He found himself inordinately pleased to say the name. He was suddenly sure that his decision to marry Esme Crabb was the most intelligent thing he'd ever done. No lady, he was sure, could be half as tempting. As Esme had so accurately guessed, the gentleman within him had not completely eradicated the man within him.
Dinner hostesses and esoteric conversationalists could be found among friends. It was not necessary to bed one. Esme was earthy and sensual and satisfying. Certainly those qualities were highly desirable for lifelong fidelity.
Cleav ran a lazy hand along one long, slim leg that embraced him. Those legs for a lifetime! And love, too! He placed a soft kiss on her temple as he smiled. This wild, long-legged hill girl was in love with him. She'd chased him and she'd caught him. At that moment he was sure that the future would bring cause for both of them to be grateful.
"What are you wiggling about?" he asked her.
"I feel funny down there," she admitted.
Cleav's smile disappeared. "You're hurt." He attempted to move away again.
"No," Esme assured him as she tightened her arms around him. "It doesn't hurt exactly. It just feels funny."
"Funny how?"
"Like I need to scratch or something."
As Esme watched, the concern melted in Cleav's eyes and a warmth of understanding crossed his face with a pleased smile.
"Scratch?" he asked with a teasing lilt. "Have you got fleas, Mrs. Rhy?"
"Fleas!" Esme was outraged, remembering his mother's suggestion of vermin in her bed the night before, and she reacted more strongly than she should have.
"I don't . . ." Furiously Esme struggled against him with the hope of slamming her strong young fist into his teasing smile.
"Oh, I think it's fleas," Cleav continued as he held her fast. In Esme's anger, the teasing quality of his voice escaped her. "No need to be ashamed, Hillbaby," he said. "Lots of women in these mountains get fleas."
She tried to bite him, but he moved his head back just in time.
"I do not have fleas!" she proclaimed loudly.
"I think you do," he insisted, still managing to hold her. "But don't worry, I'm going to take care of you."
"You . . . you ..." Esme couldn't think of words bad enough. She continued to fume and fight as Cleav slipped a hand between them. Luxuriantly he caressed the length of her torso.
"Sometimes those fleas get to a woman," he told her as his hand warmed her flesh. "She gets an itch that nobody but a man can scratch," he said. "Now, with a decent woman like yourself, that man's going to have to be your husband every time."
With a sudden shocked intake of breath, Esme realized his intention, and the fight went out of her. So warm, so firm, so gentle and curious, when his hand began teasing the damp brown curls, she melted.
"I bet that flea is right about here," he said hotly against her neck.
Esme gave a cry of pleasured surprise and arched her pelvis against him.
The teasing grin on Cleav's face softened as he watched her. His body hardened inside her and his lips touched her neck with sweet kisses and naughty bites.
"Save to graces!" Esme called out as she squirmed against the steady rotating pressing of his fingers. "Oh, Cleavis! What is this?"
"This is the part that doesn't hurt," he answered. He could never remember watching a woman before. Watching and feeling such pleasure in her pleasure. Had he always done it in the dark? He couldn't remember. At that moment he couldn't remember any woman any time before the one in his arms.
Clamping his jaw against his own desire, he was fully aroused again. "Are you sore?" he asked hoarsely. "I don't want to hurt you. You tell me when you want me to stop."
Esme grasped his buttocks in her hands and begged, "Don't ever stop!"
As she pressed for urgency, Cleav stayed her as best he could, rolling her supine to take control. She was eager and earnest, but she needed guidance. He was glad he was to be the one to guide her.
"Not so fast, Hillbaby," he whispered against her ear.
“Last time I lost control, but this time I'll be better."
