A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(74)

A gust swept into the stifling one-room cabin, lifting the strands from her sticky neck and beckoning her into the fresh coolness of the descending night. The raindrops plunked against the hard earth. Its parched cracks opened to drink, but the few splatters were not enough to satisfy its thirst.

Everywhere, the land struggled to survive. The sheaves of corn in the far field among the stumps were stunted and their leaves curled up. Mill Creek ran warm and sluggish, clogged with moss and slime. Even the leaves on the elm trees had already begun to turn yellow and dry.



They needed several days of steady rain—if not more.

And while the rain teased them with only mere sprinkles, she couldn’t resist the tug, the need to feel the wetness against her skin, to let the rare drops soothe her.

She stepped outside and away from the cabin. She lifted her face to the heavens, feeling the freshness splatter against her cheeks and tasting the coolness against her lips.

The tempo of the rain began to increase, soaking into her hair and her garments. She held out her arms and let the drops pelt against her hands.

Was this it? The end of the drought?

“Bitte, Gott,” she whispered. “Please let it rain harder.” She needed an outpouring, a true drenching for her corn to revive and give her the crop she so desperately needed.

A movement by the lean-to caught her eye.

She froze.

Through the drizzle she could make out Carl’s outline, where he was perched on the edge of one of the stalls.

“I can’t remember the last time we’ve had this kind of rain,” she called, fighting the embarrassment at being caught standing in the rain.

He didn’t say anything. He only stared at her.

“I thought you had already gone for the night.”

His gaze made a circuit around her face to her hair to her shoulders and then down the length of her body.

When she glanced down to her wet dress, she drew in a gasp. The splattering rain had plastered the thin linen to her body, outlining every womanly curve.

He slid down from the post and stepped into the rain. With a jerk he tossed his hat to the ground.

Then he came toward her, his eyes hungry, his footsteps certain, his eyes trained on one place—her lips.



The rain trickled down her face and her neck. Her body trembled with the strange need for his fingers to follow the path of the rain.

He stopped in front of her, and his breath came from deep within his chest. His gaze didn’t waver from her lips, even when he reached up both hands—one on either side of her face—and intertwined them into the long damp strands of her hair.

Her breath caught in her throat.

His fingers dug deeper into her hair, drawing her to him, and she was helpless to do anything but fall against him.

He dipped his head toward hers, and his lips came down on hers decisively, without faltering, almost as if he’d made his decision to kiss her and wouldn’t let anything stop him.

The warmth of his mouth enveloped hers, crashed into her, and swept her away. She reached her hands to his chest and clung to him to keep herself from collapsing.

His fingers threaded into her hair, locking them together, and his lips pressed against hers with all the strength that emanated from his body.

She’d never kissed a man like this before, never known such kissing was even possible, never known she could find so much pleasure in it.

As forcefully as the kiss started, he wrenched away just as purposefully. “What am I doing?” His chest heaved up and down against hers. He didn’t relinquish his grip on her. His mouth was near enough that if she wanted, she could easily dip into him and offer him her lips again.

Every nerve in her body urged her to push against him, to continue what they’d begun. The pulsing in her blood told her that she would find more pleasure in his arms, that she’d only gotten a taste of what would come.

Did she dare consider Idette’s suggestion?



He wouldn’t resist. She could see the desire rippling across his face, turning his eyes darker than wet soil.

All she had to do was kiss him again, and again, and again. And if she did, he wouldn’t be able to resist carrying her to the bed.

Then he would marry her.

She knew he would. He was too kind and honorable to do anything less.

Even so, she balked at the thought of tricking him into marriage. What good would come out of a marriage based on deception and manipulation?

And how could she live before Gott with such a sin on her conscience? If He’d been too busy for her before when she’d tried to be good, wouldn’t He give up on her altogether if she willfully enticed Carl?

His gaze danced around her face before it came to rest once again on her lips. When he bent his head, he gave a soft groan before letting his lips move against hers.

She responded again, wanting—needing—him.

His kisses made a trail from her lips to her throat.

She leaned back and gave him access to the tender skin of her neck. The rain pattered against her lips, and she could almost taste the sweetness of love.

She loved him.

Did she dare say it to him? Could she tell him she loved him? Would he feel the same?

He lifted his head, and this time his eyes met hers. The dark passion questioned her as if he sensed her turmoil.

This was it. The moment that could secure her future and the moment that could give Gretchen and Sophie a loving papa. The truth was she’d do just about anything for her daughters.