Chapter Eight
It was not what she expected.
But, then, whatever was, when it came to this man and his behind-the-scene machinations that no one could read in advance, nor understand?
They had entered a splendiferous room, on the sixth floor of a splendiferous hotel, far enough above the busy streets to provide the view of a twinkle of moving lights. While Ben busied himself at the bar, Caroline eased out of her white satin slippers and padded barefoot to the window.
“What d’ you think of the place?” he invited, turning to survey her with watchful eyes.
Had she noticed, just then, she would have silently reflected that those watchful eyes made up his usual expression. Although humor seemed to be his typical way of dealing with any stressful situation, the humor that engaged his wide mouth never quite reached his eyes. Watchful, careful eyes. Did such caution come from an issue of trust?
“What do I think? Luxurious, of course. Thank you, Ben; it’s far more than I’m used to.” She would give him that much, at least, since he seemed to be waiting for it.
Silken moss green and old rose framed every window, covered several chairs, draped the bed and bench. Cool, restful, comforting. How was that color scheme to fit everyone’s accepted idea of a wedding night, when passionate reds and blacks ought to dominate?
“Want something to drink?”
“No, thanks. I’ve about had my quota for the day.”
“Huh.” He raised his glass to her, took a few hasty swallows, then set it aside. Liquid courage, for what lay ahead? “I’m no great shakes as a lady’s maid, but how about some help with whatever you’re trying to do?”
She had raised both arms to reach for something to unfasten at the back of her dress, without success. Her involuntary wriggles translated into a sexy little dance, as she struggled to grasp hold, that would have attracted the attention of the most hardened of men. And Ben Taggart was hardened in only one way.
“I would appreciate that, very much,” she was forced to admit.
Caroline emitted a little gasp as she felt him instantly behind her, quick to take advantage. Pressed against her upper shoulders, his fingers, as they sought and smoothly moved the concealed zipper downward; pressed against her lower backside, that very hardness, ripe and ready for use.
Bending his head, he blew a warm breath to the nape of her neck. Then touched his lips to the spot. Then took a light but possessive nip at her skin. Caroline gave another gasp and shivered.
“The valet put our bags in the bathrooms—one for each of us,” he told her huskily. “Why don’t you go get gussied up in that fancy rig you bought and join me in bed?”
She fled.
When she returned to the main suite, some time later, the lights had been dimmed, music was playing softly in the background from some built-in apparatus, and Ben was lying stretched out naked upon the king-size frame. At least, she assumed he was naked, but he had been thoughtful enough of her sensibilities to at least pull a sheet of rich Egyptian cotton up to his middle.
Caroline was no prude, nor was she some shy virgin who might faint at the sight of male nudity. She was, however, principled. To fall into bed with a man in whose company she had spent so little time seemed somehow very wrong—even though she had agreed to it; even though that man was her legal spouse. She was finding it quite difficult to reconcile reality with the absurd.
Meanwhile, she must admit this was a fine-looking specimen, indeed. Tough, and muscular, as befits a cowboy who spends much of his life in the saddle, with whorls of brown hair across his chest that trailed down impressive abs to where bare skin stopped and the sheet began.
“Sure you don’t want a drink?” His look gave her a slow, lecherous once-over; his grin gave her a case of bridal-night nerves. “Then, c’mere, wife of mine. Pretty as that outfit is, I’d like to get rid of it, if you don’t mind.”
Caroline did mind. Exceedingly. The man might feel quite comfortable in his own frame, but she never had. Less so, now, with faint scars still needing to be healed, and a body hardly considered voluptuous after its ordeal.
Hesitantly she made her way toward him. Tiny pink rosebuds trimmed the straps of her negligee, which was made of a nearly sheer white batiste that floated around her ankles—her only bulwark against whatever was about to happen. Over which she had no control.
Backlit, her figure was outlined in blurry detail that, observing it, deepened the smoke of his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks.
“Carrie,” he whispered. Taking hold of the nightgown’s hem, he gently tugged her forward, into his grasp.
Absent he might have been for far too long, from the ranch and from her existence; but present he certainly was now. His right hand slipped under the fabric to skim upward over her bare calf, her knee, her thigh, to the very cleft that waited for his touch. Before her eyelids drifted shut and her trembling body swayed toward him, she saw that the sheet had suddenly tented itself, in anticipation.
Suddenly, in the midst of what was feeling so delightful, so almost depraved, Ben gave a great shout of laughter and pulled himself upright, haunches planted on the mattress and feet flat on the floor. “Ha. Gonna make me work for it, huh?”
Hooking that one exploratory hand around her waist, as if to prevent any escape, he yanked the modest maiden gown up over her head in a swift motion. Caroline cringed. Even in dim light, even by the least exacting of standards, surely the imperfections of her form could never meet his expectations.
Still, he seemed not to notice. Because, at the moment, he was more interested in visiting the most delightful, the most delicious of torments upon all that he had laid bare. Seated as he was, his curly head on a level with the niche he sought, Ben began applying himself diligently with touch, tongue, teeth in a series of bold caresses that left her weak-kneed and whimpering. In fact, he worked so much magic that she could feel her muscles beginning to quiver, her bones softening into mush, her internal juices heating and flowing.
Caroline let out a little whine. Then a moan. Helplessly her hands dropped down to tangle into his hair, urging him closer, tighter.
After a few minutes, he surged upward without warning and, giving an animal growl, captured her breasts. A firm grasp, first, to cup and knead. Then a rough nuzzling and suckling of each, that sent sweet fire deep into her womb and left her teetering on the edge.
Finally, he burst forth with another great laugh and pulled her onto the bed beside him.
“C’mon, my little puritan. I’ll bet if you relax, you might really enjoy this night. So let’s see what else you can do.”
She could surrender, utterly and completely, to physical bliss.
And so she did.