Abbie lay in bed, listening to the night, listening to her heart. She had bathed outside, hoping that Grayson might make an appearance. But he hadn’t.
She had slipped on her nightgown with thoughts of his hands skimming over her body filling her mind. The night was warm, but it was the fire burning inside her that was unbearable, that kept her from sleeping.
She had never before felt this…this urge to have a man’s body cover hers.
And she knew beyond a doubt that Grayson had a man’s needs. She had felt those needs pressing against her as he’d kissed her. She understood a man’s needs because John had explained them to her—the way a man’s body ached when he needed a woman and there was no woman about.
“I need you tonight, Abigail,” he’d say as he lifted the hem of her nightgown.
Her heart pounded with the memories, with the humiliation—
She squeezed her eyes shut and a solitary tear trailed along her cheek. She had never fought her husband, had willingly endured the mortification because he provided for her. Now she provided for herself. She didn’t need a man.
But perhaps, she thought, a man needed her. She would endure anything because she loved him.
She slipped from beneath the sheet. Quietly, she tiptoed from the room and looked in on Lydia. The bed creaked as her daughter rolled to her side. Abbie glided away and peered into the boys’ room—her knights. What a day Grayson had given them…and her. She’d never felt as cherished.
Closing the front door behind her, she stepped onto the porch. She saw the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway of the barn. Even from the distance, she felt his gaze latched onto her. Her stomach knotted, and she swallowed hard with the knowledge that he, too, was unable to sleep.
Wearing only her nightgown, she stepped off the porch into the pale moonlight, knowing that she was sealing her fate. He would expect exactly what she was willing to give. She could only hope that he would never realize what it was costing her.
She strolled across the expanse separating them, surprised by the peace that settled over her as she grew nearer. He stepped out of the shadows, his unbuttoned shirt waving in the slight breeze like a flag of truce.
As she approached, he reached out, took her hand, and drew her against him. She pressed one hand against his bare chest while the other arm wound around his neck. His mouth swooped down to capture hers and she was lost.
Lost to the sensations swirling around her: hot mouth and warm flesh. She heard a throaty groan rumble deep within Grayson’s chest, felt the vibration beneath her fingers. He tore his mouth from hers.
“God, I want you, Abbie.” He blazed a trail of kisses along the column of her throat as she arched her head back.
Want. Not need. Had she ever been truly wanted? She didn’t know. She only knew that she had never felt as precious as she felt at this moment. His journey along her throat came to an end, and he straightened, capturing her gaze.
The desire burning within the depths of his eyes made her breath hitch. “If I could, I would lay you down upon silk, but all I have to offer you is straw. I will certainly understand if you decide against following me into the shadows of the barn.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
The warm smile he bestowed upon her set her heart to racing. He touched a finger to the top button of her nightgown. “Yes, but I somehow sense that you are wearing armor.”
She felt the heat scald her face. “I’m not any good at this.”
A wealth of tenderness reshaped his features as he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the tips of her fingers. “I am.”
She slammed her eyes closed. “Grayson, I’m no good at the games. I can’t be like the other women you’ve known—”
“I don’t want you to be,” he said, skimming a finger along her cheek.
She opened her eyes.
“I want you to be only who you are—what you are. But I want you to understand that if you come with me, we’ll do a lot more than kiss.”
She nodded, wondering why it seemed that he was trying to talk her out of this. “I thought you were disreputable.”
“I am, but where you are concerned, I prefer not to feel guilty.” He intertwined his fingers through hers. “If you change your mind, simply release my hand, and I’ll continue walking without looking back.”
But she knew that if she released his hand, she would forever look back. Would forever wonder. He stepped into the shadows. Her hand tightened around his, but she knew no hesitation. He had given her the choice—follow or leave.
She found the knowledge liberating because in her marriage, she had known no choice. She did not consider her relations with John to have been forced. They simply were what was expected.
Moments with Grayson were filled with the unexpected.
He came to a stop beside the ladder that led into the loft. His lips found hers as unerringly as the summer rain found the parched earth. When he drew away, he guided her onto the first rung of the ladder. She gathered the hem of her gown into her fist and clambered up into the loft, his hand resting easily against the small of her back, balancing her.
The fragrance of flowers wafted around her as she scrambled over the ledge. She stopped, sat in the straw, and stared at the blossoms strewn over the hay, captured by the moonlight. Grayson knelt beside her.
“How did you know I’d come tonight?” she asked quietly.
“I didn’t.”
She turned her head slightly. He cradled her cheek within his palm. “But I hoped. I’ve hoped every night since the first time I kissed you.”
Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “You brought flowers up here every night?”
“You deserve so much more, and I have nothing else to give you.” He led her to the feather pallet she’d sewn for him. Moonlight glided through the opening in the loft and created a halo that would circle them in its pale glow.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She had expected a darkened corner. She turned to suggest that they move to the far end of the loft. He took her in his arms, lowered his mouth to hers, and all thoughts save one flew from her mind: she loved the way he kissed her. Slowly, leisurely, as though time held no meaning, as though there were no crops to harvest, tools to mend, seasons for which to plan.
She twined her arms around his neck like a vine searching for a place to take root. With a throaty groan, he deepened the kiss and flattened her body against his. She felt the beat of his heart thundering against his chest, her breast, and hers answered in kind. All her doubts melted away. He wanted her, and if she were honest with herself, in spite of all she’d have to endure…she wanted him.
Desire was a stranger to her, but as it knocked with intensity, she warily opened the door and invited in the unknown.
Warmth spiraled through her, warmth that had nothing to do with the late August night. A thousand sensations sparked to life, flared, and slowly died.
Grayson’s kiss lost its patience, became demanding, his tongue sweeping through her mouth the way the first storms of autumn swept across the fields, clearing away the harvest that had come before. Surprising herself, she returned his kiss with equal fervor, hoping his mouth would never leave hers.
But it did. Hot and moist, it blazed a trail along the column of her throat, his tongue tracing what she was certain was a heart-shaped path in the hollow at the base of her throat, before his mouth continued its sojourn. She had been unaware of Grayson loosening the buttons of her gown, but the material parted and he continued his journey along the inside swell of her breast. His warm breath fanned her flesh—so deliciously wicked.
His tongue circled her nipple and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. His mouth and all the heat it carried covered the hardened tip. Her breath came in small panting gasps. When he gently suckled, she dropped her head back and her legs gave way beneath her. “Oh, Lord.”
He wrapped an arm around her, supporting her, laying her on the pallet. With a speed that belied his earlier lovemaking, he whisked her nightgown off her body. When she started to curl on her side, his hands spanned her hips, holding her in place.
“Don’t turn away,” he rasped.
Within the moonlight spilling through the opening in the loft, she saw the intensity of his gaze as it roamed over her exposed body. “We’re supposed to do this in the dark.”
He snapped his gaze up to hers. “Why?”
Silence reigned for the span of a heartbeat before he said quietly, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Abbie?”
She felt the heat warm her cheeks. Beautiful was not a word anyone had ever associated with her.
Stretching out beside her, he took the braid draped over her shoulder and began to unravel the strands. “No, I can see that you don’t know.” He combed his fingers through her hair, smoothing it over one side of her body as though it were a blanket. “I intend to make you feel beautiful.”
His mouth met hers with an urgency that sent waves of heat coursing through her. She tightly squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on his kiss, blocking out the feel of the movements that she knew meant he was removing his clothes.
Where was the blessed darkness? Why hadn’t she insisted that they move to the shadows?
She felt the heat of his body pressing against her side, burrowing against her thigh. He took her hand. “Touch me, Abbie.”
Her eyes flew open. Curiosity warred with fear. He wanted things of her that John had never asked—and oddly, she found herself wanting to give more to him than she’d ever given. Her fingers momentarily tightened around his before they unfurled and reached down to touch him as he’d asked. Closing his eyes, he released a long slow moan.
“See how beautiful you are, Abbie?”
She furrowed her brow, her hand closing around him. “This isn’t me.”
A corner of his mouth quirked up as he opened his eyes. “No, sweetheart, it’s not. But your beauty certainly makes it stand at attention.”
She released her hold as he rolled between her thighs. She stiffened, bracing herself for the discomfort that always came at the beginning. He pressed a kiss to the pulse beating at her throat. Then he moved her hair aside and nibbled on her ear. She wrapped her arms around him, grateful for the distraction, wishing she could be as relaxed and comfortable with her body as he was with his.
He nipped at her shoulder, his tongue swirling over her collarbone. He moved lower and she thought of his comment that he’d been known to lick up all the buttermilk. His roughened palm cupped her breast and she felt his callused thumb skim over her nipple, drawing it up, causing it to strain for another touch, a touch that was answered with his mouth closing and suckling. Pleasure speared her. If his body wasn’t pressing down on hers, she would have curled into a ball that had nothing to do with embarrassment. He gave the same tender ministrations to her other breast before moving lower. He dipped his tongue into her navel, then pressed a kiss to hollow of each hip.
He moved lower and kissed her intimately. She drew her knees up, pressing her thighs against his shoulders. He slipped his hands beneath her hips and lifted her slightly. His tongue darted and swirled.
If he heard her startled cry, he ignored her. If he spoke, she did not hear the words as sensations rocketed through her. She braced her hands on either side of his face, needing to touch him as she’d never needed anyone. Her body curled, coiled, tightened. Her shoulders came off the pallet as the pleasures increased. And then she felt as though everything within her exploded as her back arched and she cried out.
Gasping for breath, she stared at his blond curls wrapped around her fingers. Slowly, he lifted his head. And she wished she had died. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He furrowed his brow. “Sorry?”
She nodded jerkily. “I don’t know why I did that…I…I…Oh, God.” Tears welled in her eyes as the embarrassment slammed into her. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt the tears roll along her temple. How could she ever again meet his blue gaze? “I’m so sorry.”
Grayson moved up and cradled Abbie within his arms, drawing her against his bare chest, feeling the warm tears trailing along his skin. He was not a man prone to violence, but right this moment he had never known an anger so intense. Abbie had three children and although he knew her husband had never kissed her, he had hoped beyond reason that the man had not withheld the pleasure from her as well.
He felt the shudders wracking her body and wanted every movement to be the result of pleasure, not embarrassment or shame. He cupped her cheek and lifted her face away from his chest. Her eyes were squeezed closed so tightly that he feared she might never open them. “Abbie, look at me.”
She shook her head slightly. So he spoke the words that he knew would make her look at him. “I love you.”
Her eyes flew open, and he saw the doubts swirling within the violet depths. Regretting his roguish ways as never before, he combed the stray strands of hair behind her ear. “Know that I have never spoken those words to another.” He released a derisive chuckle. “Have never even considered speaking them before I met you. I’ve never known anyone like you. You give everything to others and never ask anything for yourself. I fear you came to me this evening expecting to receive nothing in return. That you would willingly give so much to me humbles me.” With his thumb, he captured a solitary tear that trailed from the corner of her eye. “It was my intent to gift you with pleasure…not embarrassment.”
He saw her lower lip tremble. “I…I never…”
“I know that now, sweetheart.”
“Elizabeth told me once that it was different when you loved the man. I didn’t come here tonight as a sacrifice. I came here because I love you.”
Nothing in Grayson’s life had prepared him for the impact of those three little words slamming into him. Not all the years he’d longed for someone to say them to him, not all the nights when he’d wished to hear them directed his way. Cradling her face, he pressed her against his chest, hoping that the pounding of his heart wouldn’t bruise her delicate skin. “No one ever has.”
“I don’t believe that. There’s too much about you to love. Just because they didn’t say the words doesn’t mean they didn’t feel the love.”
Perhaps he did possess his father’s love, but he knew beyond a doubt that she was the first woman to ever love him. Christ, but it was a joyful burden to bear. “Tell me again.”
“I love you.”
He felt as though someone had just delivered a well-aimed punch to his midsection. “Even if I’m disreputable?”
“I don’t think you’re disreputable at all.” Drawing away from his chest, she gave him a shy smile. “But your mouth and tongue are terribly wicked.”
He grinned. “The rest of me can be terribly wicked as well.”
Raising her hand, she threaded her fingers through his hair. “I don’t doubt it.” He watched as her teeth tugged on her lower lip, something he’d seen her do often. Only now did he realize it was a sign that she was nervous. “Show me,” she whispered.
“With pleasure, sweetheart,” he said as he rolled her back onto the pallet and kissed her as tenderly as he knew how. Like her, all the women in his life had been married. Unlike her, they’d all been experienced. The romps had been designed to bring the greatest amount of pleasure in the least amount of time—before their husbands came home.
He wanted with Abbie nothing that he had ever shared with any other woman. He felt the need to protect her innocence, the desire to maintain her simplicity. Her faint scent of roses followed him as he nestled himself between her thighs. His hands outlined her curves. His mouth taunted the swells, the peaks, and the valleys. He rejoiced when he heard her breath catch, smiled inwardly when her low moan accompanied the slight roll of her body against his.
When she welcomed his body into hers, he’d never felt more complete. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to explode at that very moment. But he’d be damned before he gave to her less than she deserved.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”
She did as he bade. “No shadows tonight, Abbie.”
She nodded, and even with the ashen light, he thought he saw the love reflected in her eyes. He rocked against her and watched as her eyes widened with wonder. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her body straining to meet his. Rising above her, he quickened his thrusts. She writhed beneath him. When she cried out his name, her body arching against his, he felt the wave of pleasure ripple through her, close around him, and he barely had time to withdraw before his body responded. He buried his face between her breasts, spilling his seed into his hand.
Breathing heavily, his muscles quivering, he thought the culmination of fulfillment had never felt so empty. He felt her comb her fingers through his hair.
“Why did you leave me?” she asked quietly.
“Because I won’t leave my bastard growing inside you.”
Her fingers stilled. “I would love your child.”
“That would not change the fact that he is a bastard.” He lifted his head and met her gaze. “You told me that you have no desire to marry.” He grazed his fingers along her temple. “I promised you that with me, you would always have a choice. Besides, you don’t need another child hanging onto your apron strings.”
“You don’t know what I need, Grayson Rhodes.”
He quirked a brow. “Don’t I? Watch your tone, sweetheart, or I’ll give you a good sound licking.”
“You mean a spanking?” she asked indignantly.
“No.” He smiled warmly and ran his tongue along the underside of her breast.
He heard her sharp intake of breath. “We can’t do this again.”
“I can’t for a while, but you certainly can.” And he proceeded to teach her of things she’d never dared dream.
Abbie stared at the white tufts dotting the fields. Lord, but she did not want to pick cotton today. She thought she might never want to pick cotton again.
She had lain through the night with a man who wasn’t her husband. She should feel shame. Instead, she found herself wondering how sinful it would be if Grayson slipped through the window into her room at night. She couldn’t imagine anything finer than waking up in his arms in the morning.
She thought she might simply curl up and die when he moved on, and he certainly seemed to have it in his head to do so. But living through a war had taught her one thing: you never knew what tomorrow would bring.
Maybe he wasn’t the marrying kind, but her heart didn’t care. She did think he loved her, and she knew she loved him. For now, it was enough.
She saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning slightly, she watched as Grayson strolled across the field. Her mouth went as dry as the cotton. She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Morning.”
He smiled warmly. “Good morning.”
“We’ll start picking the cotton today. I imagine people will start arriving soon—”
“Then I’d best not delay.”
Before she knew what he was about, he’d taken her in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. Standing on the tips of her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck. She reveled in his throaty growl and tightened her hold, wondering how she’d keep her mind on picking cotton when all she wanted was to think about him.
He drew back, his gaze holding hers. “I didn’t sleep a wink after I walked you home last night.”
It was almost dawn before she’d returned to the house. He’d walked her to the front door and gave her a kiss that almost had her going back to the barn with him. She felt the heat fan her cheeks as she ducked her head and lifted a shoulder. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you? I don’t want anyone knowing that we sinned—”
She felt him stiffen before he drew his arms from around her. “Believe me, sweetheart, no one will have a clue, but think on this. You made love to a husband you didn’t love. You made love in a hayloft to a bastard you claimed to love. Which is the greater sin?”
He spun on his heel and began walking toward the barn. She dashed after him, caught up to him, and grabbed his arm. He came to an abrupt halt.
“Do you think your father sinned with your mother?” she asked.
“Until last night I did. But if he loved her half as much as I love you, then I think the greater sin lies in the fact that he married a woman he didn’t love simply to gain a legitimate heir.”
“You think I sinned with John?”
He released a great gust of air. “No. I don’t think you could sin if the devil sat on your shoulder and whispered the instructions in your ear on how to do it.” He cradled her cheek. “I think I’m simply too sensitive about my lack of my parentage—”
“But you had parents, and it doesn’t matter to me that they weren’t married—”
“But it matters to me.”