Justin's Bride (15 page)

Their eyes locked together. The fire in his gaze blazed hotter. His square jaw tightened.

Lower and lower until her palms embraced him and the tips of her fingers rested just above the backs of his legs. She felt a heated blush on her face. She told herself she didn't care, then realized Justin was right. She
was
a lousy liar. But she wasn't going to stop now. Not with him looking at her as if he was drawn so tightly together he was about to explode into a hundred pieces. Besides, it felt good to be touching him. She'd always liked how he felt next to her. She liked the contrasts between them, the way he smelled, and how he looked at her.

She squeezed gently. He drew in a sharp breath. The hands at her waist tightened. She squeezed again and this time tilted his hips toward hers. The bonfire between them erupted and sparks landed everywhere singeing her skin.

“Damn you.” He said the words as if they were the most tender caress, then he bent over her and claimed her mouth.

There was nothing tentative, nothing teasing this time. His tongue plunged inside of her, seeking her secrets, demanding a response. He gripped her firmly, holding her in place.

Her heart pounded harder and harder. She met his intimate kisses, mirroring his sweeping actions, clinging to him as her world faded away, leaving nothing but the man and the sensations he created. Her trembling increased.

He drew back slightly and kissed her jaw, then her neck. She arched her head. The moist heat from his mouth made her tingle. She couldn't catch her breath.

The whisper of cool air on her chest surprised her. Then she felt his fingers on her bare skin and knew he'd unfastened her bodice. Shock froze her in place. She should protest this liberty, she told herself. His knuckle brushed the side of her breast. She jumped.

He straightened, forcing her to stand upright. She clutched at his shoulders as he continued to kiss her neck and nibble on her ears. It felt wonderful. Better than wonderful. It was more perfect than she remembered.

His hands moved between her breasts, unfastening more buttons. A vague feeling of panic threatened the moment. She didn't know what to do. She wanted Justin to show her more, but she was afraid. No one had touched her there before.

She stared at him, at the dark hair tumbling over his forehead, at the familiar shape of his face. The hardness there was new, as were the lines by his eyes. But he was still Justin.

As if he sensed her gaze, he looked at her. The fingers partway between her breasts and her waist paused. His mouth was damp. Damp from her. She raised her hand toward him and drew her thumb across his lower lip. He bit gently on the tip of her thumb, then touched her with his tongue. She shivered as a ripple of heat slipped down her spine.

“You're beautiful,” he whispered, even as his hands moved higher. She could feel the pressure and warmth against her. She tried to draw in a deep breath but couldn't. “Don't be afraid.”

“Justin, I—”

“Trust me.”

He drew her bodice apart, then untied the ribbon closure of her corset cover. She held on to his upper arms, concentrating on his strength rather than on what he was doing. Then his mouth touched her chest. Hot and wet, his tongue circled against her sensitive skin. She gasped. His hands moved higher. Slowly, definitely, as if there was no plan to stop, as if he really meant to touch her breasts. As if she would allow him to. He moved up her ribs. At the top of her corset he paused. There was nothing between him and her bare skin except for a thin silk chemise. She held her breath, half hoping he would move away, half praying he would continue.

He moved his head up and kissed the side of her neck. Instinctively, she arched to give him more room and his hands swept over her breasts.

He held her without moving as she absorbed the feel of him against her. She was both hot and cold. She couldn't believe those two parts of her could feel so much at one time. Then he squeezed gently and she moaned. His fingers drifted across the silk, sending sensations shooting in all directions. Down her arms and legs, through her stomach and most especially to her female place. She felt funny there. Sort of achy and out of sorts. She squeezed her legs tightly together.

He brushed his thumb across her nipples. She gasped. She didn't know it could feel better, but it did. Back and forth he moved. Her nipples puckered. He raised his head and she glanced down, seeing his tanned hands against her pale chemise. Her breasts filled his hands. Over and over he stroked until she had to cling to him or fall. Until she couldn't catch her breath and the need inside, so wild and uncontrollable, made her want more.

Then he did the most amazing thing. He placed his mouth against her breasts. He drew the hard tip inside and suckled like a babe. Her eyes widened, then closed. She cupped his head, holding him in place.

“Justin, oh, Justin. How can you do that? How can you make me feel that?” He moved to her other breast and repeated the exquisite torture. When he would have pulled away, she slipped her fingers through his hair. “No, don't stop.”

He laughed low in his throat. The soft sound made Megan aware of herself and what they were doing. Her hands moved from his silky hair to his shoulders and she pushed him away.

He straightened slowly and looked at her. Then his gaze dropped to her chest. She glanced down and saw the damp silk clinging to her. The material was transparent and left her breasts practically bare to his gaze. He touched the hardened tips.

“You're more beautiful than I imagined,” he said softly. “Especially in silk.”

He was teasing, but that didn't stop the feeling of guilt that flooded her. “Justin!” She swatted his hand away and pulled on the ribbon of her corset cover. When it was fastened, she tugged her bodice closed and began on the buttons.

“Megan, look at me.”

She didn't want to. She was still blushing. She was afraid of what he'd made her feel and what she would see in his eyes. But she couldn't resist him forever. Slowly, she raised her gaze to his.

He smiled gently. The fire flaring between them had been banked, but she could see the lingering embers. It wouldn't take much to make it explode again. Despite the fact that he'd frightened and shocked her, she was pleased to know he wanted her again. She would hate to think the wanting was only hers.

“Your guilty secrets are safe with me,” he said.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes. Imagine what would happen if the good women of Landing knew what you wore under your dresses.” He grinned and reached for her bodice, but she turned away. “Don't be shy now.”

“I can't help it.” She secured the last of her buttons. “I'm shocked at what we did.”

His smile faded. “I'm glad you said ‘we.'”

She raised her chin. “I won't deny I didn't object when you...” Her hand fluttered close to her chest. “But, no one can know.”

He drew in a deep breath. “I've always kept your secrets, Megan. You can trust me with these.”

The last glow of the passion between them flickered and died. She knew what he was talking about. Their “understanding” seven years ago. He'd never said anything about that. He'd never repeated those horrible things she'd said to him. Even now, she could hear her own words echoing loudly in the silence.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured.

“Why? You meant what you said.”

Her head jerked as if he'd slapped her. But she couldn't dispute the words. At the time, she would have said anything to convince him she didn't love him anymore.

“Besides, if you get lucky and the town accepts me, you can confess one of your secrets without anyone thinking less of you. With the possible exception of Colleen. I don't think she's ever going to see me other than—”

“Don't say it,” Megan demanded, glaring at him. “Stop saying that about yourself. I won't listen to that word again.”

Justin looked at her for several seconds, but she couldn't read his expression. She didn't want to know he still thought of himself as a bastard. He was too good for that. He'd always been too good, but seven years ago she'd been too young to see the truth.

“I'd better go,” he said, and started down the stairs. “Bonnie should be in bed.”

She trailed after him. “Leave her here with me. She's already asleep. I know you think I don't want her here, but I do. I'm sorry I hesitated when you asked me before, but you judged me unfairly. I care about her.”

“I believe you.” He reached the bottom of the stairs. “But I still have to take her with me. I understand Bonnie and she needs that right now.”

Megan was one step above him, so she could stare directly into his eyes. “I understand her, too. I wasn't much older than her when I lost my mother. I know how she feels. I can help.”

He shook his head. “It's not about that. You came from a respectable home. Bonnie's mother was a saloon girl. How are you going to explain it to her when she starts asking questions?”

She had no answer for that. What would she say to the child? Justin was right. Again. Before she walked past him, she reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out the object she'd raced upstairs to get.

“This is yours,” she said, handing it to him. “I meant to return it that last night, but I forgot.”

He stared at the pocketknife. The light in the hallway reflected off the polished surface, illuminating the initials carved there. She was surprised they could still be seen. How many times had she traced those letters with her fingers, as if rubbing them again and again would bring Justin back to her?

“Why did you keep it?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she answered honestly. “I tried to throw it away, but I couldn't. I'll get Bonnie's things.”

She placed the girl's new clothes and shoes in a cloth bag, then put Bonnie's precious corn-husk doll on top. Justin picked up the sleeping child and held her against his chest. Megan handed him the bag.

When she opened the front door, he stepped onto the porch. “Good night,” she whispered.

He didn't answer for a long time. “Was there anything between you and that farmer?” he asked abruptly.

“Cameron? Of course not,” she answered without thinking, then bit back a groan. She should have been coy.

“Good,” Justin said. He started across the porch.

Megan watched until he disappeared into the night. Good? He thought it was good that she hadn't been involved with the handsome widower? Why?

She'd already closed the door and was dousing the lights downstairs when she got her answer. Justin had been jealous. There was no need for him to be. There had never been anyone but him. She was starting to wonder if there ever would be again.

* * *

“Will there be lace, too?” Bonnie asked eagerly.

“Yes, here on the collar, and on the cuffs.” Megan picked up the dark blue dress and held it in front of the little girl. “See how pretty? It matches your eyes.”

Bonnie grabbed a piece of lace and held it up to her face. “The white part, too!”

Megan laughed. “Yes, the white part, too.” She leaned over and squeezed the child against her.

It had been over a week since Justin had first brought the thin, scared girl to her store. Since then, they'd spent most of their days together. Justin brought her to the store after breakfast and picked her up on his way home. There hadn't been a repeat of that first night, with Justin staying to supper, and then—she cleared her throat and searched frantically for her scissors on the table—what had happened later. She brought Bonnie back to the house, but she always returned her to the shop before sundown.

“This was your dress?” Bonnie asked, fingering the heavy cotton.

“Yes, when I was a little older than you. I'm going to cut it down. I think I only wore it one or two times, so it's almost new. It's going to look much prettier on you than it ever did on me. You have such beautiful dark hair.”

Bonnie smiled shyly, as if compliments were as foreign to her as regular meals had been. But in the last few days, her bruises had faded and her face had lost its pinched, hungry look. She smiled often and even laughed on occasion.

“We're going to a social, huh?”

“Yes,” Megan said, laying the dress flat on her dining room table. She began to carefully tear out the neat stitches. “After church on Sunday.”

“I've never been to church.”

Megan stared at her. Never been to church? But the child was six years old. She opened her mouth to say something, then clamped it shut. Of course Bonnie hadn't. Who would take her? Her mother wouldn't have been allowed inside Landing's most sacred building, and Mrs. Jarvis hadn't taken the trouble to feed and clothe the girl decently. Why would she have bothered with the state of the child's soul?

“It's very lovely,” Megan said, and smiled at her. “There's singing and the minister reads from the Bible. He talks about God.” She sighed. “Sometimes he talks a little too long, but he has a nice voice, so we don't mind.”

“Is there singing at the social?”

“Sometimes. It's mostly a picnic to welcome Justin as the new sheriff.”

Bonnie's big blue eyes got bigger. She laid her corn-husk doll on the table and leaned closer. “A picnic? I've heard about that. Is there going to be fried chicken?”

“Yes. And lemonade and cakes.”

“Do I get some?”

“Of course.”

“I'm glad Justin's the new sheriff,” Bonnie said fervently.

Megan laughed. “I bet you are.” She turned back to the dress and continued tearing out the stitches. Unfortunately, not all the townspeople shared Bonnie's enthusiasm. Justin continued to investigate Laurie Smith's murder and many citizens resented his spending so much time on something they considered worthless. She'd had an argument about it with Mrs. Greeley just yesterday. In a fit of temper, she'd told the older woman she should be grateful Justin cared that much. If anyone ever did in her husband for overcharging in his butcher shop, Justin would be sure to bring the man to justice.