Their Treasured Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 4)

Connor continued the introductions. "Beside Rhys are Mason, Laurel and Brody followed by Kane, Ian and Emma, who you've already met."

"While this is Kane and Ian's house, we eat our meals together here and take turns as cook and cleanup crew," Mr. McPherson added.

Everyone's plates were full and conversation ceased as everyone ate. I'd heard in town that Bridgewater was a well-run ranch, and it was obvious by the size of the men that they did not sit idly. I remained quiet for the remainder of the meal, for the one time I asked a question about his honor I'd made Mr. McPherson mad and I was still ashamed. I did not need the entire group angry with me within an hour of my arrival.

When the dessert dishes were cleared, Dash excused us. "I'm glad the cleanup chores fall to others, since I believe it is time we became acquainted with our bride."

Connor nodded his agreement and I swallowed down my trepidation and followed them outside. I'd never been alone with a man who was not a relative before. Actually, as I considered it, I'd only ever been alone with Cecil and that had been on our journey from England.

Going to my horse, Connor unwrapped the reins from the rail and led the animal over to me. Mr. McPherson grabbed me by the waist and lifted me up into the saddle easily enough. I was not a small woman, but he did it as if I weighed nothing. His large hands took no liberties, but I felt the touch deep down inside and that was daunting...and odd. I should not feel anything at a man's touch. It had been beaten into me, whether by switch or ruler, that frivolous desires or carnal thoughts were a sign of a loose woman who would be shunned by her husband. I did not want to be shunned, for then where would I go?

I glanced furtively at Mr. McPherson. He rode a horse as if born to it, the thick muscles of his thighs stretching his pants taut. His hands were large, his fingers blunt. His face was shadowed beneath the wide brim of his hat and yet I could see the square edge of his jaw easily enough. Would the skin there be shadowed by whiskers as Connor's was? I glanced at the Connor next—my other husband—and could readily see the dark beginnings of a beard on his tanned cheeks.

Connor readied his animal and climbed into the saddle. I had no choice but to steer my horse and follow. They flanked me on either side, just as they had at the dining table. I was surrounded and...protected. It was an odd sensation to feel that way, for I'd been alone my entire life.

There were a number of houses that dotted the prairie, set at various distances from each other and the central buildings of the ranch—the bar, stables and other smaller out-buildings. It was one of these houses that we rode up to.

It was not as large as the home of Ian, Kane and Emma, but it was impressive nonetheless. I'd envisioned sod houses, teepees described in the dime store novels sold in London. This sprawling home was one story with crisp white siding and a shingled roof, the front doorway at the center with windows symmetrically placed on either side. The finishes and details were comparable to finer homes in even less rustic settings.

Connor dismounted and came to the side of my horse. "I didna ask. You must have a trunk?"

He held up his hands and I had no choice but to let him lower me to the ground. His hold felt different than Mr. McPherson's. His hands were larger, the rough callouses catching on the smooth fabric of my dress and yet there was a reverence to his touch that was surprising.

"I do. When the owner of the boarding house discovered I was coming here, he offered to hold the

m for me until they could be retrieved."

Both men gave decisive nods. Mr. McPherson opened the front door and Connor led me there with his hand warm at the small of my back. Once at the doorway, Mr. McPherson picked me up in his arms and I cried out in surprise, one hand going to hold my hat, even though it was securely in pinned in place. "What...what are you doing?" I asked.

"Carrying my bride over the threshold," he replied. I looked up into his face and he was smiling, seemingly pleased with the act. I watched as his light eyes held mine, then dipped lower to my mouth. My heart was racing and I was breathing hard, as if I had carried him through the doorway.

Before I could question his action, he lowered his head and kissed me. I sucked in a breath with the shock of it; I'd never been kissed before and his lips were warm and soft against mine. His body, where it pressed into mine, was solid muscle, hard as rock, and warm as sin. I barely had time to even realize his action before he lifted his head. "Mr. McPherson—"

"Dash," he whispered, his eyes darker now and focused solely on my lips. "I am your husband and you may call me Dash."

He lowered his head again and this time the kiss wasn't so gentle. In fact, it was demanding. His mouth pressed against mine, then opened as his tongue licked along my lower lip. I gasped at the heat of the touch and he took the moment for his tongue to dip into my mouth. He tasted of the apple pie from lunch and of something dark and dangerous. I responded, but I wasn't sure how, for I knew not how to kiss.

"It's my turn." I heard the words through a haze as thick as London fog.

I'd completely forgotten that Connor stood behind us and I startled, pulling my mouth away. Mr. McPh—Dash's hands tightened about me. Connor had witnessed the kiss, the way my eyes had closed, the way I hadn't pushed Dash away. Dear Lord.

"Please, put me down," I said, but either they didn't hear me or didn't wish to do as asked, for I was passed from Dash to Connor. "I...I am not a parcel to be bandied about!"

Connor's hold was equally secure, but as I'd considered before, he felt different. His chest was broader and his scent, he smelled different. Where Dash was dark and spicy, Connor smelled more of the open prairie and leather. It was an odd combination, but it suited him.

What did not suit me was being held in his arms. "This isn't right," I insisted, pushing in vain against his chest. One dark brow went up as he looked at me.

"Oh? Ye mean I've waited too long to kiss ye? Tis all I thought about while we had lunch. Did ye know ye smell of vanilla?"

He grinned, then pulled me up and into a kiss that was completely different that Dash's. Connor's mouth was firmer, more insistent and he didn't keep his lips in one place, but nibbled—yes, nibbled!—his way to the corner of my mouth, then to the other.

"I can't be kissing you. We're...we're not married!" I said in a rush. I felt his warm breath on my cheek, my jaw. Everywhere.

Connor lifted his head and eyed me with confusion. "Aye. We are. Any woman married to Dash is married to me."

I shook my head. "No." I pushed at his chest and tried to get down, but he held me securely beneath my knees and behind my back. I wasn't going anywhere unless he decided it. "The marriage license, it solely says Dashiell McPherson. I can't go kissing you being married to him."

"Are ye asking my permission, sweetheart, to kiss Connor?" Dash asked from over Connor's shoulder.