Miranda laughed again. “Be careful, you’re likely to rip right through those seams.”
Her laughter was contagious and he chuckled, too. The sound was strange in his ears.
“Come on, then,” Miranda said, “you’ll warm more quickly near the fire.”
Ben’s better judgment told him to stay where he was, across the room from the beckoning finger. A safe distance from that fairy smile with the magical properties that seemed to control his lips. If he had any sense at all, he wouldn’t be standing and walking to her side, and he certainly wouldn’t fold his legs into a tight knot as he tried to fit onto the space she made for him on the great bear pelt.
He squeezed his tea mug and allowed the warmth to soak into his hands. His eyes caught on the stubs of his fingers, and he dropped his left hand out of Miranda’s line of sight.
“Don’t,” she said. “There ain’t no point in hidin’ what these blankets can’t cover.”
She turned so that he could see the scar on her face. He lifted his hand and touched her jaw, smoothing over the ragged surface of the scar with his battered index finger. “How did you come to have this?”
She favored him with that half-smile again. He felt the raw pain deep in his gut and knew the story held more pain than the injury itself explained. “It was an accident. A buggy overturned.”
“With you in it?”
She nodded, but her eyes dropped away, and he knew the story was designed to cover a truth she felt unable to reveal to him. He wanted to question her but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had his own secrets. Instead, he pulled the blanket back up around her shoulders.
“You’re still shivering.” Ben held his blanket around his waist as he rose to his knees to add wood so that the fire danced high and hot, warming the stones of the fireplace and radiating heat into the small cabin.
“Won’t take long to run through all our wood using it like that,” she said.
“I hope we won’t be here much longer.”
Miranda’s chest rose as she took in a deep breath, and Ben’s eyes were drawn to the mounds that pushed her blankets into tempting curves. He swallowed and looked back into the fire.
Her hand over his caught him by surprise. He turned to see her smiling, a new smile, one full of mischief. She knew damn well she was tempting him, and still she had no mercy. He watched her rise slowly to her knees and lean forward, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips as she drew close. A small voice told him to move. To run outside and jump on his horse, to hell with his clothing, the freezing rain, and everything else. If he stayed here, he was going to lose the battle for control he’d been fighting since they entered the cabin. Fortunately, he wasn’t listening to that annoying little lecturer.
Her breath brushed warm against his cheek first, then her nose touched his, a light stroke that made him smile again. Her hands pressed against his shoulders and she pulled him closer as their lips met with a tingle of heat that made him feel light-headed. The blanket fell off her shoulders and his hands touched bare skin, smooth and soft as a rabbit pelt. He wanted to keep exploring—to slide his palms on down her backside—but the small voice inside him was shouting now, and he could no longer ignore the warning.
“I can’t.” Ben gasped for breath, hoping the air would help him regain his senses. Hoping he could get the creature that was sticking straight as a board between his legs to relax and stop demanding satisfaction, because he was not going to let that uncontrolled lout touch this beauty if he could help it. “I . . . won’t take advantage of you.”
He pushed away from her and tried to keep the blanket loose about him, to hide the evidence of his arousal. Lord help him, he was having one hell of a time convincing himself to be a gentleman right now.
“Why?” Miranda seemed almost hurt.
“You’re innocent. . . . I’m a lot of things, but I won’t be the one to steal that from you.”
“Innocent?” Miranda closed her eyes and smiled, heaving a sigh that seemed too big for her petite frame. “I’m not . . . Would it make a difference if I told you I have slept with a man before. More than once, in fact.”
Ben stared.
“Now I’ve made you think I’m . . .” She licked her lips, unable to say any of the words people used to describe a woman who let men have their way with her outside of marriage. She drew her lower lip between her teeth. “I shouldn’t have . . . I made it sound . . . There was only one man, though it was more than once. . . . Aw, hell. There’s no way to make it sound right. It was a foolish thing to do.”
“Are you feeling . . . foolish now?”
“No.” One corner of her lips curled up in a half-grin that spoke of pain too deep for him to contemplate. “He wanted to take what I had—you’re different.”
“Don’t be fooled, Miranda. I want to take from you.”
“I know.” Her smile grew, a full bow that sparked pain inside him, but this time it was the ache of desire possessing him. “But I have a feelin’ you’ll be givin’, too. Fair trade, seems to me.”
She looked directly at him, and he felt himself tumbling helplessly into those great pools of blue. He bent to kiss her, tasting her sweet lips and breathing in lavender and spices. He’d forgotten how sweet a woman could be, how soft and . . . He pulled away.
“You’re certain you want this?” His voice was husky with need and though he told himself he was only doing what the lady wanted, he knew damn well it was his own desire that drove him to her.
“I want you,” she mumbled into his ear. “Please show me.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. He stretched her out on the pelt and opened the blanket she’d wrapped around her small, perfect breasts. He bent to kiss each of them twice before he settled his mouth over one and rested his palm on the other. He’d waited a long while for this pleasure, had dreamt of it, and pausing now so near his goal was sweet torture. The kind of pain that would make his release that much more triumphant when it came.
A blanket still covered her below the waist, and he was well covered with shirt and blanket himself. The small voice returned, telling him he could stop now before it was too late—before the insanity of desire put him beyond all sense. He laughed at the small voice, though the sound he emitted was nearer that of a man in agony. He could feel the pleasure of conquest within his reach. Like a mountain climber approaching the summit, he knew he would have his goal. And he was a man suffering the worst deprivation of all—layers of fabric separating him from her soft skin. But she had wanted him to give as well as take, and he intended to do some giving before he rewarded himself. Hell, she didn’t need to know that each shiver of excitement she felt echoed within him, that half of his delight came from hearing that delightful mew of pleasure she made when he touched her.
For a moment, he suckled, content merely to taste her. Before he could memorize the exquisite surface of her nipple, his impatient tongue began stroking, teasing her until she groaned a new sound that bubbled up from deep inside her.
“Ben—oh!” It was magical. He was a wizard who touched her breast so that she felt each stroke of his tongue through her body until she was throbbing between her thighs. It was heaven, and she wanted him never to stop. She gasped. His tongue continued its fantastic efforts, but his hand drew away from her breast. She felt a rush of cold to her bare breast, but before she could protest, she felt his hand wriggle under the blanket that stretched around her waist. He slid it down over her belly and between her thighs until his palm rested on the curls that covered her womb. Her eyes opened wide to see Ben smiling at her.
“Did I surprise you, love?” His fingers pressed against her, gently probing. “I promise, you’ll like this.”
She reminded herself to breathe, then she quickly moistened her lips. She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t find words. Thought perhaps she’d lost her voice until—“Oh!” His fingers worked their way inside her, and some instinct made her rise to press against him.
“Patien
ce, love,” he murmured as he pressed his lips against her throat.
She rose off the ground. Surely she did, for she was definitely flying, soaring across the sky like an eagle on a fine summer’s day.
Miranda cried his name and the sound went deep into his chest.
“Have I given you enough, love?”
“Yes. Yes.” Miranda pulled at the blanket. “Please take me now. You’ve given me enough, I promise you.”
“No, love. Not yet. I haven’t given you nearly enough.” Ben kissed her. He combed his fingers through her hair, pulling her close to him and demonstrating with his tongue what he was about to do to her womanly parts, driving deep inside of her. She was ready to let him in. Yet, he delayed. “Take my shirt off, love.”
Her hands trembled as she worked the buttons, but it was well worth it to touch his bare chest. She relished the feel of his corded belly and his powerful shoulders, first with her palms, then with her tongue. The scar she’d glimpsed before was now fully revealed. It looked as though his breast had been shattered and stitched back together—one nipple was missing, and lines scattered up and away from it like the spokes of a broken wheel. She kissed him there and stroked the soft fur of his chest with her cheek.
“Look at my face, love.” Ben lifted her chin so that she was looking into his eyes. “That’s better. You don’t have to look at the ugly scar.”
“Only wondered how . . . how you lived.”
“This is no time for telling stories, Miranda. We have business to take care of.”
“Of course,” she said and pulled the blanket away from her legs and her most private places.
“You’re beautiful,” Ben murmured against her belly before dipping lower.
Before she knew it, he was licking her knee and working his way up the inside of her thigh, slowly, driving her to distraction until she was certain she couldn’t wait another moment. She noticed the blanket had dropped from his waist; he was fully aroused. He was so large she worried for a moment whether she’d be able to keep her part of the bargain. She promised herself not to flinch or do anything to show her fear. She didn’t want to make him angry.
His kisses reached the apex between her thighs and he lifted his head. “I’m going to come inside you now, love.”
Miranda nodded, not trusting her voice. His smile reassured her, but she closed her eyes, bracing herself.
He touched her. And she felt him solid against the moist opening. She spread her legs, opening to him, and he slipped inside slowly, pressing and pulling back again before he thrust deeper and filled her. She opened her eyes and let out a little breath. Somehow he fit inside her, and it was nice. He started to move slowly at first, then a little faster and faster until she was caught up and felt herself moving with him. Then it happened.
The pleasure that she’d felt, the soaring eagles in flight, swept her up again, and this time she flew beyond the sky and hurtled past the stars. She dug her fingers into his ribs, wanting to hold him there to continue on this flight forever. He surprised her by pulling out. He pressed against her chest and pulled her breasts together around his shaft until his seed spilled against her. He collapsed next to her and used the old shirt to wipe her clean before he pulled her close. Without letting her go, he pulled blankets over the two of them.
“Miranda,” he whispered into her ear. “Miranda, love.”
She examined his face—his eyes closed. He wore a contented smile such as she’d seldom seen before. It was not an expression she’d ever hoped to see on grim Ben Lansing.
He bent to nuzzle her ear, and she curled up against him. As the wind howled and the freezing rain beat against the windows, Miranda fell asleep in Ben’s warm arms.
When they awoke, the moon gleamed bright against a frozen hillside. Ben dashed outside for more wood, and they built the fire back up to warm themselves.
“I think our clothes may be dry,” Miranda said. “We’d be warmer if we put them on.”
Ben’s grin shone in the firelight. “I think I know a better way to get warm.”
Miranda grinned, too, then bent to kiss his nipple, teasing him with her tongue.
“Oooh. You, my dear, are a quick study,” Ben whispered. “I think I shall teach you a few more tricks.”
In fact, he taught her several tricks that pleased them both until they were, if not sated, at least exhausted. They slept skin to skin on the bear pelt with blankets piled upon them, and neither of them suffered any cold even when the fire died.
Chapter 14
Benjamin woke feeling a cold draft on his shoulder. He turned to Miranda and smiled, remembering their play of the night before. She’d fallen asleep curled into a tight ball and had pulled the blankets away from him. Although he remembered whispering only a few hours ago that he would need a week to recover, strong desire pounded through him as soon as he saw her. He glanced at the window. The sun would rise soon, but they had enough time if he acted quickly.
He rolled over onto his side and brushed a kiss against her naked back. She screamed and pulled away.
“I’m sorry!” He rose to his knees. “I didn’t mean to frighten—”
“No!” She held a blanket tightly against her chest. “I ain’t . . . I’m not . . .”
“I think I must have surprised you.”
“No.” Miranda inched away from him. “I . . . It wasn’t because you . . . I was asleep.”
“You’re shivering.” He wrapped a blanket around her.
She leaned away. “I need to”—she looked around the room—“it’s time I dressed and . . . I’ll make us some breakfast.”
He pulled the drooping blanket back over her shoulder. “I would never hurt you.” He kept his voice low.
She stared at him, her eyes small points in the near darkness. “I know.”
He placed a hand on each of her arms. “Someone has. Another man?”
“I told you, I was in a deep sleep and—” She choked on a sob.
He pulled her against his chest, careful to hold her loose enough that she could escape if she wanted. She leaned against his shoulder, until her tears streamed down his chest.
“Shh, shh.” He combed his fingers through her hair.
“Please, I don’t want to.” She sobbed against him.
“Go ahead and cry, love. Do you mind if we get back under the covers before we both freeze?”
Miranda nodded and stretched out next to him on the bear pelt that still held their warmth and the musky sent of their lovemaking. He held her close with one arm and used his free arm to cover them both with blankets.
“Will you tell me?”
“I can’t—” She sniffed. “I’m sorry about all these tears.”
“What’s wrong with crying, sweetheart?”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with cryin’, it’s showing weakness to a man that—”
“I know you’re not weak. You cry all you want, love.”
She sniffed and Ben reached for his jacket hanging from a peg in the stone wall of the fireplace. He managed to pull his handkerchief out of a pocket without letting go of her. The desire to keep her warm and safe was nearly as strong as other desires she gave him. He forced his mind not to dwell on those thoughts.
She blew her nose in the handkerchief he offered her.
“Now, tell me,” Ben said. “Who did this to you?”
“Don’t follow your meanin’.”
“Who turned a brave girl like you into a frightened kitten? Was it the man who did this to you?” Ben traced the scar on her jaw.
“That was an accident—”
“Truth now.”
“I can’t tell.”
“Yes, you can.” Ben stroked her hair and held her close, keeping his own breathing calm, trying to soothe her until she told him everything. Until she identified the man Ben intended to hunt down and bring to justice—preferably with his bare hands. “I’ll make a fair trade: You tell me your story, and I’ll tell you about the scar on my chest.”
/> “Promise you won’t”—she choked on a sob—“won’t tell anyone?”
“You have my word.”
She sniffed and pulled the blanket across her eyes. “It was in Philadelphia. And it was my fault, you see. My family can’t know about this. They wouldn’t understand.”
“Your story won’t leave this room.”
“I went to Philadelphia to get away. Thought I was going to die from a broken heart.” She made a sound that might have been an attempt to laugh. “I realize now I was more embarrassed than heartbroken.”
“Your beau found another girl?”
“How did you guess?”
Ben shrugged. “So you left. Why Philadelphia?”
“I had a good friend—Lydia. She was from Philadelphia and she wanted to go back. So we left together. I took a job in a dress shop.”
“Where you learned something about fashion design.”
“I wasn’t doin’ anything so special. Just stitching dresses together.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He said he loved me. Lawrence was his name.” She took another deep breath. “Promised to marry me.” She swallowed and rested her head against Ben’s chest. Luckily it was still dark, since she couldn’t bear to look at him. “I was so foolish, to think a man like him would love the likes of me.”
“Likes of—” Ben touched her cheek. “Miranda Chase, I will not have you talking as though you were anything less than—” Guilt stopped him from scolding her. “You’re a beautiful and appealing young lady. Don’t think any less of yourself on account of some lout who doesn’t know his ass from a mule.”
“I don’t know that I’m much of a prize.” She sighed and he thought she would argue with him. “But you’re right, he wasn’t either. He was a buyer for a mail order store. Bought women’s dresses from the shop where I worked. And he started paying attention to me the first day I went to work there. Complimentin’ my fine stitching and such. Soon it was comments about my eyes and my, well, lots of things. Damned foolishness. I know I’m pretty—or I was anyhow.”
Teresa Bodwell Page 17
