Page 89 of Texas Glory
“Like what?”
“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking!”
Houston narrowed his eye. “I learned how to kiss watching you. How could you forget how to do it?”
“I didn’t forget, but I only ever kissed whores except for Amelia.” He grimaced as her description of his kiss resounded through his head. “She says I kiss nice.” He stepped forward and crossed his arms over the top rail of the corral. “Nice, for God’s sake. I’m surprised Dee didn’t gag.”
Houston eased up alongside him. “Maybe it has nothing to do with the way you kiss her. Maybe it has everything to do with what you’re feeling when you kiss her.”
Dallas shifted his gaze to his brother. “What do you mean?”
Houston rubbed the scarred side of his face, his fingers grazing his eye patch. “You’ll get angry if I tell you.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Give me your word.”
“You got it.”
Houston released a deep breath. “The first time I kissed Amelia, we had just crossed that flooded river—”
“You kissed her before you got to the ranch?”
“You said you wouldn’t get angry.”
“I’m not angry, I’m aggravated. I trusted you—” Dallas reined in his temper. Five years ago, he’d made a decision that had left him without a wife. He didn’t plan to repeat his mistake. “Finish your explanation.”
Houston gave his throat a sound clearing as though contemplating the wisdom of his words. “Well … I was furious because she’d jumped into the river to save me, I was damn grateful she hadn’t drowned, and it hit me harder than a bucking mustang that I loved her. I couldn’t tell her so I tried to show her. I poured everything I felt into that kiss, and I’ve been kissing her that way ever since.”
“And making her toes curl.”
Houston smiled broadly. “Apparently so.”
Dallas shoved himself away from the corral. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Maybe in time, once your feelings for Dee deepen—”
“That’s my problem, Houston. I think I’ve fallen in love with her and I’ve got no earthly idea how to make her love me.”
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Dallas stood outside Dee’s room. He had decided that if he was only going to have one night with her each month, he was going to make the best of it.
He wouldn’t leave her bed this time until dawn eased over the horizon, and if she didn’t want him to make love to her again, he’d content himself with simply holding her within his arms through the night.
He knocked on the door and waited an eternity for her to open it. He stepped into the room and slammed the door.
“You’re early,” she said as she drew the brush through her silken black hair.
“Didn’t see any point in waiting.” He took her in his arms and latched his mouth onto hers like there was no tomorrow, wishing to God that there would be, that her toes would curl, and she would want him in her bed every night.
Her brush clattered to the floor, and she wound her arms around his neck tighter than the noose on an escaping calf. She pressed her body flush against his, and her soles crept over his toes.
He groaned, she moaned, and need rushed through him like a raging river. Holding her close with one hand, his mouth devouring hers, he used his other hand to release the buttons on her gown, hearing several clink as they hit the floor.
He pulled down her gown and bathed in the glorious sight of her bared body as he yanked off his trousers. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down, then draped his body over hers, raining kisses over her face, her throat, her breasts.
