The Savage

He couldn’t settle down, though. His biggest fear was that Summer wouldn’t show up for their wedding, even though she’d been the one to insist on it. Maybe she’d changed her mind about marrying him again. Maybe she regretted having to make a new commitment to him and wanted to end it altogether. It wouldn’t be the first time a bride had left her groom standing at the altar.

The only thing that kept Lance from bolting out the parlor and up the stairs in search of her was the memory of Summer’s look this morning when she’d made love to him, all dewy-eyed and passion-flushed and content.

He tugged anxiously at his strangling tie and counted the interminable seconds until Summer finally, at last, appeared at the parlor door on Reed’s arm, a vision in lace and satin.

The Sky Valley women had gone to work making her a full-skirted ivory wedding gown whose bodice was embroidered with tiny seed pearls, and the sight of Summer standing there took Lance’s breath away, made his knees weak. She’d never looked so beautiful—and she had eyes only for him.

Lance scarcely noticed Reed’s limping gait when he awkwardly escorted her in, paid no attention when Amelia, as bridesmaid, held her train and arranged it lovingly, then took her place beside Summer before the same minister who’d married them two months before.

It was only when his bride smiled up at him and took his arm, turning him to face front, that Lance blinked and tried to focus his attention on his duty.

The words were a blur in his memory afterward. He vaguely recalled repeating his vows—but he would never in all his days forget the look Summer gave him when she said hers, promising to honor and obey and cleave only unto him till death parted them.

“Yes, I will.” Her eyes were luminous and unafraid. “Oh, Lance, yes.”

And the kiss afterward—so tender and poignant and full of forever—seared his soul and shook him to his roots.

Something of his feelings must have showed on his face, for Reed laughed and slapped him on the back and warned him about getting trod underfoot if he didn’t stop acting like a mooncalf and stand up to Summer from the beginning.

He was aware of Dusty congratulating him, and Amelia, shyly but sincerely, welcoming him into the family. Then he and Summer accepted the well-wishes of the other wedding guests, most of whom seemed genuinely pleased for the patrona and the new master of Sky Valley.

The dinner afterward passed in a daze, the music and gaiety and laughter enveloping Lance like a healing balm. He danced with Summer—or at least he moved his feet where she instructed him to—and the ribbing he suffered as a result was good-natured and friendly enough that he couldn’t take offense. Fact was, it felt good—damn good—to be part of the community, to be accepted in the celebration because he belonged instead of excluded because of who he was.

It was late when the newlyweds slipped off to their own cabin. They walked hand in hand through the chill, starlit night—Summer dreamily humming snatches of a favorite tune, Lance finding pleasure in her pleasure, and both of them stopping every few feet to indulge their ravenous need for a kiss.

They stopped for the last time at their front door. “Say it again,” Lance demanded, unwilling to let her inside until she’d given him the reassurance his heart craved.

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” And those were the last words she spoke for long, breathless minutes.

He carried his new bride over the threshold of their front door, despite her laughing protests and the ache in his side. One of the Mexican women had prepared the cabin for their arrival, leaving a fire burning merrily in the hearth, a lamp lit on the bedside table, the covers turned down invitingly, and a filmy nightdress spread out on the bed.

Ignoring the suggestive garment, heedless of the fragility of her wedding gown, Lance laid Summer on the mattress and followed her down, taking time only to tear off his tie and his strangling collar before sinking his mouth into hers.

Their urgent need had risen to a feverish pitch before Summer finally, regretfully, stopped him by pressing her fingers to his lips. “Lance…my dress. I don’t want to tear it.”

She saw the sudden, bitter hurt that flashed in his eyes before she could explain what she meant. “I don’t care really, but I thought I would save it for our daughters to wear when they marry. And it might be awkward to have to explain how it came to be in less than pristine condition.”

His mouth lost its rigid look and slowly curved upward at the corners. “I guess it might at that.”

He helped her undress, or rather he got in the way with his tendency to plant hot little kisses on her bared skin. The hairpins that held up her hair got lost somewhere on the floor as Lance tossed them away recklessly. Several moments were lost as well when Lance insisted on combing out her silky, shiny tresses with his fingers. He buried his face there, inhaling the sweet perfume, making a sensual feast of the texture and scent, until Summer pulled away, laughing.

Turning, she removed the last of her underwear, giving him her naked back as she reached for the nightdress on the bed.

“You’re really going to wear that thing?” Lance asked, disappointed.

“What, you don’t like it?” She threw a coquettish glance over her shoulder, while her eyes danced mischievously.

“I guess it’s okay, but I’d rather have you without it.”

“You will. Only just not yet.”

She put it on, and the sensual smile she gave him as she turned around was as alluring and provocative as the negligee she wore. The gown was white, but there was absolutely nothing virginal about it. So sheer as to be nearly transparent, it had been fashioned to arouse a man’s lusts, and it succeeded with him entirely. Below the daringly low bodice that revealed most of her swelling white breasts, Lance could see the dusky hue of her peaked nipples, the narrow curve of her waist, the feminine flare of her hips, the dark inviting curls that shielded her womanhood, the slender legs that would wrap around him and take him inside her body. The sight made his blood boil.

He reached out to stroke a sensitive nipple, which made her suck in her breath, bu

t still she refused to rush or allow him any part in his seduction. Instead, she removed his clothing: coat and shirt first, then undershirt, planting her own brand of searing kisses on his chest and abdomen as she went, driving him mad.

Need slammed through his chest by the time Summer took his hand and led him back to the bed. Lance sat to take off his shoes and trousers, but Summer insisted on taking the lead when he tried to unbutton his drawers. With an arch little smile, she made a production out of unfastening each one, stroking the hard ridge beneath the red cotton fabric, teasing his straining arousal in a way that made Lance grit his teeth. When finally she drew the garment slowly down over his hips, his manhood rose thick and eager from its nest of black hair.