Promises Reveal (12 page)

She smiled, and he had the sudden urge to give decent a try.

Shit
.
At least the latter part of his father’s dour prophecies had come true. He was pretty much steeped in sin and getting deeper with every slip of a dainty button through a narrow hole. He was about as far away from the notion of decent as his father’s grave was from Cattle Crossing, and since he’d sworn to stop listening to the bastard the night his mother had died, he’d do better to focus on the here and now. And here and now was Evie, lying before him, watching him with big blue eyes that held the conviction that he was sweet. Hard to believe, but in her mind, he wasn’t a shameful taint on a pristine reputation. He wasn’t the most feared outlaw in the state. He wasn’t anything but the stodgy reverend she’d married.

He’d have to take steps to protect her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m unbuttoning your top.”

“Why?”

To get to what’s underneath. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable out of this dress.”

Alcohol might have slowed her thought processes, but it hadn’t halted them.

“You’re going to make me your wife.”

“You already are my wife. Anything that happens after this just puts a seal on the deal.”

She licked her lips. “You should probably know, I’m not good with pain.”

It was his turn to blink. She had strange notions. “You should probably know I’m not planning on hurting you.”

“It always hurts the woman’s first time. At least that’s what I was told.”

He didn’t know. He’d never taken a virgin. There was little enough true innocence left in the world, so few people that managed to hold on to it, he’d never set himself up to be one of the ones taking it away. He cupped her cheek in his hand, absorbing the heat from her flesh.

“You were told wrong.” No matter what happened, he wouldn’t hurt Evie. If pain was inevitable, he’d make sure she was drowning in so much pleasure that it would pass unnoticed.

“Really?”

The look she gave him was so full of trust it weighed like lead on his shoulders. Didn’t she have any instincts? She should be running, not lying there looking at him, ready to believe whatever he told her. Again the thought crossed his mind that he should walk away, but his baser side had another reaction to that innocence. He wanted her and everything she represented. Family. Loyalty. A permanent bond.

His cock throbbed with anticipation and eagerness. She was his wife for however long he managed to hold her. She had never belonged to anyone else. Part of him didn’t care if there wasn’t anything after tonight, only cared that Evie would be his and only his. Even if it was temporary, he wanted to know what it felt like to have someone like that.

He kissed her forehead, prolonging the moment, giving any decent part of him a chance to rear its head. After a few seconds he accepted it wouldn’t. “I promise.”

“Thank you.”

Ah hell, now she was thanking him. If anything should have cooled his ardor, it should have been that, but he was hungrier than he’d ever been in his life. And it wasn’t a lust just any woman could satisfy. It was only Evie he wanted to pleasure. Only Evie’s cries he wanted to catch in his kiss, only Evie’s thighs he wanted to feel wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer. Only Evie he wanted to hear whisper his name, welcoming him into her body and her heart. The last drew him up short. Son of a bitch
.
Did he really want her to love him? He shoved the thought away.

“Brad?” Evie’s hand covered his. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a moment of deep thought.”

“About us?”

“Yeah.”

“It didn’t look like a happy one.”

He kissed the end of her nose and her lips, quick busses designed to distract as he resumed his assault on the buttons on her dress. “That’s because I’m a worrier.”

“About what?”

“Pleasing you.”

With the trust of someone who’d never been betrayed, she swallowed that whopper whole.

“Sit up.” He helped her. The way she leaned into his chest didn’t indicate second thoughts, but he found he had to ask.

“Are you willing to give yourself to me, Evie? As a wife does to her husband?”

Her head canted to the side. “Why do I have to promise that?”

Because he wanted her giving; he didn’t want to take. Not with her. With her he wanted this to seem real. “Because it’s better that way.”

“For you or for me?”

“For both of us, I hope.”

Her hand came up and she curved her palm over the point of his hip bone, steadying them both with the intimate contact. Her lips slipped between her teeth.

He liked that she didn’t give him an immediate answer. He liked that she took her time. It made the illusion more real. More possible, though it never would be. He knew that. She didn’t. That was again unfair. The baser part of him—the part that had kept him alive since he was four, after his father discovered his mother’s infidelity—didn’t care.

“Yes.”

He didn’t realize how deeply he’d been depending on that answer until he got it. Relief went through him with almost dizzying strength. She was his now, given to him by the law he’d spent his life breaking. Given to him because people saw him as good. It was amazing, the impression a few calculated good deeds could put in people’s minds. If they knew the truth, they’d drag him out to the big oak at the edge of their prosperous little town and hang him. Brad stroked his thumb across his wife’s softly parted lips. The seventh and eighth buttons on her dress slipped their moorings. He guessed after tonight, they’d have the right, even by his definition of right and wrong.

The skin on her back felt like warm satin and heated at his touch. Her innocence burned bright in the blush that colored the pale skin of her neck and face. If he pulled the now-sagging lace collar down, he bet her chest would be red, too.

“Good. Then I want you to get dressed in that pretty nightgown your momma packed.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to check on the horse and make sure it’s settled.”

She absorbed that with a little start. “Where do you want me to wait?”

He knew she really wasn’t asking where, but how. He had an immediate image of her waiting on the big bed, right leg drawn up, nightgown pooling at her hip, giving teasing glimpses of the tender flesh beneath. That was a bit advanced for a virgin.

“However you want, as long as you’re waiting for me as my wife.”

“And how will you know that?”

He motioned to the frothy bit of temptation pinched between the edges of the satchel. “You’ll be wearing that gown.”

THIS WAS A choice?
Evie tugged the peignoir around her in an effort to get

Evie tugged the peignoir around her in an effort to get the density of a fold strategically placed over those areas of her body she wanted covered. Which was pretty much everything. The gown that had looked so substantial with all those layers of lace when she was pulling it out of her satchel magically dissolved to nothing the second she pulled it over her head. The robe was no better. She tied the small satin bows that decorated the front from her throat to her waist, frowning at her reflection in the shaving stand mirror. Pretty much adding nothing to nothing just produced a semitransparent gown that seemed to delight in playing a game of peekaboo with every private part of her body. Something she was beginning to suspect Brad had known, which would explain one of his secret smiles.

She flicked the folds again, succeeding in creating a protective gather over her left nipple, which only resulted in exposing her right. With all the material drawn to one side, the curve of her hip became a lushly veiled enticement and the darker patch of hair between her legs showed through in an almost wanton display. What on Earth had her mother been thinking? One thing was clear—her modesty was going to be hard put to maintain its balance when Brad saw her in this. She backed up from the mirror. Good grief, Brad was going to see her in this!

The bolt of heat that shot through her at the thought was another surprise. She would have labeled it mortification if it hadn’t lingered as a potent warmth she recognized. A week ago she wouldn’t have known what it was. After the card game earlier this evening, she had no doubt. Desire. As much as she dreaded the moment of judgment when Brad saw her in this gown, she also welcomed it. She wanted to please him. Wanted the joy her mother said could be hers. It had just never occurred to her how naked she was going to be while obtaining it.

Footsteps sounded on the wooden porch. Not as heavy as she would have expected. For a man his size, Brad was very light on his feet. The back door squealed open and then just as noisily squealed shut.
Shoot.
She was out of time. She leapt for the bed, heart jumping a beat as she tugged the covers back and climbed in, shoving her feet down as she yanked the blankets up. The stairs creaked, marking every step of Brad’s approach. Beneath the covers the gown and robe bunched around her waist.

“Darn it!”

Grabbing the hem, she wrestled them down. Naturally, the extra material had to be stuck under her elbow, and naturally Brad would enter the room just then, catching her in one of the most awkward poses ever.

“Problems?” he asked as he stood in the doorway, smiling in the most aggravating way.

She kept tugging, gritting her teeth against the waves of embarrassment breaking over her composure. Giving a little hop, she got the hem free of her elbow. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Brad strolled into the room with that inherent confidence that bordered on arrogance, his smile spreading in proportion to her struggles. In his hand he held a bowl and a small box, which he put on the bed stand. The faint scent of vinegar stung her nostrils. “I’d be happy to help.”

She just bet he would. “Don’t push your luck.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

His gaze never left the moving lumps of her hands under the covers. A glance down showed it did look strange. She yanked them out, glaring at him as he stepped between the bed and the light. “If you laugh, I swear I’ll brain you with the fireplace poker.”

His shadow stretched over her as he came up beside the bed, making it harder to read his expression. “Then I’ll do my best to keep a straight face.”

She took a breath. He smelled intriguingly of soap, man, and the outdoors. He’d washed up before coming in. The courtesy softened her already weakening resistance.

Brad sat on the side of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. She had to brace her hands to keep from tumbling into him. He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder, chuck-ling when she squeaked.

“Scoot over.”

She couldn’t, for the same reason she’d almost fallen off the bed. “You’re sitting on my gown.”

Standing, he trailed his finger down her arm. A shiver shook her from head to toe. Goose bumps sprang up in its wake. “That gown seems to be giving you problems.”

She grabbed the material and pulled it taut against her body, holding it against the drag as she slid over. “Trust me, it’s nothing but trouble.”

And so was he.

The mattress dipped again as Brad sat back down, creating a well she rolled naturally into until the side of his hip stopped her tumble. A quilt, a sheet, and a blanket did nothing to blunt the intimacy of the connection. The fading goose bumps rallied as the memory of their kiss shimmered between them in an invisible haze of heat.

When he reached up toward her head, she couldn’t help but flinch. Her nerves were too raw, her anticipation too high. He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “You are a bundle of nerves, aren’t you?”

“Just a little.”

“I don’t think ‘little’ covers it.”

The hairs at her temple stirred, then a little farther back they pulled taut.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m unpinning your hair.”

She bit her tongue on a “why.” She’d asked enough stupid questions for one day. “It’ll be all tangled in the morning.”

“Will it?” He didn’t look upset at the possibility. “Then I guess it will be up to me to brush it out.”

He wanted to brush her hair? He started to unwind the coil. She had a lot of hair. It took some time. Hairpin after hairpin dropped onto the wooden bed stand.

“Just how long is your hair?”

It really was her one vanity. Thick, and very straight, it fell past her hips. “I can sit on it.”

His eyes narrowed and the blue of his irises darkened. Catching a tendril, he slid it slowly between his fingers until he couldn’t reach any farther. The tension in her scalp blended with the internal hum of desire, tightening her muscles as he moved his hand, manipulating the tension, admiring the play of light along the blonde strands. His gaze, when it dropped to hers, imbued his simple “I’ll just bet you can” with a much deeper meaning. He released her hair. She jumped as the soft strands spilled across her cheek and neck, shivering as he brushed them off with short, tantalizing strokes. His hand slipped down the side of her neck. Chills rose up her spine and spread over her shoulders.