Another Dawn

by Deb Stover

He could tell her the truth, then he could jump her bones and–

  Man, what was he thinking? Here he'd spent weeks masquerading as a priest to protect his identity from the only person who could ever reveal his past, and now he was ready to throw it all away for...

  His gaze drifted down the slender column of her throat, where the loose-fitting, borrowed dress gaped open at the collar. Remembering the night he'd watched her through the window at the schoolhouse, Luke's mouth went dry. She had the most beautiful breasts. Even lying flat on her back that night, they'd been full and round. Tempting.

  And that tattoo... What he wouldn't give to kiss her butterfly.

  Kiss her butterfly? You're losing it, Nolan.

  She paused a few feet away and stared at him, her lips parted enticingly, her hair curling wildly around her small face. The love he saw in her eyes stole his breath, even more shattering than the desire he'd seen earlier.

  Sofie was falling in love with him, and his feelings for her could very well be–

  No.

  "I had a dream," she whispered, clasping her hands in front of her. "A very...vivid dream."

  Oh, God. He was as good as nuked. "A dream?" Though he shouldn't ask, he wanted to hear every delicious detail. Then he'd march upstairs and throw himself out a second story window. All right, so he wouldn't do that, but he had to do something to relieve this sexual frustration.

  "Um-hmm." Her voice fell to a husky whisper, inciting hormonal Armageddon in Luke's body.

  "Do you," he cleared his throat, "want to tell me about your dream, Sofie?"

  She nodded and the pain that stabbed through Luke might as well have been a sword cleaving him in two. "Tell me," he urged, knowing he should run upstairs, but he couldn't. "Confession is good for the soul." Bad boy.

  "I was swimming," she said, taking another step toward him. "Skinny-dipping."

  Oh, shit. Oh, damn. Oh, man. Luke shouldn't encourage her to share this dream, but he wasn't about to stop her at this point. "I see," he said, his voice cracking.

  She tilted her head back and a small smile curved her lips. "Yes, it was a...a naughty dream, I suppose."

  "We all have those." Luke wanted to share her naughty dream more than anything he'd ever wanted. Even more than he'd wanted that toy train for Christmas.

  Even more than he wanted his freedom?

  There was no reason he couldn't have both, to a certain extent. No reason he couldn't fantasize about the impossible. "I'm listening," he whispered, clenching his fists to resist the urge to touch her again.

  She gave a nervous laugh and looked away for a moment, then met his gaze again. "I wasn't alone in my dream," she confessed, biting her lower lip. "Like I said, it was naughty. I was naughty."

  "Not alone?" Luke repeated, struggling for a deep breath. He needed to move away from the fire, though the fire in his groin would follow him. "Who...?"

  Her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips, sending shockwaves of longing through Luke. To taste those lips again would be pure heaven. He'd never forget that night in her room, when she'd kissed him the way a woman kisses a man she wants.

  Kiss me...

  Now, Luke. Now.

  "There was a man in my dream," she said, jerking Luke's attention back to the present. "A very handsome man."

  "Someone you remember?" He prayed that wasn't the case. After all, she'd called his name.

  "Someone I know," she said, smiling sadly. "Someone I want to know better, but that's impossible."

  Impossible.

  "Do...do I know this man?" Luke was fishing, but he couldn't stop himself.

  She nodded slowly and gazed deeply into his eyes. "Yes," she whispered. "God forgive me, but the man in my dream...was you."

  "Oh." He tried to swallow, but failed.

  Her lower lip trembled and she brought her fingertips to her mouth. "I must be bad. Mrs. Fleming said nice women don't think about...about that."

  Luke drew a deep breath. "About...sex?" His voice squeaked. Actually squeaked.

  She nodded vigorously, one lone tear trickling down her face. "It's wrong to want a...a priest," she whispered, covering her face with both hands.

  Her misery struck a chord deep inside Luke. Only wanting to comfort her–really–he reached out and drew her against him. She came willingly, throwing her arms around his waist as her tears fell against his shirt. Her entire body trembled with the force of her crying.

  He stroked her hair and held her tightly against his chest, savoring the close contact with a woman he'd grown to care about more than he dared. Much more.

  Her firm breasts pressed into his chest, and the feel of her slender body against his made him burn. His need to comfort her waned in light of a far less noble urge.

  Lust. Plain, old-fashioned lust.

  She hiccupped and sniffled, then tilted her face up to meet his gaze. Her lips were swollen from crying, and so close....

  "Sofie," he whispered, pulling her even more tightly against him. "Sofie."

  She brought her hand to his cheek and brushed her thumb across his lower lip. "Tell me how I can feel this way about you?" Shaking her head, she added, "And why I can't convince my heart that it's wrong? It doesn't feel wrong to...to..."

  Luke rubbed her back with the flat of his palm, afraid to answer. Fire burned in his gut, flared in his groin, and threatened to incinerate him on the spot. He should pull away from her, rush up the stairs, and forget about her dream, about touching her, about kissing her, about making love to her.

  But he couldn't. God help him, he just couldn't.

  She dropped her hand to his shoulder and rested her head beside it. Gazing down at the top of her head, he thought nothing could feel as right as Sofie in his arms. Nothing.

  Was his fate not only to save Zeke and Shane from hanging, but also to love Sofie? There was that word again.

  Love.

  He couldn't escape it any more than he could stop wanting her. Needing her.

  She was in his blood, under his skin, and every other cliché he could think of. She was the balm to soothe him, and the weapon to destroy him. Sofie was everything, rolled up in a sexy little package that would be the death of him yet.

  "Luke?"

  And now she was using his real name. Even that flimsy barrier was gone. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes?"

  "Why can't–don't–priests..."

  He stopped breathing and cupped her face in both hands, bringing her gaze up to meet his. Right or wrong, this thing between them would not be denied.

  But it wasn't wrong. Not really. And it wasn't fair not to tell her the truth.

  "I'm a man, Sofie," he whispered, inching closer to her lips. "You're a woman and I'm a man."

  "But–"

  Unwilling to hear her protests, Luke silenced her with his lips. Gentle at first, then harder, he kissed her completely, thoroughly.

  She moaned, drawing his tongue into her warm mouth. Through their multiple layers of clothing, she pressed her hips against his, and Luke came unhinged.

  Like a wild animal released from its cage, he crushed her to him. Deepening their kiss, he cupped her sweet bottom in his hands and lifted her up and against him. The urge to sample the treasure hidden within the folds of her Victorian skirt shattered his self-control.

  Recklessly, he urged her down to the rug before the fire, never breaking their kiss. He covered her slim body with his own, devouring her sweet lips, stroking her warm tongue in a parody of what he wanted to do with the rest of his body.

  Once buried deep inside her, he would find the release he so desperately needed. She whimpered against him and pulled him closer still, encouraging him to follow through with what they both wanted.

  Desire. Hot, molten, controlling. It washed through him in wave after wave, increasing with every breath, every stroke of her tongue against his, every beat of his heart.

  Pulsing and merging as one, they strained against each other, their mouths committing the act their fully-clothed bo
dies craved. He maneuvered his hand between them and released the endless row of tiny buttons at the front of her dress.

  Skin. He wanted skin. Her skin.

  A drawstring held her archaic undergarment closed. Impatient, he jerked it free and eased his hand inside, savoring the feel of her satiny flesh against his palm at last.

  He maneuvered his lips from hers and across the delicate slant of her jaw, then down her silken throat. Holding his breath, he rested his mouth against her pulse, doing the macarina in the side of her neck, mimicking the frantic beat of his own heart.

  Slowly, he slid his hand along her exposed skin, stroking the soft slope of her breast, trembling with the need to taste where he touched. Though she was a tiny thing, her breasts were full. Tempting.

  With shaking fingers, he found her rigid nipple, gently stroking, then rolling it between his thumb and index finger. Her moan incited and enticed him and he suckled the tender skin at the side of her throat, wishing it were her breast pressed against his mouth.

  "Oh, Luke," she whispered, stroking his back and cupping his buns in her hands.

  The need to taste her was nearly his undoing. Hurriedly, he pushed aside her gaping dress and cupped her breast. When he lifted his face from her neck and gazed down at her beauty, his breath caught and his hunger swelled to something with a life all its own.

  But she was too beautiful, too special to rush. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to her breast, circling her nipple with his tongue. A moan rumbled from his diaphragm as she locked her fingers behind his neck and urged him closer still.

  Then, trembling, he closed his lips over her and drew her nipple deeply into his mouth. Ambrosia. The nectar of the gods.

  This was heaven.

  Then a little girl's scream of terror turned heaven into hell.

  Chapter 12

  Sofie's blood froze at the sound of Jenny's scream. Was the killer in the house? After the little girl? No, please no.

  Luke lurched to his feet, abandoning Sofie on the rug before the fire. She sat up too quickly and a wave of dizziness assailed her, but soon she was rushing up the stairs behind Luke.

  Jenny had to be all right. Sofie would never forgive herself if anything had happened to the little girl while her protectors wallowed on the floor downstairs.

  Another scream rent the air. Luke flew down the hall and threw open the door. Sofie followed him into the room, both reaching the little girl at almost the same time.

  Luke dropped to his knees beside the bed and grabbed Jenny's shoulders, but the child only screamed again and he jerked back as if stung. Her eyes were closed. She was asleep.

  "She's having a nightmare," Sofie said, sitting on the other side of the bed and placing a firm but gentle hand on the girl's shoulder.

  Luke met her gaze from across the bed, his expression wretched. Guilt, of course. Sofie knew it well.

  "I'll check the window, just in case."

  Sofie merely nodded, knowing the windows and doors of the house were secure. No one was here but them. No one but Jenny to stop a priest and a fallen woman from a roll in the hay.

  Jenny tensed and whimpered, and Sofie gently shook her, prepared for her to awaken terrified. Where had Sofie learned about nightmares and about children? From her mother? From medical school? From personal experience?

  Except her most recent dreams had been anything but nightmares.

  "Noooooo," Jenny moaned, bolting upright in the bed, her eyes wide with terror.

  "Shh, it's all right." Sofie held her at arm's length so Jenny could see her face. "I'm here, Jenny. No one will hurt you. It was just a bad dream."

  "I'm here, too, Jenny," Luke said from behind Sofie.

  "Yes, sweetie." Sofie bit her lower lip. "Father Salazar is here, too."

  Father Salazar, not Luke. And don't forget it again.

  She felt his gaze on her but didn't dare turn to face him. Besides, she needed to make sure Jenny was all right.

  The little girl blinked several times in the dim light, looking from one to the other of them. Luke went to the nightstand and turned up the flame on the lamp until a cheerful golden glow chased away the shadows.

  "I'm sorry," Jenny said, drawing a shaky breath. "Were you in bed?"

  "Not yet," Luke said, and Sofie looked up at him sharply, noticing the crimson stain creeping up from his open collar. "Er, no."

  "Did I scream?" Jenny trembled and Sofie gathered her in her arms.

  The child didn't shed a tear, though Sofie felt her misery and her terror. "You know, Jenny," she said quietly, "after you tell us the man's name, you won't have any reason to be afraid anymore."

  "That's right." Luke sat on the edge of the bed. "Marshal Weathers will put him in jail and you'll never have to be afraid again."

  Jenny shook her head and pulled back slightly, her gaze dropping to Sofie's gaping bodice. "You're undone."

  "Undone?" Sofie frowned, then noticed the direction of Jenny's gaze. Unfortunately, she also felt Luke's gaze on her exposed flesh as she quickly tucked herself inside and buttoned her dress. "I was, uh, getting ready for bed." Getting ready for bed...?

  Luke cleared his throat, but Sofie refused again to look at him. Shame slithered through her. "Are you all right now, Jenny?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't reveal her own terror. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

  Jenny appeared thoughtful, then shook her head. "No, I'm a big girl."

  "You certainly are," Luke whispered, stroking the top of the child's head, then he planted a kiss on her forehead as he stood. "You're a very good girl, too, but you yell if you need anything during the night. We'll be just down the hall."

  In separate rooms. Sofie ignored the pang of regret that stabbed through her. How she would love to spend the night making love with Luke, then sleep in his arms, sated and exhausted.

  With Luke, not with Father Salazar. But they were one and the same man.

  Don't do this. She should be thankful for Jenny's nightmare, though she couldn't wish such terror on the child. Still, if not for Jenny's scream, by now she and Luke probably would have–

  Oh, my God.

  Heat suffused her as she stood beside Jenny's bed. The little girl settled back against the snowy pillow, her blond hair hanging over her shoulder in a single braid.

  "Thank you," Jenny said sleepily, then yawned. "I'm fine now."

  "Pleasant dreams, sweetheart." Sofie kissed the child's cheek.

  Luke stooped to tuck the quilt more securely around Jenny's shoulders, then turned down the lamp and followed Sofie into the hall. He pulled the door shut behind them and she decided to make a break for it. Hurriedly, she took several steps down the hall before Luke grabbed her shoulder.

  "We have to talk," he said, halting her escape. "We can't just–"

  "No." Tears blurred her vision and her heart swelled, pushing upward against her throat. "No, we mustn't talk about...about..."

  "Sofie, I..." His hands fell limply to his sides and the sorrow in his voice cleaved into her. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "So very sorry."

  Scalding tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She didn't bother to blink them back, or to wipe them away, because there were far too many.

  Tears for forbidden love.

  Tears for the past she couldn't remember.

  Tears for the future that could never be.

  Luke watched Sofie run away, scurrying into her room across the hall as if he were the devil himself. In many ways, he was much worse than that.

  Exhaustion ebbed through him and he stood in the hallway for several moments, helplessness settling over him with every tick of the grandfather clock downstairs. When it struck one o'clock, he forced himself to trudge down the stairs to check the doors, and to bank the fire.

  He stood for several moments at the base of the stairs, gripping the bannister with all his strength. The woman he loved–yes, loved–was up there, and in his gut, he knew she loved him, too. He could ease her guilt over w
anting a priest by telling her the simple truth.

  And, just maybe, they could be together. Really together.

  But what if hearing the truth triggered her memory? How would she feel about him then? Which was worse? Loving a priest or a convicted murderer?

  His feet felt like lead weights as Luke climbed the stairs. He had to pass Sofie's closed door on his way to his room at the far end of the hall. His heart thudded loud and strong as he paused and placed his hand on the crystal door knob.

  Resting his forehead against the cool wood, he remembered the warmth of her lips, the softness of her breast filling his hand, the taste of her on his tongue....

  Then a sound drifted through the door, and he turned to press his ear to the panel. She was crying.

  Damn. Luke tightened his grip on the door knob, visualizing himself entering her room and taking her in his arms. He would tell her everything, and make her tears stop. He could ease her guilt, and confess his love, and–

  Risk losing everything, including her.

  Closing his eyes, he summoned memories of the electric chair to strengthen his decision. Then he remembered his grandfather's shame, and pushed away from the door.

  Luke Nolan had a job to finish in Redemption, then he had to walk away from the town and from Sofie.

  No matter how much it hurt.

  She'd get over him eventually and start a new life for herself here. Even if she did remember Luke Nolan's true identity one day and how they'd come to be here in 1891, it wouldn't matter.

  He'd be long gone.

  Doggedly, he went to his room and pulled off his clothes, leaving them in a pile beside the bed. He needed sleep, but the cool night air encircling his body revived him.

  Swallowing hard, Luke looked down at his throbbing erection. Sweat burst from every pore as he closed his eyes and remembered the feel of Sofie pressing her hips ardently against him. Again, he pondered how it would feel to peel away her voluminous skirts and hold her that way again.

  He shuddered. Raw, primal hunger coursed through him.

  His blood flow concentrated itself in one part of his body, with one goal in mind. Dizzy with desire, Luke staggered to bed and climbed beneath the covers. Curled onto his side, he clenched his legs together and gnashed his teeth, praying the insistent throb would pass and that sleep would send him into oblivion.