Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  Beneath his tender ministrations, her clothing fell away. She sighed with delight when he kicked his gym shorts into the corner, revealing himself completely for the first time. He was a proud, virile warrior, created with long limbs and sleek, hard muscles, perfect for hunting and fighting off enemies and pleasing the eyes of his woman.

  The admiration in his eyes when he looked at her said he found her equally pleasing, allowing her to shed all modesty and inhibition. Boldly she stepped forward and tugged off the leather strings at the ends of his braids. His hair immediately began to unwind. She helped it along, sliding her fingers through the thick ebony sections, spreading it out on his broad shoulders.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” she said.

  He held the shower curtain open with one hand and offered her the other. “Come.”

  She stepped into the bathtub, lifting her face to the water while he climbed in behind her and enclosed them both in a warm, intimate world. A world not unlike the sweat lodge. Surrounding her with his arms, he urged her to lean back against his chest.

  Then he rubbed a bar of soap over her breasts and belly with his right hand and followed it with his left, working up a frothy lather on her skin. He scrubbed her arms, her legs, even her feet, then turned her around and scrubbed her back and buttocks with the same gentle thoroughness. Each slick, circular stroke of his hands sensitized a new swath of nerve endings until she burned with wanting him.

  She held out her hand in a silent demand for the soap, returning his wicked smile when he slapped it into her palm. Oh, she would make him burn the way she burned, need the way she needed, want the way she wanted. But while the act of scrubbing him elicited groans of pleasure from deep in his throat, it also intensified her own arousal until she could barely contain it.

  At last he took the soap away and handed her a bottle of shampoo. When she poured a generous dollop into her palm, he went down on one knee, nuzzling her breasts and belly, stroking her back and buttocks with his hands, while she rubbed the shampoo into his scalp. Exploding shampoo bubbles released a scent of citrus into the air. His hair flowed between her fingers like ropes of wet silk.

  He lapped at the drops of water that collected in the grooves of her collarbones, followed some that drizzled into the valley between her breasts with his tongue, flicked at others that clung to her nipples. His hands grew bolder, sliding up and down the backs of her thighs, then the fronts, coming dangerously close to the one place she most wanted to feel his touch, but never quite reaching it.

  Her knees quivered. She clutched his head against her abdomen, fearing she would collapse if she didn’t hold on to something. In one smooth motion, he rose to his feet, anchoring her with a strong arm around her waist. Murmuring soothing nonsense phrases, he massaged shampoo into her hair, then ducked them both under the spray for a final rinse before shutting off the water.

  After a few swipes of a towel over his hair and torso, he lifted her from the tub and made short work of drying her off. Then he scooped her up against his chest again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his heart thudding against her side. Her own heart picked up the rhythm, pounding with anticipation as he carried her to his bedroom.

  She would not have been surprised if he’d dumped her in the middle of the bed and taken her immediately. Nor would she have objected; she couldn’t imagine feeling any more aroused than she already did.

  Jackson had other ideas, however, wonderful, inventive, erotic ideas that he proceeded to demonstrate one by one. Using his hands and lips, his teeth and his tongue, he explored her body with maddening patience. He knew when to linger and when to move on, when to tantalize and when to stimulate, when to soothe and when to incite.

  As it had in the sweat lodge, time stretched out until it lost all meaning. Her world narrowed to the circle of light cast by the lamp on the nightstand, to the man in her arms and the incredible sensations created by his touch. By the time he retrieved a foil packet from somewhere in the headboard, she was filled with such a fierce need for release, she wasn’t about to wait for Chief Slow Hand to take care of the precautions.

  Grabbing the packet out of his hand, she ripped it open with her teeth, tossed the foil aside and rolled the condom onto his engorged shaft with a minimum of fuss. Then she kissed her way up his torso, giving him a taste of his own sweet medicine before she captured his mouth with an urgent demand for satisfaction. And then he was beside her, sliding his right arm under her shoulders, hoisting her left leg over his hip, entering her with a powerful thrust that nearly made her weep with relief.

  But there was no time for tears. The man with infinite patience had vanished. In his place, she found a man determined to drive her out of control in the shortest time possible.

  Murmuring dark, delicious words that would have shocked her under any other circumstances, he thrust into her relentlessly, like the echoes of the drums she could still hear pounding in her memory. He nipped at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, soothed it with his tongue, caressed her breasts with his free hand. And the drums beat on, harder and faster. Her hips found the rhythm, meeting each thrust with equal power.

  Again she found herself clinging to his voice as she reached and strained for something elusive. Elusive, but desperately important. A oneness. A connection of spirits that could be found only in sweat-drenched flesh and the drumbeats and the steamy friction where their bodies came together again and again in a pleasurable sort of violence.

  And still he urged her on, praising her, commanding her, invading every part of her consciousness, until there was only heat and light and the drumbeats. Always the drumbeats. Driving her up and up in an endless quest. Suddenly they were there, reaching that mystical, elusive peak together in a chorus of ecstatic shouts. And for one utterly sweet moment, their souls embraced.

  The drums gradually faded into the strong, steady thud of Jackson’s heart beneath her ear. Ragged breathing softened to contented sighs. She curled into his warmth, felt him brush a gentle kiss on the top of her head, then slid into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  Jackson awoke to the first golden rays of dawn with an arm and shoulder that had gone numb and a warm, naked body plastered against his side under the covers. He lifted the sheet and felt a wave of tenderness threaten to swamp his heart. Maggie’s head lay in the crook of his shoulder, her hair standing up every which way in adorable little spikes. She had one arm and a leg draped over him in a boneless sprawl, and her mouth was curved in a soft smile that suggested happy dreams.

  Man, she was something else, he thought, grinning as he tucked the covers around her neck and shoulders. He’d expected her to be an enthusiastic lover, but he hadn’t expected her to take him on like such a tigress. Just remembering the fire in her eyes when she’d snatched the condom out of his hand brought on an erection he could have used for a tent pole.

  And to think he’d given her a chance to back out. He might have lived the rest of his days without ever knowing what real passion felt like. After all that had happened between them last night, surely she must love him.

  There was no use trying to deny it. He was deeply and irrevocably in love with Maggie, and he wanted her to stay with him forever—as his wife, and the mother of his children. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted kids until yesterday, when Annie had told Maggie he could give her pretty babies. God, yes, he could. And he would, if only she would let him.

  But what if she didn’t feel the same way about him? The only predictable thing about Maggie was that she always found a way to do the unpredictable. Last night there had been no promises, no commitments, no words of love spoken.

  What if she’d only wanted one night with him? She’d said she didn’t want an affair, but when he’d hinted at a proposal, she sure hadn’t turned any cartwheels, either. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he could also squeeze out these nagging doubts. Damn.

  He wanted to shake her awake and demand a commitment. Or, better yet, make love to her again
, and seduce one out of her. But as stubborn and independent as Maggie was, he figured trying to manipulate her or crowd her in any way would be the worst mistake he could make.

  Much as he hated to admit it, this was probably one of those times when a wise man would back off and allow his woman the time and space she needed to make her own decision. That didn’t mean he couldn’t do his damnedest to help her make the right one. But ultimately, she would only stay with him if that was where she honestly wanted to be.

  Unable to lie still any longer, Jackson slowly eased his shoulder from under Maggie’s head, replacing it with a pillow. A million tiny needles attacked his arm as the blood flowed back into it. Biting back a hiss at the discomfort, he gently removed her arm and leg and slid out of the bed.

  A pouty little frown crossed her face, but she shifted around, wrapped her arms around the pillow and settled back to sleep. He stood there, filling his eyes with her, imprinting this moment on his memory until the temptation to crawl back in there and make love to her again became almost irresistible.

  Promising himself there would be time for that later, he gathered up a clean set of clothes and left the room. He took a quick shower, dressed and braided his hair, then hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Since neither of them had eaten last night, breakfast in bed seemed like as good a place as any to start convincing Maggie she couldn’t live without him.

  Hot coffee and orange juice, buttermilk pancakes with his mother’s homemade huckleberry syrup, bacon and scrambled eggs—what more could a woman want? He tossed a dish towel over his shoulder, loaded everything onto a cookie sheet and carefully hauled it up the stairs. Maggie hadn’t moved a centimeter since he’d left, nor did she when he entered the room.

  Setting the tray on his dresser, he poured a mug of coffee and carried it to the bed. He held it under her nose, letting the fragrant steam act as an alarm clock. Her nose twitched. She yawned and stretched. Finally, one eye popped open, studying the cup with considerable confusion.

  “Morning, gorgeous,” he said. “Think you could eat some breakfast?”

  Her other eye popped open, and for a second she stared at him as if she’d never laid eyes on him before. Then she shook her head, started to sit up, and made a desperate grab for the sheet when she realized she was naked. Tucking it under her arms, she frowned at him, while a rosy blush raced up her neck and into her cheeks.

  He set the cup on the nightstand and sat on the bed, facing her. Bracing one hand on the far side of her hips, he raised his other hand to stroke her flushed cheek.

  “There was no shame between us last night. There’s no need for any now.”

  Her eyes opened wide, and he could actually see the memories of what they had shared return to her. The blush intensified, but her frown slowly reversed itself into a sweet, sexy smile.

  “Don’t look at me like that if you’re hungry for food,” he warned her, stealing a quick kiss from her lips.

  As if on cue, her stomach rumbled. She pulled away with an embarrassed laugh. “Could I please borrow a shirt? I need to visit the bathroom, and I’m not really, um, used to morning-afters. You know?”

  Yeah, he knew what she meant, and in a way, her modesty pleased him, though it also amused him. Her curvy little body held no secrets from him, but if she wasn’t comfortable strutting around naked in front of him just yet, that was okay. He went to the dresser and found her a bright red T-shirt.

  She accepted it with a grateful smile, tugged it on over her head and climbed out of bed. The shirt should have looked silly on her. The shoulder seams hung halfway down her arms, and the hem almost reached her knees, but it draped her curves in a way that made his mouth go dry and his hands tremble with a fierce need to scoop her up, put her back in that bed and keep her there for at least a week.

  His thoughts must have shown on his face. Maggie shot him a wary smile, then turned and scurried down the hallway to the bathroom. He let out a deep, shuddering sigh and told himself to get a grip. She was bound to have a lot of things on her mind today. The last thing she needed was sexual pressure from him.

  But, damn it, he’d finally found a woman who had given him a taste of heaven. Why couldn’t they just fall in love, get married and live happily ever after like anyone else? It didn’t seem fair that this situation had to be so blasted complicated.

  “So, who ever promised you life would be fair?” he muttered, turning away to straighten up the bed.

  The sheets were still warm from her body, and the pillow she’d been sleeping on carried her unique scent. His chest tightened. His throat closed up. An icy sweat broke out on his forehead. He couldn’t lose her now. He just couldn’t. And he couldn’t play it cool and pretend to give her time and space. Jeez, that sounded like something his ex-wife would have said. Yuppie ideas, if he’d ever heard any.

  Those asinine notions had no place in an open, honest relationship, which was the only kind he wanted. Either Maggie loved him or she didn’t. Either she wanted to be with him or she didn’t. She wanted to live with her people or with whites.

  She had to make a choice. It was as simple as that. But would she make the one he wanted? And how hard did he dare push her to make it?

  Maggie breezed into the room then, her face glowing from a scrubbing. Her hair still stood up every which way, but she’d combed out the spikes. And that damn red T-shirt still made him feel randy as hell.

  Clearing his throat, he fluffed up the pillows, then held the covers open in an invitation for her to climb in. She did so, with a smile that seemed both polite and nervous. Biting back an impatient snort, he grabbed the tray from the dresser, settled it on her lap, then sat down facing her again.

  He stripped off the tinfoil he’d wrapped around the plates to keep the food warm. She oohed and aahed and thanked him for going to so much trouble, but her bright chatter couldn’t hide the shadows in her eyes. Not from him, anyway. Just as he couldn’t hide his tension from her, which had, no doubt, put those shadows in her eyes in the first place.

  Damn it, this was supposed to be fun! He’d wanted to pamper her and care for her, but she looked like a kid trying to choke down liver and onions and brussels sprouts. Heedless of the pitcher of syrup or the juice glasses or the coffee cups, he dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter, leaned across the tray and gave her a long, hard kiss.

  When he pulled back, he clasped his hands on either side of her head and looked into her eyes. “Are you regretting what we did last night?”

  “No,” she said softly, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “I could never regret that, Jackson.”

  Thank God, he thought, feeling one knot of tension in the pit of his stomach relax. Lowering his hands to his lap, he mustered a half smile. “Then what’s wrong? Now that you’ve had your way with me, don’t you respect me anymore?”

  She laughed, and another knot in his stomach relaxed. “Of course I do, you silly man.” Then her expression grew sober. “I’m just not sure where we’re supposed to go from here. I told you, I’m not used to this.”

  “You weren’t a virgin last night,” Jackson said, frowning when he realized he might not have known it if she had been. After all, he hadn’t made a practice of deflowering virgins, and Nancy certainly hadn’t been one when he met her. “Were you?”

  “Not quite,” she admitted. “There was one guy back in college, but that relationship didn’t work out. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t impressed enough with sex to try it again. Until last night.”

  “How do you feel about it now?” he asked, his voice sounding strained and hoarse to his own ears. “Were you, uh, impressed?”

  Her lips slowly curved into a knowing smile, and her voice took on a husky note. “Oh, yeah. Incredibly impressed.”

  Though another knot relaxed in his stomach, the tension didn’t dissipate this time. It simply moved lower. Straight to his groin, in fact.

  “I’m glad,” he said. “I was impressed, too, Maggie. In case you’re wondering, I don’t
feel casual about it. I mean, it…well, it really meant something to me.”

  “I know, Jackson. It meant something to me, too. I’m just not sure what to do about it.”

  She couldn’t offer him an opening like that and not expect him to take advantage of it. Still, there was an air of skittishness about her that told him it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. The trick would be to find a way to give her a gentle nudge in his direction, instead of a shove. Tipping his head to one side, he forced himself to choose his words as carefully as he would if he was defending a client charged with murder.

  “Listen, Maggie, I know you have a lot to think about, in terms of your mother and your relatives and your career. And I don’t want to add any pressure to what you’re already feeling. But if you’re ever interested in negotiating that proposal we joked about at my mother’s place, all you have to do is say so.”

  Not bad, he told himself as he watched another smile spread over her face. You’ve let her know you’re serious about her, without backing her into a corner. But it wasn’t enough, damn it. It was just more of that stupid yuppie thinking. Had he become such an emotional coward he would settle for less than a baby step, when what he really wanted was a giant leap? Not hardly.

  Picking up her hand, he turned it over and placed a kiss in the center of her palm. Then he looked into her eyes and said, “Move in with me. My intentions are absolutely honorable, and I want every spare moment you’ve got to show you how good we can be together.”

  “Isn’t that a little risky? It will offend some of the more traditional people, Jackson. Like your family.”

  “That’s their problem. I’m falling in love with you, Maggie. I want to be with you.”

  There. He’d said it, and it hadn’t even hurt much. At least it wouldn’t if she didn’t reject him out of hand.

  “Oh, Jackson, I don’t know.” Biting her lower lip, she studied him with big, sad eyes. “I’m confused about so many things right now.”