Blackest Heart [Wayback Texas]

by Amber Leigh Williams

  Her heels clacked across the wood floor. He smelled her a moment before she propped a hip against the counter next to him. He sipped his whiskey, careful not to look at her.

  Stella reached for the whiskey bottle. Before he could get her a glass, she tipped it up to her mouth and drank it straight, glowing green eyes on his. He waited until she set the bottle down. When she raised her hand to wipe her mouth, he latched onto it, holding it away. Before he could tell himself it was crazy, before he could convince himself it wasn't a smart move, his mouth was on hers, devouring her.

  Her taste was devastating. Whiskey and champagne and the underlying thrill of Stella. He couldn't believe he was doing it. Arm wrapped around her waist, he pulled her hard against him. His tongue scraped over hers, hands roaming over her long, slim back. A hum sounded deep in her throat. The boil in his loins turned to fire. The flames ignited his blood, turning reason to ash. He had only one clear thought.

  She was his. Stella Ridge was his.

  She melted into the kiss, letting it come like she'd expected it, wanted it, waited for it. He pushed her back against the counter, pressing his body against hers. Fingers dived into the taut knot on the back of her head, prying it apart until her hair spilled into his palm, free. Her arms wound around his neck, bringing him close, though he couldn't get any closer. There wasn't room for breath between them. His heart raged against hers, pumping like a mad machine.

  He thought of taking her here in the kitchen. On the bar. On the floor. The closest flat surface. He opened his eyes to see hers. Her dreamy green irises were hooded, half-closed. Looking into their languid depths, he knew it couldn't be that way. It would be hot. It would be fast. But he'd be damned if it was going to be nothing but a thoughtless romp on his kitchen counter.

  He nudged her into the living room, unable to take his mouth from hers. It'd break the connection. He walked her backward into the hall, running his hands over the regal line of her shoulders, pushing the straps of her dress over the slopes until they fell limp at her elbows.

  She bumped into the bedroom jamb. Instead of guiding her around it, he held her there. Shoving her hands between them, she ran them over his torso. He hissed, her touch scorching him, and tugged her lower lip between his teeth. A moan escaped as her mouth fell open, eyes closing tight. Her hips rubbed his. Pressing back, he made sure she could feel the hard, pulsing line under the zipper of his jeans.

  Hands began to tear at the buttons of his shirt. He let her pull it open, not caring for one second when several clattered to the floor around their feet. As he skimmed hard palms over the tops of her thighs, up her hips, waist and ribs, she bowed back. His hands cupped her breasts and her head dipped back, another low moan spilling from her lips.

  He nipped the underside of her chin, then down the creamy line of her throat. Lips monopolizing her neck, his thumbs traced the curve of her breasts. His fingers flexed, spreading over her breasts and gripping them. As he raised his head to see her, he watched her mouth gape open. When his name came out on another moan, he locked his arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet.

  He carried her the rest of the way to the bed and fell on it with her. The heat between them became suffocating as her open mouth sought, captured his, sucked until he thought he'd go out of his mind. His groan vibrated over her lips before they broke away to trace his jaw. Nails raked through his hair, and his eyes crossed behind his closed lids. If he didn't get out of his jeans and into her...

  The dress was so tight he only managed to tug it down half an inch. Reaching around her back, she pulled down the zipper. Her breasts spilled out as he sat up to slide the material the rest of the way down, unveiling her inch by exquisite inch.

  Breath backed up in his lungs. His heart threw itself against his ribs. To slide the dress off easily, she bent her knees. He held the garment in one hand, looking his fill.

  He was in over his head. She was the stuff of perfection. Pale skin gleamed like silk under a fine sheen of perspiration, her breasts full and the peaks dark and taut. His mouth went dry when his eyes lowered to her waist, tapered beautifully then flaring out at the hips. A thin swatch of silk obstructed his view. Hooking his hand through it, he pulled it away as she raised her legs again to help him.

  She sat up to face him. Legs spread on either side of his, she was completely bare, completely open, completely exposed. He hesitated, admiring her fully.

  Her hand snagged the collar of his open shirt, pulling his lips down to hers. The scent of her overwhelmed him as he breathed her in and their lips meshed, molded, opened and dipped. He brushed a hand back through her satiny hair and cupped the nape of her neck as she reached between them for his fly.

  Lowering her back to the bed, he shrugged off the shirt. They both worked his jeans over his hips. Their shoes clattered to the floor. Kneeling, he pulled her up until she straddled him. He wrapped an arm under her shoulders, the other around her waist, lifting her. Burning to explore, he took his mouth over her breasts, nuzzling the soft curves, teeth tugging at the hard peaks. He skimmed his knuckles down her belly. A shuddering sigh escaped her when he touched her.

  She was ready for him. Though his erection was straining for that liquid heat, he indulged her, watched her head fall back as his fingers stroked. Her hips worked against his hand. Watching her move worked him up so fast, he was forced to stop.

  Her head lolled on her shoulders, hands gripping his. She didn't have to tell him she wanted him. Beyond the brink of wanting her, mad for her, he drove inside.

  Her head fell back on a keening cry. His teeth ground together as she slipped like a wet velvet glove over him, clenching him in a hot fist. Giving them both a moment to adjust, he lowered her back to the bed.

  She moved first, legs spreading wide, arms wrapped tight around him. He plunged deep, jaw shut firm to hold back the groan in his throat as she moaned again. It nearly drove him over the edge, but he watched her go over, get lost then fall back to earth, clenching him in that hot, wet fist again.

  He could've died then knowing she was his, knowing he'd been inside her, driven her to heaven and beyond into ecstasy. Gripping her hips, he drove her up again, kissed her as she fell back down. He measured it as a test of sheer will when he didn't follow her over. The hard line of him inside her was beginning to kick. His heart pummeled his ribs again. Hair clung to his wet brow. A drop of sweat ran down his face and tickled his jaw line.

  Her eyes opened, breath falling over his taut, slick face. She must've seen him braced on the very edge, must've known he was holding on by his fingertips alone. Her lips curved, her body bowed, driving him deep. Squeezing his eyes closed, he fought to hang on one last, maddening second.

  "Come over with me,” she murmured in that sultry voice, nails scraping over his scalp again.

  He would've come with her to hell if she'd asked him. Letting go, he reeled in freefall. His breath fell heavy over her, erection kicking in relief now, spilling into her velvet depths. As he lowered his brow to her shoulder, he prayed his pulse would slow before his heart combusted.

  Stella continued to stroke his hair as he struggled to catch his breath. Her lips moved over his shoulder, a tender, whispering touch that softened whatever hard edges she'd left intact. He buried his face in her hair and hoped he'd have some semblance of strength or sanity by morning.

  * * * *

  The sound of metal screeching across pavement and the horrifying pain chased her screaming out of sleep. Stella shot like a bullet out of the dream, clawing through it inch by inch with teeth and nails. When she woke, she was still screaming, sitting straight up in his bed.

  Judd's arm was a firm band locked around her shoulders, his chest a warm rock at her back. The feel of him there with her helped the images fade faster, the terror turn to vapor quicker. Her sobbing breaths evened out but the tremors took over. She'd never been able to block them or stop them once they'd begun. They snuck in on her, taking over limb by limb until she was shaking uncontrollably.<
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  He turned her to him. She buried her face in his chest as his arms wrapped her close. The tremors wracked her. She hated every moment of the weakness. Swallowing the bile that had built at the back of her throat, she willed them to stop.

  Several minutes passed before they began to move off. He continued to hold her though he didn't stroke her or rock her, didn't murmur to her or assure her. Just held her. It was enough, more comfort than anything offered to her during that terrifying time.

  She gathered herself together as he left the room and came back a moment later with a glass of whiskey. Bolting it down in two gulps, she hoped it would burn off the remnants of the dream.

  He didn't ask. He didn't reach for her again. He just watched her—though not with the pity she'd dreaded. There was grim understanding in his eyes that soothed her ragged nerves faster than the whiskey.

  Because he didn't ask, because she had a feeling he'd never ask or force her to talk about it as so many others had, for the first time since the accident, she wanted to talk about it.

  She set her empty glass on the nightstand, sat up against the dark wood headboard. Smelling the stained wood scent put her right at home. She took a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest and clearing her throat. Knowing he watched her, she didn't look at him.

  "It was late Friday night when I got the call about Dad. I'd just gotten back from the airport. The flight from New York was delayed because of storms in the Midwest. I was just about to crash. Keefe called and I didn't think. I didn't pack anything. I just grabbed my purse and called a cab to go to LAX. The cabby didn't recognize me so I was lost in thought in the backseat, worrying. It was raining, just a little bit.

  "The cab was coming up to the intersection. The light turned green. He accelerated through it.” She swallowed hard, trying to wet her throat. She wasn't going to stop. “The semi ran the red light and plowed into the driver's side of the cab. The cabby was killed on impact. I was lucky. I was on the passenger side. They say if I had seen it coming and braced, I would've been paralyzed. My body was lax on impact so it was saved any permanent damage. I can't begin to count how many people told me I should be dead. It's funny how they think that's something you want to hear, like they're offering you some kind of comfort."

  She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them, resting her chin on them. “It took them five hours to cut me out of the cab. I remember hanging upside down. Everything was in slow motion. Everything was fuzzy and faraway. I couldn't feel the left side of my face. I couldn't move my lips to talk. I was swimming in and out of consciousness. When they began to extract me, I woke up. Every bone in my body screamed with pain. I couldn't tell them to stop. I couldn't cry or scream. They got me on the gurney and began to wheel me to the ambulance. That's when I started to see the flashing lights, hear the yelling and commotion. I heard one of the paramedics say, ‘Back off, you vultures!’ It was the paparazzi. The police confiscated the cameras so none of the pictures were ever published. But my agent showed them to me as proof that we should sue them all."

  Here she stopped to take another careful breath, focusing on the brush of his fingertip over the side of her thumb. “A good chunk of skin on the left side of my face was peeled off. The doctors worked for weeks trying to save it. They were the best doctors anyone could ask for. If I'd been some normal person, just a regular woman in a car accident, they wouldn't have tried so hard. I'd have been just another Hollywood tragedy, like Lori Lawson.

  "They discharged me with a neck brace and bandages. A part of me already knew I didn't want to be in LA anymore. I didn't think about coming home, though, until I saw Sherrie and Jake. When I got back home that afternoon after talking to her, I didn't want to be in that empty house anymore. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in front of the camera, in America's spotlight. I didn't want to be the Stella Ridge I'd made myself since I left Wayback. I wanted to be the person I left here a long time ago. I wanted to be that normal, regular woman who could walk up the street any time of day without cameras in my face.” She sighed, long and slow. “I just wanted to get on with my life and forget about what happened."

  She looked at him for the first time. His expression was neither sympathetic nor uncaring. Bleak acknowledgement was all she could see. “You don't think I'm a burden do you? You don't think my father minds having me home, relying on him again?"

  He lifted a shoulder. “You work hard and earn your place."

  "You earned your place,” she agreed. “And you're an asset to the Range.” She saw his dismissing expression. “He told me so himself."

  Again his face registered neither surprise nor indifference. She could see something going on beneath the surface. There always was. His eyes were never empty. She pushed the hair back from his brow so she could see them. “So that's my whole sad sob story, the reason I can't sleep at night, my excuse for interrupting your well-deserved rest."

  He caught her wrist in his, turning the underside of his arm up toward the light. With a start, she saw the red mottled skin. She blinked in surprise, wondering where the scar had come from. How had she not noticed it? Before she could ask about it, he brushed his lips over her bruised knuckles. Her heart thudded from the sweetness. His raw voice vibrated over her skin. “You're not the only one who can't sleep."

  She opened her mouth to ask, but he rolled over her, silencing her with his mouth on hers. Letting the question pass, she allowed him to sooth her in his effective way.

  He lowered his lips over her throat, her breasts, her navel, and further. As she spread for him, those warm, electrifying rivulets of arousal followed his trail. His tongue chased her to a quick, exhilarating climax. It chased out all memory of that horrid night. Every worry and unanswered question danced out of her mind. She let him take her up again before she returned the favor. Watching those mysterious eyes, she straddled him and lowered around him, holding him back by the wrists, her need for control going up against the brute force of his.

  She set a frantic pace, determined to make them both forget the world and slowing when she saw the hard line of his jaw turn to stone. She smiled wide, mischief stirring along with the deep thrum of arousal, when he swore under his breath. Tightening around him, she slowed her stroke.

  She had to admire him. The man had control—he knew how to restrain himself. She was determined to break it, break him, undo him. Enjoying him, lavishing in the devastating emotions and sensations rolling through her, she chased him to the fine edge. Her admiration peaked when he held on longer than she'd have bet. A growl ground low in his throat before his head fell back on the pillow, his eyes closed and his breath whooshed out.

  She felt him empty inside her. It was enough to catapult her after him. She held herself trembling on the edge for a lovely, stunning moment. When she lowered to him, sated, she breathed a sigh of relief when his arms folded around her and he held her to him through the night.

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  Chapter Nine

  Judd was true to his word. He didn't sleep either. Neither of them crashed until early the next morning, just as blue dawn light began to finger through the bare bedroom window. She woke with sunlight shining in her eyes with all its Texas glory.

  Stella glanced over at him and saw he was asleep. She gazed at him for a long moment. He didn't look so hard and rough in sleep. No one did. She found it especially stunning to see a man of his mystery and strength completely vulnerable.

  His lashes were dark and long. A million women in Hollywood would kill for lashes like that, she mused with a smile. She brushed the hair back from his brow so she could see them. He stirred, rolling onto his back.

  His long, rangy body shifted under the covers. She ran her gaze over his brawny arms which he'd flipped over his head, exposing the growth of black underarm hair. Her eyes continued their journey down his exposed chest and ripped stomach where a thick line of hair cloaked his navel and disappeared under the thin sheet.

  A delicious thrill r
an through her. She'd had men. She'd always liked them long and rangy. But he added something new to that brand, something she was sure she'd never find anywhere else. It excited her beyond measure.

  Good thing she was still on the pill because she wasn't done with Judd Black. Not by a long shot.

  She rose and went to the window. The four acres Jim Black had fought Wild Willie Brusky for spread out before her eyes. Judd hadn't done much to the land. Wildflowers grew over the flat field. A small barn matched the sturdy, wood house. His black stallion grazed in the corral. Hills rolled in the distance toward the Range.

  She loved it. Wild Willie would've parked his doublewide and horse trailer here, not giving a thought to the land. She knew Judd respected it and saw it for its possibilities.

  Opening the top drawer of the big dresser across the room, she pulled out the first shirt she found, a blue button-up. She pulled it over her head and wandered into the den. There was a long, brown leather couch facing a sprawling entertainment center. All the wood furniture matched. She ran her hand over the smooth surface of the wide coffee table. He hadn't put anything over the windows or added any color. A hunter green hearthrug lay in front of the red brick fireplace, but that was as far as he'd walked in the home décor department.

  She saw that the coffee pot was on and the black liquid was already brewing. Waiting for it to finish, she walked on bare feet through the other rooms. The kitchen was the most promising. The cabinets were all glass-fronted and there was plenty of granite counter space. He'd really splurged there. She wondered if he used the brawny stove. There was a space for a table, but it was empty. There was a second bedroom, also empty.

  She knew he'd built the house from the ground up as well as the furniture in it. What had he wanted that second bedroom for? More possibilities? She heard the coffee ding and didn't have time to dwell on that thought.