Loving Against the Grain (Into the West #2)

Chapter 18

 

What had she just said? Noah stared at his wife, paralyzed, unable to move anything except the thoughts careening about in his head like frantic bees in a bustling hive. All he could physically manage was a blink of startled eyes while he attempted to make sense of the words he thought he’d heard. They sounded a lot like Emmaline had just told him she wanted to be bedded. But that couldn’t be right. Could it? Those words were only uttered in his dreams, followed by images so real he would surely awaken to find himself so hot, sweaty, and aroused that not even mentally naming all the tack stored in the stable would reduce the want within his body.

 After another closing and opening of his eyes, Noah came to the conclusion that he’d indeed heard the words for which he’d been longing. However, the knowledge gave him no comfort. Instead, his pulse began heavily tripping, and his breathing became shallow; his pants uncomfortably tightened. He’d been hurled into the flames of desire with no warning; with no way to protect himself from the pain of more self-denial …

“Say something!” Emmie’s voice hissed over the air stifling his hearing, suffocating his throat, his airways. But through the buzz in his ears he also heard the tremble underlying that sibilant whisper, the uncertain tone creeping forward, belying her boldness. Under all her bravado the scared, innocent girl he’d married months ago dreaded repudiation; feared rejection. Her husband’s rejection. He nearly barked a sardonic laugh at that scenario. As if. Just as Noah opened his mouth to reply, their waiter sidled up, pen and tablet at the ready.

“Would Madam and Sir desire dessert? This evening we feature…” As the well-meaning gentleman began raining tonight’s specials down upon deaf ears, all Noah could latch onto was one word: desire. Oh, yes, he desired something, alright! A truly delicate dessert of the most carnal kind! He doubted it would ever be served at the finest of restaurants, nor would one serving satisfy his hunger!

While these wildly inappropriate notions zigzagged through his lust-filled mind, one such vision being the image of Emmie displayed before him atop a table, Noah managed to glance over at his wife, the reason for his jumbled thought processes in the first place. She stared down at the table, methodically straightening her utensils while a delightful shade of pink crept up her neck, suffusing her cheeks with a rosy glow reminiscent of the lamp shade back home. He would get no help from her quarter, then. Heaving a heavy sigh, Noah let the man down gently.

“Regretfully, sir, today’s journey has tired my wife,” Noah explained. “I believe we’ll retire early, and start our holiday on the morrow. Thank you for a delicious meal.”

Casting a quick, concerned glance at Emmie, who remained studiously studying the tablecloth, the waiter replied quietly, “Very good, sir.” With one more nod he disappeared, no doubt to ready their bill. They sat alone once more.

Leaning forward, Noah licked his lips to speak, noticing peripherally how young his wife appeared at this moment. With eyes downcast and dark lashes fanning over her cheekbones, and hair pulled up beneath one of those nonsensical hats she favored, this one navy blue with a bird nestled in the brim, she resembled more of a young girl playing dress up than an almost-mother. Until he glanced down at the swells of her breasts, or the baby mound spreading the folds of the dress. And felt his arousal strengthen.

Shifting in his seat to alleviate the growing pressure, Noah chose his words carefully. “Emmie--”

Now she raised her head, and Noah shot to the back of his chair at the passion blazing from her crystal orbs. It was she who leaned forward now, unmindful of her neckline dropping open. To his credit, Noah’s eyes remained trained on Emmaline’s emotion-filled countenance.