Widow Woman (36 page)

Crushed against his chest, she tried to burrow closer, to sink into his skin right through the layers of cloth that separated them.

Nick was more direct. Grabbing fistfuls of cotton, he dragged the chemise off her, scooped her quickly off her feet and laid her on the bed, then attacked his own clothes. She watched a moment, then sat up to draw his shirts from the waist of his pants while he yanked off his boots. He shucked both shirts in one quick move and pants and drawers in a second.

Then he was beside her, stroking her, exploring her with such fevered touches her skin seemed to burn. He moved between her legs, opening her even as she opened for him, his eyes never leaving hers as he drove deep and heavy into her. She raised her hips to draw him deeper.

They moved. Against each other, for each other, to each other.

It was possession. Without words, he staked his unalterable claim, repeating what he'd told her this spring.
You belong to me.

As
eloquently, as passionately, she repeated her claim.
We belong together.

"Yes.” His hips rammed against her, his body shuddered. “Rachel."

As he pulsed inside her, she topped a long, rolling crest. But it wasn't the last. Nick collapsed across her, his weight and his continued possession drawing deep, shivering waves from her.

"I love you. Nick Dusaq.” His shoulder twitched against her breast. “You better get used to hearing that, because I intend to say it a lot."

He raised his head, kissing her slow and deep, until she thought she'd cry with the emotion of it. He gave her such love, yet she knew he might never truly believe that he did. For now, it would have to be enough that he believed in her love. That was the start.

He kissed her forehead and temple, then met her eyes, his expression darkening.

"There's one thing, Rachel. If I ever raise a hand to you, if I get to be like—

I won't stay by. I'll ride and I won't look back, and you won't be able to hold me."

Foolish man. She would also have to show him he was so much better than he thought himself to be. The first step was to share some of the burden he carried.

"If you ever raise a hand to me or the children that way, I'll send you off at the muzzle of my rifle."

He tipped his head and considered her face. “I believe you would. Damn, if I don't believe you would."

He rolled, so quickly she could do nothing but tighten her hold on him, inside and outside.

"What are you doing, Nick?” The demand came breathless at the sensations he'd stirred by bringing her atop him.

"It's what you're going to do, Rachel."

"I don't..."

"You will.” He raised his hips, then dropped them, satisfaction glinting his eyes at the low sound she made. “It's just like riding."

His hands skimmed over her abdomen, teased her breasts, then dropped lower as he rose to pleasure her breast with his mouth.

"Not quite,” she gasped.

"Ride, Rachel."

She did. And the satisfaction was mutual, as she discovered her power. In the end she shared the power so it burst across their senses and souls, until they collapsed, together, into sweet weakness.

His slow caress along her back was the first move either of them made for a long time.

"Does this mean you'll marry me?” The words stirred her hair, sending a shiver of pleasure through her.

Without lifting it, she turned her head so her cheek rested on his chest.

"I suppose I better, with you putting such a fear into Esther."

He chuckled, the rumbling under her cheek a sensation she could get accustomed to. “More like the fear Esther'll put in me, if I don't marry you. Wouldn't be surprised if she's out there with a shotgun, waiting to make sure I do right. Not to mention Joe-Max and Bob Chapman. Comes to that, Davis and Alba'd likely take aim, too. In fact, you'd better go out first and tell them not to shoot, or you'll be a widow again before you're really a wife."

She shuddered. “Don't say that."

He lifted her face between his hard, worn palms. “It's all right, Rachel.” He touched his lips to hers. “I intend to keep you from being a widow woman again for a good many years."

"I'm holding you to that promise, Nick Dusaq."

Four years later

Rachel had just pulled the thick layers of covers up to her chin when her bedroom door opened and her husband walked in wearing only his underwear.

"Nick! What in heaven's name—"

"Got frozen clear through with icicles just going to the barn and the bunkhouse, so I left my clothes in the kitchen so Esther can't grumble about me tracking her clean floors."

Rachel used the top of the covers to hide her smile.

"Johnny and Phillipa settled in?” he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his socks before turning down the lamp. A gust pelted snow against the rattling window.

"Sleeping like angels. Is it bad outside?"

"Bad enough.” He propped himself on one elbow, looking down at her, with the faint light from the window shimmering across his strong face.

"This storm makes me all the happier we visited Alba and Davis and little Mary Rachel last week. Could be we'll be snowed in a while."

"Wouldn't be the least surprised,” he said with a satisfied grunt, sliding his hand under the covers. But his expression turned quizzical as he encountered the fabric of her nightdress.

"Why do you bother with this thing? It comes off soon enough."

"But in the meantime, I'd get chilled. Just like you start with your underthings on. Besides how would I explain to Esther that my washing never includes any nightdr—What? Why are you looking at me that way?"

"I ... I love you, Rachel."

Love for him flowed through her as heat in her blood, tears in her eyes and a whirlpool in her throat. He'd said the words to her before. Not often, but a few times. First, at the same time his body expressed the emotion. Once, when he watched Phillipa nursing at her breast. Each time seemed to come a little easier for him. Each time meant even more to her.

"I love you, Nick."

A rumble of thunder from outside seemed to echo the beat of her heart. Thunder had mixed with the sleet and snow all evening.

She smiled at her husband, then nestled close to him so she could reach the buttons that separated her fingers from his flesh. “Esther says thunder in winter means a real bad storm. Kind that can keep a man inside for days."

"It's only fitting there's thunder.” He grinned at her slow and hot, sliding his hand lower. “Because there's always lightning when we're snowed in together."