"A swing would be nice, don't you think?" She settled comfortably in the rocker.
"Mmm-hmm." He took a drink. "If you were staying."
She tilted her head. "Right."
The lemonade was tangy and cold and he drank it thirstily, "The girls sleeping?"
"I don't think so, but they're winding down."
"If they keep you awake, come get me and I'll haul 'em back."
"They'll be fine."
Mitch stood to leave and massaged the crick in his neck.
Heather took his glass and set it on the floor beside hers. "Is your neck hurting?"
"It's been stiff ever since shoveling that plaster and spreading the wet cement last week. I think I just strained a muscle."
"Sit on a step and I'll massage it for you."
The offer was too appealing to pass on. He lowered himself to the second step and Heather positioned herself behind him. a knee on each side of his body. She placed both hands low on his neck and smoothed them across his shoulders. Her right hand found a knot and she kneaded it.
A shiver ran through Mitch's body at the profound pleasure. He groaned.
"Right there, isn't it?"
She smelled like lemons and baby shampoo, and her warm thighs bracketed his torso. He straightened and hooked his arms over her knees, allowing their weight to rest on her legs while she did delightful things to his aching neck and shoulders with her small, sturdy hands.
"You're stiff right here," she said, rubbing the spot.
That ain't all, he thought lecherously.
"Are you falling asleep?" The words were breathed right in his ear, and he almost came unglued. Her hands had paused on his shoulders; her breath tickled his ear.
"No." His voice sounded as if he'd eaten gravel for dinner. He raised his hands and covered hers where they lay on his shoulders. His fingertips explored her skin, her knuckles, her short, smooth nails. She turned one hand over, her right one, and it trembled slightly. He traced the contours of her palm and didn't know if he'd ever experienced anything so sensual.
Behind him, though the night was warm and sultry, he sensed her shiver. He used his left hand to capture and hold her right one so she couldn't pull away, and he turned sideways to look up at her.
She didn't try to withdraw, so he released her hand. She used it to touch his hair and trace his ear. It felt too good to be an innocent touch.
Mitch lowered his face and pressed his lips against the skin of her thigh.
A shaky breath escaped her.
He kissed her leg, her knee, darted his tongue out and tasted her. Her flesh quivered under the kiss.
Her left hand, which she'd pressed against his back, knotted his cotton shirt.
Straightening, he raised his head. She lowered hers and their lips met. Not gently this time. Not hesitantly, but hungrily. She bracketed his jaw with her palm and gave herself over to this one.
Her scent enveloped him. Her tart, lemon-tasting kiss devastated him. He could think of nothing but the feel of her lips and the pleasure of her mouth. He wanted to lose himself in her heat and endear himself to her heart. He wanted her. He had a huge gaping place inside him where she belonged.
Disentangling himself briefly, he moved up a step and pulled her into his lap. She came willingly, a warm, enthusiastic participant. He paused for breath and she raised her chin, baring her throat. He nipped it, kissed her skin, nuzzled a path to her ear and closed his teeth gently over her lobe.
Her breath caught and she captured his face and brought his mouth back to hers. "This is crazy," she said, and kissed him again.
Mitch cupped her breast through her cotton top, through her bra, and felt her hardened nipple against his fingers. He wanted to touch her skin, taste her. He wanted to make love to her.
Heather's hand covered his and she pressed herself against him. "This can't go anywhere," she said against his mouth.
He knew. She'd assured him enough. But he didn't want to think about the lack of a future. He wanted her now. "It doesn't have to mean anything," he said hoarsely.
With her hand on his cheek and his on her breast, she moved away enough to look at him in the darkness. His own words echoed through his head. It doesn't have to mean anything. It would mean something to him, something he'd have to live with later—or live without forever.
She meant something to him. How shallow did she think he was to suggest that lovemaking between them could be meaningless?
Apparently he'd said the right thing because she didn't pull away. She brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek, the beard he'd shaven that morning rasping in the silence.
"I'd better check on the girls," she said softly. "Make sure they're asleep."
And then what?
"I have a baby monitor in the boys's room. I can place it in the hall and bring the receiver with me over to the bunkhouse. . .if I don't have second thoughts and change my mind."
Mitch's heart pounded. She wanted to come to him. "I hope you don't change your mind."
She disentangled herself from his embrace then, and stood, using his shoulder for support to move up the stairs. He caught her hand and kissed her wrist before she pulled away and entered the house. Don't, don't, don't change your mind, he called silently after her. Please, don't change your mind.
He sat there for a few seconds, reliving the heat and the blood-pounding excitement of their kisses. Then, running his fingers through his hair, he stood, glanced behind him into the empty kitchen and headed for the bunkhouse. Stripping off his T-shirt, he shaved in the mottled mirror in the small bathroom, flipped off the lights and went to the screen door to watch for her at the house, which stood dark and proud beneath the moon.
Too many minutes passed.
Mitch worked his boots off and lay on his bunk in the darkness. Stacking his hands beneath his head, he listened to the frogs and the call of an owl through the open door. His erratic heartbeat sounded loud in his ears.
She'd changed her mind.
Disappointment arced through his chest, and desire still pulsed in his blood. Her grip on self-control was for the better, he tried to tell himself. He'd been out of his mind in the heat of passion. He knew this would lead nowhere and he wasn't made to have casual flings. He'd had the foresight to spare a mistake between himself and Trina, and he should have known better than to get carried aWay with Heather.
But there was no comparison between the women, between his feelings for them.
He should sleep.
A tiny sound caught his attention. An animal perhaps? One of the cats? A board creaked and his heart leaped.
He opened his eyes to her silhouette on the other side of the screen. She'd come.
Eleven
The door squeaked open and closed.
He sat up.
Heather stood framed against the light from the stable that filtered across the porch and through the door. Slender legs in shorts, arms bare, hair falling to her shoulders. He couldn't see her face.
She carried something forward and placed it on the old chest of drawers beside his bunk. "We'll hear if any of them gets up or calls out," she said. "I turned the volume up as high as it'll go."
The receiver made a soft white noise.
"Heather," he said.
She turned toward where he sat. He took her hand and found it trembling.
"If you have any second thoughts about this, I'm not going to push."
"We're both adults," she replied. "We both know the situation."
"What you mean is that you want to be sure I know you're leaving in a few weeks, that this isn't going to lead to anything permanent."
She took a shaky breath. "I haven't done anything for me in a very long time." Her voice was low and earnest. "If it's selfish of me to ask this—to want this—I'm sorry. But I can't mislead you."
"You're not selfish. You're one of the most giving people I've ever met."
She sat beside him on the bunk, their hands still clasped. "Sometimes I
resent all that giving, so I'm not the saint you imagine. Sometimes I'd like to be on the receiving end."
"I understand." So he spoke what she wanted to hear—what she wanted to believe. "This doesn't have to mean anything except a few hours of pleasure with a person we're attracted to."
She pulled her hand away, almost self-consciously. "I don't do this sort of thing. I've never done this before."
"Neither have I."
Her head turned toward him. "Never?"
"There hasn't been anyone since my wife died. I've spent all my energy on the girls and my job."
"I believe you." She hesitated over her next words. "But even though we haven't.. .had other partners, I don't want to get pregnant, and I haven't used birth control since my divorce."
"I can take care of that."
He got up and strode out to his truck, where he fished in the glove compartment and returned with three square packets. He chuckled as he stuck them under his pillow.
"What's so funny?"
"When I was leaving Minnesota, one of the guys bought those at a truck stop and told me to enjoy my trip. I laughed, stuck them in the glove compartment and forgot about them."
He chuckled again.
"What?"
"Nothing. Maybe us discussing this so logically after what happened a little while ago."
"Have you. . .lost the urge?"
He smiled. "I haven't lost the urge since I met you."
She scooted to the middle of the bunk and tucked her legs up, hugging her knees. "I'm a little afraid."
"Of me?"
"No, no. Of what you'll think of me."
"I'm not going to think any less of you because you want to sleep with me."
"Not that." She lowered her head.
Mitch stroked her silky hair back and tucked it behind her ear. "What, then?"
"It's silly, I guess."
He moved close and pulled her against him, kissing the top of her head. "Tell me."
"Well, I'm afraid you won't find me.. .appealing."
"I already find you appealing."
"I mean afterward."
He considered her words. He didn't know much about her husband, or anything about their physical relationship. She'd borne his children, but that didn't necessarily mean she'd had an intimate connection with him. Maybe she was a little shy and awkward about being with a different man. Besides, she'd already assured him there wasn't going to be much "afterward" to worry about.
He closed his arms around her delicate shoulders and hugged her to his chest, burying his face in her hair. "I love the smell of your hair." He lowered his face to the nape of her neck and inhaled. "And your skin."
Heather threaded her arms beneath his to hug him soundly. She loved the solid feel of her breasts crushed against his hard chest, the strength of his arms wrapped around her. She pressed her face to his bare chest, felt the tickle of fine hairs against her nose, inhaled the arousing scent of his flesh that had driven her to this point.
His hands were so gentle on her, his kisses against her neck warm and damp. She was pleased when he turned and lowered them both to their sides on the mattress. He touched her through her clothing, as though discovering her waist, her rib cage and lastly her breasts. The touches were giddily arousing, but unsatisfying because the fabric kept his hands from her skin.
Grateful he wore no shirt, she ran her palms over his chest to satisfy the overwhelming urge to discover his erotic textures. He was steel and satin and heat, and her senses had never been so finely honed to a sensory experience. The skin on the underside of his arm was silky; the hair on his chest, coarse, and she wanted to feel both against her body.
He kissed her finally, a warm, damp seal upon her lips, and she returned the kiss openmouthed. His tongue sought entrance and she met it wholeheartedly. He moved over her, their legs twined, and he pulled her hips against his. Heather could barely stand the sharp edge of desire that had taken control of her senses. Nothing was enough. The kisses weren't enough, the touches weren't enough.
Mitch urged her to sit and tugged upward at the hem of her cotton top. He broke the kiss long enough for her to pull the shirt over her head, then found her lips again. He reached behind her, and after a keen moment of anticipation, unfastened her bra and cast it aside.
The air puckered Heather's nipples, so when he lowered his head he found a tight bud and drew it into his mouth. They'd found a reclining position again, and she grabbed his hair in both hands and heard a sound of pleasure and impatience escape her throat.
"You are perfect," he said, his breath cooling her wet nipple.
"No," she denied.
"Yes." Shifting, he moved to her other breast and favored it with the same devotion.
Heather worried she wasn't giving him near the pleasure he was giving her, but his palm cupping her between her thighs cast her thoughts into oblivion. She pressed against the heel of his hand and gasped.
He reached for the fastening of her shorts and she helped him, skimming her shorts and panties off in one swoop.
Mitch pushed himself to a standing position, leaving her bare and trembling on his bunk. He had the presence of mind to cross to the door, push it closed and lock it, shutting out the dim light.
Returning, she heard the rasp of his zipper and the rustle of clothing as he removed his jeans.
Her heart pounded erratically. This jolting need was new to her, and only now did she fully recognize her ignorance. She hadn't known she could want a man this way.
His hard thigh met hers, and awakened nerve endings sent the message of pleasure throughout her body.
"I could find you in the dark, just by the way you smell." He knelt on the bed, and his voice came from above her. "It's real, lingering from something you've been doing."
"Peanut butter and jelly turns you on?" she joked nervously. She wasn't accustomed to love talk.
"You turn me on." His fingers brushing her abdomen made her skin tingle. He'd become a distinct shape in the darkness now as her eyes adjusted. He stroked her ever so gently with his knuckles. Finally he opened his palm and skimmed it up her ribs to the outside of her breast, and she breathed a sigh of relief that he was touching her again at last.
Lifting her upper body from the mattress, she reached for his shoulders and pulled him down to her.
His fuzzy chest came in contact with her sensitive breasts; his arousal pressed hot and provocative against her hip. She barely stifled a moan. His leisurely seduction was going to drive her mad.
Guiding his chin, she initiated an abandoned kiss. He touched her then, finding her slick and swollen in readiness. His caress was deliberate, yet unhurried, and once she realized he had no intention of entering her quickly and bringing their coupling to a rushed end, she relaxed and accepted the intense pleasure.
She melted against him, allowing the sensations to build and build. His patience and deliberation humbled her, thrilled her.
Heather's body stiffened and her climax swept over her in a keen wave. A little disappointed and a lot embarrassed at her swift release, she opened her eyes to Mitch's dark outline above her. He kissed her chin, her throat, tasted her and trailed a damp path to her breast. When he pulled her nipple between his teeth, a corresponding pulsing ache throbbed to new life.
He reached beneath the pillow, then deftly sheathed himself and returned to enter her. Heather gripped his upper arms and shuddered at the pleasurable sensation.
He began a slow, tantalizing rhythm that rocked her senses and renewed her feverish desire. Heather almost cried at the fierce edge of gratification.
He whispered against her neck, hot unsettling words and praises in a heart-stirring voice. She quivered at the passion in his lovemaking, at the force of her physical and emotional reaction.
When he grasped her hips and dropped his forehead into the crook of her neck and spent himself, Heather spun over the edge with a gasp.
The wild rhythm of his heart against her breast slowed and the air cooled
their damp skin. Mitch slid his weight to her side and cradled her. She'd heard and read a lot of hype about passionate lovemaking, and she'd always believed two things: that the stories were exaggerated, and that her experiences were lacking. Now she knew only one was true.
When she went home and got back to her normal life, she would always know that she'd finally experienced something incredible with the most unselfish and warmhearted man she'd ever known. Surely he had some negative qualities that would lessen her opinion of him, but he hadn't yet revealed them. And the good part of a brief fling such as this was that there wouldn't be a chance for her to see them—and even if she did, she could ignore them until she left, never have to deal with him again.
Her calculated thinking almost shamed her, but she buried the guilt in favor of doing something for herself for a change. She hadn't given him false hope. Not that he'd even want anything more, she scoffed at herself. She wasn't exactly a hot prize, and he might even lose interest before their time together was over.
"That was incredible," he said against her temple.
"I had no idea," she replied on a sigh.
He had sensed Heather's uncertainty with each progressive phase of their lovemaking, uncertainty overcome by desire, and almost. . .well, wonder or surprise.
Mitch enjoyed her soft damp skin against his, her hair under his chin, and the beat of her heart beneath his arm. She was so erotically responsive and fervent, his body remained half aroused. He wasn't sorry. Even though this woman was now a part of his very heart, he wasn't sorry.
He wouldn't try to change her mind. Pressure was no foundation for a relationship. It hurt him to the core that she didn't have the same feelings he did, but he was a big boy. He'd walked into this with his eyes wide open.
Mitch disentangled his limbs from Heather's, made a trip to the bathroom, left the light on and the door ajar, and returned to find her beneath the sheet. "Cold?"
"A little."
Her self-consciousness was endearing. He slid alongside her and followed the curves of her body through the fabric. She avoided his eyes. "Are you sorry?"
The Magnificent Seven Page 9
