The Art of Love (The Windswept Saga) (46 page)

“To the moon and back.”  S
he unfastened the top button of his shirt, ran her index finger along the hard delineation of his torso.  “Do you forgive me?”

“For?” he asked, a smirk turning up one corner of his mouth. 

“I told you I couldn’t live without you.  Biggest lie to ever come out of this mouth.”

“If you had to, you could.”  He nudged her chin up to his gaze.  “You may be the strongest person I’ve ever known.
You’ve lost more than any woman ever should.”

She nodded solemnly.  “No life is perfect, and I’ve had my share of the h
ard times.  But you made me feel alive again, like I could be happy a second time.  Now who sounds trite?”

They laughed together.  “Nothing trite about you, Miss Holt.”  His mouth met hers feverishly, lips and tongues tangling until he tasted the back of her throat.  He gasped for air but wanted more. He could suffocate like this, let her use up every last ounc
e of oxygen.

He felt her jump.  “What was that?”

He laughed under his breath.  “You tell me, ma’am.”

“Not that,” she said, pressing their mouths back together for a moment.  “I heard it again.”  She trained her ears on the whinny of a horse. 

“Maybe we’d better go investigate.”  He took her by the hand and they strolled out of the studio, around the house until they’d reached the front drive.  Taylor’s mouth fell open in shock.  Parked in front of the house was an old-fashioned open-topped carriage, hitched to a pair of magnificent horses.  Now she could account for those noises.  She just couldn’t get over her shock, her surprise, the utter joy of the moment. 

“How?” she asked.

Chandler hitched his chin toward the horizon, where Mark’s red truck headed out of sight, a horse trailer behind it.  “I’m just as surprised as you are, sweetheart.”

He met her tender stare.  “How?” she repeated.  “There was no guarantee I’d come out here.”

His blue eyes swept gently over her.  “And there was no guarantee I’d come to my senses.  Mark acted on blind faith this time.”

“Smart guy,” she said with a lift of her eyebrows.

“Best friend a man could ask for.”  He pecked a kiss onto her lips.  “Care for a ride, milady?”

She laughed enthusiastically.  “My ability to say no to
you has officially flown out the window.” He was glad of that fact as he helped her into the carriage, patting her gently on the hip.  When they were seated, she gave him a meaningful wink.  He lifted the reins with ease and the horses settled into a gentle trot.  He reflected back on the past two years; so much had changed, various pieces of his life falling into place.  Life would continue to evolve, each day bringing something new.  With Taylor at his side, he no longer had to fear the unknown.  He wondered if this was what it was like anytime you found the person who completed you, filled in the crevices of your soul and made you a whole being.  How could it get any better?

He pulled the reins to a stop when they’d moved a safe distance from the house.
She leaned against him and their eyes turned simultaneously toward his corner of the ranch—it’d be theirs now.  They’d raise their family here, grow old under that roof, surrounded by the cobalt sky.

His eyes turned and focused solely on her.  “Having a g
ood time, beautiful lady?”

“The best.”  She kissed her index finger and placed it to his lips.

“Me, too,” he agreed.  “Look, T, I want you to share all of this with me.  This ranch, this house, this life.  And I want to give you everything you could ever want and need.”  She saw his eyes fill with emotion.  “I don’t want to replace what you had with Liam and Riley, and I don’t want to replicate what we had when we were kids.  What I do want is to build a future with you, be the husband you’ve dreamed of, the father to your children and the only woman I’ll ever watch dream at night.”  He whipped the box from his pocket and popped it open with his thumb.  “Taylor Holt, will you marry me?”

Her hands covered an audible gasp.  “Yes, yes, hell yes,” she said with fervor.  Both arms cuffed around his neck and pulled their mouths together.  A second later he laughed. 

“Did you want me to put the ring on, make it official?”

She really, truly stu
died the ring for the first time.  The large, rectangular diamond was as clean and pure as a drop of rain, faceted around the edges so that it captured light.  He was trembling as he slid it onto her left hand.  “We’re gonna be happy, aren’t we?”

He looked
into her eyes and smiled.  “For at least the next fifty years—maybe longer, if we’re lucky.”

They retraced their path back to the front door, the horses calm and collected, as though this was part of their daily routine.  Chandler reined them to a halt an
d helped Taylor out of the carriage.  He found his key and unlocked the front door.  She glanced up at him curiously.  “Who’s going to take care of the horses?”

“I figure Mark will be back to take care of them soon.  He
probably went home to check on Christa and the boys.  Besides,” he said with a playful grin, “that carriage is on loan from the courthouse.”

“I thought it looked familiar.”  She gasped in surprise as he scooped her off her feet and into his arms.  Then she laughed as he kicked the door close
d behind them and carried her slowly up the curving staircase.  Their kids, she hoped, would mischievously slide down that bannister someday.  She’d scold them and smile the entire time, remembering how overjoyed she was in this moment, when Chandler brought her home for keeps.

Inside the bedroom
he set her on both feet and appraised her for one electrified moment.  He turned her around next to the bed, pressing her against him with one arm.  He lifted one leg at a time and tugged off her boots.  Then he shocked her, happily, by tugging on her earlobes with the edge of his teeth.  He turned her again until they were face-to-face.  He found the hem of her dress, pushed it slowly up her body, his palms hot atop her skin.  Her stomach did a flip as he, with a roguish grin, gathered the dress high above her head and flung it across the room.

He looked her up and down, his eyes admiring her body the way he’d never admired a piece of art.  The white lace of her undergarments sent a mind already flushed with heat on
a collision course for insanity.  He removed his hat and set it on the nightstand.  When she tugged the tails of his shirt out of his jeans and ripped the snaps open, trailing her fingers across his stomach and shoulders before she pushed it to the floor, he lost his patience completely.  In a matter of seconds he was sitting on the bed, with her atop him.  Her fingertips prodded his back and before he could draw another breath, her tongue was searching the inside of his mouth.  A powerless groan emanated from deep in his chest.  He ran his hands through the soft brown velvet of her hair, parting their mouths just long enough to ask an unexpected question.  “You know, sweetheart, I can take a shower first if you’d like.  I must smell like a horse.”

She nose
d her cheek alongside his face, finding the sharp, masculine scent at his hairline.  He did smell like a horse, and hay, and sweat, and heat.  And she’d never smelled anything better in her entire life.  She looked him square in the eye and bracketed his face with both hands.  “Hell, no,” was her swift answer.

“Suit yourself,” he drawled.  His hands deftly slid across her torso, unfastening the bra and removing it.  His lips met hers again, greedily, their hot breaths mingling.  He pushed her head back and
kissed along her throat, sliding his tongue in the hollow at its base.  Lower he maneuvered, until his mouth hungrily found her breasts, turning the peaks hard against his tongue and teeth.  He encircled the tips with his thumbs, marveling as the skin changed hues. 
Settle down, cowboy
, he said to himself. 
She’s not going anywhere
.  

He brought both of them to their feet again, just long enough for them to strip each other bare. He laid her against the pillows with considerable ease, nestling himself betw
een her thighs.  He tantalized her with each passing second, framing her face with both hands, sliding his lips across her throat again.  “You’re beautiful,” he said amongst a litany of garbled expletives.  “And gorgeous.  And I love you.”  She felt the downward slide of heat when he finally entered her, the moment lasting for what seemed like several minutes.  His thrusts were gentle and probing, and she lifted her hips to gather every last inch of flesh.  Her body was sizzling, humming with anticipation, and she hooked her arms over his shoulders, holding on for dear life, praying the flash of lightning would befall her, then hoping it never would.

He always had the subtle fear in the back of his mind that he’d hurt her, driving against her slight frame. 
Instead she clutched him instinctively, taking all he had and somehow begging for more.  Their bodies melded together, to the point where it was hard to find where he ended and she began.  He drove deeper and harder, listening for the sounds of ecstasy from her mouth, praying he could make this moment last for as long as possible.  Her body met his everywhere, the synapses in his brain firing with the roar of exploding heat.  He felt it assemble between them and spark like a match to gasoline.  His release was blinding, white-hot light forming across his field of vision.  He hung onto her with every last ounce of strength in his body.

The strange waves of pleasure rippled through her as she heard the broken gasp of his voice above her face.  She lifted high
into the air and tumbled slowly back to earth in the safety of his arms, feeling the aftershocks tug at her as he continued to pulse between her hips.  Every part of her body twisted and shook, the slightest touch of his fingers or mouth sending another charge through her.  It was hard to catch her breath, and he felt heavy atop her—but, God, there was nothing better than knowing she would have days, weeks,
years
of this.  It was a heady feeling.

Afterward he lay alongside her, a sheet covering their lower bodies.  She stared briefly through the uncovered windows at the back of the house.  The sunset cracked the blue sky with golden fissures
, the most beautiful sky she could ever remember seeing.  For a day that had started with anxiety, it was ending perfectly.

One of his hands was entwined with hers. With the other, he traced lines across her body, eyes surveying the flush of her skin.  He encircled one nipple, pushed at the tip.  Their eyes met.
“I’m so lucky,” he whispered.

“You are,” she agreed.  He laughed at her grin, took his finger on a circuitous path across her flat stomach.  His mouth would definitely have to venture
there later.  Then his hand moved still lower, eager to stoke the fire once more between her hips.  One finger teased more than the rest, and she closed her eyes slowly.  “You’re incorrigible,” she murmured. 

He moved his hand yet again, clutched her hip and pulled her onto her side.  “It won’t always be like this, you know.
”

She kissed his chin.  “How’s that?”

“I won’t always be this cute.”

Her eyes snapped open and were greeted by a devilish grin.  “If you think I’m gonna let you get fat just because we’re married, you’ve got another thing coming.”  His body was hard as sto
ne but always pooled to liquid in the comfort of her arms.  “You’re gonna be working this ranch every chance you get.”

He kissed her eyes, the tip of her nose, and her lips.  “Yes, ma’am.”

She felt his readiness against her, looked forward to it.  “Hey, Chandler?”

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t your brother also get engaged on Labor Day?”

He glanced at her quizzically, and then nodded.  “Yeah, but he didn’t have the good sense to make it legal right away.  I plan to marry you sooner rather than later.”

“When?”

He rolled a
top her, entering with one swift stroke.  He kissed her gently, his movements light and tender, belying the hunger in his blue eyes.  “As soon as we drag ourselves out of this bed,” he answered hoarsely.  “Which I don’t plan to do for a very long time.”

Chapter 30

“Your mom sure put this wedding together in a hurry.”

Chandler looked in the mirror, where Mark stood over his right shoulder.  Chandler had just worn a tuxedo the other day, at the charit
y auction where his painting was sold.  Mark was wearing one for what he figured was the third time in his entire life.

“She was crying when we told her,” Chandler replied.  He fiddled with the ends of his bow tie, ready to say screw it and just get hitched without the damned thing.  He
wouldn’t disappoint Taylor like that, though.  He’d promised her no foul-ups, even though she assured him the best, most memorable weddings always experienced a few snafus.  “When I gave her the timeline of two weeks, she didn’t even flinch.”

“Your mom
has always been unflappable—mine too, for that matter.”  Mark placed a hand on his shoulder.  “I know it’s a lot of work, keeping that gallery going in town now that you’re back on the ranch.  But it’s been damned good to just drive over a few hills and pull up to your front door.”