wrapped her feet in the towel, first one then the other. He stroked the moisture from each pretty calf. Just north of her knee on her left leg he paused. Her sturdy, shapely limbs made him feel weak all over.
Or was it strong? It was hard to tell with his insides crashing around.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Emma Suede.” He pressed the towel to her neck, then stroked downward over her breasts. The fabric was thick and scratchy, but the shape and the heat of her came up through it. “And I don’t just mean on the outside.”
He whisked the towel down her ribs and across her hips. It’d be best to get the quilt between her skin and his hands before he did something reproachable, like wake her up with his need to make her his, body as well as soul.
Emma was exhausted with all she had done to save his baby girl. She needed the healing sleep as much as Lucy did.
He’d have his wife, and soon, but it wouldn’t be right unless she was awake.
He lifted the quilt from the foot of the bed. It settled about her with a whisper. It hugged her form with a caress.
“I love you, Emma. You can’t imagine how much.”
He stroked her cheek, then traced the curve of her head with his palm before he turned toward the door.
He hadn’t taken a step from the bed when her cool fingers grabbed his hand.
“I love you, too,” she whispered. “Don’t go.”
“You look like a woman in need of seducing, Mrs. Suede.”
She grinned at him and tugged him down onto the bed. She flipped back the quilt and patted the mattress.
“Better get out of those damp clothes.”
That was advice he didn’t need. He tossed his vest and shirt onto the floor. The rest of what he had on went somewhere, but damned if he knew where.
In less time than it took to catch his breath, he slid in under the quilt. The corkscrew hair on his legs skimmed Emma’s thighs. Satin sheets on a fancy bed wouldn’t have felt as smooth as her skin.
He nuzzled her neck, nipping like the love-starved cowboy that he was. He gathered her backside in his hands and pulled her belly against his hips. She ground herself against him. The soft hair of her mound tickled his skin. He stroked upward, over the round of her hip, up the tender skin of her ribs to her breasts, soft heaven in his hands.
Low down, his pulse swelled against her. Just below her jaw, he pressed his mouth to her pulse, licked it with his tongue. The pressure under his mouth drummed with the same beat as the one throbbing against Emma’s belly.
The vows he had taken on his wedding day had all come to mean what they should. This woman was his, and no vengeance-seeking gunfighter would keep her from him.
Till death do us part they had each vowed. He prayed that it wouldn’t happen tomorrow.
* * *
She should have known that the squeeze of Matt’s work-worn fingers fondling her breasts would be a forever touch. For good or ill, he was making an eternal vow, pressing his mouth just over her heart. What a ninny she had been to believe she could sample this then go about her merry life without him.
She sighed his name—she thought so, anyway. Half dizzy and fully out of breath, she wasn’t sure. All perception of life beyond this bed began to blur.
One thing was clear as spring water, though. Her decision to go to California had been right. Hadn’t her life taken every turn just to end up at this moment?
She must have made a noise of some kind, for he answered with a moan caught somewhere between pain and pleasure. He slid his hands to her derriere in a caress that rippled up her spine.
Rugged hands circled her bottom. Eight fingers and two devastatingly possessive thumbs stroked her skin. With each flick of his thumb and squeeze of his fingers he bound her to him.
His weight shifted. Crisp thigh hair over hot lean muscle scraped her flesh. A prairie-scented lock of hair slipped from behind his ear and slid over her throat in a brown-sugar hug. He smelled like the land. A breath of turned earth and storm clouds tickled her nose.
Even though he had shaved only hours ago, the prickle of his beard tingled her chest when he kneaded his chin against it.