by Cait London
“Hush. Come here.” Splaying her fingers through his hair, his lovely shaggy hair, Kallista drew his lips down to hers. Within her, she knew that for all the wrong men that had come at her, this was the right man—that here in this mountain clearing with dawn shimmering on dewy grass and daisies, this was the time for her new beginning.
Roman’s big hands smoothed her gently, running from her shoulders to her hips to her thighs. Against her mouth, he whispered, “I don’t want to hurt you, but this will—”
She cried out, a part of her yielding, tearing away, and Roman tensed, his face against her throat. He was shaking now, his skin damp as she dug her fingertips into his shoulders. “I can’t—”
His hands ran beneath her, lifted her gently, as his lips found her breast, suckling deeply, and the cords within her tightened, ignited and when they were fully joined, Roman thrust quickly. His movements were powerful, his body gathering her closer. Stunned, but not frightened by the intensity of his desire, shocked by her own body clenching his, her earth-shattering emotions and pleasure, Kallista could only grasp him closer. For the first time, she saw passion as beautiful, the movement of their bodies a dance. Inexperienced and uncertain how to meet him, Kallista held him tightly as he shuddered and lay still, clearly spent She hadn’t reached fulfillment, she knew, but the beauty of Roman’s desire was enough. To hold him tight and close, gave her pleasure; as she stroked his hair, peace she’d never known came to Kallista. She breathed in his scent, remembered how desperate he’d been for her, the sound of her name on his lips, treasuring her—“I’m sorry,” he said unevenly. “I...”
“Shush.” Though she wasn’t comfortable, stretched almost painfully, Kallista did not regret holding the man in her arms, his humble, desperate expression shocking her.
She watched him glance down at her body, dark and light skin tangled in the morning shadows. Hunger ignited in his black eyes before he leashed his emotions. His fingers dug into her hip, his palm warm and callused on her skin. “You’re cold. If you go into shock—”
Kallista watched him move through the forest shadows to the rippling stream. He crouched, studied her briefs for moments before dampening them in the clear water and walking back to her. He was big and graceful and beautiful, and shielding her body with the drape of her T-shirt, Kallista marveled that she had held such a powerful and gentle creature in her arms, had tasted him, and that he had shared her body. He studied her expression, and sadness came upon his own. “I’m big, and rough. I’m sorry.”
Kallista drew her shirt over her quickly and Roman turned away, dragging up his running shorts, as she cleansed her body. He looked so alone, so haunted as he stood with his back to her. Kallista rose to her feet, her legs unsteady, her femininity aching, burning.
Uncertain of him, she stood waiting. “Roman?”
He turned to her, anger lashing at her. She should have been frightened. She wasn’t. His stare ripped down her body, then back up to her hot face. “Lady, I just tore through your body and I still want you. You should have a bed and roses and sweet talk and I didn’t know how to—”
The agony of his expression caught her and Kallista took one step before her weakened legs gave way. Roman scooped her up in his arms and turned around in the small clearing as though seeking a soft place to lay her. “You’re so small,” he said unsteadily, concern lodged in every word. “So small and tight and damp and burning hot.”
Roman sat with her across his lap, rocking her and placing her head against his bare shoulder. She kissed the damp skin there and he tensed. “We’re in a fix,” he stated bluntly, after kissing her forehead.
She moved against the soothing caress of his hand between her legs, a gesture meant to soothe, not to stimulate. “You evidently are. You look frazzled and worried. I’m just peachy.”
“This isn’t funny,” he said grimly. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Oh, yes, you did,” she teased and his enchanting nipple leaped to the touch of her fingertip.
“This isn’t how it should be—stop that,” he ordered as she bent to suckle him. He tensed and stared at her as if he’d never seen her. “Why did you do that?”
“Because you’re so easy to startle. You look so stunned.”
“You’re still determined to have fun, huh?”
“I like to play.” She could have lain in his arms all that hot August day, forgetting her past, the ugliness she’d seen, replacing it with this beautiful, new bright day. She had the strangest sense of being clean, of coming home to something that was irrevocably innocent and right and bonding.
“No more now,” he whispered unsteadily.
Kallista lay back in Roman’s arms and studied him. His hand ran slowly over her thighs and rested on her femininity. “Are you sorry?” he asked gently, uncertainly.
“No. It just wasn’t—”
“What you expected?” he finished for her. He smoothed a strand of hair back from her forehead. His expression was a mixture of self-disgust and tenderness for her. “I haven’t been with a woman since before my wife and I wanted you too much. Those incredible sounds you make—I couldn’t wait. Now that says a whole lot for controlling myself, doesn’t it?”
“Hey, did I ask for control?” She’d found a painfully honest man, and she’d had him for one glorious moment. Would he always be this way?
“I’m short on control with you,” he admitted roughly.
She loved his blush, his boyish expression of guilt and studied the daisy she’d just placed in his hair. “Why? Why weren’t you involved with other women?”
“They didn’t seem right and that’s the first flower any woman has put in my hair.... It’s an odd thing to do, isn’t it? A woman putting flowers in a man’s hair?” His blush deepened beneath his dark tan and wary of her, he looked at the stream. “Nice day today. If we had our fishing gear we could fish.”
“Daisies are definitely you.... Don’t change the subject You said I seemed right?”
“Yes.” His answer came as a vow, his kiss tender upor her lips. “But I’m not telling you about Boone’s affairs.”
The realization hit her, sickened her. “You think I die this... because I wanted to know about Boone’s business? Because I wanted to get information out of you?”
He held her easily when she would have squirmed free “A man likes to do the running. I haven’t courted you, but I want you to know that I take what just happened as a serious matter, the gift of your body. Thank you.”
His formal thank-you wasn’t what she wanted—she wanted more tender kisses and hungry looks and deep unsteady groans, she wanted his body locked to hers and he’d given her a glimpse of flying and—
“Send a thank-you card. Who sets these outdated rules? You?” With that, Kallista stood free and with as much dignity as she could manage walked from Roman, a man she still wanted to feast upon, to devour. “I wasn’t after information on Boone’s account, Mr. Blaylock. You are a frustrating, slow-moving, thickheaded hunk of muscle and—” She realized she was muttering and despite her newly aching body, she set into a fast run to wipe the need of Roman Blaylock’s tenderness away.
She stopped suddenly and found him behind her, wary and rumpled, frustrated and aching with guilt. Because she was nettled, she decided to add to his thoughtful misery making him forget his guilt. She wouldn’t have Roman feeling guilty because he made love to her. She knew exactly what she wanted, and despite the pain, she would have repeated the experience with him. She served him a tidbit that Boone had said Western men never do. “I saw you blush, Roman Blaylock.”
“Damn it, Kallie. Men don’t blush,” he shot back scowling fiercely at her as though she’d scored a hit on his manhood.
She pushed her hand through her loose hair, grinned at him and said cheerfully, “I’m going to make your life unbearable.”
Kallista’s uncle didn’t fight fair. That evidence lodged painfully in Roman’s bruised side and his swollen black eye. He entered t
he community hall, ignored the hush that came over the extensive Blaylock family as he walked to hang his Western hat on the wall pegs with the other hats. Jasmine’s Belles’ Saturday Night Dinner and Dance had packed the community hall, a benefit for Doc Bennett’s new clinic. Jack’s Country Music band was tuning up and children who would dance with their elders milled around the floor.
He’d grown up, forced to dance with his mother when he was a boy, and he’d come to every dance since then—until his divorce. Now here he was, late and wearing a black eye, just two days after making love—after taking Kallista on that mountain trail. The sight of her body, soft and curved and fragrant, haunted his every moment. Roman took a deep breath and braced himself before he turned to his brothers and sister and their families. Dressed in a short, tight black sheath and high heels, Kallista was carrying a casserole from the large kitchen to the inside picnic tables. Her green eyes lasered into him with enough impact to make him catch his breath.
He couldn’t tell her he had to meet Jeremy, Boone’s only living son, to keep him from returning to Jasmine, to keep him from the land Boone prized. Jeremy wanted to sell the land, to challenge Roman’s executor status, and to become Boone’s rightful heir. But Boone didn’t want that, and Roman had had to meet Jeremy in Cheyenne, each with lawyers. The will was ironclad, and in his revenge, Jeremy had leaped across the table at Roman. The hot cup of coffee that he’d flung at Roman, had seared his throat.
When the meeting was done, Jeremy had the choice I have his rich monthly allotment severed... or to behave an keep away from Jasmine and Kallista, or any of Boone grandchildren.
Two days away from Kallista and Roman still felt he body open to his, that sweet tug of hunger on her lips, he light painful cry as they became one.
He frowned at Kallista, whose rigid expression told him to keep his distance.
He couldn’t. His heart was in her keeping, and wouldn’t beat warm again until he held her.
Roman attempted a smile at her and the split on his li threatened to open. She ignored him and plopped the casserole down on the table. She brushed her hand throug her loose hair, flipping it impatiently over her shoulder. She looked at Rio and crooked her little finger. Rio chuckle and nodded to Jack’s Country band, who struck up a fas moving tune, perfect for country-western dancing. Rio an Kallista whirled off onto the floor, followed by other couples, while a miniature herd of Roman’s nieces and nepl ews descended upon him.
“Uncle Roman,” one of Logan’s little girls was saying as Rio swung Kallista. under his arm. “You never come t stuff. Aunt Else just told Uncle Joe that now she knew wh you were buying up all the old furniture around Jasmin and hoarding it. She says you’ve got the nesting urge-What’s that mean, Uncle Roman? Chickens have nests, bu you’re too big, and why would you want to set on a nes anyway, and why do you need more furniture, and—”
To stop the flow of her questions, Roman picked her u and placed her on his hip.
Else came to stand beside him, her hand on his shoulde “Hello, pitiful. But at least you’re wearing a nice dres shirt. Here, let me take off the price tag.”
“Stop fussing after me, Else.”
With years of experience in tending Blaylock males, Else ignored his protest, and pushed his arm up to rip away the tag. “You’d better explain the bruises to her, and quick, brother dear. Your sweetheart is dancing with lover boy. If she thinks you were fighting over a woman—”
“Can’t explain and she doesn’t know she’s my sweetheart.” Roman burned a warning message to Rio, who had just winked at him as he set Kallista into a series of fast turns. Else studied Roman. “Well, you’ll feel better after you eat,” she said finally, in a tone that reminded him of their mother. “I’ve been saving Mother’s best cameo for you.”
“I’ll be over to get it,” he said, and Else would understand that he’d finally found the woman to wear it.
“Wild rambling roses are hard to tame, little brother. This one has a steel backbone. But you hurt her, and I’ll have Mother’s best wooden spoon after you.”
“Taming isn’t what I’ve got in mind,” he returned easily, used to Else’s worrying about him.
“I’ll bake the wedding cake,” she said, swatting his backside as she winked at him.
Roman wanted the soft feel of his lady in his arms. Dan and Hannah danced by and Dan threw Roman an amused look.
“That’s some shiner, Uncle Roman,” one of Else’s teenage boys said around the mouthful of carrot cake he’d just snatched.
“Awesome,” his buddy agreed, munching on a chicken drumstick. “Why are you glaring at Rio? What’d he do? Man, that dude is a mover—hey! Why did you give me this kid? Jeez, a little girl—Ruffled panties?” he gasped indignantly as his hand supported her bottom. “Here, Mike. You hold her.”
“Dance?” Roman asked Kallista after tapping Rio’s shoulder with enough punch to warn him.
“No,” she said, sending a brilliant smile at Rio. She wasn’t going to show Roman she’d missed him. A woman had her pride....
“We can all dance together, a threesome,” Rio offered cheerfully and stepped back when both Kallista and Roman scowled at him.
“People are watching.” Kallista stiffly gripped Roman’s shoulders and he placed his arms around her waist as the music began. “I cannot abide brawlers,” she stated coldly, looking away from him.
Unused to dancing, and to sharing his thoughts with a woman he treasured, Roman stopped moving. “I’m sorry.”
She avoided his eyes. “You look awful.”
If he couldn’t hold her just once more, his heart would tear away. He lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. “Can I hold you?”
“We’re on a dance floor. What exactly do you think you’re doing now?”
He needed to hold her, to know that she was safe from parents and an uncle who could harm her. “Holding you close to me, Kallista. Close to my heart.”
She shivered, a blush rising on her smooth cheeks. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Making love on the side of a mountain trail wasn’t what I’d planned. I didn’t want to be away from you.”
Her look up at him steamed, lashed out at him, as though he was a man who made love to a woman and then went whistling on his way. She hadn’t expected anything from him and that hurt. He’d told her he would be bound to her, if they made love.
Roman slid his hands down her arms to her hands and lifted them. He simply placed his face within her keeping and prayed that she wouldn’t turn him away.
Seven
A man can do a lot of work when he can’t sleep at night, Roman thought, as he eased out of his pickup and told the aging greyhounds to “stay.”
At six o’clock the morning after he’d seen Kallista safely home from the dance, Roman had already done a day’s work on Boone’s accounts. In the two days he was gone, Kallista had prowled through the house, and the exotic cinnamony and feminine scent kept him stirred too much to sleep. She’d tried to pick open the new lock on Boone’s steamer trunk in the living room. She’d been through the desk, and his divorce decree had been moved. She’d studied the big ledgers accounting for Blaylock and Llewlyn livestock. Roman noted with a smile that Kallista had gone through his bedroom, and had rummaged through his underwear drawer. The woman wouldn’t stop, and he appreciated her dedication to Boone.
Sometime during the hot August night, while every pore, every molecule, of him ached for Kallista, Roman had ordered those fancy at-home dancing lessons. Around four, he’d milked the cow that Titus loved, but couldn’t curl his arthritic fingers around the teats; Roman had made his rounds of the orchid greenhouse, checked the pigeons, and fed the livestock. Then he went to see Else, who served him breakfast and his mother’s cameo. With tears in her eyes, she ran her hand over his head, shook him lightly, and slid their mother’s ivory tatting shuttle from her apron. “Dad gave it to her. It was his mother’s and came West on the wagon train with her mother.”
; Rio, looking for a home-cooked breakfast, entered the kitchen and straddled a kitchen chair. “Feed me,” he said simply to his eldest sister.
“Here’s the butter churn. Get to work.” Else playfully thumped him on the head. By the time she served him pancakes, the butter had turned to a lump, waiting for the buttermilk to be drained and pressed away, and salt to be added. Rio quickly devoured the five huge pancakes on his plate, washing them down with two cups of coffee and orange juice.
Roman waited until he had Rio’s full attention. He looked at Rio steadily until his younger brother lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “The next time you dance with Kallista, it can be at our wedding,” Roman said.
Rio had almost choked on his last bite of pancakes, then he began to guffaw. Else’s wooden spoon, applied to his shoulder, reminded him of his manners and who ruled in her kitchen.
“Anytime,” Roman offered levelly, calling Rio out, if need be. “When Men’s Night Only comes around at the Bisque Café, you get lost.”
“Now why would I want to paint ceramics when you’re taking up all the good dog bowls?” But Rio’s look at Roman was a mixture of brotherly pleasure and amusement and love.
Now, standing on the sidewalk in front of the Bisque Café at ten o’clock in the morning, Roman gripped the tiny white box in his fist. His mother’s cameo pendant and a tatting shuttle handed down from a wagon trail bride weren’t exactly courting material. Roman closed his eyes, inhaled deeply to gather his courage, and wrapped his hand around the doorknob. He thrust the door open and stepped inside. A table of women, happily painting bisque and chatting, looked at him. Faced with a horde of curious stares and wanting to make his stand as a suitor for Kallista’s hand in marriage, Roman resisted the urge to run...and the flush rising up his nape.
“’Morning, ladies,” Roman said. He removed his hat as he and all the Blaylock males had been taught to do.
