by Amber Scott
Confident, sure, as though he knew her, he touched her. His touch embodied her own want of him. He smelled of the same heady scent, like the outdoors, like the sun. While her senses drank up the rest of him, she breathed it in. His eyes. God, the way they looked at her now, those eyes could make a nun blush. Heavy-lidded, smoky green, impassioned beyond anything she’d ever witnessed.
But then, he wasn’t real. No matter how real and tangible this felt, she’d wake up. There was no other plausible expectation or explanation.
So why not indulge to the fullest?
The decision felt like a permission slip, a free pass. Her hands and hips and mouth lost all shyness. She kissed him back with every seductive ounce in her body. She raked her nails down his bare back and through his hair. Jesse lifted her leg and pushed his hips in. The rough wood wall scraped at her back as she ground against him.
“Are you certain?” he said, his voice hoarse with desire.
“Yes,” she said and pulled his head close again.
Jesse pulled back and scooped her up into his arms. He carried her through the small front room and into a bedroom. His bedroom. A black hat and a patterned handkerchief hung on a hook. She wondered if he’d robbed any banks wearing it.
He plopped her onto a squeaky bed. Samantha giggled as he quickly joined her.
Would this really happen this time? He seemed to wonder the same thing, pausing in another kiss to look around, to listen for someone coming. She liked it better when she had his full attention. To get it, she eased his belt buckle open and tugged his belt off, all the while watching his eyes widen and flash.
Samantha shoved her hands down between fabric and skin, and gripped his muscular ass. She tugged enough space to allow frontal access, and her hands found the source of all male pride. She skimmed the fabric separating her from the long, hard shaft, already stiff in readiness. He throbbed when she encircled her hands over it.
Jesse closed his eyes and captured her exploring hand. “Samantha, I asked whether you are certain, and I’m feeling I should be more honest.” He moved to lie beside her and met her gaze. “I cannot offer you marriage.”
Whoa. Marriage? Her libido kicked back a notch. Who said anything about marriage? “I’m not interested in marriage, Jesse.”
“Women say as much, and I only stop now to impress it upon you, because it’s taking all I have to think straight around you. I don’t want you to have regrets.”
Exactly. How many times had she regretted not taking her last dream by the wheel and driving it exactly where she wanted it to go? Whatever brakes the word marriage pressed, the idea of regrets completely cut. She became like an addict, kissing him, eager and desperate. He responded with the same level of urgency. His kisses were quick and hard, his gaze intent as though at any moment she might disappear.
He removed his clothes and peeled off hers with curiosity and verve. The cool of the evening tickled her flesh, easing the heat between them. When he returned to her, naked, skin on glorious skin, he moved slowly.
He touched her face with his hand, and his gaze spoke the unspoken question. Permission. She gave it. She led his body closer, arched into him. From toes to lips, she pressed her body into his and thrilled in the contact. Her heart hummed alongside her desire, and her desperation gave way to a small sense of wonder.
If only he were real. If only this were real. Then it would be heaven. Jesse leaned down and gingerly kissed her lips, suckling the lower one and nibbling his teeth against it. One hand, large and masculine, traveled down her neckline and collarbone, found her breast. He engulfed her small breast and thumbed over her hard nipple. Pleasure sprang and coiled, connecting to the need down below and feeding its flames.
He moved his hips between her legs and settled his cock against her slit. As he slid up and down, threatening the tip to her opening and drawing back, her moisture created a smooth friction. Again and again, he drove her mad with want and so near climax she thought she might succumb before feeling what she craved. Him. His body deep within hers, pounding, sliding in and out until ecstasy crashed through her.
She needed him.
“Jesse,” she breathed. “Please. Please, I want you so badly. Please.”
He stilled a moment before complying.
The first stroke so sweet it might have been poison. She did feel like she could die of it. Samantha arched up and forced herself not to rush up to meet his body, letting the bliss cloak her.
He delved deep and sure, and paused a heartbeat, only to pull out and return. He continued his strokes in the same magnificent manner, each a bit sooner than the last, until he drove fast and hard.
She moaned and cried with abandon, giving in to her pleasure. She lost all feeling of worry or hope. She simply was.
His shoulders rippled with straining muscle. His face showed his own pleasure. He called her name.
“Samantha ... Samantha ...”
He kept gazing into her eyes.
Suddenly her core clenched, her clitoris throbbed, and she hugged him deep to her with her legs. He obliged, pushing down his hips, and she writhed as her climax exploded through her.
She saw his. His eyes closed, his head back, he gutturally moaned her name again. On his lips, it sounded like a prayer. Answered.
Jesse collapsed his weight to the side. Samantha stared up at the wood-planked ceiling. The sounds of reality filled the room. His breathing. Her pulse. Birds in the trees. Breeze through the leaves.
At any moment, she would wake up. Until then, she closed her eyes and savored the last bits of this perfect dream.
*
Jesse didn’t move, in part, too damned exhausted to. He also plain didn’t want to. If he moved, he might have to speak, and he wasn’t sure what to say. Now that good sense had returned to his desire-befuddled brain, he had quite a bit to ask.
Who was she, and not her name? Had she come all the way from Nevada? How had she found him? And why was it acceptable to welcome him into her arms so willfully and wantonly? Experienced. Not looking for marriage. Perhaps she was a widow. Not that he was complaining. He wasn’t. He’d wanted what they’d shared as much as she did. Probably more. In fact, he counted himself more than lucky to have found her again. Were he a religious man, he’d call it a blessing.
So he didn’t move.
He didn’t speak. He lay covering her body with his and listened to her breathe. He closed his eyes and memorized the details. One thought wouldn’t leave him alone.
How was he going to keep her here with him?
Impossible. He knew that. In any case, his mind started hunting for a way to do it, impossible or not.
First, he’d have to ask how she found him. Weren’t another reason in existence for her to appear on his doorstep, as she had. No matter what his grandmother might have said. He would ask, as soon as she woke up.
Jesse lifted his head to make sure he was right. He was. Fast asleep, mouth open, and even snoring a bit. Jesse pulled his limbs free so he could cover their naked bodies from the chilly night air.
A thousand questions sprang to mind. A few of them a mite suspicious. He should wake her, but figured she would then want to leave. Widow or not, it wasn’t proper for a woman like her to hole up with any man, particularly one who, were they discovered, couldn’t live up to the expectations folks would have.
She’d have to stay with Ginny. She would, anyhow, as far as anyone else would know. Ginny would fuss at him for putting Samantha in such a position, but she’d get over it well enough. His sister had a lot more bark than bite.
In the darkness, curled against Samantha, Jesse smiled contentedly. He began to make plans. Plans that likely never would be enacted. Plans, nonetheless. Of settling down, of family.
The afternoon sun warmed his naked backside and soon, he too fell asleep, holding the mysterious blonde whom he’d thought never to see again in all of his days.
*
Samantha rolled over and sat up. As usual, the floor was cold on
her feet. She kept her eyes mostly closed and poked about with her feet for her fuzzy pink slippers. The ones Charles got her for Christmas three months early after becoming fed up with her complaints about the old California home.
Her toes found nothing but wood floor. She swept them out in big circles again, reaching as far under the bed as she could. Nothing. If she’d bothered to open her eyes, she would have rolled them. Instead, she sighed. If the slippers had become chew toys like her last pair, her roommate would be hearing exactly what she was fed up with.
When she bent over and searched, her hands also found nothing. She gave up. She’d have to suffer the cold on her walk to the bathroom. After she peed, she would race back to bed and bundle up her feet and rub them fast. Planning it all out helped. With a deep breath, Samantha stood up and rushed for the familiar path to her closet-sized bathroom.
With a loud thud, she smacked right into a wall and fell straight onto her butt.
She opened her eyes. All the way. She stared at the wall that shouldn’t have been there and became aware that she hadn’t a stitch of clothing on. That was weird. She stood up and looked around, trying to orient herself to where she’d gone wrong on the way to the bathroom.
“Are you all right?”
Samantha jumped and spun around. There on her bed, staring at her from a pair of slumberous bedroom eyes, lay the man she’d dreamed about. He looked half asleep and mostly concerned. He moved to get out of bed. He was as stark naked as she.
She had to pee. Badly.
Was she still dreaming? Had she now incorporated her full bladder into the dream? In the near dark, she saw he wasn’t in her bed, only a bed, and not in her room.
Samantha nodded, unable to speak yet. He rose from the bed and walked to her, his full glory an eyeful. She couldn’t help but admire the broad shoulders, narrow hips, and muscular thighs. While his chest was smooth and bare, very masculine hair sparsely covered his arms and legs.
He ran a hand over his brow. He looked boyish and charming with a lazy smile and sleepy eyes. He kissed her mouth, stroking his thumb over her cheek. His lips were warm and soft.
“Looking for the outhouse?”
Samantha balked. Outhouse? Of all things, how could her mind conjure up that? Where were the lakes and streams and toilets of her normal gotta-pee dreams?
She nodded. Jesse took her hand and led her out the door into the night. Naked.
She pulled her hand free and stopped at the door. He turned around. “What is it?”
Wordlessly, Samantha covered her breasts and looked around with a meaningful glance.
“Don’t worry. You’re safe with me,” Jesse said and waggled a pistol in his hand. “Ain’t no one out here to see a thing.”
She didn’t even wonder where he’d found the gun, let alone why she hadn’t spotted him picking it up. If she was dreaming about the Old West, about an armed and naked gorgeous cowboy she’d fantasized about all night, being escorted to an outhouse fit right in. Samantha stepped forth. Dream or not, she still felt incredibly naked and vulnerable.
Until he took her hand again and winked.
The smile on her face was the brim of a giggle. While Jesse made like he was scanning the area for bandits, gun aimed and ready, she tiptoed after him. He was cute and funny. If only he were real.
She let him lead her to the walled hole in the ground and offered her the door. “Ladies first.”
Samantha shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Of course you can. This is newly built and in fine condition, if I do say so myself.”
“No, I mean, I really can’t.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him she didn’t want to wet the bed and wake up. “You go ahead.”
Jesse eyed her a minute. He handed her the pistol. Her bladder ached so badly she thought about holding herself like a kid at the mall standing in line for Santa Claus. That wouldn’t be sexy. So she did the sexiest thing available.
Samantha took the pistol, steadied it with both hands, and stood wide-legged. She imagined she might look like a warrior goddess in a beam of moonlight, the same as he looked like a god. Jesse whistled low and got in a full look before enclosing himself into the outhouse.
Stepping away so she couldn’t hear his business, Samantha breathed in the piney, fresh air. It reminded her of her father’s place. Her nudity no longer bothered her and became a bit freeing. She stretched wide her arms, tilting her head to the sky, and thanked God for this fabulous dream.
She needed only one more good kiss before she relieved herself. If she woke up in a warm pool, well then, she’d have to change the sheets, and she’d never tell another living soul.
The door opened near her, and she felt him close in. He walked up behind her, his scent and body heat tingling her senses long before he touched her. If she didn’t have to pee so badly, she would turn and seduce him.
Instead, she enjoyed the feel of his arms wrapped around her waist, his face nuzzled into her neck. He carefully took the gun from her. When she stepped away, he playfully smacked her ass.
“Heavens, but you are one beautiful creature, Samantha.”
She smiled. She kissed him and stepped inside the wooden walls. Samantha closed her eyes and waited. Any second now she’d wake up. Any time now. Her bladder thanked her.
Finished, Samantha opened her eyes and frowned. Was she still asleep, still in the same dream? How odd.
When she stepped out of the outhouse, her confusion grew. Several feet away, Jesse had his back to her. He was guarding the outhouse. She became gripped by the need to speak his name and tell him about this strange dream he was a part of. At the edges of her mind, a pinch of reality came through. What if this was not a dream? But that couldn’t be. She swallowed against the bile creeping up her throat and steadied herself to ask Jesse if he was real when something sharp stabbed her ankle, shooting stinging pain up her calf.
Samantha shrieked. Jesse rushed to her, taking her elbow to help steady her. The pain was blinding, and tears streamed down her cheeks unbidden. A snake. It must have been a snake. What else could it be?
A loud bang rang in her ears. A gunshot. He shot what was definitely a snake and picked her up, rushing her to his small cabin home. He jostled her about in his hurry, and she felt like punching him in the arm for it. She would have, too, if not for the need to hold her calf in both hands and moan while pain ebbed and flowed through the muscle.
Jesse set her down and lit a match to a kerosene lamp at his nightstand. He turned up the flame, blew out the match, and tugged on a pair of jeans. His face serious, he examined her leg.
“Show me where it hurts.”
Samantha lay on the bed, rocking from side to side. It hurt everywhere. She shook her head.
“Samantha. I need to see where it hurts. It’s a snakebite, I have to know where it bit you.”
She nodded her head, bit her lips. Yes, snakebite. She pushed her ankle under his nose and pointed to the spot where the pain originated. Jesse didn’t touch, only looked. Thank God, because if he had, she’d have kicked him square in the jaw, and the last thing she wanted to do was knock him out, the one person here to help her.
It seemed like he was taking forever. He scanned her skin, moving his gaze over it, rubbing his chin with his forefinger and thumb. He brought the lamp near for a better view, but didn’t seem to be able to find any marks. If he had, he’d have told her, wouldn’t he?
“Did you twist it, too?” He looked at her.
Samantha furiously shook her head.
“I’ve got to get Ginny. She’ll know what to do.” Jesse went toward the door, stopped, and turned back. “We have to get you covered. She’s my sister, and a woman, but she shouldn’t see you this way.”
Samantha’s eyes bulged, but she swallowed and nodded. If propriety got him out the door and back faster, so be it. She tried as best she could to help him get her into the long-sleeved, button-up shirt and men’s undergarment. He assured her they were clean, and she would h
ave laughed, but it hurt so damned bad. The pain was spreading—and beginning to burn.
She grunted to tell him to hurry. He met her gaze and kissed her forehead.
“Don’t move a muscle,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. He smiled, half-cocked, and left her.
The silence he left behind filled the room, blanketing her in chill and emptiness. Samantha concentrated on her breathing, trying to imagine with each breath—in and out, in, out—that the pain was receding, lessening, disappearing. She counted up and back down, like she thought a woman in labor might do after a hundred Lamaze lessons.
It only helped the time pass and kept her from screaming.
When she heard footsteps coming fast and close, relief flooded through her. He was back. Everything would be okay. She would be okay.
Jesse brought a cool cloth to her forehead and wiped away the sheen of sweat. Ginny peered at her ankle, hands behind her back, similar to the way Jesse had. She went a bit more slowly, though. Samantha watched the woman’s face. She was pretty in a handsome sort of way and had intelligent eyes. She carefully examined Samantha’s ankle. Not once did she look up and take in or judge Samantha’s appearance.
“How far up has the pain moved?” Ginny said and met her stare evenly.
“Knee,” Samantha said through clenched teeth.
Ginny nodded and stood back up. Jesse paced behind her, arms crossed over hard muscle. His pecs formed a deep valley of male cleavage. Samantha closed her eyes. How could she notice such a thing at a time like this?
She opened her eyes and forced her gaze to stay on Ginny. The little brunette bent over her ankle again and suddenly, her delicate eyebrows arched upward, her mouth opening to form a small “Oh.”
“What?” Samantha asked. “What is it?” Pain throbbed with each pulse of her blood. She felt like a good scene out of a bad movie. That’s when she remembered this wasn’t real. Samantha laid her head back and wiped her eyes.
