Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose - By Tessa Berkley Page 0,53

slanted corner of his lips and in between. Then pray to the saints to forgive her as she guided him upstairs where she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Why?” she heard her voice ask.

“Go up the stairs, my Irish rose. Should someone break in, it will be my wrath they encounter before they reach Hell’s front door.”

Her stomach pitched as he gathered the blanket and pillow from her and turned away.

“Now, go,” he ordered.

She opened her mouth to protest and stopped. He sensed her worry and glanced back. His face softened.

“I look forward to seeing if you are as beautiful in the morning as you are in the moonlight.”

Mary Rose felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “Goodnight, Marshal.”

She turned and moved back up the stairway. At the last step, his voice stopped her.

“The name is Trace, Mary Rose. Now and forever more, Trace.”

She could feel her lips widen into a smile. She didn’t turn, instead continued on, rounding the landing to the hallway. When she knew she was out of sight, she pressed her back against the wall and called back, “Goodnight, Trace.”

She knew he still stood below. She could feel him in the tingle of her skin. She waited. A soft chuckle floated up. Her ears picked up his voice. “Until tomorrow.”

Her hand found her door. She didn’t remember moving. “Until tomorrow,” she repeated, loving the sound of the words and their promise. Entering, she couldn’t stop the happiness that poured through her. She pulled her coverlet back and reached for the gown hung on the back of her door. Placing it on the bed, her fingers brushed the buttons across her waist front.

Did he know how easily the buttons slipped through their holes? If he had, would his conquest of her body have stopped so easily? She glanced across the patchwork coverlet on her single bed. Pulling the cloth from her shoulders, she contemplated the feel of his hands upon her flesh. Would they be warm, or could his fingers scald her tender flesh? Dropping her skirts and petticoats into a puddle at her feet, she drew her belongings together and laid them across the chair near the open window. Kicking off her shoes, she padded back to the bed and lay down. Mary Rose extended her good hand and touched the side of her bed. Would there be enough room for two?

Perhaps, if they snuggled close together—the thought filled her with renewed longing. Maybe one day she’d know. With a sigh, she pulled the extra pillow close. Confessions with Father Tomas were going to be hard.

Chapter Thirteen

The smell of coffee woke her from her slumber and the sweetest dream she knew, an enchanting dream, one in which a dark-haired man with bright blue eyes made love to her with his lips. The thought of it brought a smile to her face. She didn’t need to see his face, for she already knew he was just below. Mary Rose rolled over and lay quietly, listening as he stirred around downstairs. Tossing the covers back, she rose carefully so as not to strain the tender skin around her wound. She paused and rotated her shoulder to relieve the stiffness.

Then she moved to her wardrobe and opened the doors. She studied her choice of practical options. The words Trace had spoken the night before replayed in her mind. Would the morning show she was just as lovely? She reached for the simple figured blouse and gray skirt, both pieces easy for her to manage with one good hand. She slipped them over her chemise and petticoat, then moved to her dresser.

Sitting down, she stared at the woman in the mirror. Her gaze focused on her lips. With her fingertips, she traced the length of her bottom lip and recalled the urgent feel of his lips there. Even in the light of day she shivered with delight. A soft blush filled her cheeks, and she watched the outline of her nipples press against the print of the fabric. Lord, all she had to do was envision the events and her body seemed ready.

“Mary Rose, you are becoming a wanton woman.”

She gave her head a shake, then picked up her brush and ran it through her curls, sweeping them away from her face. Unbound, they fell loose about her shoulders. “This will have to do.” With a sigh, she rose and hurried out the door.

Coming down the steps, she heard a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” she called out