She could feel him behind her as they climbed the stairs, his energy electric as always. He was so very male, and so physical and she found herself again wondering what it would be like to make love to him, and then she immediately panicked, because she wasn’t ready for that. She wanted to know Joe, and she wanted to kiss him, but there was this part of her that desperately needed to take it slow.
Her heart craved love and affection, but her mind told her not to trust anyone. But Sophie couldn’t very well show up in Montana and keep Joe at arm’s length. He was expecting a wife. She’d agreed to be that wife. If only she had more confidence in herself… and him.
Inside her room she closed the door and her room suddenly seemed very small indeed. “You remember this room,” she said a little breathlessly.
His gaze swept the room. He nodded. “I do.”
“Nothing’s changed,” she said brightly. “I haven’t broken anything yet, either.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. Creases fanned from his light blue eyes. “That’s good. You know, it never crossed my mind if I should ask you if you were clumsy.”
“I’m not. You should be reassured.”
“I am. Thank you.” His smile deepened. “You’re nervous.”
“You already know me so well.”
Joe laughed, but the sound was husky and sexy and kind. “Why are you nervous?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because I get excited to see you, and then I realize this is all so new and it’s rather weird—”
“It is at that,” he agreed.
“Is it too weird?” she asked, brow creasing, anxiety making her voice rise a little higher than she would have liked.
“Depends if you think a mail-order bride is strange.”
Sophie’s heart raced, and she realized her heart wasn’t racing out of fear, but adrenaline, and awareness, as well as a whisper of desire. Just by being in her room, Joe was turning her little haven into a physically charged space. He wasn’t even standing particularly close to her, but he radiated a potent masculine energy that made her tingle. Joe Wyatt was one rugged, handsome, appealing man.
Now if he’d just kiss her.
“It’s a little strange,” she whispered. “But as mail-order grooms go, you’re not bad.” She dampened her dry upper lip with her tongue. “You have all your teeth and a good head of hair. I really can’t complain.”
His lips curved, and a glint shone in his eyes. “You’re getting yourself really wound up right now, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe you should just kiss me.”
“Maybe I should.” Joe closed the distance between them, and wrapped an arm low around her waist, bringing her up against him. Heat flickered in his eyes and then his head dropped, his mouth covering hers.
Just the brush of his mouth on hers sent darts of sensation throughout her. This kiss was different from the others. This kiss felt hungry and familiar and it stole her breath, making her head spin. Sophie melted against him, her arms wrapping around his lean waist, needing more, not less. Craving pressure, comfort, pleasure. After being so nervous, it was a relief to discover that the desire was real. There was relief in the heat and hunger.
By the time Joe lifted his head, she felt boneless and Sophie leaned weakly against his chest, vision cloudy, senses stirred. “That’s some kiss,” she murmured, still unable to focus.
“And that’s just hello,” he answered, cupping her face and kissing her once more, before letting her go. “I think you better distract me with some pie, or I’m going to find it hard to keep my hands off of you.”
“Pie it is, then,” she said, cheeks hot, body tingling, because as delicious as the kiss was, that’s all she was ready for. It didn’t worry her. They were still such a new couple, they were still getting to know each other.
But as she served the pie on the paper plates she’d bought downtown, Sophie pressed her lips together, her mouth swollen and sensitive.
He did kiss well. He kissed the way she’d always wanted to be kissed.
Did that mean he’d make love to her the same way?
Pushing the thought away, Sophie handed Joe his pie, and poured him coffee, and climbed on the bed. Joe sat next to her on the bed, side by side, backs to the antique headboard. Sophie kept stealing glances at Joe as he made quick work on his apple crumble pie. “I’m sorry there’s no ice cream,” she said.
“I like it this way,” he answered. “Ice cream makes the crust soggy.”
“I agree with you.” She stabbed into the crust and broke off a big chunk. “Hope you didn’t mind not going out. I kind of wanted you all to myself.”
His fork paused midair. His voice dropped, deepening. “You’ll give a man ideas, talking like that.”
She blushed and gave his big shoulder—which was also very warm—a little push. “So when was your last girlfriend? Has it really been a while?”
“Years.”
“What about casual hookups?”
“It’s been a while for that, too.”
“Why?”
“Marietta’s a small town. I don’t want everyone knowing my business.”
“You think people would talk?”
“I know they’d talk.”
She ate a bite of pie, chewing slowly, thinking about what he’d said. She, too, came from a small town, although it wasn’t as small as Marietta, and yes, people gossiped, but they gossiped everywhere, and why did it matter what people thought? “Do people’s opinions matter so much?” she asked, when she could.
“I’m just private. I’m not comfortable with lots of attention.”
“Have you always been that way?”
“Hard to say. Maybe not. A lot of things changed when my dad died.” He hesitated, then added flatly, “Everything changed. So I’m sure I changed.”
“How old were you when he died?”
“Seven.”
“That’s so young. I’m so sorry.” She looked at Joe but his features were hard, his expression shuttered. “Do you mind me asking, how did he die?”
“Car accident.”
Sophie waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he set his half-eaten pie on the nightstand, clearly done with it. She looked at his half-eaten slice of pie and felt bad. She hadn’t meant to ruin their time together. They had so little time together.
“I’m sorry,” she said, setting the remains of her pie slice on her nightstand. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”
“You didn’t,” he said gruffly. “It’s just not easy to talk about. Mom never really got over losing him, and Granddad, well, he lost both his sons in the accident, and I don’t know if that kind of grief ever goes away.” Joe looked at her, expression strained. “My dad and his brother Sam—”
“Your uncle was named Sam?”
“Yeah. I was named after my dad, Joseph, and my brother Sam was named after my dad’s best friend, his brother.”
“That’s sweet.”