struggling with the untruth she uttered.
It was not what he had expected to hear. His arms loosened from their hold about her body, his head lifting, his mouth releasing the faint suction he’d held.
Johanna forced strength into her neck muscles, mourning the loss of his warmth, the comforting touch of his arms and hands, the muscular length of his body pressed against her softer parts. And in the mourning admitted to herself that she could never have what Tate Montgomery was offering her.
That he would be kind, she did not doubt. That his hands would woo her tenderly, she was most assured. That he would be expecting a virgin in his bed, she was certain.
And Johanna was not a virgin. Not even close. The thought of Tate Montgomery’s scorn was more than she could face, and she held her eyes tightly closed against the brimming tears.
She had sealed her own fate on that night ten years ago. Jezebel, her father had called her. Perhaps that was the least of what Tate would label her if he knew the truth.
“Go, Johanna. Go to bed.” His arms fell from around her, and she stepped back, blinking furiously, unwilling to meet his gaze.
Silently she turned from him. Aware of what might have been, woefully admitting to herself that it could never be, she climbed the stairs to her lonely bed.
Chapter Seven
“W ill you drive the wagon for me this morning?” Tate stood in the kitchen doorway, his booted feet bearing traces of mud. “That sprinkle last night was just a teaser. We’ve got a storm coming, and that hay has to be under cover or we’re going to lose it.”
Johanna turned, wiping her hands hastily on the front of her apron. “Just let me change my shoes and get my shawl.”
“Better wear your heavy coat, Johanna. The wind’s pretty chilly this morning. Once the sun’s out full, it won’t be so bad.” He watched as she bent to retrieve her outdoor boots from near the door, his gaze lingering on the lush curve of her hips. She’d whack him a good one if she knew he was taking advantage of the view she presented.
It was the first moment of humor he’d enjoyed since the failure of their encounter last evening. He’d spent a miserable night, aware that he’d overstepped his self-imposed boundaries, knowing full well the havoc he’d wreaked.
The kiss had been an impulse on his part. And once his hands contained her warmth, he’d been on a landslide to discovery. Only the knowledge of her innocence had kept him from carrying her to his room. She deserved better than an impromptu bedding, this prickly virgin he’d married.And as wary as she was of him this morning, he’d probably best figure on months of solitude in that big bedroom.
He’d told her to start with that he wouldn’t expect her to come to his bed, but that had been before he was exposed to her on a daily basis. Now he’d like to draw up a new bargain. Hell, he’d like to go back and redo the whole thing, from the word go.
Johanna Montgomery was a woman any man would desire, once he’d taken more than a cursory glance. Once he’d looked beyond the sharp tongue, to the quick wit that fed it. Once he’d grown to recognize the lonely woman, who was about as needy as any female he’d ever known. And needy didn’t even begin describing his situation after last night. That Johanna hadn’t brought it up this morning was a wonder.
She was ready. While he stood there gaping, she’d tied her boots and gathered up her heavy coat. Tate stepped back, holding the screen door open for her, then pulled the inside door shut behind them.
From her pockets, Johanna drew woolen mittens and tugged them on, tucking them inside her coat sleeves. She lifted her head, inhaling the morning air. “It’s going to warm up before long,” she predicted. “Where’d you get the mud, Tate? The yard’s pretty well dried up.”
He glanced down at his boots. “The wagon was in that low spot behind the barn. I had to hitch the horses up back there to haul it
It was not what he had expected to hear. His arms loosened from their hold about her body, his head lifting, his mouth releasing the faint suction he’d held.
Johanna forced strength into her neck muscles, mourning the loss of his warmth, the comforting touch of his arms and hands, the muscular length of his body pressed against her softer parts. And in the mourning admitted to herself that she could never have what Tate Montgomery was offering her.
That he would be kind, she did not doubt. That his hands would woo her tenderly, she was most assured. That he would be expecting a virgin in his bed, she was certain.
And Johanna was not a virgin. Not even close. The thought of Tate Montgomery’s scorn was more than she could face, and she held her eyes tightly closed against the brimming tears.
She had sealed her own fate on that night ten years ago. Jezebel, her father had called her. Perhaps that was the least of what Tate would label her if he knew the truth.
“Go, Johanna. Go to bed.” His arms fell from around her, and she stepped back, blinking furiously, unwilling to meet his gaze.
Silently she turned from him. Aware of what might have been, woefully admitting to herself that it could never be, she climbed the stairs to her lonely bed.
Chapter Seven
“W ill you drive the wagon for me this morning?” Tate stood in the kitchen doorway, his booted feet bearing traces of mud. “That sprinkle last night was just a teaser. We’ve got a storm coming, and that hay has to be under cover or we’re going to lose it.”
Johanna turned, wiping her hands hastily on the front of her apron. “Just let me change my shoes and get my shawl.”
“Better wear your heavy coat, Johanna. The wind’s pretty chilly this morning. Once the sun’s out full, it won’t be so bad.” He watched as she bent to retrieve her outdoor boots from near the door, his gaze lingering on the lush curve of her hips. She’d whack him a good one if she knew he was taking advantage of the view she presented.
It was the first moment of humor he’d enjoyed since the failure of their encounter last evening. He’d spent a miserable night, aware that he’d overstepped his self-imposed boundaries, knowing full well the havoc he’d wreaked.
The kiss had been an impulse on his part. And once his hands contained her warmth, he’d been on a landslide to discovery. Only the knowledge of her innocence had kept him from carrying her to his room. She deserved better than an impromptu bedding, this prickly virgin he’d married.And as wary as she was of him this morning, he’d probably best figure on months of solitude in that big bedroom.
He’d told her to start with that he wouldn’t expect her to come to his bed, but that had been before he was exposed to her on a daily basis. Now he’d like to draw up a new bargain. Hell, he’d like to go back and redo the whole thing, from the word go.
Johanna Montgomery was a woman any man would desire, once he’d taken more than a cursory glance. Once he’d looked beyond the sharp tongue, to the quick wit that fed it. Once he’d grown to recognize the lonely woman, who was about as needy as any female he’d ever known. And needy didn’t even begin describing his situation after last night. That Johanna hadn’t brought it up this morning was a wonder.
She was ready. While he stood there gaping, she’d tied her boots and gathered up her heavy coat. Tate stepped back, holding the screen door open for her, then pulled the inside door shut behind them.
From her pockets, Johanna drew woolen mittens and tugged them on, tucking them inside her coat sleeves. She lifted her head, inhaling the morning air. “It’s going to warm up before long,” she predicted. “Where’d you get the mud, Tate? The yard’s pretty well dried up.”
He glanced down at his boots. “The wagon was in that low spot behind the barn. I had to hitch the horses up back there to haul it
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