Montana Sky

by Nora Roberts

  “That’s a good thing.” Woman to woman, she patted Willa’s cheek. “You’ll destroy him.”

  Then the guilt hit. Had she pushed this moment? Tess wondered. Had she finagled it before Willa was ready? It was easy to forget that Willa was six years younger than she. And untouched.

  “Listen . . .” Tess caught herself wringing her hands and dropped them to her sides. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? It’s a natural step, but it’s still a big one. If you’re not absolutely sure, Nate and I can stay. We can make it a double date, keep things simple. Because—”

  “You’re more nervous than I am.” Since that was such a surprise, and oddly sweet, Willa grinned.

  “Of course not. I’m just—hell.” It wasn’t just Lily, who had left half an hour before blinking back tears, who was sentimental, Tess discovered. While Willa’s eyes widened in shock, Tess leaned forward and kissed her gently on both cheeks.

  Absurdly touched, Willa felt her stomach flutter and her color rise. “What was that for?”

  “I feel like a mommy.” And she was going to start bawling in a minute, so she turned quickly for the door. “I put condoms in your nightstand drawer. Use them.”

  “For heaven’s sake, he’ll think I’m—”

  “Prepared, smart, self-aware. Damn it.” Even as she heard the sound of the rig pull up outside, Tess gave up. Turning back, she rushed up to Willa and hugged her hard. “See you tomorrow,” she managed, and raced out.

  Grinning hugely, Willa stayed where she was. She heard Tess’s voice rise, and Nate, who’d been waiting downstairs, answered. Then the door, and Ben’s easy greeting. Her stomach jumped again, so she sat on the edge of the bed and pressed her hand to it. The conversation trailed off, then the door opened and closed again. An engine roared to life.

  She was alone with Ben.

  She could always change her mind, she reminded herself. There was no obligation here. She would play it by ear. She made herself rise. Starting now.

  He was in the great room, studying the newly blank stone above the fireplace. “I took it down,” she said, and he turned, and he studied her. “We took it down today,” she corrected. “Lily, Tess, and I. We haven’t decided what we want to put up in place of his portrait, so we’re living with nothing for a while.”

  She’s taken down Jack Mercy’s portrait, Ben thought. By the tone in her voice, he knew she understood just what a step she’d taken. “It changes the room. The focus of it.”

  “Yes, that was the idea.”

  He stepped forward, stopped. “You look great, Will. Different.”

  “I feel different.” She smiled. “Great. And how are you?”

  He’d been feeling easy before he turned and saw her in that long mist-colored dress, the flowing skirt with the teasing hint of leg. That slim neck revealed by the pinned-up hair. She looked too soft, too touchable, too everything.

  “Fine. The same. Seems like I should take you to something fancier than a movie, the way you look.”

  “Lily and Tess get a charge out of going through my closet and criticizing my wardrobe. I’m told this is about the only decent thing I own.” She plucked at the skirt and his blood pressure spiked as the unbuttoned material gave way to more leg. “They’ve threatened to take me shopping.”

  Stop babbling, she ordered herself, and moved behind the bar. “Want a drink?”

  “I’m driving.”

  “Actually, I was thinking we could just stay in.” There, now she’d done it.

  “In?”

  “Yeah, I don’t get the house to myself often anymore. Bess is staying with a friend tonight, and Tess and Lily are . . . well.”

  “Nobody’s here?” Something lodged in his throat, something hot and not easily swallowed.

  “Nobody’s here.” She opened the cold box behind the bar, found the champagne Tess had directed her to serve. “So, I thought we could just . . . stay in. Relax.” The bottle clinked hard on wood when she set it down. “Tess has a suitcase full of videos if we want a movie, and there’s food.”

  Since he made no move to do so, Willa tore off the foil, twisted the wire free. “Unless you’d rather go out.”

  “No.” He focused on the bottle when she popped the cork. “Champagne? Are we celebrating?”

  “Yeah.” If she could just manage to get a grip on the glasses. “Spring. I saw wildflowers today, and the bulbs are sprouting. Birds are building a nest in the pole barn again.” She passed him his glass. “We’ll start inseminating cows soon.”

  His lips twitched as he took the glass. “Yeah, it’s that time of year.”

  “Oh, the hell with this.” She muttered it, then downed the bubbly wine in her glass in two long gulps. “I’m no good at games. This is Tess and Lily’s idea, anyway.” Debating another, she set her empty glass down, looked him dead in the eye. “Look, the point is, Ben, I’m ready.”

  “Okay.” Baffled, he took a sip of champagne. “You want to go out after all?”

  “No, no.” She pressed her fingers against her eyes, took a breath. “I’m ready to have sex with you.”

  He choked, managed to wheeze in air, sputter it out. “Excuse me?”

  “Why dance around all this?” She came out from behind the bar. “You want me to go to bed with you, and I’m ready to. So, let’s go to bed.”

  He took another drink—a mistake, as each individual bubble took on an edge and ripped its way down his throat. “Just like that?”

  The horror in his voice had her fumbling. What if he’d just been stringing her along, teasing her the way he had since childhood?

  Why, then, she thought, he’d have to die.

  “It’s what you said you wanted,” she snapped at him. “So?”

  “So.” She’d always done him in with angry eyes and impatience. Made him want to bite her—in all sorts of interesting places. But she was changing the game, he thought. And the rules. “Just, I’m ready now so yippee?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” She jerked a shoulder. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind. It’s not a matter of changing my mind, it’s . . . Jesus, Will.” He set the glass on the bar before he could bobble it and make a fool of himself. “You’ve thrown me off stride.”

  “Oh.” The confusion faded from her eyes and her mouth curved into a smile. “Is that all?”

  “What do you expect?” His voice shot out, filled with male frustration. “You stand there all prettied up, shove champagne at me, and tell me you want to have sex. How am I supposed to keep my rhythm?”

  Maybe he had a point, though she couldn’t quite see it. But he looked sort of cute, all flustered and embarrassed. So she’d humor him.

  “Okay.” She closed the distance, wound her arms around his neck. “Let’s see if we can get your rhythm back.” Pressed her mouth hard to his.

  His reaction was quick, and satisfying. The way his arms came up, banded her, the way his mouth angled and fed, the quick intake and release of his breath. Then, when his lips gentled, the way he murmured her name.

  “Your gait seems steady enough to me.” Now her voice was shaky. The muscles in her thighs were vibrating like harp strings. “I want you, Ben. I really want you.” She proved it by locking her mouth to his again, then tearing it away to rain kisses over his face. “We don’t have to go upstairs. The couch.”

  “Hold on. Slow down.” Before I rip your clothes off and ruin it. “Slow down,” he repeated, holding her close before the last of the blood could drain out of his head. “I’ve got to get my feet back under me, and you’ve got to be sure. It’s going to be really tough to back off if you change your mind.”

  With a laugh, she boosted herself up, wrapped her legs around his waist. “Do I look like I’m going to change my mind?”

  “No, guess not.” But if she did, it was on him to hold himself back. He thought such an eventuality might kill him. “I want you, Willa.” He brushed his lips over hers. “I really want you.�
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  Her heart did a neat somersault. “Sounds like a deal.”

  “Upstairs.” He managed to walk even as she tightened her grip and started nibbling at his jaw. “The first time should be in a bed.”

  “Was yours?”

  “No, actually.” He got to the stairs, wondered why he’d never noticed how long they were. “It was in a rig in the middle of winter and I nearly froze my . . . never mind.”

  She chuckled, nuzzled at his throat. “This’ll be better, won’t it?”

  “Yeah.” For him, without a doubt. For her . . . he was going to do his best. He stopped in the doorway of her room. He wasn’t sure how many more shocks he could survive in one night.

  Candles burned everywhere, and the fire glowed low. The bed was turned down, inviting with dozens of pillows.

  “Tess and Lily,” Willa explained. “They really got into this.”

  “Oh.” Nothing like being showcased, Ben thought as his nerves jumped. “Did they . . . has anyone talked to you about . . . things?”

  “McKinnon.” She eased back to grin at him. “I run a ranch.”

  “It’s not exactly the same.” He set her on her feet, backed off a step. “Listen, Willa, this is kind of a first for me, too. I’ve never—the others weren’t—” He had to shut his eyes a minute, gather his scattered wits. “I don’t want to hurt you. And I, well, I haven’t had anyone in a while. I set my sights on you damn near a year ago, and I haven’t had anyone else since.”

  “Really?” That was interesting. “Why?”

  He sighed, sat on the edge of the bed. “I have to get my boots off.”

  “I’ll give you a hand.” She obligingly turned her back to him, hefted one booted foot between her legs. He nearly groaned. “A year?” She glanced over her shoulder as she tugged.

  “Maybe more, if it comes down to it.” Struggling to be amused, he planted a foot on her butt and pushed.

  “You were never particularly nice to me.” She took his other foot, pulled at the boot.

  “You scared the hell out of me.”

  She stumbled forward as the boot came off, then turned, still holding it. “I did?”

  “Yeah.” Irritated with himself, he pushed a hand through his hair. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

  It was enough to think about, she supposed. “Oh, I forgot.” She hurried to the table by the window and fiddled with Tess’s CD player. “Music,” she explained. “Tess claims it’s mandatory.”

  He couldn’t hear anything over the knocking of his own heart. Her hair was falling down, just a little, and the firelight streamed through that long, thin skirt every time she moved.

  “That should do it. Unless we should have the champagne up here.”

  “That’s all right.” His throat was closing again, snapping like a bear trap. “Later.”

  “Okay.” She lifted her hands, began to undo the buttons of the dress while his mouth fell open. Her busy fingers flipped open six before he could get his tongue off his toes.

  “Hold it. Slow down. If you’re going to strip for a man, you should pace yourself.”

  “Is that so?” Intrigued, she stopped, watched his gaze dip to her fingers, then began again. “I’m not wearing a stitch under here,” she said conversationally. “Tess said something about contrast and impact.”

  “Oh, good Jesus.” He wasn’t sure how he got to his feet when he couldn’t feel them. But he stepped to her. “Don’t take it off.” His voice had thickened, and the sound of it had her eager fingers pausing, trembling. “Let me finish it.”

  “All right.” Odd, her arms were so heavy now. She let them fall to her sides as he slipped the rest of the buttons free. It was a lovely sensation, she thought, the skim of his knuckles over her skin. “Shouldn’t you be groping me or something?”

  A laugh, even a weak one, soothed some of the nerves. “I’ll get to it.” The dress was open now, with light and shadow playing over that lovely line of bare flesh. “Just stand there,” he said quietly, and touched his mouth to hers. “Can you do that?”

  “Yeah. But my knees are going to start knocking.”

  “Just stand there,” he repeated, touching only mouth to mouth as he undid his shirt. “Let me taste you awhile. Here.” His lips cruised over her jaw. “Here.” Up to her ear. “You can trust me.”

  “I know.” Now her eyes were heavy, she felt the lids drooping as his mouth toyed with hers. “Whenever you chew on my lip that way, I can’t get my breath.”

  “Want me to stop?”

  “No, I like it.” She said it dreamily. “I can breathe later.”

  He tossed his shirt aside. “I want to see you, Willa. Let me look at you.”

  Slowly, he slid the dress from her shoulders, let it drift to the floor. She was long and slim, subtle curves and strong angles, her skin glowing gold in the dancing light. “You’re beautiful.”

  It was an effort not to lift her hands to cover herself. No one had ever said that to her. Not once in her life. “You always said skinny.”

  “Beautiful.” He cupped a hand to the back of her neck, drew her slowly toward him. His fingers combed up, her hair tumbled down. He experimented with the weight of it, lifting it, letting it fall while his mouth rubbed over hers. “I always wanted to play with your hair, even when you were a kid.”

  “You used to pull it.”

  “That’s what boys do when they want girls to pay attention to them.” He gathered it, gave it a tug, and had her head jerking back. “Mmm.” He sampled the exposed line of her throat, nibbled lazily where the pulse was rabbiting. “Paying attention?”

  “Yeah.” She shuddered, couldn’t stop. “Or I’m trying to, but I keep losing my focus. All this stuff’s happening inside me.”

  “I want to be inside you.” Her eyes opened at that, and in them he saw nerves gloriously mixed with needs. “But there’s more first. I have to touch you.”

  He skimmed a hand down to her breast, circled with a fingertip, forced a moan through her lips as his thumb scraped over her nipple. She felt an answering tug, deep inside. An echo of shock and pleasure. Then his hand slid down, over her hip, his fingers trailing lightly toward her center, brushing, awakening, then retreating.

  Her eyes were huge, focused on his. Her hands came to his shoulders for balance and found smooth skin, taut muscles, an old scar. Her fingers dug in once as she tried to absorb and analyze the sensation of those callused hands stroking her flesh.

  She hadn’t expected this. She’d thought it would be fast, a grappling match full of grunts and howls. How could she have known there would be tenderness mixed with the heat? And the heat was huge.

  “Ben?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I don’t think I can stand up anymore.”

  His lips curved against her shoulder. “Just another minute. I haven’t quite finished.”

  So this was what it was like to awaken a woman. To know that your hands were the first hands. To know you were the first to bring that flush to the skin, that weakness to the limbs, that quiver to the muscles. He could be careful with her, would be careful with her, no matter how that very innocence made his blood surge.

  When her eyes drooped this time, he lifted her into his arms, laid her on the bed.

  “You still have your pants on.”

  He covered her, letting her grow accustomed to his weight. “It’ll be better for both of us if I keep them on awhile yet.”

  “Okay.” His hands were roaming again, and she was beginning to float. “Tess—in the drawer there—condoms.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Let go for me, Will.” He trailed a line of kisses down her throat. “Just let it all go.” And with a shudder of his own he took her breast in his mouth.

  She arched, the breath exploding through her lips. Sensation careened through her system, flashing with heat, urging her hips to grind with the rhythm he set. He bit lightly, but the sensation was no kin to pain. Her hands were fisted in his hair, urging him
to feed.

  He heard her sigh, and gasp and murmur. Her response to every touch was as free and open as any man could wish. Beneath his her body was agile, limber one moment, taut the next as she flowed with him. The flavor of her filled him, threatened to drive him mad if he didn’t stop, if he didn’t take more. Her scent—soap and skin—aroused him more than any perfume.

  He took her mouth again, needed it like he needed breath. Her tongue tangled with his in an avid dance. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the quiet thrum of music.

  He stroked a hand up that long length of leg, stopping just short of the heat, retreating. Her breath came quickly now, fast and shallow while her nails bit into him.

  “Look at me.” He brushed her, lightly, found her erotically