Page 47 of Texas Glory
“Her name isn’t that much different from mine, and you never have any trouble with it.”
“It’s a hell of a lot different. Your name is soft. Her name is … hard … like a stack of wood.”
“I like her name.”
“Well, I don’t.”
She hit his arm, and the lemonade sloshed over the glass onto his hand. He stepped back. “Goddamm it!”
She hit him again. “Then call her something else.”
“Like what?”
“Sugar bunch.”
He grimaced.
“Sweetheart, darlin’.”
“I can’t see words like that rolling off my tongue.”
“Then find a word that will, but call her something.”
“Why? She’s never said my name either.”
“You’re acting like a two-year-old.”
He felt like a fool, watching his wife with another man, looking as though she was enjoying herself when she’d never enjoyed a single moment of his company.
Amelia rubbed his arm. “I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business. I just want to see you happy.”
“I will be as soon as I get my son.”
A sadness washed over her features. “Is a son so important to you?”
“Yes. It’s the only unfulfilled dream I have left.”
“Why did you have love and cherish removed from your marriage vows?”
He shifted his gaze to the glass of lemonade, the truth as bitter as the drink in his hand. “I’m not an easy man, Amelia. I know that. Love isn’t something she’s likely to give me. Didn’t see any point in asking her to take a vow she couldn’t keep.” He handed the glass back to her. “We need to get going before darkness settles in.” He stepped off the porch.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” she said softly.
With a sad smile, he glanced back at her. “Seems I gave myself too much. If I told her she could leave and I’d still keep my fence pulled back, she’d be gone before the first star came out.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Dallas crossed his arms over the top railing and stared at the stars. Spending the day with his brother’s family had sharply brought home just how much was missing from his own life: not only his son, but the warm glances Houston and Amelia had exchanged throughout the day that had revealed the depth of their love for each other without a single word being spoken.
He didn’t expect Cordelia to ever look at him the way Amelia looked at Houston: as though he hung the moon and stars. If he were a kind man, he’d set Cordelia free, send her back to her father without ever knowing the complete taste of her mouth, the feel of her flesh within his palms, the sound of her cries as he poured his seed into her.
But he wasn’t a kind man. He wanted to kiss her again, more deeply than before, his mouth devouring hers. He wanted to skim his hands over her breasts, across her narrow waist, and along her slender hips. He wanted to hear her gasps, sighs, and moans.
He wanted her in his bed—he groaned in frustration. She was already in his bed. His problem was that he didn’t know how to get himself back into his bed without knocking on her door and seeing the fear reflected in her eyes.
He’d thought about slipping into her room in the dead of night, nuzzling her awake, trailing kisses—
