Montana Passions: Stranded With the Groom / All He Ever Wanted / Prescription: Love. Allison Leigh
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cattle barons, the Shady Lady in her red dress, lounging provocatively against the bar in her sporting house saloon.
They came to Thunder Canyon with desperate ambition, a grasping, undaunted will to match his own. How many found the dreams they sought?
It was too long ago. He would never know.
He only knew that, for this night, in this moment, he held the happiness he’d never understood he was seeking. She was his happiness.
He couldn’t hold her past this night. Cold, hard reality would intrude. He knew that, too.
But for now, for this brief time in this old bed with Katie in his arms, he was someone else.
He was…
Her groom. And she was his sweet mail-order bride, come in on the train intending to marry a stranger—himself—and start a new life with him out here in the raw, untamed West.
They had said their vows before a drunken crowd of well-wishers and the buckboard pulled by the mean old palomino mare had brought them here.
A sudden blizzard had snowed them in, forcing them, with astonishing swiftness, to know each other.
To want each other.
And now, it was finally time. To seal their vows in the age-old way.
Yes, in some cynical corner of his mind, Justin was more than aware that such wild flights of imagination, such absurd leaps of logic, were ridiculous in the extreme.
But right then, with Katie soft and willing in his arms, he believed them, anyway.
And that was the greatest miracle of all: that right then, Justin Caldwell believed.
He captured her other breast in his mouth and she groaned low in her throat, her body arching, offering him more. He moaned in answer, his fingers skimming the creamy flesh of her belly, dipping lower…
“Oh! Oh, yes…”
He murmured soothing, ardent sounds against her breast and he continued to explore the warm, soft curves and hollows of her body.
The pajamas tied at the waist.
Easily dispensed with. He pulled on the tail of the little bow she’d made and the bow gave way. It was a simple matter then to slip his hand beneath the worn flannel…
She gasped and clutched his head tighter against her breast. He drew on her nipple more strongly and her hips began to rock against the lumpy mattress. She moaned, her fingers loosening in his hair. He lifted his head enough to glance up at her sweet face as she tossed her head on the blankets, her dark hair, alive with static, clinging where it rubbed.
He stroked the inward curve of her smooth belly, dipping a finger into her navel.
Her breath caught. She made small, hungry mewing sounds. He wanted to kiss those sounds from her lips.
And he did, letting go of her breast and taking her mouth once more, as his hand slid upward, to caress the sleek flesh high on her stomach, to clasp the side of her slim waist, to trace the lower curve of her ribs where they arched above her midsection.
By then, the sounds from her throat were pleading ones.
He dared to ease his fingers beneath the flannel again, to stroke the silky curls at the place where her soft thighs joined. She stiffened, but only for a moment.
Soon enough, her hips began rocking again.
He dipped farther down, parting the soft curls, easing a finger into her moist cleft. She bucked hard against his hand and he cupped her, steadying her as he kissed her deeply, his own body aching with the need to be buried within her.
No.
Not yet. This part was for her—and, yes, for him, too.
He wanted to feel her give herself over; he wanted to give her satisfaction first, before he took his own.
Right then, as he stroked her, as her body moved in rhythm to his intimate touch, it came to him. Like a blinding, painful light switching on in velvet darkness, he realized…
It wasn’t going to happen.
Ridiculous fantasies of past lives aside, crazy dreams of a mail-order marriage come true to the contrary, he wasn’t going to have her fully.
Even tonight she couldn’t be really his.
He had no condoms and she didn’t, either.
This. Right now. Her body moving in hungry yearning under his hand, her mouth eager and soft against his own, this was all he could have.
All he would ever have.
He groaned in agony at the thought and pressed himself, hard and aching, against the side of her thigh.
She clung to him, whimpering, as he slipped that finger inside again, even daring to ease in another, stretching her a little. She was tight and very wet.
So good, so right.
He realized he was whispering the words against her parted lips. “So good, so right…”
“Yes,” she answered, soft and sweet and oh-so-willing. “Oh, Justin, yes…”
Her hips moved faster. He followed the cues her body gave him, finding the nub of her greatest pleasure, rubbing it, stroking it…
She said his name again against his mouth, on a low breath of yearning and building excitement.
And then he felt it. The soft pulsing beneath his stroking finger, the silky spurt of wetness as she came…
She cried out and he caught that cry, kissing her deeply, as below the tiny, hot, wet pulsing continued.
In the end, her body went loose and boneless. She gave a final, gentle sigh.
His body hurt. He ached for more, and yet…
It was good. Better than good, just to be here, in this old bed with her, to know she’d hit the peak and loved every minute of it, that he had done that for her.
She lifted a lazy hand to stroke the side of his face and he raised his head to look down into her shining eyes.
“Oh, Justin…” Her sweet mouth trembled on a smile.
He kissed the tip of her nose. And then, slowly, reluctantly, he took his hand from that wet, hot secret place between her sleek thighs and smoothed her pajama bottoms to cover her to the waist. He took the sides of her top, one and then the other, bringing them together, proceeding to slip the buttons back into their too-loose holes.
She caught his hand. “Oh, don’t…”
He gave her a dark look. “Katie. We’ve got to be careful. You have to know. That was as far as we can go.”
She only looked at him, eyes dazed, mouth swollen from his kisses, cheeks flushed: a woman more than willing to go on from here.
Willing? Hell. Eager.
Ready.
For him.
With a low groan, he fell back on the bed, throwing his arm across his eyes, ordering the bulge in his jeans to subside.
Now.
It didn’t happen—which hardly surprised him.
The bed shifted as she sat up. He dared to steal a peek at her from under the shadow of his arm.
She was taking off her pajama top.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Her high, cute breasts bounced as she tossed that top aside. “Getting undressed.” It flew over and hooked on the vanity mirror. “And so should you. Now.”
He shouldn’t be peeking. He should cover his eyes again.
But somehow, he couldn’t. The bulge