His Make-Believe Bride by Martha Hix

Author:Martha Hix [Hix, Martha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2016-08-12T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

In response to her brazen question Linnea now feared her boldness might upset him anew, for Sam uttered not a single word. But he twined his fingers with hers, hurrying along, making straight for home. His hip nudged hers. More than once. Only the silliest of schoolgirls would be innocent enough to imagine his thoughts were simply of reaching home.

When she might have stumbled into some animal’s underground home, he grabbed her elbow and pulled her to safety. Then he stopped, turned to her.

“Linnea . . . Linnea . . .” He guided their melded fingers to his spine. Looking straight into her eyes, he said, “About last night . . . I’m . . . I handled it all wrong. I regret how I acted.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, unable to say more, but so glad, so relieved . . . This marriage stands a chance.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

“Me, too. I’m sorry for deceiving you.”

“Let’s say no more. Wait. No, not yet.” Sam halted short of their home. “I’d love to give you the life and family you’ve dreamed of. If you will promise never to think about that dead husband when you’re in our bed, I’m willing to overlook the fact he happened at all.”

She could have jumped for joy. Taking the biggest gamble of her life, she let go . . . accepting the course that fate would take her on. “That, I am most willing to do.”

He grabbed her into a sensuous hug that gave proof of his desire. He cocked his head as if to kiss her, but stopped. “Unless you wanna put on a show for the birds and the chickens, I suggest we hotfoot it to the house.”

As they reached the soddy’s door, he swooped her into his arms, carrying her over the threshold, and then set her to her feet at the bed, never letting go of her hand. As he pulled back the blanket, she glanced at their clasped hands, loving the feel of his rough fingers against the smoothness of hers.

“Linnea,” he said then, his usual baritone now lowered to a ragged whisper as he smiled and again captured her gaze. “May I undress you? Allow me to remember this . . . please.”

“Please do,” she replied, unable to say anything more. She’d been holding her breath, yet hadn’t realized it until this moment.

Only then did Sam release her hand. He brushed his knuckles gently down her cheek, the column of her neck, the side of her breast and her waist . . . and then slowly went to work. He knelt and began with her shoes, then his own.

“Pretty, so lovely,” he murmured as he undid her blouse and skirt, and leaned to kiss the rise of her bosom. “I intend to kiss each of your freckles,” he whispered, her knees going very, very weak.

Linnea felt not a shred of embarrassment . . . and abruptly she realized why. Her husband’s hot gaze and even hotter touch radiated throughout everything within her.

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