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She squirmed. “I’m too heavy for you. You’ll pull something or strain your muscles.”
He shrugged as well as he could with her in his arms. “My muscles could probably do with a little more strain.” When her eyes widened, he hastened to add, “A little more. Don’t go getting any grand ideas.”
“Oh, perish the thought,” she said, bringing another smile to his lips.
He carried her a little farther into the house and then gently lowered her to the ground. But he didn’t release her. “You looked very beautiful today. These were a nice touch.” His finger trailed over the crown of daisies still in her hair. They’d been his favorite flower ever since he was a little boy. His mother had always had them in the house when she could. It was one of the few things he remembered about her. So, to see them in Mercy’s hair at their wedding… He gritted his teeth, not wanting to show any of the emotion that clambered at him.
“It was very kind of Mrs. DuVere to loan me such a fine gown,” Mercy said, smoothing her hands over the material. “I’ve never worn anything so beautiful.”
Gray’s knuckles brushed across her cheek. “You should always be draped in silk and jewels.”
Her eyes rose to his in surprise, but he wasn’t quite brave enough to meet her gaze. “I probably won’t be able to give you everything you deserve,” he said, trying to find a way to say what he wanted without coming across too strongly. “But everything I have is yours.”
“Gray.” Her voice cracked, thick with emotion.
“Don’t get too excited,” he said. “The sum total of my possessions is two guns and a pain-in-the-ass horse.”
Mercy’s laugh filled the room, a sound that never failed to make him smile, and he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her closer. She gasped as he brought their bodies flush against each other.
“Are you sure you still want to be my wife in truth?” he asked, not knowing what answer he wanted to hear the most. If she was wise, she’d say no, because getting deeper involved with him was never a good idea for anyone. But he was honest enough to admit, to himself at least, that he wanted her to say yes. Because he needed her. Desperately.
He held his breath as she trailed her hands up his arms to circle his shoulders. She pressed herself even closer and rose on her tiptoes until her mouth was a breath away from his.
“I said yes when the reverend asked me all those questions, Gray,” she said. “I meant it. Make me your wife.”
He didn’t wait for her to ask again. He captured her lips, his mouth moving over hers with an urgency he could no longer control, as he scooped her into his arms again and walked into her bedroom. But if he’d worried that his exuberance would frighten her, he shouldn’t have.
As he lowered her feet back to the ground, she returned his kiss with a passion that both startled and amused him. When he licked at her lips, she immediately opened to him and he delved inside, tasting and exploring every bit of her. Her arms tightened around his neck, trailing up to tangle in his hair. And when a quiet whimper escaped her lips, Gray groaned, crushing her to him, staking a claim with his kiss that had her clutching at him with a passion that spurred his own.
He didn’t let up, moving his mouth to trail down the column of her throat. She dragged in a shaky breath, tilting her head to give him better access. And when his hand curved around her buttocks and squeezed, bringing her up against the hard length of him, she gasped and ground herself against him.
“Damn, woman,” he groaned into her neck. “You keep that up and I won’t last ten seconds.”
“Well, we’ll just have to work on your stamina,” she said, kissing a burning path across his jawline while her fingers tugged at the bowtie Sunshine had meticulously tied what seemed like days ago.
He snorted and pulled her closer again. “I’ll admit there are many things I need to work on. But stamina is not one of them.”
She shrugged and pushed his jacket from his shoulders. “All I’ve got to go on is what I’ve seen since you’ve been here and—”
He cut her off with a searing kiss that had her swaying in his arms. When he finally pulled away, they were both breathless, chests heaving. “Judging me on my performance during chores is unfair.”
His fingers fumbled at the interminable row of tiny buttons on her bodice. “Hmm,” she said, unbuttoning his vest and pushing it off his shoulders. “I don’t know. One could consider performing your husbandly duties as a chore.”
He snorted. “Sweetheart, any man who counts making love to his wife as a chore isn’t worth the ink on the marriage license.”
Before she could respond to that, he growled in frustration and pushed away from her.
“Wha—?” she sputtered as he marched from the room.
“Stay there, I’ll be right back,” he said and walked away.
He marched across the small house straight to the kitchen, where he selected the sharpest knife he could find, and then hurried back to the bedroom. Mercy’s eyes widened and she took a step back when he came at her with the knife raised.
“What are you doing?” She raised a hand to ward him off, though he was pleased to see she didn’t look afraid. More curious and a bit exasperated.
He pointed at her bodice with the knife tip. “I’m cutting that damn dress off you.”
He stepped forward, and she warded him off again, this time with a laugh. “You are not cutting up Mrs. DuVere’s gown. She’d never forgive me. Just…give me a minute.”
