''Jesse.'’ His name was a breathy sigh on her lips, a whisper of salvation as she turned to him. When she scooted over it seemed only natural that he settle next to her in the narrow space. Only natural that he thread his fingers through hers and squeeze tightly, offering support.
Her hand was so small he feared the slightest pressure would crush it. Yet the way she slid her fingers into his signaled complete and total trust.
Lord, he didn't deserve her trust. Not when he'd used her and her husband to get at Rosco. Hell, it could even be his fault Ben King was dead.
“Thank you,” she said, her words so low he had to strain his ears to catch them. “I couldn't face being alone right now.”
“You're not alone.” She sounded so frail, so defenseless. In spite of himself he kicked off his boots and stretched out next to her, then shifted to gather her against him. He felt a tremor ripple through her, starting with her toes. Lord, the soft rise and fall of her chest against his, the sweet warmth of her breath bathing his face...
“This feels nice.” Her voice sounded hollow, as if it came from underwater or far away. “No one's ever held me like this before.”
No one?
Such an admission should have been enough to send him bolting once more for the door. Instead he smoothed a tangle of red-gold curls from her forehead, cupped her face between his callused palms and offered her the only comfort he was capable of, as his lips brushed the soft, dewy skin of her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, and finally her mouth.
She parted her lips beneath his as if his kiss was the most natural thing in the world. Immediately he felt the embrace get out of control. All guise of comfort evaporated, leaving in its stead the heated need of man for woman and woman for man; a need as old as time itself.
He pulled away.
She followed, her mouth seeking the comfort of his, her hands betraying her need to hold someone, something, as she gripped him with a suddenly awesome strength.
“Don't,” she murmured against his lips, when he tried to resist. Tried to sit up and away. To straighten clothing that had suddenly become loosened.
“I have to,” he said. “You won't thank me tomorrow if we—”
“I don't care about tomorrow.” Kneeling above him she began the slow, fumbling act of unfastening her shirtwaist. Jesse licked his lips, unable to tear his gaze from the silken shadows and planes slowly, tantalizingly revealed to him in the room's half-light, as she removed first her blouse, then her chemise.
Her breasts fell free, forbidden fruit within his reach. Pale white skin, too soft and translucent to touch. Rosy nipples that even as he stared, begged for his touch. Craved the moist warmth of his kiss.
He felt her small, nimble fingers on the buttons of his shirtfront before she pushed both shirt and vest off his shoulders. He sucked in his breath at the scalding moisture of her tongue as she dipped it across one nipple, pressed her lips to the crisp, dark hair matting his breastbone. Then fastened her mouth atop his.
Her breasts flattened against his chest before she dragged them slowly across him, and Jesse's resistance shattered. Blood drummed through his veins as he recalled each and every time he'd seen Anora. Been with her. Wanted her. Touched her, knowing even as he did that he couldn't have her. That she belonged to another.
Now she was with him, begging to be his. And Lord help him, he would have her. Even knowing as he took her that he didn't have the right.
He eased her skirt down past her hips, inch by tormenting inch. He felt the gentle curve of smooth, pale thighs, softer than any skin he'd ever touched.
Except for her breasts. Surely such softness didn't really exist.
Hooking a finger under the waistband of her pantalets, he skimmed them off. Soon Anora was totally naked. Totally his. With a speed he didn't know he was capable of, he shucked off his clothes and gathered her against him, feeling a rightness that shocked even him. He felt her indrawn breath as every inch of her skin met every inch of his.
He squeezed his eyes shut and silently begged for her to touch him, but she didn't. When he opened his eyes she was still watching. Obviously waiting for him to take the aggressor's hand. Some switch, considering she'd practically stripped him naked. He was accustomed to bedding women whose enthusiasm and aggression matched his. Anora, he suspected, needed to be gently coaxed. His loins tightened at the challenge.
“You're not...changing your mind?” It just about killed him, but he had to ask, knowing he could stop now only if he had to. After that...
She shook her head, took his face between her hands, and whispered, “Make love to me, Jesse.”
The sweetest words he'd ever heard. He responded by allowing himself the liberty of touching her.
Everywhere.
She lay beneath him soft and submissive, her little sighs and breathy moans telling him she approved what he was doing, the way he touched her; gently here, rougher there. A damp, open-mouthed kiss here, the gentle heat of his breath across her dewy skin. Her breathing quickened as his touch grew bolder. As he watched her eyes glaze over with passion as bright as sunlit emeralds, he felt a possessive sureness.
He was the one! Anora's response was for him and him alone. He pushed from his mind the memory of her dead husband. Nothing existed save the here and now. Himself and Anora. Spinning through time in a seamless cobweb of light. No before. No after. Only now.
Her limbs trembled with need, her breath caught in ragged gasps, and still she hadn't touched him. Taking her hand in his, Jesse guided it from his chest, across his stomach, and lower, to the part of him that craved her touch more than life itself.
“Oh!” She gave a startled gasp, whether at the boldness of his actions or the size of him he didn't know. All he knew, as he closed his eyes and savored the sensation of her tentative fingers exploring his length, was that he'd never before experienced such powerful intensity in a woman's touch.
He coaxed her legs apart, knees bent alongside him, and angled himself against her. As he swooped down for one more kiss before their joining, he felt her tremble as her arms gripped his shoulders and her knees clung to his hips. His kiss was as urgent as his need of her, and he entered her smoothly, only to stop, half-embedded.
Surely she wasn't that small, too small to fully accommodate him. He pushed harder. Saw her biting on her lower lip. She looked up, their gazes met, and in that second he knew.
Knowledge hit too late as his body, acting on pure instinct, tore through her maidenhead and possessed her fully.
He knew that he'd hurt her. Too late now. All he could do was try to make sure she got as much pleasure as possible from their coupling.
With every fiber of self-control he could muster he withdrew despite her small, half-protesting cry. Poised above her, he lavished kisses on her breasts, her stomach, her hipbone, until he felt the tension slowly seep from her, felt her begin to tremble anew with need.
He dipped his tongue into the salt-sweet skin of her navel, then skimmed lower, through the downy cinnamon curls, to kiss her precious femininity in apology for earlier hurts. He heard her indrawn breath as his tongue located the tiny pearl of sensation buried deep inside her womanly petals. Slowly he laved the tiny bud as he felt a new and different tension grip her limbs.
Almost at the bursting point, he entered her smoothly, heard her deep, rewarding moan of pleasure as he increased the pressure, stroking her with gentled, heated precision that pushed her up and over the pleasure plateau.
His own release followed with a draining, mind-numbing, shattering intensity. As he crashed back to earth atop her, Jesse knew he'd just experienced everything heaven had to offer. And was about to enter hell.
“You were a virgin.” The first words out of his mouth, and they weren't exactly lover-like. As Anora touched the harsh line of his jaw and his unsmiling lips, she wasn't worried. Could the man who'd just made love to her the way Jesse had be anything other than patient and understanding?
Unless... She'd heard some men
didn't enjoy bedding a virgin. Preferred a woman with more experience. Was Jesse one of those?
“Was it...” She angled her head toward his.
They were lying on their sides, facing each other, the only way they could both recline on the narrow cot. “Was it awful for you?”
Jesse gave a short, barking laugh. “Awful? No, I wouldn't say that.”
“I'm glad.” She snuggled against him, enjoying the hair-roughened length of his leg where it rubbed against hers.
“Anora. You're avoiding the issue.”
“Issue?” She gazed at him, puzzled.
“Your marriage wasn't a normal one. Why not?”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.”
“Ben.” For a short time in Jesse's arms she'd managed to forget Ben was never coming home. “Ben was injured as a youngster. He couldn't...you know...claim his husbandly rights.” Anora didn't know how such a lie popped glibly to her lips. It was just... After what she and Jesse had just shared, she couldn't bear for him to think badly of her. That she'd deceived him all this time.
“He what?” Jesse bolted upright as if he'd been branded with a cattle iron.
“Don't make me say it again,” Anora pleaded.
“So that's why you were always giving me the come-hither?”
“It's not like that. Not between you and me.”
Jesse rose and commenced pulling on his clothes.
She hadn't really looked at him before. But now a crescent of moonlight filtered through the cabin's only window and gave her rather an enticing view of his male anatomy. Sleek buttocks. Tapered hips and waist. Flat, hair-downed stomach. A chest deep-walled with muscle. She felt her body respond as she looked at him, if such a thing were possible.
“I don't sleep with virgins.”
“Only widows?” she said, stung by the abrupt change in him. “You needn't worry. I'm not about to go tattling, to brand Jesse Quantrill the despoiler of a woman's virtue.” Watching a dull red flush creep up his neck to his cheekbones she sensed she'd gone too far.
With Jesse fully dressed, Anora was doubly conscious of her nakedness as he leaned over and brought his face to a level with hers. “I don't like being used.”
“I didn't—”
“Oh, yes, you did. You could have told me the truth. And what you really wanted.”
Anora grabbed the sheet and tucked it around her nakedness. “I didn't want anything,” she said. Her words were hollow and lacked conviction. She had wanted Jesse. Wanted him to notice and desire her. Now she'd gotten her wish.
“Nothing except the chance to lure me into your bed under false pretenses?”
“Oh, you...you know nothing. Not one single thing of how it feels to be young and female and all alone.”
Jesse's eyes were mired with an emotion she didn't fully understand. “I've got a pretty fair idea,” he said. Then he left.
He'd worked Sully into a terrible lather by the time he reached the livery, and he felt a new twinge of guilt. Seemed he was abusing everyone who crossed his path tonight, including his poor horse.
“Sorry, old boy,” he said as he removed the saddle and briskly rubbed the animal down. “I guess she kind of made me crazy. Women.”
Sully gave him one of his long, soulful looks, as if he knew exactly what Jesse meant.
Anora's last words continued to hammer around and around in his head. You know nothing...of how it feels to be young and female and alone. His baby sister Rose had said the same thing, right after she'd admitted it was Cameron who'd gotten her in a family way. Adding, candidly, the unfairness of a world where it was perfectly fine for Jesse to sleep with whomever he chose. Yet not all right for her, ‘specially now she was with child. For his part, Jesse'd tried to do his best by his sister. Convince Cameron to take her to wife.
Look how that had turned out!
As for the Kings, Jesse couldn't sleep that night for one relentless question circling his brain. Could he have ridden harder, reached Ben King sooner? He knew it was more than likely the explosion had been triggered by the shack door opening. Still and all, if King hadn't run in there, maybe he'd still be alive.
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* * *
Chapter 13
It was the smallest funeral service Jesse had ever attended. Only he didn't actually attend. He more like skulked in the background, telling himself he just wanted to make sure Anora was holding up all right. Except he might as well have saved himself the bother. He didn't catch even a glimpse of her face behind the concealing black veil. Lettie hovered over her like a mother hen, while the schoolmarm defended her from the other side. There were few other townsfolk in attendance, no one Jesse recognized.
He also hadn't seen hide nor hair of Rosco. In deference to Anora, Jesse had his deputies keep their knowledge of Ben's dealings with Rosco to themselves. All the townsfolk knew was that there'd been an explosion and Ben King had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Lettie had come around to his office, taking up a collection to bury King, stating in her no-nonsense way that Anora didn't have the means. Jesse knew that he'd made far too generous a contribution. He kind of figured, seeing the way Lettie widened her eyes and gave him a scrutinizing look, that she'd keep the fact to herself.
The service was blessedly short, the casket lowered into the ground, with Jesse backing up out of range of vision a split second too late. The schoolmarm spotted him. He was too far away to hear what was said, but he knew, from the way Anora angled her gaze directly at him, that it concerned him. The others in attendance followed her lead.
Nothing for it, Jesse knew, but to offer the widow his condolences. Removing his hat, he faced the approaching group and waited.
“Sorry for your loss, Mrs. King.” Even to him the words sounded stiff, as if his throat had rusted shut.
Anora bobbed her head curtly as if they were nothing more than strangers, her eyes unreadable behind the black veil.
“If you need anything...”
Anora turned to Penny. “Kindly tell the marshal that, should I have need of anything, he's the last person on earth I'd go to.”
Jesse winced at the coldness in her tone.
“Anora says—”
“I heard her,” he said shortly. “Loud and clear.”
Wheeling about, he headed to where Sully stood waiting.
After the funeral, Jesse fell into his more familiar role as an outsider. It struck him how folks seemed to look at him from the corner of their eyes, not straight on; he swore he could hear the buzz of conversation behind him the second he was out of earshot. Were they speculating about him and Anora? Wondering what he had to do with King's getting killed?
Jesse knew he was making mountains out of molehills yet was powerless to control his thoughts as summer's gauzy heat gave way to autumn's riotous colors. The days cooled, the nights grew longer, and Boulder Springs saw little in the way of new developments. It seemed as if Rosco had ceased to exist.
Days melted into weeks and Jesse chafed at the lack of action. He packed and unpacked his bags a half a dozen times, telling himself that while Boulder Springs held nothing for him, he'd come here to do a job. His sense of honor demanded he see it through. Sooner or later Rosco would tip his hand, and when he did Jesse would be waiting.
It was late September when it struck Jesse that he hadn't seen Anora in town lately. Her usual spot on the railway platform had remained conspicuously empty for at least three or four days. He considered asking Lettie or Penny Spencer if they'd seen her, but in the end decided to make a quiet visit to Three Boulders himself and see if she was all right. As an afterthought he took along the pistol. He'd feel better knowing she had some sort of shooting iron for protection.
The ranch looked just as he remembered, Ben's passing apparently having made little or no impact. And as he rode up to the cabin, Jesse experienced a twinge of guilt. He ought to have checked on her before this. Maybe cut and stacked some firewood to see
her through the winter.
Not, of course, that Anora was his responsibility, he assured himself quickly. But she was a woman alone. Polite society held a certain code of behavior when it came to dealings with the fairer sex.
He mounted the rickety front steps and rapped on the half-open door. No response. As he peered around the door into the unoccupied room, he realized now why she'd always taken pains to keep him out of the cabin. The cabin where it was obvious she slept alone.
Maybe she was down by the creek. He'd just started down the front steps when he heard a strange noise coming from the bushes at the side of the shack.
His entire body tensed; his pace quickened. Pushing the bushes aside, he nearly tripped over Anora, who was down on her hands and knees, heaving the contents of her stomach.
He froze, unsure what to do as she finished retching and slowly dragged herself to her feet and wiped her face with her apron. Lowering the apron from her face, she looked up and spotted him.
He would have sworn it was impossible for her to grow any more pale, but that was exactly what happened. Anora, whiter than bleached cotton, swayed unsteadily on her feet.
He took a hesitant half step toward her, then stopped when she held up one hand as if to ward him off. She cradled her midsection protectively with her other hand.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was flat, as lackluster as her skin and her hair.
“I hadn't seen you in town lately.” His tone softened. “I'm sorry you're not well.” Up close, he realized she must have been sick for a time. The skin around her eyes was puffy and bruised-looking. He suspected she'd been crying. “Are you in a lot of pain?”
She shook her head and moved past him in the direction of the cabin.
“How long have you been sick?”
“Not long. It'll pass.” She reached the steps and turned. “You've seen me. A little worse for wear, but hardly at death's door. You can go now.”
As she spoke, the wind picked up, bringing with it the sickly sweet smell of overripe berries and chicken droppings. Anora's eyes widened; she swallowed convulsively, tripping in her rush to escape inside the cabin.
Anora's Pride Page 12
