Malachite

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  Feeling nervous, edgy, he rolled a cigarette and held a flaming stick to the tip, inhaling deeply.

  It wasn’t just Millie’s presence that was causing him such discomfort. It was the spirits he could feel here in his father’s house. There had been love here. The love of a man and a woman. The love of a parent for a child.

  It was almost as if Onyx Jewel were reaching out from the grave, daring him to uncover the truth after all these years. Daring him to discover the man behind the myths. The man who had boldly saved a Comanche chief’s life and stolen a Comanche maiden’s heart. The man who had managed to earn the love and respect of four very different daughters. The man who was revered by an entire town and honored by his countrymen from Texas to Washington.

  “No,” he said aloud, touching a hand to the stone at his throat. “Don’t you understand? It’s all too little, too late. I don’t give a damn.”

  As if in reply the wind howled and moaned against the house, causing the windows to shudder.

  Malachite felt a prickling along his scalp. Tossing his cigarette into the flames, he stalked up the stairs to face his father’s room. To face another sleepless night.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Millie lay in her bed, listening to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She heard them pause outside her room and her heart started racing. In the darkness she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that Malachite would step inside.

  For long moments she heard nothing, and her imagination began working overtime. The thought of Malachite storming into her room and ravishing her had her heart stopping, her breath backing up in her throat.

  When the footsteps moved on, she expelled a long breath, then sat up, shoving the hair from her eyes. What in the world was happening to her? She wasn’t some lovesick fool. She was a reasonable woman. A widow who owed it to her husband’s memory to behave sensibly. A mother who ought to think about her children. And if that wasn’t reason enough to let common sense prevail, she would do well to remember that she was a respected resident of a very small-minded community. There were a good many people in Hanging Tree who would enjoy spreading gossip about the widow Potter and the mysterious son of Onyx Jewel.

  She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. She had never before entertained such thoughts about a man. But she wanted with all her heart to be held in Malachite’s arms, to be kissed. To be loved. Oh, yes. Sweet heaven. To be loved.

  Too agitated to sleep, she tossed aside the covers and began to pace.

  She had always thought of herself as a good person and a good mother. But what kind of mother would risk her reputation, and that of her children, for momentary pleasure? For that was all she could ever hope to have. Malachite Jewel had made it abundantly clear that he intended to return to Montana in the spring.

  She ignored the little pain around her heart. It was impossible to think of spring when the land was covered with snow. Like her heart, she thought. Buried under layers of ice and snow. Until Malachite’s touch had melted it and caused her heart to start beating once again.

  She knew that he felt the same way about her. She’d tasted it in his kisses. Had sensed it in the effort he’d made to control his passion. Yet now, when she had finally realized that what she wanted was to share that passion, he had decided to keep his distance.

  She hugged her arms around herself and turned to peer out the frosted window, all the while listening to the erratic rhythm of her pulse.

  Could it be that Malachite’s code of honor would not permit him to follow through on his desires? Hadn’t she seen his reaction when the women from town had suggested that he was like his father, a womanizer? Of all the insults, that had been the greatest. The one that had angered him the most. He was so determined to be his own man. Any comparison with his father brought out his temper.

  She felt a tiny flutter of hope begin to take root in her soul. Perhaps, if she could make him understand that she shared his feelings, he wouldn’t be so reticent. If she could make him see that this was her choice...

  Without taking time to sort out her feelings, she hurried across the room and tore open her door.

  * * *

  Malachite pried off his boots and tossed aside his shirt before roaming restlessly around the room. He tossed a log on the fire and watched it spark and flame.

  Picking up the tintype of his father, he felt again the jolt at the similarity between himself and this stranger. The same thick dark hair. The same rugged, craggy features. And the eyes. He touched a hand to the stone at his throat and felt the familiar heat. With an oath he tossed the picture aside. All his life he’d resented his father’s legacy. Yet here he was, sitting at his father’s desk, living in his father’s house. And wishing he could, like his father, take what he wanted without regard to the consequences.

  What he wanted was in the room across the hall.

  Millie. God how he wanted her. If all he desired was a quick tumble, it would be a simple matter to satisfy his lust. But his feelings for her had become far too complicated. That’s why he’d been making such an effort to avoid her. Ever since the accident, and coming here to his father’s ranch, he’d known he was in over his head.

  He rolled a cigarette, held a match to the tip and inhaled deeply. Hell, he’d known a lot sooner. Almost since the moment he met her. And certainly after he’d returned from his first foray into the wilderness. That night, watching her taking the clothes off the line, and later, seeing her in the firelight surrounded by her daughters, he’d known. Known that she embodied all he’d ever wanted in a woman. A fiery survivor, strong, independent, passionate.

  Millie Potter was not the sort of woman a man could love, then leave. When he looked in her eyes and read the sweetness in her soul, he knew she was the sort who would bind a man to her forever. One taste of those lips and he’d been lost. If he allowed himself to love her completely, he would be ensnared. Trapped. In a prison of his own making.

  He wasn’t certain he was willing to risk it.

  He snatched up the photo again, glaring at the man. “Was this your weakness, Onyx Jewel?” he asked aloud. “Did you foolishly believe that love would solve all your problems? That if a woman loved you, she would turn her back on all that mattered and be yours forever? If it’s true, then I had a fool for a father.”

  When his door was thrust inward, he whirled, dropping the tintype. His hand went automatically to the pistol at his waist.

  For a moment Millie cringed at the sight of the gun. Then, closing the door, she leaned weakly against it. “I thought... for a moment... I heard you talking to someone.”

  “To myself. Is something wrong?”

  “No. Yes. No.” She knew her cheeks were flaming. Worse, she could feel her legs trembling and prayed her borrowed nightgown hid the evidence of her fear.

  “I don’t understand.” He hesitated before holstering his gun. From the moment he’d caught sight of her, his mind had gone blank. All he knew was that everything he wanted was now here. In his room. In the flesh.

  “I’m afraid I don’t, either.” She gave a shaky laugh. “I didn’t really think this through. I just decided to come here and...” She fluttered her hands in a nervous gesture. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d be undressed. The sight of those muscled arms and shoulders, that hair-roughened chest had her breath backing up in her lungs. She was quickly losing her nerve.

  “Why are you here?” The cigarette nearly burned his fingers. With an oath he crushed it into the ashtray on his father’s desk. Frustration bubbled dangerously close to the surface. Did she have any idea how she looked in that gauzy bit of fabric that revealed as much as it covered? Despite the shawl she had tossed around her shoulders, he could see clearly the outline of her breasts, the narrow waist, the slight flare of hips. He felt as jittery as that damned stallion when he got wind of a mare.

  “To...” Oh, what had she done? How could she possibly put into words what she was thinking? “To tell you...” This wasn’t going well at all. But s
he didn’t know how to make it right. “To say that...”

  He suddenly had it figured out. Oh, it had taken a moment to make his brain function. And seeing her blushing and stammering caused his heart to swell until he thought it might burst clear through his chest. But now that he knew, or at least thought he knew, he wasn’t going to help her through this. It was simply too wondrous. Instead, he merely stood, silent and watchful, while she struggled to find the words.

  “Malachite, I don’t want to...” She took a tentative step forward. “I wish you would stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?” He stayed where he was, his hands clenched firmly at his sides.

  “Like a hawk watching a chick. Anyway, as I was saying, I don’t want to sleep in that room.”

  “There’s something wrong with Pearl’s old room?”

  “No. Of course not. It’s not the room.”

  “The bed, then?”

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with the bed. Well, there is, but it isn’t the bed. It’s who’s in it. Or maybe I should say who’s not.”

  The corners of his lips tugged into a smile. But he stayed where he was, determined not to reach out to her first. Afraid if he did, he’d frighten her away again. And he couldn’t bear that. The need for her was too great. And growing with each passing moment.

  His throat felt too tight. His words sounded too gruff. “Who would you like in the bed, Millie?”

  “You.”

  She saw the way his eyes narrowed on her. She knew by the heat on her cheeks that they were flaming.

  When he didn’t move, she took another step, and another, until she was standing directly in front of him. Faking a boldness that would have shocked her at any other time, she reached her hands to his bare chest. She felt him flinch. That, and the flare of his nostrils, gave her courage to behave in an even bolder fashion. She slid her hands across his shoulders and up into his hair.

  This was a momentary weakness, he told himself, and struggled to remember the rules he’d set for himself. He didn’t need any traps. But the touch of her had his mind going blank again. “So you’d like me in your bed. For how long? An hour?”

  She lifted herself on tiptoe to see his eyes. “Do I have a choice?”

  He was fighting to keep his voice calm, while his heart was racing faster than a herd of mustangs on the run. “This is your decision, remember?”

  She chuckled. A low, throaty sound that had his breath hitching. “Then I’d like you there for the whole night.”

  His gaze fastened on her mouth and he felt all the blood drain from his head. “One whole night. Anything else?”

  She let out a long, slow sigh. “You might try making love with me while we’re together.”

  He was losing control. And he knew, the minute he touched her, he’d be lost. He thought about backing up. Instead his hands moved up her arms, and he struggled to be gentle. But it was too late for tenderness. His big hands were rough, almost bruising as they closed over her shoulders, pinning her to the length of him. His mouth sought hers, greedy for her taste.

  “One night of loving,” he muttered against her lips. “I suppose I could manage.”

  It wasn’t so much a kiss as a mating of mouth to mouth. His tongue found hers, teasing, tormenting. And all the while his hands were burning a trail of fire along her back.

  She felt the heat and was all but scorched by it. Alarmed, she pulled back.

  “Afraid?” he challenged against her mouth.

  “Certainly not.” How could she admit that she was terrified?

  He gave her a dangerous smile. “Changed your mind, then?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Because it’s too late.” His mouth left hers to roam her face. With unexpected tenderness he nibbled her temple and her cheek and tugged playfully at her lobe until she sighed and gave herself up to the pleasure.

  But if she had expected a tender kiss, she was in for a jolt. Just as she began to relax, his tongue suddenly plundered her ear. She moaned in protest. And all the while his hands moved up her sides until they encountered the swell of her breasts and his thumbs began stroking, arousing.

  She tried to pull away, but when his lips nuzzled the sensitive column of her throat, she forgot her fear. She sighed and moved in his arms, awash in feelings unlike any she’d ever known before. And when his mouth trailed lower, to fasten around one already erect nipple, she let out a gasp that could have signaled pleasure or shock.

  Despite the barrier of her gown, he nibbled and suckled until she clutched at his shoulders, crying out his name. “Malachite. Wait... I...”

  “Too late.” He lifted his head to look at her, and she found herself mesmerized by those green eyes, now blazing with need. “I want to see you, Millie. Really see you,” he whispered as he reached his hands to the neck of her gown. But instead of unbuttoning it, he simply tore it away in his haste.

  The sound of fabric tearing should have stopped them cold. Instead, it seemed to prod them into an even greater frenzy. As the gown pooled at her feet, Millie felt the heat of his gaze burn over her.

  “You’re even lovelier than I’d dreamed,” he muttered as he dragged her close and crushed her mouth under his. “And, oh, the things I’ve dreamed.”

  He couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. She was a contradiction. Clean and clear as a mountain stream. Exotic and sultry as any temptress. And those hands.Those small, clever hands. The touch of them on his naked flesh had his blood heating, his pulse racing.

  When she reached for the fasteners at his waist, he helped her until the last of his clothes joined hers on the floor at their feet.

  He was as dark and sleek as a panther. All muscle and sinew, and so potently male he took her breath away.

  “You have no idea the things I’ve dreamed.” His eyes glinted in the lantern fight. “The things I’ve wanted to do with you.”

  He watched her eyes darken with pleasure as he trailed a finger between her breasts, circling first one, then the other. “Would you like me to show you?”

  She couldn’t speak above the pounding of her heart. All she could do was clutch his waist as he dragged her close and ravished her mouth. And then her hands were in his hair, pulling him even closer, raining hot, hungry kisses over his face.

  He couldn’t get enough of her. With teeth nipping, with tongue arousing, the needs grew, tormenting them both until they dropped to their knees.

  Wild, frantic, she leaned into him, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. She wanted the feel of his flesh on hers. Desperately craved it.

  “Touch me, Malachite.” Her voice was a raw whisper. “I want your hands on me.”

  He couldn’t wait to oblige. The feel of his callused, work-roughened fingers against her skin was the sweetest torment. Each caress sent new shock waves through her until her body became a mass of nerve endings.

  Beside them the flames leaped and danced. Inside them, the heat grew, and with it, the need.

  Through a blinding mist of passion she saw him, all hard muscle and fierce green eyes, his torso sleek with sweat. She tangled herself around him, needing to feel him with every part of her being.

  Millie felt as if she were drowning. Drowning in the taste, the touch, the feel of him. She breathed in the dark, musky scent of tobacco and horses and leather. Scents she had known for a lifetime. And yet with Malachite, everything was new and fresh and exciting.

  He was so strong he could easily snap her in two. She could feel the control he exerted as she was enveloped in his embrace. That only made him seem more enticing.

  “Please, Malachite.” She knew she was begging. Knew her voice sounded raw and wounded. It no longer mattered. Nothing mattered except the need for him. At this moment her world had been reduced to this room, this man and the pleasure his touch brought.

  She arched up, her arms encircling his neck. Heat rose up between them, misting their vision, clogging their lungs. But he wasn’t about to give her what she
craved. What they both craved. At least not until they had feasted.

  They lay, tangled in their discarded clothes. She moaned softly as his mouth left hers. The moan grew into a sob when, with lips and tongue and fingers, he took her on a wild ride that brought her to the first glorious peak.

  She shuddered and cried out his name, but he gave her no time to recover as he took her even higher. Each time she thought there could be no more, he showed her more. And more.

  He could feel himself losing control. And still he held back, determined to draw out every touch, every taste, every pleasure.

  Nearly mad with need, he arched himself above her.

  “Look at me, Millie,” he growled.

  His eyes were steady on hers, watching as her lids flickered and she focused on him.

  “I want to see you. I want you to see me.”

  They were beyond thought now, beyond madness, propelled by wild, pulsing needs.

  He gripped her hands, lifting them above her head, lacing his fingers with hers. His mouth covered hers, cutting off the cry that was ripped from her.

  She was all he could see as he drove himself into her. With the taste of her, the scent of her filling his mind, his heart, his soul, he began to move. With incredible strength she joined him in a dance as wild, as free, as ancient as time itself.

  * * *

  “Are you alive?”

  “Mmm? Yes. I think so.”

  They lay, still joined. It. seemed too much effort to move. Malachite nuzzled the corner of her mouth. “Then breathe, so I’ll know you’re all right.”

  “I can’t. There’s something heavy on my chest.”

  With a chuckle he rolled to one side, drawing her into the circle of his arms. She fit perfectly, he noted. “That better?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “You’re shivering.”

  “Probably this cold floor.”

  Naked, he walked to the fire and poked at the log until it erupted into flame. Millie couldn’t look away. He was magnificent. But as the flames grew brighter, she caught sight of fading marks on his shoulder and was shocked at the knowledge that she had caused them. Her teeth. Her nails. Her unleashed passion.