Texas Woman

“Who would want a tall, skinny thing like you?” Cricket teased.

“The man I love will simply die for a woman with violet eyes and flaming red hair,” Bay said with great dignity. “The rest of me won’t matter.”

Cricket broke into hysterical guffaws, and Sloan smiled.

“It’s your turn, Sloan,” Bay said.

“I’m going to make Three Oaks the biggest and best cotton plantation there ever was.”

“That’s not a dream, Sloan,” Cricket objected. “A dream is supposed to be what you would do if you could have anything you want. Tell us something that doesn’t have to do with Three Oaks.”

Sloan had remained silent for a moment and then said, “I would be married in a beautiful white gown in a church where every planter from up and down the Brazos had gathered to watch and admire me.”

“What does your husband look like?” Cricket asked.

“Let’s see. He has blue eyes-”

“-filled with love for you,” Bay interrupted, violet eyes still dreamy.

“How did you know?” Sloan said with a grin. “And a mouth so kissable I’ll be tempted to-”

When Cruz touched her hand, Sloan jumped, torn abruptly from her daze. She looked up and found a well of wanting in his deep blue eyes. His lips were full and inviting. She slowly leaned toward him and then caught herself.

The dreams of a child were only that, she told herself firmly. Dreams. This was a very different reality.

Cruz gestured with his head toward the priest, and she looked up into the benevolent bearded face that was all of the elderly man that showed, shrouded as he was in his robes. The priest spoke to her in Latin, but the words meant nothing. She turned back to Cruz, her eyes questioning.

“You must make your vows now,” he said. “Father Delgado is asking if you will consent to take me as your husband.”

For a moment it was all Sloan could do not to rise and flee the church. She gripped her hands more tightly together around the bouquet of vivid wildflowers and asked, “What do I have to say?”

“He will tell you the words. Repeat them after him.”

And so, in a language she didn’t understand, Sloan repeated the words that bound her to Cruz, body and soul.

After he stopped speaking, Father Delgado made the sign of the cross and Cruz leaned over to brush his lips against Sloan’s.

“Are we done yet?” Betsy asked.

“We are done,” Father Delgado said with a smile. “And I must say you were a very good girl through it all.”

“Sloan promised she would give me some bunuelos if I was good,” Betsy said.

“It’s almost bedtime for you,” Sloan said.

“I’m not tired,” Betsy chirruped. “I want to eat my bunuelos now. I can go to bed anytime.”

Cruz laughed ruefully. Bed was exactly where he wanted to be right now, and not because he was tired, either. Betsy’s presence complicated matters. But in Texas one learned to adapt.

Father Delgado walked back to his adobe house with them to join in a celebratory cup of wine and to make sure Betsy got her bunuelos. The priest seemed totally unaware of Cruz’s impatience to bid him farewell. Having found a new ear, the priest readily told several of his favorite stories.

The evening passed quickly and eventually Sloan laid Betsy down in the big bed in the back room to sleep.

She and Cruz visited a little longer with Father Delgado before a yawn from Sloan caused the priest to say, “You are tired, senorita-no, no. Now it is Senora Guerrero. Forgive me. I was selfishly enjoying the conversation without any thought for-”

“I was enjoying it too, Father, but it has been a long day.” Sloan rose from the hard bench at the table and surreptitiously rubbed her bottom to bring some feeling back into it. She caught Cruz’s amused gaze.

They shared a secret smile before Cruz turned to Father Delgado and said, “I am ready to ask that favor of which we spoke earlier.”

“Certainly, my son. I will watch the child for you. Do not worry about her. Not at all. I will have everything well in hand.”

“Gracias, Padre.” Cruz slipped his arm around Sloan’s waist and headed her toward the door without giving her a chance to object.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sloan hissed as they reached the darkness beyond the doorway. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

“There is already someone in your bed.”

“So I’ll join her.”

“On our wedding night?” Cruz asked, his brows raised.

“It’s just one night.”

“A very special night, Cebellina. One night above all others.”

“I don’t see what makes it so special.”

“This.”

Sloan felt Cruz’s hand curve possessively around her waist, drawing her to a halt, while his fingertips tipped her chin up for the briefest brush of his lips against hers.

“And this.”

His lips came down again, this time with fierce possession, branding her as his own. Sloan didn’t know what to do with her hands. She had the urge to touch him, yet his only contact with her was the hand at her waist and the urgent press of his lips against hers. He turned his head, and his mouth left hers to caress her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, and then her lips again.

Cruz heard the moan in his wife’s throat and slanted his mouth onto hers, his tongue teasing her lips apart. Her mouth was warm and sweet… and willing. But no more than that.

It wasn’t enough.

He wanted her to feel the same wild, insatiable need he felt. When the time came that they joined their bodies at last as man and wife, he wanted her to desire him as she had never desired another man… as she had never desired his brother.

Sloan felt a sense of desolation as Cruz eased his mouth away. She shivered as he traced her damp lower lip with his thumb.

“Come with me, Cebellina.”

“Where are we going?”

“Where we can be alone.”

He reached his hand out to her, and she took it. He led her to the edge of town and beyond, to a grassy valley. It was clear this was where he had come for the wildflowers, for they abounded here, their faces folded to the moonlight.

She realized now that he had planned to bring her here all along, for he quickly retrieved a rolled-up blanket that had been tucked in the hollow of a gnarled live oak and spread it across the dewy ground. He took her hand and helped her sit down on the square of striped wool, and then he joined her.

They faced one another, filling their senses with each other.

“You are even more beautiful in the moonlight.” Cruz gently cupped her face with his hand.

Sloan leaned into his palm, wanting his gentleness. It was a light touch, the touch of a man dealing with innocence rather than experience. For that, Sloan thanked him from the bottom of her heart.

“Four years is a long time,” she murmured. “A lifetime.”

“Take all the time you need,” he said, his voice warm and a little husky.

“Father Delgado-”

“Father Delgado does not expect us back before dawn.”

She smiled, and he let his fingers trace the line of her curving lips. His branding touch made Sloan ache with need. With every caress, every kiss, he claimed her for his own. She learned the texture of his lips-hard and then so, so soft-and savored the flavor of his mouth-tobacco and wine and something distinctly Cruz.

She was hardly aware that Cruz had coaxed her down so she was lying beneath him. His hand found her collarbone and traced it, then slipped down to the swell of her breast above her camisa. He untied the bow that held the gathered blouse and loosened the cloth. She could see it surprised him to find she was wearing nothing underneath.

He eased the cloth down and away, exposing her to his gaze. “What a wonder you are, querida.” When he captured her naked breast with his hand, Sloan froze.

He stayed exactly as he was, waiting for her to accept his claim. “Te adoro, Cebellina,” he murmured in her ear.

It felt too good. How could it feel so good? She had thought Tonio had given her all the pleasure a woman could feel. He had said so, had he not?

But it was as nothing compared to what she felt now. Sloan bit her lower lip to stifle her cry of dismay. She almost could not bear the comparison, because it made her realize what a very gullible young woman she had been.

She sought out Cruz’s hand on her breast and traced the heavy knuckles, the slender fingers, all of them making up a hand that possessed incredible strength but touched her with tenderness.

Why was she fighting this? She wanted him to touch her. He was her husband. It was his right to touch her in any way he pleased. And that he chose to please her, well, she would be a fool indeed not to recognize the difference between what Tonio had given her and what Cruz was offering.

She ignored her pounding heart and pressed gently on the back of Cruz’s hand, hoping he would realize she liked what he was doing and wished him to continue.

She felt her body tensing with anticipation as his fingers began to move slowly, gently finding the rosy tip of her breast and teasing it until she