The Savage

“Do you know what’s supposed to happen tonight?”

“N-No…not really.” She bit her lip as she untied the laces of her corset. “I once saw a stallion cover a mare. It looked…awkward.”

“It won’t be that way for your first time. We’ll be face-to-face.”

“You’re…going to have to show me what to do.”

An unexpected tenderness crept through him. He felt suddenly like a low-down snake. She was so innocent. He would contaminate her purity just by touching her. She was too good for him; bright and decent and fresh.... Maybe he was a savage. For sure the hot storm of lust streaking through him felt savage. Being so close to fulfilling his fantasies had a lot to do with his brutal hunger. Knowing Summer was his for the taking made him ache with need. The things he’d dreamed of doing to her…Having her go wild beneath him. Feeling her wrap those long, slender legs around his hips as he thrust hard and fast into her. Hearing her cry out with pleasure as she bucked and writhed and arched against him. The image was strong enough to make him break out in a sweat. Sinful enough to make him unsure of himself.

Hell, he didn’t know how to make love to a lady. It was beyond his experience. He’d never had a true lady. The few whores he’d mounted who didn’t mind getting tossed by a half-breed had all been willing and wild, as eager for a good tumble as he. He knew how to give a woman pleasure. He’d learned on purpose, so they would have good reason to let him in their beds. He could hold his own with the most practiced whore.

But he didn’t know how to treat a lady…let alone his wife. And soon he would have her beneath him. His wife…Summer. The notion made his mouth go dry. If there’d been time, he would have asked the saloon girl in Georgetown who’d taught him about women what he should do. He wanted it to be good for Summer. He would try his damnedest to make it good.

“Everything, princess,” he said, seeing her hesitate. She had removed most of her underwear and stood shivering in her drawers and chemise.

Summer clenched her teeth as she sat in one of the two rough wooden chairs by the table to remove her boots. Then standing again, she shimmied out of her lace-edged drawers.

When that was done, there was no more reason for delay. She felt Lance watching her, felt those hot, smoldering eyes touching her scantily-clad body in all the most intimate places. She wanted to sink through the floor, and yet the turmoil roiling inside her was not just embarrassment or fear. There was heat and wonder and nervous anticipation, too.

“I’m waiting,” Lance said softly, giving no quarter.

Hesitantly, rebelliously, she reached for the edges of her chemise and drew the garment over her head. Letting it drop to the table, she heard Lance’s sharp inhalation and closed her eyes in shame. This was how slave women must feel on the auction block. Naked. Quivering. Heart wildly pulsing. The object of base male speculation and desire.

A sensual shiver raced through her.

The small room grew hushed, only broken by the quiet crackle of wood in the stove and the soft bubble of simmering coffee. For the longest moment Lance said nothing; he couldn’t have managed it just then if his life depended on it. His breath had hissed from his lungs at the sight of her. She had high, rounded breasts with tight

pink nipples…slender, graceful shoulders that tapered to a waist so narrow, he could span it with his hands…sweetly curving hips and slender legs. Between, at the junction of pale, slim thighs, lay a bush of dark, curling hair that hid the portal to her womanhood.

She was a thing of beauty, and after a lifetime of ugliness, his soul craved beauty.

For a full minute his hot gaze took her in, while the tension in the little cabin swelled. Her chin was raised at a stubborn angle and she’d opened her eyes, as if determined not to be cowed. He wondered how a person could look so proud and vulnerable at the same time.

“Come here, Summer,” he said gruffly, huskily. “I can’t touch you if you’re all the way across the room.”

Since the room was barely ten feet wide, there could be no great distance between them, but she bit back the retort and forced her feet to move till she reached the narrow bed where he was sitting and stood over him.

“Lance…” Her voice was hoarse, shaky. “You said… you said you wouldn’t hurt me…”

He felt his gut tighten at her soft plea; unwanted tenderness squeezed his throat and roughened his voice. “I won’t…not on purpose…but it may hurt a little. I hear sometimes it hurts a woman the first time. But I’ll try to make it easy. I’ll do my best to pleasure you.”

Summer stared down at him, biting her lip as she considered the possibility. She hadn’t thought that Lance would want to give her pleasure after what she had done to him. For that matter, she didn’t want to feel pleasure, not when Amelia might be suffering torment. Still, his assurance relieved her mind. He wasn’t going to fall on her and rape her like a beast.

She watched blankly as he patted the mattress beside him. “Sit down here next to me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Reluctantly she obeyed, turning to sit rigidly on the edge of the bed.

Lance felt every muscle in his body clench at her nearness. She was so beautiful, it made his chest ache, his manhood throb with painful need. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening, that Summer Weston was really about to become his wife in fact as well as name. Almost reverently he reached out a finger to stroke her tight, naked back. She flinched at his touch, but didn’t move away.

“Summer…” He swallowed against the hoarseness of his throat and began again. “Can I take down your hair?”

The quiet question startled her. She hadn’t expected him to ask her permission for anything. She had simply expected him to take. She nodded slowly.

She felt his hard fingers, cautious and gentle, in her hair, searching for the pins that held her snood in place. He could have dropped them on the floor, but he handed them to her one by one—and she was grateful. It gave her something to do, something to cling to. She was aware of how smooth the carved wood felt against her palm, how soothing his fingers felt against her scalp as he slowly raked the knot at her nape, loosing the tangled tresses.

Again Lance said nothing; he was too caught up in the wonder of what he was doing to try to speak. He hadn’t remembered her hair right. How it glowed dark and lustrous as a sable pelt. How it shimmered with red and gold highlights. How silky and soft it felt against his fingertips. It was more beautiful than any memory he’d held on to. And her skin…so soft and white and silky…

His hand was shaking as he raised it to stroke her bare shoulder; all his senses felt sharp and hungry and raw. Slowly, so he wouldn’t scare her, he moved his hand around her shoulder and downward…to cover her right breast, cupping it with his palm.