Big Sky Secrets

by Linda Lael Miller

  Ria laughed, a soft, strangled sound, stroked Landry’s hair and the hard length of his jaw, marveling at the miracle of this man’s love for her, and hers for him. “I kind of enjoyed that myself,” she answered. “The sex, that is.” A croon escaped her, and, once again, her back arched. The man knew his way around a woman’s body, she thought, as he made slow circles inside her, and she got wetter and wetter, aching for him.

  His efforts were exquisitely focused, though, and, as always, unhurried.

  X marks the spot.

  “Yeah,” Landry drawled. “I noticed.”

  Already half out of her mind again, Ria balled up one fist and pretended to slug him in the shoulder. He chuckled.

  She couldn’t help crying out once more, softly, as he deftly raised the pitch of her pleasure, making her reverberate like a tuning fork. “How—how did this happen?” she whimpered, rolling her head from side to side, scrambling to part her legs farther, grant him even more access.

  Landry’s grin broadened, warming her like sudden light. “The usual way,” he answered, with that damnable ease of his. And where was all that self-control coming from? Ria knew he wanted her; his erection was huge, and it burned against the outside of her thigh, but his every move, his every word, was easy, almost languid. “You took your clothes off,” he reminded her, “and I did the same. It was all pretty straightforward after that.”

  Ria laughed again, but her eyes filled with tears—happy ones, and tender. “That isn’t what I meant,” she scolded softly. “And you know it. I’m asking—h-how did we—oh, God, don’t stop—fall in love—so quickly?” She gasped, swallowed, closed her eyes, about to be swept away but determined to finish saying what she wanted to say. “Not that long ago—ooooooooh—a few days, a week at most—yes, yes, please, Landry, yes—we didn’t even like each other—”

  Landry considered her words solemnly, but with that same twinkle in his eyes, and the conquering went on, uninterrupted. “I figure we were striking sparks from the beginning,” he said, after a few moments. “We’ve known each other almost a year, remember.”

  “But—” Another raspy cry, and then Ria’s hips flew, as surely as if they’d sprouted wings.

  Landry’s palm moved against her, gently and so very slowly, while his finger did its work, and she had to close her eyes and concentrate on the rising tumult inside her, and then outside, too, until all there was of the universe was Landry, his touch, his murmured words and the wonderful, terrible wanting he roused in her.

  Ria wailed softly as that wanting got still more wonderful, still more terrible.

  Even then, Landry showed her no quarter. He kissed her eyelids, one and then the other, and then he began making his way down over the warm curve of her right breast. Her nipples strained, readying themselves for his mouth and tongue, and she moaned the only word she had the strength to utter, “Yesssss,” stretching that single syllable as far as it would go.

  “Hold that thought,” Landry murmured, reaching her waiting nipple, circling it with the tip of his tongue, then sucking it gently, rhythmically.

  He was methodical, slowing his pace, then increasing it.

  Each time Ria neared the release she craved, he somehow kept her from tumbling over the precipice.

  Dazed, wild, exasperated, she found the breath to plead just once more. “Landry,” she sobbed. “Don’t make me wait—I need you—now.”

  He released her nipple just long enough to run a fiery trail of kisses over to its waiting counterpart. “You’re insatiable,” he said.

  “I’m desperate,” she countered.

  He chuckled again, laved her nipple until it was so hard it ached and finally took it into his mouth—and Ria, knowing that he’d just given her his answer, that there would be no rushing, stopped resisting, stopped begging and simply let herself feel the lovely things Landry was doing to her.

  When they were finally joined, body to body, soul to soul, it was as if two galaxies had collided, exploded into fragments, then sparks.

  And it rained fire for a long, long time.

  * * *

  LANDRY SLEPT HEAVILY that night, the sleep of satisfied exhaustion, and if he dreamed, he had no recollection of it the next morning, when the first rays of sunlight teased his eyes open.

  Beside him, Ria slumbered on, her arms flung back over her head in abandon, her fingers still curled loosely around the brass rails in the headboard, long after she’d gripped them in the frenzy of the most recent orgasm—somewhere in the wee hours—an apocalyptic event that had finally used both of them up.

  Now the top sheet was all that was left of the covers, and it wasn’t covering much more than Ria’s belly button and part of her right thigh. Her breasts, full and warm, the nipples tightening under a soft breeze flowing in through a nearby window, were mighty tempting.

  Landry might have given in, if Ria hadn’t opened her eyes, narrowed them to slits and warned, “Don’t you dare, Landry Sutton.” She hopped out of bed, searched the floor for her clothes, found the T-shirt and pulled it on with a resolute yank of both hands. “I’m chapped all over, and I’m sore, and if I have even one more climax, I think it will kill me!”

  “Death by orgasm,” Landry mused, lying back on his pillow, cupping his hands at the back of his head. “Now, that would be a fine way to go.”

  Ria tried hard to look stern, but in the end, she had to laugh. “Where,” she demanded, “are the rest of my clothes?”

  “Believe me,” Landry answered, “I wasn’t keeping track of them.”

  Ria dropped to her hands and knees—a position that tested Landry’s powers of restraint even more than watching her nipples harden while she slept, just begging to be tasted—and peered under the bed.

  At least, that was what he thought she was doing.

  From that angle, he couldn’t tell.

  Unhurried, Landry began to plan for the next round.

  Meanwhile, Ria finally straightened, her hair attractively mussed, clutching the formerly lost garments in one hand. “How am I going to get out of here without Highbridge seeing me?” she asked in a loud whisper.

  “He’ll be in the kitchen,” Landry told her mildly. “And that’s a ways from here, so there’s no need to whisper like that.”

  Ria blushed, remained on the floor while she squirmed awkwardly into her panties and jeans, and somehow managed to put her bra back on without lifting her T-shirt so he could get one more look at those delectable breasts of hers.

  Damn the luck.

  “You are entirely too calm about this!” Ria accused, getting to her feet and flinging her arms out for emphasis. She narrowed her eyes again. “Are you smirking?”

  “Yep.” Landry grinned up at her. “Seems to me you’re riled enough for the both of us,” he pointed out. “Anyhow, we’re adults, Ria, not kids. And unless something’s changed since last night, we’re in love.” He waited, holding his breath, because he suddenly wasn’t sure how she’d answer.

  “Nothing’s changed,” she admitted glumly, and at nerve-racking length. “I’m still crazy about you, heaven help me.”

  Thank God, he thought.

  He went back to enjoying Ria’s agitation, the flash in her eyes, the apricot-pink glow in her cheeks, the way her perfect chest rose and fell with her breath. It was almost as good as having sex with her. Almost.

  “Well, then,” he said reasonably, “I guess there’s no point in trying to sneak around, is there? Besides, I’d be willing to bet my half of this ranch that Highbridge already knows what we’ve been up to anyway.”

  Ria’s cheeks got even pinker, a glorious sight. “Oh, great,” she muttered. “You said he was way off in the kitchen, out of earshot—”

  “It’s a big house,” Landry observed lightly. “But Highbridge isn’t deaf—and he definitely isn’t stupid.”

  Ria went rigid, her breasts still tantalizing even in a bra.

  Oh, those breasts.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ria sn
apped.

  Landry sat up slowly, just in case he needed to fend off an onslaught of fists and fingernails, and feigned bewilderment. “A couple of times,” he reminded her, “you got pretty carried away.” A pause followed, expertly timed, if Landry did say so himself, to bring Ria from a simmer to a boil. He rolled his shoulders in a shruglike motion and assumed a pensive expression. “Maybe he thought there was a she-wolf around someplace, howling at the moon.”

  Ria yanked one of the pillows from behind Landry and started battering him with it, employing a two-handed swing.

  He laughed, and of course, that only riled her more.

  Just when Landry was about to take Ria down again, and make good use of all that feistiness, a light knock sounded at the bedroom door.

  “Highbridge,” Landry told Ria in a stage whisper. “Shall I tell him to come in?”

  She glared, silently daring him to push her just one more inch, but when Highbridge spoke from the hallway, she bolted and fled to the bathroom.

  “Breakfast for two, sir?” the butler inquired mildly, matter-of-fact.

  Landry was grinning so hard he thought his face might split.

  The vibes coming at him through the closed door of the bathroom were almost tangible.

  He raised his voice a little, to make sure Ria heard his reply. “That’ll be just right, Highbridge,” he answered cordially. “We’ll be out in fifteen minutes or so.”

  A pause. “Very good, sir,” Highbridge replied.

  And then he walked away, footsteps slowly fading.

  Still holed up in the bathroom, Ria gave a stifled squeal. She had heard the exchange with Highbridge, then.

  Excellent.

  Humming under his breath, Landry got out of bed, opened a few drawers in the bureau and found himself clean jeans and a blue T-shirt, an old favorite washed and worn often enough to be comfortable against the stinging scratches running the length of his back. He got dressed, crossed to the bathroom door, rapped briskly. “Ria,” he said smoothly, “if you don’t come out of there, I’ll come in after you, and if that happens, I guarantee you, we’ll be very late for breakfast.”

  * * *

  BREAKFAST WAS THE tenth circle of hell for Ria, she was so mortified, but she was also hungry, so she ate, sitting there at Landry’s kitchen table in yesterday’s clothes, all too obviously fresh from his bed. Her face was as red as if she’d been sunburned, and she worked hard to dodge Highbridge’s glances, praying he wouldn’t force a conversation.

  Landry, the arrogant bastard, sat calmly across from her, reading a newspaper and sipping coffee as though this were any ordinary day.

  Ria kicked him, under the table.

  He merely grinned at her for a moment, then went right on reading about beef prices and wheat tariffs and the political scandal of the day.

  Highbridge refilled her coffee cup, gracious enough, now that he’d registered the full extent of her embarrassment, to pretend she was invisible, like an imaginary friend attending an equally imaginary tea party.

  Finally, after clearing his throat, the butler excused himself and left the room, elegant coattails rippling in his wake. Gone were the Stetson, the jeans he’d referred to as “dungarees,” the shirt with snaps and the boots.

  Maybe she’d dreamed the whole thing, Ria mused.

  And maybe she was still on the wrong side of the looking glass. We’re all mad here.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “WHAT ARE WE going to do now?” she demanded, whispering again.

  Landry lowered the newspaper and studied her casually. “Apply for a marriage license,” he said, as though the answer should have been obvious. “And get hitched as soon as we can.”

  Something in Ria started to slide again, scrabbled for traction. “Is this that forever thing again?” she grumped.

  He smiled, imperturbable. No matter how hard she worked at getting under his hide, Landry Sutton remained calm. It was exasperating.

  “Yep,” he replied affably. “It’s the forever thing.”

  “What if we just—well—got engaged? Informally, of course. We could have a long courtship, like Zane and Brylee did, take time to get to know each other better—”

  “Bad idea,” Landry interrupted.

  Ria’s heart was starting to race. “Why is it a bad idea?”

  “Because you’re probably pregnant,” he said, his tone reasonable, matter-of-fact.

  Ria gasped and pressed both hands to her abdomen, as though expecting to feel the kick of tiny feet. “We used condoms,” she reminded him tersely, but her voice was as weak as her ability to resist Landry Sutton, in or out of bed.

  “Until I ran out of them,” Landry clarified.

  “You ran out of condoms?” Ria demanded. “When?”

  “Is that important?”

  Was he kidding?

  “Oh, my God,” Ria breathed. She could have strangled Landry in that moment, but at the very same time, she felt something else entirely—a sort of dizzying, exultant hope that somehow they had conceived a baby. A child, Landry’s child, would be the fulfillment of one of Ria’s most cherished dreams for her life, worth any risk, any scandal.

  Landry arched his eyebrows slightly, folded the newspaper carefully and set it aside. “Are you planning on holding out for a big wedding?” he asked, with a thoughtful frown. “Because that could be awkward.”

  Ria imagined herself sweeping down the aisle of a church, a bride in full regalia, with a belly the size of a prize pumpkin at the county fair.

  The image, however comical, wasn’t what caused her to shake her head and say, “No. No big wedding.”

  She’d had one of those when she married Frank.

  This time around, Ria wanted a different kind of ceremony, a different kind of marriage.

  Later, looking back, Ria would conclude that that was the moment, the turn in the road, when she’d finally and fully forgiven Frank, and let him go for good.

  Landry didn’t comment; he merely stood and began clearing the table.

  Ria was grudgingly surprised. He could be such a—such a man. Now he was carrying dishes to the sink. Would he ever stop surprising her? She hoped not.

  “So we’re just going to get married—just like that?” she asked.

  Landry rinsed one of the plates under the faucet and set it in the dishwasher before he countered, with a twinkle, “How else would you be able to face Highbridge at breakfast every morning?”

  “Who says I’ll be here every morning?”

  “I do,” Landry answered easily.

  “And what you say goes?” Ria challenged, only too aware that the heat in her blood wasn’t just anger, but rising passion. Damn Landry Sutton, if he’d taken her to bed right then, she’d have gone willingly, chafed skin, aching thighs and all.

  “I didn’t say that,” Landry replied.

  “Then what are you saying?”

  Landry leaned back against the counter, folded his arms and regarded her as if she were a column of numbers to be added up. “I guess I’m saying that I’m a little old-fashioned in some ways, and you might as well know it. I want you in my bed, no doubt about that, morning, noon or night. I’ll protect you, I’ll provide for you and I’ll never cheat on you, Ria.”

  Tears stung Ria’s eyes. “You promise? Because that would be the one thing I couldn’t—”

  “I know,” he answered, and it was clear from his tone that he did know. She hadn’t told him about Frank’s one-night stand, had she?

  “How do you know?” she asked, barely breathing the words.

  Landry sighed. “I think it was something I saw in your eyes the other night, when you asked me if I’d been faithful to Susan. I didn’t think about it much at the time—we were both tied up in knots, if you recall—but after a day or two, I figured out that you must have been hurt that way yourself, and you were scared as hell it might happen again.”

  Ria rose from her chair, crossed to Landry, slipped her arms around his waist. “You’re a
n amazing man,” she said, with a moist smile, rising on impulse to kiss the cleft in his chin. “And a perceptive one, for all your bullheaded arrogance.”

  Landry chuckled, kissed her lightly, briefly, on the mouth. “I was right?”

  “Aren’t you always?” Ria teased, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Sighing slightly. “Would you hold me for a while, please?”

  Landry’s arms tightened around her. “Anytime,” he said, with a low chuckle. “Of course, there’s a certain risk involved.”

  She tilted her head back, looked up at Landry, playing the game. “And that would be—?”

  He made a growling sound. “That would be,” he said, “the very strong possibility that we’ll wind up right back in bed.”

  Ria widened her eyes. “It’s broad daylight.”

  Landry grinned, bent his head, nibbled at her right earlobe. “That doesn’t bother me, lady,” he informed her. “If I didn’t think Highbridge might walk in at any moment, I’d take you right here, right now—after making you crazy first, of course.”

  “Of course,” Ria echoed slyly, grinding against him a little, against the rock-hard heat of him, pressed against her upper abdomen. She touched him boldly, closed her fingers around him, delighted in the way he groaned and closed his eyes for a moment.

  Ria nibbled at the side of Landry’s neck, unsnapped a couple of his shirt buttons.

  He moaned her name.

  She ran her palm along the length of him, felt him throb behind the denim of his jeans. “If you can’t stand the heat, Mr. Sutton,” she murmured, loving the way the pulse at the base of his throat leaped when she brushed her lips over the skin there, “then maybe we’d better get you out of the kitchen.”

  Landry groaned again, but the sound was part chuckle. “Speaking of heat...” he muttered. Then, with a raspy gasp, he added, “Woman, you are killing me.”

  A loud crash and a resounding “Bloody hell!” from Highbridge—probably a warning of his imminent arrival, just in case what was going on in the kitchen was what was going on in the kitchen—sent Landry and Ria scrambling for cover. The back door being the nearest exit, they bolted through it, laughing like a couple of kids who’d just swiped the cookie jar.