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take better care of him. Sew on buttons and iron his shirts and wash his clothes-such intimate little things that were suddenly of earthshaking importance. She could even sleep in his arms.... She flushed, and he saw it and smiled. "What brought that on?" he teased. "Nothing." He kissed her forehead tenderly. "You can sleep in my bed if you want to, after we're married," he whispered. She felt hot all over. "Can I?" she asked. Her voice sounded breathless, wildly excited. She felt that way, too. "All the time," he said huskily. "I can watch you undress, and you can watch me. We can touch each other. We can make love." She trembled helplessly. "In the light?" she asked, looking up. "In the light," he whispered, his voice urgent, deep. "Did you talk to the doctor about the Pill?" "Yes. I..." She cleared her throat. It was hard to talk about something so intimate. She looked at his shirt instead. "It has to be started at a particular time, which...which I did two days ago," she faltered. He chuckled softly. "I'm a cattleman," he whispered at her ear. "I know all about cycles and ovulation and 'that time of the month'." "Oh." She went really scarlet then and couldn't have looked at him to save her soul. "Erin, it's part of life." He tilted her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet his. "There's nothing in marriage that should be taboo for a man and woman to discuss. I want honesty more than anything. I'll never lie to you, and I'll expect the same courtesy. I don't want you to be afraid to talk to me about anything that disturbs you." "I never had anyone to talk to about sex," she whispered as if it were some deep, dark secret. "My mother did it all the time, but she was too embarrassed to discuss it with me. Everything I learned was from gossiping with other girls and reading books." He smoothed her hair. "And with me," he added quietly. "And with you," she agreed. "It was so intimate...." She hesitated. "Talk to me," he urged. "Don't bottle it up." He made it so easy, so natural. She toyed with the loose button on his shirt. It was a nice shirt, a brown check, and it moved when he breathed. She could see the swell of his muscles and the dark shadow of hair underneath it. "I'm sorry I fought you at the last," she whispered. "You didn't expect it to hurt that much." She raised her eyes. "No. Nobody told me. I thought it would just be uncomfortable." "It probably would have been, if I hadn't been so hungry for you," he told her. "Women take a lot of arousing. But my education in that department is sadly lacking. Knowing the mechanics is one thing; putting them into practice is another. Put simply," he murmured, searching her eyes, "I know how to have sex. But I don't know how to make love. There's one hell of a difference." "You never felt...you never wanted to do that with other women?" she asked. He smiled, shaking his head. She smiled back shyly. "I'm glad." He brushed her hair away from her collar. "Didn't you ever want a man to make love to you?" "Yes," she said, touching his shirt pocket gently. "I wanted you to, from the first time I saw you. It frightened me a little, because you didn't even like me." "Like hell I didn't," he said gently. "I wanted you desperately." "But you were horrible to me!" "Sure I was," he said. "I didn't think you'd look twice at a face like mine." So that was it. It had all been defensive on his part, and, as his father had taught him, the best defense was a good offense. She searched his hard face. "Bruce said you hated me." His eyes darkened. "I know. I read the letters. It wasn't true. He played on my ego for all he was worth." He took one of her hands in his and stared at it for a long moment. "He said you laughed at me. At the way I was with you." She shook her head slowly, deliberately. "That was the biggest lie of all." He touched her face with gentle, searching fingers. "I'm sorry that I hurt you," he said. "That was the last thing I wanted, despite what I said at the time." She felt like a young girl again, all shyness and excitement. "It wasn't all that bad," she told him. "I liked...touching you." He remembered her hands, slowly exploring, feeling the hard contours of his body, deliciously uninhibited. He began to tremble. "God!" "Ty..." She looked up with tormented eyes. "Come here," he said roughly, pulling her hard against him, wrapping her up in a bearish embrace. "Come close. They say it helps if you hold each other until the ache goes away." She closed her eyes and felt the rigidity slowly draining out of both of them. She was reminded of a particular passage in a book about lovemaking she'd once read. If a woman wasn't satisfied, it had said, she could ease the ache by being held very hard. Somehow Ty had known this. "Do you read books about sex?" she asked. "Sure," he replied dryly. "Don't you?" "Not a lot," she confessed. "I found out more by listening to some of my girlfriends." "What wild lives they must lead." "You wouldn't believe it!" And she told him some of their adventures, right down to the scandalous details. "For a shy girl, you tell a good story," he said, laughing. "Feeling better now?" "Uh-huh," she murmured. "Are you?" "I guess I'll live." He let her go reluctantly, looking into the softness of her eyes, enjoying the vivid alertness of her face. "What a change," he remarked, "from the pale little ghost I found in that New York apartment." "I was pretty down," she admitted. "Life wasn't offering much just then." He took both her hands in his. "I'll make it up to you," he said. "All of it, every bit." "Ty..." "Soak in a hot tub for a while, now," he advised, letting her go. "I have some outside work to get through. Later, I'll ride into Ravine with you and we'll pick out a wedding ring." "All right." She watched him leave, her eyes soft and caring. Things were changing so rapidly. And what had begun as a trial, a fearful readjustment, was fast becoming the greatest joy of her life. She felt all the pain and bitterness draining out of her, being replaced by a growing excitement and feeling of closeness. If only she could believe that he really felt something for her, something more than pity and desire and a need to make restitution for what he'd done to her. It was so difficult to read him, even now. She didn't want pity or guilt from him. She thought about the tenderness of his hands, the hungry roughness of his mouth...She wanted him, that was undeniable. But she wanted something else as well. She wanted him to...need her. Yes. Need her. Because she...needed him. There was another word, too, a deeper word. But she was afraid to even think it. That would come later, perhaps, if things worked out. She went back to the hated exercises for the first time without being told. She had to get back on her feet, she had to be whole again; because it was imperative that she show him she could stand [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |