by Cait London
“Are you all talk?” she asked unevenly.
Jonah’s slow grin disarmed and enchanted her. “How do you call it?” he asked, using the western term that meant she could choose what she wanted. Harmony knew that she had to have him that minute— that she must complete the sensual vision they’d both begun.
Now, she answered, her skin dampening with the need of him, her body heating and waiting.
I’m mighty glad you said that, he said, bending to kiss her breasts. You are one fine woman. I am honored that you have decided to let me treasure you.
Harmony shivered, ignored her warning bells, and in their vision, whisked away their clothing. I am also a woman of action, Jonah. Remember that.
I truly will. Lying naked beside her, Jonah was magnificent as he tenderly kissed her hot cheek. You’ve never seen a man in the altogether. Shyness becomes you, rosebud.
It was her turn to say, I’m mighty glad you said that, as Jonah moved over her. For just that heartbeat, Mark’s demeaning remarks lashed at Harmony. Then Jonah settled firmly upon her, cherishing each curve, each feminine nuance, and she was “mighty glad.”
Shall we? he asked, waiting for her with a tender smile. He was trembling now, keeping his weight and fierce desire from her.
Harmony reached and took what he would keep from her. When she drew Jonah’s lips to her breast, she gasped with pleasure and with Jonah’s thoughts that she tasted like a perfect little rosebud, unfolding her secrets to him.
This is making love... this is lovemaking, she thought as he filled her slowly, firmly, gently. Her fingers caught his shoulders, latching to the firm contours like an anchor, because she knew what was to come. She knew that whatever she had experienced before paled when compared to this... to Jonah.
Ready, rosebud? he asked tenderly, smoothing her damp cheeks with trembling hands. Am I hurting you?
I... you... Jonah’s hands found her bottom, lifting her higher, demanding everything, yet he was so gentle. She was complete now, here with him, and yet ached for more.
They were in the vision’s fire now, waiting to begin, hearts beating wildly as they studied each other. They rested a moment before moving on into the flames.
Jonah’s eyes were closed, a fine film of perspiration covering his face and gleaming on his shoulders as he concentrated on the warm fit of her locked tightly around him.
The real Harmony knew they were actually standing in her workshop. She could step away easily—
Then she, who had meticulously planned her life, choosing her next step carefully, flung all her thoughts at him. She was eager for his lovemaking, aching with unbearable pressure of waiting for this man to make love to her—
Rosebud.... he whispered desperately against her throat, catching her close to him, anchoring her as the bond deepened and took flight.
Jonah’s strength met her own, his hungers fueled upon hers and she wanted... wanted... wanted… Jonah’s hand slid between them, seeking and touching… Suddenly she shattered, burst, flamed—
What did you do? she managed unevenly when Jonah finally rested his forehead upon her shoulder, his lips brushing the racing pulse in her throat.
Why was he chuckling? Why was he filled with such joy, such freedom, and feeling like a boy? Jonah wondered before he allowed Harmony to soothe him, drawing him down to sleep upon her soft, soft sweet rosebud breasts. He kissed them leisurely, his hand stroking her hips. Soft... satiny... pale... his sweet rosebud lady.
Jonah gave himself to Harmony’s care and wondered sleepily when he had trusted last. He nuzzled her breasts, kissing the tips again and savoring the beat of her heart beneath his head. He shifted slightly, easing his weight to the side when she stirred restlessly, unwilling to leave her. When he kissed her cheek, he found a tear. Don’t cry, rosebud. Everything will work out fine, you’ll see.
Fine? she whispered unevenly, her blush enticing him. Just fine?
Then he studied her and Jonah knew that the flames weren’t finished. Be gentle with me, rosebud. That’s a fierce look you’re wearing, he said as she moved over him.
You’re going to pay for whatever you did a moment ago, Harmony threatened as Jonah treasured her breasts, molding them with caresses and tasting them again. He began to nibble gently and tenderly. Within Harmony aroused cords tightened, leading straight down to the very nest Jonah now resided in. Harmony flexed her feminine muscles to show him that he should not test her goodwill. Harmony was not a woman to tamper with, this Jonah Fargo would discover.
Are you all talk? he asked in a sexy challenge no woman could ignore.
~**~
Oh, right. Jonah falls into a dead sleep after mental lovemaking, Harmony thought, and she’s left to deal with the aftermath and her nervous eating habit. She nestled in the couch, drew the quilt to her chin and stared at the flames in her pellet stove; she tried not to think about the fully dressed, sleeping man on her bed.
The pile of books discarded to her floor had not divulged enormous amounts about mental, earth-shaking, sensual fulfillment while standing fully clothed in a cold room. Harmony frowned at the closed door to her shop. There they had stood amid her torches and burnishing pads, making very warm love while neither of them moved.
Right. She, Harmony Davis, an extremely cautious psychic and should-know-better divorcee, had just flung herself at Jonah and taken him to his delight. And hers. She’d fogged him with lovemaking, flinging herself at him and loving every minute.
He hadn’t been with June; she knew that instinctively. Another woman’s touch wasn’t riding on his skin... that marvelous tanned skin flowing over hard cords and muscles.
Harmony nibbled on her Jonah-problem, lying asleep in the bedroom, and the cold breadstick; she’d already eaten three. She tapped her fingers on the quilt’s embroidered rosebuds, then gingerly lifted her hand away.
“Rosebud.” She repeated his endearment. Jonah made her sound as though she were fresh and sweet and delicate.
Her hand trembled when she shoved back a heavy swathe of curls. She wasn’t delicate or new or… what was that Jonah thought? “She’s soft as a baby rabbit’s belly.”
Transferring Jonah’s body from her shop into her bed was a giant maneuver. He’d leaned heavily upon her and it had taken all of her strength— and that was depleted— to urge him into the bedroom. He was deeply asleep before his head touched the pillow. He hungered sleepily for her breasts. He’d snuggled into the pillow with a Cheshire cat smile and murmured, “Rosebuds.”
Harmony curled her legs tighter beneath her and pressed the quilt to her aching breasts. Her body was extremely sensitive now, thank you very much to Mr. Fargo.
He’d looked so worn, shadows around his eyes, his cheeks gaunt. One look at Jonah and she’d known he was fighting for control, that the crying hadn’t stopped. When he’d gripped the workbench and paled, Harmony’s damnable caring instincts went into overdrive and she’d opened herself to him.
She scowled at the cold spaghetti sauce and wine, which had had too much time to “breathe.” Mark never caused her this much tension or trembling or pure fear. He’d never held her as tightly and safely, as though nothing could separate them and he would fight to keep her near.
While Mark glanced at the bedside clock to time his lovemaking, Jonah had concentrated on making love to her. But then, once Mark had discovered her powers, he’d always been a little afraid—
She had not mated... bonded with Jonah. Nothing had happened... actually happened... really happened.
Harmony glanced at the flickering candle and pushed away the image of a man and woman making passionate love inside the flame. She squirmed upon the flower bouquet upholstery. She wasn’t certain that she could handle real lovemaking with Jonah. In reality, he’d be even more demanding, more hungry, bigger… sweeter... more delicious.
“‘How do you call it?’” she muttered, reaching for another breadstick and crushing it in her fingers when the bed creaked with Jonah’s restless movements.<
br />
How did she call it? She’d reached and grabbed and loved Jonah without holding back. She closed her eyes, tapping into his dreams, and found him making love to her again, this time very gentle, very sleepy, dreamy, beautiful lovemaking.
“Oh, Jonah,” she whispered in a sigh as she sensed his power filling her.
Come here, hungry lady, he ordered in a sleepy, sexy thought.
“Shh. Go back to sleep.”
This is where you belong. Jonah cradled her against him, smoothing her hip and placing his hand over her breast. He was sleeping even as he eased his thigh over hers. He sighed deeply, like a man who has known great pleasure and who reluctantly admitted the need to rest before beginning again.
Again? Jonah was sleeping deeply now in her bedroom, and Harmony locked her fingers onto the couch’s arm. She’d been netted twice, or rather she had actively participated, doing her share of the netting. She wasn’t actually the “net-tee”, if she admitted the truth. Jonah hadn’t made her do anything that she didn’t desperately want to do... with him.
Harmony straightened with the awareness that she’d never wanted Mark so intensely. She’d never wanted him to the degree that she had desired Jonah.
The stirring of her passion hovered restlessly within her body, demanding that she really go into the bedroom... that she really snuggle close to physical Jonah and let him cuddle her in his sleep.
He was a really good cuddler. Of course, she hadn’t been cuddled and treasured and cherished and made love to like Jonah had just done in his mind.
Harmony blinked, remembering the height of their passion, and Jonah’s desperate thought to control himself and not to frighten her... this time. Because the next time he got a hold of Harmony, he was showing her how a woman should be loved with no holding back, no-holds-barred, and nothing between. She wouldn’t get by with this fast little flurry that had exhausted him so much.
There was more to Jonah’s lovemaking? Harmony wondered incredulously, her body tensing.
It didn’t matter. They hadn’t made love actually; layers of clothing had stayed between them. They hadn’t shared a bed; they had stood upright in her workshop without touching each other. She refused to believe she’d acted out of instinct and that she had... Harmony swallowed deeply and closed her eyes. Whatever had happened, she refused to believe that she had bonded with Jonah Fargo.
Nor had she substituted for June Fields, the vamp. Jonah was far too intense to be transferring his needs.
She tapped her fingers on the upholstery’s tiny rosebuds, then jerked her hand away. She’d find a different way to repay Jonah for saving her life, because getting close to him was too dangerous.
Jonah was not predictable fodder for a mentoring program.
~**~
Chapter Six
Jonah raised his hand to knock on Harmony’s welding helmet, then lowered it. The ten o’clock sun coming through the old waving-glass windows skimmed down Harmony’s body. Every curve was outlined in sunlight, her braids thick and gleaming. He curled his fingers into a fist and tried not to glance at the skin-tight spandex covering her backside.
He inhaled sharply, remembering the curve of each round shape filling his palms, the muscles moving beneath her skin. He locked his fingers into his thigh to keep them from reaching for Harmony—
Emotions had run between them, laying tender on his mind. Sweet, caring looks, soft touches, seeking hunger— He distinctly remembered doing some welding of his own with Harmony, the deep-down kind— making her a part of him, of his heart and life. In his dream— because that was what his weird memories had to be— no blowtorch could have cut them apart. They would have just flowed back together like a river, separated then rejoined on their path to that final, stunning, starburst moment.
But then a man couldn’t do personal welding in his sleep, in his dreams or while he had every stitch of his clothes on, could he? His jeans and sweater and shirt were wrinkled from sleep. He must have pulled his boots off sometime in the night. They were on his feet now and he was standing fully dressed, watching Harmony attack a metal monster. This was reality, not glimpses of heat and tenderness, movement and her tears.
Tears? Jonah’s frown deepened, triggering the headache that had been plaguing him since he awoke smothered in lacy pillowcases and flowery sheets. When he dreamed about a woman crying after making love with him, he’d really stepped over the edge.
Harmony continued to weld, her blowtorch hissing, as she bent, angling her helmet to work on the grotesque, huge creature she was creating in a corner of her workshop. The clump-clump of her highly laced, workman’s boots echoed in the workshop as she moved around the grotesque metal piece, stabbing away impatiently with her torch until the metal glowed. She worked like a knight fighting a dragon… or woman with a burr under her saddle.
Her braids seemed to leap around her shoulders with a life of their own, glistening in the sunlight. The tiny little chest hugging spandex top she wore looked as if it were bursting at the seams.
Jonah closed his eyes and swallowed. He remembered something about bursting at his seams, but this morning, physical evidence didn’t support his memories.
He inhaled, stepped close to Harmony and knocked on her helmet. He’d leave as soon as he thanked her for letting him— What? Spend the night? Sleep in her bed? Love her in his dreams?
Just then, Harmony straightened, turned off her blowtorch and placed it on the workbench. She turned slowly to Jonah and raised the safety shield of her helmet. Her expression was guarded and Jonah mourned the tiny satisfied smile he’d dreamed on her lips.
“Good morning,” she said very carefully in an aloof tone. “I hope you slept well.”
“‘Morning. I’ll be on my way now. I appreciated the bed.”
“You needed rest. I’m glad you were able to sleep.”
Jonah ran his hand through his hair, then down his unshaven jaw. “I can’t remember leaving the workshop and walking to your bed. I apologize for spending the night. I haven’t been sleeping well… I guess it caught up with me. Sorry.”
She removed her helmet and stripped away the huge welder’s gloves. She reached for a man’s large flannel shirt, slid her arms into it and buttoned it very quickly. “I’m glad I could help.”
He hadn’t intended to take her braid out of the shirt and lay it carefully on her shoulder. Harmony shivered when Jonah touched her, his fingers lingering on the warm, thickly woven hair. It was like her: strong, solid, smooth to the touch and bearing her feminine scent. But then she stood there with one blonde braid under the shirt and the other out...
Jonah felt duty-bound to ease the trapped braid free, too. Harmony looked sweet and shy as she looked down at the floor and shivered... just once.
Jonah forced his hand away. His muscles tensed, his heart lurched, and his stomach flip-flopped as a slow blush rose up Harmony’s cheeks. He felt light-headed, like a groom after his wedding night. Like a man who knew that his chosen woman was all-woman, sweet and shy and delicate and very responsive, very shocked and greedy, and caring. His body felt sated, yet hungry for her warmth, her fire. And her mouth.
His mind was really slanting, because he wanted to gather Harmony to him and share his heart with her.
But Harmony’s dark gold eyes were clear and too bright as she looked up at him; her body was too rigid. The angles of her eyebrows and cheekbones were sharp now, not merging with the softness of her rosebud lips as they had in his dream.
“I was just checking on you for Pax. I suppose your nose is out of joint because I took your only bed last night,” Jonah said. He lunged into the safety of a thrust, rather than standing there longing to take Harmony into his arms and kiss her hot cheeks and tell her how sweet she was in his dream.
“I am no such thing. You needed sleep and I was only too glad to sleep on my couch. After all, you shared your home with me.” Her blush deepened and the tiny vein along her temple raced.
“People will talk about you and
me now,” he commented, glancing at the willful tendrils catching the sunlight like a halo around her head. While he wasn’t particularly fond of her off-center thinking, he didn’t want gossip hurting her.
His body ached for hers, to fold her close to him and protect her and cuddle her. A fierce, proud woman with dingbat ideas wouldn’t like that. But she had— in his dream. She’d purred and cuddled, and that tiny bit of a surprised, muffled scream had really pleased him. Because she had been so surprised, so hungry in his dream, Jonah remembered straining to hold back— because he didn’t want to frighten her that first time. At the end of the dream, he remembered promising himself that the next time they made love, he would not hold anything back from his sweet little rosebud.
Harmony frowned slightly and stepped back, her work boots clumping on the wood floor. Her hand fluttered to close the shirt collar; her knuckles paled as she gripped it tightly. “I doubt that there will be gossip. You’re not the sort of man who I would encourage to spend the night.”
They were locked in battle now, like fencers with foils, jabbing, keeping their defenses. Jonah mourned his dream and folded it away. “Good enough. I’ll leave now. I just wanted to thank you before I left.”
She nodded stiffly and gripped the horn of her metal monster. She smoothed it with a lover’s fingers, and Jonah’s body tightened into a hard knot. Since he was riding a morning-after-loving without his dream bride, it didn’t take much to stir him.
“You’re welcome,” she murmured.
He didn’t fit her pre-specifications. She liked easy, comfortable men— men who were predictable and relationship moldable. The angry, jumbled thoughts flashed through Jonah’s mind— something about the impossibility of bonding and mating.
Jonah stared at her and realized that every muscle in his body had tensed, resenting Harmony’s bonding and mating ideas. While his body felt as though he’d spent the night making love to her— and that was just a dream— he sure didn’t have a sweetheart-bride this morning.
Harmony didn’t fit his idea of a comfortable woman, either. No righteous woman would caress that nightmarish metal dragon’s horn in front of a man who ached in his every fiber to have her. His throat tightened and he shifted restlessly, uncomfortable with the burgeoning tight knot heating his body.
