A Wanton Woman (Mail Order Bride of Slate Springs 1)

I offered him a smile. “That’s quite nice of you. To keep Mrs. Jacobs employed, I mean. I’m sure we will get along fine.”

“She will not be here this evening, so we will have to fend for ourselves.”

Booted feet stomped toward the ba

ck of the house. “That will be Walker.”

He took my hand in his and led me to the kitchen, the chill already gone from the room because of the stove.

“Until this weather lets up, we will not be seeing anyone from town,” he said as he removed his boots.

Luke nodded. “Good. Then we can have our honeymoon without interruption. Let me light the rest of the fireplaces and get the house warm. Then we’ll warm you.”

The deep timbre of his voice had me thinking I didn’t need my coat any longer.

Walker stripped his off and hung it by the door.

“She might run off, though, Luke.”

“Oh?” he asked his brother.

Walker kept his eyes on me, but I frowned in confusion. I wasn’t going anywhere in all that snow.

“We’ll need to tie her up, I think.”

My mouth fell open then, remembering I’d told him I wanted to be tied up and taken.

Luke grunted. “Mmm, yes. Once we know she’ll not escape, I think we need to prepare her ass with the next plug.”

I clenched down at the idea.

“We’ll prepare her and fuck her. Again and again. This snow might not let up for days.”

“Days,” Luke confirmed.

They stepped toward me together, hands on the buttons of my coat, the hat on my head.

I had nowhere to go, nothing to do but be the center of their world. As they began to kiss down my neck, cup my breasts and whisper dirty words, I knew I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Luke

Two days. We had Celia to ourselves for two perfect days. Two days we spent in my house with her, making her the center of our world. We slept, we fucked, we talked. We learned about each other. I knew now that she disliked onions and preferred to have socks on her feet when she slept. While she remained naked between us—we both enjoyed the feel of her bare body pressed against ours—her feet were in a pair of my thick socks.

There were no callers, no one interested in seeing the woman that I’d married, that I now shared with Walker. They would arrive soon though, for Walker had walked to his house to retrieve some of his clothes. We’d decided before we went to Denver that we would live in my house—our house now—and Walker had yet to move in fully. Come spring, we would sell his house. There was no doubt he’d be seen and everyone would know of our return. I guessed we had three hours before the most curious would come knocking.

While the journey over the pass had been treacherous, the snow heavy and the wind creating blizzard-like conditions, Slate Springs had escaped the brunt of it. Mountain weather was fickle and I was pleased to see only a few inches on the ground out the window. The morning sun was bright, making the snow we did have, glitter. Inside, the scent of coffee and fried potatoes filled the warm air. The cast-iron stove made the room quite warm and I enjoyed seeing Celia in just my shirt and socks.

“See the rope, sweetheart?”

She turned away from the stove and looked out the back window, squinting against the brightness.

“It’s strung between the back porch to the barn. If it’s snowing too hard to see the barn, you need to grab hold of it and use it as a guide, otherwise you might get lost.”

“Lost?” She frowned. “It’s only, what, fifty feet to the barn?”

“Mmm,” I murmured, agreeing with her estimate. “About that. Last year, Mr. Demer went to feed his horses one night and they found him twenty feet from his back door the next morning. He’d walked outside, gotten turned around and couldn’t find his way back. The snow was so heavy he couldn’t even see the light from the kitchen.”