Promises: Promises Prevail Part 18

"You're perfect, Suns.h.i.+ne."

"I'm not perfect."

He shook his head at that flat little statement. "On that, we are never going to agree." He tucked the camisole beneath her large b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her nipples were small, pert little nubs on top of dainty areolas, petal pink and infinitely tempting. She was perfect, everything about her lushly inviting, and he wanted nothing more than to just sink into her.

"I don't want you to panic, Suns.h.i.+ne, but later on I'm going to want to kiss your b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

"Why would I panic?"

"Because you always seem to expect the worst. But right now I'm going to get you ready for your bath."

"I can do it myself."

She could, but letting her hide from him was something that he was unwilling to do. "It's our honeymoon and this is a husband's privilege that I'm not willing to give up."

"Undressing me?"

"Undressing you. Bathing you. Drying you off." He shrugged. "Pampering you." She stared at him with herlips parted, apparently speechless. "What part has you flummoxed?"

She didn't answer. He unfastened the hooks to her stays. It wasn't easy. d.a.m.n she had herself trussed up tighter than a Christmas goose.

He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at her. "I'm guessing it's not the undressing part as you didn't seem overly concerned last night."

Her hands clenched into fists beside her. "I'm not loose!"

"Never thought you were."

He slid the stays apart. Even through her camisole he could see how the bone had bitten into her tender skin, the cotton damp and sticking to the deep grooves.

She s.h.i.+vered.

"Are you cold?"

She shook her head.

"Nervous?"

Her lip slid between her teeth. Her nod was the faintest move of her head.

"No need to be. I may be new to being a husband, but I've been studying up for a long time on what to do with a wife."

"You have?"

"Yes." He reached for the pins in her hair. She eyedhim warily as pin after pin came free, and the heavy, wavy ma.s.s slid down to surround her face. "My own personal angel."

She touched the messy wound on his wrist. "Not much of an angel."

"An angel with a bite." He smiled.

"It will scar."

He looked at the bite, caked with dry blood and already bruising. "Sure enough, you put your brand on me."

Her gaze slid from his. "I'm sorry."

He tipped her face back to his. "I kind of like the idea of carrying your mark."

Confusion replaced worry. He let her chew on that while he unb.u.t.toned her camisole and pulled it over her head. Her hair got tangled in the b.u.t.tons before he could pull it free, leaving her with her arms pulled over her head and her torso stretched high. Those full b.r.e.a.s.t.s, with their dainty enticing tips, were face-level. With the faintest of movements, he could have one against his tongue, know her taste. Saliva flooded his mouth and his c.o.c.k jerked in his pants. All he had to do was be b.a.s.t.a.r.d enough to lean forward, and he could have what he wanted. She'd let him. She wouldn't fight him. She'd hold still and let him do whatever he wanted.

And probably die a little bit in the process.And probably die a little bit in the process.

He took a steadying breath, reined in his l.u.s.t, and untangled her hair from the b.u.t.tons. He needed to back off with her. Forget all his big talk and base plans and start over.

When she lowered her arms, her face and chest were beet red. The only indication of what she wanted to do was the twitch of her hands toward her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, but then she placed her hands at her sides, palms up, and lowered her gaze.

He took her hands and crossed them over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pressing them into her upper arms as her gaze flew to his. "If you don't want to show me your body, you don't have to."

"But..."

"No buts. Except in a situation where you're hurt and there's a need, I won't touch you again without permission."

"You're my husband!"

"Yes I am, but I don't rape women."

"I'm your wife."

"And a d.a.m.ned tempting one, but that doesn't change anything."

"I can't tell you no."

He touched the full curve of her lower lip. "Yes, you can. It's a one syllable word and real easy for mostpeople to get out."

Her fingers dug into her arms, her lip slipped between her teeth, betraying her confusion and revealing her dimples. "You don't understand."

"No, I don't. But I've never forced myself on a woman, and I'm not about to start now."

He pushed to his feet. Son of a b.i.t.c.h, doing the right thing was painful. "Which means, as much as I'd like otherwise, I'll be letting you handle your own bath."

It almost killed him to say that, too. She was so tempting, with her plump arms squeezing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s together and up, creating a valley he'd love to explore, her dimples teasing him from the redness of her cheeks, and those big blue eyes s.h.i.+ning bright in her face. As he watched, a tear slid out of the corner of the left one and trickled down her temple to blend into the bright gold of her hair, darkening a strand.

"I'm going to fill the tub." He dropped the blanket over her. "You just lie here and relax while I get it ready."

"I don't understand you."

"I know, and that's a d.a.m.ned shame."

She clutched the blanket to her chest, bounced a glance off of his erection as it strained down his thigh, and another off of the wet stain on the leg of his denims near where his c.o.c.k head rested."I repulse you."

"You know that's a lie."

"You're ashamed of me."

He admired the gumption that kept her head up while she put forward her convictions. "Not hardly."

"You will be." He didn't like the way her eyes skirted his. He tilted her head up.

"I won't."

"You don't know-"

"I don't need to," he cut her off, holding her gaze through sheer force of will.

"But-"

He cut her off with a shake of his head. "Here's where my being half-Indian plays in your favor. I was raised white, but a lot of my mother's beliefs stuck with me. One being, if you say it, it's true."

"Like when you said I was your wife and Brianna was your daughter?"

"Yes." He tugged her lower lip free of her teeth, letting his thumb slide along the moist inner lining. "The other is, all you need to do to start over is to put one foot in front of the other and do it."

"That's crazy."

He shrugged, stroking the smooth skin of her cheekwhere her dimple would be if she were happy. "Maybe, but it sure can be a useful philosophy if you want to grab hold."

He dropped his hand back to his side. She didn't say a word or look at him again. She just kept twisting her hands under the blanket and chewing on her lip. He turned on his heel and entered the bath.* * * * *

She was going to have to leave the bathing room sometime. Jenna knew that. The last fill on the tub had exhausted the hot water and while the air surrounding her was warm and scented with the rose bath oil Clint had dumped in, the water itself was getting chilled. The problem being she didn't know what she wanted to do when she got out.

She'd never heard of a man giving a woman a choice when it came to anything. Her father had ruled her house with a heavy hand and her husband had made her father look positively benevolent. Having the protection of a man's name without having to suffer the attentions of a husband was every woman's dream. It was her dream.

She just couldn't shake the feeling that it was too good to be true.

Which meant she had to think. She had to make this work for her. Not just for today, but down the road, because as of yesterday she was Mrs. Clint McKinnely, married to one of the most powerful, respected men in the territory. She'd asked G.o.d for a miracle and He'd seen fit to send one to her in the form of Clint, and she wouldn't be offending the Almighty by snubbing hisoffering. Or treating it shabbily. Which she would be doing if she took on all the trappings of being Mrs.

McKinnely without keeping up her end.

She stood. Water poured off her body in a cascade of sound. She glanced at the door while grabbing a towel off the rack, half-expecting Clint to come through it like Jack always had. Jack had liked catching her vulnerable and naked. Liked turning her pleasure to humiliation.

Seemed to relish the power he felt when he did. But there were no sounds of footsteps and the k.n.o.b didn't rattle.

And now that she thought on it, there wouldn't be.

By all accounts, Clint wasn't like that. He was a hard man. A dangerous man, but he wasn't a bully. Tales about his ruthlessness when it came to criminals were widespread and the whispers that followed him when he came to town were many. Enough so that she knew he was hard on women, but no one ever complained that he had a heavy hand, which was more than she could say for Jack. And he was fair. Clint McKinnely was scrupulously fair.

She squeezed out the thick rope of her hair and then wrapped it up in a towel. She took the second towel and dried off her shoulders. Stepping out of the tub, she wrapped the towel around her and probed her knowledge of Clint. He was a sucker for little things.

He'd held Brianna for all of two minutes before he was under her spell. He liked kittens and fed them ratherthan killing them. And more importantly, he tolerated their affection. He'd been demanding in the barn, but not cruel. And to be fair, she'd started it. And last night, he'd been kind, not beating her when she'd unthinkingly refused him. She could do a lot worse. It was scary that he was so different in that she couldn't predict what he'd do, and it was possible that she could inadvertently trigger his temper. But, if she were careful, and did as he asked, there would be no reason to antic.i.p.ate him losing his temper.

She pulled the towel from her hair. And tonight he'd asked for the right to pamper her. And she'd turned him down. She closed her eyes. Her husband had wanted to be nice to her, and she'd rejected him. Oh G.o.d, how stupid could she be? She hung the towel on the hook.

She'd prayed for the Almighty to send her a husband, one who would be kind to her, and when he had tried, she'd told him no.

She had to fix that. She eyed the doork.n.o.b. It looked so innocuous. A simple black metal latch, but if she did what she was thinking, there'd be no going back. No changing her mind. She bit her lip so hard it brought tears to her eyes. The k.n.o.b blurred out of focus.

If she did this, and Clint took it wrong, there would be no forgiveness. She reached for the handle, doubt eating at her gut. She'd never been bold and this went against everything she'd been taught, but she honestlyagainst everything she'd been taught, but she honestly didn't know what else to do to fix the mess she'd made.

She turned the handle, lifted the latch quietly, let the towel drop, and stepped through the door.

Clint was sitting in the big leather armchair to the right of the settee. His forearms were resting on his knees. He cradled a cup in his hands. The scent of coffee filled the room along with a hint of wood smoke from the stove. On the table before him was a tray with a porcelain pot and another cup. Bright light spilled through the windows, the sun amplified by the freshly fallen snow. The harsh light accented his hawk-like profile, the firm set of his lips, the harsh set of his jaw. He did not look like a happy man.

Oh G.o.d, this was such a bad idea. Such a stupid plan. She was always coming up with stupid plans. She grabbed for the towel. Clint looked up. The cup dropped from his hands, and his eyes-those black eyes-lit from within with a searing heat.

"Jenna?"

She swallowed hard, all her courage gone right along with her voice. She straightened, the towel dangling from her hands. She stood there while he looked her over, vividly aware of every bulge, every scar. Such a stupid plan. He called to her again, his drawl deeper, hoa.r.s.er.

"Come here, Suns.h.i.+ne."

She wanted to. Knew she had to, but her feetwouldn't move. She was frozen in the door, the soft scent of the rose bath salts she'd used wafting around her, incapable of doing anything except drawing short hard breaths and panicking.

Unbelievably, Clint smiled. A genuine smile that softened his hard face and took it from handsome to mesmerizing. He rolled to his full height with a lazy flex of muscle.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asked as he came toward her.

It took him only ten steps to get to her side. She knew because she counted them, trying to focus on anything except her pounding heart and her inability to breathe.

She expected him to stop, but he didn't. He just kept on coming until she was in his arms, her cheek pressed against the hard muscles of his chest and her body flush against his. All she could think of to say was, "You changed your clothes."

"And you lost yours."

"I'm sorry."

"Care to tell me why?"

"Please don't make me." His big hand cupped her head, dwarfing her, overwhelming her with the gentleness of his touch when she was expecting roughness.

"Can I guess?"She nodded, the b.u.t.ton on his s.h.i.+rt sc.r.a.ping her cheek. Anything was better than trying to make her voice work again.

"Would you be trying to tell me you want me?"

"I want our marriage to work."

Which wasn't exactly the same thing, Clint knew.

Jenna's muscles were like rock under his hands and she was shaking. She was scared to death. He just wasn't sure of what.

"So you decided to step out here and catch my eye?"