Rebecca Hagan Lee - [Borrowed Brides 01] (15 page)

Faith unbuttoned her coat and pulled off her gloves. Her hands automatically went under her chin to untie her bonnet strings. She was surprised to find it gone.

Reese grinned. “I think it landed in the bathtub.”

“I don’t remember removing it,” Faith admitted.

“I’m not surprised.” He smiled again. “You were busy over the basin. I took it off. You can get it later. “ He threw her coat over his arm. “Come, I’ll show you the bedroom.”

“The bedroom?” She looked at him as if he had sprouted horns.

“Yes, Mrs. Collins, the room with the bed in it. The one we’ll sleep in.”

“Together?” That one word transformed her slightly husky contralto into a squeak.

“How else are we going to make a baby?” He asked the question so casually it took a moment for the words to penetrate.

“What about Joy?” She clung to the only legitimate excuse she could think of.

“Joy has her own room and her own bed.” Reese stared at Faith. For a woman who had been married and had borne a child, she seemed unreasonably nervous. “She won’t be sharing ours. Why do you think I turned my office into a bedroom for her? She needs her privacy, and we will need ours.” He sounded so patient, but in truth, his patience was rapidly running out. He’d already paid ten thousand dollars for the right to put his seed in her, and he was eager to get on with it. He took her hand and led her to the door next to the washroom.

“Well, here it is.” He turned the cut-glass doorknob, then let the door swing open.

Faith gasped in surprise.

A huge bed made of carved oak dominated the room. The massive headboard was shaped like an arch. A bouquet of intricately carved roses was centered beneath the arch. The ribbons holding the bouquet together trailed down either side of the wood and wrapped themselves around the posts. The feather mattresses were piled high, the goose-down pillows, fluffy and plump. The bedcovers were made of gold satin. And the footboard of the enormous bed was a smaller version of the headboard.

It was the most beautiful bed Faith had ever seen. It looked warm, comfortable, inviting, and sinfully opulent. The room looked the way she imagined a king’s bedroom might look, with a bed all decked out in gold and the walls covered in forest-green satin. Large pillows in matching gold and green scattered about on the floor. A small oak table stood on either side of the headboard, each holding a brass lamp. One table was stacked with leather-bound books, while the other table held a vase of red roses. Their lovely scent filled the room, almost overpowering it.

Reese walked to an oak armoire and opened one of the doors. He hung her coat inside, then placed her gloves on the shelf. Her burgundy silk ball gown was hanging inside. He must have had the baggage sent ahead.

“You can have the right side. I’ll take the left.”

Her gaze was still riveted on the bed. It took her a moment to realize he was talking about the armoire.

His brown-eyed stare followed her gaze to the bed. “We’ll decide on that later,” he teased, his body hardening at the thought.

Faith whirled around and started for the door, determined to escape his presence. She slammed into Reese’s unyielding chest.

His arms went around her waist to steady her.

She braced her hands against his forearms and felt the electricity that arced between them. Her flesh tingled in anticipation. Her mouth went dry, and her skin grew hot. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

Reese watched in fascination as her lips parted. He leaned closer, dipping his head toward hers.

Faith looked up at him. His eyes were dark, smoldering, almost black. She watched his face move closer to hers. She thought he would kiss her. She waited, hoping. But his lips bypassed hers. She sighed in disappointment until she felt his cool lips press against her neck. He nibbled at her ear, sucking, ever so slowly on the lobe. She sagged in his arms, her legs refusing to support her weight.

Reese ran his hands up her rib cage and under her arms, silently urging her to move them upward, around his neck. She tried to loop her arms around his neck, but couldn’t. She settled for grasping handfuls of the wool covering his shoulder blades. Faith pulled herself against him, turning her head just enough to offer him her other earlobe. He explored her with his hands, inching forward, cupping the undersides of her breasts. He grazed the tips with the sides of his thumbs. Faith’s whole body seemed to jerk at the contact.

His warm, wet tongue traced the line of her neck from her earlobe to the fabric of her collar. He palmed her breasts again. Her heart pounded beneath his right hand. Her breathing was rapid, ragged, almost matching his.

Bending his knees, Reese swung her up into his arms, his attention focused on the massive bed―his parents’ marriage bed, the bed in which he’d been conceived, the bed where his son would be given life. He started toward it with Faith held cradled against him.

“Weese?”

He almost dropped Faith. The sound of his name spoken from the doorway was sobering. He turned around and lowered Faith to her feet. Joy stood watching them, her eyes wide with wonder. “The kettle is singing.”

“What?”

“The kettle you put on the stove,” Faith whispered. “It’s boiling.”

“So am I,” Reese whispered back, although Joy’s intrusion had cooled his ardor considerably.

Faith straightened her dress and patted several strands of hair back into place. She walked to Joy and took her by the hand. “Let’s go rescue the singing kettle.” She turned back and looked at Reese. “Are you coming?”

Reese muttered an obscenity and ground his teeth together at her poor choice of words.

He had watched her all evening, his dark eyes following her every movement, every gesture, like a predator about to pounce on his prey. Faith had been so nervous, she could hardly swallow the bites of the food the chef at the Madison Hotel had packed for them. She blushed each time she looked up from her plate and felt his eyes on her. He undressed her with those eyes, and she knew that if Joy hadn’t been sitting beside them, filling the heated silence with her childish chatter, his hands would have completed the task his eyes had begun.

Her body heated at the thought. She was filled with conflicting emotions―tension, anticipation, and fear. Fear not of Reese, but of the unknown. After tonight there would be no turning back, no escaping her fate. She had bargained with the devil, and it was time to give him his due.

She closed the door to the pink bedroom. Joy slept soundly, curled up on her side, her dolls close by. She would sleep until morning. Faith could not procrastinate any longer.

She glanced around the main room. Reese had been seated in front of the wood stove, sipping a glass of brandy when she left to put Joy to bed. But now the room was empty. He was gone. She wondered if he was curled up in bed waiting for her.

Faith took a deep breath to steady her nerves. A glass of white wine sat on the table beside his empty brandy snifter. She picked it up and drained the contents in three swallows. She put the empty glass back on the table, then walked around the room, methodically extinguishing the lamps on her way to the bedroom.

Reese sat outside on the tiny rear porch of the railroad car, one booted foot propped against the rail. The night air was crisp and cold, but the sky was clear. He studied the constellations, searching his brain for the English and Cherokee names. The tip of his thin cigar glowed bright red in the dark as he inhaled the soothing taste of tobacco, then exhaled, blowing smoke rings in the dark. He listened to the rhythmic clacking of the train against the tracks and watched the shower of cinders sparkle in the night before they cooled to ash and dissipated on the wind. He tried to count the minutes. He was killing time, waiting until he could go back inside the car. He thought he heard the splash of water. His bride must be bathing. He pulled the lapels of his heavy wool, coat a little tighter against the biting chill. His mind conjured up the image of Faith Collins in the bath, slick and wet and warm… He shifted uncomfortably to accommodate the predictable hardening in his groin. He’d give her five more minutes.

The five minutes expired. Reese made his way inside the car. His booted toe kicked a table leg and his knee bumped the sharp corner. “Ouch, dammit!” He squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the shapes of the furniture. Outside, there had been some moonlight. In here, it was black as pitch. Why the hell hadn’t she left on a lamp? “Shit!” His unprotected hip found the back of one of the wing chairs.

The sound of the bedroom door banging against the wall woke Faith. She sat up, instantly alert. Reese Jordan stood beside the bed. “Shh!” she warned.

“Shh, hell!” Reese grumbled, lowering his voice. “I cracked my knee, not to mention my hipbone. Why didn’t you leave a lamp burning?”

“It’s dark,” she said with irrefutable logic.

“I know it’s dark. That’s why you should have left a lamp on. I can’t see the damn furniture in the dark.” Reese wrenched off his coat and tossed it in the direction of a chair. He sat down.

The side of the bed dipped beneath his weight. Faith grabbed at the other side to keep from rolling against him. “There’s no need to be offensive,” she told him, primly. “I was on my way to bed. Why should I leave a lamp on? I didn’t know where you were.”

“You knew I’d be coming to bed,” he accused.

“I knew no such thing!” Faith lied. “You were gone when I came out of Joy’s room.”

“I was outside freezing my ass off,” he informed her as he yanked off his boots and let them fall to the floor. “Giving you time to do…whatever. I was acting like a
gentleman
. The least you could have done was leave a light on.”

“But I always blow the lamps out,” she protested. “I never leave them on.” It was all she could think to say when she felt the slight stir of cool air, the whisper of fabric as he pulled off... Good Lord, he was taking off his clothes!

“Did Champ blow the lamps out?” The bed righted itself as Reese stood up to remove his pants.

“What?”

“I asked if your sainted husband blew the lamps out before he came to your bed.”

Faith thought for a second. “Well, of course, he did! He wouldn’t have been much of a gentleman if he hadn’t.”

Reese brushed the surface of the bedside table with his hand, searching for something.

Faith heard the scratching sound, a second before she smelled the unmistakable odor of sulfur.

“You can’t…” She struggled to sit up, the covers clutched to her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“There is a hell of a lot to be said for not being a gentleman.” Reese replaced the globe on the lamp and turned up the wick.

The room took on a golden glow. “I don’t much care for fumbling around in the dark. I like to see what I’m getting.” He walked around to her side of the bed and lit that lamp as well. He touched the side of her face, then chuckled. “Don’t you?”

She opened her eyes, then widened them at the sight of him.

He was naked.

She closed her eyes once again, tighter than before. But it was too late. The image of his nude body, bronzed by the glow of the lamps, was indelibly etched on her brain. His skin was golden, much darker than hers, his chest broad with finely sculpted muscles. She was surprised to find he had two, round, brown patches on his chest, each with a hard, little nub in the center. She hadn’t realized men had nipples.

“Shy?” Reese asked sardonically. He yanked the covers from her clenched fists, flipped them back, and slipped into bed beside her.

Faith jerked the covers back into place and attempted to roll away. He was too close. She could feel the heat of his body.

He reached out a hand to grab her. “What’s this?” he asked when he encountered a handful of flannel nightgown. It had been a long time since he’d slept with a woman who owned a flannel nightgown, and he had never had to fight his way through one―flannel or otherwise. “Don’t tell me,” he muttered. “Let me guess. You always wear a flannel nightgown to bed.”

“Only in the winter.” Faith blushed at his blunt statement. “In the summer, I wear cotton.”

“And your sainted husband never asked you to take it off?”

“No!” She pinned him with her wide gray gaze.

“Did
he
ever take one off?”

“Certainly not!” Faith was shocked at the suggestion.

“There’s a first time for everything. Don’t expect me to wade through yards of fabric to get to you.” He turned on his side and pulled her close against his hard body.

“I don’t expect you to do anything,” Faith told him, holding herself still, afraid to relax into his inviting warmth.

She lay rigid in his arms, her spine, unyielding. Reese sighed aloud. He hadn’t thought she would require wooing. She had agreed to this. She had even signed a contract giving him the right, but apparently, she expected a little effort on his part. It shouldn’t take too much, he reasoned. Old Champ hadn’t put too much effort into it himself, and he had fathered Joy. Reese shifted his weight onto one shoulder and maneuvered his arm beneath her.

He caressed her, moving his hand from her waist up the column of her back, and down again while he exerted subtle pressure against the small of her back with his other hand, kneading her stiff muscles, silently urging her closer.

Faith gave a small moan of pleasure as his hands worked their magic.

“Open your eyes, Faith,” he ordered. “Look at me. I won’t hurt you.”

She did as he asked. She looked at his face.

Reese sucked in his breath. Her eyes were an unguarded smoky gray, her mouth, soft and inviting. She looked as if she wanted to be kissed. “Did your husband ever do this?” he asked as one hand moved from the small of her back, up her spine while the other hand moved down to caress her firm bottom.

Faith shook her head. Reese watched as the long black braid moved against her pillow. “Did he kiss you?”

This time she nodded.

“Like this?” His lips claimed hers, gently at first, then more forcefully. He pulled her to him. Her breasts flattened against his chest. He could feel the twin points pressing into him. He fondled the flesh of her buttocks through the flannel. He deepened his kiss. He wanted to feel her skin. The flannel nightgown frustrated him. He pulled away, placing a light kiss on the tip of her nose. “Well?”