Schulze, Dallas (20 page)

“I didn’t exactly burst,” he pointed out, but he was losing
interest in the conversation. “How long are the children going to be with Mrs.
Sunday?”

“She said they were welcome to stay until we join them for dinner
at six. I suppose I should have consulted with you before accepting her
invitation,” she admitted grudgingly.

“That’s fine,” he said absently, more interested in the here and
now. He’d worry about dinner with the parson later. “So we’re alone for the
next couple of hours.”

Like a doe scenting sudden danger, Lila stilled. While they were
talking, she’d nearly forgotten the intimacy of their situation. Now Bishop’s
soft-voiced comment reminded her that this was the first time they’d been
completely alone since the children joined them. Her wide green eyes met his
and what she read there had her heart suddenly beating much too hard. Even more
frightening than the hunger she saw in his eyes was the echo of it she felt in
the pit of her stomach.

What was it about him that brought out this... wantonness in her?
Did marriage take away the sin of feeling such powerful desire for a man she
didn’t love?

With an effort, she turned away, her fingers tugging once more at
the belt of her robe. She suddenly felt woefully underdressed.

“Maybe you’d better go," she said, her voice not quite
steady.

“Maybe I shouldn’t.” Bishop’s fingers closed around her arm, turning
her back to face him. “It occurs to me that we’ve yet to have a wedding night.”

“It’s broad daylight,” she reminded him, scandalized. “You can’t
possibly mean to—”

“Why not?” His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist and Lila’s
pulse was suddenly beating much too fast. “There’s no law that says a man can
only make love to his wife in the dark.”

She was going to pull away, she told herself. She wasn’t going to
allow this to continue. But she stayed where she was, hypnotized by the
rhythmic stroke of Bishop’s thumb against her skin, the searing blue of his
eyes.

“I want to see you,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I want to
watch your face when you take me inside you. Remember?”

Lila felt as if she’d just had the breath knocked from her. She’d
never even imagined the possibility of anyone saying something so shockingly
intimate. And worse than what he’d said were the memories that rushed back over
her, memories she’d spent three months trying to suppress.
Remember?
She
hadn’t been able to forget.

“I think—” she began breathlessly.

“You think too much,” he said as he slid his hand from her wrist
up her arm, pulling her closer.

“This is wrong.” He was so close that she could feel the heat of
him, smell the crispness of soap and sunshine that clung to him. He set one
hand against the small of her back, his boot sliding between her bare feet.
Looking up at him, Lila was suddenly conscious of his size and strength. In
contrast, she felt small and vulnerable, not a feeling to which she was
accustomed.

“It’s not wrong,” he contradicted. “You’re my wife and I want you.
I’m your husband and you want me. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“But I don’t want—”

“Yes, you do.” And he proceeded to prove it by threading his
fingers through her hair, tilting her face upward, and closing his mouth over
hers with ruthless sensuality.

He didn’t ask her for a response, he demanded it. There was no
slow, easy build to passion. Instead, he let the full force of his hunger sweep
over her. For half a heartbeat, Lila remained stiff against him, telling
herself it would be wrong to give in to the heat already uncoiling itself in
the pit of her stomach. Surely it was a sin to want him so much when she didn’t
love him.

“Open your mouth,” Bishop whispered against her lips. He slid his
tongue across the sensitive flesh inside her lower lip in a gesture that coaxed
even as it demanded.

Lila opened her mouth—to protest—surely that was the reason. It
certainly wasn’t to comply with his sensual command. But whatever her reason,
Bishop was quick to take advantage of the opportunity. His tongue slid between
her teeth, laying claim to the vulnerable softness beyond.

Lila’s resistance collapsed with shameful speed. She’d raised her
hands to push him away, but her fingers were suddenly curling over the edges of
his coat, clinging for support as his tongue ravaged her mouth. This was the
way it had been before—he’d only had to kiss her and she’d forgotten everything
she knew of right and wrong, forgotten everything but the need to belong to
him. She simply wasn’t strong enough to fight her own hunger as well as his,
and she let her body curve into the hard strength of his.

Feeling her surrender, Bishop gave a low murmur of encouragement
against her mouth and pulled her so close that not even a shadow could slip
between them. Locked together from breast to knee, they kissed with the deep
hunger of lovers too long apart, with an urgency caused by needs too long
denied.

His fingers burrowed into her hair, loosening the pins that held
the heavy coil in place. An instant later, fiery curls tumbled over his hands
and arms, falling past her hips in a wild, luxuriant tangle. Lila’s knees
weakened when his tongue traced the delicate shell of her ear, his teeth
worrying the lobe a moment before his mouth found the sensitive skin along the
side of her neck.

She felt Bishop loosening the belt of her robe and, for an
instant, panic swept over her. She didn’t have a stitch on beneath the robe. If
he removed it she’d be completely naked. It was broad daylight. She couldn’t
let him—Bishop’s mouth was suddenly on hers, swallowing her incoherent murmur
of protest, making her forget everything but his kiss.

Keeping his mouth on hers, Bishop slid his hands beneath the heavy
silk, slipping the robe off her shoulders until it slithered to the floor,
pooling around her feet—a brilliant splash of blue against the pale wood. He
could feel the tension beneath Lila’s surrender and guessed that a wrong move
could make her bolt. He should move slowly, coaxing and soothing her every step
of the way. But he’d been hungry for so long. For three months she’d haunted
his thoughts. Whatever sin he’d committed that night, he’d surely been punished
for it since their wedding. Having her close but always out of reach had been
the most refined of tortures. His self-control had been strained to the limits
and beyond. He simply didn’t have enough left to begin a long drawn out
seduction of his own wife. But maybe he didn’t have to. She was all but melting
in his arms, her slender body warm and pliant.

Lila let her head fall back as Bishop’s mouth left hers. His lips
trailed downward, tasting the sensitive arch of her throat, exploring the pulse
that beat raggedly at its base. Eyes closed, hands clinging to his shoulders,
she let herself fall into the pleasure he was offering.

The softly scratchy feel of his mustache brushing against the
upper curve of her breast made her eyes fly open. Bishop had dropped to one
knee in front of her, and she stared in shock as he opened his mouth over her
breast, laving the sensitive tip with his tongue. He’d done the same thing the
last time they were together, and the memory had haunted her most secret
dreams. But his room had been dark that night and her memories had been limited
to those of touch and scent and sound. Seeing his face at her breast, the sharp
contrast of his black mustache with the-creamy pallor of her skin was
shockingly erotic. She felt the tug of his mouth against her breast, a drawing
pressure that was echoed deep inside her, spreading outward until her entire
body throbbed in rhythm to his suckling.

This couldn’t be happening,
she thought wildly. It was
broad daylight, for heaven’s sake. She couldn’t be standing there, letting him
do this to her. She had to stop this before it went any further, had to stop
him.

Bishop turned his attention to her other breast, dragging the edge
of his teeth across the puckered nipple before soothing the sensitive flesh
with his tongue. She whimpered out loud, her fingers digging into his shoulders
as her knees buckled under her.

He caught her as she sagged, lifting her in his arms as he rose.
Lila turned her face into his shoulder, her hair streaming over his arm, a deep
auburn curtain trailing almost to the floor. He set her down beside the bed,
one arm circling her back, offering much-needed support as he stripped the
covers back. Lifting her as easily as if she were a child, he lay her on the
bed. The linens felt almost unbearably cool against her sensitized skin.

Looking at her, Bishop felt a hunger like nothing he’d ever known
before. It was gut deep and almost painful in its intensity. In some distant
part of his mind, he knew there was a danger in a need this powerful. There was
a hazard in wanting her so much, in the raw hunger he felt. But the warning
voice was drowned out by the drumming of his pulse. If it had meant his life,
he couldn’t have walked away from her at that moment. He shrugged out of his
jacket and reached for the buckle of his gun belt.

Lila closed her eyes only to open them again almost immediately,
curiosity winning out over modesty. Years ago, just before the war, she’d
walked over to the Sinclair house one hot, summer afternoon. Cutting through
the fields between the two houses, she’d passed by the pond. Billy had been
swimming there and was just getting dressed.

She’d ducked behind a tree before he saw her and had stayed there,
hardly breathing, until she heard him start for home, whistling cheerfully to
himself. As soon as he was gone, she’d run for home lifting her skirts in a way
that would have earned her a sound scolding if she’d been caught. She’d run
straight to her room, throwing herself on the bed and closing her eyes, the
better to remember that single quick glimpse of Billy’s bare chest. The memory
had been enough to make her cheeks flush and her heart beat double time.

Though she was years removed from that young girl, she’d never
forgotten seeing her soon-to-be fiancé's body and the way it had made her feel.
From that day to this, she’d kept that image in her mind of the way a man’s
body looked. Now, looking at Bishop as he stripped his white shirt down over
his arms, she realized how foolish she’d been. Billy had been seventeen, hardly
more than a boy. Bishop was very much a man. His muscled body was a far cry
from Billy’s narrow chest and slim arms.

Forgetting discretion, Lila stared at him. Dark, curly hair
covered his broad chest, emphasizing the solid muscles there before tapering to
a thin line that arrowed downward across his flat stomach before— Lila jerked
her eyes away, her cheeks warming, as his hands dropped to the waist of his
pants.

Bishop was grateful for her sudden attack of shyness. Having her
watching him, those wide green eyes filled with curiosity, had put considerable
strain on his somewhat tenuous self-control. He already wanted her so much that
he felt like he was sixteen again. He stripped off the rest of his clothes,
letting them fall to the floor.

Lila started as the mattress dipped beneath his weight. With a
muffled sound of panic, she grabbed for the covers. Bishop’s hand was there
before hers, catching her fingers in his.

“Leave them,” he ordered, his voice low and husky.

“I’m cold.”

“I’ll warm you,” he promised. He pressed her hand back against the
pillow beside her head. She left it there, even when he released her, her
fingers curling into her palm. Satisfied with her compliance, he lowered his
head, planting a series of soft kisses along her collar bone.

Shivers of awareness worked their way up her spine. Bishop’s hand
closed over her breast, his thumb brushing across the acutely sensitive peak.
Lila was shocked by the sound of her own whimper of pleasure. Looking at him,
she saw that he was watching what he was doing to her, his attention completely
focused on the tiny bud of her nipple as he caught it between thumb and
forefinger, plucking it gently. The sensation was so acute that it hovered on
the knife edge of pain. She arched her back, not sure whether she was pleading
for more or begging him to stop. But Bishop knew exactly what it was she
needed. He lowered his head, taking her swollen nipple into his mouth.

In some distant part of her mind, Lila was shocked to find her
fingers sliding into his hair, pressing him closer, all but begging him to
continue his sensual assault. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the
pleasure, so absorbed in the feel of his mouth at her breasts that she was
barely aware of his hand moving downward, stroking the inward curve of her
waist, the soft flare of her hip. And then he flattened his hand on her
stomach, just above the curling triangle of hair that guarded her most feminine
secrets, and she was jerked out of the sensual haze.

“No!” She grabbed his wrist, her slender fingers falling well
short of circling it. She tugged but his hand didn’t move.

Bishop lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “It’s all right.”

“No.” But the protest sounded weak even to her own ears. It was
hard to think when he was looking at her, his blue eyes holding both promise
and demand.

“Let me,” he whispered.

Mesmerized by the heat of his gaze, she released her hold on his
wrist, surrendering the last fragile remnant of her resistance, giving herself
over to him.