Actually, Angus thought, it had taken a tremendous amount of courage for Sarah Jo to confront a self-assured woman like Alex. He still thought Sarah Jo could have refrained from telling Alex about her folks, but her motive had been unselfish. She’d been protecting her family. Her valiant effort deserved better than his criticism. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“I appreciate your fighting spirit, but none of us needs your protection, honey.” He laughed at the thought. “How could a little thing like you protect one of us big, strapping boys? I’ve got plenty of money and plenty of know-how to handle any little problem that crops up. A redhead that only stands five feet six inches tall is hardly worth a second’s worry.”
“If you could resurrect that odious Pasty Hickam, I’m sure he would disagree,” she said. “Look what happened to him. Unlike you and Junior, and obviously, every other man, I’m immune to the girl’s charms.” Her voice developed an edge of desperation. “Angus, can’t you see it? Junior is falling in love with her.”
“I fail to see why that’s so god-awful,” he said with a beaming smile.
“It would be a disaster,” Sarah Jo cried softly. “Her mother broke his heart. Don’t you care about that?”
Frowning, Angus reminded her, “That was a long time ago. And Alex isn’t like her mother.”
“I’m not so sure.” Sarah Jo stared into space.
“Alex isn’t fickle and flighty like Celina was,” he said. “She’s a tad too bossy, but maybe Junior needs that. He walked all over his other wives, and they laid down and let him do it. Maybe he needs a wife who’ll tell him what’s what.”
“Where is he, by the way? Is he still angry with me?” she asked anxiously.
“He was upset, but he’ll get over it, like he always does. He said he was going out to get drunk.”
They laughed together. Sarah Jo was the first to turn serious again. “I hope he’ll drive safely.”
“He, uh, will probably be spending the night out.”
“Oh?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Angus said. “Alex needs some time to sort herself out. Junior might be carrying a torch, but he’s not dead from the waist down. He’ll find a woman who’ll give him the comfort he needs tonight.”
His gaze lowered to his wife’s décolletage, which was smooth and luminescent with the body powder she had used after her bath. “He’s got a man’s appetites, just like his daddy.”
“Oh, Angus,” she sighed wearily, as his hand waded through layers of lace in search of her breast.
“I could use some comforting myself.”
“You men! Is that all you ever think about? You make me—”
“You make me horny.”
“Don’t use that kind of language. It’s crude. And I don’t want to do this tonight. My headache’s coming back.”
His kiss cut off any further objections. She submitted, as he knew she would. She always put up token resistance, but she never refused him. From the cradle, she had been coached to accept her marital duties, just as she had to properly serve tea.
That she responded to him out of a sense of obligation rather than passion didn’t stop him from wanting her; it might even have enhanced his desire. Angus enjoyed a challenge.
He undressed quickly and lowered himself on top of her. He fumbled with the buttons on her gown and finally managed, with no assistance from her, to get it open. Her breasts were as pert and shapely as they had been on their wedding night, when he had first beheld and touched them.
He kissed them now with polite restraint. Her nipples were small. His stroking tongue was rarely successful in coaxing them erect. He doubted she knew they were supposed t
o get erect, unless some of those novels she read were more sexually explicit than he suspected.
She winced slightly when he entered her. He pretended not to see her grimace. He tried not to sweat or make a sound or do anything that she would consider nasty and unpleasant.
He saved all his raunchiness for the widow lady he supported in the neighboring county. She didn’t mind his crude language. In fact, she hooted with laughter over some of his more colorful expressions.
She was as lusty a lover as he. She had large, dark, milky-tasting nipples that she would let him diddle with for hours if he wanted to. She even went down on him and let him go down on her. Each time he mounted her, her round thighs gripped his ass like a vise. She was a noisy comer, and the only woman he’d ever met who could laugh in downright joy while she was screwing.
They’d been together for over twenty years. She never asked for more of a commitment; she didn’t expect one. They had a damn good time together, and he didn’t know what he would do without her in his life, but he didn’t love her.
He loved Sarah Jo. Or, at least, he loved what she was: dainty and pure and refined and beautiful. He loved her as an art collector would love a sculpture or priceless alabaster that was to be touched only on special occasions, and then with the utmost care.