Marie Ferrarella - Expecting...in Texas

The band took a well-deserved break, and Savannah found herself alone with Cruz—farther away from the house than she’d realized.

It was as if the air had suddenly stopped moving around her, freezing everything except the two of them. Her eyes trapped by his, Savannah felt her heart hammering wildly.

As he leaned in to kiss her, she turned her head away at the last possible moment. She felt his lips brush against her hair. It was all she could do to take half a step back. Her mind scrambled for something to say. “Show them to me.”

Cruz blinked. “Excuse me?”

Savannah swallowed. She probably sounded like a complete idiot. “Your horses. I’d like to see your horses.”

Cruz paused, seeming to asses her motivation. “They aren’t mine.” He hesitated. “But maybe they’re more mine than anyone’s.”

He took her hand in his. “You’re not exactly dressed to go tramping through the stables.”

When he looked at her like that, as if he knew every thought in her head, every feeling in her heart, she found it difficult to think coherently.

“Dresses can be cleaned,” she finally managed to get out.

His eyes washed over her slowly, making her warm, making her tremble inside—without so much as a word. And then, he laced his fingers through hers and turned away from the party.

And toward the stables.

“Well, what do you think?”

Hellfire was easily the most beautiful horse she had ever seen. It seemed fitting that the animal belonged to someone like Cruz. Both proud, magnificently regal—they belonged together. He told her that Vanessa had presented him with Hellfire for his twenty-fifth birthday.

Murmuring words of endearment, Savannah gently ran her hand along the horse’s muzzle, stroking it. “I think she’s beautiful.”

Leaning against the stall, Cruz laughed. “It’s a he, not a she. You can tell the difference by—”

“Yes,” she said quickly, before Cruz felt called upon to go into an anatomy lesson. “I know exactly how to tell the difference. I was raised on a ranch.”

Flustered, the color came rushing to her cheeks as she stepped away. It had been too crowded in the stall at first for her to clearly view the golden quarter horse. Now that she did, the gender was obvious.

His laughter continued. Savannah could feel her color deepen on her cheeks. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Guiding her away from Hellfire, Cruz drew her toward an empty stall. “Oh, but I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at how impossibly sweet and innocent you seem.”

Stung, she raised her chin in protest. “I’m not innocent.”

His laughter melted into a wide, sensuous smile. “Oh, excuse me. But of course, you’re very worldly.”

Her parents were worldly. In an effort to be less like them, she had avoided all their trappings. Maybe, in the long run, that left her a little naive.

She shrugged, looking away. “Well, all right, not very, but—”

He placed his hands on her shoulders, drawing her attention back to him. And the moment. Savannah lost the thread of her protest.

The wide smile was gone, replaced by a smaller, more intense one that curled her toes. With the tip of his finger, he toyed with a wisp of hair that fell against her cheek.

“And as a worldly woman, you wouldn’t be offended if I kissed you?”

Was he asking for permission? Savannah’s mouth went dry.

“If you—what?” she barely whispered.

His hands tightened ever so slightly on her shoulders as he brought her closer to him. “I prefer showing to talking.”

She held her breath. Cruz slipped his hands from her shoulders up along the sides of her throat until his fingers gently framed her face. She felt every movement, vibrated with every heartbeat.

Waiting.

Anticipating.

This was so completely out of character for her that, for a brief moment, Savannah was convinced she was actually standing on the sidelines, watching, just like with the dance.

But she wasn’t on the sidelines; she was in the heart of the dance. In the heart of the seduction as it unfurled around her, bit by heated bit.

She melted the moment his lips touched hers, a snowflake unable to keep its shape when it was blown into the path of a sunbeam.

The moan that escaped her lips was a sound of pure surrender.

He deepened the kiss, assaulting her mouth again and again. Savannah shivered as he tugged at the zipper that ran the length of her back. As he drew it all the way down, she felt the dress move away from her body.

And at that moment, she knew there was nothing she could refuse him.

Savannah couldn’t get her bearings. Everything melted into everything else. The stable, the horses, the hay within the stall—all faded from her consciousness. All that there was, was Cruz. Cruz—with his thick, dark hair that flowed to almost the tops of his shoulders. Cruz—with his heartstopping smile, his deep brown eyes that undid her, and his hard, sleek body that quickened her pulse. Cruz—who had the ability to reduce her to a mass of molten desire.

She’d never behaved this way before, never abandoned herself, her common sense, her ethics before. She didn’t believe in casual affairs—in casual anything, for that matter.

Yet here she was, giving herself to a man she’d only danced with. Wanting a man she’d barely met. Feeling as if she’d known him her entire life.

It made no sense. And yet, it was happening.

Each place he touched her quivering body seemed a revelation to her, leaving her bewildered, anticipating, yearning. Though not completely inexperienced, she knew she was merely a dazed novice at his hands. A novice with a thirst for learning.

He made her feel beautiful, like a queen beneath his hand, a wild woman beneath his questing mouth. It was as if every fiber of her body was on fire, and he was fanning the flames.

Explosions racked her body as Cruz skillfully moved his fingers, his lips and his tongue over her. There were points along her body she’d thought harmless, certainly not centers of passion.

Until now.

The skin behind her knees, the space inside her elbow, the hollow of her throat—all these he teased, all these he turned into places of heated desire. And when he moved lower, when he finally drove himself into her, she thought herself too weak, too spent to react.

She was wrong.

Everything that came before was but a warm-up act for a finale that left Savannah sobbing his name, biting her lower lip for fear of screaming and bringing everyone here—to this stable where she felt reborn.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The words uttered by the minister abruptly drew Savannah back to the wedding. What was wrong with her? This was Vanessa’s moment. She was here to share it with her, not relive one night of passion best forgotten.

“You came back.”

Only ten minutes into the wedding reception, Savannah’s stomach merged with her heart and both instantly raced for her throat. She wasn’t sure just which won the narrow space for its own as she turned around to face Cruz for the first time since that heated encounter in the stables.

Dressed in a black, embroidered western jacket and a light blue shirt that made his complexion that much more romantically olive, Cruz was standing behind her, a glass of punch in each hand.

It must have been her stomach that won the race, Savannah reasoned. Because her heart had stopped. Completely.

Cruz nodded toward the glasses, his smile unfurling like warm brandy sipped slowly on a cold day. “I seem to find myself with two glasses. Would you like to help me out and take one?”

She became aware that she was smiling in return. Widely. Savannah reminded herself that there was absolutely no reason for her to behave like a tongue-tied adolescent. Yes, he was beautiful, and yes, they had made wild, wonderful, passionate love together. But in the greater scheme of things, that meant nothing.