Rancher Wants a Wife (5 page)

“You’ll find everything you need here. Soaps, lotions, towels.”

“It’s the most incredible bathtub I’ve seen in a very long while.”

When Cassandra turned to face him, the train of her wedding gown snagged on his cowboy boots. Her pretty blond braid nestled against her breast. Her eyes, as clear a blue as the sky in June, looked at him directly. Lord, she did wonders to his equilibrium when she gazed so boldly at him. Her nearness aroused him. All he wanted was to see her out of those stays and laces and whatever else she was wearing underneath that feminine cover, and to see her golden skin beneath him in bed.

“Take your time. But if you wait too long, I’ll come looking for you.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Fair warning,” he replied with humor.

Her full lips softened.

He set the candle on the side of the tub and went up the stairs to the bedroom to retrieve her suitcase.

While he was there, he thought he should light a lantern for the bedroom, and another to provide her more light in the bath. He slid out of his boots, removed his formal jacket, tugged off his cravat and lifted the luggage and lantern. Quietly, in sock feet, he headed back down the stairs to the bathing room.

He hadn’t meant to startle her.

In his own state of pleasant shock, he stumbled upon her undressing.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean... I thought I’d bring you these....”

She was completely naked, with her luscious back turned toward him. Candlelight rippled over the beautiful curve of her spine, down the golden swell of her buttocks, and shimmered along the smooth length of her legs.

Dismayed by his sudden presence, she clutched her wedding gown to her front and whirled around, concealing herself. “Jack.” Her mouth puckered in dismay.

“More light,” he murmured in explanation, indicating that he’d brought the lantern. “And your clothes.” He set them down nearby, but couldn’t get his eyes off her beauty.

Her blond braid hung loosely over her bare shoulder. The soft curve of her collarbones swelled with every breath she took. She pressed the lace of her gown over her bosom and he couldn’t help but wonder how she might look if that dropped lower....

“Would you like me to leave?” he asked, restraining himself by every means he knew, but barely finding it possible due to the roaring of his blood.

Soft orange light glimmered over her cheeks. Every muscle in his body contracted, waiting for her answer.

“No,” she finally answered, and dropped her gown.

He was hypnotized as if by some magical trance. His eyes slowly raked over her body, starting with the lovely line of her throat, to the luscious swell of her jutting breasts and pointed pink nipples.

Her rib cage was remarkably slender, curving down to a flattened waist. His gaze hungrily sought the lower curves, following the rise of her belly to the triangle of blond curls, and her long, firm thighs.

Her voice was provocative. “Would you like to slip into the water with me, Jack?”

Chapter Five

C
assandra dipped her foot into the steamy liquid, loving the sensation of heat over her toes, then calves, then hips and breasts, then full nakedness. She felt more secure about herself beneath a layer of water; she was unaccustomed to any man gazing at her fully exposed, even if he was her husband.

It was her turn to gaze at Jack as he undressed.

Revealed by the lamplight, his expression was at first disquieted, as though he was unsure what to say. Then it was gone, his dashing face awash in a wicked glimmer of arousal and expectation. There were the mischievous dark eyes, the sensual mouth, the dimple in his chiseled jaw and the primal need she detected in the hurried pace of his breathing.

He draped his trousers on the back of a chair, followed by his gray waistcoat, then crisp linen shirt. She barely had the nerve to watch him, but then could barely turn away.

Stripped naked for a brief, glorious moment, he epitomized sexuality and rough strength. His chest rippled with muscles, his waist tapered to his hips, and his erection was so hard and upright she wondered how on earth they were supposed to fit together.

She stared, trying to fulfill her curiosity. So that’s what it looked like, the male part of him....

Embarrassed that she
was
staring, she reached for a cake of soap and slid it over her arm. How did a woman jump from being a virgin and shielding her most private parts from the eyes of men, to gain full acceptance and awareness of herself?

How was she supposed to be comfortable with this?

“Are you all right?” he asked, slipping one muscled leg into the tub, then the other. The hot water sloshed around them, nearly splashing over the top edge.

“It’s just that I’m not used to this.” She pretended to scrub dirt from her forearm.

“May I?” He took the soap from her, letting the bar slide between their fingers, ever so slippery and wet. “Relax,” he coaxed. “I won’t hurt you.”

He rubbed the cake up and down her arms, then the top of her shoulders, then down one breast. The cool soap slid over her areola, the sensation making the bud of her nipple swell. He moved the soap to her other side, then used his bare hands to lather her breasts. She inhaled in pleasure, leaned back and allowed him to caress her. She closed her eyes a moment, then felt the warmth of his mouth on her breasts.

The heat was incredible, the pull of wanton desire throbbing from her breasts to her stomach, making the center of her quiver with anticipation.

He teased her for a long time with his fingers, swirling them over her, down her arm, up the other one, across her collarbone and down her cleavage. He created a slowly building heat, until she was ready for so much more.

She opened her eyes and he approached, sliding on top of her, his large body on her slender one, splashing water over the tub edge and barely noticing. His mouth came down on hers.

Finally, a kiss.

It was soft and gentle. She’d gone too long without this, without a man in her life, without someone who wanted her.

The kiss didn’t last nearly long enough before he dragged his mouth along her left jaw and kissed her there, and down her neck. She gasped when he came back up the other side, over her jaw and pressed his rough cheek against her scarred one. It felt so intimate that she stopped breathing for a moment.

Then he ran his large hand along her waist and trailed down her hip and leg, making her burn with a splendorous promise that more was coming, soon to be hers.

The yearning. That shivery race of gooseflesh that rose and heaved. His hand was gliding farther down and over, and soon would reach...

Oh, he was there. That magnificent spot. He slid and stroked and pressed, slid and stroked and pressed, and just as she was ready, he lifted her out of the tub so her hips were raised up to his mouth, and he pressed his lips upon her.

It was exhilarating, the pleasure he brought. She was too alarmed, too surprised to fight it. His expert maneuvers were daunting. How did he know what she liked, what she wanted?

His hot breath, the excitement of his tongue, his fervor. His moaning, “I’ve waited so patiently all day, Cassandra....”

She exploded beneath the hot sensations of his mouth, his expert tongue and expert kisses. Then as the spasms waned, he lowered her back into the water and pressed himself closer.

He slid his shaft inside her, causing a sharp pang of pain. When she retreated slightly, he stopped, then pressed his forehead to hers and, staring into her eyes, began to pump deeper, then shallower, then deeper, then shallower again. The pain ripped, then subsided, ripped, then subsided, until he finally gripped her ankle and raised her leg, and she realized he was fully inside.

She could barely comprehend his size, but she tried to relax, and allowed him full control in guiding himself in and out. She imagined that allowing her to climax first had unwound her tense body and made it easier for him to enter, even though he was incredibly large.

He moved slowly and assuredly inside her, water slapping around them, steam rising over their bodies, a hush in the air, and glimmering candlelight making droplets of water look like liquid gold on his bronzed flesh.

Jack’s breathing grew rough, his fingers clenched, his muscles heaved. When he climaxed into her, she marveled at the union that their marriage had brought, and how she’d never imagined five years ago, on the night of their stormy argument, that she’d ever see him again, let alone that they’d be doing this.

It was over much too soon.

Cassandra was left wanting. The sex itself had been very satisfying, more than she’d imagined possible for a first time, but the intimacy was lacking.

“Cassandra?” Jack leaned back in the tub and watched her from beneath his dark lashes. “Did it hurt so much?”

“At first...but I’ve recovered.” The pain had been searing, but she’d expected it.

“I’ll let you finish your bath in private.” Jack stepped out of the tub.

She saw his backside—solid and muscled as he reached for a towel.

Stay
, she wanted to say.
There should be more to this. To us
.

But he rubbed the towel over his skin, wrapped it around his waist, padded out over the clay tiles up the stairs, and left her. She inhaled and looked about the room. Everything seemed so foreign to her. The woods, the scents, the lighting. Most of all, Jack.

He was a stranger.

How could making love to her husband leave her so aching for more?

* * *

His new wife and their wedding night had surprised Jack more than he’d expected. Such incredible sex.

Contented, he grabbed hold of the towel wrapped around his hips and tossed it to the chair beside their massive four-poster, canopied bed.

While Cassandra finished her bath, he walked naked past the sizzling heat of the stone fireplace to the slightly opened bedroom windows. He inhaled an invigorating breath of fresh air tumbling in, and looked out over the valley.

He’d built the ranch house on a hill so no one could look into his bedroom, yet he’d be surrounded by things he loved—the dark sky dotted with a million stars, rambling redwoods, owls soaring into the night, insects chirping their songs, acres of prime land tinged with the spirit of California freedom.

The great sex he and Cassandra had just enjoyed would be the beginning of a great life. Or so he hoped.

Would it be possible to trust her again, as he had in earlier years in Chicago, when they were both young and innocent? To wipe the slate clean between them, let down his guard and say and do whatever he pleased, without feeling as though he was being judged? Sometimes he saw her watching him, as if she was always gauging what he’d do next. That kind of scrutiny would be unbearable.

But the day hadn’t gone as smoothly as he’d hoped. He would have to explain some things about Elise Beacon, and trust Cassandra would understand.

With a sigh, he turned and headed back to the brand-new bed. He lifted the covers and slid into the silky new sheets.

They had ample pillows. He punched a couple, tossed them to the headboard and tried to get his shoulders comfortable. He’d worked hard and long for the ability to provide for himself and his new wife, and was grateful that he had the staff to take care of their needs. Heating water for the bathtub tonight and draining it in the morning, for example.

He could hear Cassandra in the adjacent room now, moving items on the shelves, which meant she was out of the tub. He imagined what she’d look like, breezing in.

He hoped she’d be sleeping naked, as he was, so they could enjoy each other in bed. Or at least if not bare, that she’d have on a pretty little gown made of thin silk or cotton, something that maybe revealed those mesmerizing breasts.

Her footsteps got louder, then Cassandra appeared—in a head-to-toe flannel nightgown. The collar was extra high, with a dozen buttons, the overly puffed sleeves fell below her knuckles, and a tent of fabric hid the outline of her gorgeous body.

It was like a huge potato sack.

He strained his eyes, but there wasn’t one damn place in the fabric where he could see through it. Had she raided some granny’s wardrobe?

“You might be too hot in that,” he said, as politely as he could.

“My shoulders always get cold.”

“You’ve got me to keep you warm.”

“I move around a lot. I—I need some space. Sometimes I kick.”

“Hmm.” He paused, wanting to make her comfortable. “Should I put more logs on the fire?”

“No need. This’ll be fine.”

Cassandra lifted the covers and slid in. She didn’t adjust a pillow, didn’t yank up a corner of the covers. Just lay on her back, looking at the rafters. Her body scarcely made a dent in mattress.

At this rate, he might as well be sleeping alone. He had imagined that having a wife meant he could reach over and touch her any time he pleased. But maybe she was nervous, and would lighten up when she grew accustomed to her new home.

“Do you like the bed, Cassandra?”

“The bed?” She peered at the carved mahogany pillars, then the matching armoire in the corner. “Yes, of course.”

“I ordered it specially for us, from San Francisco.”

She turned her face toward him, her perfect cheek upward, her blond features soft in the glow of the lantern. The high tilt of her cheekbones and smoothness of her skin made her look years too young for that blasted old lady’s gown.

“You’ve been very generous, Jack. The bed is beautiful. I thought only fairy princesses slept under canopies.” And then, perhaps because they were both so relaxed, she asked a question that pierced his heart. “Jack,” she said gently, “why didn’t you stay in Chicago and fight for me?”

He sighed and leaned back against the pillows.

So she’d finally said it. And who could blame her? Her argument with Troy had come on the heels of his own argument with her. The timing had been so off... What would’ve happened, had he stayed a few more days in Chicago?

“Maybe I needed some perspective,” he murmured. “Maybe leaving was my way of simplifying your life.”

“I wish you would have complicated it.”

It was a blow to his heart—and his damn pride—to hear her criticize how he’d handled that night. But he took his time to respond, tried to temper his feelings, his immediate need to defend himself against what he knew were his flaws.

“You made it clear how you felt about me, Cassandra. You slapped me, remember?”

“I was engaged to someone else when you tried to kiss me!”

“But you wouldn’t even hear me out. It wasn’t the first time I’d approached you.”

“I wasn’t sure how you felt about me, Jack. Physically, yes, but you never talked about...about the meaning behind the kiss. You sent out mixed signals, sometimes trying to sit next to me when we went out in a group, other times ignoring me for weeks.”

“I was young and stupid.”

She swallowed hard. “And I should never have accused you of being envious of Troy.”

“You defended him so firmly. Said that he was under a lot of strain working in the firm with your father, that rumors of his carousing and drinking and time with cheap women was more my imagination than fact. I’d never seen you so angry.”

“I was wrong.” She clutched the sheet to her bosom. “You shocked me with the allegations. How could I believe them?”

“It’s true that a young lady of your standing would never have been exposed to what goes on behind the closed doors in some men’s homes. So how
could
you believe it?”

“I was livid when you confronted me. I didn’t know how to react. So I pushed you away and blamed the messenger instead of—of the man I was betrothed to, who did those things.”

“And I was so hurt at being cast aside that my temper got the better of me and I stormed out.”

Her face was silhouetted by moonlight. He wished he could get a good look at her eyes. They always expressed so much emotion, and he was good at reading them.

Or maybe he wasn’t. If he
had
been good at reading her expressions, maybe he wouldn’t have left her in Chicago.

Oh, hell,
he thought, knowing full well he would’ve left no matter if it’d been that night or three nights later. He had been mad as hell; Cassandra had been fit to be tied. Troy was lying through his teeth, denying everything, her father was adamant that she marry Troy, and Troy’s parents...

“You know, I went to Troy’s folks that night, too.”

Her face turned. “You did?”

“After our argument. I was determined to try to help.” He shook his head, knowing now there was nothing he could’ve done differently to help Troy with his out-of-control boozing.

“And?”

Jack pulled in a long breath. “And they told me to leave.”

“What?” she said in disbelief. “But this changes everything.”

“Not quite. It would be an easy answer to say I left Chicago because of them—my uncle and aunt—but I was living on my own by then, and they couldn’t very well evict me from my own residence.”

“They...they threatened you?”

“My uncle said my vicious rumors would damage Troy. Financially and politically. My aunt’s silent disapproval was, as they say, deafening.” He shrugged, thinking of how his aunt and uncle had never truly welcomed him in their home.