Christmas Male

by Jillian Hart

  Yes, this is what she'd always wanted to know. Real passion, the kind with gentleness at its core, the kind that overthrew sense and the ordinary. She wrapped her arms around him, holding on tight as he kissed her again, his hands sweeping up her back, trapping her against him. The tip of his tongue swept over hers in a tantalizing caress. So tantalizing, her bones melted completely away and she would have sagged straight to the ground if his arms hadn't been holding her up. She clung to him, breathing hard and fast, her blood tripping in her veins at an alarming rate. He took his time, nibbling along her bottom lip before finally drawing it into his mouth.

  Yes, she thought, feeling her body soften and swell, wanting, just wanting. This is what she'd been missing out on, this is what she wanted. Tenderness brimmed her heart as Miles released her lip and eased away, gasping for air, gazing down into her eyes. In those dark depths, she saw the same longing she felt. The same need.

  "We really should stop." He winced as he said those words, his mouth swollen from their kissing. But he didn't move away, he kept her wrapped in his arms, trapped against his chest.

  "Yes," she agreed, knowing her common sense was there somewhere, likely buried beneath the thrumming excitement building low in her abdomen. "Stopping would be the sensible thing."

  "Right." A muscle twitched in his jaw. His gaze bore into hers so intimately it was as if she stood exposed and naked before him. His hands stroked down her spine, tracing along the small of her back to settle on her rump.

  To her surprise, he hauled her even closer, bringing her pelvis flush to his. The hard length and thickness of his arousal nestled against the lower curve of her belly, tantalizing even through the layers of clothing and their winter coats. She bit her bottom lip to hold back a moan. Inside, her muscles fisted in an unexpected, exhilarating throb.

  "Maggie." He rasped out her name, raw with emotion and need. "I—"

  The crack of a branch breaking resounded through the forest, startling her. She jumped, her sense returning, aware now of the chill of the snow radiating up from the ground, of the wind on the back of her neck and the unmistakable patter of footsteps nearby, running away. She felt a charge cannon through Miles, his muscles tensed, his jaw hardened and he turned protective. The tender moment between them was gone.

  "We'd better get back to Big Jack." He shook his head, let out a troubled sigh, as if he couldn’t believe he'd forgotten his horse. "There are cougars around here."

  "But that wasn't a cougar we heard," she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she took a step, following as he wound his way around the tree and headed back out into the open road. Jack waited for them, ears up and eyes bright, as if greatly curious over what had been going on in the woods.

  "No, it wasn't a cougar," Miles agreed severely, taking up his shovel. "Wild animals don't wear shoes, but the neighbors do. Gossip travels fast in this town too, so be prepared when we get you to the depot."

  He didn't look at her while he worked, and she stood there, shivering in the cold. Her overheated body felt aching, especially in private places and in ways she'd never felt before. She watched him shovel intently, not acknowledging what had happened between them. Disappointed, she turned away and climbed the enormous drift, intending to keep Big Jack company, but her heart felt pinched and empty. She needed Miles. She wanted him. What was she going to do about that?

  * * *

  He shouldn't have kissed her, that much was clear. Miles ground his molars together as he tossed the shovel onto the back of the sleigh. His senses had been scrambled ever since his lips first touched hers—hell, to be honest, they'd been scrambled before that. The woman twisted him up, turned him inside out and (even worse), he found himself in need of a drink. A big one. Again.

  He rolled his eyes, fearing he was about to turn into one of the Collins brothers. One glance at the woman seated in the sleigh made his pulse fire like a cannon. She sat there with her hood up, so ladylike and quiet that you would never guess she'd been plastered all over him twenty minutes before, kissing him eagerly. Or maybe it was more accurate to say she'd been plastered against him because he'd dragged her there and didn't want to let her go. Come to think of it, maybe he never would have released her if that branch breaking hadn't interrupted them. Sweat broke out on his forehead thinking about what could have happened—what his body had been ready to have happen. Hell, he still wanted it.

  Biting back a curse, he marched alongside the sleigh, threw back the buffalo robes just enough to settle on the seat and drew them back over him again. He was half-frozen, but that didn't register, not compared to the heated charge he felt from simply sitting beside her. They weren't even touching and his blood reacted, thickening in his veins. As he reached for the reins and gave them a snap, he grimaced, shaking his head at himself. Thanks to his lack of self-control, he now had another image (that kiss) and all the sensations that went with it to haunt him on the drive to town. As if he didn't have enough worry with the boot prints he'd spotted on the road. He drew Big Jack to a stop to take a better look at them.

  "What was someone doing way out here?" she asked, rising up to get a better view. "And why was someone walking down the road in this weather? It's too cold to walk for very far."

  "Likely it was one of the Collins brothers. Sometimes their horse wanders off because they forget to latch the gate or tie it up." He squinted, straining to follow the line of tracks in the shadowed, forest-lined lane.

  That blasted Chester Collins. He'd better not have been trying to get another peep at Maggie. Miles felt his guts harden into an angry, protective fist. First last night's intrusion, and now this.

  He frowned, snapping the reins to send Big Jack into a fast walk. Maggie settled back against the seat, biting her bottom lip, drawing his gaze. Hell, he couldn’t stop looking at her mouth now that he'd known the perfect way those lips fit against his. And the passion there—

  That's not helping, he reminded himself sternly. His hand ached, reminding him of the man he'd punched out last night. He may have to do it again.

  "You're not thinking of hitting poor Chester again, are you?" She cut a sideways glance at him. "That man is too drunk to be a real menace."

  "You don't mind that he saw you naked?" A muscle jumped in Miles's jaw.

  "If I remember right, you did too." She drew the buffalo robe up closer to her chin. "Besides, I'm leaving town, and likely he was too drunk to remember anything clearly."

  "But I wasn't." He arched a brow, making her laugh.

  "I'm not worried about you." She let out a laugh, shaking her head, noticing the clouds gathering overhead to blot out the sun. "I think my secret is safe with you."

  "Yes, but you could be wrong." He almost smiled again.

  Truly, she'd never felt so safe with anyone before and her head was so muddled from the aftereffects of their kiss, that it was a wonder she could think straight enough to carry on a conversation. Her mouth remembered every delicious, scintillating sensation of his lips, every caress, every nibble, every little suck. And his hands strong and commanding as they moved up and then down her spine, of how he'd hauled her against him with such need...oh, she melted a little inside, her womb fisting again.

  Yep, this was exactly the kind of experience she'd come here to Pine Haven to find, except there was one problem. Miles wasn't looking for a wife. And she was looking for everything.

  Since the wind was pummeling her face, icing her up, she drew her scarf up over her face, covering everything but her eyes. She hauled up her hood, trying to conserve her body's warmth. The heated irons on the floorboards helped, but they'd cooled off some during the time Miles had been shoveling Big Jack out of the drift, (not to mention the snowball fight and the kiss). It was tough, but she resisted the urge to inch closer to him on the seat and soak up some of his heat.

  Considering the new, primal, almost wild feelings their kiss had awakened in her, it was wise (very wise) to sit all by herself on the edge of the seat watching
the majestic views roll by. The disappearing sun glazed the peaks and slopes of the close-up mountains. Evergreen forests tried to shrug off their mantles of snow, branches undulating in the wind. And beside her, Miles said nothing more, sitting as still as stone, staring straight ahead at the winding road as if nothing untoward had happened.

  But her heart could not stop strumming. She snuggled deeper into the buffalo robes, remembering all the amazing and shocking information Callie had told her about lovemaking—the thrilling touches, the hard thickness and length of a man's thing (she really had been terribly curious about that) and how it felt to have a man's weight holding you down, his arms wrapped around you, his hardness seeking entrance. Maggie tilted her head to one side, thinking things over. As much as Callie had shared, she'd also left a lot out. And Maggie had questions because she was unable to stop thinking about Miles in that way.

  What would it be like to have his hot, demanding mouth on other parts of her, aside from just her lips? Her breath hitched, imagining hot little nips and sucks trailing down her throat, over her breasts— Whew! She squirmed a little, feeling suddenly much warmer. Why, she hardly felt the freezing winds at all, just a carnal hunger moving through her, hot and melted, like heated maple syrup oozing everywhere. Aroused, she cut her gaze sideways to study him. His jaw was rigid, his face as set as iron. He'd left his scarf down around his neck and he had to be freezing, but then again, he seemed so remote, as stoic as granite mountains, a man who couldn't feel anything.

  With a sigh, she focused her gaze ahead of them and realized the town's main street spread out before her. A few horses and sleds were parked at hitching posts outside the raised and covered boardwalks. Lantern light shone through store windows, offering refuge from the inclement morning.

  "Hello, Miss Maggie!" A friendly voice called out—-grandfatherly Bill, from the train station. He had a steaming cup of coffee in hand, as if he'd snuck over to the mercantile for a break. His handlebar mustache gave his weathered face a friendly look as his wise eyes sparkled a greeting. "I hear my grandson stopped by your place, but you turned him down."

  "His offer to come courting surprised me," she explained, leaving out the important detail that she'd hesitated on saying yes for one reason—and that reason was seated right beside her. "Besides, I'm leaving today on the next train."

  "The eastbound train is still snowed in, so it may be a wait. Besides, I told Rick to be persistent." Bill hiked down the steps to the street. "Give me your address and I'll have him send you a letter. Now, keep in mind he's a fine young lad and he's the crew supervisor. He makes a fine living working for the railroad. He could take good care of you, and he'd be lucky to have you."

  "You're sweet, Bill," she told him with a wink, very, very fond of the man. "It's too bad you aren't forty years younger."

  "Don't I know it!" Bill winked, blushing happily at her compliment as he ambled away, his boots making crunching and squeaking noises in the hard-packed snow.

  Beside her, Miles glowered, no longer stoic. He angled his big frame out from beneath the buffalo robes and pounded across the snow to tie up his horse. Big Jack watched him innocently, looking confused about why his master was in such a bad mood.

  Curious. Maggie swung off the edge of the seat. Miles had been in the same exact mood this morning when Bill's grandson had knocked at the door. Realization sunk in as she set her feet on the ground. The snow was icy, so she held the sleigh's frame firmly as she stood. Miles wasn't jealous, was he?

  No, she dismissed it instantly. Because he would have to really care about her to be jealous.

  "Careful," he bellowed, still in a bad mood, as he gripped her elbow. "The steps are icy."

  "Right." Her breathlessness returned, since his firm grasp reminded her of the commanding way he'd held her during their kiss. Somehow through the layers of her coat, dress and long john sleeves, his touch penetrated like a brand burning her skin.

  If they hadn't been interrupted, she wondered, would they have stopped at just a kiss? She'd wanted more and, remembering his arousal, he had too.

  Maybe he did care, she thought, her pulse fluttering. That was a scary thought—Miles loving her—and she didn't know why.

  "This is the mercantile. If the train is still stuck on the tracks somewhere, we've got time to kill." He opened the door for her. "Why don't you window shop? It's warm in here. I've got to step over to the saloon. I'll be back."

  "Okay, I'll go warm up." She gestured to a red-hot pot-bellied stove near the front of the store, puffing out heat. "Oh! I could do some shopping for you while I'm here. I couldn’t help noticing your pantry was pretty bare."

  "Okay, if you want. The last housekeeper did the shopping, too." He retreated out the door and into the cold. He could still see her through the glass—cheeks pink, eyes glowing, smile so mesmerizing he'd give his life for the privilege of seeing it.

  Hell, kissing her was the worst mistake he'd made since Bethleigh. There was no doubt about it. Jaw tight, teeth clenched, hands fisted, he charged down the boardwalk not sure if he was mad at himself for kissing her or at her for letting him. What kind of decent lady let a man grope her in the woods? Not that there had been much groping, but there would have been if they hadn't gotten interrupted.

  He pushed through the saloon doors in a temper, glared through the dim lamplight at the three figures seated around their favorite table in the middle of a card game. Rage erupted like a mountain blowing apart.

  "Chester." Fighting to stay calm, Miles strolled to a stop at the table, adding extra warning to the mean, I'll-beat-you-up look he was giving his lowlife neighbor. "This is early to be drinking, even for you."

  "Whose fault is that?" Chester spewed out, venom in his words. His one eye was swollen shut. His nose was bruised, swollen and slightly crooked. Dried blood clung to his nostrils. "I've been in pain all night. I talked to the sheriff, but he won't let me press charges. Said you must have had a good reason."

  "You know I did." Furious, Miles pounded the table with his fist, hard enough to rattle the coins on the table and slosh the beer in their tankards. Self-control, he reminded himself. "Maggie's train is still snowed in, but if she doesn't leave today, you'd be smart to listen up. If I catch you sneaking around my property trying to get a look at her or worse, I'll do more than punch you in the nose. Understood?"

  "Who says I care one whit about that stupid woman?" Chester's mouth puckered with distaste. "She got to be older than me. What do I want with her? Aside from a good roll in bed—"

  "Shut up." His jaw tightened, protective rage building. "She's a nice lady and don't you forget that."

  "There's no such thing. They're all just out for what they can get." Chester snorted, shaking his head. "Lester, remember when Barney was in here having Ed read all those letters for him, cuz he didn't know how to?"

  "There were tons of 'em who answered his ad." Lester belted out a derisive laugh. "All those desperate women who'd settle for any man. Chester stole a letter when no one was looking. We got a good laugh over all those fake things she said."

  Miles shook his head, disgusted.

  "Anyways, a whore's a better deal than a wife." Delbert, the youngest brother, raised his glass in a salute. "You're only payin' for what you want anyway."

  "It's right economical," Chester agreed, taking another drink.

  "Miles. What are you doing here?" The bartender stepped in from the back room, a towel in hand. Ed's black eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me your grandfather went through that scotch already."

  "I'm afraid so." Wrestling down his revulsion at the Collins men, he marched away before he wound up hitting one of them again. He felt like it would take an entire scotch bottle to calm him down, maybe another one to forget he wanted Maggie in the worst way. "How many bottles do you got back there?"

  "Well, let's see." Ed tossed the towel on the end of the bar. "I'm about halfway through the crate. How many do you need?"

  "Good question." He planted his hands on h
is hips, considering. One bottle for Pops, two for him...if two were enough, that is. He ground his teeth together, already suspecting it wouldn’t be. "Better make it four. No, five. Hell, make it a half dozen."

  "Six, it is." If he was surprised, Ed didn't show it. He turned on his heels and disappeared into the backroom.

  The woman was driving him to drink. Miles ambled over to the door and stepped onto the boardwalk, casting his gaze down to the light spilling through the mercantile windows. Maggie. He wanted her. Bad. Not even the cold could drive away the hot spill of desire coursing through him, thrumming deep and low, insistent. Like destiny calling.

  * * *

  A shadow lurked in the dark corner of the saloon, pulling back a grimy shade to look out an even dirtier window. He waited, watching until he saw the mercantile door open. The woman sashayed into sight, pretty as a picture and so innocent it made his teeth ache.

  And his shaft stir. He smiled darkly, because that's the way he liked them—naive and innocent. And this one he particularly liked. She may be older than the last one he'd taken (only fifteen). Oh, the memories made him smile, ruining that sweet young thing in his favorite room upstairs, tied to the bed. She'd been too terrified to utter a single sob as he tore his way into her body.

  He sighed, pleased by the memory. It had been too long since he'd felt that heady rush. He couldn’t wait to do it again with Maggie. He scowled. Even the name annoyed him. It was perky, cute, just like her. But not for long. Fate had brought her to him, he'd known it the moment she'd stepped foot inside this saloon. She was meant for him, even if Miles didn't know that yet.

  Oh, sure, he'd seen them kissing in the woods, about to devour each other by the looks of it. He'd only caught a glimpse before he'd dashed away—it wouldn't have been good if Miles had caught him watching. But what he'd seen had made him laugh, made him look forward to the privilege of showing her that it wasn't a woman's place to want. It was her place to be used for a man's release. He would relish the chance to teach her just how worthless of a nobody a woman was.