Breathless

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Although I did enjoy the way you set down Ada Jakes. Perfect couple indeed. Portia would end up setting that woman’s hair on fire.” Rhine then turned serious. “So, tell me truthfully where you stand with my niece.”

  “Noticed something have you?”

  “Eddy and I may be aging but our eyes are still good.” He waited.

  Kent knew that after their decades of friendship, he was owed an honest reply. “Truthfully, I’d like to court her if she’ll have me. Ada Jakes to the contrary, I think Portia and I would do well as man and wife.”

  Rhine studied him. “And if she chooses, say, Jakes?”

  “Then I’ll give them my best and step aside.”

  “Really?”

  “Probably not. I’m more likely to shoot the bastard, throw her over my shoulder, and ride away.”

  Rhine roared with laughter. “Then you have my blessings.”

  “Thanks.”

  Now to convince Portia.

  Portia was seated outside at the trestle table with Winston Jakes. He’d asked to speak with her after dinner. Although she was still upset with his heavy-handed mother, she decided to be polite and listen to what he had to say.

  “Do you enjoy living here?” he asked.

  “I do.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to handle this heat on a daily basis.”

  He’d mentioned that before. She didn’t point that out but played along in order to hear his real reason for seeking her out. “You become accustomed to it, and it can get quite cold during the winters.”

  When she finished silence fell between them until he said, “I want to apologize for my mother—again.”

  Portia hoped he didn’t expect her to wave off the apology. “She deliberately insulted Kent. It was mean-spirited and uncalled for.”

  “In her defense, I think she senses he’s competition. Is he?”

  Portia studied him. “I’ve known Kent for a very long time. I met you and your mother yesterday.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I haven’t known you long enough for an answer to be warranted, frankly.”

  He chuckled. “You are upset with her, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sure this isn’t a first-time experience.” Ada more than likely insulted people on a regular basis but couched it as being plainspoken.

  He looked embarrassed. “It isn’t, but our acquaintances tend to indulge her—let’s say.”

  “Let’s say, here, we don’t indulge rudeness.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I admire your mother’s views but not her manners.”

  “And me? What of me?”

  “I really don’t know you. Do you see her forwardness as something to emulate?”

  “She’s my mother. I have to be respectful, Portia.”

  “I understand that, but would she be so keen on my being her perfect daughter-in-law if she knew my mother was a whore?”

  His eyes went wide as plates and he scanned her features as if searching for a visible sign of her parentage.

  Temper climbing, Portia let him take a good long look.

  “You’re lying of course.”

  “No. In fact, Regan and I have no idea who our fathers are. We’re not sure our mother does either.”

  He drew back as if she were a rattler poised to strike.

  Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve failed the test, Winston. I’ll see you in the morning for the ride to the train depot. Have a pleasant night.”

  Not protesting his dismissal, he left without so much as a backward glance.

  A few minutes later, Kent walked up. When he peered down at her face, she didn’t bother to wipe away the sheen of angry tears.

  Voice filled with concern, he asked softly, “What’s wrong?”

  “I told the perfect son my mother was a whore.”

  He studied her for a moment. “And he ran off like his shoes were on fire, I’ll bet.” He took a seat and continued to view her with a gentle regard that touched her heart. “Want me to find him and put a few bullets in his hide?”

  “No, I’d prefer to plug him myself, but Eddy would probably frown on me shooting a guest.”

  “I don’t know, especially if you shoot his mother first.”

  Portia laughed. His ability to make her do so was a gift that burned away the lingering anger and resentment. She wiped her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Making me feel better and proving that not all men are asses. You, my uncle, and Jim Dade are rare.”

  “I’ll take the compliment. I know what will also make you feel better.”

  She viewed him skeptically. Surely he wasn’t proposing his kisses as a cure-all.

  “I’m talking about a ride to Carmichael Falls. What did you think I was going to say?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “You thought I meant kisses, didn’t you?”

  “No.

  “Fibber. Get your horse. Who knows, if you’re a good girl, you might get kisses, too.”

  She punched him in the arm, hard. “Ow!”

  “Your arm is like iron. Stop pretending to be a greenhorn.”

  “I may have to take your drawers for that.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she searched his face with wide eyes.

  He howled with laughter. “Oh, Duchess. The look on your face. Go get your horse.”

  Portia wasn’t sure what to do.

  “Go. I’ll be good. I promise.”

  “That’s what scares me.” She rose, gave him another look that made him firm his lips to keep from smiling. He failed miserably.

  Certain she had no business going anywhere with him, she left to change clothes and saddle Arizona.

  Chapter Eleven

  With Kent’s threat to take her drawers still fresh in her mind, Portia traded her skirt and blouse for a pair of denims and a shirt. She still didn’t know if he’d been teasing, but she figured whatever his plan entailed, her undergarments would be harder to confiscate while inside the denims. A soft knock sounded on the door connecting her room to Regan’s. “Come on in.”

  Regan took in her attire. “Where are you going?”

  “For a ride.”

  “Please, not with Winston Jakes.”

  “No.”

  “He barreled by me a short while ago looking like he’d seen a ghost.”

  Portia brushed out her hair and repinned it. “I told him I was the daughter of a whore.”

  “Didn’t take it well?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good. Maybe now he and the bullfrog will leave you be.”

  Portia knew she shouldn’t be encouraging her sister, but the description of Ada Jakes was just so apt she chuckled.

  Regan added, “You know she looks like one and with that gravelly voice, she even sounds like one.”

  Portia agreed again. “I didn’t like what she said to Kent. Why do people do that to him?”

  “Because he’s the strongest, finest stallion in the herd and they’re jealous.”

  Portia tied a bandana around her throat.

  “I can ride with you if you want company.”

  “You’re certainly welcome. Kent and I are going over to the falls.”

  Regan stopped. “You’re riding with Kent?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I decline.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s not going to kiss you with your little sister looking on.”

  Heat burned her cheeks.

  “And I’m not allowing you to use me to protect yourself from something we both know you want. You like his kisses, don’t you?”

  Portia tried not to smile but couldn’t help it.

  “There’s hope for you yet, sister mine.” Looking pleased, Regan retraced her steps to the door “Enjoy yourself, Portia.”

  Once she was alone again, Portia eyed herself in the mirror of her vanity table. Would he kiss her? Probably. Did she want him to? She though
t back on those few heated moments in Old Man Blanchard’s house. Definitely. Feeling as shameless as she often accused Regan of being, Portia set out for the stables.

  He was there and waiting. Seeing him holding the reins of the already saddled Arizona, she said, “I can saddle my own horse.”

  “No one is saying you can’t, Portia. I know how capable you are.”

  Chastened, she dropped her head for a moment. “Sorry. I suppose I should’ve just said thank-you.”

  “Maybe, but you said what you thought needed saying. I don’t have a problem with that.”

  Portia knew how prickly she could be at times and she appreciated his patience with that part of her. With that in mind, she whispered, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome and just so you know, I’ll probably do it again. My way of showing you kindness, Duchess. Nothing more. Ready?”

  She mounted, but he remained on the ground by his horse. She got the impression that he was eyeing her behind.

  He flashed one of those smiles. “Yes, I’m admiring the view. I may be one of those rare men, but I am a man, darlin’. I like you in denims.”

  “What am I going to do with you?”

  “How about we find out when we get to the falls.”

  Shaking her head at his audaciousness she turned her horse. “Are you coming or not?”

  “Now there’s a question loaded with dynamite.”

  Having no idea what he meant, confusion filled her face.

  “Never mind,” he said, mounting up. “Lead the way.”

  Still stumped, she studied him and thought back on what she’d asked. Finally realizing the double entendre of her question, heat burned her cheeks. “I’m done talking to you.” She rode away, trailed by the sound of his soft knowing laughter.

  He caught up to her quickly and they reined their mounts to a nice easy pace. As it did most evenings, the heat had subsided a bit, but the mountains and the sky remained as vivid as ever. Their sure-footed horses had no trouble with the rocky trail or navigating the washes running with the last of the previous winter’s snow melt. The landscape was quiet and serene.

  “Ever thought about living someplace else?” he asked.

  “When I was younger, I thought I might like to move to a big city like San Francisco. I’ve visited there many times, but after a few days I was always ready to come home.” And she had. Even though Regan accused her of never leaving her office, she’d missed the quiet, the wide open spaces, the sunsets, and the peace the land seemed to hold. “How about you? You’ve lived a lot of different places, which would you like to call home?”

  “Here, I think.” He looked over at her. “Surprised?”

  “Somewhat. You don’t impress me as wanting to live in a big city either, but why here, of all places?”

  “Not sure, but it calls to me, if that makes any sense. I took a ride the first evening after I arrived, saw the meadows and the mountains, took in the sky, and for whatever reasons, I felt like I’d finally come home. Made me think about buying a plot of my own and putting down roots—maybe finding a wife and starting a family.”

  Portia saw the honesty in his eyes and the impact of it pierced her so deeply, she had to look away. She readily admitted to not having had a lot of experience with men, but she’d never had one open himself up to her in this manner before and she was shaken by it, because for the first time in her life she considered what it might be like to be the wife of a man like him. Also for the first time, she didn’t immediately discount the notion. Kent Randolph was slowly changing her and he made her want to embrace that change.

  They rode silently for a time. She mined her thoughts, looking over every now and then to meet his steady gaze and wondering if he had been changed, too.

  “Awful quiet over there, Duchess. Should I have kept that last part to myself?”

  “No. I . . .” She wasn’t sure whether to admit the truth or not. “I just never had a man share his dreams with me before.”

  “Most men I know have them, but the fear of being laughed at, or that it somehow diminishes a man, makes us keep quiet.”

  “But you shared them with me.”

  “Makes you special.”

  That, too, pierced her, and before she could further analyze her reaction, he asked, “And what are yours, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I’d like to have my own bookkeeping business.”

  “You have the skills, so when are you going to start?”

  She thought on that. “I really don’t know.” She’d shared the idea with her uncle in the past and he’d pledged his support, but in spite of her outward confidence she’d been hesitant about approaching other businessmen because of the uncertainty of how she’d be received.

  They reached the falls. Leaving their horses, they walked to the edge of the canyon. The sounds of the rushing water cascading over the lip of the rock face to the pool below filled the silence.

  “Shall we sit?” he asked.

  She nodded and led him to a log nearby. Of course the surroundings reminded her of the first time he kissed her, but she did her best to set that aside for the moment.

  “So, what’s inside you that’s keeping you from starting your business?”

  The question surprised her. “Why do you think it’s something inside me?”

  “Because on the outside you’re tough enough to walk on water, so it must be something inside.”

  How does he know me so well? “You won’t laugh?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’m afraid.” She quickly glanced over to gauge his reaction but as always he met her eyes steadily.

  “That’s honest. What scares you?”

  “That I won’t be taken seriously because I can’t write my name in the snow.”

  He stared and then laughed so loud he startled nearby birds into flight. “Where on earth did you learn that?” He thought back on all the snow-writing contests he’d participated in as boy.

  “Old Man Blanchard, but don’t tell Eddy. She’d be appalled.”

  “And well she should be. You’re outrageous, woman.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Their smiles met and unsaid words lingered and mingled. Portia thought he might kiss her, but he instead said, “I’ve known some pretty strong women and you rank right up there with the best. Fear is natural but you get on the bronc anyway, and if it throws you, you keep getting up and getting back on, okay?”

  She nodded. She knew he was right because it was something she’d been telling herself all along, but for some reason, hearing him voice it seemed to douse the doubts that had kept her from moving forward.

  “Good girl. Now, come, let’s find a place with a bit more cover so I can give you your reward.” Taking her hand, he led her deeper into the trees.

  The kiss that followed was gentle at first, an opening refrain of soft, sweet sweeps of his lips over hers that made the embers left from their last encounter flare to life. With each passing moment the intensity rose, heating her senses, making her lips part, urging her to get closer. He obliged and she wrapped her arms around him and thrilled to his groan of approval as their bodies met. He moved his lips to her throat above the bandana and tugged it free to give him access to the soft scented skin beneath. The distant sound of the waterfall matched the rush of her blood. Bold as ever he tugged her shirt free of her denims and slid his hands beneath. His warm palms worked over the band of silk binding her breasts and he whispered heatedly, “One day, soon, I’m going to have you naked except for this silk so I can show you exactly what it does to me.”

  The potent promise set off a shiver of excitement that radiated from the deep wanting between her thighs and spread like flame through her limbs. Her buttons were undone and when he brushed the halves open and took a silk-shrouded nipple gently between his teeth, she crooned aloud. His fingers played with the other while he fed and licked, and her breath stacked in her throat.

  “Pull the silk do
wn, Duchess. Show me what my loving has done to you. Let me see how tight and hard you are.”

  The raw request sent the flame soaring. Looking into his passion-hardened eyes, she unveiled herself and he stroked a slow circle around each aching bud. “Do you want me to make them harder, Duchess?”

  Her back braced against a tree, Portia could barely stand due to the storm whirling inside. He leaned down and kissed her mouth possessively. “You have to say ‘please,’ darlin’.”

  Not wanting him to stop, she breathed, “Please . . .”

  He treated her to a silent, wicked loving that left her gasping and arching into his masterful mouth. His palms slid up and down her bared sides, learning her, branding her, and slid behind to the skin above the waistline of her denims and down to cup her behind to bring her flush against the hard ridge that made him male. He raised his mouth to hers once more while that part of him moved wantonly against her. “Feel what you do to me, Duchess.”

  She did and, unable to resist the call, pressed herself closer, teased her tongue against the corners of his lips and moved her hips in sensual response. The contact gathered inside like thunderclouds and she lowered her hand to him. At her touch, he hissed a sharp intake of breath and covered her hand with his to show her what he wanted. Seeing and feeling what it did to him filled her with a surge of power, so she let him guide her for a few intense moments more only to have him abruptly pull away. Breathing harshly, passion glittering in his dark eyes, he turned his back and uttered a curse. “Close your blouse, Duchess.”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  He shook his head and whispered “Lord” hoarsely before saying, “No, baby. But you’re an eyelash away from having your first time on a bunch of pine needles and tree roots. I respect you more than that.”

  “But—”

  “Close your blouse.”

  Desire was still rampaging like a firestorm through her blood in tandem with an ache between her thighs. “And suppose I do want my first time—”

  He shot her a quelling look that silenced her completely. “Fine,” she snapped. Angry now, she forced her fingers to do up her buttons and stuffed her shirt tail back into her denims. “I’m ready to go back.”

  “I’m not. Give me a few minutes.”