Page 53 of Fairy Tale Husband

“No,” he conceded, warning, “they’ll still be waiting come morning.”

“Then we’ll worry about them tomorrow.”

She was right. This moment offered a respite between battles, and he’d be a fool not to take advantage of it. With infinite tenderness, he rolled them onto the carpet, anointing her with mouth and tongue and teeth.

He felt the first flush of desire wash across her skin like a storm-driven tide, and he cupped her breast, the frantic pounding of her heart filling his palm. She twisted beneath him, lifting her hips to mesh with his, moving with all the sinuous grace of a sun-warmed feline.

He tried to go slow, but desire became a rapacious hunger, ademand that turned his kisses hard and urgent and made each caress more aggressive than the last. He reveled in the delicious mix of passionate heat and fluid softness, sinking into her warmth, then driving into it, compelled by a force too powerful to resist.

He heard her frantic sobs, responded to the incoherent pleas, wanting more than life itself to give her the release she so desperately sought. He angled her hips upward, melding his mouth with hers. Instantly her muscles tensed in reaction and she exploded in his arms. It was all he needed. With a harsh cry, he drove home, following her over the edge. In that instant, their eyesmet.

And what he saw there knifed deep into hissoul.

For in those misty green depths he saw love. Apermanent love—pure and faithful and absolute. He knew then that she’d given a forever-after love to a temporary husband.

And with that terrible knowledge, the demons came stormingback.

CHAPTERNINE

JAKE woke several hours later, struggling to get his bearings in the pitch-black room. His muscles protested the amount of time he’d spent sleeping on the floor and yet he hesitated to disturb Wynne.

She lay curled on her side, tucked tightly into the protective curve of his body. The fire had died long ago and a new moon, skulking in the shadow of the earth, ducked between bits of starlight as it traversed the nighttime sky. Gingerly he eased the cramp plaguing hisleg.

With a gusty sigh, Wynne rolled over to face him. “What time is it?” she murmured.

“Time for bed, wife. Do you want your own room, or would you rather sleep with me?”

She yawned. “I don’t know why you even bother to ask.”

“I’m asking because we’re in a new place. And after the dinner party...”

“New or otherwise, my place is with you,” she told him firmly and snuggled deeper into hisarms.

Something in her words revived the memory of their earlier lovemaking. He remembered the expression in her eyes—the one that spoke of miracles and storybook endings and eternities. He didn’t doubt that look had returned. It was in her voice, in her touch, in her soft, eager kisses.

The urge to distance himself became overwhelming. “Your place may be with me for now,” he warned harshly, “but sleeping in my bed won’t seduce me into keeping you any longer than necessary. What does that figure out to? Afew days, aweek, amonth?”

His coldheartedness went unnoticed. “It doesn’t matter how many days we have,” she countered. “We also have an equal number of nights. And I want each one to be wonderful. Abeautiful memory you can recall when I’m long gone and half-forgotten.”

Her unstinting generosity crippled him more than any protest or tears or recriminations. He stood, sweeping her into his arms, and strode purposefully from the room. “Let’s find a bed. We may only have here and now, but we can turn it into one hell of a memory for later.”

“When memories are all we have left?” she asked wistfully.

He didn’t answer, was incapable of answering. For even if he found the right words, he’d never have gotten them past the tight knot blocking his throat.

The boys returned late the next day, exhausted and excited, and bursting to tell Wynne and Jake all about their adventures.

“And then this big, old bull came right at Dusty,” Buster told them, his feet spread wide, his Stetson tipped back on his head in perfect imitation of Jake’s stance. “I thought he was a goner for sure.”

Chick tugged on his brother’s elbow, whispering rapidly. Buster shook him off. “But Dusty didn’t budge one bit. All’s he did was spit. It was so cool.”

“You weren’t in any danger, were you?” Wynne questioned in alarm.

“Naw. They made us stay clear of all the good stuff.”

Chick sidled closer to his brother, whispering more urgently.

“Not now,” Buster replied in annoyance. “I’m not done with my story, yet. So then Dusty whipped out his lasso and roped that critter slick as you please. See you gotta get one rope around the cow and the other around this thing on the saddle.”

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