THE RESTLESS VIRGIN

by Peggy Moreland

  "Sam, I'm sorry," he murmured.

  She drew herself into a tighter ball of misery. "Go away," she sobbed.

  "No." He sat down on the ground, clasping his hands around his own raised knees to keep from reaching out for her again. God, how he wanted to touch her, to pull her onto his lap and just hold her, to soothe away her tears, her fears. But he knew that having him touch her was the last thing she would want right now.

  "I didn't know," he said helplessly.

  She stiffened, but kept her face pressed against her arms. "Who told you?"

  "Merideth."

  She groaned, burying her forehead deeper into her arms.

  Again he reached for her, but caught himself, slowly curling his hand into a tight fist of frustration. "I'm not like him, Sam," he whispered, wanting, needing to reassure her. "I would never hurt you." He sensed more than saw the shudder that racked her shoulders. "Oh, Sam," he murmured, and this time he couldn't stop the hand that reached to cup the back of her neck. "Please, Sam, don't cry anymore."

  "I—I can't help it," she sobbed brokenly. "I'm so ashamed."

  "Ashamed?" Stunned, he dipped his head, trying to see her face. She wasn't angry with him? He shifted his hand from her neck to her chin, gently forcing her tearstained face up to his. "Why? You have nothing to be ashamed of."

  She shoved at his hand and scrambled to her feet, away from him. "Oh, don't I?" Her eyes gleamed with fury as she glared down at him. "How many women do you know who can't have sex, who can't even get near a man without feeling as if they are suffocating?"

  "But not all women have suffered through what you have," he reminded her gently.

  "And how does that change anything?" she demanded angrily. "I'm still half a woman. I can't even kiss a man without going ballistic on him."

  Nash rose slowly. "You've kissed me, Sam."

  "Yeah," she muttered dryly, raking her fingers through her hair and turning away. "And look how that ended."

  "Not every time," he reminded her. "Tonight in the barn was my fault. I pushed when I should've gone slower. Had I known—"

  "And how would knowing have changed anything?" she cried, wheeling to glare at him. "I'm the problem here, not you."

  "I would have been more gentle, more understanding. Sam," he added softly, taking a cautious step toward her, "I wasn't trying to force myself on you. You've got to believe me. I just wanted to get closer. Do you have any idea what you do to me? How you make me feel? You're a beautiful woman, filled with a sensuality that I don't think you even realize you possess. When you wrapped your arms around me and kissed me, I wanted to crawl inside you. I wanted to feel every lush curve of your body against mine. You make me ache, Sam. You make me burn. You, Sam," he added with emphasis. "I've never wanted a woman more."

  His words shocked Sam, the sensual pull of them moving through her, making her blood warm, her knees weak. He wanted her? Even after what had just happened in the barn? No, she told herself, stiffening her spine. She couldn't allow herself to believe him. She'd learned the hard way not to trust men.

  He took a step nearer, daring to take her hand in his. When she didn't pull away, he pressed it against his chest. "Feel that, Sam? That's my heart. Can you feel it beating?"

  "Yes," she whispered weakly, feeling the impression of each of his fingers against her hand, the swell of his chest beneath her palm. She stood spellbound, mesmerized by powerful gray eyes and the throbbing of a heart that matched her own.

  "That's what you do to me. I want you. And I think you want me, too," he added, his voice dropping to a husky whisper in the dark smokehouse.

  She swallowed hard, wanting to deny the claim. But she couldn't. She did want him. In spite of what had happened in the barn earlier. She'd lain awake at night for weeks, dreaming of lying in his arms, naked and writhing beneath him, touching him, kissing him, feeling the strength, the hardness of him inside her.

  But those were only dreams. The reality was different. Thanks to Reed Wester, she'd never know a man in that way.

  Her shoulders drooped and her hand slipped from beneath his on his chest. "It's no use," she murmured in defeat. "I can't."

  "You can," he insisted, stepping closer, determined to prove to her that she was wrong. "Touch me, Sam. Anywhere you want. I know you want to. And I swear I won't touch you back unless you ask."

  The challenge was there in his voice, the sincerity of his promise obvious in the depths of his gray eyes. Sam believed him. But could she do what he asked of her? Oh, God, how she wanted to!

  Tentatively, her fingers trembling, she raised a hand and placed it on his heart. Its pounding reverberated through her palm while the heat from his body melded with her own. She stared at the back of her hand, waiting for the fear to come, the panic. But nothing happened. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his. Heat shimmered in the moonlight between them.

  She lifted her other hand, splaying it across his chest and feeling his muscles tighten in reaction, seeing the heat build in his eyes. "I want to feel you," she whispered, "your bare skin."

  His gaze never moved from hers. "It's your call. Do what you want."

  Sam swallowed hard, her eyes shifting to his T-shirt. He really was leaving all this up to her. Slowly she moved her hands to his waist and tugged the hem free from his jeans. Hauling in a deep breath, she pulled the fabric upwards. He raised his arms and bent at the waist, allowing her to pull the shirt over his head. Then he straightened and braced his hands at his hips, waiting, unmoving.

  Moonlight danced and shadows played across the swells and valleys created by muscles on his upper body. A mat of soft, dark hair swirled across his chest. A neat six-pack, barely visible in the dim light, gleamed with a fine sheen of perspiration. The dark hair appeared again at his navel, just visible above the waist of his jeans, and then disappeared beneath starched denim. She'd dreamed of him naked like this. But her dreams hadn't come close to the reality. She lifted her hands to his chest.

  Nash felt as if his skin was on fire. It took every shred of willpower he possessed to remain still, to refrain from dragging Sam into his arms and taking her right there, right then on the smokehouse floor. But he knew how important this was. For Sam, as well as himself. He'd promised, and he'd damned well make good on that pledge. In spite of his determination to remain rigid, unmoving, a slight shiver shook his body when her fingers inadvertently grazed his nipples.

  She jumped back, clasping her hands behind her back, her eyes wide with alarm as she lifted them to his.

  "It's okay," he reassured her gently. "Just a reflex."

  At the sincerity she saw in his eyes, she stepped closer again, reaching up to frame his face with her hands. His mouth stretched into a smile beneath her trembling palms, a day's growth of beard scraping against her hand. "You can kiss me, if you like," he murmured, hoping to tease some of the fear from her. "I won't bite."

  And kissing was exactly what was on Sam's mind. Unable to resist, she rose to her tiptoes and lifted her face to his. The taste was there—beer and coconuts—just like in the barn. Sighing, she eased closer and her breasts nudged his chest.

  He groaned, but didn't move. "I sure would like to put my arms around you right now," he murmured against her lips.

  Sam stiffened, then forced herself to relax. This was Nash. He'd promised. And so far, he'd honored that pledge. "Okay."

  His arms closed around her, gently drawing her nearer. She was aware of each finger that touched her waist, caressed her spine, and the strength in the forearms that brushed the sides of her breasts. But his touch remained light, gentle.

  "Is it okay if I kiss you back?"

  His request blew warm and moist against her mouth, teasing her lips open. "Yeah," she murmured and lifted her arms to circle his neck.

  His tongue traced her lips from corner to corner, then he settled his mouth over hers on a sigh. The absolute tenderness beneath the kiss drew tears to her eyes.

  Nash felt the moisture against his cheek. "Oh, Sam, don'
t cry," he murmured, forgetting his promise and drawing her closer.

  "I'm not," she lied.

  He drew back to eye her suspiciously.

  "Well, at least not for the reason you think," she murmured in embarrassment.

  His eyes softened in understanding. "Then how about kissing me again?"

  In answer, she lifted her face and their lips touched briefly, then again, and again until their mouths molded together.

  Passion. It had a flavor, Sam realized dreamily. She'd never known. And a texture. Silky satin and coarse velvet. Color, too. Vibrant reds, soothing blues. Anxious to discover more, she deepened the kiss and Nash responded, slipping his tongue between her parted lips. His gentle probing stroked a fire to life low in her abdomen, a fire that quickly rose to burn in her chest. Every nerve in her body seemed to burst into flame. Never had she felt more aroused, more like a woman.

  She pressed herself more firmly against him, hungry for the feel of his body against hers. He shifted, slipping a thigh between her legs. Startled, she tensed, then relaxed when he did nothing more. Then slowly, he began to sway, rubbing against her femininity, denim chafing against denim, and pleasure shot through her in glorious waves. The pressure of his thigh increased, the heat inside her building and building until she thought she'd surely explode. His hands moved at her back, kneading, spreading to encompass her waist, then sliding upwards to press against the sides of her breast. She needed something … what, she wasn't sure, but surely relief of some sort before she died.

  "Nash?"

  "What?" he murmured, dragging his mouth from her lips to nibble at the smooth column of her neck.

  "I need…"

  "What?" he asked again, his voice husky. "Tell me what you want."

  "Touch me," she all but begged.

  "Where?"

  She took his hand and pressed it to her breast. "Here."

  His hand closed over her breast, his fingers gently kneading. "Like this?" he murmured against her fevered skin.

  "Yes!" she gasped, arching.

  Nearly blind with his own needs, Nash slipped his hand inside her blouse and she arched even more, straining for his touch. He caught her turgid nipple between his fingers and rolled it between them. He felt the tension building in her body and knew she was near flash point. He could give her this, he told himself, and take nothing for himself, to prove to her that she could trust him, to prove that she was capable of being with a man and not knowing fear.

  Tearing his hand away, he lowered his face over her breast, warmed it with his breath, then closed his mouth over it, drawing it deeply into his mouth. He felt the tension move through her, heard her sharp intake of breath. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and her legs squeezed like a vise around his thigh. She dropped her head back with a low guttural moan … and came apart in his arms.

  Nash sank to the hard floor, drawing her with him, cradling her on his lap while shudders racked her slim body. Finding her lips, he pressed fervent kisses against them, her face, murmuring soft, soothing words to her.

  Her eyes fluttered opened, her gaze meeting his in the moonlight. "I never knew," she whispered. "I never knew it would be like this."

  Nash smiled down at her, catching a tendril of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. "Trust me. It gets even better."

  Her cheeks reddened, and he felt himself lose a little bit more of his heart to her. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "You didn't—"

  Nash pressed a finger to her lips, then replaced it with his own. "Sshh. Let's just take this one step at a time."

  Mandy and Merideth stood on the edge of the patio, staring off into the darkness. Mandy's foot tapped a staccato beat on the bricked patio, while Merideth remained still, the picture of calm. Inside, she was wound tighter than a spring.

  "I can't stand this not knowing," Mandy said in frustration. "I'm going after them."

  Merideth caught her arm, jerking her back. "You are not," she said firmly. "Nash can handle Sam."

  Mandy turned her head to scowl at her sister. "And what do you know about Nash Rivers? You met him for the first time today."

  Merideth folded her arms beneath her breasts, her expression smug as she turned her gaze again to the darkness. "Yes, but I know men, and I can assure you, Nash can handle anything Sam throws his way."

  "He better handle this well, or, by God, he'll have to answer to me," Mandy replied grimly.

  "Answer to us," Merideth corrected. She draped her arm around her older, but shorter sister. "The Three Musketeers, remember? All for one and one for all."

  Mandy bit back a smile. "Yeah. I remember." Then the smile disappeared as her mouth sagged open. "Look!" she whispered, pointing. "Is that them?"

  Merideth squinted her eyes, watching as Nash and Sam stepped from the shadows near the barn. They were holding hands. Smiling, Merideth tucked her arm through Mandy's and hustled her toward the house before Sam could see them. "I told you Nash could handle her."

  Mandy craned her head back over her shoulder as Merideth dragged her away, trying to get a glimpse of Sam's face to make certain that her sister was all right. Was that a flush of pleasure on Sam's face? she wondered in surprise. And didn't her blouse look a little rumpled?

  Smiling a secret smile, she turned her head and allowed Merideth to drag her the rest of the way to the house. "Maybe," she said, not wanting to concede a win to Merideth just yet. Her sister's ego was already way too big.

  Sam leaned to pull a jug of milk from the refrigerator and felt two pairs of eyes boring into her back. She turned to find Merideth and Mandy standing in the kitchen doorway.

  Mandy pasted on an overly bright smile. "Good morning, Sam. How did you sleep last night?"

  Eyeing her sister warily, Sam scuffed to the table and plopped down in a chair. "I slept okay." She dumped cereal into a bowl, then added milk. When her sisters continued to stare at her, she set the jug of milk on the table. "What is it with you two?" she asked suspiciously.

  Merideth breezed across the room, a cloud of silk billowing around her shapely legs. She leaned to pat Sam's cheek as she might have patted a child's. "Nothing, darling," she said airily, and slipped onto the chair next to Sam. "We were just concerned."

  Narrowing an eye, Sam scooped up cereal. "About what?"

  Before Merideth could answer, Mandy dropped down in the chair across from them and resumed her inquisition. "Did you have fun last night?"

  Sam shifted her gaze to Mandy's, her frown deepening. "Yeah. I guess so. Why?"

  "Oh, I was just curious. Nash seemed extremely attentive. In fact, I noticed that y'all disappeared for a while."

  Sam felt heat crawl up her neck. Surely they didn't know. How could they? Did she have a sign on her forehead that read, "I just experienced my first climax, and, boy, was it a doozy!"

  "He's nice to everybody," she replied vaguely. "He's that kind of guy."

  "Yes," Merideth agreed on a dreamy sigh, "and sexy as hell. That body!" She fanned her face with her hand. "I'll bet he's one heck of a lover."

  Sam decided to leave that one alone.

  Mandy leaned across the table, peering at Sam intently. "Don't you think he'd be a good lover, Sam?" she prodded.

  Sam dropped her spoon in disgust. "Would you two just cut it out? Jeez, is nothing sacred around here?"

  A smile bloomed on Mandy's face. "You did, didn't you?" She clapped her hands with glee. "I knew it! I just knew it!"

  "You don't know anything," Sam grumped. When they both continued to peer at her knowingly, she shoved back her bowl. "Okay, so we played around a little, but my virginity's still intact. Are you satisfied now?"

  "Details," Merideth pressed, leaning closer. "We want details."

  Sam shoved back her chair and rose. "If you want details, read a romance. I've got to go." She turned, grabbing her hat from the counter and ramming it on her head.

  Mandy looked at her, her face slack with disappointment. "Go where?"

  "To Austin. Colby's running in
her first competition today. I'm hauling Whiskey and meeting her there."

  "Will Nash be with her?" Mandy asked hopefully.

  "Yeah," she muttered, fishing her keys from the pocket of her jeans. "So what?"

  "So-o-o-o," Merideth repeated dramatically, "maybe you'll have a chance to play around some more."

  "It's a horse show, Merideth," Sam grumbled, "not an orgy."

  Sisters. Who needs 'em? Sam thought with disgust as she brushed Whiskey's coat. Nosy little busybodies, always trying to mind her business for her. And she could have done without their little interrogation this morning. Her nerves were already pretty much shot. She'd stayed awake most of the night thinking about what had happened with Nash, thrilling at it, then worrying about having to face him again today. What was a woman supposed to say to a man after sharing something so intimate with him? How was she supposed to act?

  With a groan, she tossed the brush into the tack box. It clattered against the metal side, and Whiskey jumped sideways at the unexpected noise, rolling his eyes. "Sorry," she muttered, giving him an absent pat. "Didn't mean to scare you."

  "Do you think he understands you?"

  The voice was so close to her ear, Sam felt the moist warmth of it against her neck. And it was familiar, too, the huskiness of it sending a shiver chasing down her spine. Nash. Turning her head slightly, she found him standing behind her, smiling, that dimple teasing her, and she wondered how she could have ever dreaded this moment. Slowly, her nerves unwound and she smiled back at him. "It's the tone that soothes him more than the words." She glanced over his shoulder. "Where's Colby?"

  "She stopped at the rest room. I think she's a little nervous."

  "That's normal."

  "For fathers, too?"

  Laughing, Sam couldn't resist giving his cheek a reassuring pat. "Yeah, fathers, too."

  Before she could remove her hand, Nash caught it in his and drew it around his neck, pulling Sam close. "I couldn't sleep last night," he murmured, hooking his arms around her waist.