A Texan's Luck (35 page)

"I'd always been the younger son, the one who was never good enough. I don't really blame the old man. Emory was the child born in love. I was the son of a marriage of convenience, nothing more."

He watched her eyes, seeing emotions floating liquid and raw in their depths. "So when I enlisted, I taught myself how to be the perfect soldier after the army taught me how to kill a man without a weapon. I thought if I could make everything perfect when I wasn't on a mission, no one would see the ugliness in what I did in the name of duty."

He forced himself to face her. She sat in front of the fire with her brush in her hand, but she'd paused, listening.

"When I joined the army, I really didn't care much if I lived or died. They asked if I wanted to go through a training they gave very few men. Within a year I could scout with the best Comanche and had learned to move so silently I could walk up behind a man without him knowing it until he felt the blood drip from the slash I'd made across his throat."

Lacy's eyes widened, and he knew he'd go into no more detail about his talent.

"Most of the time I go about the duties of a soldier, but I have a very valuable skill that the army needs to make use of once in a while. When I return to the forts, I always make sure everything I do, everything I wear, everything I say, is perfect. I even had another captain's wife teach me to dance once. All so none of what I did would show." He prayed she'd understand. "Even though what I do is necessary, I don't want any part of it lingering on me."

"So," Lacy whispered, "that's why you stomp around me. You're making sure I know where you are."

"I never want someone whispering about me as if I'm not like a regular soldier, as though they're afraid of me or afraid of what I might do."

"They respect
you," she said. "I can hear it when they say your name."

He tried to smile, but he knew she'd see through him. "Somewhere in all the training, I've forgotten how to be gentle. I don't know how to touch you like you want to be touched. Like you deserve to be touched."

Looking away from her, he couldn't bear to see the pain he knew would be in her face. She deserved a man who could love her like he'd never be able to. "This time, I can't fight for what I want … because what I want is you."

He thought he'd keep her safe this month, then give her the print shop and a divorce if she wanted. Somehow in his mind he'd decided that seemed fair. But now he knew her and she deserved so much more than he had to give. Living in such close quarters, being together all the time, she'd seen through his armor, and she'd been afraid. He'd never meant that to happen. He'd made her feel inadequate when all along it had been him, not her, who didn't know how to love.

He felt her fingers touch his hair, and he turned. She'd moved to his side silently, leaning so close he could feel the warmth of her even though they weren't touching. "I can't hurt you again," he whispered.

"You didn't hurt me, the buckle on your trousers did. I'm the one who refused to leave that day in Cottonwood. You had no choice. We were racing the clock."

"But tonight, you pulled away."

"I know. I was afraid you'd go too fast." A tear bubbled from her eye and slid down her cheek. "Even though it's been five years since that night Zeb Whitaker grabbed me, I still have nightmares about it sometimes. I knew it was you holding me earlier, but for a second that fear returned. That sickening feeling of being trapped. It wasn't your fault; there's something wrong inside of me."

He grinned. It seemed they were both laying fears and nightmares on the table, leaving them both unarmed and vulnerable.

"Nightmares aren't anyone's fault. We could fight them together, if you're willing. The question is, do you want me, or are you afraid of me?"

Her fingers moved into his hair, brushing it back in long, lazy strokes. "You're my husband. You're the only man I've ever wanted. I'm more afraid of waking without you than sleeping with you."

If he lived to be a million, he'd never understand this woman. She smiled at him, and there was nothing innocent in the look she gave him.

"It's cold outside." She moved closer. "Would you mind terribly if I got my experience with men in this quarters? In less than two weeks when you leave, I'd like to have enough memories to last me the rest of my life."

She lowered her mouth to his and kissed him gently. "I want to be your wife tonight. Your real wife."

"My only wife," he said against her mouth as the kiss deepened.

When she stepped back, he let her go, knowing she was testing him. He leaned and kissed the scar, wishing that he could remove it.

She cupped her hands around his face and raised his mouth to hers once more. This time her body swayed against him as they kissed.

For a long while he gripped the chair, afraid to hold her as she continued to torture him with her nearness. When he could stand it no longer, he swung his arm behind her knees and lifted her up against him as he stood.

She pulled from his kiss and laughed. "I'll have your clothes off this time, Captain."

He placed her atop the covers and pulled off his socks and trousers.

"All of them," she demanded.

He tried not to let her see how embarrassing it was stripping completely in front of her. When he faced her, she surprised him by studying him boldly. There was no doubt she liked what she saw.

"And yours?" he asked.

"No." She shook her head. "I'll not take them off. If you want my underthings removed, you'll have to take them off yourself."

When he leaned toward her, she whispered, "Only slowly, Captain, gently. One kiss at a time."

He folded down beside her and began at her shoulder, moving the material an inch at a time as he removed her camisole. He was careful not to touch her skin except with his lips as his fingers worked the material away.

When her top slipped away, he brushed his hands over her, loving how she moved, following his light touch. She closed her eyes and stretched as if she'd been waiting for him forever.

With each stroke along her body, he swept her silk garment down from her waist. The fabric finally slipped beneath her hips, and he pulled away the last material separating them.

Then he slid beside her, touching flesh to flesh all along their bodies. He lay still for a while, waiting to see if she'd yet bolt, but her skin warmed against his. Even the slight movement as she breathed drove him mad.

His control slipped, and he fought to concentrate on her. A step at a time, he awakened each part of her, kissing, touching, worshiping. The need to pull her against him made his muscles ache, but he knew if he planned to love her this night, she'd have to be the one who came to him. And she'd come with nothing between them, not even an old nightmare.

At times she seemed shy, but never reluctant She wanted his touch. Even demanded it. Her hunger pleased him greatly.

When he finally moved above her, she was ready for more and accepted him willingly.

He paused, pushing the hair away from her face and staring into her eyes. He saw fire and passion mirrored there. A thousand thoughts came to mind, words he could say, words he needed to hear, but somehow in the depth of her brown eyes he knew all he needed to know. She wanted him, needed him.

Slowly, he began to move within her, taking her with him into desire's fire. He'd thought he'd known passion before, but now he knew he was as naive as she was. Nothing compared to the fire burning inside him. A sweet, all-consuming hunger without loneliness, as they moved into this mating, this loving, together.

She moaned and lifted to meet him, but he didn't hurry their journey. If they were to have a few short days together, he'd give her what she asked for, enough memories to last a lifetime.

Again and again, he pulled away, driving her mad with need. He took his time tasting her body, running his hands over every curve, feeling the warmth of her waiting for him.

Finally, when she cried his name, he pushed deep inside her and heard her cry out in pleasure. They were lost in passion's fire for a while, then floated gently down, wrapped in one another's arms.

Deep in the night, Lacy felt Walker moving his
hands through her hair. He brushed it over her shoulder and kissed the back of her neck. His fingers circled around, becoming entrapped in her curls.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled, half asleep as she stretched beside him. Their bodies had warmed against one another, and she couldn't believe how quickly she'd become accustomed to the feel of him beside her. She loved pushing softly into the wall of muscle and hearing him groan as if her light touch tortured him all the way to his soul.

"I found a spot on you I must have missed." He ran his tongue over her shoulder, nibbled along the side of her throat. "And you know I can't be less than complete in my duty."

Lacy rolled over, bumping her breast against his arm as she moved. "No, I remember; you've already kissed that spot." She giggled as his mouth moved up her throat and worked its way slowly across her cheek.

"Oh, sorry," he answered as he continued tasting. "Now

I'll have to give all the other parts equal attention, since I've accidentally done this area twice." His chin slid between her breasts, tickling her skin with his unshaven jaw as he dove beneath the covers.

"Captain?"

He made a sound that told her he listened, even though his mouth was now fully occupied.

"I'd like to touch you."

Walker lifted his head. "What?"

"I'd like to touch you, if you don't mind."

"Where?"

Lacy laughed. "Everywhere."

He moved back to study her face.

The fire was too low to see him well, but she knew he raised one eyebrow and decided to act before he had time to think of a reason to refuse her request. "Lie back on your back." She pushed him in encouragement. "Just relax." She laughed. "And let me have my way with you."

He reluctantly followed her request. "I don't know about this. My body's not soft like yours. I wouldn't think you'll get much pleasure from touching me. I've been stitched up so many times I look a little like one of your quilts."

She rose above him and paid no mind to his protests. "Now, put your hands down at your sides and keep them there." She shoved his shoulders down as if she believed she had enough strength to keep them in place. "There will be no touching of me until I'm finished."

He grumbled but didn't say a word as she moved her hands down his body. With each scar she stopped, examined it with her fingers, and then kissed the marked flesh as he'd done with her tiny scar.

His body was warm and muscular, with no softness about him. His skin tasted slightly salty as she moved over him and planted kisses first down his throat, then down his chest. She thought the pleasure of her actions would be in the giving, knowing how little he'd been touched in his life, but the pleasure was also in the taking, for she enjoyed the feel of him. She liked the way he drew in his breath when her mouth moved across his chest and smiled when he knotted the sheets into his fists to keep from raising his hand to touch her as her breasts slid over his ribs.

When she passed his waist, he drew in a breath and whispered, "A wife is not supposed to be so bold."

Lacy raised her head and tried to see his face. "How do you know? I'm the only wife you've had."

"True," he managed to say before she continued.

Amazed at the control she had over this powerful man, Lacy laughed. He reacted to the slightest brush of her fingers, and he sounded as if he were suffering. But he didn't try to stop her, and she knew he could have pushed her away with one hand. This only wife he had planned to know her husband quite well by morning.

Strangely, instead of satisfying her desires, she only needed more. The longer she touched him, the bolder she wanted to be, and the more she longed for his caress. She felt an ache deep within her she knew of only one way to cure.

Finally, frustrated, she leaned over his chest and whispered against his ear. "Can we do it again?"

"What?" he said between clenched teeth.

"You know. It."

"No," he answered. "I think another time tonight would kill me."

Lacy laughed, showing no care for his life as she wiggled against him. "Well, you always wanted to die an interesting death."

He closed his arms around her and rolled her beneath him, no longer caring if he died from the attempt. He made love to her boldly, freely knowing that she wanted him as deeply as he wanted her.

When they lay exhausted, beside one another on their stomachs, she rose to one elbow and continued touching him, running her hand over his backside.

"Go to sleep," he ordered, but he made no attempt to push her hand aside.

"All right." She leaned back down on the bed, but her hand stayed on his hip as if she planned to leave it right there the rest of the night.

Walker was preparing to risk death again an hour later, when someone pounded on their door. Before Lacy could react, he swung from the bed and lifted his Winchester.