Night Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (51 page)

      
He did. She had made a circle around the willow copse and was heading toward the nearest corral when Sangre pulled abreast of Liberator. A strong arm reached out and snatched her from Liberator's back, depositing her in front of him, held fast to his body. Her arms quickly wrapped around his waist, and she buried her face against his shoulder as he slowed the furious gallop and turned Sangre back to the house.

      
“See how fit I am?” she whispered in his ear as he dismounted and pulled her down after him.

      
“I'm not so sure—I just beat you in a horse race,” he said with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He carried her inside, straight past the
sala
, and down the hall to the big master bedroom.

      
“That first day, after our wedding, when Kai brought my things to this room and you made him take them down the hall—”

      
“I was a fool who spent a sleepless night regretting that I hadn't let him proceed on his very reasonable assumptions,” he murmured in her ear. “We're not dressed like a bride and groom today, but I think we can improvise.”

      
Slowly, he let her small body slide to the ground while holding her close to him. She kept her fingers locked behind his neck, nipping and kissing at his throat, her small tongue tasting the faint salty tang of male sweat and musk. She could feel his hands roam up her hips to her waist, then glide higher to cup her breasts and fondle them through the sheer silk of her gold shirt.

      
When he reached over and began to unbutton the blouse, he murmured, “Mustard yellow, just like the one you wore that day in Austin. God, I wanted to do this then.” With that, he slipped the shirt from her shoulders; and she helped him, shrugging it off. Then he unhooked her lacy camisole and freed her breasts, taking one hard-pointed nipple in each hand, rolling the dusky tips around with his fingers until she moaned in pleasure, thrusting them into his palms. He lowered his mouth to trail wet, soft kisses from her throat, down her collarbone to one breast, then the other.

      
Melanie arched in bliss at his slowly savoring caresses as her own hands unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his shirt. She slid the simple blue homespun from his shoulders and ran exploring fingers down his biceps as she peeled off the shirt.

      
“Now what? There's only one bootjack in this room, and we both have to get rid of our gear unless we want Genia to scream about the sheets,” he said, teasing his impatient little wife.

      
She whispered an unladylike oath and reached up to kiss him thoroughly, her hot, sweet tongue making him forget their boots for a moment as they explored each other's upper bodies with tantalizing slowness while their hips rotated together insistently. Suddenly, he scooped her up once more and strode quickly to the bed. “Ladies first.” With that, he dropped her gently onto the bed and pulled one leg up into his arms. One, then the other small boot was discarded carelessly. Rolling her onto her back in the center of the bed, he began to pull down her split riding skirt, whispering in a passion-roughened voice, “When I first saw you in one of these, I heartily disapproved.”

      
“And now?” she prompted with a wicked wiggle of her hips as she slithered out of the garment.

      
“I still disapprove—only because it keeps me from this.” He ran his hands up her legs and over her flared hips, centering one hand over the small mound at the juncture of her legs. He quickly untied her pantalets and inched the lacy undergarments down her hips, kissing and caressing with his tongue while she writhed and moaned, her fingers tangling and pulling in the curly black hair of his head. Then, he paused at the top of her thighs and began to kiss between them.

      
Quickly her legs opened and she found her body instinctively arching to let him work his wondrous magic on her once again. The sensations began like low, warm throbs with each flick of his tongue and built gradually. She bucked and arched madly, her hands holding on to his head until he raised himself up and whispered, “I was trying to keep you from injuring yourself, woman, but I see there's no use.” He stilled her thrashing hips and rolled, catlike, to the edge of the bed, where he quickly pulled off his boots and hose, then stood and shed his pants.

      
In a haze of need, she watched him strip, devouring him with her eyes, her dark, beautiful
Tejano
. When he knelt on the bed, she reached out and grasped one hand and pulled it to her now healed side. “See—all better. You won't hurt me—just love me, any way, every way, please!”

      
“Anything to oblige my bride,” he whispered hoarsely, rolling down beside her and taking her in his arms for a long, savoring kiss while his hand tangled in the skein of her glossy hair.

      
She could feel the sensuous texture of his body as it pressed against hers. It was now familiar and yet so exciting as she felt his hairy chest gently abrade her sensitive nipples and that hard, velvety shaft probe between her legs. Opening her thighs, she trapped it between them and squeezed until he growled with desire. Letting out a low chuckle, she said, “Now you know how I felt a moment ago when you stopped—for my own good.”

      
“Witch—oh, you little, teasing—” He abandoned all attempts at coherent speech and rolled her backward while he carefully raised himself over her and thrust in the sweet, wet core of her flesh, knowing she wanted this as desperately as he did.

      
“Slow, Night Flower, easy,” he whispered as he slid in and out in fluid, graceful motions.

      
She followed his lead, whispering between kisses, “Slow and easy—for my own good.” And magically, for the first time secure in love, they did go very slowly, savoring each moment, murmuring sweet endearments, sharing soft laughter and small gasps and startled moans of pleasure, twisting and arching like two dancers in perfect sync, body, mind, and soul. Then it happened, so quietly, slowly, differently from the times before, that she did not expect it until it seized her in rapturous rhythm.

      
Her eyes widened in amazement; and he looked down at her in gentle awe, keeping up the firm, even thrusts, prolonging the incredibly sweet, slow completion for her until he, too, was taken unawares by an explosion in his loins. He joined her, pulsing his seed in long, full, convulsive shudders deeply inside her. Then, he grew still, as did she, each holding tightly to the other until he caught his breath long enough to roll them gently over so she lay on top of him.

      
“Are you all right?” he whispered, his hand straying to the small scars on her side.

      
She put her fingertips on his lips and smiled a wobbly smile. “If you mean that, yes. I never even felt it...but the other...I don't know what to say. It was so...”

      
He kissed her nose, eyelids, brows, and cheeks softly while he struggled with how to express the wonder of what they had just shared. “It's never been like that before for me, either, Night Flower. I love you, Mellie, with everything in me; and I want to love you, not because we're married or had to get married, but because you're you.

      
“Did I ever tell you the story of how I named this ranch?” he asked as she propped one elbow up on his chest and looked down at his beloved face.

      
“You said you found those evening primroses growing by the edge of the stream the night before I came out to interview you. It was an omen of some sort, to begin over again and rebuild on this site.”

      
He reached one hand up and caressed her softly flushed cheek. “That's what I tried to tell myself. But I was only fooling myself, Mellie. Even that long ago, those flowers reminded me of you—with your eyes and sun-kissed golden skin—a Texas girl on the brink of womanhood in a mustard-yellow silk shirt.”

      
“Like the one I wore today?” she asked softly.

      
“Yeah. Like the one you wore today,” he replied with a chuckle.

      
“Some things are just fated to be, I guess,” she said, kissing him again. “Maybe that's why I wore those flowers in my hair for Senator Houston's dance. I loved it when you called me your Night Flower, and I really wanted to seduce you even then—only I didn't know how.”

      
He laughed ruefully. “You knew how to make me crazy jealous, that's for sure. And every move you made, everything about you made me desire you. Just like now,” he said and began to kiss her again.

      
“Lee....”

      
“Mmm?” He rolled them on their sides and continued working magic with his hands and lips.

      
“What you were doing to me earlier...do you think we could try it again sometime?”

      
He smothered a laugh as he lowered his mouth, nibbling toward her navel and then lower. “We can try it right now,” he whispered. “In fact, there are several variations I haven't shown you yet; and every good reporter deserves to have all her questions answered,” he teased.

      
“Aah! Even if she...can't...print the story,” she gasped in ecstasy when his lips found her.

      
He teased and suckled her for a moment, then gently shifted his position until he had reversed it so that his long body was lying opposite hers. Quickly, she realized his intention and reached for his once more hardened phallus with one soft little hand. His sudden gasp of pleasure told her to continue. When he resumed his nuzzling caresses of her, she slowly moved her mouth to envelop him. It seemed so natural to love him this way, and if it felt as good to him as his caresses did to her... At her first stroke, his reaction convinced her it did.

      
Once more they made languorously slow, gentle love, lying side by side, each giving and receiving intense, prolonged pleasure. When he felt her stiffen and the tiny rippling contractions begin, he joined her in sweet release, more sudden and sharp this way, yet exquisite for all that.

      
Planting a kiss on her curly mound, he raised his head and swung about to take her in his arms. “See, I told you there were variations. That's one....”

      
“You mean there are more?”

      
The awe in her voice brought more laughter. “Still the inquiring newspaper reporter? Oh, wife, I love you.”

      
“And I love you, husband.” The simple declaration seemed so natural now, and she knew she would repeat it often in the years to come.

      
He pulled a sheet over them and instructed her to rest. Exhausted from her exertions, she did and fell into a sound, sated sleep. When she awakened, Lee was standing in the door, clad in a robe with a heavy dinner tray in his hands.

      
“Going to sleep all night? Kai has outdone himself with a special restorative dinner for my worn-out wife.”

      
She snorted scornfully and got up to fetch her robe from a nearby chair while he set the feast on the bedside table. It consisted mostly of simple foods, cheeses and fresh fruits, small hand pies filled with meat, and a bottle of cool white wine. They sat on the big rumpled bed and fed each other, laughing and talking as they ate.

      
Suddenly, she stopped and looked into his eyes, saying softly, “Who ever would have dreamed we'd be sitting here talking like this after the way we started out?”

      
He smiled. “Oh, Charlee, Obedience, Lame Deer, and Father Gus—he's a man of infinite faith, you know.”

      
“He said he hoped we'd have a baby for him to baptize by next year. Do you think—” She got no farther before he kissed her. “If we don't, it won't be for lack of effort, Night Flower. We'll fill this house with the laughter of children. My father's dream will come true.” Then he stopped and stroked her jaw gently. “That is, if you want lots of babies...or, if you want to keep busy at the
Star
, we could only have one or two.” He looked into her eyes, earnestly asking her opinion, insisting on no male prerogative.

      
“My arrogant
Tejano
, willing to settle for a wife with a job and only one heir? Oh, Lee, if nothing else had convinced me of your love, this alone would! But I want your children—lots of them. Clarence and the
Star
will just have to settle for what spare time I have left over.”

      
He grinned. “Considering what Charlee's managed to get into while raising her brood, I bet that'll still be plenty. Now, as to the matter of making babies...”

Epilogue

August 1853

      
San Fernando's high vaulted roof echoed with the surprised shrieks of the newborn infant as the cool baptismal water touched the dark curls on her head. Having often heard the same serenade, Father Gus remained unperturbed as he continued the sacramental ritual. Glancing around the crowd gathered at the baptismal font, he found it difficult to believe the difference in their demeanor since the last time they had all assembled for the marriage of Lee and Melanie Velasquez.

      
Rafe Fleming's forbidding countenance now beamed with the joy of being a grandfather, and his beautiful wife positively glowed with grandmotherly pride. Obedience, his Abbess, and her husband, Wash, were grinning like possums while the godparents, Jim and Charlee Slade, could scarcely keep their eyes off the wiggly bundle Charlee held so lovingly as the infant was sanctified. The Fleming and Slade children were exuberant as usual.

      
Most of all, the priest felt his prayers answered because of the young parents standing before him. They had such obvious love for each other and for their offspring shining from their eyes. “I baptize thee Marie Deborah Charlene Velasquez....” The squalls almost drowned out the ancient intonation.