“Well, then?” She bent her head to trail feather-light kisses along his temple and jaw. “Don’t be this way. Please? This is our wedding night, the first night of the rest of our lives. We should be looking forward, not back. Who cares what went before? It’s now that counts. Only that.”
Luke couldn’t stop himself. He caught her close, his arms trembling with quiet desperation. An armful of heaven. That was how she felt, so soft and warm, her body melding with his. God, how he wanted the absolution she offered. The first night of the rest of our lives… The words rang in his mind, a promise he was afraid to believe in, yet one he wanted to grab onto with both hands.
“Make me your wife,” she whispered. “You didn’t finish. Mrs. Whitmire said that you’d put yourself inside me. Why did you stop, Luke? Don’t you want me that way?”
He gave a strangled laugh that was almost a sob and cupped a hand over the back of her head, his fingers tightening like a vise. “God, yes. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
“Then why did you quit?” she asked in a muffled voice. “Until we do it, we’re not really married.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“But you said—”
“That’s one of the things I lied to you about,” he admitted raggedly. “I don’t know for sure how bad it’ll hurt, or how much you may bleed. I’ve never—” He broke off and swallowed. “I’ve never been with a virgin, Cassandra. I said all that to put your mind at ease, but the truth is, I don’t know for sure. I don’t think it’s all that bad. But, hell, what do I know about it?”
He felt her stiffen slightly. Then she levered up on an elbow, resisting the pressure of his hand at the back of her head. In the firelight, her blue eyes shimmered like sun-washed sapphires. Her gaze clung to his for several seemingly endless seconds. “Then I guess we’ll have to find out what it’s like together.” Her slender throat worked as she swallowed what he suspected was a lump of fear. “If it hurts too much, I’ll tell you, and you can stop, just like you promised.”
That she trusted him to do so meant more to Luke than he could say. For years, he’d believed that the fortune he’d managed to amass in gold could buy him anything, that he truly had it all. Now he realized he’d had nothing. This girl was the treasure he’d always sought—better than gold, better than power, better than anything.
Luke groaned and rolled with her, keeping one arm firmly locked around her slender waist to keep her body pressed to his, wedging his hips between her thighs as he came out on top. He was only human, and life hadn’t taught him much self-restraint. How could he resist her? The plain and simple fact was, he couldn’t. Not when she pleaded so prettily with him to take her.
Bracing himself on an elbow, he levered himself above her, their gazes still locked. “Do you promise to stop me?”
She caught her lower lip between small white teeth. After a moment, she nodded. Luke could feel the tension in her, and he regretted that as he’d regretted nothing else in his life. Sometimes, he realized, lying to people made things easier for them, little white lies to allay a virgin’s fears. Only where did he draw the line? Where did the white lies become slightly gray, or the gray, black? He knew firsthand that the delineation grew blurred after a while, that lying became a treacherous habit, something one did almost instinctively. No more…if he meant to build a life with this girl, he had to change, and that meant never telling her another falsehood, no matter how well justified.
Once again, in what felt like a miracle, his manhood throbbed with readiness, jutting against her hip. He knew she felt the rigidity and, thanks to Mrs. Whitmire, realized what it portended. He also sensed that her building anxiety would make it nigh unto impossible for him to arouse her again. If he tried, he’d only prolong the torture.
Shifting his body slightly, Luke positioned himself for entry. His gut clenched when the sensitive head of his shaft nudged against hot wetness and vulnerable, satiny folds of flesh. He just thanked God she was still ready for him.
“Put your arms around my neck, Cassie girl,” he whispered tautly.
She did as he asked, her gaze conveying the dread she felt, the tight clutch of her fingers at his nape echoing it. “Luke? Hold me tight while you do it. Hold me tight, please, so I won’t feel scared.”
His heart twisted at the fear in her voice.
He drew her close and pressed his face against the hollow of her neck. She clung to him, so tense he was afraid to enter her—afraid to even try. Her thighs were clamped against his in a futile effort to close her legs. Her breath came in jagged bursts.
“Sweetheart, you have to relax,” he whispered. “Otherwise, it’ll hurt for sure.”
She released a tremulous breath, and he felt her body loosen slightly. Slightly wasn’t enough. Tensed as she was, her inner muscles would resist his entry, making the pain a lot worse.
“Do it,” she urged in a thin voice. “Hurry, Luke, and just—”
He eased his hips forward, his movement cutting her off. Liquid heat. Velvet softness. He clenched his teeth, felt sweat pop out on his face. Her spine arched, and where his palm was clamped to the slope of her back, he felt her muscles knotting. He pressed in another minuscule bit, encountering her maidenhead. The walls of her channel spasmed around him, and she sucked in a breath, her fingers at his nape tightening, her nails digging at his skin.
He knew he was hurting her. He could feel a difference in the tautness of her body now, the muscles rigidly contorted against the pain. Damn it. Poised above her, he began to shake nearly as badly as she was. His manhood was about to burst with the pleasure of being partially inside her, his heart breaking a little because what felt so damned good to him was excruciating for her.
“I can’t,” he ground out. “Goddammit, Cassie, I can’t do it if it’s going to hurt you like this.”
He no sooner spoke than she tucked her legs over the backs of his and bucked sharply upward with her hips, impaling herself with a jolting impact. Her thrust was slightly off-center, ramming the hard length of him against sensitive inner flesh as he ripped through her maidenhead. The low cry that tore from her throat made Luke recoil, but she held tight with her legs, riding him upward, her body convulsing as waves of pain coursed through her.
“Oh…God!” She sobbed and arched her head back. “Oh, God!…”
Luke grasped her hips and shifted his own to correctly align their bodies. He cursed foully under his breath when he saw crimson on her pale thigh. “Dammit, Cassandra! Why did you—”
He bit back the rest and gathered her close to rain kisses over her face. Her body was quivering, her chest rising and falling. With one final shudder, she managed to drag in a deep breath. He felt some of the tension ebb from her. Then her dark lashes lifted, and she dipped her chin to fasten luminous blue eyes on him.
“There.” The note of triumph in her quavery voice produced a burning sensation in his eyes. “It’s d-done.”
“Not quite,” he said through clenched teeth, his groin pulsing with urgency.
Her eyes filled with confusion. “Y-You mean there’s more?” she asked, horrified.
Luke wasn’t sure this was a good time for honesty. So he evaded the question. “Has it stopped hurting yet?” he managed to ask.
“Why?” she squeaked. “Wh-what’re you going to do?”
Luke gave an agonized laugh and withdrew a bit from her. She jerked and clutched at his shoulders, clearly startled by the sensation. He nudged forward again, making her gasp. “Sweetheart, does it hurt?”
“Y-yes. D-don’t—” she broke off as he withdrew again, then dug at his shoulders with her nails as he thrust cautiously forward. “Oh, my…”
“Does it hurt?”
“Oh, dear…”
Luke was quickly losing control. “Cassie? Dammit, answer me. If it hurts too bad, I’ll stop.”
She answered him with an inexpert bump of her pelvis against his. “Oh, Luke!”
He tightened his hold on he
r hips again. “Let me do this, all right?” A deafening roar filled his ears as she wiggled her derriere on the coverlet, trying to arch against him. Every flex of her muscles, every slight movement of silken heat over his shaft, nearly made him lose it. “Be still, dammit. You’ve got rotten aim.”
She bumped against him again and moaned. “Oh, Luke! Let go of me. It feels so—” She caught her breath and held it. On the exhale, she cried, “Ohhh…yes!”
Yes. It was the sweetest word Luke had ever heard. He relaxed his hold on her and surged forward, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out and undulated her hips, instinctively striking a rhythm as old as man and womankind. Luke retightened his hold on her to control her off-center movements, afraid of hurting her again. With his hands to guide her, she bucked upward to meet his thrusts.
Through a red haze of passion, Luke gazed down at her face and the rapturous expression that was tightening her small features. He wanted to take it slow, make it perfect for her. But then her hot, wet passage tightened around him and went into spasmodic orgasm. The pleasure was so intense, crashing over him in such mind-dazzling waves with each contraction of her body, that he couldn’t hold back. Male instinct took over, his muscles knotting, his hips hammering against her. Then…ecstasy. He went rock-still in the throes of it, not breathing, his heart thundering, his release a white-hot eruption. Cassandra cried out and arched up. With his last bit of strength, he accommodated her, resuming the driving rhythm until she tensed and quivered, then fell limp.
Luke collapsed on top of her, trying with very little success to support most of his weight on arms that suddenly felt like pudding. She flung an arm around his neck, her hand dangling limply over his shoulder, her chest heaving, the rapid fluttering of her pulse out of harmony with the wild slamming of his own.
“My God…” The words rushed from Luke on the crest of a groan. Never in all his life had he experienced anything like this. And now, to be heart-to-heart with her, her body pressed full-length against his…he felt complete in a way he couldn’t explain, as if he’d finally found the other half of himself. “Oh, Cassie girl…”
She lifted a hand to his hair, her fingers trailing lightly over the tousled waves. “Oh, Luke, I love you so.”
His throat tightened. He wanted so badly to say the words back to her, sensing that she needed to hear them and knowing she deserved to. But he couldn’t force them out.
Tell Hank you love him, you little bastard. He’s paid good money, damn you!
His mother’s voice slipped out from the darkest corners of his mind, hammering at him, filling him with bitterness he couldn’t get past, not even for Cassandra. He had finally obeyed his mother that long-ago night and sobbed out the words. Over and over, like a litany, he’d said them, his body raging with pain, his dirty little hands knotted on the coverlet, until the words gave way to screams. Afterward, when he’d huddled, torn and bleeding, in a dark corner of the cold hallway, he’d vowed never to say those words again, not for anyone.
It was the one promise in his entire, misbegotten life that he’d ever kept.
TWENTY
As Cassandra opened her eyes the next morning, sunlight dappled the bedchamber with bright splashes of cheery yellow, and birds sang a serenade just outside the windows.
Feeling lazy and wonderfully relaxed, she stretched, yawned, then blinked sleepily, not at all sure where she was. When she felt the heat of Luke’s body beside hers, she smiled and ran her thumb over the wedding ring that encircled her finger. Mrs. Luke Taggart. A delicious happiness flooded through her as she tried out the name in her mind. She was married, really and truly married. The only thing that came close to marring her happiness was that Papa and Ambrose hadn’t been present at her wedding. But even that couldn’t dampen her glow for long. Luke had promised her a formal wedding later, and she’d have her papa walk her down the aisle then, just as a father should.
She rolled onto her side to study her new husband, whose dark face rested only inches from her own on the same pillow. He lay with one arm encircling her, his big hand splayed loosely over her ribs, one thumb snug beneath her breast. She trailed her gaze over his powerfully muscled shoulder, then down the length of his arm, loving him with her eyes. His skin was so dark compared to her own, his chest so powerfully muscled. She touched a fingertip to the mat of golden hair that ran in a furry wedge toward his waist, fascinated by its crispness.
The touch startled him, and his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he lay tense and wary, as if he didn’t recognize her. Then a slow grin spread across his firm mouth. “Good morning, Mrs. Taggart,” he said in a voice gone rough with sleep.
“Mmm, say it again. I love the sound of it.”
His grin broadened. “Mrs. Taggart, and don’t you forget it.”
After all the liberties he’d taken with her body last night, making love to her again and again until nearly dawn, Cassandra doubted there was much chance she’d forget she was his wife. A blush warmed her cheeks, and as if he guessed why, he chuckled, low and deep.
“Feeling shy?”
She hugged the sheet a little more snugly around her. “Not really.”
“Then come here,” he said huskily.
The way Cassandra saw it, she was already nearly on top of him, but apparently she wasn’t close enough to suit him. “Luke, it’s morning.”
He glanced around. “So it is.” His hand tightened over her ribs, drawing her inexorably toward him. “I waited all night, and now it’s finally daylight.”
“Broad daylight.”
“The better to see you by.”
She resisted the pull of his hand. “I should probably get dressed and go see if Khristos made it off to school.”
“You should probably obey your husband,” he said with a mischievous glint in his amber eyes. “I’d hate to start off our very first day of married life by having to paddle your backside.”
“You wouldn’t.”
He raised up on an elbow. “Wouldn’t I?” He slid his hand from her ribs down to her rump, his long fingers kneading the softness as he leaned closer. “How do you know I’m not a woman-beater? You never asked me.”
“I just know.” Cassandra felt a familiar heat pooling low in her belly. She shot an anxious glance at the window. “Luke?”
“Hmm?” He bent his head to nibble at her ear.
“I’d…um…really rather wait until it’s dark again.”
“And I’d really rather we not. Want to cut the deck for it?”
“You’d win. You’re an expert at cards.”
“That’s the whole idea,” he said with a throaty laugh.
Her pulse began to quicken as he nibbled his way from her earlobe down her neck. “Luke, it’s so light in here.”
“Keeping secrets, Cassie girl?”
“No, I just—” She tugged a little frantically to hold the soft ivory sheet over her breasts, a nearly impossible feat when he was under it with her. “Luke?”
“Hmm?”
“I guess I am feeling a little shy at that.” Her pansy-bright eyes pleaded with him to understand. And he did. His tigress turned timid when she wasn’t cosseted by the dark.
“Give me five minutes,” he whispered, trailing searing kisses along her collarbone. “Will you do that, Cassie, sweet? Just five minutes?”
“Only five?”
His kisses moved marginally lower. “That’s the deal. After five minutes, if you still want to wait until dark, we’ll wait.”
“Three minutes,” she bargained.
“Deal,” he whispered, then promptly jerked the sheet down.
With a startled squeak, she cried, “Luke?”
He rose to meet her gaze, his eyes a molten, brilliant gold in the shaft of sunlight that spilled over his face. “Who else?”
“What?” She blinked, having difficulty following his meaning.
He bent his head to drag the tip of his tongue over her nipple. “Has someone else done that?” he asked, looking back
up.
“No.”
He moved to the other breast. “Or this?”
“No,” she replied a little breathlessly.
He slid a hand between her thighs. “How about this?”
“No,” she said, the word more a moan.
He trailed warm, teasing kisses over her ribs, tracing each from her side to her sternum, his tongue lapping lightly at her skin. When he’d finished there, he moved lower to explore her navel. “Are the three minutes up yet?”
She arched toward him, gasping when the heat of his mouth closed over the most sensitive part of her. “Not yet,” she managed to say as his tongue dragged over electrified nerve endings.
“How much longer?” he murmured against her, the vibration of his voice sending jolts of sensation through her.
“Th-thirty sec-seconds, give or t-take.”
“You counting?”
She made tight fists in his tawny hair, trying to draw him closer, her body already hopelessly addicted to the mindless pleasure she knew his mouth could give her. “No.”
He raised himself suddenly. “You know, now that I think about it, it is awfully bright in here.”
Her hands still fisted in his hair, Cassandra stared up into his twinkling eyes.
“Since we’ve got less than thirty seconds left…” He let his voice trail off and shrugged a muscled shoulder. “I s’pose I may as well stop.”
It took Cassandra a few seconds to gather her senses, not to mention a few threads of her composure. When at last she had the presence of mind to speak, she said, “Don’t you think it’s terribly sad when handsome young men go prematurely bald?”
A puzzled expression swept across his dark, rugged features. “I guess. What does that have to do with now?”
She smiled very sweetly. “Because, dear husband, if you stop what you’re doing, you’re about to go.”
“Where?”
She tightened her hold on his hair. “Bald.”
Despite her having what she clearly believed to be a very firm hold on his hair, Luke threw back his head and laughed so hard he damn near choked.