Oh, yes, she wanted to lean on Lucas and borrow some of his strength. She didn't dare. How easy it would be to let him take care of all of them. He was too noble to turn his back on her and the children. Still, it wouldn't be right or fair of her to ask. He didn't want to be married, and he certainly hadn't wanted a family. He was a loner who liked living that way. Besides, he'd done enough for her. More than enough, she thought. He could have walked away once they'd reached Boston, but he'd stayed on and searched for her nieces. He hadn't given up. Other men would have or gotten rid of the problem by handing it over to the authorities. Lucas had been as noble as a prince, and it wouldn't be honorable of her to become dependent on him. She had to stand on her own two feet. The children were her responsibility. Hers alone.
Was it wrong for her to want to live close to him? Redemption. Even the name signified a safe haven to her now. And Lucas Ross had become her safety net. She didn't want to trap him. No, of course she didn't. But the children came first and if they needed something, or if there were trouble she was having difficulty handling, she wanted to be able to turn to him for help. He could still go riding off into his mountains. It wasn't so uncommon to leave a wife behind. Daniel Boone left his wife all the time, sometimes for several years. According to the stories, Mrs. Boone never complained, and from the number of children she had, Taylor assumed Daniel came home every now and again;
Divorce. The word left a sour taste in her mouth. Yes, Daniel Boone had left his wife behind, but he always came back. He wanted a wife.
Lucas didn't. Taylor closed her eyes and tried not to cry. She owed her Prince Charming his freedom.
Lucas woke up on top of her again. It was a little before dawn, his usual time to wake up, but he was having trouble clearing his mind this morning. He thought he was having an erotic dream. He was nuzzling the side of her neck and rubbing against her, and what made the dream so real to him was the feel of her warm skin against him. She wasn't wearing any clothes. Neither was he. His hands cupped her breasts. Her nipples were hard pearls. He moved down and took one into his mouth. She let out a little moan and began to move restlessly against him. Her legs were entwined with his. He shifted so that he could kiss the other breast and as he began to suckle, his hands stroked a path down to span her narrow waist. Her stomach was flat, smooth, her skin silky against his fingertips. His hand moved lower. He caressed the tilt of her hip, then trailed his fingers down the smooth skin on the outside of her thigh. And then he stroked a hot path up the inside until he brushed against the dewy curls at the junction of her thighs. He caressed her with his fingertips, making circles around and around the nub of her desire, until she was moaning and writhing against him, and when at last he began to caress the very spot he knew would drive her wild, she arched upward and let out a cry of raw pleasure. He didn't stop his sweet torment until she was damp with desire and begging him with soft whimpers to come to her.
He wasn't certain if she was completely awake or not. It didn't matter. She touched his arousal when he moved between her legs, and he knew he would die if he didn't mate with her. He burned with the need to feel her tight walls surround him, squeeze him, milk him.
He wrapped her in his arms, covered her mouth with his, and then thrust deep inside her. He wasn't gentle, and only when he was planted solidly inside her and was flooded with intense, throbbing pleasure did he realize he was hurting her. He was too caught up in his own passion to translate any subtle messages.
She wasn't subtle. She pinched his shoulder and told him she was in pain.
He stilled his movements immediately. She tried to move away from him. He clenched his jaw against the incredible pleasure she inadvertently gave him. He couldn't bring himself to leave her, yet he knew he was going to. What in God's name was the matter with him? Of course she was sore. She'd been a virgin, and it hadn't even been a full day since he'd bedded her.
He took a deep breath, willing some strength back into his mind and his body and then started to pull back. She stopped his retreat by putting her legs around his hips and bringing him back.
His head dropped to her shoulder. "If you want me to leave you alone, you're going to have to let go of me."
Under the circumstances, he thought his explanation was damned reasonable and noble. Her response was to put her arms around his neck and kiss his earlobe.
"Lucas." She whispered his name like an enchantress.
She brushed her hand across his shoulder. She knew she was giving him mixed signals, and it was the fact that he would do whatever she asked him to do that made all the difference to her. She ached from the pain of his invasion, but there was pleasure as well, and she knew that soon, with his kisses and caresses, the pain would be forgotten.
"I don't want you to leave me," she whispered. "I just want… I want…"
He moved inside her. One slow, long stroke. She let out a low sigh. "This?" he asked.
"Yes."
His mouth covered hers then in a long, drugging kiss. He was determined to go slow. He was going to be gentle with her, even if it killed him.
His promise only lasted a minute or two. Once he started moving inside her again, she quickened the pace. The pain was forgotten, replaced with such incredible pleasure, she thought her heart would surely stop and she would die the sweetest of deaths.
She wasn't a passive lover. Lucas was shaken by her uninhibited responses. Her mouth was every bit as wild and wet as his was, and she stroked him with just as much loving curiosity. She found fulfillment before he did, and when she tightened all around him and cried out his name, he allowed his own release. They held each other close while tremor after tremor of passion consumed them. He collapsed on top of her. The scent of their lovemaking filled the air around them. It made him drowsy with satisfaction. He was still fully imbedded inside her. He couldn't bring himself to leave her just yet. He knew he should get up and act the part of a gentleman by fetching her a cool, wet cloth. He would play her lady's maid like any good husband would.
Just one more minute, he thought. Then he'd get up. Just one more minute…
He was snoring with contentment a second later.
Taylor was too content to move. She knew she should get up. She would go and get a washcloth to freshen herself and then put on a clean nightgown. She didn't know what time the babies or Davy Daniel would wake up, and she wasn't about to be caught in bed with Lucas without a stitch of clothing on. The possibility was too mortifying to even think about. Yes, she would get up. In one minute, she thought. She snuggled closer to her husband and let out a loud yawn. In just a minute…
Chapter 15
Passion, I see, is catching.
—William Shakespeare,
"Mama's naked."
Taylor bolted up in the bed when she heard one of the twins make the announcement. She thought it might be Georgie. She was the more outspoken of the babies.
Then she heard Hunter's deep voice. "Is that so?"
She wanted to die. She let out a low groan and pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts. Lucas had been sleeping on his stomach. When he heard the conversation going on in the other room, he rolled onto his side and glanced toward the alcove entrance. Thankfully the drapes were still closed.
"The man's naked, too."
Allie made that important announcement. She obviously didn't want to be left out.
Hunter laughed. "About time," he called out in a voice deliberately loud enough to reach his friend.
Taylor's face was burning with embarrassment. Lucas didn't dare smile. She gave him a glare he translated to mean she blamed him for the awkward situation. He didn't think laughing would be an appropriate response. She'd only get more riled up. He yawned so she'd know he was taking it all in stride and then reached over to trail his fingers down her spine.