Welcome To Wyoming

She slid her hand into the nook of his firm waist, her light touch caressing his skin, sending a jolt riveting through his gut. She stood so close he could breathe in the scent of her fresh skin and the lemony rinse she’d used on her hair. His pulse drummed hard beneath her touch, and when their eyes met, hers were clear and sharp and inquisitive. No woman, no innocent woman, had ever offered herself to him in such a tender manner.

She was poison, he reminded himself.

And yet he needed this, needed her. He needed tenderness and warmth and gentle understanding. Lord knew he’d had none of this on the road for the past ten years, only hard work, distance and no attachment to any upstanding woman he might have met in his line of duty. There had been saloon girls and hard-core drinkers who could guzzle a bottle of whiskey as fast as any man, but no one with any lick of sensitivity or class.

He swallowed hard at what he could not have.

A night with her would be filled with a hell of a lot more consequences than with a pretty barmaid. This woman would demand things from him he wasn’t willing or capable of giving. Just as his father hadn’t been able to give to the woman he’d married, and to the son they’d had.

Maybe that made Simon selfish. So what.

He was protecting her by not giving in, by not succumbing to her charms. He was also protecting the soreness in his heart that would surely rise if he ever became involved with a decent woman.

Huh, he thought, realizing for the first time in his life that he’d never been with a decent woman.

He’d slept with painted ladies, barmaids and drinkers. No one like Natasha O’Sullivan.

His jaw muscles tightened.

He should have broken free of her grasp then, for when she slid her other hand along the other side of his waist, his sexuality awakened, and the lonely boy who’d grown into a lonely man could not resist her.

With a firm grip, he anchored his hands at the sides of her face and lowered his lips to hers. It began as a graze, a soft, teasing pleasure, warm and delicious. His mouth slid across hers, tasting and pleasuring in the feel of her femininity, marveling at how lightly she could kiss, and yet how firmly his body responded. It was instant arousal. He had an immediate need to take it further.

Expertly, he moved her, stepping into the room just enough so that he could kick the door closed with his big cowboy boot and press her against the slab. Her hands slid up over his ribs, making him burn with a palpable need. He cupped the back of her neck, twirling the silky strands of her hair beneath his fingertips, gasping at the sound of her soft moan and then boldly shifting his palm to cup her breast.

He could feel the rib cage of her corset, the shallow waist, the whalebone strips that tilted her breasts upward. The cup of her breast was large and firm beneath his hand, a wondrous mound of beauty. The bud of her firm nipple arched beneath the fabric into his palm.

And suddenly their kiss became so much more. It was as if they’d been standing in a calm, sunny field, and suddenly a tornado had swept in and blasted around them. The wind caught, the weather shifted, and he and his emotions were whipped into a furious storm. The pressure of their mouths mounted, their lips pressed firmer and deeper and their tongues brushed. He wanted her.

Their bodies pressed closer, his hand dropped from her rib cage to her waist and down lower as he gripped her buttock and imagined what it might be like to throw her onto the bed and truly do everything he fantasized.

Break it up...I must break it...

With a shudder, he tore himself away.

Cool air rushed into the space between them. He gazed down at her shocked expression. Perhaps it had been too much for her, too, the unexpected jolt of passion and desire that seized them.

She slid the back of her palm against her red and swollen lips. She stared at him in amazement. Or was it shock?

He couldn’t apologize! He was supposed to be her beloved groom, so how could he say he was sorry for his display of obvious desire?

“Are you all right?” he managed to gasp.

“Yes,” she murmured, her brown eyes as round as chestnuts, her nostrils flaring as she caught her breath. Her fingers trembled as she lowered her hand to her waist.

“Welcome to Wyoming,” he whispered.

“What a welcoming,” she said softly.

“You’ve had a long journey. I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll be back in the morning and we can have breakfast.”

She nodded, stepping out of the way to allow him to open the door. Her hair was totally disheveled, buckling in waves along her shoulders. Her skin was flushed and she herself was as breathless as though she’d been riding a galloping horse for hours and had been abruptly pulled off.

“Good night.” He strode out of the room and wondered what on earth had just happened between them.

What the hell did he think he was doing?

Chapter Four

Jarrod was definitely attracted to her, thought Natasha with a combination of pleasure and confusion an hour later. Judging by the kiss that still had her stomach in knots every time she thought about his handsome face and his roaming hands, there was no doubt about his physical attraction to her. She pulled her thin robe tighter to her damp, bare skin. She’d just bathed in the hotel’s Spring Room for Ladies and had returned to her room to unpack.

So the hesitation she’d felt from him at dinner was not a physical one. That left her to wonder what precisely it was.

Wasn’t he pleased with their friendship and looking forward to a much deeper relationship? Falling in love? Having children?

Then what in blazes was wrong? One minute he was keeping her at arm’s length as though he didn’t know what to do with her, and the next, he was grabbing her by the behind and making it very obvious what he’d like to do with her.

“I don’t understand,” she grumbled, tossing aside the ropes from her trunk and lifting the monstrous lid. She didn’t know a lot about men from personal experience, but she was ready and willing to learn about Jarrod.

Rummaging through its contents, she tossed aside the worn blanket, then the patched dresses.

She reached for her jewelry box. She didn’t have an overabundance of jewelry, but there were some fine pieces given to her by her grandfather, and others that she’d taken a shine to at his shop. She had saved for some of it herself, investing her hard-earned wages into precious metals, gemstones and pearls. Sadly, over half of her items had been destroyed in the Great Fire. And she’d had to sell most of the few remaining pieces from his shop over the past two years as she struggled to make ends meet.

She spotted the exquisite wedding gown she’d tucked in the middle of the trunk, between the other clothing for protection.

Gingerly, she slid it out and stood up to assess it.

The gown was more beautiful than anything she’d ever owned. It had been bought just for her and graciously sent by train to Chicago by her dear friend Cassandra Hamilton in California. Cassandra had also been a mail-order bride from Mrs. Pepik’s Boardinghouse, the first one in fact, and was now happily living with her husband in the vineyards of Napa Valley. Cassandra and her husband were doing very well to be able to afford such an extravagant gown for Natasha.

“Oh, Cassandra, thank you.”

The billowing white satin wasn’t too wrinkled; nothing that hanging in the closet couldn’t solve.

Natasha spread the gown onto her bed and smoothed the front. The bodice was tailored and beautifully fitted along her bosom and waistline. The square neckline swept low. Mounds of bustling white satin formed the lower half. And, Lord, the train! Who would’ve thought she’d be wearing a ten-foot train? It was embedded with lace and pearls and cut-glass crystals. There were jewels of red glass sewn into the hem and trim around her long sleeves.

She vowed she’d be a good wife. She’d be respectful of Jarrod’s wishes and dreams, work hard to better both their lives, and the lives of their children when that time came. She’d fall into step beside him as his equal partner and lover.

Her pulse bounded again at the thought of that fabulous kiss. And the heart-pounding love affair they might start.

Could she allow herself the freedom of trusting Jarrod? If she couldn’t trust her husband-to-be, then whom could she trust? She’d never relied on a man before, not a suitor. She supposed she did follow by her grandfather’s example of never being able to fully trust someone who wasn’t family. The older he’d gotten, the more protective he was. Near the end of his life, he’d turned everyone away. She tried not to be like him in that regard, but it was difficult to peel away that layer of self-protectiveness that had been ingrained in her since she’d been fourteen and faced with the loss of both parents.

What if Jarrod’s indecision in setting a date was a hint of a deeper problem? Why didn’t he wish to talk about any details of the wedding? Was she being stupid in ignoring the signals that he didn’t want to marry her?

Don’t be a fool, girl. If a man doesn’t wish to marry, walk away quickly and find yourself another. That was what her friend Valentina Babbs, in her fifties and a former lady of the night, used to tell her at the boardinghouse.

“But when do I walk away, Valentina?” Natasha asked aloud. “How do I know if it’s time?”

You can tell how they really feel about you if you ask them about their mother. If they open up, it means they trust you more than they do her. Valentina gave a lot of odd advice.