Page 8 of Their Wanted Bride (Bridgewater Brides 1)

I nodded and lit another cigar. The clouds were starting to drift apart, taking away the dry scent of snow. Didn’t mean it wouldn’t snow later, but we could afford to wait a little longer.

Several minutes later, just as my eyes were drifting shut, a graceful feminine hand plucked the cigar from my fingers. I sat up, nearly tipping the rocker backward as I stared up into vivid green eyes surrounded by damp curls the color of a sunset, although a few strands remained a dusty brown.

Madelaine was definitely a woman, and stunningly beautiful in a neat blue cotton dress that hugged a shapely waist and pert breasts I suddenly wanted to suckle. Her tattered coat made me frown. It wasn’t suitable for the weather here and barely covered her.

She took a puff off the cigar and handed it back, then gave me a small grin. Lord have mercy, the sight of her in that prim dress made me hard as an iron pipe. I let out a breath, reminding myself no honorable man would take her into the alley, flip her skirts up and fuck her. Her plump lips would look so beautiful wrapped around Justin’s shaft.

Justin’s chair fell backward as he leaped to his feet, belatedly snatching his hat from his head. His brown eyes wide, he gaped at her like a caught fish. I didn’t have to look at the front of his trousers to know he’d be just as hard for her as I was.

The men of Bridgewater always said they just knew when the right woman came along, and now I understood what they meant. Madelaine O’Connor was going to be ours. Tonight, she’d be between us in a marriage bed, screaming our names in passion as we made her our wife in truth.

I gazed at her, unable to speak for a moment. All the blood that made my brain function went straight to the hardening shaft in my trousers and I imagined laying her down in our brand-new bed. We would strip her out of that dress, and I would waste no time finding out if she tasted like lemon ice and warm woman. “I, uh…”

“Do I meet your expectations, sirs?” she asked.

My eyebrows went up. “You really did see the advertisement? Came all this way to be our wife?”

She nodded once. “I did.”

I stiffened. Our bride traveled alone, disguised and without protection. We wouldn’t be allowing that again.

“I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering supper for the three of us. I hope you don’t mind steak.” She turned, obviously expecting Justin and me to follow.

I wasn’t about to let her get away so easily. I’d have to turn her over my knee and spank her bare bottom pink to get the truth out of her before I did anything else. Catching up with her, I took her arm and pulled her close before she reached the door. Whispering in her ear, I asked, “Why were you dressed as a man, Miss O’Connor?”

Justin took her other arm and loomed over her on the other side. “Why was your hair dyed? Are you running from something?”

“The short answer is yes,” she hissed back. “You’ll have to wait for the long answer until after the wedding.”

“Long answer now,” I retorted, needing to know the woman who would be ours was not in danger. “I also want to know where that stallion came from.”

“His name is Prince, and I’ve had him since he was a yearling. He’s part of the long story I want to tell you.” She shivered in her thin coat. “If you’ve finished your cigar, may we go inside? It’s quite cold.”

Biting back a curse, I wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders, hurrying her inside once Justin opened the door. I wasn’t about to let her go. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Madelaine O’Connor would be our wife before the sun set. After that, we’d show her what it meant to be a Bridgewater bride. My balls ached with anticipation, and I wanted to take her straight to the small church. After we loved her to sensual bliss, we’d feed her from her hands until she was sated with delight.

Her footsteps slowed as we approached the Franklin stove and she held her hands over its heat, rubbing them together. “I think you have a long story to tell me too,” she murmured softly.

“Oh? What do you mean?” I asked.

“Why do you say we and us whe

n you’re talking about looking for a woman to be your wife?”

Rubbing my face, I gave her a shamefaced grin. As usual, I was putting the cart before the horse, but I was too anxious to get her into bed where she belonged. “I suppose you’re right, Miss Madelaine. Are you ready for supper?”

“It depends,” she replied, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Are you going to tell me your long story in exchange for mine?”

“Of course. Afterward, we’ll answer all your questions.”

“Thank you.” She bit her lip and looked toward the restaurant. “I do owe you both an apology. I’d intended to present myself at your ranch in proper clothing after a bath and a good night’s sleep. I can well understand how my appearance must have confused you at first, but it was necessary.”

Her immediate apology mollified me, but I was definitely going to spend some time with Madelaine O’Connor turned over my knee. She was too independent and willful by half and would probably spend quite a bit of time with a reddened bottom in the future.

“I’m sure that’s part of your long story,” I murmured.

“It is. Shall we go in to supper? I’ve already paid for it, so we might as well enjoy it while we tell each other our stories.”

I bit my tongue against the questions that raised. Where had she gotten money for the train passage and the hotel, plus a steak dinner for three people? There weren’t too many ways a woman could earn money, and she didn’t look the type to make a living on her back. It made me wonder as to her safety. A rich woman having to disguise herself to get away?

---