Rocky Mountain Wife (16 page)

“What did she mean by that?” he wondered. Women were mysterious to him.

“Nothing.” Claire had blushed beet red. “We were just having such a good time together.”

“Good.” He wanted that for her.

“We’ve been friends for years,” she explained, crossing the road and somehow taking him with her. He realized her hand was on his sleeve again. “But when the firestorm came and took so much from us, we started getting together weekly. For solace, mostly, and for support. Lucy, Georgia and me, we lost husbands. Josie lost her home. Susannah lost her entire family.”

“I’m glad you had them to turn to,” he muttered, dazed. The weight of her hand was clouding his thinking. The easy way she walked at his side, gazing up at him as if he were someone she trusted enough to confide in—well, it made the ice that was his heart begin to crack. It splintered into little pieces, changed by her. Changed by how he felt for her.

This seemed like borrowing trouble—caring for people and wanting them to care about him. He wanted. Just wanted.

“Why don’t you stay for supper?” she asked warmly, swinging the empty hamper she carried in her free hand. “We’d love to have you, and I’m making my special baked beans.”

“Sounds good.” It sounded like heaven. But then he remembered the child and her pain. “Maybe I’d best do it another time.”

“Then at least let me bring you out a plate.” She slipped her hand from his sleeve and backed away. She was as golden and precious as the rays of the sun cutting through the trees overhead. “You must be almost done with the north fields.”

“I just finished up.” He cleared his throat, thinking of his empty house. He’d been content there all these years, but no more.

Every minute he spent at home in the solitude he’d once been grateful for, he dreamed of her. He dreamed of having the privilege of peeling off her clothes. Of feasting on her round, creamy breasts. Of lowering her onto his thick erection and watching the pleasure on her face as she rode him.

He would never be content without her, without being able to possess her. Blood pounded in his cock as he made his way toward the barn.

It had felt wrong not to feed Joshua supper. Claire couldn’t get the man out of her head as she finished hemming the dress she was working on to take back to the shop on Monday. It felt good to be working, even if her mind kept drifting to other things.

Like the hard bulge in Joshua’s denims, visible as he’d turned away from her. His profile—that bulge—haunted her while she’d helped Ivy pack a satchel for her sleepover with the neighbor girl, who was her very best friend. While she’d shared supper with her mother at the kitchen table. And now while she withdrew the pins from the section of the hem she’d just sewn and dropped them into her pin box.

“Well, I’m going to head home.” Ma folded up her embroidery and tucked it in her little wicker basket. “No, don’t get up. I’ll let myself out. You look content there. It’s good to see you like this, honey. You’ve got color in your cheeks and a spark in your eyes.”

“I just had a good time with my friends is all.” Which was true, but most likely the spark was because she’d been thinking about what Joshua would look like naked and aroused. The more she thought about it, the better it sounded.

“I hope you have more good days like this.” Ma blew a kiss across the room. “Good night, dear.”

“Good night.” Love for her mother felt like little sparkles in her heart.

She listened to the back door shut, and alone she no longer had to try to contain her thoughts. Now that her ma wasn’t sitting across the room from her, she could go over that image of Joshua outlined by the late afternoon sun—the jut of his hat, the proud lines of his profile, the strength in his shoulders and that captivating and very substantial bulge at his fly.

Substantial. That made her smile as she slipped her needle into the last bit of fabric, pulled the thread taut and carefully knotted. Maybe there really was something to that big feet, big hands thing. Maybe getting her hands on it would be the most wonderful thing she’d ever felt.

Because she’d decided to do it. She plucked out the last pin and folded up the dress. Hadn’t Joshua mentioned sex? Maybe he’d been joking, but a man was always serious about sex.

And she was, too. She was in the prime of her life. She’d been a good girl, waiting until her wedding bed to finally give in to her desire for Clay. He’d never been a virile man—and then when his impotency struck in the second year of their marriage, she’d suffered.

She deserved this. She should take advantage of this opportunity. She’d missed feeling the coarse texture of a man’s skin against hers. She wanted to feel that amazing sensation of a man’s penis pushing her open and stroking deep inside. She wanted the incredible, fierce clench of orgasm ripping through her body while the weight of a man held her down, pounding into her to make the most of that orgasm for her.

Whew, she was hot. She set the dress into her sewing basket and fanned herself. It didn’t help that there was no real breeze tonight. Night had fallen while she’d been thinking about Joshua naked, so she stood up and went through the house closing windows.

She lit a lamp and the kitchen stove. The water in the reservoir was still hot but not nearly enough for her bath. She drained it, replaced it with fresh water and lugged the heavy, steaming bucket down the hall to the nearby necessary room. She dumped it into the tub.

It’s just a plan, she told herself as she lit a lamp and went in search of a fresh towel. She got out her scented lemon soap and a fluffy washcloth. If she didn’t get up her courage tonight and seek Joshua out, she could always make good use of that wash cloth—at least she knew she could reach a rip-roaring orgasm fantasizing about him.

Her drawers were so damp she could feel them as she headed back to the kitchen. Her labia felt swollen already without a single touch, as if ready,
so
ready for him. Her nipples were pointed and sensitive. She could feel every light brush and rasp of her corset against them. Would his hands feel like that—a little rough, a little calloused—as they scraped across those rosy tips?

Her knees weakened at the thought. She plopped the bucket down next to the stove and let herself imagine showing up on his doorstep in nothing but her robe. To loosen the sash, let the garment fall and stand there naked—and wanting—before him.

It was a good fantasy, she thought, squaring her shoulders. Now let’s see if she had the courage to do it.

There it was again. The prickle at the back of his neck began stinging. Joshua unsnapped the strap on both holsters, one strapped to each thigh, so he could draw if he had to. The danger didn’t feel that imminent yet, but something was wrong. Oliver Sanders was out there keeping an eye on Claire’s house. That was his guess.

The lowlife. Rage churned in his gut. He knew he was right about those boot prints in Claire’s backyard. Had Oliver been watching her? Joshua’s jaw clamped shut hard. He threaded silently along the fence line skirting the orchard, careful not to be seen in the scant moonlight.

The image of Claire that night mocked him, thrashing and undulating as she gave herself pleasure. What if Oliver had seen that? Protective fury roared through him, and he had to hold himself back to keep from racing to the man’s front door, hauling him out into the dirt and beating him senseless.

Two things stopped him. What might Claire think of his violent behavior? He didn’t want anything to diminish her opinion of him. And secondly, the sheriff might not see the right side of things. Oliver Sanders was a force in this town. He was a major landowner, and his money meant a lot in these parts.

No, he’d wait until the right time, until there was no doubt. He intended to catch Oliver red-handed and make sure that bastard got what was due him. No one would hurt Claire, Joshua vowed, not as long as he was alive.

He’d give his life to keep Claire safe.

Maybe if he sat here in the dark long enough, he’d catch a glimpse of the man and what he was up to.

Just then a movement caught his eye. Not in the dark yard or on the road. No, it was a shadow moving against a curtain in the back corner of the house. Claire’s silhouette, backlit by a lamp as she stepped out of her dress and unlaced her corset.

Before he could think to close his eyes, look away or do the decent thing and get the hell out of there, her naked body was outlined against that curtain. The graceful column of her neck, the enticing sway of her breasts. The nip of her slender waist had his hands itching to grab her there and pull her hard against his cock.

God, he wanted inside her. She lifted a slender leg, bending at the knee, and he gritted his teeth imaging what her tender, woman’s flesh would look like. Would it be wet for him? Dark pink and swollen, aching for him the way he ached for her?

Hell, what are you thinking?
He swore at himself, launched away from the fence line and pounded straight for the back door. Furious at himself, he reached up to find the spare key hidden on the top of the doorframe. If he could see Claire like that and want to mount her, then so could Sanders.

He fit the key in the lock, turned the knob and let himself into the dark kitchen. It smelled faintly like the lemon soap and the lilac cream she used on her skin.

“Claire?” His voice echoed in the empty room. “Claire?”

No answer. Now something had to be wrong because he knew she was just down that short hall. With one hand on the handle of one of his Colt .45s, he barreled down the hall, threw open the door and froze at the sight of Claire—all smooth ivory skin—emerging from beneath the water. She sat in waist-high water and her breasts were exposed, large enough to fill his hands fully, with dark rose nipples that were pebbled, as if she’d been touching them herself.

“Joshua!” Startled, shocked, she slapped her hands over her breasts, trying to cover up even though it was too late.

He was never going to forget that.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, sputtering, more surprised than angry. “I mean, is something wrong?”

“Hell yes, something’s wrong.” Adrenaline still coursed through his veins. He let go of the handle of his holstered gun and grabbed the lamp’s dainty handle instead. “Are you aware that the curtain is thin? When the lamp is behind you, you’re as good as naked.”

“Oh, God.” Her eyes widened with realization. Her jaw dropped, and she lifted one hand to cover it before realizing that she’d exposed her breast again. She covered it back up with her hand, glowing bright red. “You didn’t see much, did you?”

“I saw everything.
Everything.”
He didn’t know how to tell her this wasn’t the first time as he slammed the lamp down on a bench next the window. With the light in front of her, she was safe from prying eyes.

But not his.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from roaming over her. The water distorted her, but he could make out the flat curve of her belly, her dark blond curls and the provocative line of her inner thighs.

If his cock swelled any bigger, he was going to bust a seam.

As if Claire knew what he was thinking, she let her gaze travel downward to stop at his crotch.

There was no hiding what he wanted now.

And then she smiled.

“Turn around.” Claire heard the breathlessness in her voice and winced. Honestly, could she try and not sound aroused? A proper woman wouldn’t be.

Then again, she was starting to wonder if she was proper at all. Especially when he whipped around, his strong, broad back to her and her gaze slid downward. Heaven help her, the man had a fine backside. She reached for a towel, stood and as water sluiced down her body like a lover’s hand, she wrapped the length of terrycloth around her body and stepped out of the tub.

“Sorry.” He sounded flustered, but the deep notes of his voice came like a caress, velvet-soft and deeply sensual. A bedroom voice.

Her inner muscles clenched hard as she imagined him pinning her down, saying all kinds of things to her in that low, intimate way. Her fingers fumbled and she dropped the towel. It hit the wood floor with a whispered thump and he turned around.

She shivered, standing in the glow of the lamp as he studied her, his feet braced, hands fisted on his hips and strong jaw tense.

The shadows clung to him, emphasizing the dark stubble of the day’s growth along his jaw and the sharp planes of his cheekbones. His eyes turned black with appreciation as they roved from her mouth to her bare breasts and lingered. His mouth worked, barely perceptibly as if he were imagining—

“Guess I should be a gentleman and help you with this towel.” Deep that voice, layered with humor and breathlessness and masculinity, and she could feel his nearness as he knelt at her feet, like radiant heat off his big, hard body.

When she opened her eyes, he was kneeling before her with his hand on the fallen towel, but he wasn’t picking it up. He gazed up the length of her, at her nakedness. A question darkened his eyes.

There it was in the air between them. The unspoken nod of acknowledgement, of what they both wanted.

He stood up slowly, leaving the towel forgotten on the floor.

Air caught in her throat, for it had gone suddenly dry. Vulnerability and desire warred as she took a step back, but only one step. He stared at her as if nothing mattered but her. Just her. She could see his breath rate increase. A vein in his neck thumped fast and light, betraying him.

So did the hard ridge of his substantial erection straining against his denim fly.

“I guess I’m not much of a gentleman at all,” he confessed, his words rough with the kind of need she knew, the kind of need that made her private folds swell and tingle as he reached out to her. “Try as I might, I can’t think of one civil thought right now. Not one.”

“N-neither can I.” Her confession felt torn out of her. She fought the strange sensation of feeling off balance, as if the floor had disappeared beneath her feet, and she was falling endlessly.

But then he was there, his breath fanning her neck as he leaned in to kiss the sensitive spot, that curve between her neck and her shoulder. She shivered hard, a moan tearing from her at the exquisite heat of his mouth, at the hungry tenderness that made her want to grab his erect shaft and guide it into her.