She'd probably been brushing her hair.
He walked slowly up behind her and grasped her shoulders. As his fingers curled around her anus, he half expected her to stiffen, but she didn't. He pressed his face to her loosened tresses and inhaled. Lord, she smelled wonderful. So sweet and wholesome, not at all like the lilac-doused whores he'd been forced to settle for these last few years.
Roses and cinnamon, yeast and vanilla. She was enough to make a man salivate. He sniffed his way to her neck, only to be frustrated by the high collar of her gown. Pearline Washing Compound. He smiled and closed his eyes.
"Can I help?" he asked softly.
"With what?"
"With brushing your hair."
"I'm finished."
She leaned slightly forward and braced the heels of her hands on the dresser's edge. Swathed in moonlight and folds of white muslin, she looked childlike, her insubstantial frame diminished by the fabric and shadows.
Her forward movement pushed her soft rump against his thighs, reminding him of the womanly curves that he knew were concealed under the cloth. His lower regions snapped to attention. A muted groan caught in his throat.
Thankful for the restrictions of his britches, he ran his fingertips lightly down her arms. Now he knew where the saying "keep your pants on" had originated. He intended to do just that—as long as he could bear the agony. If it was the last thing he did, he wanted to make this a night she'd fondly remember.
His lips found the velvety nape of her neck. Lord, she was so incredibly, impossibly sweet. He trailed his fingertips over her hands where she clasped the dresser, then back up to her wrists. The fine network of her bones tantalized him. He'd never touched a grown woman so delicately made.
Beneath his lips, chill bumps sprang up on her neck, and he heard her breath catch. He nipped the silken lobe of her ear, and she quivered, images of how she might react when he captured an erect nipple in his teeth made his own breathing become labored.
He dipped his tongue under the collar and lapped seductively at her skin. God, he wanted to taste every inch of her. She made a strangled sound in the back of her throat and crossed her arms to capture his hands where they caressed her shoulders. He hesitated, not quite sure how to read her. Was she frightened, after all?
"Katie, if you'd rather wait…" He could do that, couldn't he? Just at the thought, his body throbbed in protest. "I don't mean to rush you. Exchanging vows and signing a piece of paper … if you need some time, all you have to do is ask. Just because we're married doesn't mean you don't deserve to be courted a little. Anything that'll make this easier for you."
As he spoke his breath washed over her skin, and she shivered again. "No, it isn't necessary to wait," she replied tremulously. "I'd just like to get on with it. That's all."
Zach didn't need to be asked twice. Turning her slightly, he bent to catch her in his arms. She squeaked as he lifted her. When her head fell back, he settled his mouth at the hollow under her jaw and drank of the throbbing pulse-beat there. Feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart clear to his toes, he imagined thrusting into the wet, pulsing heat of her, and another moan issued from his chest.
He carried her quickly to the bed. As he settled her carefully on the mattress, he moved a hand to the bodice of her gown. Buttons, not bows. Two dozen, at least. The itty-bitty kind, fashioned by females, he was sure, to drive men mad. They extended from her waist to her high-necked collar in a frustrating line. First thing tomorrow, he'd go over to his place and get his new Montgomery Ward catalog so she could order some decent gowns. Or maybe a more appropriate description would be less decent. She wasn't a nun, for God's sake.
As he freed buttons, Zach followed the trail of his fingers with his lips, nibbling softly at the silken flesh he bared. When he found the swell of a breast, she whimpered low in her throat and grabbed handfuls of his hair.
"Wh-What are you doing?" she asked in a panicked little voice.
Her tone splashed over Zach with the same shocking coldness of ice water. He drew back, perplexed by the confusion and uncertainty he heard in her voice. In the dim glow of moonlight, he could see that her eyes were huge and filled with alarm.
"What am I doing?" he repeated hoarsely.
Until that instant, he had thought he was making love to an experienced woman. Now he was no longer so sure.
She looked as scandalized as a virgin, her face white, her lips parted to emit shallow breaths. Her fist closed on her gown to hold the front plackets together. He had a feeling he'd have a battle on his hands if he tried to pry those slender fingers loose.
By way of explanation, which he couldn't believe was necessary, he said, "I'm making love to you."
She swallowed hard. "Wh-Why can't you just do it the regular way?"
"The regular way?" He closed a hand over hers, and sure enough, she had her fingers clenched on her nightgown in a death grip. "What way is that, Katie?"
"A-At the d-dresser."
He shot a glance through the darkness at the piece of furniture. Granted, she didn't have scent bottles and a lot of other feminine accessories on the dresser top like most women, but the available space still didn't look suitable for what Zach had in mind. Knowing her as he did, he couldn't quite believe she had suggested such a thing. Ten years into marriage, maybe, when new spots and different positions kept the excitement high. But now? Their first time together?
He gently massaged her clutched fist, hoping to relax her fingers and get back to where he'd left off. "I reckon we can do it wherever you'd like." He bent his head to kiss her whitened knuckles. "First, let's get this nightgown out of the way."
She brought up her other hand to grab another handful of muslin. "It doesn't get in the way. You—you can just raise it up in back. That's what Joseph always did."
In back? Zach remembered how she'd pressed her bottom against him when he'd come up to stand behind her, and a warning bell clanged inside his head. He studied her taut features.
"Katie, how, exactly, did Joseph make love to you?"
She licked her bottom lip. "He, um…" She jerked her gaze from his. "He just did it."
"How?" he prodded cautiously. "From the back? With you standing?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of what?"
Even in the moonlight, he saw her face flush crimson. "Sort of standing. I bent forward."
Zach curled his fingers more tightly over hers. "And did you like it that way?"
"Like it?"
From her tone, he could tell that her preferences had never been a priority. His guts knotted on an awful suspicion. "Didn't Joseph—" He broke off, a little uncomfortable with the turn of this conversation. How did a man go about asking these sorts of questions? "Didn't he kiss you and touch you?"
She looked scandalized. "Lands, no."
"'Lands, no?'" he echoed.
"He was always very polite."
Polite? How in the hell could a man make love to a woman properly and be polite about it? Zach knew he was gaping at her, but he couldn't seem to stop. "Honey, didn't he try to—to make it nice for you?"
She seemed to shrink into the feather mattress. "I'm not removing my nightgown," she informed him in a quavery voice.
Zach could see that concessions on his part were indeed in order. He tried a smile, hoping that might reassure her.
"That's fine. Like you said, I can work around it."
She looked none too thrilled by that thought. He sat up and began unbuttoning his shirt. She watched him with unmistakable wariness. "Relax, Katie."
"Wh-What are you doing?" she demanded to know.
"Taking my shirt off." He tossed the garment in question toward the foot of the bed and then leaned over to unlace his boots. Toe to heel, he prized each of them off.
As he stood to take off his pants, she wiggled over to the far side of the bed and bolted upright. In an accusing tone, she cried, "You're undressing!"
That was fairly obvious. His fingers froze on the fastening of hi
s jeans. "Joseph didn't?"
Her eyes huge in her pinched face, she stared up at him. Of course Joseph hadn't undressed, Zach realized. How could a man be polite if he was bare-assed naked? He decided his first inclination had probably been more appropriate for the occasion; he'd best keep his britches on. Angling a knee onto the bed, he braced his fists on the mattress and leaned toward her. She reared back.
"Katie, don't be frightened."
"Kate, not Katie. And it's absurd to think I'm frightened! I'm a grown woman with a child! But if you think I'm going to do it naked, you have another think."
Zach had already had another think. Several of them. Steadying his weight on one arm, he reached to trace a finger along her cheek. "I said we could work around the nightgown. No problem. And I've still got my trousers on."
As he spoke, he brushed his lips lightly over hers. Her breath tasted as sweet as honey blossoms. He ran his hand into her hair. "Ah, Katie," he whispered. "My precious Katie girl. Don't be nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
As his lips descended to her throat, he felt the rigidity in her. Not nervous? That was the biggest understatement he'd ever heard. Cupping one hand behind her head, he used his other to knead the stiffness from her. Every place on her back that his fingers probed, he felt her muscles retract.
With a muffled little moan, she finally relented and dropped her head back. Zach had a feeling tonight might prove to be far more memorable for her than he had guessed. Polite? Jesus H. Christ.
He kissed his way down her lovely throat to where her fists clenched her nightgown together. Not wishing to alarm her by forcing her hands down, he waged his assault on the exposed V of her chest and then went to work on her fingers, nibbling and suckling her knuckles. She shuddered, and he felt her hands spasm. The result was that she loosened her grip a bit.
"Zachariah?"
"Hmmmmm?" He found an opening in the cloth and invaded with his tongue to lick at the warm swell of flesh beneath. She jerked her wrist down to cover the spot. He circled and found another. "Lower your hands, Katie,"
he urged huskily. "Don't be afraid. It'll feel nice, I promise."
"Nice?" She executed another frantic maneuver with her wrists. "I'm not that kind of woman—"
He found more skin, and she broke off with a startled murmur of protest. Her wrists shifted again to intercept, and in her attempt to frustrate him, she left a length of unfastened plackets unprotected. Like a magnet drawn to the head of a nail, his mouth went to the crest of her breast.
"Wha-What are you—?"
She never finished the question. Zach caught the erect tip of her nipple between his teeth and flicked it with his tongue. Her spine arched, and she let loose of the nightgown to grab his hair. A low wail came up her throat as he drew sharply on her.
"Zachariah?"
He rolled her lightly between his teeth, exerting just enough pressure to drive all thought from her mind. She shoved halfheartedly against him and gave a ragged sob. Then her fists relaxed, and she ran her fingers into his hair, cupping her palms to pull him closer.
"What are you doing?" she finally managed.
In response, he drew all of that wonderfully taut cone of flesh into his mouth. She cried out and arched up to meet him, her throat issuing breathless little cries each time he dragged his tongue over her. The tension in her changed, and instead of trying to ward him off, she bowed her body into his and clutched him close.
Confident now of making her his, he nearly smiled at the jolts he felt running through her. As he worked her, Zach slid a hand along her hip, down her thigh, his busy fingertips gathering muslin until he found warm, silken skin. He lowered her onto the pillows and shifted his body to lie beside her, his mouth never relinquishing possession of her breast. Soft inner thigh. He grazed a palm upward, seeking the tantalizing center of her.
Just as his hand found its mark, she gasped and started scrambling to pull her nightgown down. The change in her came so quickly and with so little warning that for an instant, Zach tried to hold her. Then he realized she was struggling in earnest against him.
The fear in her was unmistakable. He drew back and listened with growing puzzlement to her frantic attempts to convince him she was innocent of any wrongdoing.
"I haven't been thinking anything bad. Honestly I haven't!" She finally managed to shove his hand back down to the region of her knee. Gulping for breath, she said, "Not one lustful thought, I swear it. The same urges came over Joseph sometimes. Once when I was washing dishes! I didn't do anything. I wasn't even aware he was in the room." A high-pitched, nervous little laugh punctuated that. "Isn't that crazy? No thyme nor reason to—" Her voice broke on a dry sob. "P-Please don't be angry, Zachariah. Please don't. I can't seem to help it."
Her grip on his wrist was frenzied, her nails digging into his skin. All because he had been about to touch her?
Confusion jumbled his thoughts, and on the heels of that, anger lashed him. A cold, mind-numbing anger that made him feel half sick. Dear God, what had that madman done to her?
"Katie," he whispered. "Shhhhhh, honey. It's all right."
Gathering her close, he pressed her face against his shoulder and felt her hot tears against his skin. His passion spiraled downward, splatting like a cold griddle cake in the pit of his stomach. She was trembling, trembling horribly. And by that he knew a measure of her fear.
That bastard. That miserable, no-good bastard.
Zach considered just holding her. Finishing what he had started was out of the question. He had never forced himself on a frightened woman in his life, and he didn't intend to start now. On the other hand, though, problems never got solved by pretending they didn't exist.
He tightened his grip on her knee. "Katie, is your body ready for me? Is that what you're afraid I'll be angry about?"
"N-No!"
He braced his arm to resist her tugging hands and inched his fingertips up the inside of her thigh. "Let me feel."
"No, I don't—"
His strength won out. His fingertips encountered a molten heat and wetness that made his belly contract around a knot of longing.
"Katie…" He searched his mind for something he might say to soothe her. "Have you any idea how sweet and beautiful you are, how precious you are to me?"
"A person can't help how she looks."
Zach circled that. He hadn't meant the compliment as an accusation.
"I didn't mean to tempt you!" she cried. Her eyes sought his, huge and filled with fright.
Growing more bewildered by the moment, Zach drew her closer and buried his face in her hair. "Honey, you'd tempt a man in your sleep."
"But Joseph—"
She broke off with a sharp intake of breath when he moved his hand. Zach wasn't certain he could speak. His body clamored for release. After a deep breath and a determined swallow, he managed, "I think we need to have a long talk. This morning when I asked if Joseph was ornery in the bedroom, you weren't entirely honest with me.
Were you?"
Still trembling violently, she lay there in the circle of his arm, her spine curled to keep distance between their bodies. An endless moment of silence passed.
Zach could see that she had no intention of answering. Toying with her hair, he gazed thoughtfully at the wall behind her. "Katie, how can I ease your fears if I don't know for certain what he did to you?"
Her voice little more than a high-pitched squeak, she cried, "I can't talk about it. Please, don't ask me to."
He closed his eyes on that. "No matter how hard it is, you have to try."
A violent trembling shook her.
He tightened his embrace, hating himself for pressing her, yet convinced he had no choice. "Did Joseph punish you for making him want you?"
"It wasn't my fault. He said it was, but I never did anything! Not a single thing."
Her defensiveness was answer in itself. He gazed sightlessly into the shadows, trying to put together
everything she had unwittingly revealed to him tonight, to make sense of it. He recalled her initial calmness when he first approached her at the dresser, then her sudden rigidity when he started to caress her. Moments later, when he had begun to remove his clothing, there had been no mistaking her alarm.
Piece by piece, the puzzle began to come together, and the overall picture sent Zach's mind reeling. A beautiful woman who drew her hair into a severe braid and wore threadbare dresses, so somber in color that he had mistakenly thought they were widow's weeds. Not so, he realized now. Joseph had been dead only six months, not nearly enough time for her to have worn the sleeves of her gowns thin at the elbows and cuffs.
Katie… Sweet, precious Katie who had done everything in her power to look plain because her late husband had punished her for being beautiful.
"Sweetheart…" He bent his head, trying to see her face. "Can you look at me?"
"I'm not going to talk about Joseph," she whispered fiercely.
Despite the seriousness of the moment, Zach bit back a smile at her bravado. "I'll do the talking. All you have to do is listen."
Her chin came up a notch, but not nearly far enough to let him see her face. Not a man to split hairs, Zach contented himself with that.
"There's no sin in being pretty," he whispered. "I don't know what Joseph said to the contrary, but trust me. You can no more control how you look than you can the beating of your heart."
"But Joseph said—"
"I don't care what Joseph said. The man was an idiot."
He rolled up on his arm so his face was above hers. She looked so young lying there, her eyes huge and luminous in the moonlight. He wished he could simply let the subject drop. But he couldn't. If left to fret over it, she'd probably grow upset every time he grew amorous. Which was bound to be often.
He tried a smile, but she didn't seem to relax much. Gazing down at her pinched face, he ran a finger lightly along her cheekbone. "One of the first things about you that I fell in love with was your beautiful face. Your skin is like fresh cream, and your features in profile are as perfect as a cameo. You don't have to encourage me to make me want you."