by Cait London
“The sack is in the steamer trunk. Boone wrote your name on it. I’d say you made that pirate princess goal.”
Kallista watched a rabbit scurry through the brush, just where Boone and she had planted daffodils. “I planted bleeding hearts and lily of the valley at Boone’s house. I haven’t planted anything since. I’m not usually around to see them grow.... I’ve always been restless. I suppose it comes from my mother lugging me from place to place. I know about you, Roman Blaylock. Your mother, Garnet, was a leader and as respected in the community as Else. All seven of the Blaylock children knew exactly who they were and where they were going. You knew your heritage, that you’d descended from those mountain men that settled the valley. How does that feel?”
Roman scanned the small clearing, the woodpile overgrown by brush, the red-barked pines shooting up into the blue sky like spears. “It locks a heart to the land.”
“You speak about your heart as if it weren’t part of you.”
“It’s starting to stir a bit. You’re a woman who doesn’t leave things the same, like a fresh spring wind.” His smile was wry, charming, warm upon her, and her heart flipped and quivered within her.
Kallista stood and rubbed her trembling hands upon her thighs. She couldn’t trust this man. Or could she? His words were too pure, too simple to be believed. “Was what Debbie said about you true? That you hurt her?”
Roman lifted his head to stare at the mountains, his sleek black hair riffled by the breeze, his fists clamped on the brim of his hat. “I told you before I never hurt her. I wanted...a life, what I’d seen my folks and the rest of the Blaylocks have—nothing exciting or special, just a good solid marriage. She didn’t want me and it wasn’t a marriage,” he said as though the truth had been torn out of him. “After our wedding night, we had separate bedrooms.”
He’d shocked her again, giving her a private insight into his marriage. “I know. The scent of her perfume was in one—I remember it—in the bathroom leading from the bedroom. Yours was in another room, and in the tiny bathroom by the kitchen. You weren’t sleeping together.”
He looked down at his mocassins. “A man doesn’t need much room to shave and except for my...my little girl, I wasn’t at the house much. After Michaela died, we didn’t see each other for days. No, we never slept together. Not even that first night.”
Kallista inhaled sharply. Roman was a physical man; his masculine aura seeming to pulsate when he was near her. In the corral, she’d seen proof of his desire. “Never?”
Roman frowned down at her. “You’re pushy, Miss Kallista. Pushy and nosey.”
“You did not have sex with your wife?” she asked, disbelieving that a man who kissed like silk and fire would live for years without—
“She didn’t want me.” The answer came too blunt, an admission that must have hurt his pride.
“Sex stopped with marriage, so you found other women. That happens.” She’d seen enough in her lifetime, starting at an early age. Her first images were that of her mother beneath a man, both naked. From her mother’s affairs, Kallista knew everything about sex, the sounds, the mechanics, the need to move to a new partner. Had she ever been a child? Only with Boone...
She hadn’t meant to taunt Roman, but his hackles were raised, his pride scored. “You know so much, do you? Well, take this in those sharp teeth and chew on it—Debbie was my high school sweetheart. I always knew we belonged together...I felt...I felt protective of her, like she needed me. It wasn’t a hot storm, but I didn’t expect that. I respected Debbie too much to...before marriage, and later...”
He scowled at Kallista. “That sassy mouth just dropped open. She said no. I honored that. You think I’d take a woman who didn’t want me?” he demanded too quietly.
His pride had been scarred, the shocking, painful edges left open to her; she should have been afraid of him—she wasn’t. She wanted to place her hand along his hard cheek and comfort him.
After studying her expression, Roman reached out and grabbed her jacket. He jerked her closer to glare down at her. “You’re not sweet, lady. When I married, I took a vow to be true. You keep pushing me and—”
Kallista licked her lips, not frightened by Roman Blaylock, rather she wanted to grip his head and bring his mouth down to hers and feed upon him.
A shudder ran through Roman’s tall body. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“How?”
“All saucy and hot, just waiting for me to make a move. Here we are, alone. You without protection—”
He sounded outraged, like a father, like Boone, and yet... She placed her palms on his flat stomach and fluttered her lashes up at him. “Protection? Birth control?”
Roman sucked in his breath. The red color started rising in his tanned cheeks and his scowl deepened. “You’ve got a fast, hot mouth, lady. I meant that we’re up here alone and—” He cleared his throat and said roughly, “You’ve got no one to defend you, ah, against my basic urges.”
She almost laughed; he seemed sweet and vulnerable. Roman had just admitted that he hadn’t taken his wife and at the moment he was displaying signs of an outraged male who held honor high. She knew men who had kicked honor into a corner, spat on it, and took what they wanted. To the rest of Jasmine and the Blaylocks, Roman had portrayed a happily married man, he’d taken another man’s child for his own, and he held Kallista when she cried—as if she were delicate. She wasn’t; she’d learned to take care of herself at an early age. His honesty had shocked her and in that instant, she saw why Boone had trusted Roman Blaylock with his fortune. Roman loomed over her, staring darkly at her and she couldn’t resist. She staged a quiver and fluttered her eyelashes. “Little weak me, and big strong you?”
Roman closed his lids and groaned. Then he reached down, swung her up into his arms and walked toward Loves Dancing. He tucked her head upon his shoulder and fitted his chin along her cheek.
“You know I could make this difficult for you, don’t you? When it comes to defending myself, I’m pretty good. All it would take is—”
He snorted and held her closer. “You talk too much.”
“Why are you carrying me?” she asked, too curious about this man holding her.
“It feels right. When are you going to start telling me where to go?”
“Now you talk too much. I’m deciding how to make you pay.”
“You’re doing plenty of that without trying,” he admitted ruefully.
“How?”
When Roman didn’t answer, she settled into his arms and gave herself to the unique sense of being treasured. Temporarily. Just to test Roman, she slid her arms around his neck and turned her body to him. He trembled instantly, shuddered, and stopped walking. His voice was rough and deep as though torn from him. “You are a soft woman, Kallista Bellamy.”
Surprising herself, she kissed the side of his neck, just once and lightly, and Roman shivered. His arms tightened around her and he looked at her, clearly shaken. “What was that?”
Later she might excuse her actions, laying them on her emotional return to the cabin. But for now, she gave into her instincts, that something good and true lurked within Roman Blaylocks. “That was for Titus and Dusty...for you taking care of them. I checked with Doc Bennett. You see that they get their checkups and medication. You’re regularly investing for them at the bank and that bunkhouse has been insulated with new heating and cooling systems. That new whirlpool probably helps those old broken rodeo bones.”
“They’re good men. They were Boone’s friends. Don’t mention the new heating and cooling systems to them. They like that old woodstove and open windows and think the vents are fans,” he stated as if he was merely caring for valued family members and it was no burden.
Then he slowly lowered her feet to the ground, and Kallista forced herself to breathe as his dark look searched her face. Slowly his hands moved to her hips, opening and locking upon the softness firmly. “You’re going to tear the heart out of me, Kallie,” he whispere
d roughly.
“How do you know?” she returned and wondered how his mouth would taste upon her lips, her body. Like fever? Like silk? Like a burning wind to set her aflame? Or like freedom?
Like lightning, she decided, burning her as they touched.
“I just know.” His gaze slid to her lips and lowered slowly to her chest, drawing her softness against him. He inhaled unsteadily and closed his eyes, as if everything in him had come to this one moment, this one caress. “I want to look at you. Does that frighten you?”
She shivered. She should be setting up her shields against him, and instead, she held very still in the warm strength of his arms, the gentle caress of his palms over her hips. The sense that she had come home was too terrifying to explore. Before she could catch her breath, Roman’s large hands eased slowly up to her breasts and cradled them gently.
“Kallista,” he whispered roughly, as if in aching awe, and eased her jacket and sweater from her.
“Roman,” she murmured, wanting him close and warm against her in the sunlight
“Look at you. You’re so perfect in my hands. Beautiful,” he whispered unevenly, drawing her gaze down to where his hands held her softness, his thumbs running gently across the lacy cups of her bra. He touched the dark peaks beneath the cloth and Kallista dug her fingertips into his shoulders as she sensed what he was about. Roman slowly bent his head to her breast and gently suckled her through the fragile cloth.
Riveted by surprise, by the beauty of his dark head at her breast, the sensations he created, she gripped his shoulders, digging in her fingers and tried not to cry out.
He shuddered and groaned. “You’re burning, Kallie,” he whispered rawly.
“Roman!” she cried out desperately, as he put her away from him with one last glance at her breasts. She shivered as Roman quickly replaced her clothing and turned away, his shoulders taut and his legs braced wide apart.
Their heat had shot to the danger zone so quickly, she hadn’t time to set her defenses against Roman.
“There’s too much fire in you, Kallie,” he whispered roughly. “I’m sorry.”
She could have hit him. He’d taken his big boot and squashed the beauty of the moment. Only the torment of his expression stopped her from ripping him apart.
Roman briskly bent and lifted her to her horse, placing the reins in her hand. The brush of his fingers stayed, just for a heartbeat, and then slid away to fist in Loves Dancing’s black mane. “It won’t happen again,” he said in a tone that was a promise from his heart.
Loves Dancing, sensing the tension before the humans, shifted restlessly, and Roman soothed her with his hands and his voice, “Easy, girl.”
Easy. It was all so easy for him, Kallista thought, wishing her unsteady emotions could settle as easily as the mare’s. She studied Roman, the muscle clenching in his jaw. All that iron control was firmly locked in place.
“I’ve gotten to you, haven’t I?” she asked cheerfully, just to nettle him more and to shield the emotions surging within her. She locked her hands to the saddle horn to keep them from reaching for him, for the taste of honor and gentleness and hunger.
His large hand slid to her thigh, gripping her gently. “Yes, damn it.”
“You’ll have to come out and play if you want me,” she whispered and knew she’d have all of him, the dark secrets and what bound him to Boone and more. She wouldn’t stop until every forbidden edge of Roman Blaylock had been given into her keeping. “And I don’t make promises.”
“The problem is that I do want you. When a man takes a woman’s body, it’s a promise to respect and honor, the same as if he’s taking a bride. I know now that I was never really married, not my heart and soul bound to a woman.” He swung up on Massachusetts and before they began the journey down the mountain, Roman’s black eyes leveled at her, hot and hungry and dark with promises and she knew, when he was ready, he’d come for her.
Two weeks later August baked the paved streets of Jasmine. Kallista pared the rough clay seams of a greenware elephant; she smirked as she dampened the smoothed edges. She’d gotten to Roman on a level that had surprised her and he was holed up, wary of her. Good. He didn’t know how to act with her, and for now, she had the advantage.
When she’d stopped at the ranch earlier, bringing Dusty and Titus their favorite chocolate and coconut cream pies from Mamie’s Café, Roman had been at work, loosening an old fence post that had been broken. Without his shirt, his chest gleamed in the sunlight, powerful muscles shifting beneath his tanned skin. Kallista’s mouth went dry, and she barely heard Dusty say, “He’s trying to make up for lost time and he’s got a bit on his mind lately. Worse than usual. But me and Titus had to go to the doc today and Roman remembered the appointment. He always goes with us, just to see that we tell the doc all our problems and that we get our medicine.”
Roman’s eyes had locked to hers and the sunlight blazed brighter between them. Then he reached for his shirt, hanging on a nearby post, pushed into it, and began shoving the old post to loosen it. Kallista had appreciated Roman’s fine taut bottom beneath his jeans, his long legs braced against the ground, powerful shoulders flexing beneath the faded fabric.
Kallista had wanted to go to him and wrap her arms around that beautiful, rippling, powerful back, claiming him.
“He tries to do his best, but it’s a whole heap of work out here, running these two ranches...even with part-time help, and the Blaylocks pitching in. Then he spends half the night with records and such,” Titus had murmured. “I ain’t havin’ no woman come to the bunkhouse and clean for us like Roman said. A bunkhouse is sacred man’s territory. I ain’t in the mood for frilly curtains and flowers everywhere. I ain’t havin’ no dripping coffeemaker when a man’s coffee ought to boil hard on the stove, and them grounds is good for the gullet.”
While Dusty chewed on the “disabilities of having a female around,” Kallista had studied Roman.
She wondered what he was in the mood for, his powerful body taut, moving impatiently. Suddenly he’d turned, strode to her, jerking off his gloves and demanded, “What do you want?”
Fascinated by the damp whorls of hair on his chest, the span of his gleaming tanned shoulders, the dark line leading down into his jeans, she managed to keep from drooling. Little kept her from saying, “You.” Instead she’d said, “August is hot.”
“Yes,” he’d said. “Usually cools down by the end of the month.”
“They’re simmerin’,” Dusty had noted as Roman’s black hot gaze had ripped down, then up her body; in response, heat skittered over her skin, lodged deep in her belly and Kallista wanted Roman making love with her....
“Yep, and there will be kids aplenty if those two get together. Both is hot natured and soft when it counts. It’ll be good to have kids on the place again, like Boone did,” Titus had added sagely as Kallista forced herself not to grab Roman’s black head and draw him down for another soul-searching kiss.
The sound of running water brought her back to the shop; Kallista held up the tiny dragon greenware she’d been holding, and thought of the day Roman had come to challenge Debbie. Another man was taking his wife and she had emptied their bank account; his pride had been torn and he’d had to ask Boone for help.
Kallista knew him on a level that went deeper than words. She knew she wanted Roman Blaylock to be her first lover and when she was finished feeding upon him, satisfying whatever kept her from sleeping, she’d be free to move on—and she’d untangle Roman’s hold over Boone’s estate.
Just then the shop bell jingled merrily, and Roman stood there, his Western hat in his hands. “I’m taking Boone’s calves to sale. You can come if you want...to see how the sale and books are handled.”
His gaze ran softly down her body, like gentle hands soothing and exciting her. “You’re dressed just fine. Do you ever wear anything but black sweaters and jeans and those combat boots?”
Roman’s blatant honesty pleased her and his wary expression caus
ed her to want to leap upon him. She washed her trembling hands free of the greenware mud, aware that Roman had come to stand behind her in the cleaning room. She turned to him, drying her hands on a towel. “Sometimes I wear nothing at all,” she said, testing him with a steamy look.
After his stunned expression and a heavy swallow, Roman scowled. “I’ll just wait outside with Dusty and Titus.”
Pleasure zinged merrily through Kallista. She loved teasing Roman; he responded magnificently, warily, as though unused to the play and she intended to play. She intended to tear away his shields and find the real Roman Blaylock. “Fine. Send them in, will you? I want to ask them to take care of the shop while I’m gone. We have to take care of your fifty-one percent, after all.”
At the auction barn, Roman’s business skills surprised Kallista, so did his large hand wrapped warmly around hers, and his fingers laced with her own. “Cattle prices are down,” he explained as the calves were sold in a lot.
“Isn’t there some way to keep them? Look at their eyes, Roman, all big and soft and—” she pleaded.
His hand curled around her nape. “Boone was a cattleman, honey, so am I.”
“But they’re just babies,” she returned hotly and took his free hand onto her lap, gripping it tightly. “Do something.”
Roman shook his head, then looked down to where she held his hand. His fingers laced with hers, slowly, methodically, palm against palm, as if fitting them for bed, and for life. “No. I’m following Boone’s instructions.”
Kallista didn’t think; she went for the alternative method. She gripped his shirt with both fists and jammed her face against his. “Roman, I want those calves. I’ll trade you my forty-nine percent in the Bisque Cafe. I’ll work for free, only do not sell those calves. Please,” she added a breath later.
