Saxon's Lady

by Stephanie Janes

  "I don't know. I wasn't thinking." She flushed and buried her face against his chest. She was rapidly begin­ning to regret her impulsive suggestion. She should have guessed Garth would have conservative ideas about ap­propriate behavior in this sort of situation. The one other time he had made love to her had been in her small, single bed back in Hawk Springs.

  "Honey, I don't think that rug is going to be very com­fortable."

  "Never mind," she breathed, not wanting to spoil the moment. "I don't know what got into me. Let's go to the bedroom." Embarrassed now, she started to turn away from him.

  His eyes dropped to her tip-tilted breasts and he pulled her back into his arms. "No," he declared. "We'll try the rug if that's what you want. God knows, at the moment I don't particularly care where we are. I just know I have to have you and soon or I'll come apart. I don't think you really understand what you do to me."

  He eased her down onto the thick white rug, lowering himself beside her. He bent his head to kiss the small val­ley between her breasts and then he took a nipple into his mouth. Her momentary shyness fled beneath the loving onslaught.

  Devon cried out softly and arched herself against him. She clenched her fingers into his hair as the level of her own excitement leaped several notches.

  "This is what I spent so many nights remembering," Garth told her with deep satisfaction. "The way you come alive in my arms. It's like nothing I've ever known, Dev­on."

  He flattened his palm on her stomach and the heat of it seemed to permeate her body. Then he was unfastening the tight jeans and sliding them down over her hips. The lacy, nude-toned underpants came off with the designer denim and in a matter of seconds Devon was lying naked beside Garth.

  When she opened her eyes she saw him watching her and felt herself warming all over under the brilliant, posses­sive, raw hunger in his gaze.

  "Garth?"

  "I want you so badly, Devon." He kissed her linger-ingly. "So badly." He tangled his fingers in the dampen­ing curls between her thighs. "And you want me, don't you? Say it. Please, say it, Devon."

  "I want you," she vowed. "More than I've ever wanted anything else in my life." Including her so-called free­dom, she realized distantly.

  The crucial, but fleeting thought was driven from her mind as Garth touched the secret part of her. Gently he opened her legs and found the sensitive core of her need. She knew she was growing moist and soft under his touch and the knowledge of her uninhibited response made her retreat for an instant. Her quick, sizzling reaction to Garth was a little unnerving.

  "What's the matter, Devon?" He continued to stroke her, waiting for her to relax again. "Don't be afraid. I know it's been a long time but I won't hurt you. I'd never hurt you."

  "I know that. It's just that you make me so... so wild. I'd forgotten how you affect me." Her clear eyes met his. "It frightens me a little, Garth."

  "You'll get used to the feeling, I promise." He lowered his head again, this time to trail a string of soft, nibbling kisses down her stomach. "You taste so good. Hot and spicy."

  She shivered again and clutched at his shoulders as he began to string the kisses even lower. Making love on the rug was adventurous enough for her, she realized. This kind of intimacy, even with Garth, was too much. She tried to urge him back up along the length of her body.

  "Garth, please, I don't... I can't..."

  But Garth ignored the stumbling protest and the sharp little nails digging into his shoulders. Instead he took his time exploring her in ways that left Devon shuddering with reaction. She soon stopped struggling and gave herself up to the exquisite sensations he was arousing within her.

  Garth might have limited notions about the proper time and place for making love, but it was obvious he put no limitations whatsoever on the act itself. Devon was breathless and desperate by the time he had finished teaching her the true meaning of being adventurous.

  "Please, Garth, oh, please. I can't wait any longer." She lifted herself against him, pleading now for the release only he could give her.

  "Neither can I," he said thickly as he pulled away from her to unfasten his belt and slide out of his pants.

  When he came back down beside her, Devon sighed and went into his embrace with all the certainty of a homing pigeon returning to its mate.

  "This is where you belong, Devon. Here in my arms." Garth sprawled heavily on top of her, drinking in the warmth of her mouth as he fitted himself between her legs.

  Devon felt the hard, throbbing maleness pressing close and she opened herself to take Garth deep within her. He started to enter her, felt the tightness and paused. But when she sank her nails back into his shoulders and raised her hips, he hesitated no longer.

  "Devon!"

  She made a small, muffled sound as he drove himself into her. For a few seconds her body felt unbearably full. Garth lay still, trembling above her, while he waited for her to adjust to him.

  "It's been so long," she whispered.

  "Too long." As he felt the rush of her quickly return­ing excitement, he began to stroke slowly and rhythmi­cally.

  Devon found the tempo and echoed it, clinging tightly to the hard, muscled frame above her. Her mind whirled with the force of the building crescendo.

  When the finale came she wrapped herself around Garth and called his name in a soft litany of the love she could no longer deny.

  Garth felt the tiny shivers that signaled her release, felt the gentle way her body clenched around him and then he heard the sound of his name on her lips. That was all it took to pull him over the edge after her. His hoarse excla­mation of satisfaction made Devon cling to him even more tightly and they held on to each other as the glittering fragments of the climax faded slowly around them.

  I love him, Devon thought as she came slowly back to reality. I've loved him all along. What am I going to do?

  She felt Garth stir in her arms, lifting himself on his el­bows. His eyes were gleaming with a lazy satisfaction that was all male and as old as time. Devon gave a soft, bro­ken laugh and tried ineffectually to shake him.

  "Don't look at me like that," she ordered.

  "Like what?"

  The question was an honest inquiry. He wasn't teasing her, Devon realized. He was unaware of the blatant evi­dence of his own masculine contentment and possessive-ness. It radiated from him like an aura but he wouldn't know that. "Never mind," she whispered, not knowing how to put her rebuke into words. How did you tell a man to stop looking like a conquering hero?

  "Devon?" "Hmm?"

  "Are you finally through running from me? Will you stop fighting me now and come home where you be­long?"

  Some of her sweet lassitude began to evaporate under the intensity of his gaze. There was no point looking for loopholes and she knew it. Still, she felt obliged to point out the obvious before she finally gave in to the inevita­ble.

  "It won't be easy, Garth. Do you realize that? We're different, you and I. I can't give you my word that I'm going to be able to be the kind of wife you want."

  He stopped her gentle warning with his mouth. When he lifted his head again he was smiling faintly. "You are ex­actly the kind of wife I want."

  "I've changed, Garth," she told him earnestly. "You knew a different version of me when I lived in Hawk Springs."

  "You couldn't possibly change so much that I'd no longer want you."

  She shook her head. "I'm not so sure about that. You like the traditional, practical things in life and you take them so seriously. Meat and potatoes at dinner and four-wheel-drive vehicles. When was the last time you had a party or took a vacation? Have you ever gone to Hawaii and sat on a beach and done absolutely nothing? Have you ever bought a pair of sexy black briefs for yourself?"

  His eyes widened and some of the lazy satisfaction went out of him. "Devon, you're not making much sense. There's no point trying to convince me we're not going to make it together, because I know we are. Stop looking for an exit, honey. There isn't one."

 
Devon let out her breath and closed her eyes. "I hope you know what we're doing."

  "I usually do," he reminded her with totally uncon­scious arrogance. Then he kissed her again and rolled re­luctantly off of her. "Good Lord, we've got a lot of packing to do."

  Devon's wistful mood vanished in the face of yet an­other example of Garth's boundless pragmatism. Trust him to start worrying about something as mundane as packing right after he'd finished making shattering love to her.

  One last possible way to avoid the unavoidable leaped into Devon's brain. She voiced it before giving herself a chance to think about the consequences. "There's one al­ternative to marriage that we haven't considered," she said quickly.

  He sat up, running his fingers through his hair before reaching for his pants. "What's that?" He didn't seem particularly interested.

  Devon gathered her courage and plunged in with her suggestion. "We could try things out between us, Garth."

  He swept a glance down the length of her, his mouth tilting slightly in amusement. "We've already tried things out twice and they work better each time. I'm looking forward to trying them out again as soon as I get a ring on your finger."

  "That's not what I meant."

  "What did you mean?"

  Devon bit her lip and then said baldly, "I'm suggesting we have an affair before we get married."

  He was halfway to his feet. His head came around, an astounded expression on his face. "You're suggesting what?"

  "You heard me," she said mutinously. "I think we should become lovers. Get to know each other before we make the commitment of marriage. Marriage is a big step, Garth. You, of all people know that. Surely you don't want to make another mistake?"

  "Lovers? You want to have an affair? In Hawk Springs?" He was on his feet now, but he seemed to have forgotten his pants. He stood in front of her, towering over her with his feet braced slightly apart, his hands on his hips. He seemed totally unaware of his own magnificent nudity. His eyes had gone very cold and very cloudy and there was a savage tightness around his mouth. Garth's gathering anger was a storm about to burst. "You're sug­gesting I take you back to Hawk Springs as my mistress? Are you out of your mind? Hawk Springs? People in Hawk Springs don't have mistresses. They have sleazy one-night stands that both parties regret the next day and that the whole town talks about, or else they get married. There's no in-between in a small town. And you damn well know it."

  "I wasn't suggesting I go back with you. I could stay here." Devon clutched at her emerald silk shirt, feeling woefully unprepared to face the cataclysm. She was al­ready wishing she'd kept her mouth shut. The easy, satis­fied mood that had descended on Garth immediately following the lovemaking had vanished, leaving behind a very angry man. She should have guessed Garth's reac­tion.

  "Oh sure. You stay here where you can run free all week long in the city and I'm supposed to spend most of my weekend driving the interstate so I can spend Saturday night with you? Don't be an idiot, Devon. Don't you think everyone in Hawk Springs is going to figure out what's going on?"

  "Is that all you care about? What the people in town say about you?" she flared, feeling pressured. "I'd have thought you wouldn't give a damn."

  "I don't give a damn what anyone says about me," he exploded. "I'm trying to protect you. Can't you get that through your head?"

  "I don't care what anyone back in Hawk Springs says about me!"

  "Well, I sure as hell do. And even if I didn't, I wouldn't tolerate the kind of situation you're suggesting. I'm a working man, Devon. I don't have time for fancy play­things and that's what mistresses are. I want a wife. A partner. A companion and a lover. I want someone I can talk to over breakfast. A woman who can keep my bed warm at night. I want a woman who understands ranch­ing, someone who won't expect me to perform like a sex­ual athlete after I've spent sixteen hours delivering foals. Someone who won't expect me to entertain her. I don't have time for toys, regardless of how good they are in bed. Is that clear?"

  "Very clear." Devon knew she was flushing all the way down to her breasts. It had been a stupid idea. A last-ditch tactic that she should have known would be useless. She would have given anything to retract the whole thing. She scrambled to her feet, pulling on her panties and draping the blouse around herself in a precarious fashion. "Ex­cuse me. I'm going to take a shower." She turned toward the hallway, intent on fleeing.

  She didn't get far. Garth put out a hand and clamped it very firmly around her wrist. He didn't use any force but Devon was halted as effectively as if she'd reached the end of a rope. Slowly she turned to face him.

  "You promised to marry me, Devon."

  "Yes."

  "I don't want a mistress. I don't want a part-time lover. I want a wife."

  "Yes." Garth always knew what he wanted, Devon thought. He didn't mince words or offer compromises. He didn't have time for toys and playthings and games.

  "Be honest with yourself, Devon. You want me as much as I want you."

  "Yes."

  His expression softened. "It's time to stop testing the end of the rope, honey. I've already given you all I'm going to allow. Hell, I've given you all I can without driving myself nuts. You've had your year and now it's time to come home. You're acting like a skittish filly who doesn't have any good reason to be afraid but who insists on fighting the bridle anyway."

  "You have such a way with words, Garth." Devon wrinkled her nose in chagrin as the last of her resistance gave way. "You could have found a better metaphor."

  "I know horses. I don't know metaphors." He tugged her slowly toward him and brushed his mouth across hers. "I also know you, Devon. And you know me. It's going to work out between us. Can't you trust me, honey?"

  Of course she could trust him. This was Garth, whose word was good until hell froze over. That wasn't the point, Devon thought in resignation. But she didn't seem to be able to find any other logical points to use in the argu­ment, so she did what most people and horses did around Garth Saxon. She yielded to the inevitable.

  Four

  If it had been anyone other than Garth Saxon organizing the packing of her possessions, Devon knew she would have been amazed and astounded. But she was familiar with the quiet, calm, deliberate manner in which Garth worked, and it was really no surprise when he announced they were ready to leave shortly after noon the following day.

  "That's it, then," Garth said as he loaded the last box into the pickup. "Your landlady has the key and she'll let the movers in tomorrow. They'll handle the books, kitchen stuff and that damn silly furniture. We've got everything else. Let's get going. With any luck we'll be home in time for dinner.''

  Devon thought of the large roast, the overcooked vege­tables and the heavy pie that would probably be waiting. "Is Beverly Middleton still your housekeeper?"

  "Sure." Garth cinched down the load in the back of the pickup. "She was working for the previous owners when I bought Hawk's Flight. Knows the place from one end to the other. Why would I change housekeepers?"

  "Why indeed," Devon murmured as she walked back up the stairs to take one last look around the neat little flat that had been her home for a year. Bev Middleton had cooked and cleaned for the elderly couple who had owned the stud farm before Garth bought it. She was a good-hearted, friendly woman, but short on imagination, espe­cially when it came to food. Garth had been quite content to have her stay on and manage his house for him. Her style suited him perfectly. Garth saw no reason to change things that already seemed to work. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it," was one of his mottoes.

  Feeling strangely ambivalent Devon walked through her apartment, checking drawers and opening closet doors. Garth stood in the doorway and watched, his expression remote and unreadable.

  "It's time to go, Devon," he said quietly.

  "I know." She stood at the graceful bay window, her fingers stuffed into the back pockets of her designer jeans. "It's such a pretty little apartment, Garth. I've been so comfortable here. It was the first place th
at was all mine."

  He hesitated and then moved to stand behind her. "You won't miss it when you've been back in Hawk Springs for a while." He put his hands on her shoulders and dropped a small kiss into her hair.

  Devon felt the gruff gentleness in him and knew that Garth wasn't insensitive to her feelings at that moment. In his own way he was trying to reassure her that she was making the right decision. After all, she told herself rue­fully, it was his decision and his decisions were almost al­ways right.

  That thought amused her and the uncertainty she had been feeling vanished. The truth was, going back to Hawk Springs was her decision, too. She had made it a year ago, and last night it had been reinforced when she had finally acknowledged the reality of her love for Garth. She turned around with a decisive movement.

  "We'd better get going if we're to be in Hawk Springs in time for dinner."

  "Yes," he agreed, studying her assessingly, "we'd bet­ter move."

  Garth watched her stride across the white carpet and something inside him tightened. With her new, decep­tively casual hairstyle, expensive jeans, blouse with pad­ded shoulders and tiny, strappy leather sandals she looked very trendy. She had adapted well to her new life-style. It worried him that she'd been able to do it so easily.

  He had been so sure that she would miss Hawk Springs within a few weeks or months. He knew he'd hoped that she would decide she'd make a mistake and come rushing back to familiar territory, back to his waiting arms. In­stead, she'd settled right into a life-style that should have been totally alien to her. The two and a half years she'd spent in Los Angeles while in college had probably pre­pared her to make the transition to the city again last year. Apparently she'd had no trouble at all learning big-city ways.

  Not all big-city ways, though, Garth thought with deep thankfulness as he followed Devon downstairs to the truck. Some part of her had known she belonged to him. There had been no other men. She'd acknowledged that and he believed her. Devon didn't have it in her to lie. One of the reasons he wanted her so badly was that he knew he could trust her. Trust ranked very high on his list of priorities in a wife. It was number one.