by Cait London
Closing his eyes, he let himself drift back to the bargain. She caught him to her, the mass of hair flowing around the pelts, entangling him. Who had snared who?
As part of her body, soothed by her hands skimming across his shoulders, the torment of his soul had eased. She lingered when the mating was done as though she liked touching him. As though she were as contented as he, to remain a part of him....
“Oh!” she whispered, frustrated as the strands danced around her, shimmering in the half light. “I’m cutting it.”
“Shh.” His fingers moved gently in her hair, catching and weaving the strands into a single braid. Beneath his touch, Regina closed her eyes. His heat flowed along her back, and she wanted badly to move into his arms, terrified of dreaming again. Her long uneven sigh blended with the sound of the wind outside.
MacGregor tied a fringe torn from his coat around the end of her braid, then gently smoothed the length over the shape of her breast. His fingers lingered on the heavy braid, sliding to brush against the heated skin of her throat. “Lay down. You need to rest.”
Reluctantly Regina settled by his side and glanced uneasily at him through the shadows. If he knew of the jewels, could she hire him to take her to a settlement for the winter? Would he forget wanting her as a wife?
“You know this isn’t unlike an African hut,” she whispered conversationally. Had he heard her screams? What did he know of the nightmares that had plagued her since she was a child?
He lifted a dark brow, mocking her. The steady look set her mind humming back to the previous morning and the bargain. She shifted against the furs, stretching her legs to be more comfortable, and he frowned. “Are you hurting?”
“Hurting?” she asked, understanding what he meant.
He shrugged, his gaze tracking her hot flush in the shadows. “I’ve heard that women newly opened sometimes can’t walk. You spent a whole day in the saddle.”
In her lifetime she had been abused, and only Jennifer had cared. Uncomfortable with the thought of this frontiersman entering her intimate thoughts and feelings, Regina settled for a quick dart of anger.
“We’ve made a bargain, and I kept my word. Tomorrow I’m walking, too.” Her lower stomach contracted with heat as he continued to study her in that slow, dark manner, probing into her secrets until her cheeks flamed.
Then suddenly his hand was beneath the robe, gently massaging the soft mound above her legs. She squirmed beneath the light, persistent touch, tightening her thighs against his seeking hand as it slipped lower. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Tending you.” The curve was there on his hard mouth, mocking her attempts to dislodge him. She gripped his thick wrist with both hands, only to find his long fingers firmly lodged between her legs, rubbing the gentle twinge there. Regina caught her breath, feeling herself beginning to melt and dampen her drawers.
“MacGregor,” she managed shakily, “when I was a child, I killed a man who tried to touch me as you are doing.”
A quick picture of her father’s drunken friend leering over her childhood bed flashed before her. “I stabbed him through the heart with a kitchen knife.”
In a quick move he grasped her hand, lifting it above them to study the pale fragile lines of her fingers. “With this small, soft thing?”
He turned it in the bare light. “Why, it looks like a white dove. Or a new white rabbit. Look how pale and small it looks against mine.”
MacGregor’s heavily calloused palm fitted to her smaller one. His dark skin against hers reminded her of their bodies joined and moving together.
Jerking her hand to safety, Regina rubbed her palm on the rough pelt. His touch caused her to shiver, not from cold but with a lingering ache to caress his lean body.
Taking her long braid, he lifted it across his chest, toying with the tamed strands. He raised it to his nose, smelling the thick rope of hair like a new spice, and the intent expression of his face caught her. After a long moment he murmured huskily, “I liked that foolish kissing.”
The simple statement jarred her, caused her lips to part softly, remembering the gentle play of his mouth on hers. To defend her emotions she snapped, “With that great black beard around your mouth, it’s a wonder any woman would kiss you.”
“None have,” he answered quietly after a long moment, running the braid along his cheek slowly. “No woman has held me after. Nor tortured me by kissing before.”
Regina turned her hot face away, then curled from him. She had acted scandalously, craving him to stay with her. Wanting the warmth and security of his arms wrapped tightly around her. Wanting the sweet cherishing of his lips against hers and the warmth building between them. “It won’t happen again.”
“The kissing or the other?” he asked softly against her ear as he moved closer, pressing his thighs against the back of hers. His hand swept from her shoulder to her waist, sliding to rest on her jutting hip.
The raw ache in his voice reached out to snare her, and she shivered. MacGregor could be one of the sneaky ones, set upon ruling her with more devious methods than her father. She jerked the robe higher on her shoulder. “You’re set on tormenting me out of the last bit of sleep this night. Go away.”
His breath swirled round her ear, his lips pressing a spot just behind her ear. Regina jumped, tingling deep within. She rubbed the kiss away, settling a distance from him.
Sliding against her, he whispered roughly, “For a kiss, ma’am.”
“I’m not passing out kisses on whims, MacGregor.” She began as his long length pressed warmly against her backside and his arm slipped across her, drawing her back.
“We could do the other, then,” he said firmly, his hand roaming the bulky robe to find her chest. “I thought about these all day yesterday... like two strawberries on cream... I thought about the taste....”
She swatted at his seeking hand, her blood suddenly racing as she remembered the gentle sweep of his palm across her bare flesh. MacGregor had touched her as though she were made of spider down, a tender seeking. “I don’t want to hurt you, sir. But I can.”
Capturing her wrists gently, rubbing them with his thumbs, MacGregor lay his hot cheek against hers. “I’m... sorry about the way I marked you, ma’am,” he offered roughly. “I got to thinking about the other and forgot. Being in your saddle was just about the sweetest thing—”
“Saddle? You are crude....” Regina thrust against him only to have him catch her deeper in strong thighs and arms. Against her buttocks the solid press of hardened muscle nudged insistently.
“A woman’s saddle can make a man forget anything,” he whispered unevenly against her cheek as he turned her beneath him. One heavy thigh lifted over hers, his stocking foot nudging her insole. “Especially when she’s so ready... I don’t know why you’re so riled—”
“Because you have no idea at all about....” she hissed, twisting against him.
“Are you going to kiss me or not?” he demanded with an arrogant edge to his voice. “Just like a female to go messing with things, then change them.”
Turning her head, Regina found her lips next to his.
“It won’t happen... again....” she whispered slowly, entranced by the way his eyes slid over her mouth. As though she were a sweet he had to taste. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
MacGregor inhaled sharply, closed his eyes, and found her mouth. For a moment Regina watched his thick brows draw together as he concentrated on the task. Then her lids closed as she savored the sweet desire running through him.
He brushed his mouth against hers, following the contours from corner to corner. Then taking his time, his lips traced her cheeks and jaw, leaving a heated trail. “So soft,” he murmured huskily, returning to her mouth. “Ah, ma’am, do you think you could push your mouth against me like you did before? Like you were hungry for me? Wanting to taste me a little bit at a time?”
“I did not,” she began, only to have her lips lift and part to his firm ones.
/> Breathing lightly, she hadn’t known a man’s mouth could be so achingly tender. His big hands rose to frame her cheeks and lift her face to his lips.
In the slowest of ways he fitted his mouth across hers. For a butterfly’s heartbeat he rested, then experimented with another soft, tantalizing kiss. Then he suckled gently, as though he were drinking nectar and savoring the taste.
When she clung to reality by a shred, wanting to move against his warmth, MacGregor slowly opened his eyes. “I like that,” he repeated raggedly against her mouth.
Regina licked her bottom lip and caught MacGregor staring hungrily at the moistness. He touched it with the tip of his tongue, and she couldn’t resist sucking him gently inside.
Moving over her, MacGregor rested on her lightly. He breathed deeply, thrusting his hips against hers.
Stiffening against him, Regina tugged at his hair, found it clinging to her hands, and found her fingers rummaging through the crisp waves. “We’re not doing... ‘the other,’” she ordered firmly.
He scowled down at her. “One in the same,” he said, unbuttoning his trousers with one hand.
“It is not! They’re completely different,” she snapped trying to keep his hands from her trousers.
“You keep this game up,” he gritted between his teeth as she applied a quick and painful thumb lock on him, “and Jack is sure to squawl.”
“Jack surely wouldn’t want his father raping a woman,” she snapped, glaring up at him. “A fine example of a gentleman you are. Kissing is different. And we made a bargain the last time we....” Embarrassed, she let her words drift into the wind.
“No offense, but I like the other. And I never raped a woman....” His dark cheeks flushed suddenly as he looked down at her accusing expression. “Damn it. You’ve never been opened before. Any man would have hurt you.”
“I’ve never had a man before,” she repeated firmly. “You caught me when I was tired and weak. You played on my sympathy.”
“And all the time you were jabbering about kissing. Wasted time about it, too. You set your bargain between us, and you’ll have that fancy saddle. What do you want to trade this time?”
“You are a brute,” she stated carefully from between her teeth, eyeing him. “An animal set to rut.”
Clenching his jaw, MacGregor whispered tightly, “A man does the same thing as animals, ma’am... mate. As soon as Jack and you are snug, I’ll get that damn saddle. But I sure as hell can’t see staying off you meanwhile.”
“Oh!” She squirmed beneath his weight. “You really are a ruffian.”
“Woman, you are making me—” he warned as Jack started crying softly. “I should just kiss you until you’re all weak and wet for me and then climb on and ride.”
Regina’s open palm struck his hard cheek, and Jack began to cry hungrily. “I shouldn’t try that if I were you, MacGregor. You’ll find Old Hugh lodged safely in your drawers.”
“Pah!” he snorted as he lifted himself free of her and tramped outside. “Females!”
~**~
MacGregor wanted to brawl with the toughest man in the mountains, then drink himself blind. The mountain men before his time drank the bile of a freshly killed buffalo for liquor; MacGregor scowled at a bighorn sheep bounding on a high rocky butte. “Let a good buffalo cross my path now, and I’d kill him in a minute.”
He hunched his shoulders, running a free hand across little Jack as he held the reins with his other hand. If he wanted softness, he sure as hell had chosen the wrong woman.
She was his woman. She had fought him in the lean-to, and he had barely kept himself from taking her. “Men set the rules to protect women because they are weak,” he muttered darkly. “This one is scrawny and muley.”
The icy wind clawed at him, and MacGregor turned to check on her—his woman. Following his path in the snow, Regina looked like a half-grown boy dressed in his clothes.
His hand tightened on the cold leather reins, remembering the silky heat of her body flowing beneath his, opening and accepting him.
Walking for three straight hours while Jack slept quietly in his warm sling, MacGregor deliberately set out to prove her weak. To prove that she needed him.
Now, those dark purple eyes met his evenly, daring him as she trudged through the knee-deep snow.
Turning back to the path, MacGregor scowled, fighting the ache in his body. She could turn on him like a scalded cat the minute he opened his mouth.
Bending, he lifted a broken fir branch from the rocky trail and threw it aside. He smelled smoke; the old rendezvous camp was nearby. His child and the woman needed the warmth of a good fire.
Walking down the treacherous, snow-covered path, MacGregor glanced back at her as Ned slid a few precious feet off the trail. The mountain man held his breath as he tugged at the animal’s reins, cradling Jack with his other hand.
Leaning her slight weight into pulling the mule, Regina sang softly. Stroking the mule’s long ears, she whispered and Ned suddenly calmed. Before MacGregor could fight his way back up the trail to her, she was leading the mule again. When he stood a few feet from her, she glared at him. “Is there a problem?”
Jack cried softly and Regina swept aside MacGregor’s robe to caress the infant’s cheek. She smiled lightly, tucking a tiny fist back into the skins. “He’ll need changing soon,” she said, carefully covering his son.
She had the mothering touch, he thought, reading the sudden softness in her eyes. A man could fall into those eyes, fringed by heavy thick black lashes, MacGregor decided sullenly. He’d made a poor bargain, but one that he’d keep to get her blasted saddle. Right then he’d have promised his soul to....
“We’re coming to a rendezvous. Jack will be warm and fed, but you’re another matter,” he growled, uneasy with his thoughts.
Her eyes widened and MacGregor found himself leaning down to her. “The men catch a whiff of your skin, and they’ll be after you like a pack of dogs.... They’re randy, ma’am,” he added carefully, wanting to make certain she understood.
“Posh. And you’re not? Here you stand, dillydallying while Jack needs changing and food. I understand perfectly. You’ve got a boy traveling with you, not a woman.” Taking care to tuck her braid beneath her shirt, Regina skimmed the snow-covered valley below them. “Shall we go?”
“Ma’am...” MacGregor gritted between his teeth. He didn’t like her throwing his need back in his face. Back-fighting wasn’t his style. He’d made his bargain with her outright. “After we’re married proper, I’ll see that you learn a thing or two.”
Lifting her winged brows high, Regina tossed her head. “I can manage. See that you don’t forget our bargain.”
“It was a poor bargain at that,” he growled. “Not enough meat on your poor bones to keep a man warm.”
Her lids narrowed. “You really are a crude man, you know.”
MacGregor cupped her face between his thumb and fingers. “Violet, I’m your man now. We’re getting married as soon as the preacher shows up. You could be carrying my child now,” he added, wanting to place his mouth on her softly parted lips.
Fear danced in her eyes, swallowing her. A sudden pain went skittering through him like a rabbit running for the brush. Maybe she didn’t want his baby bouncing on her lap. The thought hurt. “Mating makes babies,” he stated roughly. “You should have thought about that before you agreed.”
So she hadn’t wanted his child, had she? The thought sliced through him. To cover the ache, he added hoarsely, “Jack will be needing a brother or a girl baby, too. Once you fill out some, we’ll have to see about spending more time on the blanket.”
He caught her hand before it hit his cheek.
“You... are... evil,” she said, her face paling beneath the silky soft skin. “I did what I had to do then. Your bastard child wasn’t in the bargain—”
“Bastard?” he roared, and an animal went scurrying through the brush. “I’d be the rightful father of the child. Your husband. Any chi
ldren we have will be on the right side of the blanket. Woman, we are having a preacher say the words as soon as we can.”
Her lips trembled, the purple eyes blinking away fat tears. In the next instant MacGregor found his lips tasting the quivering softness of hers. When he lifted his head, her mouth lifted slightly as though she wanted him, too.
“You’re mashing Jack,” she whispered, her eyes wary.
“Jack’s warm. I’m hot.”
“Why did you call me Violet earlier?”
He frowned, trying to remember. “Because you’ve got purple eyes like violets deep in the wood, that’s why.”
“That’s almost poetic, MacGregor,” she whispered softly, her eyes widening before they lowered to a deer crossing the winding stream in the valley. She traced the path of hoof marks in the smooth snow. “I did what I had to do,” she whispered cautiously. “Don’t make more of it than it was.”
Running his thumb down her cheek, testing the silky texture, MacGregor knew she fought her pride. On an impulse he bent his head and tasted her mouth again slowly.
When he was done, she looked drowsy and warm, tasting of hunger. Leaning against his side, she fitted neatly into the crook of his arm and hadn’t noticed how his palm had fitted to her backside, smoothing the curve.
His thigh had slid between the softness of hers, and the smooth muscles had moved against him. MacGregor smiled softly, tasting her sweet mouth on his lips and the nesting warmth of her body against his side. “I could get to like this kissing business. Been wanting to nibble at the corners of that mouth, see if there’s more honey there or inside where it’s hot.”
“Posh,” she managed huskily after a moment in which she just stared at him, her cheeks pink. Then she stepped free.
The camp was a mixture of crusty mountain men, Indian women, and children. They moved around the newcomers, who slapped MacGregor on his broad back and peeked at his baby son.
A huge man, draped in furs and crowned by a tuft of feathers, moved through the crowd like a bear through kittens. Dark blond curls flowed about his shoulders and down his back; his handsome face was smoothly shaven. A gold earring caught the sun as he petted Venus. “That your son, too, MacGregor?” he asked in a booming voice that carried across the snow-draped camp. “How’s my baby boy, eh? That Jack?”
