Barefoot Bride for Three (3 page)

She just stared at him. Her mind whirled so fast her ears buzzed like an angry swarm of bees. She knew about hard work. She’d cared for her grandparents and their hardscrabble farm. She’d worked dawn to dusk and then some, but she felt almost free. Only when her father decided to marry her off did he bring her back to the city, taking away her first taste of freedom.

She’d worked a farm once and she could do it again. But as a wife, it would be
her
home. She would decide what and how they ate. Not cantankerous old people who thought they still had a dozen servants rather than one too big, too strong, too opinionated granddaughter.

“You want me to marry you? This is what you get, ma’am.” He held his hands wide, palms up.

Her fiancé was honest, both about himself and what he faced. She had to be as honest as to what she’d face, with or without him. How could marriage to this man be worse than her other options? When she didn’t answer, he pursed his lips and nodded. He took a deep breath and then exhaled.

She looked at his broad chest and strong legs. With all the marks against him, he was still more of a man than any she’d seen in her life. Not pretty, rich, or well-mannered, he was tall enough that she felt almost normal. Not petite and sweet like her mother and sisters, but at least she didn’t tower over him.
Even better,
he stood up to the bully of a deputy to protect her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

His eyes narrowed. “Yes, what?” His hoarse rasp was worse, more of a grinding noise.

“Yes, I want you to marry me.” She met his eyes. They stared at each other, neither breaking the glance. Heat rose from below her belly up her chest to her face. When it reached her cheeks she dropped her eyes to his boots, giving in to him.

But only for a moment. After one deep breath, she straightened, gritted her teeth, and stared into his face. One corner of his mouth lifted into a quick smile. His straightened and doffed his hat as if he strolled on a city’s main street. No, he would never stroll unless he had a lady on his arm. This man would stride down the sidewalk, his boots loud on the wooden boards. With that smile and nod he went from ruffian to courtly, though unkempt, gentleman.

“But I…” She stopped. She concentrated for a moment before continuing. A wife had certain duties, horrid ones according to her mother. “Mr. Carter, the man my father wished me to marry, forced a kiss on me. It made me ill. Your touch may do the same.”

“Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head at his growl. “I fought him off with my knee. He was most upset. So was Father.” It had taken weeks for her bruises to fade after he broke his cane thrashing her. Never again.

“Good for you.” He almost smiled at her. “Are you afraid of me hurting you? I’ve never raised a hand to hurt a woman.”

A part of her heart melted at his gentle, encouraging words. She shook her head. Compared to the simmering violence shared by Big Joe and Charlie, she couldn’t see him beating her.

“Then let me show you how a real man kisses his woman,” he said. “You tell me to stop any time, and I will. But if you want more, I’ll be glad to oblige.”

His knowing wink sent chills through her body. He shrugged off his coat and hung it on a wall peg. She swallowed hard when he turned toward her. Eyes down, she watched his feet approach, the steps slow and steady. Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, he stalked her like an experienced bull after a heifer.

Never had a man looked at her like that. He didn’t seem to care that she was too tall and loud. He knew nothing about her other than her refusal to be cowed.

He stopped with the scuffed toes of his boots only a few inches from her bare feet. She heard his rasping breath over the pounding of her heart. She inhaled a mixture of sweat, horse, tobacco, and something else. Something elusive, but tantalizing.

His hand rose, palm open, slow and sure. She watched it as she’d once seen a rabbit with a rattlesnake. The rabbit knew the end was near but could not move a muscle to escape.

“Shh,” he whispered. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

She heard no sign of his broken voice when he whispered. Her shoulders lowered as her tension retreated. His knuckle brushed the tip of her breast. She inhaled a gasp and lifted her eyes to him. He winked, lips twitching in amusement. Her nipples tightened in a way she’d never felt before. Her camisole pressed back against rising flesh, straining to meet his touch.

His fingers reached for her chin. He cupped it, holding her face still. His dark eyes watched her as if learning more about her than anyone, including herself, would ever know.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

She gulped again and inhaled. He brushed chapped lips against hers, his moustache lightly scraping her skin. A shiver ran outward from his touch. A deep throbbing followed, reaching her neck, bosom, belly, and even lower. She pressed her thighs together, not knowing why but trying to ease the needy feeling.

He nibbled on her bottom lip with gentle teeth. He slid his tongue along the crease between her lips. She opened to his kiss, wondering at how good it felt, how right. She pressed her palms against his hard chest. It wasn’t enough. She slipped her arms around him, stepping close so her breasts pressed against him. He moaned and his tongue entered her, unleashing a firestorm of need. She clung to him, rising on her toes to capture more of him, demanding more.

He was the one who finally pulled back, leaving both of them gasping. Her blood sang through her veins, flashing like white lightning from point to point. He shuddered and pressed her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her.

If he hadn’t, she would have sunk to the floor, boneless.

Never had she felt so safe. She reveled in his embrace for a moment and then rested her palms against his chest.

His strength made her want to give up all her worries, breaching the tall walls she’d built to protect herself from shame and humiliation. If she let him in, she would lose everything that had kept her going when no one cared about her. She would be far too vulnerable.

No. Giving in to a husband was not how to begin a marriage. Especially if one touch from the man made her crave him even more. She pushed on his chest. After a moment, he released her. He stepped back, frowning and breathing hard. She shook out her skirts and pressed her hair off her forehead with both palms as she thought. How to proceed to gain some control? All her life she’d been accused of speaking too forcefully. For once, it would be to her benefit.

“If I must marry, I want a husband who sees me as a partner, not a beast of burden. One who won’t beat me or our children.” She met his eyes with a glare. “A
real
man doesn’t need to use his fists.”

“You don’t have a choice in this.” She inhaled to rail at him but stopped when he held up his flat palm. “Neither do I. But Elliotts don’t hold with beating women, children, or beasts. My ma was a strong woman and demanded respect. I need a wife who’s tough enough to do what’s needed. It’s a hard life for everyone with more than enough work to keep a body going from before morning light to after dark. Does that make me man enough for you?”

He looked at her, calm and sure. Her heart pounded so hard she felt faint. He was a man all right, but nothing like those she knew.

“I, uh, I’m not sure. You could say anything, and I’d not know if you meant it. The only men I know well are from back East. I’ve never even seen my father or brother without a coat, much less felt their arms around me. I don’t know how to judge you, as a man or a husband.”

She licked her lips as he stared down at her. She hadn’t known a man could heat a woman with only his eyes. She fought to keep still, to not beg for his touch once again. Like Adam and Eve, she’d tasted the forbidden fruit and learned what modest women must never crave. She had knowledge of the wonder of physical desire and was changed forever. Would the touch of his hand on her bare skin do even more to set her afire? This was what made women run off with unsuitable men.

“Well, I ain’t no Eastern dude afraid to take off his coat and roll up his shirt sleeves to work.” He glanced toward the door, then back to her. She saw a hint of a devilish grin. “How about I show you what you’re getting. Do you want to see what’s under my shirt, Beth?”

Beth
.

He branded her with that one word, whispered with desire. She’d come to Tanner’s Ford as Elizabeth Katherine James. It was a proper name for the daughter of an important man. That life was gone. Soon, she’d be Mrs. Trace Elliott, his Beth.

Before she said her vows to this stranger, she would see the flesh she’d clung to. After spending three days and two nights in jail her virtue was long gone. She could flout society’s rules without falling further in disgrace. If the man who would be her husband wanted to show off his muscles, she would not deny him. She nodded.

He flashed a smile, stepped away and tossed his hat onto the sheriff’s desk. Dark hair, pressed tight against his big head from his hat, curled to his shoulders. Watching her closely, he took his dusty bandana from around his neck. A raised white scar ran around his neck from collar to chin, as if he’d been hanged or dragged with a rope. That’s what happened with horse thieves or murderers. Had he escaped a noose?

He slowly unbuttoned his worn shirt. Arm and chest muscles shifted as he moved. He took it off and tossed it to the desk. Tiny imitations of her own nipples peeked out from his chest hair. His arms certainly looked strong enough to work all day. A few scars here and there showed he’d not spent his time as a clerk in an office. The dark curls on his chest looked soft. A matching line led down to…a bulge.

She gasped when he stepped close and took her waist in both large hands. Heat flared, a heat that shot down to her private place. She automatically set her hands on his thick forearms for balance. He raised her off the ground until they were eye to eye, her toes dangling. He lifted her as if she was petite, like her pretty, popular younger sisters.

“You’ll live on the Rocking E with me and two of my brothers. Me, Jack, and Simon will take care of you. We’ll do what a man does for his wife.”

Share a small cabin with
three
men? But it was still better than her other choices. He waited for her answering nod. Both of them panting, he held her to his chest so her body dragged against his. Under her dirty dress her hard nipples, protruding from swollen breasts, scraped against his naked chest. When she touched down, the gritty wood floor felt cool against the soles of her feet. He leaned close. His naked chest waited mere inches from her nose. Raw strength and power oozed from every pore. He held himself as if he needed no gun to prove he was a man. Secure in himself, he didn’t depend on money, clothing, or society to know who he was.

“In return, you’ll take care of us.”

He rubbed his hard stomach against her chest, rasping her nipples through the fabric. A bolt of desire shot between her legs. This was what she’d been warned about, the wicked attraction a decent woman had to fight. They said only low women allowed a man’s touch without shuddering in revulsion.

She shuddered, but in desire.

He moved her matted hair behind her shoulders with long fingers. He bent and nuzzled her neck. She quivered even more when he brought his lips to her ear.

“You’ll do everything a wife does for her husband,” he whispered. “Everything.” He gently bit the lobe of her ear. A shaft of white-hot desire set her on fire. “In my bed and anywhere else I want you.”

Without the rasping croak, his sultry whisper shivered down her spine like ice water. The warm air from his breath teased her neck for a moment. He panted as hard as she. He lifted his lips and nibbled his way to her jaw. Her body arched toward him before she knew it, hard nipples scraping against his naked chest. Only a few thin layers of fabric separated them. He wrapped his arms around her and nipped her earlobe. She grabbed him to hold herself up as her knees buckled.

“That’s right, darlin’. Hold me tight.”

She clung to him, reveling in the caring touch of another. She couldn’t remember the comfort of a warm body holding her close. Had never felt the desire that this man brought into her world. How had she lived and not known this delight existed?

Starved for affection, knowing she would soon marry him and could enjoy this again, she gave in to his touch.

She moaned when his hand slid up her ribcage. She inhaled a hiss when he weighed her breast. His thumb pressed her nipple, shooting sparks through her greedy body. He pinched lightly and fire exploded as if he branded her.

When he groaned and stepped back, she found the energy to inhale. Barely. He lifted her chin with his knuckle. She blinked up at him, frozen in place.

“I’m a big man, as are my brothers,” he whispered. “But you’re a passionate woman with enough flesh to hold on to.”

He grasped her bottom with both hands and pulled her tight against him. His fingers spread her cheeks apart in a most unsettling manner. His hard manhood pressed against her belly. He groaned, low and hungry.

She looked up at the sound, biting her lip. Dark eyes bored into hers. He leaned down, and she knew he was going to kiss her again. She’d slapped her fiancé’s face when he tried, bringing on another beating from her father. But this felt so different.

She opened her mouth. The first light touch of his lips tantalized her. He slid his tongue between her top lip and teeth. Her legs gave way, and he pulled her close with a heated promise.