Time Plains Drifter

by Cheryl Pierson

  And in that moment, he knew she was, too. Everything. It didn’t matter anymore what he wasn’t—he only knew what he was. Unbelievable hopes and unrealized dreams. His dream come true, from all those years past. A walking contradiction of propriety and—earthiness. Reality. More special than any fantasy or vision he’d ever imagined. He wanted her.

  “I’m real,” he’d said. “Just not alive. Not human.” He drew back from her and looked into the clear emerald pools that were filled with a mixture of heated desire, need, and—understanding. He had to be sure.

  “Jenni? You understand what I said?”

  She nodded. “Uh-huh.” She slanted her lips across his again. He responded hungrily, his tongue against hers. She drew back after a moment and began to trail kisses down his neck and chest, tasting his skin. “You’re ‘not alive,’” you said. “‘Not human.’” You feel alive to me, Rafe. If this is a dream, I never want—” she licked and nipped at the bare flesh of his shoulder, “to wake up.”

  He closed his eyes, letting the pleasurable feel of her wet mouth on his body wash over him, along with her voice. “Some things never change,” she’d said earlier. Her Oklahoma accent was a slow waltz to his mind, its lilting cadence urging him to accept what they had between them. Still, he couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t ever be dishonest with her, of all people.

  “Don’t you want to know—”

  She stopped him, placing two cool fingers across his lips, smiling at the tickle of his moustache against her skin. The smile faded as she absorbed the worry in his expression, the smoldering fire in his eyes, and made it her own.

  “Not now, I don’t. You asked me—earlier—if I felt it. Whatever it is between us. I do.” Debating with herself, she hesitated a moment before coming to a decision. “I want you, Rafe,” she murmured. “I trust you.” She nuzzled his neck.“It doesn’t matter now, who—or what—you are.”

  His hand fisted in the shimmering satin of copper, his chest filled at her quiet words.

  Dead...alive...Mexican...American...man...ghost...angel...

  His mind churned as Jenni kissed him once again. Accepting him, for whoever he might be. She loved him. She hadn’t said it yet, but he knew it by the gentle way her lips grazed across his, then claimed his mouth completely, as if that was the only way she had to let him know how she felt. They breathed together, as one.

  He answered her wordlessly, his tongue going into her mouth, fingers splaying and tightening against her scalp as he pulled her to him.

  She came across his bare chest, the stiffness of the material of her own blouse gliding with gentle abrasion across his nipples. He groaned in pleasure and felt her smile against his mouth. She made the move again as she lifted her lips from his, emerald eyes sparkling into his searing dark gaze.

  “We’ll talk later,” she assured him.

  “It’ll be too late to change your mind about me then,” he said, half-jokingly.

  “I won’t change my mind, Rafe.”

  The sweet sincerity in her voice and the promise in her eyes reassured him. He pulled her down silently. As their mouths melded once more, he rolled, taking her with him, changing their positions so he lay atop her.

  She gasped, yielding to him, her cool palms sliding over the fevered heat of his skin, across his chest and shoulders. He began to unbutton her blouse as he kissed her, his fingers moving deftly. He pushed away the first layer of material with his customary impatience, then started on the stays of her corset.

  She twisted beneath him at the loosening of the undergarment. He pulled her upright momentarily, whisking blouse and corset over her head, dropping them in a heap on the floor.

  In silent invitation, Jenni lifted her hand to him. She touched his side, and he flinched slightly as her fingers lingered over the very place the Bowie had gone into him earlier that day. Even though a red scar marked the spot, there was no pain for him, and he saw no puzzlement in her eyes...only concern.

  “Does it hurt?”

  It was as he had suspected. She’d seen what had happened, how bad it should have been...but wasn’t. And she had accepted it, unconditionally. They would talk later, as she’d said, but somehow, he felt he would find the words he needed to explain things to her. He shook his head slightly. “No.”

  A vulnerable uncertainty crossed her face for a moment. “Well, then, Marshal—what’re you waiting for?” He unfastened her skirt and petticoat, then made short work of the stockings and underpants.

  God. Rafe swallowed hard, reaching to trace the faded tan lines of last summer’s bikini wear across her shoulders. He moistened his lips, his teeth sinking into the lower one momentarily. His pulse raced as his gaze moved over her face—then lower, to her breasts, her flat belly, and the triangle of soft hair, below.

  ~*~

  His roughened hands were heaven, Jenni thought, as they glided downward over the sensitive swell of her breasts, his thumbs brushing the hardened nipples deliberately before tracking back upward.

  Her hands moved to clasp behind his neck, her fingers playing for a moment in the dark crispness of his hair. She pulled him to her, felt him hesitate for the briefest moment just before his lips followed his warm breath across her mouth.

  Her body molded itself to his, seeking his heat in the shadows of the cabin, the air cool from the storm that continued to blow outside. She opened her mouth for him, putting her tongue against his again, in a silken glide of mating. She nibbled at his bottom lip.

  He groaned, breathing into her, and she whimpered with the sheer force of the need she felt coursing through him beneath her fingertips. He was hard against her belly, and she felt the coil of desire wrapped tight inside her, waiting...waiting for Rafe to release it.

  But there was time. And this was wonderful. There was no rush in the deliberate touch of Rafe’s hands skimming her bare skin, no hurry to the sensual way his mouth slanted across hers, his tongue moving in and out in a teasing seductive show of what he intended to do when he made love to her.

  She moaned as she thought of what was coming, the heat building inside her until she no longer needed Rafe for warmth; needed him only because they were burning together, the fire consuming them both.

  ~*~

  He moved across her farther, trying to be gentle in his damned impatience. He lifted his head, breaking the kiss, his hands framing her face, fingers wrapped in the burnished silk of her hair. His thumbs traced the tilt of her chin, the soft column of her throat, feeling the shallow draw of her expectant breathing. Finally, he looked into the green depths, and in that moment, he knew he was lost to her. He was in love with Jenni Dalton, and there was no way he could let that happen, yet, no way to stop it.

  “Jen,” he breathed, his whisper barely audible above the pounding of the storm. His eyes searched hers. She reached to cup his stubbled cheek in the softness of her palm, the want in her eyes suddenly too much for him.

  He turned his head into the comfort she offered, kissing her palm. He knew he should give her one last chance to back out, to learn he wasn’t what she needed. Wasn’t who—or what—she thought he was.

  “Please, Rafe—”

  His gaze locked with hers, and at her beseeching look, he laid his fingers across her lips, blocking her words. “No, baby. Listen—I just want you to be sure about this—about me. We can stop right now if—if that’s what you want.”

  Jenni closed her hand around his hardness, eyes sparking with deviltry. “I don’t think so, Marshal d’Angelico,” she whispered softly. He drew in a sharp breath. “I think I might be...” she closed her eyes and let the rest of her words out in a rush. “I might be in love with you—a little.”

  Rafe grinned as she opened one eye to guage his reaction to her admission. “Only a little, querida?” He moved atop her, the dark mat of his chest rubbing maddeningly against the full softness of her breasts. “Then, I’ve got my work cut out for me tonight, don’t I?”

  Jenni raised her hips to him in answer and his hand moved
downward, touching her, testing her. Rafe gritted his teeth, forcing himself to go slow with her.

  “I want you crazy in love with me, Jenni,” he whispered. “So in love you’ll never think of leaving. Ever.”

  ~*~

  Jenni read the unasked question in his eyes. Was he her first? Was she a virgin? She wanted to be. If only she hadn’t believed in love so much before—before Rafe. She’d waited all her life for this—to be with someone she loved, who loved her just as much. She wished she hadn’t wanted love to come so badly—she’d made a terrible mistake, giving herself to a man who had ended up doing the one thing she’d been so afraid of—he’d used her then cast her aside like something broken. He’d moved on. Larry Michaels.

  Quick tears stung her eyes. She shook her head. “Rafe, I’d give anything if—”

  He swore softly, and as he did, Jenni knew she loved him much more than “just a little.” She was already as crazy in love with him as he’d wished for, and she understood there was no turning back. By his look, she also knew he was kicking himself for causing her the least bit of self-doubt, had only been curious—not judgmental.

  “It doesn’t matter, sweetheart. Not to me. I just didn’t want to hurt you, that’s all.”

  “You could never do that, Rafael.” She teased; the Spanish pronunciation rolling off her tongue as if she were the native speaker.

  Rafe laughed. “Pretty good. Remind me to teach you my full name—that’ll give you some practice.” The laughter faded from her eyes, the seriousness returning. He shook his head slowly, realizing what she was afraid of.

  “Jenni...I wouldn’t do that—betray you, like you’re thinking. I’m not that kind of—man.”

  Shyly, she pulled him to her.

  He came into her slowly, filling her—a perfect fit, as he knew they would be, together. She rose up against him, molding her flesh to his, her hips straining up to take him.

  He gave a low groan, not only in pleasure, but in the wonder of it—of her...of them. She moved under him, and his body responded with a will of its own.

  ~*~

  Jenni gasped at the feel of him—inside her, against her, and in her heart. This was love. She’d never known...and as she looked up into his face, she saw the same expression of discovery in his ebony eyes, mirroring her own feelings.

  “Rafe, I love you,” she whispered. “A lot more than... ‘just a little.’”

  A smile quirked his lips. “I know.” He came into her again in a long, slow glide, and she moved upward toward him in welcome. His breath escaped on a sigh of pleasured contentment. “But are you crazy—loco—for me yet? As much as I am for you?”

  “How do you say it in Spanish? ‘I love you,’ I mean?”

  “Te quiero,” he murmured quietly. “Te quiero, Jenni. And...I do.”

  His mouth slanted across hers once again, hot and possessive. This time, there was no question in her mind. He was promising her with his body and his words, his heart and his soul, that he would love her, cherish her, and share his life with her. She felt the sweet pressure building, building within her. She couldn’t respond with words...there was nothing lovely enough, good enough, no perfect thing to say to tell him how much he meant to her.

  She bucked up against him as her senses fragmented all around her, heard him whisper something to her, then try to disengage himself. But Jenni pulled him close, and for a moment, she felt his hesitation as he warred with himself before allowing the luxury of that final thrust home, spending his seed deep inside her.

  She took him deep, wrapping her legs around him and holding him to her, wanting him like she had never wanted any other man, and already afraid of losing him to some nameless insanity he could hardly bring himself to speak of.

  He lifted his head quickly and made a move once more as if to pull out of her, but again, she stopped him, smoothing away the dark sweat-damp spikes of hair from his forehead.

  The lost look Jenni glimpsed in his eyes haunted her. “I’ll never let you go, Rafe. Not as long as you—you want to stay,” she whispered. The uncertainty changed, becoming determination, then finally a hopelessness that shattered her heart.

  “I’ll have no choice about it, Jenni—whether I stay or go.” He laid his head on the pillow beside her ear, still inside her. “When I tell you I love you, that’s forever. I loved you before I ever knew you.” He smiled, that dream of his flitting across his mind once more. “If I...have to go, it won’t be because I want to.” He lifted himself to look into her face, his hand moving up to cup her cheek. “How could I leave you?” he asked, almost to himself. “How could I ever go... now?”

  Jenni caught her bottom lip between her teeth for an instant. “How could I ever let you?” Her fingers stroked his shoulder. “Make love to me again, Rafe. If this may be our only chance together, make it last. I want to give you something.” Her voice caught, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “It seems all I can do is make these memories with you...before you...if you...have to—”

  His mouth was on hers again, cutting off what she’d been about to say. She felt the fevered urgency in his kiss, the veiled desperation to hold this moment, to live in it forever.

  “Jenni, Jenni—” He muttered her name against her lips, against her throat, his fingers splaying through her hair. “You’ve given me so much more than this moment, querida. Don’t you know that? You’ve given me your love...yourself—”

  The rain drummed on the tin roof as he began to move inside her once more, and Jenni gave him one last gift. Although she might never understand where he came from, or what he was, she accepted him—unconditionally. If he left her, she would still love him. And she would wait. Forever.

  He would find a way back to her. Somehow.

  CHAPTER 16

  Becket Jansen was worried. Something had happened. Something that could cause everything to skew awry once again. He didn’t know what it was, but inside, he felt it was something big.

  The barmaid stopped by his table to refill his glass, her eyes curious. When he didn’t acknowledge her presence, she turned and walked away.

  He couldn’t be everywhere at once. And he didn’t even have all the information he needed to get the job done. Josiah Kemp didn’t scare him. Kemp was only a pawn in the game, if that’s how one could think of it. Though it wasn’t really a game, as he’d told Rafe earlier.

  Rafe d’Angelico proved to be just as stubborn this time around as he had the first time, when he’d been alive. Beck shook his head as he thought of it. He lifted the glass of sarsaparilla and drank a small sip. He didn’t allow himself to taste it, and thought he might as well have water or the finest scotch whiskey he could buy—it was all the same to him. He just couldn’t take up a table without buying something—it wouldn’t be right. And he needed a place to think.

  D’Angelico. Was he in trouble? Had Kemp followed him? Beck sat up straighter. Rafe wouldn’t be able to hold his own against Kemp; of that, Beck was certain. Rafe just didn’t care enough to want to gain the powers that Heaven could give him. Stubborn. He wanted his human-ness back. That was possible, but Beck didn’t want to dwell on it. Kemp hadn’t been at this long, either; wasn’t smart enough to realize once he had served Milo’s purpose, he would be consigned to the pit forever.

  He thought of his earlier conversation with the devil’s man. Kemp wasn’t confident. He was afraid. Worried sick over what would happen if he failed. Beck didn’t think Kemp was aware that Rafe and Jenni were even gone—yet.

  Kemp couldn’t be in two places at once, either, Beck reasoned. But somehow, that thought didn’t much ease his mind. He sighed.

  A stickler for organization and procedure, Beck’s thoughts turned to the others as he began to tick off the things he knew had been taken care of—so far. Anna and Kody were married, and completely in love with one another. That was about the only positive thing that had happened, so far, Beck admitted ruefully. Elizabeth was heartbroken over Kip’s mental lapse, and Joel had separated from the gro
up to try to make his own way. Beck wondered about the boy’s sudden decision. Was that one of the Dark One’s plays? He thought back to the scene in the bar, to the way the demon had toyed with Lance and Cash. Beck had been powerful; more so than Milo—this time.

  But what about the next time they came together? If only he knew which one he needed to throw his protection to! That answer hadn’t been given to him yet. He sighed, wondering when it would be revealed...if he would know, before it was too late? And just what, if anything, he could do to save the soul the demon wanted so desperately?

  ~*~

  Jenni’s fingers roved over Rafe’s back slowly as they lay, still joined. The skin was raised...scarred, and Rafe felt the questioning in her touch.

  “Rafe—”

  “Long time ago, Jen.” His voice was almost curt, but she ran her hand deliberately over the broad, muscular expanse of his back once more, as if determined to banish any secrets between them. He flinched from her touch, as if the flesh was still raw. He separated himself from her, rolling onto his back, then stared at the ceiling.

  “Who hurt you, darling?” she asked softly. She moved close to him again, and he knew she wouldn’t allow the physical separation to drive an emotional wedge between them. Not now.

  The instant angry spark of that particular memory guttered out, almost immediately, quenched by the concern in Jenni’s lovely features as she kissed his cheek. His mind returned, reluctantly, back through the long years, to the mission school, to Father Ignatius...and the rod he used for discipline.

  “I told you—the mission school was harsh. There was a priest there who was determined to do two things in his life.”

  Jenni twisted to look at him, the question in her eyes.