Surrender A Dream

by Jill Barnett

  Montana Creed held her in his strong arms, soothed her with his deep voice, and Addie cried herself to sleep.

  She stirred in his arms. Montana was almost afraid to look down at her for fear he'd see her tears—the ones that drove a schism through his gut. He swallowed, and her head nestled closer. The heat of her breath spread a burning path on his neck. Her small nose, the one that was always airborne, pressed against his Adam's apple. His left arm was numb, but it was the only numb thing from his neck down.

  Her knotted fists rubbed slowly against his shirt. He swallowed again, and she twitched. His breath came a little faster and he closed his eyes, searching for control.

  She moved her head away from his neck, and he could feel her looking up at him. He didn't trust himself to look back, so he kept his eyes closed, waiting. His mind didn't play fair. He remembered her naked back and all that black hair against her white skin. It had looked like coal in the snow. But coal was hard and this little woman was softer than the feather bed that held them. Snow was cold and her burrowing body was warm.

  "Are you asleep?" she whispered up at him.

  Knowing he could no longer avoid her, he prayed for strength and opened his eyes. The red edges of her lids and puffiness around her eyes told of her tears. That old feeling of helplessness welled up in him. Two small crease lines from the crinkled sheet marred her right cheek. He wanted to trace them with his fingers, or better yet, his tongue. Her lips were more swollen than her huge, dark eyes, and she stared at him.

  No woman had ever looked at him like that, with such a need, such emotion that he couldn't have turned away from her if he'd been offered the world.

  There was love in her huge, innocent dark eyes, and it scared the bloody hell out of him. He could feel the pull of it, and he prayed for control. Then her small hands splayed over his chest, unconsciously moving, making him more aware of the taut, invisible cord that drew them closer and closer. Their lips touched. His prayers went unanswered.

  Holding her head in his hands, he drove his tongue between her lips. He needed to taste her, now. She answered his stroke with her own, so he drove to the back of her mouth, pushing and swirling, running over her teeth. Just her flavor sent his body into a taut, hard heaven.

  When her small arms closed over his shoulders and under his hair, his hands moved from her head, down her neck, her shoulders, over her back, and they rubbed. His palms needed filling, so they closed over her bottom, pulling her even closer and squeezing the softness. God, how he had wanted this.

  His mouth left hers and she moaned, her open mouth tracing up his cheek as he kissed a path across her soft cheek. He raised one hand, pushing her long hair aside, and he licked one long stroke up to her ear. "Sweet Addie, please don't stop me, not now."

  Her only answer was to grab handfuls of his hair and pull his mouth back to hers, already open and seeking. Her small tongue played over his teeth and then flicked inside, beckoning his in a stroking match. He answered her, giving her the whole, hard thing, making it fill her mouth like he wanted to fill her body. She sucked it, and his hands closed over her breasts. He didn't hold them as he had her bottom, instead he used his palms to lightly abrade her hard nipples. He wanted to see them, their color, roll them between his lips, draw them into his hot, wet mouth.

  He flicked open one of her buttons, held his breath, slowed his tongue and waited. One of her fingers inched inside his shirt and played with his chest hair. He moaned against her mouth, and she flicked open his button. His hands went crazy then, roaming over her ribs, her breast, frantic to get to her, and God help him, her small hands began to mimic his. He pulled away from her mouth; she stared up at him through eyes so black they made the night look pale. Her lips, wet from his kisses, parted, and her breath came in small pants that fed his excitement. He undid her buttons, watching her expressive face.

  By the third button she'd closed her eyes, yet her chest rose and fell as if it called to him. He bent to her ear and buried his tongue. Her body bucked against his and she gasped so loud he did it three more times just to hear her.

  Licking her ear and her neck seemed to excite her, for her motions quickened. He kept doing it, until he was caught in his own trap. Her hands had opened his shirt and they ran up, combing his body hair from stomach to just below his neck. Wadding the neck of her nightgown in his fists, he pulled it from her shoulders and jerked it down under her back. Her nipples met his chest, and he almost lost control.

  Ramming his hands into the mattress, he pressed up, pulling his chest away, and he watched her while he fought for control. Her eyes were closed and her head turned to the side. Threads of her black hair twisted like ribbons over her pale shoulder, and others spilled onto his hands. His gaze followed the taut tendon of her turned neck, down to her collarbone, where a few blue veins showed through her skin. At this moment he didn't dare look lower, so he threw his head back and stared at the ceiling.

  Long minutes later her small hand trailed up his straining arm. Just a second more and he'd have command again. He closed his eyes, counting in Spanish, and when in control again, he looked down. With her lips parted she watched him, and her other hand slid up his forearm. He could see that she wanted his mouth again. He moved down and atop her, and on his elbows he held his chest above her. He stared at her breasts with their dark, tight nipples and lowered his head until his tongue touched the hard tip. When he drew it into his mouth and sucked, she cried out.

  Arching her back, she reached out and pulled him closer, so he filled his mouth with more of her. Minutes later he did the same to the other one. Her hands shoved the shirt from his shoulders and tore it off as he licked the undersides of her breasts. Then his tongue licked the long length of her torso, up her neck, before driving into her ear again and again. Her fingertips roved his chest and furrowed and tugged through the springy hair. He took both of her hands and guided them above her, lacing his fingers through hers, pressing their joined hands into the mattress, and watching as he rubbed his chest over hers in slow, eternal movements.

  He lowered his head. "Give me your tongue." And she did, for what seemed like hours. He didn't want this to end. It was a hot, slow savoring, and he wanted it to go on and on, but his body wanted more of her. He could feel the metal buttons of his jeans holding him back. Hold me longer, he thought, because I want to taste more of her. He unlaced his hands, drawing his fingertips over the inside of her arms. She moaned. He nuzzled her ribs, dragging his damp mouth over each rib while his hands kneaded her breasts. Then he pulled her gown down farther with his teeth. He traced her navel with the very tip of his tongue and nuzzled her clothing lower, sucking a circle of little marks on her belly. Her hands closed over his, pressing them harder into the softness of her chest.

  He grabbed both sides of her clothing. "Lift up for me." She did, but her eyes were still closed. He knelt between her legs, looking at her naked body, its pure, white skin that had to be soft as the clouds in heaven. Her long coal-black hair spread out about the pillows.

  He unbuttoned his pants, shoved them down and kicked out of them. He placed a hand on each ankle and rubbed up her legs, spreading them wider. Over and over he traced the insides of her legs, each time just brushing her cleft with his fingers. She moaned every damn time. Soon she arched her hips up, begging for a touch. He gave it to her with his mouth. She screamed and pushed at his shoulders.

  "No!" she cried out in a groan, and he stopped.

  Their eyes met. She shook her head, a pleading look on her face.

  She wasn't ready for this. He circled his fingers on her thighs, calming her and exciting her at the same time, and when he looked back at her, she was staring at him with a look of wonder and fear.

  "We're going to do this, Addie." Please woman, don't back out now. He moved up so his chest was even with hers and he kissed her, deep and slow, long and stroking, caressing her soft chest with his until he felt her surrender. Then he pressed down with his body. His groin hit the bed between he
r legs and he bit back a curse. She was so small her body was shorter than his. He crawled up farther so he could press against her. When he met the warm moist-ness he craved, he pushed against her and slowly circled his hips.

  He had to ease his way into her, for he knew she had no experience. So he circled his hips to teach her the pleasure motion, used his chest hair to taunt her breasts and his tongue to stoke her passion.

  Deep inside he burned to mate with her. Everything—the unblemished smoothness of her white skin, the lure of her woman's smell, the unique flavor of her mouth—drove a hot, carnal flame through his body. He grew harder, felt close to bursting, and he craved the feeling more than anything in his whole life.

  He moved down, lips touching, and mated with her open, seeking mouth while his fingers moved in to rub her cleft and toy with the seed of her. He could feel her rising. The thighs that held his hips began to quiver; her legs stiffened and her hips moved up as if they were seeking. He moved his finger to the top of her seed, rubbing faster. She screamed into his mouth the moment she came.

  "Again," he whispered in her hot ear, and he put his finger inside her, driving in and almost out for minutes that seemed like long, impassioned hours, and he watched her shake her head as if she couldn't believe it was happening again. She was lost to the way he played her body. This one little woman who had known no man had more natural passion than all the women he'd ever bedded, and seeing what he could do to her made him feel like he held the world in his hands.

  Her hips began to move down on his finger, responding with the motions of mating. He could feel her virgin's barrier, so he pushed at it, hoping to stretch it and make the breaching easy. She pulled up and slid down his finger faster. He inserted another finger, moved them in a tight circle, and her release squeezed around them, throbbing. Sitting back on his heels, he opened her farther, removed his fingers and pressed inside. He slid in inch by tight inch while his mouth moved over her ribs, her neck, her mouth and forehead. His elbows rested on either side of her shoulders and he entered her more, touching the barrier.

  He stopped. It was impossible for his mouth to reach hers without moving out of her. Her hands scored his chest, pleading, and when they hit his nipples, he threw back his head. Her hot little arms wrapped around his waist, and he drove home.

  She gasped and stiffened, but he didn't move. He stayed there, poised above her and buried within her, and he watched her face. Her look held no pain, just confusion and what looked like a little wonder. He pulled almost out, and he could reach her mouth. He whispered against her lips, "Again."

  Her eyes widened in understanding and he began to move, slower than he ever thought he could. She was so hot, so tight, that he had to go on, harder than he planned. Now she moved with him in perfect synchronicity. The friction grew hot, burning as he swelled toward release. He drove in as she drove up, and their breaths raced out and seemed to wrap around the room, over and over. Her lips closed over his distended nipple and she sucked hard at the same moment he felt her deep contractions. One more dark thrust and he spilled in splendid agony.

  When his vision cleared and his breathing slowed, he was still on his elbows above her. They shook slightly, but he was amazed he had any strength left in his arms. This little bit of a woman had drained the life from him, and when he looked down at her, he felt the pull of something else, something elusive that held him to her. His long hair hung damply and hid the confusion that he knew was on his face.

  There were just the two of them, together, joined at this moment in time, and God help him, no one else but her mattered.

  She didn't move, didn't say a word, but her lips still held his nipple. She had fainted—a little death. He'd felt it too, when she'd sucked on his chest, that freefall over the edge of passion. As he gathered her small, warm, stirring body into his arms, wrapping her hair over them, Montana looked down and vowed that he would never make love to a tall woman again.

  Chapter 15

  The morning sun glared through the open bedroom window. Hot and bright, it lit right on Addie's face. She grunted and buried her face in the pillow. It smelled like Montana Creed. She turned back toward the sunlight and pried open one eye, then the other. She inched an arm out from under the sheet and rubbed her eyes, trying to focus. When she did glance down, her bare bosom stared back.

  Air whistled past her lips as she sucked in a breath, suddenly remembering everything. A quiet snore called out from the other side of the bed, and she stiffened. A groan burst from her lips. Her whole body ached. She licked her dry lips and they stung, so she ran her fingers soothingly over her mouth and chin. His beard stubble had rubbed them raw.

  He stirred next to her, and her eyes popped wide open. She held her breath for a long second and eased over an inch closer to the edge of the bed. When she moved, every muscle beneath her waist screamed out and she winced. She felt black and blue. She plucked the sheet in her finger and thumb and pulled it up, peering down at what she was sure would be her bruised body. There were marks, all right. A small circle of walnut-sized bruises surrounded her belly button. She remembered how they got there and blushed so red her face felt on fire. She dropped the sheet as if scalded.

  Good Lord, what had she done? Her dark eyes shuttered closed, but that couldn't block out what had happened. It didn't stop the confusion she felt, the shame, and the guilt, because the fact remained that Adelaide Amanda Pinkney had been intimate with a man, a man she wasn't married to.

  "Mornin'," he whispered into her ear as he turned.

  Addie almost flew off the bed, but his arm snaked out and pulled her back against his warm, hairy, naked body.

  "Don't!" She pried his arm off her and scooted over to the very edge of the bed, jerking the sheet up to her chin so hard that she completely uncovered him. She didn't want him to touch her now. It just reminded her of what happened after he'd crawled into her bed, and she didn't want to be reminded, didn't want to feel guilty. What she wanted was to cast the blame elsewhere.

  "What's the matter with you?" He frowned at her.

  "This is all your fault!" She glared at his face, afraid to look lower than that blasted dimple on his chin.

  "My fault?" He sat up and looked at her as if she'd grown horns. Then a cocky grin replaced his puzzled look. "What's wrong, Addie," he teased, "embarrassed?" He grabbed the sheet and jerked it and her into his arms. His lips buried into her neck. "Don't be embarrassed, sweet. I've seen every inch of you. Hell, I've tasted every inch of you."

  "How dare you remind me!" She slipped from his hold and scrambled out of the bed. She grabbed a hold on the sheet and yanked it with all her small might. It flew off him and billowed around her. She wrapped it over her naked, aching body and glared at him. "Cover yourself!"

  "Why? You've seen all of me." He knelt in the middle of the bed, facing her in all his proud and naked glory. "Every damn inch!"

  She grabbed a pillow and flung it at his naked hips. "Cover yourself! I don't want to see you! You did this to me. You chased me and confused me and kissed me and… and everything!"

  "And you loved it," he dared as he held the pillow across the front of his hips.

  "I did not!" she lied. "You seduced me!"

  "Three times?" Sarcasm dripped from his words.

  She threw a brush at him. He caught it.

  "Can't face it, Miss Pinky?" He tossed the brush aside, his face no longer teasing but angry, really angry. "Can't face that you liked what I did to you? Hell, little lady, you were hot enough to burn a hole in the bed." He crawled off the mattress and bent to get his pants.

  She clutched the sheet tighter, feeling scared and hurt and confused. "You've been chasing me everywhere." She didn't yell anymore; now she spoke barely above a whisper. "It's not my fault."

  "Great!" he said, stepping into his pants and then standing there all mad and handsome, not even bothering to button them. "It's my fault, then. I'll take the blame." He shrugged into his shirt. "It's my fault you wanted it. I forced yo
u to wrap your legs around me and moan. I made you use your tongue like that, didn't I? Oh, and I made you cry 'more… please' over and over, right?" He jammed his shirt into his pants.

  "But I've never done it before!" she accused, pulling the sheet tighter, as if it could protect her from his words.

  "Then I guess I'm one hell of a good teacher. It's too bad you didn't learn to ride a horse as well as you learned to ride a man."

  She stiffened at his bluntness and unconsciously backed into the corner. "Leave! Get out!"

  "I seem to recall telling you that last night, remember?" He headed for the door.

  She remembered. It had scared her to death.

  He stopped at the door and turned his scorn-filled eyes on her. "I told you you had two choices, and you made yours. Little Miss Pinky didn't get out, but she sure got—''

  She rammed her hands over her ears to block the word, and she shut her eyes to block out his face. She stood there naked and shaking, the sheet now a white pool at her feet. When she opened her eyes, he was gone, so she sank to the floor and cried.

  Montana stormed through the barn doors, scowling.

  "Wooo-eeee! Looka that face. What's wrong, bust your nutcrackers?"

  "What the hell are you doing here?" Montana glared at old Custus, perched on a short stool milking one of the cows.

  "The little missy hired me."

  Montana swore and then began to pace. "The little missy" was his problem. Everything was all fouled up. Stupid fool, he'd gone and really slept with her instead of sending her off. He'd really messed things up now. He had thought he could control the situation between Addie and him, but somehow in the dark of night, with her in his arms smelling all sweet and homey, all his plans, all his control, had flown out the window. And now he'd never get this place. He'd blown the best plan yet to scare her away. Muttering himself to hell, he glanced at the old man.