Nine
The first week of November, Lacey’s virginity and her mother were gone. On her first Saturday morning as a nonvirgin, Lacey moaned as she shifted through the layers of sleep. She stretched luxuriously and stopped in midarch, the new twinges of her body unexpected and uncomfortable.
A long length of hard muscled thigh rubbed roughly against her own, and Birk grumbled in his sleep.
She lowered carefully to the rumpled sheets and scanned the room. Walls weren’t so bad, not when they enclosed her with Birk. Her spiffy new negligee was tossed over the old rocker, a strap from the black satin bra escaped the pillows and blankets on the floor. Something looped around her ankle and subtracting the known elements from the beginning ones, she decided Birk’s shorts had somehow attached themselves to her. She eased her foot from the restriction, just as she’d always done from anything that confined her. She’d slept with Birk before, when her mother was in the house, cuddled against him and this was no different—
Deep in her body, tiny muscles told her that nothing would be sweet and innocent again, not where Birk Tallchief was concerned. He had everything on his side, while in most games between them, she knew the rules. She’d merely beaten him in a race, once more. Or had she? Lacey forced herself to breathe quietly. She’d frightened herself, locked to Birk with every ounce of her strength, pitting herself against him, against her hunger. The violence, the driving need surged out of her and writhing on the pinpoint of desire, she had—Lacey inhaled sharply, and squeezed her eyes closed, remembering how Birk’s back had surged beneath her clawing hands, like waves of molten steel. She heard the sounds again—the hard mating of their bodies, flesh pounding flesh as if skin had burned away and they were one body and racing heart. Throughout their lovemaking time, Lacey had not spared Birk, but yet he’d been carefully patient with her, following her lead—which wasn’t like Birk, when he wanted.
Lacey groaned, her muscles protesting. She’d devoured him... taken him for herself, and claimed him.
He’d been tender; she’d tasted the banked hunger inside him and made for it, leaping over his gentle resistance, raking him close to her, locking those long strong legs to hers, and tossing away any inhibitions as he whispered those dark words to her, delighting her, unshaken by her desperation. It was as if she’d gotten Christmas all in one big long streamlined, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped and long-legged, mind-blowing kissing, unexpected male surprise.
Warmth moved up her throat to heat her cheeks. She’d set a primitive pace, leaving him no room for retreat, capturing, raiding him, and throughout the fierce rising passion—yes, passion, she clarified—she’d stepped into passion and let it burn her without a care.
Birk had let her have him; something was definitely wrong. She’d seen Birk romance women; he’d always been in pursuit—definitely in charge, and very skilled
She’d staked him out and—
Lacey shuddered, remembering the unexpected violence within her, and Birk’s tenderness. She’d shed every tiny speck of pride and had run him down, despite his mild protest, and bagged him. If he acted restrained, Lacey hadn’t.
She shuddered again, afraid to face Birk, because she knew he’d be shocked at how badly she’d wanted him. She’d tossed ladylike and feminine out the window and dived right for him, greedy for a brush of his lips, hoarding the sound of his breathing, the pace of it quickening, slowing....
She dug her fists into the rosebud-splattered sheets and stiffened as her body protested. She bit back the groan that came curling up her throat.
There in her passion, he’d freed her somehow, burned away her fears, and she’d been gloriously aware of how strong she was, how feminine and desired. She’d reveled in her capture of Birk Tallchief.
Beneath the warm nest of blankets and the cove of Birk’s body against her, his hand inched slowly upward to her breasts, caressing them. Then his touch skimmed lower, rubbing her stomach and lower yet to cup her. “Still feeling cocky, Mrs. Tallchief?”
Lacey lay very still, her body leaping to heat with the stroke of his fingers, the warm seeking of his lips along her throat. “That wasn’t fair.”
He kissed her stiff shoulder. “Baby, once on your first night is enough. There will be—”
“No more one-sided rule making. We’ve always been fair with each other. I wanted you and you—”
Birk grinned, his hair tousled from sleep and her fingers. He let her flounder and pick her way through her desire for him. “You could help here,” she muttered, with the feeling that he’d let her stalk out on a dangerous ledge and that he wasn’t living up to his part of their usual arguments. Something was very wrong.
“I love that shade of blush on you. You can have me again, if you want, but I’m going to feed you first. We’ll—” Birk shot her look that jarred, taking away her breath. The tenderness in his expression melted, tangled, enchanted her.
His kiss ran lightly around her lips. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He curled close to her, his face nuzzling the curve of her throat and shoulder. He lay against her as though he trusted her with his life, his heart. The gentle, friendly stroke of his fingers was more potent, more seductive than a caress.
Terror skipped through Lacey. She couldn’t have Birk depending on her to live up to—to what, to his expectations of a wife? Her hand hovered, tempted by his hair, by the need to stroke and comfort him.
What would she know about comforting Birk... about taking care of him, protecting him, cherishing him, as wives usually did?
Lacey frowned at the old chair, gleaming rich and beautiful beneath the scraps of lace.
The quiet moment with Birk lying against her, stroking her hip, this time without desire, but as though he enjoyed the feel of her next to him, as though she were a part of him—
The awakening, Una had called it. When the man comes calling softly, when he places himself in a woman’s care, needing the softness within her. Then she awakes, cherishing the gentleness he shows only to her—
Lacey carefully placed her hand on his hair, smoothing it, an experiment to walking on the tender side of her emotions. His hair was sleek, warm and as familiar to her as the rain that began playing on the window. She followed the streaks down the windowpane and the desperation, the confusion eased. She was just where she wanted to be, with Birk’s breath coming on her skin as steady as his heartbeat against her breast, his hand stroking her hip.
“We overslept,” she murmured against his hair, enjoying the warm steely slide of his skin against hers as he lifted to peer at the bedside clock.
He flopped down beside her, running a lazy hand down her thigh. “It’s only ten-thirty on a rainy Saturday.”
The curve of his mouth said that Saturday spread out before them, hours of lovemaking to be filled. She never slept in, never took naps. “I never sleep in—”
“You put in overtime last night, sweetheart. You always did go for breaking the rules your first time. I’ll have to work faster, Lacey the lovely, to keep up with you.” A smile slid through his voice. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be zapped when I had planned to work up to the event? You’ve just ruined the master plan.”
“Mmm?” She wanted to linger there in the quiet dim room, filled with the scents of their lovemaking, with Birk’s morning stubble a slight friction on her skin, and the rain pattering on the windowpane. Rooms and walls weren’t so bad, not with Birk nearby and looking at her as if he’d never get tired of the view. As if he wanted to explore her all over again; as if he found her fascinating.
Birk skimmed her body, settled the weight of his hand comfortably over her breast, caressing the softness leisurely. “There you were, all buttered and looking sexy. As the male, I’m supposed to—”
He cursed at the sound of the front doorbell, shot a dark hot look down at her, and impatiently searched the blankets for his undershorts. He paused, his hand around her ankle, to study her foot. Then with his eyes locked on hers, her heart flopping wildly in her chest, Birk lifted her foot and slowly, slowly placed his lips around her toe. He sucked gently and the heat moved from her toe slowly upward.
“You can’t do that,” she managed, shocked as an answering warmth flooded her.
“Can’t I?” Before releasing her, Birk’s big hand roamed upward, a possessive caress. He stood to pull up his shorts and his jeans, and the dim light fell around him. Across his shoulders and midway down his back, red lines laid across the rippling muscle.
She’d hurt him. Horrified, Lacey had never hurt anyone in her life, except to defend herself. “Birk, I—”
Turning to the sound of her gasp, Birk frowned. “Lacey, don’t—”
As Talia called out, Birk knelt on the bed, took her face in his hands and drew her up to him. The blankets slid down and Birk’s gaze shot downward, latching to her breasts and lower. “You’re beautiful. Perfect. What happened between us is as natural as babies coming into the world, as daffodils coming in the spring. There’s no shame in wanting me, Lacey, and in me wanting you. I just thought it would come differently to us, with me chasing you, and you battling me every inch of the way. I planned to seduce you, Lacey, my love, and lure you into my web.”
He kissed her hard and hungrily, leaving her with the taste of him on her lips as he went to answer the door. Lacey gathered the bedclothes to her, shaken by the marks of her violence, her need of him.
Una’s rocker gleamed in the dim light, the tiny streams on the windows coursing shadows over the old wood Birk had cleansed and prepared to last.
In the other room, Duncan laughed outright, and Megan squealed. Kira, Talia and Calum’s baby, mewed and stopped suddenly as though she were nursing. Elspeth spoke quietly and Alek let out a quick laugh. Sybil, a genealogist, was muttering about her difficult socialite client and her nonexistent missing ancestor. Marcella Portway was certain that she had descended from Spanish royalty and that Sybil could find the link. All of the steady talk was familiar names, places, events.
Shaken by the new, raw, tangled emotions, by Birk’s fierce, demanding kiss that told her more would come when they were alone, and by the Tallchiefs’ making themselves at home, Lacey decided to dive under the covers and wait until her world settled again.
Birk laughed aloud, and the scent of freshly made coffee seduced her. She groaned and flipped back the covers and leaped from the bed as she usually did. She stopped in midstep and groaned, then carefully made her way to their clothes and dressed in her jeans and the familiar warmth of Birk’s worn flannel shirt. She smoothed the bed, no easy task as it looked like a battleground, and ran a brush through her hair.
One look in the mirror told her that the world would know what had happened on the bed. Lacey shivered, and quickly grabbed a band to secure her hair on top of her head, hoping for an innocent teenager look. She frowned at the mirrored image—kiss-swollen lips, cheeks flushed as though she were still high on sex, and eyes that—Lacey leaned closer to inspect her face. Mysterious, shaded, heavy-lidded eyes, the shade of dark blue velvet stared back at her. She tried for an innocent, who-me look and the sultry image flirted back.
Lacey stuffed the negligee and lace beneath the pillows, fluffed them, concealing the evidence. The Tallchiefs were in her home and she had to face them. She’d never hesitated to join them on a Saturday morning, and now she wanted to return the welcome. She inhaled, braced herself and jerked open the door.
They were seated around the long heavy table that Birk had refinished, protesting her tiny round table. Heavily built, the planks were scarred with time, and perfect for the family that sat around it on a rainy Saturday morning. Sybil’s freshly baked cinnamon rolls, mixed with the scent of coffee curled around her. Sybil sat on Duncan’s lap, his hand on her rounded belly, smoothing it. Talia’s blond hair gleamed in a heavy braid. Her black Hessian boots were across Calum’s lap, his hand resting on her thigh, as she nursed Kira. Alek, looking like a gypsy with an earring in his ear, had his arm around Elspeth. Emily, a teenage redhead and Duncan’s stepdaughter, munched on a fat cinnamon roll, licking her fingers.
Thorn, Duncan’s half wolf, lay at the door. Olaf, Talia’s black scarred breed lay beside Gizmo, the dogs paired for size, and allowing the cats to snuggle close. Kira suckled noisily, her glossy black head nestled against Talia’s pink sweater.
Down in Amen Flats, people were shopping, and Maddy was preparing for a Saturday night at the Hot Spot. The sheriff would be in his office, playing his opera tapes loud enough to be heard on the street.
Yet everything had changed.
She had changed.
Lacey found Birk immediately, her senses leaping, her body instantly recognizing his. He braced a foot on one chair and bounced Megan on his knee. She squealed, reaching out to Lacey, and Birk caught her, propping her on his hip, his gray eyes, the color of mist and rain on steel, locked to Lacey. He handed Megan to Emily, and leaned back against the counter, without offering her an ounce of kindness. To reach the security of his arms, she’d have to walk to him, aching from the night before.
“I’m glad you came,” she managed to the Tallchiefs, certain that her lips were still swollen and rosy from his kisses... that her guilt was pasted on her face. She hovered against the bedroom door, ready to plunge back into its safety. The grim set of Birk’s jaw and the arrogant lift of one brow set the steel in her spine. She wouldn’t have him thinking he’d gotten the best of her. Forcing herself to move lightly, only too conscious of the unexpected heaviness of her breasts, the new intimate tingling, and the ache of her muscles, Lacey managed a weak smile.
“We’re in town for Saturday groceries, and I wanted to give you this,” Elspeth said, smoothing the sack labeled with her business trademark. “You have the kilt and plaid, but this is for you, a gift from a sister.”
“A sister,” Lacey repeated, swimming in her emotions.
“Aye,” Elspeth murmured as Lacey gently eased the soft pale wool from the sack. “From Tallchief sheep. My own dear sister. You would have come to us much earlier, if Mother had her way.”
“She’s going to cry, and so am I,” Sybil murmured softly.
“Me, too,” Talia added with a sniff.
Duncan, Calum, and Alek all straightened, males alert to the disaster a woman’s tears could bring. They frowned at Birk, who set his jaw and continued to stare at Lacey, expecting something from her that she didn’t know how to give. She gripped the soft luxurious wool like an anchor; Birk hadn’t moved.
Lacey glared though her tears at Birk, who looked as immovable and timeless and western as Tallchief Mountain. “I’m going to cry,” she whispered, threatening him, because the Tallchief males were known to be susceptible to tears and the other brothers would leap to her defense.
Birk shot them a staying look, like a gunslinger ordering watchers to stay out of the way of flying bullets. “This is between us.”
“My, my. He sounds like you, Duncan,” Sybil purred.
“Calum has that same tone,” Talia noted.
“He’s bristling nicely,” Elspeth offered, experienced with her own husband.
Alek, who’d had to dive into the Tallchiefs, snag Elspeth from her brothers’ protection and many her, said, “I know the feeling.”
Lacey stared at them. She’d seen the Tallchief couples battle, but she’d never been inside the fighting circle. She was one half of her marriage, and feeling liberated by last night. Birk was totally susceptible to her on a level she loved. She tested her new power with one sniff and allowed the tear burning her lids to trail down her cheek, plopping on his flannel shirt.
Oh, damn, Birk thought, weakening as Lacey braced herself, looking small and delectable with her hair tumbling wildly from on top of her head and drowning in his shirt. So much for making her come to him, actually placing her arms around him, and settling his ripped pride.
They’d been too busy, meeting their work demands, and preparing to look like newlyweds to her mother, and he hadn’t done the running—
He hadn’t wined and dined Lacey and made her feel comfortable as his ladylove.
Comfortable? The tiny knives slashing his pride had little to do with pleasure. Lacey had come after him on her busy schedule, skipped the ritual he had just discovered that he needed to feel secure. He’d always thought of himself as a modern male, able to handle what females threw at him, but he wasn’t. Not with Lacey, not by far. She’d put him on her schedule, mop up this, and finish that, and had him, right after finishing her payroll checks. Lacey was the only woman who had left him feeling delicate and uncertain. He’d wanted to sort out what was between them, ease the change of rivals and tormentors to a different level, and time had run against him. She deserved courting and romance and flowers.
He hadn’t given her a bouquet of flowers; they hadn’t had one date, one romantic evening where he cooked for her and wooed her.
He wasn’t up to par.
Now, since the bad-girl wrapper had come undone, she was experimenting with her sensuality. Experimenting with a look, with him.
He could handle that, since her look was for him alone, but he had to have something in return, something whimsical and delicate, and lasting as sunsets and dawns. He wanted what his parents had, and his siblings, and he wanted that for Lacey, too. She’d given him a night, not a lifetime commitment. “Come here,” he said, tossing away everything he wanted, his pride demanded, but the need to hold her close.
In two steps, he had her, lifted her in his arms and sat with her on his lap.
“That’s better,” Lacey stated smugly, and snuggled back against him.
“Much better,” Elspeth agreed and glossing over the tense moment, nodded to the new boards, framing the future small room. “What are you building over there?”
“A nursery. Close to the main room, easy access, close to our bedroom,” Birk rapped out, his gaze locked to Lacey’s.
She took it like a blow, shoving free of him to stand. She stepped through the boards that would support the wall. She crouched, easing back the blanket covering a small scarred cradle, heavily laden with varnish.
Birk inhaled uneasily... the cradle was another thing that he hadn’t had time to do before Lacey was ahead of him. Her fingers wandered over the cradle. Familiar with the Tallchiefs’ family legends, she whispered, “It’s a cradle Tallchief created and sold to support his family. A nursery. A cradle. Una’s rocking chair—
The maiden who rocks upon the chair and sings a lullaby will claim the man of Fearghus blood who stands closet to her....”
She stared at Birk, and a thought hummed between them, because she had been a “maiden” until last night; she’d definitely claimed him.
Birk inhaled, sensing Lacey’s rising terror. She knew the Tallchief legends, familiar with his family; she sounded as if she had been trapped and the walls were closing in—
Alek cleared his throat. “Elspeth and I have to be going.”
Within minutes, Birk and Lacey were alone, and Lacey looked hunted, stricken and too pale. She hurried to the table, sloshed coffee into a mug and drank it quickly.
“That’s hot. Drink slower,” Birk muttered, running his hands through his hair.
“Cut the big brother act. I can take care of myself.” Lacey began to pace through the house, her herd following her. She stalked to the unfinished nursery, glanced at the cradle and then scowled at Birk. “You can’t be serious.”
She will be his heart and he will be her love.
“I am,” Birk stated curtly. He was raw inside, bleeding, and pride kept him from spreading his dreams before her.
Lacey’s hands locked to the counter behind her hips. “I see. You’ve decided to take me up on that baby-making idea—yes, yes... that would fit right into the schedule ... I mean...”
Birk moved through the distance separating them and braced his hands on either side of her. He recognized the defiant angle of Lacey’s chin, the churning blue storms in her eyes, hiding her fears. “Not exactly. You skipped what I had planned. We haven’t had time to sort out the rules, Lacey, but here they are—while you’re my wife, you’ll keep to my bed. And that goes two ways, no matter how many women you think I’ve known, or how badly you think my glands need servicing. I was prepared to court you, to—”
“As in date me?” Lacey sounded shocked.
Birk allowed himself a grim smile. “As in romance you, darling. You know, the long slow walks, holding hands, bundling up before the winter fire, rolling in the hay at the barn and—”
“Who are you?” she asked hesitantly, stunning him.
“You’ve known me all your life. You’ve been nothing but trouble from the day I pulled you up from that tricycle wreck. There you were with a trike too large and dangerous and fighting the world.” He realized he was yelling. “I hate yelling. You’re the only woman who I’ve ever yelled at.”
His liaisons had been with women who weren’t maidens and who knew what he wanted. He glared down at Lacey, barely up to his chest, with her hair in ringlets over her head and tumbling down and tendrils slipping down her nape. “I’m not your damned brother.”
She sent him a look beneath her lashes, jolting him. “Maybe I like big, large dangerous bikes now.”
“You’ve got a Harley—” Birk stopped and blinked because Lacey was smiling tremulously at him. She was trying to flirt with him and he had a sudden premonition that she was just beginning to experiment. If she tried that soft kitten appealing look with another man—
She touched his cheek, and he tumbled into the clear blue of her eyes. “Don’t be mad at me, Birk. Not the deepdown kind of mad.”
“No more sex, until we’ve worked this out,” Birk stated, shaken by her quiet plea. “You can’t just come home with your sack of drugstore goodies and seduce me at the end of your list of to-dos.”
Lacey inhaled, scanning his face. “Birk, you mean last night was all there was? But I think I like sex with you. You’re so manageable and warm and big and—”
“I’m not a playground. I’m not a blanket. I’m sensitive,” he returned in a snap that jarred his teeth. “I want more.”
“What do you want?” she asked, her breath warm and seductive on his lips.
He wanted a lifetime of her, babies, whispering, sharing in the night, smelling her scent and wallowing in love. The word love had terrified her at their reception; he wasn’t coming near it again until she better understood. He’d lick his wounds and paste himself together and wait for her. “More. I’m moving out until this is settled. You can’t have me without the rest, the hand-holding part, the candlelight and flowers, and long talks in front of the fireplace. And take note, Lacey the lovely, this is between us. You play games with another man and—”
“And? You won’t hurt me, I know that. You had every chance last night and you—you were so tender, Birk. I never knew anything could be so beautiful. What else could you want?”
He almost felt sorry for her as she floundered, trying to understand the relationship he wanted, he had to have from her.
The dim light caught the ringlets high over her head, tumbling through the silky mass and framing her pale face. “This isn’t like the other times you’ve yelled at me. Your roar is too quiet. I’ve hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll recover.” Birk scraped up his pride and pushed away from the counter before he could kiss her with the desperation raging through him. If he kissed her, he’d carry her to the bed and keep her there.
They’d exhaust each other, and begin again, without anything settled between them. While spending the day with Lacey in bed appealed, it was a patch and not a solution.
Lacey took a step toward him and paused, frowning. “I—”
Birk closed his eyes and shook his head. He strode to the bathroom, ran the big tub full of warm water and frothy bubbles and returned for Lacey, carrying her back to the bathroom. He stripped her quickly, grimly, and dumped her into the tub. Water sloshed over the side. Then because the feel of her skin, her scent had him drooling, Birk knew in another minute he’d be in the tub with her, his body already hard.
They’d end up in bed with her testing her new status as a sexual athlete. She was the first woman to cut essentials, something Birk was very careful about; they hadn’t used protection, because Lacey had raced on, catching him in the agile storm of soft limbs and softer sighs and leaving him in her wake. She could be carrying his child now—a burst of reality shattered the light-headed dream, because Birk wanted Lacey to understand that he loved her.
He’d planned to spend the morning easing into the new intimacy with her—no construction crews yelling at him, no rushed schedules, just slow talk of an intimate variety, constructing a good foundation for more of the same.
She had him reeling now, plowing through his dreams like she’d power saw through boards.
She looked up at him now, the bubbles frothing around her breasts, licking at them. Her flushed cheeks were warm, a contrast to her eyes, shadowed by what she’d discovered in her sexual safari with him. The tiny scrape marks on her throat and lower reminded him of his own need as her curious gaze strolled down his body. “You were never an easy person, Birk Tallchief. Now I know why your engagements never worked out, while you had to date everyone in the countryside, until I was the only one left. I don’t see why you have to be difficult about this. We have a contract. It was a necessary, make-do—I see now how vulnerable I was then and I appreciated your support. But my mother is gone now, and we are fine.”
“Just fine?” The word chilled him, then lit his temper and shredded his dreams. They’d made love and he’d given a part of himself to her keeping that he’d given no other woman. He’d given his heart.
“Fine.” No more, no less. No commitment. No dreaming between them. No intimate relations—yes, that was what he wanted, an intimate relation, more than sex. She tilted her head to one side, regarding him. “You know, you look just like Calum and Duncan do when they are really upset. They just stare, all tall and looming, and smokyeyed. Does that throbbing vein in your temple hurt—?”
Birk pushed her head underwater, hauled her up, and used his kiss to brand her lips. He spared her nothing, just the raw primitive ache that drove his hunger for her. He eased her mouth away and nipped her bottom lip. “Take that and stick it in your ‘fine’ drawer.”
While she was blinking and gasping and heating, Birk pushed her underwater again, scraping up what little pride he had and tucking it into his duffel bag with his clothes.