Read Promise Me Forever Online
Authors: Lorraine Heath
Promise Me Forever (24 page)
Button. Button.
She watched with satisfaction as he slowly came to his feet, untied the sash on his robe, and shrugged out of it, the silk shimmering down his body to land on the floor.
Button. Button.
She eased her nightgown off her shoulders, felt it slide down her body, to pool at her feet. He took a long sigh as appreciation ignited his eyes.
“I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of looking at you,” he said.
“I know I’ll never grow tired of looking at you.”
“You’re my wife, Lauren.”
She nodded, hardly knowing what to say, as he was taking far more time to get her into the bed
than she’d expected. Was this another one of his trials, his tests, to prove he had more willpower than she did?
Obviously not. Obviously it was simply a matter of him relishing the moment. He stepped forward, cupped her face between his hands. “You can’t begin to imagine how much I dreamed of this. That a time would come when every night would be spent with you. I never want another night in my life without you. I never want another day when I can’t see you anytime that I want. From this moment on, nothing will come between us. From this moment on, we will be together forever. I give you my word on that.”
“Are we going to shake on it?” she asked.
“Darlin’, you know how I close a deal with a lady.”
“Then get to it, cowboy.”
His mouth swooped down to blanket hers, one arm snaking around to draw her up close until they were touching, thigh to thigh, breast to chest, the passion stirred to life, the heat consuming, beginning as a spark and igniting into a full-fledged flame. His mouth, hot and wet, left hers to journey along her throat, branding a trail that she thought would be visible for days to come. His mouth went lower, until his face was buried between her breasts, and his tongue was lapping at the inside swell of one and then the other, slowly, slowly, his breath fanning her flesh.
She heard herself whimper as her head fell back and her fingers dug into his shoulders. Purchase, she needed purchase before she executed a perfect swoon.
As though aware of her thoughts, he lifted her into his arms and laid her on the bed before stretching out over her, his hips between her thighs. Dear Lord, but she loved the weight of him, the sturdiness, the rippling muscles and hardness that was such a part of him. She wondered how different he might have been if he’d not traveled the road away from England…and just as quickly she realized that it didn’t matter. They’d both gone on a journey that had brought them to this destination, this moment, this destiny.
If she’d never come here, she’d have been the awkward wife of an English lord. Instead, she possessed the confidence and wherewithal to stand with poise and self-assurance at his side. All of the long-ago lessons, no longer seemed as tedious or pointless or resented. They’d prepared her for his arrival long before either of them knew the incredible life that awaited them together.
He glided his hand along her side, down her hip, and back up, cradling her breast, molding and shaping it, lifting it in order to offer her hardened nipple to his questing mouth. She moaned low as desire stampeded through her, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head to the tips of her fingers. Stretching languidly, she stroked his
calves with the soles of her feet and took delight in the feel of the coarse hair that covered his legs.
There was nothing soft about this man as he stirred her passions with his talented tongue and skilled fingers. All the years they’d been denied the celebration of their love would pale when compared to all the years that remained to them.
He rasped his love, her beauty, his desire…and she sighed with plea sure and contentment.
She whispered her love, his strength and power, her yearning…and he groaned and shuddered.
He rose up above her like the conqueror his ancestors must have been, he entered her with the sure thrust of a man who is confident of his ability to wield a sword mightily. He cupped her face and kissed her deeply as his body began to move in an undulating rhythm that released the wildness in them both.
Everything within her centered on him, on the incredible sensations he was creating, on the madness…
She was thrashing and screaming—
Suddenly he rolled her over, managing to stay buried deep within her, his fingers digging into her hips. “Ride me, darlin’,” he ordered, his voice hoarse with need, his body coated in dew, his muscles quivering with the force of his straining to hold back his own release until she’d been granted hers.
And London considered him a savage, this man
who always, always was civilized enough to put her needs above his. She thought it was impossible to love him any more than she did, and even as she thought that, she realized that she couldn’t quantify what she felt for him, it was as rich as the history of England and as vast and untamed as Texas.
She rocked her hips against his, felt the pressure build, threw her head back as he cupped her breasts, taunting her nipples, sending shards of plea sure shattering throughout her body…until she felt as though she were riding a shooting star across the heavens, until she exploded into a thousand brilliant points of light—
He bucked forcefully beneath her, his guttural groan music to her ears, his fingers tightening and loosening as he shuddered and jerked one last time. She dropped down, nestling her head in the crook of his shoulder, listening to his thundering heartbeat, inhaling the musky scent of their love-making. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She would have the miracle of him and what they shared…forever. Until she was frail and gray. Until his stride was not as bold or his muscles as firm. But always their love would be strong.
Eventually, he raised his hand enough that he could begin lethargically to stroke her back.
“Every time that happens, I feel as though I’m seeing a black Texas sky filled with shooting stars,” she said contentedly.
“Darlin’, that’s a little bit of Texas that I’ll be happy to give you anytime you ask.”
Laughing softly, she held him tightly. She’d told her mother wrong. She wasn’t
going
home tomorrow.
Home was here, now, right beneath her.
Near Fortune, Texas
1889
“Y
ou’re English!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Am
not
!”
“Are, too!”
“
Am not
!”
“Boys, that’s quite enough!” Lauren called out in exasperation.
She glared at Tom, who was stretched out beside her on a quilt beneath a towering oak tree near the creek, grinning broadly, refusing to get
into the middle of their sons’ all-too-familiar hotly debated argument. He merely gave her an innocent shrug that seemed to say “boys will be boys.”
“Mama, tell him, tell him, please, that I’m not English. I was born here, so I’m Texan.”
“Sam—”
“I’m not English. I don’t want to be.”
“If you’re not English, you can’t be the spare,” Edward said haughtily, sounding so frightfully English at the age of eight.
“Can, too. But it don’t matter anyway, ’cuz I don’t want to be the spare. When we grow up, you can be the earl, and I’ll be the rancher,” Sam told him. He was two years younger, and whenever they were in Texas, he tended to leave behind everything English, including any semblance of being exposed to the slightest bit of an education.
Sam dropped down on the ground beside Tom. “I can be the rancher, can’t I, Pa?”
Reaching out, Tom ruffled his son’s black hair. “Reckon so. Ward
has
to be the earl because he was born first, but you can be anything you want.”
Sam wrinkled his brow. “That ain’t hardly fair to Ward, that he don’t get to choose.”
Lauren rolled her eyes as he continued to massacre the English language. The odd thing was, as soon as they stepped on British soil, his “ain’ts” would disappear. He was a chameleon in that re
gard, adapting to his surroundings so he blended in unnoticed. It was really quite remarkable.
“I don’t mind,” Edward said, as he sat on the quilt, never forgetting for a moment that he was the young lord who would one day step into his father’s shoes, while it seemed that Sam had definite plans to step into his father’s boots. “I want to be the earl. And I can do other things, too. Like Father. I don’t have to be
just
the earl. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s right. You don’t have to be
just
the earl, and Sam doesn’t have to be
just
the rancher. Both of you can do anything that you damned well want to do,” Tom said, winking at them.
Falling back dramatically, the boys laughed, their differences forgotten as they found something to agree on. Their father was going to get into trouble later with their mother for his use of profanity.
“I can do anything that I want, too.”
Smiling with all the love he felt for his four-year-old daughter mirrored in his eyes, Tom winked. “That you can, darlin’.”
She wound her arms around Tom’s neck and hugged him tightly. “I love you, Papa.”
“Love you, too, darlin’. Love you all.”
“Come on, we’ve got fish to catch,” Edward said, sensing that things were about to get too emotional. They always did when it was time for them to return to England. Picking up their poles, he
led his younger brother and sister back to the creek.
Tom sat up and leaned against the tree. He patted the ground between his legs. Lauren moved over and sat within the circle of his arms, her back to his chest, welcoming the feel of his lips pressing against the sensitive skin just below her ear.
“Sorry we’re leaving tomorrow?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
“It’s only for a few months. Then we’ll be back.”
It had become their habit, a few months here, a few months there.
“If you want to stay longer…”
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be fair to Ward. He loves England. He’ll make an exemplary lord.”
“Sam’s going to be a good rancher.”
She twisted around slightly until she could look at him. “Thank you, Tom, for giving me this little bit of Texas every now and then.”
“Thank you, darlin’, for giving me a little bit of your heart always.”
“Oh, Tom, you have more than a little bit, and you damn well know it.”
She cut off his laughter over her use of profanity with a kiss that would have led to other things if the children weren’t nearby. She was amazed that after all these years, his slow, lazy kisses still had the ability to melt her bones and stir her desires.
When she pulled back, he said, “I’ll meet you here later to night to search for a falling star.”
“I have nothing left to wish for. I have everything I could ever possibly want.”
“Meet me anyway,” he said. “I have some wishing of my own to do.”
“What could you possibly wish for?”
He winked at her. “An unbuttoned bodice.”
Sighing, she snuggled up against him. “You can have that without wishing for it.”
“But, darlin’, if you’ve taught me one thing, it’s that a man ought to believe in wishing.”
In the years that followed, Tom and Lauren divided their time between England and Texas. Half of their children were Texan by birth. And while the Lonesome Heart ranch was distributed equally among all their children, it was kept intact, passed down from generation to generation.
During both world wars, their descendants, based upon their place of birth, would serve in the British and American armed forces. Several would receive commendations for their bravery, including the Victoria Cross and the Congressional Medal of Honor.
Sixty-two years after they were married, Tom took Lauren back to Texas for the final time, laying her to rest in the rich Texas soil, near the creek where they’d fallen in love. He visited her every day, until six months later when he was laid to
rest beside her. On their joint headstone, beneath the particulars of their lives, was carved a single word:
Forever
.
Tom had promised his Lauren forever. It was a promise he kept.
LORRAINE HEATH always dreamed of being a writer. After graduating from the University of Texas, she wrote training manuals, press releases, and articles, but something was always missing. In 1990, she read a romance novel and became not only hooked on the genre, but quickly realized what her own writing lacked: rebels, scoundrels, and rogues. She’s been writing about them ever since, for both adult and young adult readers. Her work has been recognized with numerous industry awards, including RWA’s RITA®, a HOLT medallion, a
Romantic Times
Career Achievement Award, and several Texas Gold Awards.
Lorraine loves hearing from readers. You can write her at
[email protected]
or visit her website at www.lorraineheath.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
P
ROMISE
M
E
F
OREVER
A M
ATTER OF
T
EMPTATION
• A
S AN
E
ARL
D
ESIRES
A
N
I
NVITATION TO
S
EDUCTION
L
OVE
W
ITH A
S
CANDALOUS
L
ORD
T
O
M
ARRY AN
H
EIRESS
• T
HE
O
UTLAW AND THE
L
ADY
N
EVER
M
ARRY A
C
OWBOY
• N
EVER
L
OVE A
C
OWBOY
A R
OGUE IN
T
EXAS
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’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.
PROMISE ME FOREVER.
Copyright © 2006 by Jan Nowasky. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition July 2006 ISBN 9780061750533
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