she started to cover herself, he touched a fingertip to her wrist. “No, don’t do that. If you’re feeling shy, I’ll dim the lamp.”

He lowered the wick, and then he started to strip. Off went the duster, then his shirt. Brianna couldn’t jerk her gaze away from his chest—rippling mounds where she had breasts, striated muscle across his abdomen where she was soft and pliant. With quick flicks of his wrists, he took off his gun belt and draped it over the footboards. Next he took off his belt. Then he sat on the edge of the mattress to kick off his boots. Even in the dimmer light, she could see the play of strength across his back, large tendons and muscle bunching in his shoulder area, the massiveness tapering to a slender waist.

When he stood to kick off his pants, Brianna closed her eyes, afraid she might panic if she saw his erect manhood. But then he lowered himself onto the bed beside her, and his arms were around her, and she felt the throbbing hardness of him against her thigh, as silken on the surface as polished satin, but rodlike under the softness. She wondered fleetingly how something that big could possibly fit inside her. But then David made her forget that and everything else. He was
there
, all around her, his mouth, his voice, his strength, and his solid heat.

He tugged loose the front ribbons of her chemise, baring her breasts, and when he caught her aching nipple between his lips, she thought she might die of pleasure. Electrical zings shot through her body, pooling like blue fire low in her core. She could barely breathe. She made fists in his hair, inviting him to sample her other breast. Through half-opened eyes, she tried to take him in visually, the bronze gleam of his arms and shoulders, the mat of gold hair across his chest, but mostly all she could focus on was the feel of him.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice gone hoarse with desire.

And then his hand found that private place between her
thighs. Brianna gasped and her spine snapped taut. David used his weight to ride her back down to the mattress and touched her there, on that most sensitive area, until her nerve endings bunched, urgency built within her, and her breath came in jagged bursts as she raised her hips toward his hand, wanting more and more.

He gave it to her.
Tumbling off the lily pad into the waves.
She floated up, dived right, soared left, and the electrical ribbons of pleasure turned white-hot as the storm surrounded her. She didn’t want to surface. Instead she arched, clinging to his shoulders. He buried his face in the lee of her neck. She felt out of control, distantly alarmed. Never in her life had she experienced anything like this.

“Go with me,” he whispered near her ear. “Shamrock, turn loose. Trust me. Just go with me.”

She remembered how he’d made such beautiful music on the prairie with his fiddle, his big hands expertly wielding the bow and pressing the strings, filling the night with magic. She stopped fighting and offered herself up to him. He didn’t disappoint. Each touch of his fingertips, each stroke of his hands, each pull of his mouth made her pulse race faster, a fever pitch of need building within her. As if he knew, he increased the pressure and pace. Her body jerked and trembled. He took her higher and higher until she came apart with indescribable pleasure. She felt like a ray of light that exploded into hundreds of brilliant shards that began to trickle in fading bursts back to earth to land safely in David’s arms.

He trailed kisses across her face and whispered to her. And then she saw him, magnificent in the dim glow of the lantern light, rising above her. For just an instant, she clamped her thighs together, fearing what was to come, memories of Moira invading her passion-drugged senses again. But then she found David’s eyes, glassy and nearly black with desire, and all the fear left her. This was
her
David, the man who’d stood against three roughriders to protect her and her daughter, willing to sacrifice his life for them. How could she feel afraid of him, even for a second?

He poised himself over her, his knotted fists buried in the down mattress, his muscular body arched over hers, his
eyes blazing as he met her gaze. Every inch of him quivered with restraint. “If you’re afraid, I’ll stop,” he said raggedly. “This first time, I don’t want you to feel frightened.”

Brianna realized then that he truly would stop, and love for this marvelous, incredible man flooded through her, turning her bones to hot syrup. She realized he might pull away, and she grasped his hips, wanting to experience it all. Locking eyes with him, she lifted herself up. Moira’s ghost turned loose of her, and for the first time in years, Brianna allowed her true, adventurous self to take over. “I’m not afraid. You asked me to come with you. Don’t back out now.”

He gave a harsh, broken laugh, and then he nudged his manhood against her opening. Brianna let her thighs part, trusting him as she’d never trusted anyone. He pushed in a little way and then stopped, his blue eyes fixed on hers, his body trembling with a need he refused to satisfy.

“You okay, Shamrock? I don’t want to hurt you, and I know I will.”

Brianna thrust up with her hips, hard and fast, taking the choice away from him.
Pain
. She sucked in air, stiffened, rode it out, and then sighed softly as the first onslaught became a dull ache.

Clutching his thick, hard upper arms, she whispered raggedly, “Come with me, David. Don’t turn lily-livered on me now. Come with me.”

He groaned, a shuddering sound, and slammed forward with his hips. “No, Shamrock, you come with
me
.”

Brianna couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful than what he’d already made her feel with his hand, but David Paxton was a man full of surprises. He surged deep, withdrew, and plunged again, igniting her in places she hadn’t realized she possessed. The initial pain was forgotten. Pleasure swept her under, a trembling, quivering delight that ended with a shattering orgasm. The wondrousness of it stole her breath and made her pulse pound like black fists in her temples. She clenched her arms and legs around him.
Yes.
This was love. This was why some women tittered and whispered.
This
was heaven on earth.

When it was over, David held her in his arms, pressing kisses to her brow. “Dear God, how I love you. Talk about
miracles. I’ll be thankful for the rest of my life that I got that bag of letters.”

“And I’ll always be thankful that God sent me a catastrophe.”

He chuckled and gathered her close. They slept. Later Brianna awakened to his mouth at her breast, and she came instantly awake to ride the waves of pleasure with him again.
David.
She made fists in his hair and clung to him, loving him as she’d never loved anyone.

The third time they made love—or was it the fourth?—David whispered, “Where is my Shamrock, who once loved adventure, was fascinated by the outside world, and broke the rules?”

To Brianna, David was her
entire
world. She reared up on her elbows to peer at him through the golden gloom of the partially lighted bedroom. “Have I disappointed you?”

He kissed her deeply, impaling her with such sweet feelings that she forgot to worry. “Hell, no, you haven’t disappointed me, but so far, I’ve taken command, and somehow I have this idea in my head that Brianna O’Keefe is a little rebel. She’s in there somewhere. Tell her to come out and introduce herself to me.”

For an instant, Brianna’s chest clutched with dread. Letting go was so dangerous. When you behaved with abandon, the people dearest to you could die. She lay beside David, feeling frozen, searching within herself for that girl who’d once tossed caution to the wind. She was no longer there.

“Life killed her, David. I’ll never get her back.”

“Bullshit. She jumped out and decked me that day beside the stream. She came out again when I handed her my rifle, knowing she might have to learn how to use it without help and that she might have to ride a horse like the wind to save her daughter.” He grasped her chin. “Damn it, Shamrock. You are
not
Moira. You’re
you
, and trust me when I say that you are one of God’s precious gifts to this world. When we’re outside the bedroom, be a prim lady if you like, but behind closed doors, forget all that nonsense and just
be
.”

Brianna wasn’t sure she could do that, but with coaxing and drugging kisses from David, she found that young girl
within herself—the rebel who’d hated being controlled—and she broke every rule of ladylike decorum, touching him everywhere, tasting him everywhere, and reveling in the groans of pleasure that erupted from him when she closed her mouth around his shaft.

The sheets went flying; propriety went with them. The next thing she knew, she was flattened against the wall, with David’s strong arms clenched under her thighs to hold her high. She cried out as his hot, silken mouth covered the center of her. His tongue caressed, flicked, and drew on her until she whimpered and disintegrated, clinging to his strong shoulders as he took her with him to paradise.

Brianna came slowly awake to sunlight glaring against her eyelids. When she lifted her lashes, she cupped her hands over her face to block out the brightness. Then, with a rush of horror, it struck her that she hadn’t lowered the blind last night. She and David had made love for all the world to see. She lunged from the bed, grabbed the pull, and jerked it down to the sill with such force that she broke the rolling mechanism. The blind hung in folds, covering the window but lost forever to usefulness.

David sat up in bed. “What the hell?”

Brianna fluttered her hands, realized she was stark naked, and dove for a sheet that lay crumpled on the floor. Once she’d covered herself, she cried, “We made love with the lamp on and the blind up. Oh, my God, oh, my God.”

David had no problem with nudity. He swung off the bed, and with two long strides, swept her into his arms. “Do you think people stay up all night to watch the Paxtons have sex? It’s a back window. If it faced Main we might worry. As for anyone who might have sneaked out there to watch, to hell with them. They need something better to do with their time.”

He reached out an arm and jerked the shade from the brackets, baring the window glass. Then he strode with her across the room, lifted her against the wall, and made love to her again. When she was a quivering puddle of pulsating nerve endings, he carried her back to bed and once again treated her to a journey with him to soaring heights and a
dizzying plunge back to earth. Brianna came to her senses with both arms locked around his neck and her mouth open over his shoulder. She loved the taste of him—salt and man. She gloried in his strength, his power, his desire for her.

“You, sir, are impossible.”

He laughed and nibbled at her temple. “And you, my high-minded lady, are irresistible. Hopefully, we haven’t given our local hat maker a heart attack.”

“She’s a milliner,” Brianna corrected, but the purr of fulfillment in her voice muted its bite. “Will you never learn how to speak properly?”

“Probably not, but I’ll enjoy having you gripe at me about it for the remainder of my days.”

David had kept his promise to teach Brianna how to make love, and after breakfast, as they were tidying the kitchen, he taught her how to turn loose and have fun. Wearing only her shabby nightdress, which she’d brought with her from the orphanage, Brianna dried the last dish as David pulled the plug in the sink. She put the plate on the shelf, turned to fold the towel, and put it on the counter. Just then David wet his fingers in the last of the water circling down the drain and flicked her in the face. She blinked, and he flicked her again.

“What,” she said primly, “do you think you’re doing?”

He cupped his hand in the remaining liquid and tossed it at her. She cried out at the splash, which got her on the chest. “Water fight! Where are you, Shamrock? You going to take that without firing back?”

Then he ran. Brianna grabbed hold of her drenched nightdress, thinking he’d lost his mind. But then the unholy urge to get even consumed her. She rifled through the cupboards for a big glass, filled it with ice cold water from the faucet, and went to find her attacker. She came upon him hiding behind the armoire in their bedroom. She looked him directly in the eye, smiled, and tossed sixteen ounces of cold water right in his face.