“Amelia,” Mac said, his arms tightening around her for a moment. “I don’t much want to talk about Daniel.”
“But it’s so sad, Mac. Because I don’t—love him now—either.”
“Don’t you?” Mac asked quietly.
“No,” Amelia whispered, sniffing loudly, working to unfold the paper towel she still had in her hand and wipe her nose. “Oh,” she said with a sigh. “This compañera business is hard work, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes,” Mac agreed in the darkness, his hand moving lightly from her neck to her tear-dampened cheek. “Like—” He didn’t go on.
“Like what?”
He didn’t answer.
“Like what?” she asked again. “Like when I make a fool of myself and cry all over you?”
“No.”
“When, then?”
“Like… when you know how much Scooter means to me and you don’t bother to ask me anything about whether I found him or—”
“I didn’t have to ask,” she interrupted. “You didn’t find him. You wouldn’t look the way you do if you had.” She lifted her head to look at him, his face illuminated from time to time by a flash of lightning. “And Daniel was here. It was none of his business. Maybe I should check to see if it’s raining in any of the windows,” she said, trying to get out of his lap. He wouldn’t let her get up.
“I… went everywhere I knew to go. I can’t do anything but wait until Marlene needs my money again. I can’t find my son, and nobody seems to care. Now I feel bad, and you feel bad, so we’re just going to sit here in the dark until we feel better, all right? And if that sounds bossy, I can’t help it—or are you afraid of the dark too?”
She hesitated, then relaxed against him. “No. I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid of thunderstorms. Just airplanes—and Killer Fred—”
“And me,” he finished for her.
Amelia waited a long time before she answered. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice quivering and strained.
“I’d like to know why.”
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.” He reached up to slide his toughened fingers over her ear and into her short hair. “I guess I am a dumb cowpuncher, because I don’t understand why you act like our being together—making love together—didn’t mean anything to me. I never did anything to make you think that—at least I don’t think I did. And you treated me like somebody you’d picked up in a truck stop. I don’t know why you’re putting us through all this. Why are you?”
“Because,” she said, pressing her face into his neck. He smelled of the out-of-doors and leather and horses and sun-dried clothes.
“Tell me. I can take it.”
But can I? she thought.
“Tell me,” he repeated.
“I’ll cry if I do.”
“I don’t think that’s going to bother us at this point, is it?” he teased her gently, and she wrapped her arms around him in a fierce embrace. Oh, God, she thought. I love him. What am I doing in love with a cowboy?
She took a long breath. “I… wanted to leave you… before you wanted me to.”
He didn’t say anything, and she straightened up, her forearms resting on his broad chest. “You feel so good to me,” she whispered, and his mouth came down on hers before she expected it, her body responding immediately to the taste of him. She savored it, remembered it, that unique flavor that was his alone as he slid his tongue gently into her mouth. A hot core of desire was already spreading its tendrils deep within her belly. She was weak with it, damp with it, as she returned his kiss, her breasts heavy and sensitive and straining against the pink silkiness of her shirt. His beard brushed her face, and his hand tightened on her hip.
But then he let go suddenly, holding her away from him, his breathing ragged and hard. “Amelia, don’t,” he whispered, his voice miserable. “Don’t—not if you don’t mean it.”
“I could scare you to death with how much I mean it,” she told him sadly, her voice trembling from all the crying and from her desire.
He brought her roughly to him again, his embrace warm and tight and possessive. Amelia held on to him as he kissed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. His mouth on hers was hard and urgent, and he was pulling at her shirttail, sliding his callused hand up under it as soon as he had it free of her jeans, that tough-skinned but gently moving hand firm and warm on her back and along her ribs, reaching upward to finally, finally, cup one lace-covered breast. She gave a soft moan at the feel of his inquisitive hand, her arms sliding upward around his neck. She kissed his eyelids softly to make them close, then his mouth to make him sigh. His hand continued to caress her breasts through the thin material of her bra, his long fingers deft and sure, knowing what to do to make her nipple hard and aching.
“It makes me crazy when you wear my clothes,” he said.
“How about when I don’t?” she murmured because he was working very hard to get her out of them, working now on the buttons down the front of her shirt. He laughed in the darkness.
“Damn!” he whispered. “You’d never know this was my shirt. I want you all the time, Amelia—damn this shirt!”
“I could help,” she suggested, her mouth grazing his. She was becoming more and more aroused, his need igniting hers.
“No, ma’am,” he said firmly. “I get to do this.” He laughed, pressing his forehead against hers. “You smell so good, and you”—his mouth sought hers in another hungry kiss—“taste so good—hell, I can’t keep my mind on what I’m doing.” Another button gave finally, and someone knocked on the back screen door. They both froze.
“Mac?” Ernie called. “Hey, Mac!”
Amelia began frantically to button her shirt, and Mac worked just as hard to keep her from it. “No, no,” he whispered urgently. “I’ll get rid of him.”
“That’s Ernie,” she whispered back, still working on the buttons. “Unless you’re prepared to shoot him, he’s going to be here awhile.”
Mac gave a long sigh, kissing her hard as he put her off his lap so he could stand up. “So I’ll shoot him,” he promised with one last hungry kiss. “Stay right here, and don’t—”
“Mac!” Ernie yelled again.
“Just don’t!” Mac growled in her ear, making her giggle as he pulled her against him one more time. “Lord,” he breathed, forcing himself to go to the door.
“You going to let me in?” she heard Ernie ask pointedly. “It’s raining out here.”
“No,” Mac said. Period.
“What are you sitting in the dark for? The power ain’t off, is it?”
Silence.
“What’s the matter with you?” Ernie persisted. “You gone deaf? I thought you wanted to go to Cowboy Heaven before we—”
“Well, you thought wrong.”
“Dammit, Mac!” Ernie said. “If you ain’t the damn moodiest person I ever seen in my life. You’re the one feeling so bad because Marlene took off with your kid. Who wanted to go bar-hopping anyway? You, that’s who! I just came by to see if you needed a ride. Listen, Mac, you ain’t the love of my life either.” Ernie laughed. “Oh, I get it. You ain’t by yourself in there, are you? Who’s in there with you? You can tell me—who is it?”
“None of your damned business, Ernie!” Mac snapped, and Amelia suppressed another giggle.
“Uh-oh,” Ernie said. “None of my business. It must be little Taylor. Is it? You got Amelia in there?”
“None of your business, Ernie!”
“Ah, God, it is her!” Ernie declared. “You lucky bastard, you. I thought you said she didn’t care nothing about you?”
“Ernie, will you get out of here!” Mac yelled.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Ernie laughed. “I’ll see you later.”
Amelia waited in the dark kitchen, her surroundings illuminated from time to time by a flash of lightning. She sat quietly on the chair by the window, standing up as Mac came toward her, smiling at his soft string of swear words as he knock
ed something over.
She stood there, her half-undone shirt sliding off one shoulder, her heart beginning to pound in anticipation as she felt that ancient and universal expectancy a woman feels as she waits for the man she loves to come and take her.
I do love him, she thought. And heaven help me…
He said nothing as he reached for her, his mouth warm and moist on her bare shoulder, his arms strong and possessive.
“I need you so bad,” he whispered urgently against her ear. He covered her face with quick, frantic kisses, pressing them in rapid succession along her jaw, then into her neck and shoulder. “I need to be with you. I don’t care if you’re just feeling sorry for me—I don’t care if you’re just mad at Daniel—”
“No,” she protested. Daniel had nothing to do with this. Her time with Daniel was over and done. But she got no chance to say it. Mac covered her mouth with his, moaning as he did, the kiss hungry and desperate.
He lifted her up just when she thought she couldn’t stand anymore, carrying her through the house to the bedroom she’d used since she came to stay—his room, with the narrow bed and the rodeo ribbons and trophies.
Mac set her down gently on the floor, reaching behind her to switch on the covered-wagon lamp on the night stand. There was only an impotent click. The power was off after all.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, kissing her again, then again, in the darkness. “Dark is nice too.”
“Very nice,” she agreed, smiling the smile he couldn’t see.
“Amelia,” he said, holding her firmly against him, his hands beginning to move over her back in long, firm strokes. “I thought he’d come to get you. Daniel—I thought you were going with him.”
“No!” she said, holding him fiercely.
He dropped his head to her bare shoulder again, dragging his warm, inquisitive lips along her skin as far as the shirt would allow him to go. Her nipples were taut and straining for his attention, and those he kissed through the fabric of her shirt. He was suddenly lying down across the bed with her, and she could feel his mouth, hungry and hot and moist as he worked his magic with his teeth and lips over her still-covered breasts. Her head arched back in the pure pleasure of it as his fingers plunged into her low neckline, pulling and working at buttons until the shirt finally separated. He undid the front clasp of her bra, deftly and without hesitation, completely sure of himself. When her bra was open his callused fingers moved in a trembling, pleasurable pattern from her bare shoulders to the rise of her breasts, again and again, without touching her nipples until she was ready to cry out with frustration. His big hands slid into the waist of her jeans as far as he could reach, and she welcomed the invasion of his questing fingers. He undid the snap and lowered the zipper, and Amelia sat up to help him, pulling off the shirt and bra, lifting her hips to get out of her jeans. She lay back on the bed, waiting, eyes half-closed in the languor of her desire. Mac stood up, and she could hear the soft rasp of a zipper, the whisper of cloth as he dragged his jeans down and dropped them on the floor. He came to her then, pulling the blanket and sheet down and out from under her, lifting her so they could lie together in his bed, face to face on the pillow. She pressed her belly into his as he slid his rough hands into her bikini panties to strip them away.
“Now,” he whispered, wrapping his muscular arms around her, her soft curves pressed firmly into his work-hardened body. The rain pattered against the window, and Amelia closed her eyes. It was like before—at his mother’s house—and not like before.
“I want to go slow,” Mac whispered into her ear, the tip of his tongue lightly outlining its contours, his breath warm yet making her shiver. “You have to help me.” He pressed a warm kiss on her forehead, then on her eyelids, then her lips, his belly making a slow, maddening rotation against hers. “I think about it all the time, Amelia—holding you, loving you.”
“So do I,” she told him, and he slid lower, teasing her already sensitized skin with the delicious brush of his bearded face and taking a thrusting nipple into his mouth. The warm wetness of his mouth made her strain against him as he persisted in his ministrations, lips and teeth gently sucking until she made a soft sound of pleasure. He moved to her other breast, again sending the sharp tendrils of desire deep into her belly. He lifted his head to look at her, obviously pleased with her response.
“See?” he whispered, and she laughed, the laughter coming from deep in her throat. This was the way it should be with a man and a woman. So… easy.
“Beautiful breasts,” he murmured, kissing them again. “Beautiful legs…” His hands stroked the backs of her thighs. “Marty Chevez told me that first day—when you were climbing into the truck—I’d soon feel those… beautiful legs… hold me tight.” His mouth sought hers in earnest then, and she returned kiss for kiss until she was weak from wanting him inside her. But they were going slowly, and she reached down to the bold male evidence of his arousal.
“Oh!” he breathed into her ear when she touched him. “I love for you to do that. I love for you to touch me.” He moaned as she gently stroked, gently tugged. “You—have to—help me go—slow,” he reminded her haltingly, his eyes closed, his body taut.
“Like this?” she whispered, enjoying her power, her fingers tentative, then insistent. His stomach muscles knotted at the pleasure she was giving him.
“Oh! No, not like that,” he warned her.
“I don’t want to go slow,” she whispered, covering his face in quick, soft kisses. “What do you think of that?”
He showed her what he thought of it, rolling onto his back and tugging her on top of him, pulling her legs around so that she sat astride him. She leaned forward, bracing herself so she could look into his eyes. Then she kissed them, kissed his brow, his cheek, nuzzling gently at his soap-scented beard. His hands were trembling as they moved over her back and then along her sides.
“Mac,” she whispered, her breasts just touching his chest, the rough hairiness of it as pleasurable to her as his hands and mouth had been. “Mac?” she whispered again, wanting to give him everything, trusting him, loving him, wanting to give him pleasure in a way that would have seemed subservient with Daniel.
“What, baby?” he asked, and she pushed herself upward for a moment, proud of her body because he wanted it, closing her eyes as he reached for her breasts with both hands and squeezed gently. Then she leaned forward again, her mouth seeking his hungrily, the sensuous taste that was his leaving her breathless with desire. “I want you,” she whispered. “Oh, Mac, I want you. I want to do something for you—something I never did for Daniel.”
She could feel his expectancy, feel the question forming on his lips, but she gave him no time to ask it, kissing him on the mouth to silence him. She slid downward so she could kiss his hard, muscular chest, her mouth finding his nipples and gently reciprocating with her teeth and tongue the pleasure he had given her. His breathing was shaky, hesitant, as she moved lower, leaving her soft, adoring kisses on the muscled ridges of his abdomen. She moved to his scarred thighs, letting her lips touch him with great care, not wanting to cause him pain, not ever.
Her lips, her fingertips, moved with feathery lightness over and between his legs, then to his belly again with calculated slowness, at first close and inquisitive, and then farther away, then lovingly reaching him. His body went rigid at the first warm touch of her mouth, the delicate searching of her tongue, and he groaned as she brought him nearly to the edge. She could feel his passion rising, feel it in his fingers as he reached for her, gently stroking her face and hair, abandoning himself to her to do as she wished.
But then he was drawing her upward. “Amelia, I want you with me. I want to be inside you—so deep…”
She was astride him again, his hands sliding down to her hips, holding her firmly. She could feel him against her, seeking what she wanted to give. She wanted him inside her, and she gave a long sigh as he thrust upward, her body aching for him. She collapsed onto his chest, and he held her
tightly for a moment, pressing a kiss into her hair. Then he withdrew, thrusting upward again with his powerful male-ness, filling her. She lifted her head to see his face, seeing more than hearing her name on his lips, and when she moved with him, he arched his head back, his lips pressed together, then parting in a soft “oh” sound, his eyes closed in the exquisite pleasure she was giving him.
“Amelia,” he whispered. “Oh—honey—”
But she was losing the control it took to be an observer. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and her breath came in quick gasps, the driving heat of her desire taking away all coherent thought. There was nothing but the pleasure of having him, of loving him, and of being loved in return. She was losing herself. She no longer existed except for her oneness with this man.
I love you, Mac. Had she said it? She didn’t know. The pleasure peaked, burst, and burned, leaving her tumbling into nothing and nowhere alone.
No. She wasn’t alone. Mac was there. She could feel him, hear him, hear his raspy voice against her ear.
“I love you—love you—Amelia!”
The rain still pattered against the window, but the thunder and the lightning had moved into the distance. Amelia gave a quiet sigh, closing her eyes in contentment as Mac pressed his lips softly against her temple. Making love with him was—wonderful.
“Say something,” he said quietly in the dark room. “Don’t leave me out here all by myself not knowing what to do. What are you dunking about?”
Amelia turned slowly in his arms, stretching languidly in the small space she occupied on the bed. “I was thinking I have to find a job. Right away.” Mac stiffened, and she raised her head, trying to see his face. She had meant only to tease him, but she realized immediately that he didn’t know that. She realized, too, how much she had hurt him before with her studied nonchalance, and how much he expected her to hurt him again. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him tightly in case he tried to get away.
Such Rough Splendor Page 16
