Cash didn't press her. He didn't have to. He knew what she was going to say—that she'd thought he hadn't come because he was mad, because he was through with her.
If he had the sense God gave a mule, he would be. One look at Milly and he was wanting her again the way he always did when he was around her. One evening with her and he'd be back in it up to his ears. And as sure as God had given ol' John a shotgun, Cash would be on the couch by himself.
No. He wasn't going to do that.
He'd call Pete or see if maybe Shane was up at his brother's. He'd find himself somewhere else to stay for the night.
It was bad enough that he couldn't keep his eyes off her, that his hands wanted to creep beneath the table to touch hers. His body almost leaned in her direction every time he so much as glanced her way.
When their elbows brushed while they were sitting side by side at the table, Cash felt as if an electric shock had gone right through him. When her breast brushed against his arm when she was clearing the table, the lightest touch jolted him where he sat.
"Huh?" he said to John, who was in the middle of pontificating about the state of the Montana economy and its effect on small businesses.
John frowned. "Got ears, boy? Pay attention now."
Cash did his best. They ate Carole's best apple cake with mugs of strong coffee after the meal, and just as Cash was thinking maybe he'd make a getaway, Dori showed up with Jake.
"Cash!" The little boy was thrilled. "You're back." He couldn't leave right then. He had to talk to Dori, who watched him narrow-eyed and assessing. He had to wrestle with Jake, who squirmed and wriggled and whooped and hollered and said, "We gonna do this again tomorrow?"
"I gotta be gettin' on," Cash said, glancing at his watch. He gave Milly an apologetic look.
"Me, too," she said.
He blinked. "You? Going where?"
"Home. My apartment," she explained. There was a small smile just touching the corners of her mouth.
Cash's heart lurched. He scrambled up off the floor, still holding Jake, and set the little boy on his feet.
"Apartment?" Cash almost couldn't get the word out.
"Yes," Milly said. "Downtown. A one-bedroom over the outfitter's shop." She paused. "Would you like to see it?"
Cash swallowed audibly. His mouth was suddenly dry, his palms suddenly damp. "Milly?" he said hoarsely.
"Would you?"
"I would," he said. Oh, yes.
* * *
Eight
« ^ »
He should have behaved himself. Not a chance.
He'd wanted Milly forever. He'd kept his hands off her for years! He wasn't going to keep his hands off her tonight. Not unless she made him.
She didn't make him.
She drove her car in front of him, leading the way to her apartment. Cash followed, not sure whether to believe this was really happening.
He'd anticipated Denver for so long. He'd waited for Milly so long. And he'd had his hopes well and truly squashed. He'd been angry, then distant, then determined to put her out of his mind.
Yeah, right. Uh-huh.
Well, he'd tried.
Maybe God was rewarding him for good behavior. Uh-huh, again. Somehow he didn't think God was doing anything—except maybe setting him up for a fall.
"So don't get your hopes up," he cautioned himself as he pulled into the lot behind the outfitter's beside Milly's car and got out. But the very sight of Milly smiling at him made whatever cautionary good sense he had vanish in a heartbeat.
And when she took his hand and said, "Come with me," he thought it was just as well it didn't matter that he didn't have much.
He was a goner.
Cash was here.
In her arms. In her life.
In her bed!
Not, for once, just in her dreams, which was where he'd been for months. Months, ha. Years is what it felt like.
"See?" she'd said when she brought him up. She'd opened the door and gestured at the small living room with its tall narrow windows.
"Uh-huh," Cash said.
Somewhere between appreciating the view of the drug store across the street and the book store down the block, he'd slid his hands under her shirt. Sometime after he'd admired the kitchen cupboards and the tiny apartment-sized stove that had been there at least sixty years, he undid her buttons and slipped the shirt off her shoulders. Somehow, when she was pointing out the brand-new carpeting, his mouth had found its way from her jaw to her shoulder to her nipple.
Milly had sucked in a sharp breath. "Cash!"
"Hmm?" He didn't lift his head. He didn't stop.
Milly wobbled. She clutched at his short dark hair and settled for grabbing his shoulders. "Cash! Stop!"
He raised his head, then, and looked at her, his blue eyes dark. "Stop?" He didn't sound as if he believed her.
She shook her head. She didn't believe her herself. "Don't stop," she whispered. He hadn't.
He said, "How 'bout showin' me the bedroom, sweetheart?"
And Milly nodded her head toward the door on the far side of the kitchen. "Right through there."
She didn't think he paid much attention to the bedroom, even though he left the light on. His attention, as far as she could tell, was focused entirely on her. She'd almost shivered under the intensity of his gaze.
If his gaze didn't send her over the edge, the feel of his fingers on her heated skin certainly did. She was trembling by the time he'd rid her of her bra and then skimmed her jeans over her hips. Her fingers fumbled while she tried to undo his shirt and unfasten his Wranglers.
"I'll do it," he said, yanking his shirt off without regard to the buttons. When his hand covered hers at the fastening of his jeans, she felt a fine tremor running through him, too. He wasn't much better with the snap and the zipper than she was. But finally he got them shoved down to his knees and then realized he still had on his boots. Cursing, he struggled to get his boots off and fell onto the bed as he tried.
Milly laughed. "Let me." And she knelt at his feet and took hold of the heel, then gave a gentle pull. "Don't want to hurt your leg."
"M'leg's fine," Cash said. "Hurry up."
Milly tugged off one, then the other, and all the while Cash's fingers tangled in her hair. The minute his boots were off, he hauled her up, pulling her on top of him, rolling her beneath him on the bed, then raising himself up on his hands to look down at her. His eyes were dark as they looked her over, his pupils wide so that only a tiny rim of blue was visible around them.
"You are so beautiful," he breathed. His whole body seemed to be trembling now. He shoved himself back so that he rested on his knees between hers. His hands traced her shoulders, her breasts, her ribs. She sucked in a sharp breath. Then his fingers curled inside the elastic waistband of her panties and drew them down.
For an instant Milly seemed to freeze.
"What's wrong?" Cash asked softly.
She shook her head. "I don't… I'm not…" But she didn't finish.
"You are," he assured her. "You are everything."
"Dori says—"
"Don't want Dori." He'd never felt a moment's attraction to her sister. He didn't want anyone but her.
He didn't let her protest anymore. Knowing Milly, if he ever let her get started talking, they'd discuss it forever. Cash wasn't interested in discussing what he wanted right now. He slid the panties down her legs and tossed them aside. Then his hands came back at once to stroke her.
Milly shivered and squirmed under his touch. He smiled.
"Cash," she admonished.
"Mmm?" He bent and gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then pulled back to strip off his shorts.
Milly sucked in her breath. Her eyes got big as she looked at him.
"What?" Cash demanded, because he wasn't sure she didn't look horrified.
She smiled impishly. "Refrigerator magnets and art history classes don't do you justice," she said.
"What?"
She blushed. "I've never seen an �
� adult … um, male … er, on the hoof before."
Cripes. Now she had him blushing. "Don't look," he said gruffly.
"Oh, I want to look." She was looking actually quite fascinated. With one of her fingers she reached out to touch him.
Cash shuddered.
She looked at him wide-eyed. "I didn't hurt you?"
He let out a shaky breath. "Babe, you are killin' me."
Milly jerked her hand away. "I'm sorry. I won't—I didn't—!" Her face burned.
"'S all right. 'S fine. More than fine. It's—hell, Milly, it's the best thing that ever was." He bit his lower lip. "It's just … been so damn long."
"Has it?" She smiled. "I'm glad."
That was women for you. They didn't want you to hurt. But they didn't want you feeling too good, either. They were downright perverse at times. Cash shook his head.
Milly reached to touch him again. He shook his head. "Not yet, darlin'. Let me … let me make it good for you."
"It's already good for me," Milly said softly, lowering her gaze.
"Yeah?" He smiled. "Well, let me make it better."
And then he touched her. His fingers found her, caressed her, stroked her. And she moaned. She twisted. Her fingers tightened on the comforter beneath her. "Cash!"
He grinned and settled alongside her. "Yes, darlin'? You like that?"
"Cash! What are you doing!" she demanded as he bent his head and kissed her stomach, nibbling on her exquisitely smooth skin. A trembling hand touched his ear, then dug into his hair. "Cash? I need you, Cash."
"And I need you," he whispered back raggedly, urgently.
"Then come to me," she urged.
"I will, babe," he said. But instead of doing so, he pulled away.
"Cash?"
He snagged his jeans off the floor and fished in the pocket, taking out a tiny foil packet. "Did you know I was a Boy Scout, darlin'?" he asked her. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears, but he knew he needed to do this.
"Prepared?" Milly laughed a little when she saw the packet in his hand. "You're a wonder, Cash."
"The wonder is that I've lasted this long," he muttered. He was fumbling with the packet even as he spoke.
"Can I help?"
"I'll manage," he said through his teeth. But it took him longer than seemed possible because out of the corner of his eye he could see her there, waiting, eager for him, too.
He told himself to go slow, to be gentle. He tried. Dear God, he tried!
He told himself not to be disappointed if she felt more hurt than ecstasy. He knew it might not be the best sex in the world. He told himself he was going to go over the edge in scant seconds, no matter how hard he tried, because it had been so damn long his body wouldn't cooperate.
He never told himself that it would be wonderful.
But it was.
It was hot and urgent and wonderful beyond words. He took it as slow as he could. He touched her and kissed her and made her writhe with wanting him—though no more than he wanted her! And when he could hold out no longer, he let her take him in.
The feel of her body clenching around him drove him right over the edge, just as he'd known it would. But Milly seemed to be riding right along with him. And when her eyes opened wide and she gasped, "Oh my God!" he would have laughed if he'd been physically able.
He wasn't. He was shattered. He was spent. He collapsed against her and felt her arms go around him, holding him tight.
"Mil?" he whispered.
"I love you," she said.
Milly had dreamed of sharing like this with Cash, had imagined the intimate connection of their bodies, hearts and souls. But the reality of making love transcended even her dreams. What happened between them was the most intimate expression of feelings she could imagine.
If it wasn't perfect, she didn't know it. It shattered her and made her whole at the same time. After loving Cash, Milly knew that she would never be the same again.
She turned her head and kissed him. "I didn't think you were going to come back," she told him.
"Of course I was comin' back," he mumbled.
"You were mad."
"Yeah. For a little while. Then I broke my leg."
"And you couldn't come! Oh Cash!" She hugged him. "I didn't know! Why didn't you call?"
"You couldn't have done anything."
"I'd have tried. I'd do anything for you."
She felt his lips curve against her ear. "Anything?" he said, his voice low and roughly sexy.
"Anything," she agreed daringly.
He slid between her legs. "Then let's do this again."
The smell of bacon cooking woke him.
The smell of coffee closer at hand made his stomach growl. He twisted in the bed, knowing he was dreaming—he couldn't afford room service no matter how cheap it was—and opened his eyes.
"Good morning." Milly stood at the foot of the bed, smiling at him, holding a cup of coffee in her hand. "Here."
Cash shoved himself back against the headboard and took the coffee mug from her hand, amazed that he wasn't dreaming. But the cup was hot. He could hear the bacon sizzling. And Milly smelled like lilacs and something even more wonderful. And she was very definitely real.
He snagged her fingers with his other hand and drew her down beside him. "First you, then the coffee," he said, and then he kissed her. It began as a warm lazy kiss and ended, as he should have known it would, just short of a full-fledged forest fire.
He'd had her how many times last night—three? four?—and he still couldn't get enough of her. He set the coffee on the bedside table and pulled her into his arms.
Milly came to him as eagerly as she had every other time, kissing him back with a fervor that made his mind spin and his loins ache. He bore her down onto the bed and tugged at the tie of her robe.
"Cash," she whispered. "We can't."
"Of course we can."
"The bacon's burning."
"What?"
"The bacon! I'm cooking breakfast. I've got pancake batter made. The bacon's cooking. I need to turn it. I—"
He silenced her with his mouth. "Let it burn," he muttered.
And she might have, if the smoke alarm hadn't gone off.
At its insistent scream, Milly scrambled up and flew out of the room. Ruefully, Cash watched her go. He glanced at his watch. It was only seven-thirty. If they ate quick, they still might be able to manage a little more loving before he had to leave. Heartened, he hauled himself out of bed and padded toward the bathroom to shave.
Milly made more bacon. The first batch, she said, was burned beyond hope. And she had a stack of fluffy pancakes on a plate for him when he came out of the bathroom ten minutes later. "Orange juice or grapefruit?" she asked.
"Orange." He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her as she poured it. The juice slopped on her hand.
"Cash," she protested. But she backed up against him at the same time. It wasn't the move of a woman who wanted him to leave her alone.
"Hmm?" He kissed her hair, her ear, the line of her jaw.
"You're insatiable."
"Seems like," he agreed, still kissing.
Milly turned in his arms. "Your pancakes are going to get cold."
"I'll live," Cash murmured against her lips. "I don't want to live without this." And he led her back to the bedroom.
When he laid her on the bed, he did feel a momentary qualm however. Milly was a virgin. Or she had been, until she'd loved him all night.
Maybe he was asking too much of her to do it again this morning.
"Are you … okay?" he asked, feeling awkward and a little hesitant.
She blushed, then nodded her head and held out her arms to him.
Still feeling a little guilty for what seemed almost like taking advantage yet again, Cash went to her. "I want it to be good for you."
"It is good for me," she replied.
"The best," he insisted. "I want it to be the best."
And this time he
concentrated even more on her. With the edge off his own rampant desire, he was able to be tender, to go slow, to take delight in her growing response, instead of just plunging on toward the main event. And when, at last, they joined, he was sure she was really with him this time, sharing, loving.
"Ah, yes!" The words were choked out of him as he fell into her embrace, and he was gratified when her body convulsed, her arms tightened around him, and she whispered, "Yessssss!" too.
Then the breath seemed to go right out of her, and she lay beneath him, totally spent.
Cash rolled off, but stayed next to her, still stroking her, letting his fingers trace the long line of her leg while his lips caressed her shoulder, her jaw. "Perfect," he murmured.
Milly's eyes opened. She turned her head. "Does this mean you don't want to do it anymore?"
Cash laughed. "Not for another ten or fifteen minutes, anyway."
"So we can eat?" Milly asked.
"So we can eat," Cash agreed. But even so he levered himself off the bed reluctantly. Then he glanced at his watch and winced. He should have been on the road by now. He had a lot of miles to cover to get to Oregon, where he was riding tomorrow afternoon.
"Like to take you with me," he grumbled, stuffing his shirt into his jeans and zipping them.
"I'd like to come." Milly wrapped her robe around her. "And I will when I can. But I can't leave yet. We should probably wait until Dad's a little better before we get married."
Get married?
Cash stopped dead, almost swallowing his tongue. He hadn't heard her right. He was sure he hadn't heard her right. She hadn't said, married, had she?
He looked at Milly as if she were some alien dropped into the middle of the bedroom. She was standing at the mirror running a brush through her long, tangled hair. She thought they were getting married?
The words sounded almost foreign. They sure as hell felt foreign. Hell, he couldn't remember ever having spoken them out loud in his life!
"Maybe it's better that you didn't come back earlier—as long as I wasn't going to Denver," she said, looking in the mirror and meeting his gaze. Deliberately and carefully he closed his gaping mouth. "I couldn't have left Dad in the lurch, you know."
THE COWBOY CRASHES A WEDDING Page 11
