groaned deep in her throat from the pleasure. She writhed upward under him, wanting his mouth on her breast, wondering how it would feel, but too shy to ask for it.
As if sensing her need, he lowered his head to possess her.
His tongue came searching first, barely touching her nipple. She hissed out a breath of air. He teased her, licking, then withdrawing, until at last she grasped his hair in both hands and wouldn’t let him go.
When she heard him chuckle, she stiffened.
He immediately lifted his head to look at her. “What is wrong, Cebellina?”
“Are you laughing at me?” she whispered. “At my… at my need…”
“It is
She stared into his hooded eyes, silvery-blue in the moonlight and saw no sign of the ridicule she had feared was the source of his laughter. She found only wonder and delight… and desire.
“I… I want to touch you,” she said. “Will you take off your shirt?”
He sat up and slipped off the plain wool shirt he had worn to their wedding. She stared at his chest, liking the whorls of thick black hair that covered his bronzed skin. She reached out without thinking and threaded her fingers into the wiry mass.
“It’s so soft!” she exclaimed. “I’d forgotten how-”
He stiffened against her hand and she realized her mistake. She had reminded them both that this was not her first time with a man. Cruz was second. His brother had come first.
She awkwardly withdrew her hand.
Cruz was the one who reached out again. He took her hand and placed it back on his chest. His voice was commanding. “Touch me,
She looked up into his sapphire eyes and found a gleam of savage possession. He demanded her acquiescence, and she discovered she had no choice except to obey him. Her lips followed where her hands led.
“Your skin is so warm. And salty,” she murmured. She brushed her cheek against his chest, liking the feel of his rough hair and the hard muscle beneath it. She heard the pounding of his heart, racing at least as fast as her own.
Her hands roved over his sinewy shoulders, down his strong, heavily veined forearms. Then she placed them on his chest and ran them tauntingly through the whorls of crisp black hair, following the triangle down his stomach to its apex at the line of his trousers.
“Take them off,” she ordered, her voice teasing.
“Take off your skirt,” he replied.
She looked up into his face only to find all playfulness gone. His lambent gaze held hers as he slowly stripped off her skirt and pantalets. A moment later he had bared his powerful body. From beneath lowered lashes, Sloan surveyed his broad chest, his narrow waist, his lean flanks, and that other masculine part of him that demanded attention.
“You are so…” Sloan didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help comparing him to Tonio.
Tonio had been a boy. Cruz was a man.
“Come, Cebellina. It is time we became man and wife.”
He played her body like a harp, finding the sweetest notes, plucking the strings, fanning them, then plucking them again. Holding her, stroking there, strumming high and low, he orchestrated their love song, until the music had caught them both in a crescendo of excitement.
With every touch, he branded her as his own, demanding that she be his, and his alone.
Their sweat-damp bodies clung, and Sloan shivered as Cruz moved over her, pressing her down on the blanket, raising her hands over her head and capturing her wrists with one hand. He quickly spread her thighs with his knee and lowered himself onto her. She felt the press of his engorged shaft seeking entrance, and panicked.
“Cruz, no! I-”
With a single thrust he was inside her. She was slick and wet, and it was impossible to deny that she had wanted him, that she had been more than ready for him.
“It is done. You are mine.”
The look on his face was fiercely possessive as he tilted her hips and seated himself deeper inside her, laying claim to her. He stroked slowly, drawing out the pleasure.
Sloan felt herself rising higher and higher, driven by the frenzied music of love.
Cruz’s body clamored for satisfaction; he denied it. She must know she belonged only to him; she must accept his possession. His mouth found Sloan’s and he mimed the action of his hips.
He heard the grating, almost animal cries of satisfaction that ground from Sloan’s throat as she arched upward. He felt her body squeezing tight around him, strains of sweet satisfaction rolling over her, and spilled his seed inside her with a cry of exultation.
Cruz lay atop Sloan, their chests moving in tandem as they labored to bring enough air to ease breathlessness.
“That was… incredible,” Sloan said.
“
Sloan didn’t know what to say in response to his fervent declaration of love. He must know she couldn’t say the words in return. Because she didn’t love him. Sloan shivered, suddenly aware of the cool night air.
Cruz slipped off her and pulled the blanket around them both. He turned her into his arms, his breath moist against her temple. “Do not worry, Cebellina. The feelings will come.”
“And if they don’t?”
Cruz settled her head on his shoulder, his arm firmly surrounding her, as they gazed up at the moon and stars together. He kissed her temple, and then her mouth. “Let us leave tomorrow’s worries for tomorrow. Tonight is ours to enjoy.”
Chapter 11
SLOAN HAD WONDERED ALOUD ON THE RIDE back to Dolorosa whether the fact she was now a
Cruz had laughed and said, “Of course not!”
Sloan wasn’t so sure.
“You will be able to keep your secret for a few more days, Cebellina,” he had said with a smile. “For I must leave you when we return to Dolorosa and finish the roundup. When I return, we will both sit down with my mother and give her the happy news.”
They arrived back at Dolorosa late that afternoon. Dona Lucia welcomed Sloan and Cruz with a forbidding stare, while Tomasita cooed over blue- eyed Betsy, who was once again in Cruz’s arms, her head against his shoulder.
“I’ll take Betsy,” Sloan said as she stepped up onto the veranda. She tenderly brushed the damp bangs away from Betsy’s forehead. “I’ll put her down for a nap in Tonio’s room.”
Cruz watched Sloan turn and enter the hacienda. It was clear she had allowed the little girl to pierce the shell around her heart that she had used to keep Cisco away. He worried that when Betsy returned to her family-and surely her aunt and uncle would want her-Sloan would be forced to face yet another loss.
Sloan had laid Betsy down and covered her with a quilt when she heard a silk skirt rustling behind her. “One of my son’s vaqueros can take the girl to the mission orphanage in San Antonio in the morning.”
“She’ll be staying here until her uncle can be contacted.” In response to any objections Dona Lucia might make, Sloan added, “I’ve already spoken to Cruz. It’s all settled.”
“I see. What if her uncle does not want her?”
“Then I’ll keep her myself.”
Dona Lucia’s brows rose in speculation. “You would not keep your own son, yet you will raise the orphaned child of another? What kind of woman are you?”
Sloan bunched her fists at her sides. “That isn’t really any concern of yours, is it?”
Dona Lucia opened and shut her fan in agitation, but said nothing, simply turned and left the room.
Sloan stared after her. Cruz’s mother had prodded an old wound and found still-proud flesh. She shouldn’t have been so surprised that she could feel ashamed of the fact she had abandoned her son. It had not been one of her better decisions. But she wasn’t going to let Dona Lucia’s words keep her from taking the very best care of Betsy.
She sought Cruz out in the
Cruz rose and took Sloan’s hands in his. “My mother is not master here. I am. Does that settle the matter?”
“Well… yes, I guess so.”
He turned back to his desk.
Sloan noticed he seemed distracted and in a hurry. When he had collected a number of papers in a leather satchel, he turned and found her still standing there.
