by Caroline Lee
Somewhere along the line, Cora was rather afraid she’d fallen in love with the man.
And that was why she was smiling as she unbuttoned Lucas’s shirt and pulled it off over her head. And by the time she managed to pull off her boots and the worn denims, her fingers were fumbling she was rushing so fast.
She wanted this. She needed this.
She only hoped he would agree.
Taking a deep breath, and not-at-all cold, despite the encroaching dusk and the autumn temperatures, Cora stepped into the little clearing completely nude.
Please God, don’t let him turn away this time.
Her heart was in her throat as she moved quietly over the pine needles towards him, and her pulse pounded in her ears, in time with her prayer.
Love me love me love me.
But when he whipped around, his hand going to his holstered revolver in an ingrained reflex, no appreciation lit his expression. Instead, his cold golden eyes swept over her, lingering just slightly on her bare feet. Then they traveled slowly back up, and Cora’s heart was hammering too hard to notice if he paid special attention to anything else.
Love me love me love me, her pulse seemed to scream, and she wondered if her expression was too revealing.
Did he see the pleading in her eyes? Was she making a fool of herself?
Without giving her any hint of what he might be thinking, Verrick turned back to the fire, and her heart sunk into her stomach. She watched him move the pan of biscuits off the fire, even though they weren’t done, with quick, efficient movements, then turn the rabbits once more.
Then he slowly rose to his feet, his hands in fists by his side, and Cora gave up trying to second-guess what he was thinking. At this point, passing out was a very real possibility—either from too much blood-flow or not enough oxygen, she didn’t know—but she forced her chin up as he crossed the clearing towards her.
Oh God! He was looking at her the way he’d done this past summer, and she couldn’t read any of his thoughts.
Was he shuttering himself on purpose? Was he trying to come up with a way to turn her down?
No, if Verrick didn’t want her, he wouldn’t worry about being polite; he’d just speak his mind.
The thought helped somehow. Cora took a deep breath and noticed his gaze dropped—albeit briefly—to her breasts. It was something, at least.
He stopped in front of her, and lifted his right hand. She thought he might’ve been reaching for the thick brown braid she’d unpinned and which now hung over her shoulder, but his hand clenched into a fist at the last moment.
He stood there in front of her, his fist raised part-way, fully clothed to her nakedness. And he swallowed. That thick, tan column of his neck worked as the muscles contracted, and her gaze was drawn helplessly to the base of his throat where his pulse fluttered.
If someone didn’t say something soon, Cora thought she might faint. But even she couldn’t come up with anything to say.
He moved again, reaching out more tentatively than she’d ever seen him do, and brushed his fingertips along her cheekbone. She arched into his touch, exhaling softly, and feeling like a lucky kitten. The movement must’ve answered whatever question he had, because the other hand rose to join the first, until he was cupping her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes.
His beautiful, mysterious, tortured eyes.
“Are you sure, Cora?” he asked in a rough whisper.
If she hadn’t been, the hesitation in that question would’ve made her mind up for her.
“Yes,” she barely breathed.
Yes! her body screamed.
A groan of surrender burst out of his lips as he pulled her towards him and pressed his forehead to hers. She was busy exalting in the feel of his body against hers—the leather of his vest did all sorts of interesting things to her breasts—but she recognized his capitulation for what it was.
And when he crushed his lips against hers—minty still at this hour—and she pushed herself up to twine her arms around his neck, she almost cried for joy.
Yes! This is what was meant to be!
By the time his hands found her backside to pull her flush against him, and his tongue began exploring her mouth, her heart was beating the same frantic song again. Only this time, it was joyful, instead of terrified.
Love me! Love me!
Chapter Six
The coals from last night caught easily, and Verrick fed a few pieces of tinder into the fire until it was big enough to heat the water for coffee. It was later than he was used to waking, but after last night…
He glanced over to where Cora was still curled up in the bedrolls. He’d had the presence of mind to lay them out last night, and didn’t think he’d ever forget the way she smiled up at him once he’d laid her down on them. It had been a come-hither smile, and when she lifted her arms, as if beckoning him closer, Verrick was struck by the thought he’d follow her anywhere.
So much for detachment and focus.
The morning was cold, so he leaned forward to take advantage of the fire’s warmth. He wore only his pants; the rest of his clothing was folded neatly beside his boots on the other side of the fire. Last night…she’d come to him barefoot. Oh, she’d been nude too, but the sight of her bare feet crushing the pine needles in the clearing had made her seem vulnerable, somehow.
Those bare feet had been what had changed his mind. He’d spent months pretending to ignore her smiles and overtures. Months pretending he didn’t think she was a fine-looking woman who knew what she liked. Months pretending he didn’t want to taste her.
Calm. Detach. Focus.
But seeing her bare feet last night had felt like so much more of an intimacy, and at that moment, he knew he’d no longer be able to resist her. She was there, and she was intent on this course of action.
And she was very naked.
He’d taken the time to move their dinner off the flames, thereby allowing her the chance to change her mind. When she didn’t, he gave up fighting. Gave up fighting the undeniable attraction which coursed through his veins every damn time she smiled at him or their skin brushed. Gave up fighting against the heat which had kept him wrapped in its thrall since that shooting lesson yesterday, and he’d realized how damn good it felt to hold her and taste her lavender-and-lemon skin.
Kissing her was even better, once he allowed himself to.
And making love to her had been the most incredible of all.
Verrick stirred the flames with a stick to evenly distribute the heat.
Kind of how I felt last night.
He shook his head slightly to release the banal thought; making love a few times to a woman wasn’t going to turn him into a sap.
Making love?
What the hell was wrong with him? It’d been sex, pure and simple. He’d had an urge, Cora had been willing, and—
He glanced at her once more as she mumbled something and pulled the blankets tighter around herself. Was she cold? She hadn’t been cold all night, not with him wrapped around her as he’d been. Even naked himself—when was the last time he’d taken all his clothing off to be with a woman?—they were warm enough together.
Verrick exhaled quietly and admitted the truth to himself. It hadn’t been just sex. To call it that would be to put Cora on the same level as the whores he’d bedded in the last twenty years. No. She’d known enough about the act to prove she wasn’t an innocent, and she’d definitely wanted him—the memory of her slick and grasping body was enough to make him hard again—but she was special.
That was why he’d resisted for so long. Had she been a whore, he would’ve felt no compulsion to deny himself to scratch the itch she’d caused. Verrick’s lips twitched at the analogy, remembering the way she’d scratched his back last night.
No, Cora was special. Had been special since he’d first met her. Not because she was his daughter-in-law’s sister, although that was important too. But she was special because—because—because…
Verrick unwrapped the leftover rabbit from last night. After their first athletic encounter, he’d finished cooking dinner, but by the time they were through, he’d barely had the time to wrap the remaining meat before falling back into the bedroll with her again. As he sliced some to fry over the flames this morning, Verrick admitted the truth to himself.
Cora Montgomery was special, because she brought joy. To everyone, through her paintings and humor and the unabashed freedom and curiosity with which she viewed the world. But more importantly, she brought joy to him.
And that was scary as hell.
Joy? Fear? Verrick wasn’t used to feeling those. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t deny being with her—and even simply being around her—made him feel good. Made him want to be good enough for her.
But he wasn’t, and she deserved better. She deserved a home and a family, a steady and stable man who would be there for her, would take care of her. That wasn’t him. He’d tried that once, and look where that had gotten him.
Alone.
Calm. Detach. Focus.
As he poured the coffee into their single tin cup, realizing he’d never minded sharing with her, Verrick tried to ignore the little niggling reminder of her words two nights ago. She’d claimed she didn’t want to settle and have a home, but she had to be wrong.
Wasn’t she?
All women—everyone—wanted a place to belong. Even he’d wanted that, once. But two years at Sunset Valley, over twenty years ago, had shown him settling wasn’t for him. Even if Thomas Ryan hadn’t become suspicious of Verrick’s friendship with his wife, Verrick would’ve left anyhow.
Settling wasn’t for him.
He had a place he belonged: out on the trail, moving from place to place. He knew what kind of life he lived, and he liked the safety of moving about. He belonged out here.
And remembering the way Cora had lit up, had seemed to blossom out here on the trail, made Verrick wonder if maybe he’d been wrong about her. Maybe she belonged out here too, just as she’d said. She’d certainly been enthralled by the experience; that big blue sketchbook was open beside her at every break they’d taken, as she tried to capture the soul of the land.
From her nest in the blankets, she made a noise halfway between a groan and a yawn, and sat up. He got a tantalizing glimpse of a bare breast, before she pulled the blanket up and around her shoulders and yawned again. Without glancing at him, she pushed herself to her feet and padded into the woods, the blanket still around her.
Verrick watched her go, and tried not to feel—well, anything. He told himself it was just as well she didn’t have anything to say to him that morning, after what they’d shared. All it would take would be one smile from her, and he’d probably be thinking about wrapping himself around her again.
No, it was better this way. Better not to feel.
But when she emerged, still blinking sleep from her eyes and looking like she’d just been well and truly loved—her hair all disheveled, her lips swollen, and a bruise his mouth had left on her shoulder—his cock jumped to attention, and he admitted the truth to himself.
Detachment be damned! He didn’t mind feeling one bit when it came to Cora.
“Good morning,” she said with a yawn as she picked her way across the clearing towards him.
She was still barefoot—still bare everything—and he couldn’t think of anything more intimate than that. Right up until she nudged his arm out of the way with her foot and plopped herself into his lap.
Verrick froze, not sure what she expected of him. She was sitting in his lap. Surely it was because she was cold? He’d been chilly himself, without a shirt, right up until the moment she’d sat up. Now, with her sitting in his lap, he was downright toasty…and aroused as hell.
What was he supposed to do with his hands? The tin mug was in one, but his other hovered over her as she settled and got comfortable, and—
Oh.
He figured out what to do with his hands.
With her back snug against his chest like that, it seemed perfectly natural to cup her breast with his open palm, to brush his thumb against her nipple.
Good morning, indeed.
She wiggled slightly, and he thought he saw her smile before she reached for the mug of coffee.
They sat in silence for a few moments, and Verrick discovered he was…content. With no sign of followers, no danger lurking, he knew he was safe. He was well-fed, rested well enough, and he had Cora. In his arms. The constant pull he’d felt for the last few days had abated somewhat, and he was—
No. No, it hadn’t abated, he realized. It was still there, drawing him to her. But now that they’d made love, it was less desperate, less frantic. Gentler. More content.
He breathed in the smell of her skin, her neck so close to his lips, and admitted another truth to himself. What they’d done last evening and through the night? That had been making love. What they’d done had been special. Different from whatever he’d experienced the last twenty years. He hadn’t felt this way since—
“Verrick, can I ask you a question?”
He hummed in agreement, though he wasn’t quite ready to interrupt the peace of the morning.
“What happened with Laura Ryan?”
The jolt of her name, so soon after he’d been thinking of her, caused Verrick to tense.
“I’m sorry,” she was quick to say, although he noticed she didn’t pull away. “I’ve just been curious, and I figured if there was one time you’d feel obligated to explain, it’d be now.”
Her forthrightness was admirable. To his surprise, Verrick felt his lips tug slightly upwards and forced down the urge.
Calm, detach.
It was damn near impossible where this woman was concerned.
“I would tell you regardless of what we shared,” he scolded gently.
“Oh, well then.” She took another sip of the coffee. “Tell away.”
Where to begin?
He sat a little straighter—not enough to dislodge her, but enough to reach the pan and flip the meat with a fork.
“My parents died the winter after their crops failed. I was stronger.” He remembered the bitter cold, the bitter hunger. He hadn’t been strong enough to bury them, but it would not have mattered; they’d been past pain or sorrow then. “I walked away.”
When he didn’t immediately continue, she asked quietly, “Have you ever gone back?”
“Not once. The farm had been their dream, but not mine. I knew from a young age I wasn’t meant to live that life.”
She snorted. “No, you’re much too graceful, flowing. I can’t see you hoeing a row either. You need to wander.”
You need to wander.
How was it possible she understood him so well? Was it because deep down, she felt the same way? That’s what she’d claimed, at least, but Verrick had a hard time accepting that.
Oh well. A quandary for another time.
A time when he didn’t have a naked woman in his lap.
Staring at the sizzling meat, his hand moved to rest on her bare thigh, and he found himself tracing little circles on her skin. There’d been a time, perhaps only a decade ago, when he would’ve had her on her back again. But now? Now, he could control himself. And as he wasn’t as young as he’d once been, it was better to conserve his energy.
She sighed and relaxed against him, taking another sip of the coffee. “So how old were you when you ended up in Montana?”
“Sixteen. I thought cattle ranching was the life I was looking for: hard work, days in the saddle, danger.” He remembered that first year, the frustration of trying to conform to the rules, and understand what was expected of him. “I was wrong.”
“What changed?”
“The boss had married several years before I’d arrived. Laura was the one to name the ranch.” Thomas Ryan would never had named his land, much less something as impractical as Sunset Valley. “She was a beautiful woman, almost ten years older than me.”
And for th
e first time in his life, Verrick had thought himself in love.
Maybe she’d heard it in his voice, because Cora straightened. “And you followed her around like a calf, I suppose?”
Despite the lack of jealousy in her words, Verrick found himself bristling.
Calm, detach.
He took a deep breath and moved her off his lap as he exhaled. She didn’t fight it, but wiggled free until she was sitting cross-legged beside him with the blanket still wrapped around her. He pushed himself towards the fire and began to pull the meat off the pan.
“After a year, Laura began paying me special attention. She convinced her husband I needed a raise, and she’d ask me to do certain jobs around the house.” And he would’ve done anything she’d asked, he admitted to himself. “It took a while for me to realize she was doing it on purpose.”
“She was seducing you,” Cora spat out.
Verrick placed the meat on their only plate and handed it to her, his brow twitched slightly upward. She saw it, dropped her gaze to his lips, and huffed out an impatient breath.
“Fine. I can see why she did it.”
It hadn’t been what he’d expected to hear, and Verrick’s other brow joined his first.
“What?” she asked as she blew on her breakfast to cool it down. “You expected me to be contrite?” She smiled. “Hell no. You’re a handsome man, and your son is gorgeous too. I can see why Laura tried to seduce you, even if you were too young for her.”
Tried to?
Verrick busied himself dropping more strips of meat in the sizzling grease. “We…”
What had they done? At the time, he imagined himself in love with her, but in the two decades since then, he’d realized there was no such thing as love—at least not the way he’d imagined it. There was nothing in the world which could force him to act opposite his nature.
Calm. Detach. Focus.
“You—what? Made love? Had sex? Fathered her son?”
“We mated,” he said before he could think better.
