The Bride of Willow Creek(38)

Then his mouth came down hard on hers, hot, demanding, almost angry. This wasn’t the kiss of an inexperienced youth. His tongue forced her lips apart, shocking her, shooting a searing current of electricity down her spine and through her limbs.

Eyes wide, Angie raised her hands to shove him away, but to her astonishment, her arms circled his neck instead and her knees collapsed. She sagged against him in complete surrender, giving in to the electric tingling that burned away resistance and willpower.

Heaven help her, she tasted him. Pushed her tongue against his and felt him stiffen against her. Felt his arms tighten and his hands cup her buttocks and mold her into his body. He touched her backside. Nothing like this had ever happened to her. It was shocking, amazing, stupefying. And the heat of his hands on her buttocks made her feel strange and hot and wild inside.

Her hands slipped to his cheeks and for the first time Angie felt the texture of her husband’s face beneath her palms. His skin was firm, warm, slightly whiskery. And she discovered the exciting, almost salty taste of him. This wasn’t the careful chaste kiss of so many years ago, not the gentle embrace that had made her feel as cherished as porcelain.

This was a man’s kiss and a man’s need that explored her mouth and pressed her hard against an iron body that set her mind and flesh on fire.

When Sam finally released her lips, they were both breathing hard, and Angie would have fallen if he hadn’t kept his hands on her waist. Her knees had turned to porridge. Staring into her eyes, he said, “Now you’ve been kissed.”

But all her jumbled brain could think of was that she was wearing her oldest dress, pinned up so her snarliest stockings showed, and her hair was a flyaway mess. Wasn’t a kiss like she’d just experienced supposed to happen when a woman was at her most seductive and alluring? She didn’t understand anything.

Sam’s gaze cleared and he dropped his hands as if her waist scorched his palms. Walking to the sink, he leaned on the edge and stared out the window.

“I apologize. I swore I wouldn’t touch you.” He shoved a hand through his long hair, then dropped his fist to the sink.

Dazed and trembling, Angie sank into a chair. The Earth had just shifted on its axis. The world could not be the same place. A man had tasted the inside of her mouth and it had been the most exciting thing that ever happened to her. She had never imagined such an act. Would mistakenly have been repelled if she had.

Lifting a hand, she touched the quivering corners of her lips. They felt swollen and hot. At least her heart had begun to quiet and was no longer slamming against her rib cage.

Lord save her, she wished he’d do it again.

“Well.” Sam cleared his throat and tilted his head back. He noticed the jars Angie had placed on the top shelf over the stove. “What’s all that?”

“Just what the labels say.” Her voice sounded husky and breathless. She cleared her throat too. “I started late on the wash because I went to town and paid a little on all your debts. I portioned out the remainder into the jars.” They were labeled Sam (for saloon, bathhouse, and now laundry money), Angie and girls (for school supplies, clothing, and incidentals), food, household, surgery, divorce.

“I don’t see a treat jar. Little girls need treats every now and then. An ice cream cone, a pretty ribbon.” He shrugged.

“I’ve allowed for incidentals.”

He rattled the surgery and divorce jars, then looked inside. “Fifty cents in each jar?”

“You were behind on most of your debts, so there wasn’t much left over.” Her mind stuck on his previous comment. When had he become the kind of man who believed that little girls needed treats? When he said such things, the breath ran out of her body. On the one hand, Sam worked too much to spend the time with his daughters that Angie believed he should. But he was a natural-born father.

He replaced the jars above the stove. “Winter is a lean time for builders. Jobs should pick up now.”

Surprisingly, he made a good wage. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to keep much as he’d held out a large chunk to pay his men overtime, and he was behind on so many debts.

“I couldn’t locate Marsh Collins, whoever he is. I wanted to pay something on that debt because it’s the largest. The grocer told me I might find Mr. Collins in the Gold Slipper, but of course I wouldn’t go into a saloon. Who is Marsh Collins?”

He nodded but it wasn’t until later that Angie realized he didn’t explain Marsh Collins. “Is there enough money to buy the girls new clothes?”

She had to ask him to repeat the question because her thoughts had swerved and stuck on the way his flannel shirt pulled across his wide shoulders. Her throat burned with the memory of his solid muscular chest against her breasts, and she hastily averted her gaze from the tightness of his denims around his buttocks and thighs.