Page 78 of Texas Glory
“Ah, Becky,” he said softly as he welcomed her into his embrace and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.
“He said he wanted to show me something,” she rasped through the thick knot in her throat. “I didn’t know—”
“Shh. How could you know, sweet thing?”
“You’re angry with me.”
“No, I’m not.” He cupped her face and tilted her head back slightly. “Well, maybe a little. Why couldn’t you have danced with Cameron?”
“Duncan asked.” She lifted her shoulder. “I really wanted to dance with you.”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb, over and over, the anger fading from his eyes, leaving them the blue of a flame writhing within a fire. “I can’t dance and make the music. Did you like the music?”
“I thought you played lovely. I would have been happy to just sit and listen to you all evening.”
“You looked beautiful dancing, Becky, even if it was with Duncan. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” A corner of his mouth curved up. “I could sit and look at you all night.” He dipped his head slightly, and her heart sped up. “Tell me to stop, Becky, and I will. Otherwise, I aim to kiss you.”
“You gonna do it proper?”
“Proper, the way you deserve.”
She had dreamed about his kiss at night while she slept, beneath the blankets, and during the day while she worked, on top of a ladder stacking canned goods. But none of her dream kisses were as wonderful as the reality.
He touched his mouth tentatively to hers, briefly, then brushed his lips over hers, reminding her of the way he had tuned his violin before he had ever begun to play the first song. Testing, teasing, searching for the right sounds.
Waiting for the right moment.
Then the moment came when he settled his mouth over hers and struck a resonant chord within her heart.
Dallas cringed when he looked in the mirror. Like some young buck shaving for the first time, he had three tiny nicks embedded in his chin. Squinting he leaned closer, wondering if he should even out the sides on his mustache a little more.
He’d bathed and trimmed everything on him that could be trimmed: his hair, his nails, his mustache.
He’d never been so damn nervous in his entire life.
Wearing only his trousers—new trousers, never before worn—he examined himself, wondering if Dee would find him lacking. He fought the urge to squirm as his reflection glared back at him.
He jerked his shirt off the bed and slipped it over his head. He started to button it and stopped. Dee would only have to unbutton it—or he would—and his fingers were shaking so badly he didn’t know if he’d be able to release the buttons without sending them flying across the room.
Better to leave it unbuttoned.
He yanked his shirt over his head and threw it on the bed. Better not to wear it at all.
They both knew why he was coming to her room. No need to pretend otherwise.
Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the bottle of wine and two glasses. He’d never gotten to open the bottle when he was married to Amelia. He had begun to fear he’d never get a chance to open it.
Only this evening Dee had told him she wanted to give him a son.
The odd thing was as much as her words had thrilled him, they’d also left him wanting. He just wasn’t sure exactly what it was he wanted from her anymore.
Her smiles. Her laughter. Her feet tucked beneath her as she considered business decisions.
Her body curled against his.
He opened the door to his bedroom and the sound echoed down the hallway. Had he ever noticed how everything echoed in this house?
In bare feet, he crept toward her room, his heart thundering harder than it had when a bull had stampeded after him in his youth. He wanted to smooth down his hair and run his fingers across his mustache, but his hands were full so he simply took another deep breath and rapped his knuckles on her door.
