by Vonnie Davis
“You did what?” Storm tossed her clothes on the bed, grabbed her arms and shook her. “Woman, what in God’s name were you thinking? Do you want him to get to you? To hurt you again?”
“I was thinking, mister-macho-man, that I would protect two people I care for very much. Now, stop manhandling me. You might push your ex-fiancée, your main squeeze around like this, but you won’t order me about. I won’t be your girl on the rebound, your honey in the house.”
A muscle bunched in his jaw. His eyes narrowed. “Pilar and I are not seeing each other anymore, in any shape or fashion. That fiasco of a relationship is completely over. She tried to commit suicide, but I wouldn’t go to her. I called nine-one-one instead, which is what made her dad so angry.”
“What happened?”
He drew her to him. “You think I could spend time with Pilar, or any woman for that matter, after holding you, kissing you, touching you? Hell, you’ve been driving me crazy with need since the moment I set eyes on you.” He planted soft kisses over her face and down her neck as he talked. Warm hands held her waist, pulling her near him. Shivers raced over her body. Liquid warmth spread through her.
“You’re not seeing her anymore? I’m not someone you’re spending time with on the rebound?” She suddenly felt giddy, as if a huge weight had been removed from her chaotic life.
“No. No more Pilar and, for damn sure, no rebound relationship with you. I feel love and devotion and commitment for you. I’d hoped you felt the same thing. Yet you abandoned us.” Pain was evident in his voice and his facial expression, and she knew. Instinctively she knew she was facing two Storms—the little boy whose mother abandoned him and the grown man. Both had been battered by life. “You abandoned me.”
“No. No, I didn’t—”
He pushed her against the wall and kissed her hard. His hands fisted in her hair. His tongue swept over her lips, and she opened for him. She welcomed and accepted the turmoil that poured from his kiss. She sought to soothe and heal, actions they both needed.
Gone was his confident mastery of that first kiss on that deserted country road. Gone were the gentle kisses of comfort and exploration while setting on his horse. Gone, too, was the anger and frustration of the kiss on the back porch and the passion of the kisses they shared on the sofa. This was a kiss of need, a kiss of desire and desperation so keen it nearly brought her to tears.
Rachel placed her hands on his cheeks and looked into his eyes. “Storm, I love you.”
“You left me. I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you.” He kissed her again, even more needful than before. Although his kiss was almost brutal with its intensity of emotion, she was not afraid. His hands were under her blouse, searching and claiming. “I adore you,” he ground out, his breathing labored and his voice rasping as if struggling to regain control. He kissed her again, pulling her into intimate knowledge of his need, his desire. “God help me, but I need you. You’ve become the very air I breathe. You’re mine, mouse. Mine and no one else’s.”
Rachel tugged on his black T-shirt, pulling it off. Her hands slowly swept up his muscular chest. “You’re so magnificent, Storm.”
He kissed her with a passion that left her breathless. She gloried in the depth and power of his desire. This strong man had displayed a vulnerability with her. He made her feel in control and immensely sensual. What a turn-on. She stroked her fingers over the ripples of his abdomen. “You’re mine, too. No one, Storm. No one touches you, but me.” She felt scalding tears tumble from her eyes.
“No one, mouse. No one, but you.” With their gazes locked, their hands and fingers touched, traveled and taunted. With lips close, intimately close, all but touching, whispers were shared. Promises made. Breaths mingled. They spoke the language of lovers, making and sharing vows of devotion and promises of forever.
Her lips forged a trail of kisses and gentle bites from his neck, down his hard chest to his nipple. “This is what I want you to do to me.” She slowly ran her tongue around his nipple and then across it. Storm groaned. When she took his nipple into her mouth and suckled hard, she rubbed her hand up and down his erection.
“My God, woman!” He grabbed the lapels of her blouse and ripped it open. Buttons zinged across the room. “No man can bear that without going mad.” He shoved her blouse aside and unhooked the front clasp of her bra. His hands held her full breasts and his thumbs rubbed over them. “You’re so beautiful. I’ll be damned if I’ll ever let any man touch you again.”
When he kissed her, the passion was back. His calloused hands abraded her soft skin, and it felt wonderful, exciting, and glorious. It felt…right. His lips, hot and hungry, rained scorching kisses across her jaw and down her neck. At times he grazed her with his teeth, sending chills of pleasure up and down her body. At others, he bit her gently while his fingers did wicked things to her body. She was so hot, so wild with her need for him that she yanked on his belt, unzipped his fly and shoved fabric aside.
She rubbed her breasts against his chest and watched his eyes go dark. He groaned again when her hand found and encircled his thick erection. She stroked him and sweat beaded on his face. He muttered words in a language she didn’t understand—Comanche, perhaps. He was so large with his need for her, she wondered briefly if she could take him and then smiled, imagining how good it would feel when she did. He opened her zipper and shoved down her slacks and thong so he could touch her. Quickly she stepped out of her clothes. She moaned when his expert fingers found her core and stroked her.
“You’re so beautiful, mouse.” He kissed her again, his lips and hands growing urgent. He lifted her to him.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her eyes on his. “Here! Now!”
Both were blind with need. Both sought the release only the other could bring. He plunged into her. She threw her head back and reveled in the glory of wild, unbridled, hot standing-against-the-wall-sex. His hands squeezed her bottom and he bent to capture a nipple. She held his head against her. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
Tension coiled in her belly, and she began to tremble. Storm’s strokes were long and rapid. Her approaching climax was like a knife ready to cut, ready to sever her spirit from herself, binding all the love she felt for him to his very core. A keening sound erupted from deep inside her as she climaxed. A few more strokes and Storm followed, shouting her name as he poured his essence into her.
Storm’s harsh, labored breathing filled the silent room—or was it hers? She couldn’t tell.
Slowly they both sank to the floor, a tangled mass of arms, legs, clothes and hearts. For a few minutes, neither could speak. As her universe began to coalesce again, Rachel fought the urge to smile and lost. Storm kissed her forehead. “Is that a self-satisfied smirk I see?”
She ran her palm up his chest and across his shoulder. “That was wild.”
“Definitely.” He kissed her again, delving his tongue into her mouth, searching for and meeting hers. His hand caressed her derriere while he planted kisses on her neck. “Such soft skin. A man could die happy feasting on you.” He sat up and tugged off his boots and the jeans tangled around his ankles.
“How did I get naked and you didn’t?” She rose onto her elbows to look at him.
“Damned if I know.” He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled. “We got the most important parts naked. That’s all that matters.” He threw his boots into the corner of the small motel room.
“What language were you speaking a few minutes ago?”
“Comanche. Dad taught us all he knew of the language. I’ll teach you a few words, if you want. Later, love, much later.” He rolled over onto all fours and began kissing the soles of her feet. “Now that the edge is off, I can take my time.” Warmth rushed to her core again. “You have such beautiful, delicate feet. The night you wore those ‘ho-red’ heels, I nearly went insane.”
These were new sensations, having someone slowly pay homage to her feet. She rather liked it. He kissed her instep and then h
er toes, one by one. “Do I hear you purring, mouse?”
“Whatever it is you’re doing, it feels wonderful.”
“Did I ever tell you I’m an old football player?” He kissed the top of her foot.
“No.” What was he getting at? What did it matter? Who cared as long as he didn’t stop.
He chuckled low and sexy. “I am, love. I’m playing football right now, hoping I can make a field goal.” He gently bit her ankle, and she giggled. With slow, deliberate movements, he worked his way up both of her legs. By the time he reached the fifty-yard line, his goal post was ready—touchdown.
Chapter Sixteen
Later, much later, when Rachel was sound asleep, Storm dressed and carried her out to his truck. Afraid to wake her, he’d merely wrapped the ugly motel bedspread around her naked and sated body. They’d made love four times, each surprisingly better than the last. He gently laid her on the seat and ran back into the motel room for her clothes. Come hell or high water, he was taking her home where she belonged.
He had a feeling if she were awake, she’d fight him every inch of the way. She was determined to protect him and Sawyer. He retrieved her revolver laying on the nightstand; he shuddered at the thought of her having to use it.
Quietly, he opened the door on the driver’s side and slid into the truck. When he eased her into a semi-sitting position, she mumbled and snuggled against his shoulder.
Once the truck was running and in gear, he wrapped his arm around her. A sigh of happiness escaped him when her head nestled against his shoulder. He looked both ways before easing the truck onto the dark highway. Rachel’s bare arm slipped across his chest and over his shoulder. He gently brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. She smelled of flowers and sex. God help him, he wanted her again. Would probably always want her—her and no one else.
He leaned down and kissed her mussed hair. When she mumbled in her sleep that she loved him, he smiled and rubbed his cheek and chin over her head. “I love you, too, mouse.”
As his silver pickup ate up the road, his mind began to wander. He couldn’t ever recall feeling this contented. Oh, there’d been plenty of all-night sexual marathons in his younger years, during his college days, and for a spell afterward. While those encounters satisfied his physical needs, they also exposed a barren desert deep within his soul. Soon sex equated with emptiness. The thrill of the chase dimmed.
Mercifully, duties at the ranch stole his desire to party hearty on campus. His father was slowing down due to his ailing heart. He was needed at the Triple-S. Other things took priority. His father’s health steadily declined, and then he passed. Sawyer was born, and Sunny needed help with the child.
Then he met Pilar. For some reason, she chased him. He’d been flattered by that, flattered enough to keep the relationship going, even though he didn’t really love her. He’d probably always feel a degree of guilt about that. Hurting someone’s feelings as deeply as he’d hurt Pilar wasn’t something he took pride in. Still, a man couldn’t make himself love on demand. Love just happened when the conditions were right—like lightning.
He glanced down at the blonde bundle wrapped around him. Who’d have believed he could fall in love at first sight? A smile spread as he looked out the side window for a beat and snorted. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d remember the way her blue eyes sparked when she declared, “Stop hiding behind that big ol’ Stetson. From what I saw, a French beret would do the job.” A French beret! Damned if he wouldn’t buy her a dozen of them. He remembered her shaking her fist under his nose the first night she was at the ranch, and rubbed his cheek over her hair. Lord, but he loved her spirit.
A scowl erased the smile. He’d keep this woman he loved safe from Kyle, or die trying. She shifted and sighed his name again. He tightened his arm around her shoulders, feeling fiercely protective. Love. He was in love. Frankly, he hadn’t expected to feel this—ever.
Love for his family was easy, as was loyalty and devotion. Little Sawyer had taught him the joys of loving a child. A child. He glanced down at Rachel. Did she want a baby? Could he have the children he so desperately craved with her?
She was probably on the pill. Maybe with a little convincing, he could talk her into going off birth control. Marriage. He’d dreaded marrying Pilar, his only reason being Sawyer, making sure he had a strong claim to the child if something happened to Sunny. Marriage to Rachel, though, would be a sweet life, challenging at times, but he was always ready for a challenge. She was his now in every way, except legally. Staring into the darkness of the night, he began to plan for a proposal.
He cracked the window to let in the refreshing night air, hoping to stay alert. Home was just a few blessed miles away.
****
Rachel stretched slowly and smiled her way to wakefulness. She’d been Cleopatra in her dream. Cleopatra rolled up naked in an orange and pink carpet and carried up a staircase by a handsome slave. The slave very carefully rolled her out onto a bed of rose petals before Julius Caesar—or was it Marc Antony? She stretched again and sighed. Only she wasn’t Cleopatra, was she? No, she was a nurse sacked out naked in a frumpy motel. Naked? Her eyes flew open.
“I’ve never seen anyone wake up smiling.” Storm was propped up on one elbow, twirling her hair around his finger. His eyes exuded warmth, and his dimples were deep as he smiled. “Are you always so beautiful in the morning, or is this the face of a woman who’s been well-loved?” His black hair was disheveled, and he needed a shave.
“Good mornin’, my beloved mouse,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead, her nose and her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut on a sigh. I’m dreaming. I was Cleopatra in the last dream; who am I in this one? His erection poked her hip, breaking through the fog of her mental haze.
This was no dream. This was reality; she was naked in bed with Storm Blackhawk. Rachel was wide awake now, awake and sore from being loved. Memories returned, and she groaned. Her eyes slid to the smiling, smug man leaning over her. They’d had sex multiple times. He’d come to her motel to convince her to go back to the ranch. Instead, they’d made love, over and over.
She’d been like a wanton hussy with him. Her hands trembled when they pushed back her unruly hair. What had possessed her to behave that way? Her gaze darted around the unfamiliar room. The orange and pink floral bedspread from her deluxe room at the Dew Drop Inn was in a heap on the floor.
“Where am I? This isn’t my hotel room.” She sat up in bed, and Storm ran fingertips down her back. Shivers, warm and cold, skated up and down her spine. The room was decidedly masculine—just like the man beside her, his muscular leg thrown possessively over hers. Her eyes narrowed when she glared over her shoulder at the man who was equally as naked as she. “Tell me this isn’t your bedroom.”
He studied her. “I’d say it’s our bedroom now, love.”
She held the navy blue sheet to her throat in an effort to cover her nakedness. “How? How did you get me here, and why don’t I remember it? Did you drug me?”
He tugged her back down and began kissing her neck, at times grazing it with his teeth. Her eyes crossed and her nipples peaked. “I drugged you with sex.” His voice sounded husky, deep, and very sensual. He ran his hand up her side, stopping to cup her breast. “You fell asleep. I wrapped the bedspread around you and carried you to my truck. Brought you home.” His expert fingertips were teasing her nipple, and damned if her nipple wasn’t sitting up and doing the happy dance.
“You kidnapped me?” She was getting a headache. No doubt it was from concentrating so hard to mentally shift into bitch mode when her body was humming “You Make My Dreams Come True.”
He chuckled. “I merely brought you home.” His tongue flicked across her nipple. “Home where you belong, my sweet mouse.” His large hand slid from her hip to her waist.
A flash of anger sparked and took hold. She pushed at his bare chest. “Where I belong? Why, you’re no better than Kyle.” She was tired of men telling her what to do and where she belonged
, as if she were a potted plant and men controlled all the windows.
A muscle bunched in Storm’s jaw; he was evidently grinding his back molars again. His hand tightened on her waist. “Easy now. I don’t take kindly to bein’ compared to a woman beater.”
“Kyle wants me to come home to Yazoo City where he says I belong. You want me to come home to the ranch, where you say I belong. He’s coming after me to take me home, by force if necessary. You came to the motel, got me drunk on sex until I passed out, and then you rolled me up in a damned motel bedspread and hauled me back here.” She was gathering up steam now, ready for a good old-fashioned yelling match. Both hands swept back her hair, and she sat up. “You tell me, what’s the difference?”
His eyes narrowed. “The difference is you belong to me.”
She jerked the sheet up to her chin, covering her needy body, for it was begging for more of Storm Blackhawk. “Belong to you? I certainly do not!”
He smiled that slow, dangerous smile she loved. She struggled to resist the pull of his masculine charm. “Honey, you’ve been mine since that first kiss on Longhorn Road.”
“So you say.” Her lower lip came out in a petulant pout.
Storm growled and jerked her back down beside him. He kissed her slowly and thoroughly until her toes curled. His fingers found her core and started to stroke, his gaze intent on hers. “So I know. Think back, darlin’. Think back to that first kiss. Didn’t you feel anything?”
“No.” She would not give in. Her bitch gene was rearing its beautiful, foul-mouthed head. “I didn’t feel a damned thing out there on that ol’ road.” Oh God, if he didn’t stop touching her like that, she was going to explode into a million pieces.
He bent and kissed her breasts while his fingers circled and stroked. “Wanna know what I felt?”
