Pregnant In Prosperino. Carla Cassidy
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woman’s touch.
A sudden memory flitted through his mind, a distant memory of a blond-haired woman arranging flowers in the center of the table, of her laughter that was bright as sunshine as the scent of rich chocolate chip cookies wafted from the oven.
The memory of his mother stabbed through him. When she’d died, she’d taken all the softness, all the nurturing, all the woman’s touches from this house and from his life.
Lana’s efforts found the hidden place of neglect in his soul and stirred something warm. He turned as she came into the kitchen.
“Oh, you’re back,” she said.
He nodded, suddenly feeling guilty for running out on her, escaping to do work the moment they’d returned home. He gestured toward the table. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
Her forehead wrinkled worriedly. “I hope you don’t mind. I found the tablecloth in a drawer and thought it would be nice.”
“It is nice,” he assured her and was rewarded by a slight blush of pleasure coloring her cheeks.
“I made supper. It’s ready whenever you are.” He could tell she was nervous by the way her gaze refused to meet his and the slight catch in her breath as she spoke.
“I need to shower, then I’ll be ready to eat.” He smiled at her in an attempt to diffuse some of the tension. “I’ll be out in about fifteen minutes or so.”
He left her standing in the kitchen. A moment later he stood beneath the hot spray of water in the shower, trying not to think of the nighttime to come.
Instead he focused on all the work that would have to be done on the ranch in order to get it ready for sale. It was an awesome task, but the reward would be awesome as well. His father had owed no mortgage, so the land and the house were free and clear of debt.
He could afford to hire several men to help him get the place in shape. He’d go into town tomorrow and see about hiring help. With several ranch hands, the work would go quickly and he could have the place on the market in no time.
Finishing his shower, he then towel dried and dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a button-down sports shirt. When he entered the kitchen the homey scene before him again struck him.
Lana, apparently unaware of him standing in the doorway, was at the oven. For a moment he stood silent, merely admiring her backside. She’d been slender as a young girl, and she had retained that long-legged, coltish slenderness.
Despite her slenderness, there was no mistaking the gentle curve of her hips, the shapeliness of her buttocks in the tight jeans.
Her dark hair was as he’d always seen it, tucked into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, a single errant strand loose and without restraint. He wondered what it would look like completely freed and flowing down her back. He wondered what it would feel like cascading against his fingertips.
She turned at that moment, a bowl of steaming mashed potatoes in her hands. She jumped in surprise and juggled the bowl precariously before finally settling it on the edge of the table. “You scared me,” she exclaimed.
“Sorry,” he replied. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Domesticity wasn’t exactly his style, but he felt a sudden desire to do something with her, some tiny act that might break the thickness of the air between them.
“There’s a salad in the fridge. If you want to get that on the table, I’ll get the roast and gravy,” she said.
Within minutes they were seated across from each other, eating the best meal Chance could ever remember enjoying. Still, the air was thick, the tension palpable as the shadows outside the kitchen window deepened, portending the coming of night.
He should have taken her right to the bedroom the moment the ceremony was over earlier in the day. Then, the act would be over, the ice would be broken and they wouldn’t be suffering the taut tension that was like a third guest at the table.
Dinner consisted of strained small talk, and Chance was almost grateful when the meal was over and the dishes had been washed and put away.
Chance went outside to make sure everything was locked up and secure for the night, then returned to the house, where Lana sat on the edge of the sofa looking as if she wanted nothing more than to bolt.
Enough was enough, he thought. “I’m going to bed,” he said, and watched as her dark eyes flared slightly. “You can join me whenever you’re ready.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Unless you want to call this whole thing off.”
Her eyes snapped brightly and she jumped to her feet. “Not on your life, Chance Reilly,” she said with a burst of unexpected spirit. “I did my part. I’m not about to run before you do yours.” With these words, she stalked past him and disappeared into the bathroom.
Chance stared after her. For a moment, just a brief moment, he thought he saw not dread or anxiety in her eyes, but rather excitement and anticipation.
A stir of excitement sang through him in response, the excitement of taking a new lover, the anticipatory thrill of discovery.
He turned out all the lights in the living room and went into the bedroom where the faint bedside lamp spilled a whisper of golden light through the room. Undressing, he tried not to think about the young, sweet girl Lana had been and instead focused on the fact that she was an attractive thirty-one-year-old woman.
Naked, he slid in beneath the crisp cotton sheets and waited. Staring up at the ceiling, he concentrated on what he would do with the money from the sale of the ranch. First and foremost, he wanted to start his own business. He wasn’t sure exactly what kind of business it would be, but the important thing would be he’d enjoy being his own boss.
He’d get a condo, something low-maintenance but nice. And then there was a Harley he’d been contemplating. It was a sleek, chrome machine he could easily imagine riding on his days off.
A noise at the doorway diverted his attention from the ceiling, and when he saw Lana standing there, all thoughts of condos and motorcycles fled his mind.
Clad in a white nightgown that clung to her breasts, then fell in a soft cascade to her bare feet, she looked like a vision from a dream. A very good dream.
Her glorious hair was loose and fell below her shoulders like a cloak of black silk, and Chance’s fingers itched with the need to tangle themselves in it.
She said nothing as she moved to the side of the bed and slid in beneath the covers. She lay flat on her back, barely taking up any space on the large mattress.
Chance raised himself up on one elbow and smiled. “This is very awkward, isn’t it?”
His words seemed to chisel away some of the tension. She smiled. “Horribly awkward,” she agreed.
“We can take this very slow,” he said. He reached out and lightly touched her cheek. Her skin was softer than he’d imagined and a spark of desire began to glow deep inside him.
“Slow. I’d like that.” Her voice was a bare whisper as his fingers moved from her cheek and instead trailed down the curve of her jaw.
He’d worried that he wouldn’t feel the necessary desire to fulfill his end of the bargain, but as his fingers touched the silk of her hair, and her breathing quickened slightly, he knew there would be no problem where desire was concerned.
He bent and touched his lips to hers and her instantaneous response delighted him. He’d been afraid that Lana would be overly shy and self-conscious as a lover, but her kiss was filled with sweet heat that further fed the spark inside him.
He deepened the kiss with his tongue and she responded, opening her mouth to him as her arms reached up to clasp him around the neck.
Moving his body closer to hers, he was enveloped by the evocative scent of her perfume and could feel her body heat radiating outward as if to warm him.
His