Preacher's In-Name-Only Wife Read online

  Her sigh of surrender set off something inside him, her tentative touch against his chest inflaming him. Backing her against the counter, he deepened the kiss, dived into the sweet taste of her like a starving man at a feast. He had a thought that he should slow down, that he shouldn’t be leading them down this road, but his desire was too huge, the responsive woman beneath his hands too tempting.

  Amy wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. This was exactly what she needed, exactly what she wanted. He made her feel like the sexiest woman on the planet, drew her out.

  The buckle of his belt pressed into her stomach, the hard ridge of his arousal against her pubic bone intoxicating her.

  Static from the baby monitor on the counter beside them brought her back to earth. Shayna fussed, then gave a coughing little cry.

  Amy sighed and eased her hold on his shoulders, resting her forehead against his.

  Saved by the baby.

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or to curse.

  She was so torn. Torn between the desire in her heart and the passion in her soul.

  Desire for her temporary husband, and passion for her career dreams.

  “I’ll go get her,” Dan said.

  She nodded.

  He paused at the door. “Amy?”

  She looked up.

  “This isn’t finished.”

  It was a warning. Or a promise.

  Oh, dear Lord. What now?

  WHEN DORA CALLAHAN STOPPED by several days later, Amy was glad of the company. She was walking on eggshells around her husband, in a state of sexual vacillation. Thank goodness, his busy schedule and Shayna’s demands kept them apart. Otherwise, she might have thrown caution to the wind and instigated something they’d both be sorry for.

  Still her mind was consumed with images of that kiss, of what might have happened if Shayna’s cries hadn’t interrupted them.

  “I was over at Tillis’s,” Dora said, “and the ladies snagged my kids, so I thought I’d pop over and see how you’re getting along.”

  “Surviving. You were right, it’s getting a little easier. Shayna’s napping more now, developing a bit of a schedule, though she’s still not sleeping through the night. Thanks for the tip about teething. Nothing’s broken through the skin yet, and she fights the gel I put on her gums, but she gnaws like a toothless beaver on the teething ring. I keep it in the fridge and she seems to like the cold—which gave Dan the bright idea of sharing his Popsicle with her the other day.” Her tone was dry and disapproving. It struck her that she sounded just like a mother.

  “Men,” Dora said with a laugh. “A little lick won’t hurt her, though.” She glanced toward the open door of Amy’s darkroom. “I’m going to be tacky and ask if you’ll let me see your setup in there.”

  “Nothing tacky about it. I love to show off my lab.”

  “And I love listening to your accent. Makes me want to keep you talking. You and Eden Stratton sound so much alike, but different in small ways. Eden’s from Texas. You’re Georgia, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “That must be the difference. Still, it tickles me.”

  Amy grinned and opened the door to the lab. “We aim to please.”

  Dora exclaimed over all the fancy equipment and paged through the photographs lying about. “These are brilliant. I’m almost ashamed to ask to see the ones I took of your wedding.”

  “Oh, stop.” She took out the contact sheet of the thumbnail prints and handed it to Dora.

  “You didn’t develop any?”

  Amy hesitated, then retrieved a binder out of the cupboard.

  “Come on. Hand it over.” Dora snagged the binder and opened it. There was only one picture in it.

  “Oh, my. This is fabulous, even if I do say so myself. Very telling.”

  Amy sighed. “I thought what I was feeling was a fluke until I looked at this photo.”

  “And what is it that you’re feeling?”

  She needed to confide in someone. “I’m having lusty thoughts about my husband and I’m ashamed of myself.”

  Dora, tongue in cheek, said, “Did I ever mention that my father’s a minister?”

  Amy raised her brows. “No. You know I’m starting to get annoyed how all you holy people walk around masquerading as normal folks.”

  Dora nearly fell out laughing. “You sound like my husband. When I came to Shotgun Ridge, Ethan was up on the stage being auctioned off as a bachelor for charity. He was the town playboy and I’d come to deliver his baby daughter to him—Katie. You see, his past had come back to bite him in the rear. When he found out who my father was, he was scared to death of me, treated me like a nun. So, I asked Hannah Malone for some tips and set about to seduce him.”

  “I can’t seduce Dan!”

  “Why not? You’re married to him.”

  “Exactly. And if we act on this…this…whatever it is, it’ll ruin his chance for an annulment.”

  “Do you plan to announce it to the world if you consummate your marriage?”

  “No.”

  Dora shrugged as if to say, “There you go.”

  Instead of helping, Amy was more confused than ever.

  LATER THAT EVENING, Amy came downstairs on her way to the darkroom. Shayna was in bed for the night and she wasn’t sure where Dan was.

  The house was quiet, except for a particularly vicious wind batting at the windows.

  A little boy with a mop of curly red hair and freckles who looked to be around eight years old sat in the corner of the living room, playing with the toys.

  She glanced at the study door, which was partially open. A couple sat huddled together on the sofa by Dan’s desk.

  She looked back at the little boy. So this is why Dan kept toys in his house.

  “Hi,” she said, hesitating inside the room, not sure if she should leave him be. When the boy looked up, the fear and entreaty in his wide blue eyes drew her in. “I’m Amy. What’s your name?”

  “Jeremy. My mom and dad are talkin’ to the preacher.”

  “Oh. That’s nice.”

  “No. It’s not nice. My brother keeps runnin’ away and he’s smokin’ cigarettes and thievin’ and hangin’ with a bad bunch. Sheriff Bodine hauled him into jail when Brody got caught joyriding in Eddie Housen’s snowplow. Eddie wasn’t too happy since he just got a new scoop for the front of his pickup. He’s real picky about that old truck, don’t know why since it looks like a big ugly army tank. Mama was cryin’, though, and Papa was yellin’ and Brody cursed right to their face. Mama said she’s at her wits’ end, and they’re in there talking to Pastor Dan for answers.”

  Well. She hadn’t asked for the whole family history, but she’d gotten it anyway. The little boy was obviously scared, looking toward the door several times. His world was on shaky ground. His parents couldn’t control their son and didn’t have the answers. Frightening thing for a child when your parents didn’t have answers.

  Amy could relate. More times than not, she’d had to be the adult in her household, providing the answers when her mother would wring her hands over one dilemma or the other.

  She went over to the end table and picked up her camera. “Can I take your picture?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re cute.”

  He grinned. “Okay. My school pictures sucked.”

  Hmm. Must have picked that word up from the brother. “I’ll make you a new one.”

  “How are you gonna get it to me?”

  “I have my own room where I develop the pictures. I can get a copy to Pastor Dan and he can give it to you.”

  “Okay.” He set aside the little metal car he’d been running back and forth over the rug and stood, posing by the fireplace, one hand resting against the bricks, his ankles crossed.

  Amy grinned. It was a pose that deserved a man’s silk smoking jacket. Except that the subject through her viewfinder was hardly a man, just a little boy with dirt under his fingernails and tennis shoes wi
th the laces untied and dragging on the ground.

  “Can I take your picture now?” he asked when she’d taken several shots.

  She usually didn’t let children mess with her camera. But this little boy needed a distraction.

  “Sure.” She showed him how to look through the viewfinder and press the shutter, then sat down on the couch and gave him a bright smile.

  He made a grand effort to keep the camera still, to stare through the viewfinder until he was certain of his focus, then took the picture, lowering the camera and giving her such a sweet smile, her heart twisted.

  She patted the sofa cushions beside her. “Come sit and tell me about school.”

  Instead of sitting next to her, he climbed into her lap. At first she froze, unsure what to do. He smelled of little boy sweat and peanut butter. Then she wrapped her arms around his skinny body and hugged him to her.

  For a woman who’d had very little contact with children before, she was getting more than her quota now.

  Amazingly, it felt more right than she would have imagined.

  WHEN DAN CAME OUT of the office with the Cransons, the sight that greeted him made him pause. With the lights low in the living room, Amy sat on the couch, her dark head bent over the redheaded freckle-faced boy.

  One of the problems about these counseling sessions was that children shouldn’t be present to hear details and so were left out, where they would usually build even greater fears because they knew something was wrong.

  Once again, he was struck by Amy’s behavior.

  The behavior of a minister’s wife.

  She was beautiful, and caring, unable to resist a person in need. A lot like himself.

  She wasn’t what he was looking for in a woman…she was so much more. And that scared him.

  He saw the Cransons to the door, then went back into the living room. His emotions were all over the place.

  He stoked the fire in the hearth, then sat down beside her. Wind pelted the windows, making him glad the Cransons had come to the rectory rather than him having to go out to their place.

  “Everything all right?” Amy asked.

  He sighed. “That’s one troubled family.”

  “I know. Jeremy spilled the whole story. I didn’t ask, mind you. He volunteered.”

  Dan smiled. He knew she wouldn’t have probed. She was a private woman, respected other people’s boundaries. “Thanks for keeping him company.”

  “I didn’t mind. He’s a sweet boy.”

  “Amazing how two children in the same family can be so different. That’s one of the Cransons’ worries. That Jeremy will glamorize his brother’s behavior and follow his footsteps.”

  “I don’t think so. He’s pretty scared over the whole thing. Were you able to help them?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. Sometimes it just helps to talk, to know that there’s someone else in your corner who cares. I’ll talk to Lester Russo. This is Brody’s first arrest and Eddie’s not pressing charges over the kids taking his truck. Besides, it was another boy who did the driving. I’ll ask Lester to turn Brody over to me, have him serve some community service hours here at the church. Who knows. Maybe I’ll be able to get through to him.”

  She reached over and slipped her hand beneath his, entwining their fingers, then gave a squeeze. “If anybody can, it’ll be you.”

  The support touched him. How many times had he agonized after one of these counseling sessions, alone, no one to share his concerns with?

  He raised their linked hands, pressed his lips to her knuckles. Her eyes widened and her breath was suspended.

  She was an amazing woman. She’d come into his life so unexpectedly. What had begun as helping out a woman in need had grown into something more.

  So much more.

  When he wasn’t looking, she’d sneaked beneath his skin and right into his heart.

  He pulled her to him, lifted her onto his lap and followed through on the instincts that were screaming inside him, instincts he had no way of stopping, didn’t want to stop. He kissed her.

  If she had fought him, hesitated, he might have come to his senses. But she returned his kiss, turned his mind to mush and his body to a pulsing, raging mass of need.

  Slipping his arm beneath her knees, he stood and carried her toward the stairs.

  Amy came out of her sensual stupor for an instant.

  “Dan?”

  He continued up the stairs and into the master bedroom.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked.

  For an answer, he lowered his head again and kissed her slowly, thoroughly, blanking her mind of everything but the sensual feel of his clever lips against hers.

  He stood her beside the bed, clicked on the lamp. Buttery light cast soft shadows over the room as the wind howled beyond the inky blackness of the windowpanes.

  Her heart pounded in anticipation, yet he took his time, watching her, drinking her in.

  With his hands tenderly cupping her face, he lowered his head and kissed her again. She thought about the photograph, the wedding kiss, the kiss she’d seen her grandfather give her grandmother. This was the same, yet different. If felt special. It felt like love, but could it be?

  She could stand here and kiss him for hours. He was an expert, taking her mouth slowly, not rushing, not blazing ahead and demanding entrance. He gave her time to get used to the feel of his lips on hers, the smell of his skin, the texture of his mouth. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he ran his tongue over the seam of her lips, asking for more.

  She didn’t think twice about giving the permission he sought. She was so turned on, she wanted to rush, to climb up his body, to eat at his lips.

  She whimpered, surprising herself.

  “Easy. We have all the time in the world.”

  No, they didn’t. She knew it and he knew it. But for now, they could shut out the world. Shut out the wind against the window, the responsibility of the child sleeping down the hall, the attorney who had a deadline circled on his calendar to satisfy the terms of a will.

  His hands slid down her arms, his fingers entwining with hers. Lifting their joined hands, he kissed her knuckles as he’d done downstairs, his gaze locking onto hers.

  A lump formed in her throat. There was no excuse for it, no understanding. Just that simple gesture, and her world went off kilter.

  Glancing down, feeling the need to hide from the emotions, her gaze landed on the wall socket. He had a hula-dancer night-light.

  Okay, everybody needed a light so they wouldn’t stub their toe on the way to the bathroom, but a hula dancer?

  Somehow, that silly night-light—a symbol of something that was so typically male, so typically normal—made this all seem okay.

  Reverently, as though unwrapping a coveted package, he eased the open shirt from her shoulders, untucked the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head.

  Her bra was sage-green satin, designed to give extra lift. She might wear men’s clothes on the outside, but beneath, her indulgence was for satin and lace and sex appeal.

  “I had an idea you’d wear something like this.” With a single finger, he stroked the mounds of flesh plumped up by small push-up pads in her bra. “Ever since you described your working lingerie, I’ve not had a good night’s sleep.”

  She licked her lips. “Um, I’ve had a few sleepless nights after our run-in with you in the towel.”

  He grinned. “Good. I like to know you’ve been thinking about me.”

  It was difficult to think about anything else. He was such a masculine man, had such presence. Whenever he walked into a room, he commanded attention.

  He unhooked the front fastening of her bra, taking his time, let the cups hang open, traced the outer swell of her breasts, coming close but never touching the center. She thought she’d go mad.

  He slipped the straps off her shoulders, and she reached for his shirt, tugging it over his head.

  “To even the score,” she said.

  “Let’
s not get too even. I want this to last.”

  His chest was wide and firm and muscular. He was the epitome of masculinity. One would never associate him with the clergy. At least not one with preconceived notions of what such men should look like. Amy was fast learning not to judge a book by its cover.

  He eased her down on the bed and removed her pants and panties, then took an inordinate amount of time slipping off her socks, massaging her feet, running his lips over the skin he exposed.

  Chills raced over her body.

  When he stood to remove his own clothes, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She’d seen him nearly naked, and her imagination had taken it from there. Reality was so much better than imagination.

  Her gaze traveled over his flat stomach, farther down.

  Oh…my…gosh.

  Fully aroused, he was gorgeous.

  He eased onto the bed, brushed her hair back from her temples, stared into her eyes for what seemed an aeon, then kissed her.

  Her nipples puckered, from the chill in the air or desire, she wasn’t sure which. His chest pressed against the sensitized nubs, rubbing, warming, inflaming.

  Part of her realized this was wrong, that they shouldn’t be traveling this particular road. But she couldn’t have denied either of them if her very life depended on it.

  “I’ve dreamed of you like this,” he said. “Soft and warm and responsive.”

  She sucked in a breath as his lips cruised over her neck, her collarbone, her breast, at last closing over her nipple.

  Like a string tugging straight from the core of her, her insides tightened, stunning her, shooting her straight into a climax. That had never happened before, and oddly enough, she felt a twinge of both wonder and embarrassment.

  He didn’t give her time to linger on the phenomenon, for his hands were moving now, stroking between her legs, his fingers slipping inside, first one, then two. Her hips bucked.

  A part of her brain realized he was doing all the giving and she was doing the taking, but she couldn’t seem to find the wherewithal to participate. Her limbs felt paralyzed with pleasure.

  When the second orgasm slammed through her, she screamed, stunned, because she’d had no idea she was a screamer.