Her cry and struggle were joined, and he looked up to see shocked dark eyes, and smothered his desire, silently swearing his belief she would drive him mad. Sensitive, experienced fingers coaxed her to fever, soothing the quiver of her thighs before molding the rise of her silky curls with the flat of his palm. Her hands closed convulsively over his thick hair, and even to her ears her cry was one of pleasure. His mouth flowed over the rise of her hip, the taut flatness of her belly, and then with one finger he lifted the fine cambric from the moistness between her thighs. With all the delicacy of a connoisseur he breathed around the kitteny soft curls, tilting her hips forward, and decided with male arrogance that his patience deserved his just desserts. Hard shivers racked her body as the last bit of modesty fell, and she knew nothing but a hot wet ecstasy that would not separate into parts. She melted from the sweet agony of sensation flooding over her, arching to meet the compelling rapture, until she was past reason and nothing was left but desire and need.
And when she couldn’t stand alone but for the support of his hands, he slowly ended his feasting, sliding an arm around her waist beneath the lush fall of her hair. “Look at me, love.”
Dara gripped his shoulders, her gaze reluctant until the touch of his mouth caressing the crease of her thigh brought a pleasure sigh. He lifted his head, eyes bright with the same desire that filled hers.
A slow, sensuous smile took possession of his mouth, and a sultry flame lit his eyes. “Shall we take time for options again? We could continue or—”
Dara arched. “No more games, Eden.”
“No games, love. Never that. Pleasure shared. Show me what you want,” he cajoled gently, his long fingers, equally skilled with violence or seduction, caressed the dewed moistness his lips imparted, finding a pulsing beat heavy with want.
It was the redolent sensuous anticipatory pleasure of his voice that made Dara guide his sensitive hands upward, dragging the hem of her camisole with them until he cupped the heavy fullness of her breasts. She held his gaze, encouraged by his smile and the dark tarnished-silver sheen. Her head fell back, her hair brushing the bare swell of her buttocks. Dara gave herself over to the passion that intensified with the hot circled caresses he offered until she felt herself rise to a shimmering peak. He worshipped her with words, soft insidious whispers that inflamed overburdened senses, offered one erect nipple solace with his mouth. And when she drew his head closer, small kittenish moans escaping, he guided her down beside him.
Desire ran like fire inside him, and he lifted her free of that last scrape of cloth. “Help me, love,” he whispered, caressing the trembling length of her leg, and gently let his fingers enter her. He barely held the control to be cautious of the intimacy he asked for. Eden found himself intoxicated yet again by the silken texture he claimed.
Her cry held the enchanting provocative invitation for more, the arch of her hips gracefully erotic, and his mouth was hungry to take hers. Sensual languor became tiny convulsive tremors, and she clung tightly to his shoulders, pushing aside the cloth to touch his heated skin. The moves of her body became hard and restless under the skill he exerted to bring an end to fevered distress.
And when the first flush of passion burned down to an ember, she lay in a shimmering pool of languid abandon as he left her side, stripping his clothes with a fiercely leashed patience that threatened his control.
Dara opened her eyes to see his male splendor revealed in dappled sunlight, her breath caught and was lost in the moment he stilled, his gaze filled with primitive male need targeted to hers. He was lean and sleek, his powerful muscles knit beneath bronzed skin with a perfect symmetry that drew her curious gaze down to the proud rise of his manhood. He was magnificently virile, his bold eyes possessively taking her body until small shivers began inside her. Dara lowered her gaze to his slim hips, his long legs dusted with dark hair, and her eyes drifted closed, newly awakened desire fading as she clutched the quilt beneath her in fear.
“We can,” he whispered, coming to lie beside her, his fingers caressing the length of her creamy pale throat, “talk about what you’re afraid of”—his hand drifted down, lifting the weight of her breast to his descending mouth—“or we can simply begin again.”
His nearness, the heat of his body, the intimacy of his fingers tracing delicate designs on flesh aroused to sensuality, sent her body curving toward his. With an avid greediness that surprised and delighted him, Dara flicked her tongue against his shoulder, learning the taste of his skin. His leashed restraint snapped with the eager exploration she began of his body. His mouth pillaged her tender skin with a gentle savagery, and his hands taught her body more of the delectable passion between a man and a woman. His knee made a space between her thighs, holding her slender hips still as he covered her body with his own, the incredible feel of silken skin slick with moisture inflaming him.
“Hold me, love.” He didn’t move, watching and waiting until her eyes opened to his entreaty. He had wondered once how dark and velvet her eyes could be and had his answer now. Her hands were shaking as they reached out and gripped his shoulders.
With a commanding delicacy he didn’t know he was capable of giving, Eden used the utmost care to slowly enter her. Her plaintive whimper, the sudden tensing of her body, brought his lips to her ear. “Welcome me, love.” Hot wet silk gloved the first attempt he made, and by slow degrees that cast him into fevered agony, he reached that last virginal barrier. “You’re so small love, I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, and waited, poised on the rack of passion’s razor edge until fear subsided and he could feel the tiny convulsive shudders begin. He knew not even the threat of hell’s eternal damning would stop him from possessing her now.
Dara tentatively arched to meet his thrust, her own blazing sensuality exploded into ravenous need, and she cried out, feeling the sudden sharp sting of his bite on her earlobe, driving her lithe body upward as with melting skill he drove himself into her.
There was a hushed delicacy to the waiting shadows of the afternoon as ecstasy was taught and learned with equal delight. Eden forgot the innocence of his lover in the hours that followed. He murmured an apology when he touched the soft, distended tissue that caused Dara to cry out, not in pleasure, but in pain. When he insisted there would be no more lovemaking, Dara turned his protest to a tormented masculine groan as her dainty fingers discovered a new skill with which to arouse him.
Later, they bathed in the crystal pool’s cooling enchantment. Dara, exploring her new found sensuality, teased him to teach her more. Reluctantly, Eden whispered several suggestions, at which, she exclaimed with starched primness, “Well, I wouldn’t brag about what the French call it!” Eden’s rich male laughter sent a covey of doves aloft before his lips found hers.
As the afternoon faded, so did passion’s games. Dara grew pensive, accepting Eden’s acting the lady’s maid when her own strength ebbed. She managed to laugh at the tangle he made of the bustle’s tapes, but there was an underlying desperation to the sound. He carried her back to the carriage, then left her to get the basket and quilt. Dara sat, hands primly folded in her lap, unaware that he had paused to observe her. Her mood disturbed him, pricking his conscience, and he found himself vulnerable to the attack it made against every defense he offered. The lingering aftermath of passion’s intoxication disappeared. He knew from the abandoned response of her own sensuality that he had given her pleasure, but he had taken a far more priceless gift than her virginity, and he couldn’t deny it. The roar of the falling water had not drowned out the heated whisper of her voice when he had lifted her high and impaled her with a need that knew no end. Her cry echoed in his mind … “Eden … love me…” It was not a plea for her body’s satiation, it was an emotional demand that he fought against answering.
The breeze ruffled the trees, and he gazed up, feeling the wind and knowing its restless call. Regret filled him, and he was not a man given to it, nor would he deny her placing full responsibility squarel
y on his shoulders.
But Dara sat as he left her, her voice soft in answering his solicitous questions. This time the choice was his to make, and he found he could not drag her into another emotional upheaval playing recriminations and repentance.
Taking the reins in hand, he gazed down at her bent head. “Dara, we need to talk, whenever you want.”
“My virginal curiosity has been answered, Eden. What else could we have to talk about?”
Good intentions be damned! Her choice of words rankled. “Let’s not forget in the midst of all that misery to remember, love,” he stated with a sarcastic bite, “all that passion was shared. Not taken, not forced, but most mutually enjoyed.”
She raised wounded eyes to his. “I won’t forget, Eden.” And she waited, afraid of the emotionless set of his features, until the silence grew in agonizing length. “Please,” she whispered, “take me home.”
He thought about taking her mouth until it was filled with pleasure cries, not the soft bitterness he heard. But her gaze defied him, pride holding her still, and he was the one to turn away, urging the horse around.
Eden was the first to notice the rider fast approaching. He slowed the carriage and then stopped when he realized the horse was his own and Matt was riding him, hell-bent for leather. Dark mutters passed his lips, but Matt’s voice, yelling when he saw them, drowned them out.
“Where the devil have you been! Jake is looking all over for you, Eden. He’s got men tearing up the tow n.” Matt ignored his sister, sawing on the reins, and Eden’s dark scowl brought a mumbled apology for abusing his horse. His chest was heaving, and he obeyed Eden’s curt order to take a minute before he spoke. “I was up to the mine, and they said you left hours ago.”
Eden ignored the hint of a question in Matt’s voice. “Never mind. Just tell me why Jake is looking for me.”
“They robbed Tucker’s.”
“Matt,” Dara cried out, forcing him to notice her. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No. But Clay was in town. He’d called a meeting of his vigilance committee, and they were there when it happened. He said—”
“Matt,” she cut in, “was Pierce—”
“Will you let him finish, Dara!”
Her mouth gaped and even Matt frowned at the tone of Eden’s command, but neither one argued with him, and Matt continued. “Clay got word of the robbery just as Jake heard about the meeting. They wouldn’t listen to him, and about twenty of them rode out before Jake could stop them. Jesse and his boys managed to talk sense to a few men, but they couldn’t stop the rest. They swore they were gonna string them up.”
While Dara listened, Eden had jumped down from the carriage. He glanced at her as if he were about to say something, then abruptly turned to Matt. “Drive your sister back to town.”
“I want to come with you. I can help, Eden. ’Sides,” he added, dismounting, “Jake was gonna try and keep up with them. You don’t know the land ’round Amos’s farm, and I do.” Handing Eden the reins, he leaned close to him. “Clay and the others are in a killing mood, and you’ll need every man. Clay was looking for you before these three men, bold as brass, went right up to the front door and asked Tucker to open for them. You know how he won’t turn down a dollar, even if it’s the Lord’s day, and the damn fool opened the door to them. I got your gun. It’s in your saddlebag.”
“That was smart, Matt. But you take your sister home.” His actions were an economy of motion, wrapping die gunbelt around his waist, stripping off his tie, collar, and jacket and handing them to Matt. He swung himself up into the saddle, already turning Sinner’s head when Dara’s cry stopped him.
“Don’t let Pierce get hurt. Please, Eden. He … he doesn’t know what this will do to him. My brother’s not a murderer.” Panic choked her. She gazed up at eyes that held no pity, no emotion at all. “Promise me you’ll try to keep him safe.”
“Is it just for Pierce that you’re pleading, Dara? Or for Clay?” Rage filled him, unlike any he had ever known. He was asking for a choice when he had offered her no promise.
For one stunned moment, she stared at him. “My brother. I’m pleading—no—begging you to keep Pierce safe.”
All he could do was nod.
Sinner responded to the slight pressure of his knees, and a ground-eating stride soon separated them.
Matt joined her on the carriage seat, noted the pale sheen of her face, but while he understood that she was frightened, he couldn’t help being angry.
“How could you ask that of him? Didn’t you think he could be killed?”
“I thought of it,” she whispered, refusing to look at him. Her precariously balanced emotions were pushed unmercifully to the limit. Pierce would be with Clay, and Eden rode after them. Eden who hated Clay. What had she done? Giving herself to Eden had placed a weapon in his clever hands that could explode an already volatile situation. If he dared even hint…
“Stop worrying about Eden or Jake. They’re men who know how to take care of themselves.”
Her temper snapped and she rounded on him. “You fool! Don’t you think I know that? And what about Pierce? He’s your brother. Did you think about him being dragged into this? Did you?”
Matt’s sudden grip on her shoulders, the little shake he gave her, silenced Dara. “He’s Clay’s damn shadow, Dara. Pierce made his choice, and I made mine. We’re not your little brothers anymore. We’re both men. If he’s riding with Clay, he’ll be a party to murder if they catch those thieves.” Her whimper made him ease his grip, but he didn’t release her. With a taut-edged fury he added, “And if you dream that Pierce will make any attempt to stop Clay and the others, you don’t know your own brother. He was riding up front, Dara. Waving a brand-new rope he took from the store. I could hear him shouting that he would stretch the first neck.” He pushed her back against the seat, grabbed up the reins, and urged the horse back onto the road.
Matt was hunched over, and Dara stared at the smooth pull of his shirt across his broad back. What she saw was a man. What she thought of was his fury to be left behind. And a rush of love for the boy she helped raise made her gamble on one last desperate plea.
“Don’t go after them, Matt. Promise me that. You can’t let their violence taint you.”
“It’s too late. Didn’t you know that from the first? Whoever is right or wrong, men intent on protecting or claiming what they think is theirs breed violence.”
They were too much like words Eden would say, and she cried inside, knowing Matt wouldn’t listen. Gathering up emotional forces scattered like the rising wind, she prayed Eden and Jake would find Pierce and Clay before they committed an act that she knew would haunt them. No matter what Matt believed, there had to be a way to stop them.
“Don’t drive to town, Matt. Take me to Amos’s. If we hurry—”
“Eden said to take you home, and that’s where you’re going. There’s nothing you could say that would stop it from happening. They were waiting for an excuse to vent the fury that’s been building all these weeks. Violence is all that’ll satisfy them.”
“Clay and Pierce were not bred for violence. They love the land and tending—”
“Every man’s got it in him, Dara. You can’t say the same about Jake, can you? Or Eden McQuade?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t, didn’t deny that about Eden.
Chapter Fourteen
Eden abruptly neck-reined Sinner into a swerve that forced the horse to rear. An abandoned oxcart blocked the twisted, rutted lane that led to Amos’s farm. Eden dismounted, wary of the ominous silence that enfolded the dusk-shadowed land. His view was hampered by the curve of the lane and the thick, man-high palms and scrub pines on either side. There was no way to ride farther, and he knew he could never cut a path through the sun-browned tips of palms with any stealth. With a pat to the lathered side of his horse, he climbed over the wagon tongue, drew his gun, and proceeded with a caution forced on him by instinct. The
stench of scorched earth reached him first before the bend in the lane dipped to reveal a burned field.
But it was the sight of the lone oak, a silent crowd of men surrounding it, that arrested him. He could barely make out Jake’s struggling figure held by two men. Off to the side stood another three men held at bay by the rifles thrust at their chests. He was too late. Three swinging bodies were buffeted by the wind.
There was a sickness inside him, not for the murders committed, but for the power that filled those men who had taken the law into their own hands. He knew the strength of that power, knew that it would not easily be subdued. The choice was his now. He could walk away. One man was not going to make a difference.
Eden began walking forward. Someone shouted a warning shout and fired a shot. Burned rubble settled at his feet, and with a breath a killer’s cool control filled him.
“Stay back, McQuade!” several men demanded.
“You’re too late!” another man yelled.
Eden kept walking. Another shot hit the earth in front of him, then another. Clay’s voice suddenly rose above the others. “Keep coming, McQuade. We’ve got one rope left.”
Eden was close enough to see Clay push his way toward the front, Pierce at his side. Clay shoved the rope at Pierce and grabbed his rifle. Eden nestled the smooth handle of his gun in his palm, his gaze locked on Clay. Dara’s voice came to haunt him. “Keep my brother safe.” Had she lied to him? Ruthlessly he cast the thought aside. Nothing was going to stop him from settling with Clay.
He watched Clay raise the rifle, heard his snarled taunt to come closer along with the faint click of the hammer being pulled back.
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