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“And you’re willing?”
“Perfectly.”
He motioned to the bed. “Then drop your death grip on that quilt, darlin’, and let’s get to it.”
Get to it? He wanted to get to it? Just like that? “Now?”
His eyebrow went up a notch, but he didn’t laugh at her stupid question. “Seems like as good time as any. And you were the one who wanted to just ‘get it over with’.”
“I may have been a little premature in my decision.”
He tugged on the sheet. “Nope. Seeing as how the night’s getting away from us and morning comes early, I think now is about perfect.”
For all of the seriousness of his expression, he was laughing at her. She knew it. And the knowledge stung.
“Let go the sheet, darlin’.”
“Not until you blow out the lamp.”
“I like the light on.” A quick tug on his end of the quilt had it slipping from her grip. She tried to catch it, but he tweaked it away. Damn. He was fast.
“I am not participating until you blow out the lamp,” she informed him as she lunged for the trailing corner of the quilt.
“Seems to me you’re not the one calling the shots here.”
She caught the quilt, but leaned too far over and Asa caught her. She was forced to continue her argument from an undignified sprawl across his lap. “I mean it, Mr. MacIntyre. I’m not participating in anything with the light on.”
“Too much light interferes with your planning?” His hand passed across her posterior and she yelped. She squirmed to get up, but his forearm across the small of her back kept her pinned.
“I have no idea,” she gasped as he touched her intimately again.
“Then I think we’ll leave it on.”
“No!” The heat from his hand permeated the thin cotton of her pantaloons. She didn’t want to picture the image she presented in her current position. “Let me up.”
“I like you like this.”
As if to prove his point, his hand moved in a circular motion. He traced the seam of her buttocks with indecent accuracy. Her protesting wiggle only served to give him more ideas. On his next pass, he pressed harder, causing the material to catch embarrassingly between her cheeks where his finger probed. She froze, mortification drying her protest in her throat.
“Damn, you’re something, darlin’.”
“Let me up,” she hissed. His finger traced the crease he’d created. Despite her determination to lie still, her hips bucked, driving his hand firmly between her legs.
His “not just yet” sounded alarmingly gruff to her straining ears. Something poked her in the side and, ranch girl that she was, she knew what it meant. Her husband was aroused. The hand across her back shifted so his elbow had her pinned and he could use that hand to separate her thighs. His fingers wedged deeper, until he could cup her woman parts.
Oh God, she thought, there was no reprieve. He took his hand from her back, slipped his forearm under her chest and turned her across his lap. His fingers between her legs supported her weight. The hand across her chest kept her pinned against his arm. As he moved it to cup her breast, she looked into his face. There was no softness. No sign that he shared her distress or even noted it. There was only an intense concentration as he watched his hand engulf her breast.
“The light…” she whispered, blinking to fight back tears. He didn’t seem to hear.
“Part your legs,” he ordered.
“I can’t. The light.”
His gaze met hers. No mercy there. “You promised me two things—willingness and obedience.”
She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then kept on going.
“That’s an order, Elizabeth.”
How could the man expect her to keep her word in circumstances like this? She parted her legs a spare inch. He took a mile. When she felt his fingers slide through the slit in her pantaloons to slip between the folds of her female flesh, it was too much. She turned her face into the hollow of his throat and prayed for her Maker to take her then and there. Beneath her cheek, his chest rose on a shuddering breath.
“Guess I’m going too fast for a student of Miss Penelope’s, huh?” he asked on the exhale.
She guessed he was going too fast for the women who lived over Dell’s, but she wasn’t going to risk losing his compassion by saying so. “I’m sure it would be easier on both of us if we blew out the lamp.”
In response, he stood, leaned over, and blew out the lamp. The fact that he didn’t moan or even shift his grip convinced her that struggling would be useless, even if she wanted to forsake her word. As darkness enveloped them along with the stench of kerosene, he gave her a little toss that switched his grip to her waist.
She dangled in his arms as he asked, “You still planning on making a dress while we do this?”
