Wild Rain

by Beverly Jenkins

  “That’s fascinating.”

  “It’s pretty common here.”

  He withdrew his hand from the ice one last time and dried it with the towel she’d given him earlier. He flexed his fingers again. “I think that’s enough for now.”

  She took the bucket. “I’m going to set this outside. Depending on how cold it gets it might be still usable in the morning if you need it.”

  When she returned the parlor was a bit warmer, thanks to the fire. She took him in, then looked away, saying, “I should get a fire started in my room. Come join me?”

  He studied her silently in the wavering light of the flames. “You can still change your mind, Spring.”

  “I know,” she said quietly, “but I won’t.”

  “Okay, then.” He rose to his feet and followed her.

  Spring lit the small lamp on the nightstand by her bed and turned it low. Shivering from the chill, she made a fire and watched while the flames grew. Across the room Garrett stood silently, framed by the doorway and the shadows. She drew in a deep breath to calm her uncharacteristic jitters. “Are you coming in or planning on standing over there all night?” she asked, attempting a light tone.

  He closed the door, crossed the distance between them, and stopped behind her. Gently caging her with his arms, he nuzzled the edge of her hair. Her eyes closed as sensation flared. “Come sit with me while the room warms up,” he invited.

  He placed one of her upholstered chairs close to the blazing fire then sat. Spring could count on two, maybe three fingers the number of times she’d sat on a man’s lap.

  As she hesitated, he lightly took her hand and asked, “No?”

  “Just unexpected.”

  He asked softly, “Meaning?”

  “Usually, this starts with me on my knees, then after a few pumps inside, it’s done and the man leaves.”

  She thought he smiled, but because of the shadows couldn’t be sure.

  “Let’s try something different.”

  Although still hesitant, she sat. “Why can’t I just take off my clothes, you take off yours, and we move to the bed?”

  He outlined her lips with an adoring feather-light finger, then kissed her. “This way is more fun . . .”

  And truthfully, as the kiss deepened, she decided he was right. His slowly roaming hands coupled with his heated mouth and the whispered promises of the many wicked ways he planned to have her stoked the embers of her desire back to breathless life. Leaning up, she returned the kisses with the same languid intensity, savoring the taste of him and the potent slide of his tongue against her own. The shawl slipped free, exposing the bare crowns of her shoulders to fervent brushes of lips that then descended and lingered against the hollow of her throat. She moaned with pleasure.

  He drew the tip of his finger over the exposed tops of her breasts above her heart-shaped bodice. “I’ve wanted you since our first breakfast together.”

  Holding her eyes, his finger caressed the soft skin beneath her proud chin before moving down to lightly graze her already taut nipples. Her eyes slid closed. He kissed her and continued the slow, sweet teasing of her breasts until they pleaded silently. As if hearing the plea, he leaned in, freed a nipple, and sucked it wickedly. Heat flowed from his mouth to her core. His tongue circled lazily around the tightened peak. A gentled bite made her moan pleasurably, helplessly, for more.

  He raised his head and recaptured her lips. “Is the other one as sweet?” His fingers kept the one he’d just treated hard and pleased. “Show me so I can taste it.”

  Propelled by the husky request, Spring boldly unveiled herself and was splendidly rewarded. The shadowy room spun deliciously as he feasted. She was unaccustomed to a man intent upon pleasuring her so skillfully, or at all. By now, those in her past were already done and on the way out the door. It was scary in a way. Her body was enjoying the hot slide of his lips across the hollow of her throat, and the sureness of his hand slowly mapping her silk-covered spine. Sex was supposed to be emotionless and quick, not this prolonged, languid descent into a heated realm she couldn’t control. She backed away, closed her eyes, and fought to calm the wild lust he’d unleashed in her blood.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked softly, continuing to pay smoldering attention to her bared breasts. “Are you unhappy with the way I’m pleasuring you?”

  Fighting to form words, she replied, “I like the pleasure, but I don’t like how long this is taking, or not being able to remember my damn name.”

  He leaned down and drew her nipple into his mouth. When she gasped in shuddering response, he chuckled.

  “I can still feed you to a bear, you know.”

  Rising up, he whispered hotly against her ear, “My apologies for being a man who knows his way around a woman’s body and not a ham-handed rube who pumps inside you a few times and leaves you unsatisfied. Loving a woman properly is an art, my sweet Spring.”

  “I don’t want art.”

  “You should. You’re passionate and beautiful. You shouldn’t be afraid of pleasure.”

  “I’m not.” Her core was wet and pulsating even though he’d yet to touch her there. She was sure she’d burst into flames when he did.

  “If you’ve changed your mind, and prefer I spend the rest of the night in your spare room, I’ll understand.”

  “No.” She didn’t know how she’d lost the upper hand in the conversation, but apparently, she had. Even worse, she now had to prove she wasn’t afraid of pleasure.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  “Then shall we get this gown off of you?” he asked, brushing his lips over the column of her throat and moving a thumb over a damp pebble-hard nipple. Leaning up to kiss him, she replied, “Yes.” In spite of her slight show of pique, she was enjoying being kissed, and truthfully, couldn’t seem to get enough of his mouth or the sensual dance of their tongues. All the quick couplings she’d had in the past had never involved her removing anything but her denims. Her shirt may have been opened to allow a fast grab at her breasts, but the men were mainly focused on what she had between her legs. There’d been no art.

  “Turn a moment, please.”

  She complied and he deftly undid the small jet buttons that ran down her spine. Once he was done, she left his lap and stood, then slowly stepped out of the gown. Clad in her lace-edged ivory shift, garters, stockings, and drawers, she laid the silk gown on a nearby chair. Chin raised and savoring the heat in his eyes, she stood before the undulating light of the fire in anticipation of what would come next. He skimmed both hands possessively up and down the edges of her thighs and hips—circling her skin slowly, masterfully, until her head dropped back and her legs trembled.

  In a voice as dark as the shadows he said, “Take your drawers off for me, Spring.”

  Her eyes blazed into his as she complied.

  His hand moved between her thighs and she widened them in sultry invitation.

  “You’re very hot and wet . . .”

  He impaled her with a finger and she responded with a crooning she’d never given any man before. A second finger joined the first, and as she rode the blissful strokes, all sense of time and place fled, leaving behind—lust. He soundlessly urged her to come closer and took a nipple into his wickedly splendid mouth while his free hand wandered over her spine. He bit her, pushed his fingers higher, and she shattered with a raw, smoky scream. The echoes pulsed for an eternity as he continued the strokes, sucks, and licks. She was still enthralled when he picked her up and whispered, “Now we move to the bed.”

  The rest of the night passed with such heat neither cared that the fire had burned low. She pleasured him on her knees, slowly savoring his girth, size, and sharp hisses of lusty response. When he could breathe again, her reward was an oral tribute so erotic, she grabbed fistfuls of the sheet, cried out, and broke into soaring pieces again.

  Now he knelt above her and she was so dazzled and overwhelmed by Garrett McCray, she wondered if she should change her
name because she was having difficulty remembering who she was. Reaching up, she lightly cupped his jaw before leveraging up to give him a searing kiss. And they began again. Kisses, touches, whispers, sighs. She stroked him with a firm hand. He teased the wet flesh of her core. Breathing hard, she backed away and reached into the drawer of her nightstand and withdrew a sponge.

  He asked, “May I?”

  She handed it over, and he inserted it with such finesse, her hips rose greedily in invitation. Moments later, their night entered a new realm. He was thick and gloriously hard, and had she the power, he’d stay right where he was for the rest of her days. The pace he set was slow at first, but as the desire rose and their bodies were spurred by desire’s call, the rhythm increased. He gave, she took, until the bed shook and their verbal cries and calls became a lovers’ passionate symphony. Spring couldn’t believe such pleasure was possible, but another orgasm gathered like clouds of a storm, and when the lightning struck and the thunder ripped her apart, she screamed his name.

  Roaring, he shattered, too, hips moving like pistons until he had nothing left to give. Slumping forward, he gathered her in and pulled her atop him so as not to crush her. They held each other until their breathing slowed and the world returned.

  Later, watching him sleep, Spring admitted that for a woman intent upon walking through life alone, having him in her bed may have been a mistake. He’d left her feeling treasured, desired, something she’d never experienced before. It awakened a long-buried part of herself to the possibility of what could be, and that scared her.

  Chapter Eight

  Spring slipped out of bed as quietly as possible. There were horses to feed and because she’d never had a man spend the night before, she had no idea how to navigate the morning after. With those things in mind, she tiptoed around the cold bedroom, gathering her clothes and everything else she needed to start the day, and left him sleeping.

  When her chores were completed, she entered the kitchen and found McCray at the stove cooking breakfast. Still unsure how she was supposed to proceed, she said, “Morning, McCray.” Removing her coat and hat, she hung them on the peg.

  “Morning, Spring.” He seemed to sense her mood. “Something wrong?”

  She considered lying but chose to go with the truth. “I’ve never had anyone stay overnight and . . .”

  “Is this awkward for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you regret last night?”

  She shook her head.

  “Had a good time?”

  She gave him her first smile of the day.

  “Good. Then let’s just let the morning unfold and not worry about what to do. Unless you’d rather I go back to town.”

  “No.”

  His uncomplicated solution to the situation drained much of her unease and she wondered if that, too, was part of his art. She noticed his slight limp as he moved around. “Your leg bothering you still?”

  “It’s a bit stiff after being put through my paces last night.”

  Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Should I apologize?”

  “Not on your life. I had a good time, too.”

  Memories of last night rose, bringing back the feel of his hands and the power of his kisses. She remembered how it felt when he filled her and the many ways his mouth made her moan. His claim of knowing his way around a woman’s body hadn’t been an idle boast.

  “You keep looking at me that way and we’ll be having each other for breakfast instead of bacon and these eggs.”

  Caught, she smiled and looked away. “I think breakfast is best for now.”

  “Pity.”

  His ability to spark desire with just a phrase or a glance was also new for her. She had no idea there were men with such skills walking around in the world. How many other women were going through life thinking sex was something to be endured or dealt with hurriedly because of ham-handed rubes? Last night’s glorious feast of passion and pleasure had been prepared by a brown-skinned wizard who’d left her mesmerized and spellbound. And yes, she’d enjoy another night with him, but that would only amplify her mistake. Although he was someone she was on the cusp of developing feelings for, he’d be going home soon and she refused to be the wailing woman at the train station, clinging to his legs, begging he stay.

  They were just sitting down to eat when a knock at the door made Spring sigh and get up to see who was there.

  “Do you know where your newspaper fella is?” Odell asked as soon as she opened the door. “Dovie said he didn’t come back to his room last night after Glenda’s party, and she’s worried something may have happened to him.”

  Spring released another sigh.

  “Is that bacon I smell?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he followed his nose. Seeing McCray seated at the table, he stopped in surprise and turned to Spring, who stood arms crossed, silent. Odell eyed McCray again. “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh,” she replied.

  “Well, that solves the mystery.”

  McCray asked, “What mystery?”

  “Of where you were last night.”

  It was McCray’s turn to sigh.

  “Guess I’ll get my bacon elsewhere. Good seeing you, McCray.”

  “You, too, Odell.”

  “Goodbye, Odell,” Spring said tartly.

  Grinning, he departed.

  Shaking her head, she sat down again. “Pass me the eggs, please.”

  “Do I assume that by noon half the Territory will know I spent the night here?”

  She placed some of the scrambled eggs on her plate. “Maybe. Maybe not. He can be discreet when he wants to be. Doesn’t matter really. I’m not ashamed of you being here. Are you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Even if Odell kept the news to himself, more than likely he wasn’t the only person Dovie had questioned about McCray’s whereabouts. Once Spring drove him back to town and word got around, people would put two and two together. Again, she didn’t care. Someone had to give the gossips something to do. “When are you going back to Washington?”

  “My ticket is for four days from now. Your brother agreed to let me ride along on some of his visits, so I want to take him up on that first. I’d also like to speak with Mrs. Lee about her thoughts on living here. I’m hoping she’ll share some of the details on how she and your brother met.”

  Spring wondered how he’d react were she to tell him Regan was an heiress, but that would be Regan’s story to share or not, so Spring kept silent. Refusing to remain silent were her own thoughts of wanting him to stay longer. She had an uncharacteristic desire to show him more of her life: her favorite places to hunt and fish, her makeshift mountain cabin, the thundering herds of wild mustangs that always left her in awe. No man before had ever inspired her in that way, but he’d be leaving, so she pushed the thoughts aside. “Is there anyone else you want to speak with before you go home?”

  “Yes. Mr. James. I heard some of his story when I helped with the mill, but I’d like to find out if there’s more. I didn’t expect to find another Colored man here. Do you know if there are more of us in the area?”

  “My family and Porter James are it, as far as I know. Ben might know more.”

  “Your grandfather?”

  “Yes.”

  “I met him while at the mill.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “Let’s just say he wasn’t very forthcoming.”

  “I don’t doubt it. He’s not much for conversation.”

  “Does he live nearby?”

  “He has a place not too far from here. If you want to try again, take my brother with you. If I take you, he and I will argue, I’ll leave in a huff, and you won’t get anything for your story.”

  Seeing the concern in his eyes, she added, “Just offering you the truth. We haven’t gotten along in over a decade and I don’t expect a thaw anytime soon.”

  “Okay.”

  And it was the truth. Both she and Ben were stubborn. They’d probab
ly carry their rift to the grave. Deep in her heart, a years-old pain flared though. Growing up she’d loved him, in spite of his contrary ways, and he’d loved her.

  Another knock at the door drew her to her feet again. She opened it and found her brother Colt on the porch. “Morning,” he said.

  She backed up so he could enter. “Morning.”

  “I came to get the buggy. I’ll need it today.” Seeing McCray seated at the table, he paused.

  “It’s out back,” she told him but didn’t reply to the questions in his eyes.

  He sighed softly and walked to the table. “Morning, McCray.”

  “Dr. Lee.”

  Colt studied him. McCray waited silently. Colt finally spoke. “Do you want to join me on my rounds today?”

  McCray swung his attention to Spring. She responded with a tiny shrug. His day was his own. She had no claims on his comings and goings.

  “Yes. I’d like that,” he replied.

  “I need to go into town first.”

  “Good, I want to stop by my room.”

  Spring assumed he wanted to change clothes. He was still wearing the suit from Glenda’s party last night.

  “Okay. Finish your breakfast and meet me outside when you’re done.”

  On his way back to the door, Colt gave Spring a tight-jawed look. It wasn’t the first time she’d been on the receiving end of his disapproval and probably wouldn’t be the last, so she refused to let it rile her. She and McCray were adults. Their being together was none of Colt’s business.

  After his exit, McCray said, “Your brother doesn’t approve of me being here.”

  She returned to the table. “The good doctor doesn’t approve of a lot of things. Don’t let it bother you. He thinks he’s being protective. I appreciate his concern but it’s unnecessary.”

  “Do you really not care what people think of you, Spring?”