The Drifter
Page 14
Ry heaved a sigh. “Anything’s possible. Damn, but I hate having these suspicions.”
“Davis mentioned something today about a `True Love Curse.’ What’s that all about?”
“That’s more Leigh’s department than mine, but the way I heard it, some cavalrymen killed a village of Indian women and children on this spot back in the 1800s. The men of the tribe supposedly put a curse on the land and said no white man would ever profit from it.”
Chase gazed uneasily at the shadowy mountains towering above the ranch house. “Did you hear this before we bought the place?”
“Yeah, but I don’t believe in superstition, so I didn’t see the point in repeating the story to you and Gilardini. We may have a problem on the True Love, but it sure as hell isn’t on account of some century-old curse. It’s because some flesh-and-blood trickster wants to drive us off of this land. I just wish I could catch somebody in the act.”
“I think you should forget it for tonight, buddy, and try to get some rest. Tomorrow’s your big day.”
“And what if someone tries to ruin that, too?”
Chase couldn’t very well promise there wouldn’t be any accidents on Ry’s wedding day. “Let’s just hope our friends outnumber our enemies tomorrow,” he said, turning to go. “See you in the morning, bridegroom.”
“Yeah. Good luck tonight, cowboy.”
Chase raised a hand in acknowledgment of the remark. He didn’t comment that a guy who didn’t believe in superstitions shouldn’t be wishing anyone good luck, either. As he walked toward the cottage, a pewter sliver of moon hung in the western sky with Venus dangling off its tip like a diamond pendant. He’d wished on a star exactly once. Nothing had happened. After that, he’d relied on himself to get what he wanted. And if he couldn’t get it, then he’d convince himself it wasn’t worth having.
No light shone from the cottage windows, and his heart beat faster. She was already in bed. Waiting. Or else she’d changed her mind, locked the door and turned out the light to warn him away.
In the pale gleam from the crescent moon, he could make out Chloe stationed outside the door on the porch, instead of inside the cottage. That was a promising development. Chloe stood and wagged her tail as Chase drew near.
“Come here, girl,” Chase called softly. Chloe trotted down the steps toward him and shoved her nose against the palm of his hand. He scratched behind her ears and lifted her muzzle to look into her eyes. “Go find Ry,” he commanded. “You stay with Ry tonight. I’ll be on duty here.” Chloe whined. “Go find Ry,” Chase said again. The black-and-white dog bounded down the moonlit path to the main house.
Chase stepped up on the porch, wondering if Amanda could hear the sound of his boots on the weathered pine above the soft purr of the air-conditioning unit. He held his breath and turned the knob.
It opened.
He stood in the doorway, his heart hammering, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was music, unfamiliar music with violins, playing on the radio. Gradually, like a Polaroid picture developing, the four-poster came into focus with its expanse of lace-edged sheets. And there, reclining against a mound of fluffy pillows, the sheet pulled up over her breasts, her shoulders bare and her glorious hair spread around her, was Amanda. His throat went dry.
“The baby?” His question came out as a feeble rasp.
“Stuffed him in a mop bucket,” she murmured in a low voice.
“I see.”
“I hope you don’t mind the music. It helps him sleep.”
“No.” He’d listen to somebody with a pocket comb and a kazoo if he could make love to Amanda while it was playing. He was a country-and-western fan, himself, but this music seemed to suit Amanda. Unwilling to abandon the sight of her stretched out in bed, Chase reached behind him to close and lock the door. Then he took off his hat and sailed it toward a bedpost. It caught and spun around once, almost in time to the music, before settling there.
“Good aim.”
“I’ve practiced.”
She muffled her laughter against her hand.
He walked toward the bed, unfastening his shirt as he came. “I figured that any cowboy worth his spurs should be able to do that before he climbs into a four-poster bed with a woman.” His arousal pushed painfully against his clothing.
“I agree,” she said softly. “What else have you been practicing?”
“Lately? Not much.” And he hoped he wouldn’t pay for his lack of recent sexual activity by taking her like some rutting animal. He’d have to be careful. He wanted her so much he was beginning to shake. If he could pace himself to that gentle music, he’d be okay.
“If you tell me you’ve been celibate since that night in the truck, I’ll know you’re a liar,” she said.
He leaned on the bedpost to pull off each boot in turn. “Then I won’t tell you that.”
“Who was she?”
He paused in the act of unhooking his belt from the buckle. In the past he would have shut down that line of questioning real quick. But that was because he’d made it a rule never to ask those same questions of the women he’d slept with. He’d already broken that rule with Amanda. He’d broken several of his rules with Amanda. “A waitress and a bartender,” he said as he pulled his belt through the loops. “Very nice ladies.”
“Two? At once?”
He controlled his laughter because of the baby. “Never tried that. Always thought it would be too confusing.” He dug the condoms out of his pocket before he stepped out of his jeans.
“Did they...know about each other?”
“No.” He walked to the head of the bed and deposited the condoms on the table beside it. “But then, they didn’t ask.” He was close enough to see the shine of her eyes in the dim light. Her gaze was fastened on him, and under the sheet her breasts moved up and down in time to her rapid breathing. He reached for the elastic of his briefs.
“Did you ask them if they’d had other lovers besides you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
She met that admission with a satisfied smile and asked no more questions. He figured she was remembering that he’d asked about other men within an hour of seeing her again. He’d told Ry he was here for a one-night stand, and the stupidity of that statement was already becoming obvious. He pushed his briefs down and released his straining erection.
Her glance swept downward, then back to his face. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and he clenched his hands to keep from flinging himself on her. The music. He had to use the rhythm of the music to stay calm. He took the sheet back slowly when he longed to rip it away from her body. The movement of the sheet stirred the scent of her perfume, which reached out to him with memories he’d never erase.
His breath came out in a long, shaky sigh and he cursed his lack of schooling. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked lying there naked against the white sheets, her body almost glowing, but he’d never be able to find the right words, especially when he needed her so much he couldn’t think straight.
He returned his gaze to her face as he slid into bed beside her. He lay there, not touching her, just drowning in those eyes and feeling like a novice, a beginner, a virgin. His next move was too important. After loving so many women that he’d lost track of the number, he had no idea where to begin.
She took the decision away from him. Slipping a hand up the curve of his jaw, she guided him down with subtle pressure until their lips hovered a breath apart. “Get this straight, Lavette. I don’t share,” she whispered just before she kissed him. It was a kiss that shattered what was left of the wall he’d tried to build around his heart. It was a kiss of complete, utter surrender.
With a groan, he pressed deep into her mouth and took that surrender, burying himself in the limitless passion she offered. Now he knew what to do.
As violins teased him to even greater awareness, he found the curve of her neck with a sure touch, followed it over her shoulder, into the tender crook of her elbow, down past the deli
cate bend of her wrist until at last he laced his fingers through hers. That clasp of hands felt more intimate than any touch he’d ever shared with a woman. She gripped his fingers as if she’d never let go. He returned the pressure as he moved his lips to the hollow of her throat. He’d forgotten how perfectly his tongue fit there, and how she shuddered as he trailed the moist tip over her collarbone and down the slope of her breast.
He remembered the silken texture of her skin, the exotic taste of scented lotion, but this time she swelled beneath him with more urgency than before. He listened to the rhythm of the music, circling the pebbled areola slowly, making the music part of the caress. Her fingers tightened in his, and he took her nipple into his mouth.
The taste of her milk stirred him as nothing had in his life. He felt as if her essence had passed into him, bonding them in a way he’d never be able to untangle. And didn’t want to. He kissed his way to her other breast, eager for her, unashamed to let her know how he craved this closeness. She moaned and tunneled the fingers of her free hand through his hair.
Memories of their long night in the truck came rushing back. He’d learned about her then, and the imprint was still fresh, as if it had been only days instead of months. He retraced the path between her breasts, heard the familiar catch in her breathing as he caressed the gentle valley between her ribs. There was a ticklish spot—his tongue found it again—that he’d loved to lick just to hear her gasp of laughter. When her laughter bubbled out on schedule, his heart rejoiced in rediscovery.
And now, the most beloved and best-remembered part of the journey, through the thicket of curls that would glow like burnished copper if he could only have light. Her musky woman-scent rose to meet him, signaling how much she wanted him, and he longed to shout his delight. Instead, he paid homage to that need in ways that made her writhe beneath him. He pinned her thighs with his forearms and settled in, his heart beating in fierce triumph as he brought cries to her lips, cries muffled against a hastily grabbed pillow.
When she began to tremble and clench beneath him, he rose, wanting the end to come when he was deep inside her. Usually adept at putting on condoms, he fumbled this time. The music filtering through the labored sound of his breathing mingled with her soft plea to hurry, hurry. Please hurry. No. He forced himself to rejoin her with exquisite slowness, in time to the music. Always in time to the music.
She lay back among the tousled pillows, her hair in disarray, her legs spread, her breath shallow. “I don’t remember wanting you...this much.” Her voice was like the sigh of wind through the leaves in Rogue Canyon.
“You didn’t.” He braced himself above her and took the time to comb her hair away from her face. This moment would be over soon enough. He didn’t have to rush it. The music. He’d move with the music. “I didn’t want you this much, then, either. We’ve had a long time to think about it.”
She didn’t deny that she’d been thinking of him all that time, and he took satisfaction from that. She might not have liked that she was obsessed with him, might have fought it with all the strength of her upper-class background, but she’d lost the fight. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be lying beneath him now, her hands reaching for his hips, wanting this union more than anything in the world.
“Wait,” he whispered. He caught her hand and brought it over her head. Then he pulled her other hand there, too, and circled both wrists in the fingers of his left hand. “Let it build.”
She arched like a bow, her wrists and her hips anchoring her to the bed. “Chase...I need you now.”
“You’ll need me more in a little while.”
“No.” She moved her head back and forth on the pillow. “I couldn’t want you more than this. I feel like screaming.”
“Don’t.” He leaned down and covered her mouth with his, but he didn’t push into her, much as his aching loins begged him to. He left room for his right hand, his gearshift hand, he thought wryly, to bring her to another level of awareness. He absorbed her moans into his mouth as he fondled her breasts—cupping their weight, massaging their fullness, caressing the nipples until his fingers were sticky with milk.
He trailed his knuckles between her ribs to her navel, where he pressed gently, knowing she was sensitive there. The music surged around them, through them, as he moved the knuckle of his index finger lower, finding the jewel buried in a thicket of curls. He rubbed gently, then with more force as she lifted her hips. When she was wild with sensation, he stopped, letting her fall gradually back to earth as he kissed her.
“You are insane,” she said against his mouth.
His heart thundered as if he’d just survived a pileup on the freeway. “I think you’re right.”
“When, Chase? When will you give me what I want?”
“Now.” He thrust deep, catching her by surprise.
She gasped and her eyes flew open. He gazed down at her, wanting her to remember his face for the rest of her life. “It may never feel like this again, Amanda.” He released her hands.
“Chase...”
His mouth curved. “As they say on the bumper stickers—`get in, sit down, shut up and hang on.’”
He abandoned the rhythm of the sedate music now. It was too tame for what was about to happen between them. He drew back and pushed in tight again, a movement that brought her hands to his shoulders and her nails into his skin. He didn’t care. This was worth bleeding for.
His next movement was more forceful, and she bucked when he applied pressure to that tiny spot that controlled so much of her. Yes, Amanda. We might wake the baby this time. Again he came in, and again, always on target, while the momentum built in him just as surely, just as potently. Again. Oh, Amanda. He’d meant to stay in control until she crossed the line. He’d planned this all in his head—until the moment when his control snapped, and he plunged into her with a frenzy that mocked him with its power.
She rose beneath him calling his name as spasms shook her. It was all he needed to explode like a gasoline tank touched by a match. He was flying apart, yet anchored to safety, all at the same time. It was a pedal-to-the-metal ride of passion, and he’d never known anything like it.
* * *
THROUGH THE DELIRIOUS haze of pleasure that settled over Amanda in the aftermath of Chase’s loving, came the soft croaking sounds of Bartholomew, waking up. It was her fault, she knew. She’d tried to be quiet, but Chase had robbed her of reason.
Chase lay against her, his chest hair causing delicious friction against her breasts, the pewter medallion making a remembered imprint on her skin.
“I have to get him,” she murmured.
“I know. We woke him up.”
“I did.”
“I did my share of making noise,” Chase said. “Want me to get him and bring him to you?”
It was a novel, beautiful concept that had never occurred to Amanda before. “Yes. Please.”
Chase eased out of her, made a quick trip to the bathroom and then lifted Bartholomew from his cradle. “Hey, Bart,” he crooned. “How’s it going, big guy? Is the neighborhood a little rowdy for you?”
Amanda propped her head on her fist and watched them in the pale light that drifted in the window. Chase looked like a statue by Rodin as he stood silvered by moonlight. Bartholomew stopped his hiccuping little cries and seemed to study the new situation—being rescued from his bed at night by this person with a deep voice and gentle hands.
Perhaps not so gentle, Amanda thought as she remembered how he’d exacted his toll, wringing the last bit of response from her as if he wanted nothing to remain inside. Ah, but he’d miscalculated. No sooner had he left her bed than she’d begun to yearn again, and that yearning had started the cycle all over. He’d said it might never be like that again, and perhaps he was right, but she’d like to find out.
However, first there was Bartholomew to deal with. “Bring him here,” she murmured.
“Want to go see Mom? I guess so. You won’t find what you’re looking for here.”
He walked over to the bed and laid Bartholomew in her arms. “He’s no dummy. He knows where the good stuff is.”
Right in this room, Amanda thought with a rush of emotion. All I need to be happy is right in this room. She nestled Bartholomew against her and gave him her breast.
Chase stood silhouetted against the window, his back to her. “That is the sweetest sound.”
“What?”
“Him nursing. I love to hear it.”
And babies nurse for such a short time, Amanda thought. Perhaps by the time she returned to Arizona, Bartholomew would be weaned. But she didn’t say that. The moment was too perfect to spoil. She stroked her baby’s head and admired the sturdy outline of his father standing at the window.
Chase turned and walked back to the bed. “I want to stay the night, Amanda.”
“I expected you to.”
“I wasn’t sure.” He eased back into bed. “You’re used to your space.”
“It’s nice having you here.” She sighed. “God, we sound so polite.”
He chuckled. “Kind of silly, isn’t it? One minute we’re as close as two people can be, and the next we’re talking like strangers who happen to be sharing a table at a crowded restaurant.”
“That’s because this is so backward. We made love for one night and became parents. How are two people supposed to handle that?”
“It’s been confusing, all right.” He trailed a finger down the side of her breast, stopping just short of her nipple, where Bartholomew was fastened, his pudgy hands pressing against the fullness. “But I wouldn’t want to change any of it.”
She met his gaze over the top of Bartholomew’s fuzzy head, and time seemed to stop. At the moment, that was all she wanted.
12
AMANDA HAD WONDERED if Chase would be jealous of the baby’s needs. Yet he lay with his chin propped on his hand and watched with an indulgent smile as she nursed Bartholomew. Then, true to his word, he helped change him, all the while holding the palm of his hand ready to deflect accidents.