As he touched her, she inhaled a sexy little breath and arched against him, her head sagging back, but still she kept her arms tightly around his neck to maintain the connection of their mouths.
She gave a tiny mewl of protest when he pulled his hand away but it changed in midbreath to a sigh when he slipped his hand underneath her shirt. His body pulsed painfully when he encountered warm, willing skin. She was as soft as thistledown and he couldn't get enough of her.
Wanting—needing—more, he pressed her back against the thin mattress of the cot. He wrenched his mouth away from hers and began to trail kisses along the curve of her jawline, down the slender column of her throat, across the bow of her collarbone.
When his mouth closed over one tight peak, she nearly came off the bed.
Through the haze of thick need, in his head a warning bell began to ring.
He had always kept himself on a tight rein. It was vitally important to him, as important as breathing. He knew some people thought he was cold, hard. Emotionless. But it wasn't anything like that. He just had always had to prove to himself that he could control his mind and his body, that he was different from his father, from Charlie.
But he had never been so turned on as he was right now, never had this wild, urgent kind of need that pounded relentlessly through his body. All his precious control was about to fly right out the window and it scared the hell out of him.
No, he'd take that back. He had experienced this rage of desire one other time—when he had taken her innocence on the shores of the Butterfly thirteen years ago.
The thought had the same effect as being thrown naked into the snow.
"Stop. We have to stop. Dammit, Annie. We can't do this."
Her breathing was every bit as ragged as his. "Why not?"
He wanted to bury his head in his hands like he'd done that day in third grade, to do his best to hide away from the world.
He wanted to kiss her again and never, never stop.
He seized on the only excuse he could think of. "Unless you carry something in your saddlebag, we don't have any protection. Look what happened the last time."
She frowned in confusion for a moment, then understanding dawned along with a blush across her cheeks. He wondered why he found that blossoming color so damn appealing.
"I can't get pregnant, if that's what you're worrying about," she mumbled, her blush heating up a notch. "I had complications with C.J. and had to have surgery. And as far as sexual history, I've only been with you and with…with Charlie, and the only…" her voice faltered and she looked away. "The last time with him was eight years ago. If he had given me any kind of…of condition, I think it would have appeared by now."
He gazed at her blushing face in the low light from the woodstove, questions buzzing through his mind. Eight years? What the hell kind of marriage had they had?
He opened his mouth to ask, then shut it with a snap. He had a pretty good idea, but it wasn't his business. And anyway, he wasn't sure he was all too crazy about hearing the answers.
"It's not just that. I'm leaving in two weeks, Annie. Nothing we do here would change that."
He saw the hurt blossoming in her eyes and he hated himself for putting it there but he wouldn't lie to her. He couldn't in good conscience let her think otherwise.
"I know," she said, her voice just a whisper of sound in the still of the cabin.
Was she wrong to want the bittersweet joy of having him like this, knowing he would walk away just as he had done the last time?
No. A resounding, unequivocal no.
She had spent more than thirteen years with only that one memory to keep her warm during the bitter, lonely Montana winters. She wanted more. She wanted to know again the taste of his skin and the strength of his arms and the heat of his touch.
His leaving would be hard enough, though, a worried voice in her head reminded her. Wouldn't this only make her sorrow worse, make her miss him more acutely in the long run?
Maybe, she answered it. But at least she would have this memory to comfort her.
The decision made, she reached a hand out to his chest and splayed it against the chamois fabric of his shirt. "I know you're still leaving. But you're here now. As far as I'm concerned, that's all that matters."
He looked down at her hand and then his gaze met hers. The desire glittering in those black depths like stars in a midnight sky completely took her breath away. "Are you sure, Annie? We can't go back to the way things have been after this."
She didn't want to go back to the way things had been, to the stilted awkwardness that had buzzed between them since he'd come to work for the Double C.
"Dead sure," she replied, with a shadow of a smile.
She watched his throat work as he swallowed hard and then he leaned forward to kiss her. Her pulse pounding loudly in her ears, she settled against his mouth with a sigh. This was what she wanted. This was what she had always wanted, since before she was old enough to understand the intricate dance between men and women.
He kissed her fiercely, his mouth demanding, unrelenting, and she returned his kisses with every ounce of emotion she had stored up for most of her life. Their mouths tangled then slid apart then returned together to tangle again.
Before she was completely lost to the haze of desire, she forced one tiny corner of her mind to stay alert, to record every detail—from the unbelievably erotic taste of his mouth to the texture of his skin and the rugged, male scent of him.
His face was rough and in need of a shave but she didn't care. She loved the rasp of stubble against her skin, the wild, untamed look the subtle shadow lent him.
He pressed his fingers to the curve of her collarbone just above the loose neckline of her thermal shirt and his hands were even more rough against her skin, hard and callused from working the ranch. She gloried in it, though, in the thrilling contrast between them.
"Your skin is so soft," he murmured, uncannily echoing her thoughts. "I've always thought so. Touching you is like running my finger over the petals of the season's first wildflowers."
Coming from any other man, she might have laughed at the words, but from Joe—her gruff, decidedly un-poetic Joe—she found them enormously moving.
She smiled softly at him and saw the desire in his dark gaze kick up a level.
"Keep looking at me like that and you're going to get more than you bargained for," he growled.
"I hope so," she murmured. "I really hope so."
He gave a ragged laugh and reached for her again. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, not wanting to ever let go. A low, urgent ache began to pulse inside her with every kiss, with every touch. She arched against him, craving the incredible wonder of his mouth on her again.
A few moments later her wish was granted. He pulled her shirt over her head, baring her to his gaze. She felt a flush crawl up her cheekbones and fought the urge to cross her arms in front of her.
She had always been pretty scrawny and didn't have much in the chest department. He didn't seem to mind, though. At least not judging by the heat flickering in his gaze.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, and pressed his mouth to the slope of one breast in a kiss that seemed almost reverent. She felt a sting behind her eyes, a catch in her throat. She wasn't used to this kind of tenderness—to someone making her feel so delicate and cherished—and she wasn't at all sure how to handle it.
All she knew was that she didn't want him to ever, ever stop.
She twisted her fingers in the silky black of his hair, holding him to her while his mouth skimmed across her skin, while he drew her into his mouth. He licked and tugged, sending heat scorching through her.
She loved the feel of him beneath her fingers and she touched everything within reach—the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, the corded muscles of his shoulders, the strong angle of his jawbone.
His chamois shirt was unbuttoned as if he'd put it on hastily, so it was an easy matter for her to slip it off his shoulders and run
her hands down the warm, smooth skin of his strong arms.
He took his shirt off then returned to capture her mouth again and she explored the bounty in front of her, savoring the smooth, rippling muscles of his chest, of his back.
There wasn't an ounce of wasted flesh on him. Every bit was hard, rock-solid from years of working cattle. She wanted all of it.
Amazed at her daring, at this reckless, audacious woman who seemed to have invaded her body, her hands drifted to the waistband of his jeans and began working the row of buttons there.
He froze as her fingers fluttered over him, then he covered her hand with his. "Annie, be damn sure about this," he growled. "Because I don't know if I'm going to be able to stop."
The growled admission seemed to have been wrenched from his throat and a vast, aching tenderness welled up inside of her.
He was always so worried about staying in control of himself. He always had been, even when they were kids. Colt used to tease him so much about it. He called him Iron Man Joe and dedicated half his life to trying to make the stoic, serious boy Joe had been lighten up a little.
She could remember only a handful of times where Joe had completely let loose, one time with temper when one of the Broken Spur ranch hands had abused a horse, the other times with complete, uncontrolled laughter at something either she or Colt had done.
He was always so chagrined at himself afterward that he'd let his hard-won self-mastery slip away.
She wondered if she had the power to make it disappear again. And she suddenly wanted fiercely to try.
"I'm positive, Joe." She answered him in a murmur, barely recognizing that low, sultry voice as her own. "I've never been more sure of anything."
Her fingers moved against the hard bulge in his jeans, caressing him through the heavy denim. She was rewarded with a strangled groan. Encouraged, she fumbled to work the buttons free, then wrapped trembling fingers around him.
He didn't protest. He was too busy yanking off the rest of her clothes with frenzied, hurried movements. Soon both of them were naked, heedless of the lingering chill in the small cabin as their bodies generated more than enough flames between them to keep them warm.
He kissed her urgently, his hands and mouth everywhere at once. Her shoulders, her neck, the curve of her breasts. She adored every second of it, loved knowing she hadn't imagined the passion and heat of the first time they made love.
She was so busy savoring his loss of control that she didn't realize her own had disappeared when she wasn't looking until his hand drifted across the swell of her abdomen to tangle in the red curls at the apex of her thighs.
She gasped at the intimate caress. As his clever fingers danced across her, she became aware too late of the pressure building to a fever pitch inside her, of her limbs going loose and pliant.
Suddenly he slipped a finger inside her, to where she was slick and ready for him, and that was all it took, just that one touch, to send her splintering apart into a thousand, wondrous pieces.
She came back together a few seconds later to find him watching her, his dark eyes stunned and aroused.
Her face went hot as she realized what had happened, how desperately eager she had been for him. "Sorry," she mumbled, hiding her face against his shoulder.
He gave a ragged laugh. "Sorry for what? I think that was just about the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
She could either be embarrassed or she could go with the flow. She decided this was probably her one and only chance to be in his arms like this and she wasn't about to spoil such a gift with something as stupid as self-consciousness.
She pulled free of his shoulder and met his gaze. "Want to see it again?" she asked, her voice hopeful.
He laughed again. "Do you even need to ask?"
He kissed her again, his mouth still smiling, and her heart swelled with love for him, for this tough, scarred man who didn't smile nearly enough and who spent so much time pushing everyone away.
Although she knew he wouldn't welcome the words, she tried to show him how she felt with her body, with her mouth. Their teasing and touching took on a new urgency and when his fingers found her again a few moments later she arched against him, urging him without words to take them both higher.
He entered her slowly, carefully. It was perfect. He was perfect. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, not sure if her heart could contain this much emotion or if it would bubble over like a pan left boiling too long on the stove, and she had to bite back the words of love swelling in her throat, words she so wanted to tell him.
With their bodies and mouths entwined, he moved inside her in a steady, powerful rhythm. She arched to meet him, feeling that low, wondrous softening inside her again, that unbearably sweet pressure.
He brought his hands up to curve around her face and the heady contrast between the gentleness there and the demanding force of the rest of his body was more than she could stand.
"Joe," she gasped against his mouth, not sure what she wanted to say other than "Don't stop." Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop.
Their gazes locked and her stomach quivered at the raw emotion blazing in his eyes, a wild mesh of feelings she couldn't even begin to guess at. He pushed inside her hard, so hard, and she cried out once then unraveled around him.
With a harsh groan he joined her in a shuddering, powerful explosion. She held him close, their bodies joined in every way possible, as her heart boiled over into tears.
And for a moment—this moment—he was hers.
Chapter 15
They took the High Lonesome trail back down to the ranch in a thick silence broken only by the huffing breaths of the horses pushing through the deep snow.
Several times Joe looked as if he wanted to say something but he always clamped his teeth together and rode on.
She sighed. How could he act as if nothing had happened, as if a few hours ago they hadn't been wrapped in each other's arms so tightly she couldn't tell where she ended and he began?
After they made love, that incredible, cataclysmic encounter that was scored into her heart like a brand, he had held her close without saying anything and she could almost watch his defenses as they clicked back into place.
After just a few moments—far, far too few—he gazed out the window where the sun was beginning to stream in, calmly said the storm seemed to be over, and then he rose and began to dress as casually as if they did this every morning.
They had played this scene before, the first time they made love, right down to his stony, remote expression. She knew the drill—how could she forget?—so she had packed away the pieces of her broken heart and performed her part.
What did she expect? He had spent more than thirteen years pushing her away. Why should today be any different?
No one came out to greet them when at last they rode up to the horse barn. The children were still at Maggie's, she knew, and the rest of the ranch hands were probably out looking for calves that didn't make it through the night.
"I'll take care of the horses," he said gruffly, after they both dismounted.
She studied him, wondering how to bridge the distance he had put between them. The distance he always put between them. "Thanks," she finally answered. "I need to get cleaned up and then drive over to the Broken Spur for C.J. and Leah."
He blew out a breath. "Guess we need to figure out what we're going to do about her."
"I need to talk to her first and try explaining as best I can the choices I made." Some of them, anyway.
He nodded, fingering the leather of Qui's reins. "I have to leave, Annie. For a lot of reasons."
She looked away from him. "I know."
"But I don't want Leah to think I don't want her to be a part of my life. I want to do my best by her."
Everything had become so messy. It would be so difficult trying to explain to her daughter what had prompted her to lie all these years. Most important, she also had to make sure Leah understood that Joe wasn't to blame for any of it.
And what was she going to say to C.J.? He would be so confused when he learned that his favorite uncle was really his sister's father.
Despite all the complications, she couldn't regret that Joe knew the truth. The secret had been a weight she had carried for so long she didn't know how to manage without it. She was weak with relief that she wouldn't have to anymore.
She cleared her throat. "She needs a father, even if it's a long-distance one."
"I was thinking maybe she and C.J. could come stay with me this summer for a couple of weeks. I imagine he's going to be real confused by this and I don't want him to think this is going to change anything between him and me."
She nodded, touched by his sensitivity toward C.J.'s feelings. "We still have more than a week to work this out. We don't have to decide everything right now."
"I know. I just wanted you to know where I stand. You're her mother and she belongs here with you and with her brother but I want to be a part of her life too."
Stay. Stay and be a part of all of our lives. She bit back the words, knowing she had no right to ask them.
"I know that will mean a lot to her," she said softly, then headed toward the house.
Longing only for a shower, she let herself in and climbed the stairs to her bedroom, then turned on the water as hot as she could stand it. For a long time she stood under the spray while it eased the ache from her muscles, wishing it could heal the ache in her heart as easily.
For thirteen years she had managed to convince herself their only other time together had been a mirage, that she had built it up into far more than it actually was.
Being with him again showed her how wrong she was, that it could be every bit as wonderful the second time. She suspected it would be just as earthshaking each and every time.
Not that she would ever know. He had made it abundantly clear they had made a mistake, one that he wouldn't let happen again.
She remained under the spray until the hot water heater ran out and her skin raisined.
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