White Nights by Susan Edwards

in a sack of flour, smiled when he approached. “You’re early. Supper won’t be ready for a while yet.”
    Her eyes sparkled with joy and humor—and as her gaze slid over him, lingering on the golden expanse of chest showing through the open buckskin vest he wore with no shirt beneath it, they darkened. And when her gaze slid lower to the front of his buckskin breeches, her tongue snaked out to wet her lips. Recognizing her hunger, her need for him, sent his blood racing through his veins.
    He scooped her up into his arms. “Supper can wait. Your husband cannot.”
    Jessie giggled and tried to shake the flour from her hands. Fingerprint-size spots of flour dotted her cheeks and nose. She shoved her hair out of her eyes, leaving a wide streak of flour across her forehead. She finally gave up trying to rid herself of the flour and circled her arms around his neck, leaving him coated with the powdery stuff. “Wolf, put me down.”
    “You have flour all over your face,” he teased. Her attempts to brush it off made it worse, hiding the tiny brown freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. He laughed, low and private. “Leave it. I’ll wash it off later. I’m getting used to seeing my wife covered with either mud or flour.”
    Her eyes darkened to forest green, reminding him of their first meeting, when she’d been wet with mud from her head down to the toes of her boots. Jessie mistook the reason for his humor. “Watch it or you’ll be wearing some as well. Now put me down. I’ve got work to do.”
    “Nope. It’s our first-month anniversary and I’m taking you away. Rook will have to do without you tonight.” He glanced around and spotted Jessie’s sister-in-law. Wolf’s smile turned wicked. “He has Coralie to assist him tonight and in the morning.”
    Jessie’s brows rose with full understanding. “You rat. You purposely assigned Jordan first watch knowing if she didn’t have to cook for Jordan, she’d help me and Rook.”
    Wolf affected a look of innocence. She knew him well but that didn’t mean he’d admit as much to her. “You wound me, Jessica. It was his turn.”
    Her eyes narrowed and she reached up to tug none-too-gently on a strand of long, flowing, golden-brown hair. “You, my husband, are devious. Simply devious.” She grinned, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled his lips to hers in a long, ravenous kiss.
    Behind them, Rook snorted in disgust. “Git yerselves outta here. I has a meal ta fix and the pair of you are in my way.”
    Wolf didn’t hesitate. He strode away, eager to have some private time alone with his wife. The one aspect of trail life he disliked was the lack of privacy. No matter where he turned, there were people. Lots of them. But not tonight. While out hunting for fresh meat, he’d found the perfect spot an hour’s ride from Independence Rock.
    “Wait, Wolf, put me down.”
    “Why?”
    Exasperated, she twisted out of his arms and landed on her feet. “Knowing you, you’ve probably found some nice, romantic, out-of-the-way place to spend the night. I need to grab some clothes.” Her gaze turned dreamy and, without giving him time to argue, she sprinted away, hopping into the back of a wagon.
    Wolf returned to his horse and pulled down the antelope he’d killed for the evening meal. At his feet, Wahoska—his companion for the last seven years—eyed the carcass with gleaming eyes. “You’ll have to wait, old man,” he told the wolf. The animal growled low in its throat but shuffled off.
    Wolf grabbed the hind legs of the antelope and hefted the dead animal over his shoulder and took it to Rook. “Figured the men might be getting sick of your beans and bacon.”
    Rook whistled and rubbed his hands together. He wagged his bushy white brows. “Nice of you to think of us while you go off to celebrate.” He ambled toward one of the wagons and returned with a canvas sack. “Here’s some grub. Figured ya would take the lass away t’night,