by Leigh Riker
“Let’s go to bed,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Let’s stay right here.”
He nudged her back against the wall in the dark entry hall, as far from Annie’s room as they could get, but Darcie didn’t resist. She realized why Dylan wanted to be here instead of in her soft, warm bed. It was here she’d said goodbye to Cutter, and in a continuing expression of male territorial rights, Dylan needed to take her in the same exact spot.
“You know this is juvenile, unworthy of the Rafferty Stud.”
He trailed kisses along her throat, her collarbone, then the swell of her breasts—as much as they could swell when she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“I don’t care.”
His hands swept up under her shirt (Dylan’s shirt) and found her nipples. He pushed the shirt higher until he could close his mouth over her breasts, first one, then the other in a ritual display of possession that thrilled rather than repulsed Darcie.
When Dylan dropped to his knees in front of her, when he kissed his way down her rib cage to her waist then her hips, when he nuzzled between her thighs, she nearly exploded.
“Not yet. Not yet,” he said, doing such wicked, talented things to her body that she couldn’t even speak, she could only gasp.
“Dylan…”
“This is you, Darcie.” When he had her on the edge again, he took his mouth away.
Moaning, writhing under his hands, groping for his mouth to touch her elsewhere, to bring her up and up and up, she heard herself beg. “Please, Dylan.”
“You,” he said again and stood. She heard his zipper glide down, heard the rustle of denim when he pushed his jeans to the floor. Underneath them he was naked. He hadn’t bothered with his briefs after Cutter climbed through the window. Like a jolt of Spanish fly increasing her desire, she felt him hard between her thighs, bare and smooth and silky-hot. “This is me.”
Before she took another shaken breath, with her mouth swollen and tingling, her breasts aching and her thighs shaking, Dylan put both hands on her bottom and lifted her until she felt his erection at the juncture he sought. “Wrap your legs around me.”
In the next instant he slid deep inside her, so deep Darcie knew he touched her womb. Then she knew nothing except the glide and pull, the push and tug of Dylan’s body in hers, and out, and in again, their rhythm in perfect harmony, their mouths fastened tight together, her legs around him and his weight holding her to the wall, and all the sounds they made, soft but urgent, in the entry hall of her apartment.
When the climax hit, it hit them both. Hard. Long. Endless.
Finally, Dylan, still shuddering, dropped his head next to hers against the wall. “Oh, Matilda.”
“That was…really good.” Her heart thudded like a tire gone flat to the rim.
“Good?” He was silent for a while. Then he added, “Ass-kicking great.”
Darcie kissed his damp temple. “And you’re purged now?”
“Drained, all my strength gone like Samson with his hair shorn close as a sheep. I may not recover for months.”
“I mean, of Cutter Longridge.”
Dylan drew back. “You sure know how to break a mood. But since you have—” He broke off. “Or are you just trying to protect yourself here?”
Darcie untwined her arms from around his neck. She lowered her legs and slid to the floor, slowly down Dylan’s body to show him she hadn’t forgotten the mood.
“Protect myself?”
He put an arm around her neck and walked Darcie toward her bedroom. Yawning because, after all, it was nearly daylight and the sky was already pearly-gray, he said, “You do it all the time.”
Her pulse leaped. Darcie didn’t like the direction of this conversation. She’d had a hard enough night. Not just with Dylan.
“Can’t this wait? Whatever axe you need to grind, let’s do it later.”
In her bedroom Dylan lifted her in his arms, then tucked her under the covers next to him. “Later will be Eden’s tests, and your sister packing, and me putting in those new locks. Somehow we won’t get around to it. I have things to say, and I need you to listen.”
She wasn’t ready. He could be stubborn—and persuasive. She needed to prepare. If that was self-protection, okay.
If he was about to dump her…after that awesome sex in the hall…
“I’m really tired, Dylan. I have to work this morning.”
“So we’ll go to bed early tomorrow night.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “We’ll sleep, too,” he added with a half smile that died away in the next instant.
“I’m not going to like this.” She lifted onto an elbow and looked at him in the dim light. Gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, sun-browned skin. Lots of it. What’s to hate? Dread overwhelmed her.
Dylan drew a deep breath. “I run a lot of sheep on my station,” he admitted. “Every spring—my spring, your fall—a bunch of lambs gets born. They frolick, gambol, leap and play all that first season.”
“Now you’re getting poetic.”
“Then they grow up,” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard her. Dylan reached out to touch her cheek. “Those little girl lambs are damn cute. Full of themselves. And pretty soon, one day they’re ready.”
“Ready?”
“To breed. That’s what it’s all about, Darcie. Us, too.”
She tried to rise. “You’ve been on the farm too long.”
Dylan tugged her back down. “Maybe you should see for yourself,” he said.
“Are you asking me again to visit?”
“No. To stay.”
Her pulse jumped. “You mean, live there? With your mother in the house?”
“She’ll love you.”
“Me? A woman who picked you up in the Westin Sydney bar? Dylan, I don’t belong in Australia.” She felt sensitive to this subject, especially tonight after her talk with Annie. “Like my sister ‘forgetting’ to get a job and going back to Cincinnati, you belong at Rafferty Stud. You are Rafferty Stud.”
He groaned. “Not at the moment. I’m exhausted.”
“I’m serious. I belong here,” she said. “You should marry Deidre.”
His mouth tightened. “I don’t want to marry Deidre.”
But to Darcie, it made sense. “She lives next door. Like Cliff for Annie. You could join your two stations into one bigger operation. You understand each other, your way of life is the same. You’re compatible in bed….”
“I don’t believe it. I’m with one woman who’s trying to push me at another.”
With every word she felt worse. But also right. “Deidre suits you. I don’t.”
“How do you know? You’ve never even seen her.” Dylan’s gaze held hers. “What do you think I was doing in the Westin bar that night myself?”
“Having a beer. Trolling for chicks.”
“Wrong—except for the beer part. Know why I went in there? I’d had a rotten day. I was in the city on business, to buy prime livestock to expand my breeding operation, and it wasn’t going well. I was tired, frustrated with the broker I use, disgusted. So I thought ‘Why not? I’ll have a few Foster’s, fall into bed, try again in the morning. Once I get to town, which isn’t often from the Outback, I stay until the business is done.’” He paused. “Then I looked across the room—and saw you.”
His stare intensified. “I was glad I could stay with you those two weeks. I haven’t been the same since.”
She didn’t know what to say. So she said nothing.
When he drew her into his arms, she didn’t—couldn’t—resist. So he wasn’t dumping her. Wouldn’t let her dump him, as if she could do that either. Her heart pounded furiously, whether in excitement or alarm, she couldn’t distinguish.
“What I’m trying to tell you is, everything has its season, not to turn this into a sermon.” He half smiled. “But it’s true for people just like sheep. Why do you think nature gives a young woman glossy hair—” his tone rough, he ran gentle hands through Darcie’s mane “—a ripe mouth—” h
e grazed her lips with a finger “—beautiful breasts, a slim waist, rounded hips…”
“Dylan.” She would dissolve again if he didn’t stop.
“Why do you think a man’s shoulders get broad, his muscles hard, his beard coarse, his arms and thighs strong?”
Darcie was blushing.
“To attract a mate,” he said.
“Did I ask for a biology lesson?” This is you. This is me.
“Listen. I’m thirty-four years old. I don’t have time to hang out in bars looking for women. I get to the city twice, maybe three times a year. Hell, where I live a mail-order bride’s probably the best solution for a man.”
“Or Deidre.”
He pulled back. “Don’t throw her at me again.”
“But can’t you see my point? We’ve washed our underwear together, yes, but I live in Manhattan. I love Manhattan. It’s not the wicked city to me, it’s exciting, the center of commerce and civilization. You live in the Outback, one of the most remote areas in the world. What could be more different? What could make us more opposite?”
His jaw hardened. “Opposites attract. Like male and female.”
“Yes, and I wouldn’t change a minute of these past weeks…or Sydney…but don’t you see, Dylan? We’re a fantasy come true. I looked across the Westin bar and saw this gorgeous guy wearing an Akubra—after Gran said ‘bring one home for me, too—’”
“Great. Thanks.”
“—and I did something I’ve never done before in my life. I took a risk—and gave you a come-hither smile. And you came.”
“More than once,” he said, but his weak smile twitched. “I don’t have time for courting games, Darcie. I want a wife soon, some babies…”
She had to agree. “You need sons. To carry on the Stud.”
“I’m ready to settle down.”
“I’m not.”
“Why not?” he said.
Her heart drummed. In his roundabout way, was he asking her to marry him? To live on a farm? His attitude, like his earlier possessiveness, convinced her all over again that he was, at heart, too much like her parents.
“I have the Wunderthings opening to think of… Gran…the rest of my family here in the States, work…”
“Cutter Longridge,” he said with a bitter edge. “Merrick Lowell. Do they make you happy?”
His touch rough yet tender, Dylan pulled her near and nuzzled her neck until she moaned. He made her happy. But he was all wrong for her, even if at times she wanted him to be The One. Hadn’t he just proved that with his usual, traditional approach to a man with a woman?
“This is what it’s all about, Matilda,” he insisted. “Mating, procreation.” When she didn’t answer, he sighed but moved closer, behind her, his head next to hers on the same pillow. “Maybe I’m not saying this right,” he murmured.
“Maybe you are.” Which scared her.
Long after Dylan finally fell asleep, and his breathing sounded regular and deep in the quiet room, Darcie lay staring at her ceiling and her stars. Usually this worked. But when rosy dawn light bathed the walls, she still had no answers.
He hadn’t said he loved her.
Oh, God, how could she lose him? How could she keep him?
“We’ll work it out, Matilda” she remembered him saying. “We can.”
Chapter
Twenty
Her grandmother would survive, Eden assured Darcie the next afternoon. Dylan had gone to the cafeteria for coffee and doughnuts all around—violating Gran’s new dietary restrictions, “but you only live once,” she said—and the two women were alone. This was an opportunity not to be missed, and rare with Julio and Dylan always near. Darcie watched Gran check the doorway again to make sure it was empty. It didn’t take her long to get to the point.
“You’re not letting that man go,” Eden persisted.
“Unless you can fake another heart attack before tomorrow, I am.” Eden sent her a chiding look, and Darcie added, “What else can I do? I have a job here.”
“Then why aren’t you at Wunderthings now?”
Darcie smiled. It was only three o’clock. She’d left Walt fuming over a report at the same time he wished her well, and Greta most likely plotting against her, but this seemed more important. “Because my favorite grandmother is lying here in this icky hospital and I needed to make sure she was all right.”
Eden picked up a hand mirror from her bed table and studied her face. “My tests were perfectly normal. My cholesterol’s a bit high but the doctor has given me some wonderful new drug, without side effects, and in no time I’ll be like a twenty-year-old virgin.”
“That’ll be the day.” She grinned. “Not the twenty-something part.”
Eden smiled slyly. Her auburn hair stood up in spikes, more mussed than Darcie had ever seen her. Not from illness, she suspected. Eden grappled it into place.
“I sent Julio home to feed Jane this morning—but we did have the most lovely interlude beforehand. Several, in fact,” Eden said.
“Me, too.” The entryway, up against the wall, this morning, in bed, Dylan’s hard weight along my back…
“We are very lucky girls.”
“Women,” Darcie corrected her, as she always did Janet.
“At this age thinking of myself as a girl does wonders for my face.” She smoothed lotion onto her skin, then used a dark pencil on her eyebrows.
“Whatever floats your boat, Gran.”
“Full makeup. I was a ruin without it yesterday. What must those paramedics have thought when they lifted me onto the stretcher with those bulging muscles? Speaking of which…” Eden’s smile disappeared. “I’ve met a number of your young men since you moved to New York—and Dylan is by far the best, despite Cutter Longridge. Dylan’s honest, straightforward, sexy as a Chippendale dancer—”
“Better,” Darcie could attest.
“—and he does something for that Akubra that could stop an old woman’s heart. Not mine, of course.” She applied powder-blue eyeshadow to her lids. “Dylan Rafferty cares deeply for you, dear. It’s in his eyes, and the way he treats you.”
“You seem to have done a thesis on the subject. Maybe he just likes doughnuts.”
“No, he thinks of you before himself.” She pursed her coral-painted lips. “Like Julio. Need I remind you of Merrick Lowell?”
Darcie leaned around the array of pots and jars and tubes on Eden’s table to hug her. “Merrick keeps calling but I won’t talk. His choice seems clear enough. I won’t play the fool a third time. I wish you the very best with Julio. I know I was less than enthusiastic at first, but I think he’s just right for you after all.”
“You don’t mind our difference in age?”
Darcie beamed. “What do four decades matter when there’s true love?”
“You adorable child.” Gran held on tight. When she pulled away, her eyes were shining. “What will you do once Dylan’s gone—Annie, too? I hate to see you live alone.”
“You sound like Dylan.”
“He’s right. There’s always room with me, you know. Julio likes you very much. He calls you my niña linda. My pretty little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl, Gran.”
Eden’s expression softened even more. “So you keep reminding me—but you’re wrong. A part of you will always be that little girl to me, and to Hank and Janet. One day you’ll realize how lovely that is…to have memories with people who’ve known you all your life. As you really are.”
Darcie blinked. “Are you trying to make me cry?”
“I’m trying to be sure you make the right choice.”
“Dylan?” she said.
“If he makes you happy, yes. But don’t think too much. Take happiness where you find it. Life is short, dear.”
Feeling uncomfortable with Dylan’s scrutiny last night, and Gran’s today, Darcie drew back. When the time was right, she’d know about Dylan. About everything.
“Don’t push,” she said, then made a great show of smo
othing Eden’s blanket, rearranging her makeup bottles into neat rows as if to impose logic on her own life.
“No flat whites, sorry, ladies.” Lydies, he said. Dylan came into the room carrying a tray full of hospital mugs and cream-filled doughnuts. His private smile for Darcie turned her knees weak.
“Flat whites?” Eden echoed.
“Ozspeak,” Darcie said, “in other words, latte,” fixing her grandmother’s coffee the way she liked it, then handing her a paper plate with half a doughnut. “I don’t think you should eat more than this, even with your new medication.”
“I won’t push. You won’t fuss.”
Dylan put an arm around Darcie’s shoulders and stood beside Eden’s bed, his coffee cup in his free hand. He seemed to have a need to touch Darcie all the time today. As if he knew he wouldn’t be able to touch her tomorrow, or any day after that.
“Did I miss something?”
“Girl talk,” Eden said.
“Womenspeak,” Darcie corrected.
Dylan gave her a dark look, his smile fading. He obviously had more than touching in mind. “We’d better go. I need to pack.”
Gran quickly agreed. “You two need to be alone. Julio and I spend as much time together as we can. Of course he lives right here in New York, in my own duplex—”
“Julio moved in with you?”
“Last week. Perhaps the thrill has been too much for me and explains my little ‘episode’ yesterday.”
“I doubt it,” Dylan said, grinning. “You could show us a thing or two.”
“I’ll be glad to. Anytime. Just call first—”
“Next time I’m in the States.”
“Ah,” Eden murmured, looking pleased. “And when will that be?”
“When Darcie invites me.” So he was going to play hardball.
She marched to the door. “I’m leaving before this conspiracy gets worse. Gran, behave yourself. Give Julio my…love.” She crooked a finger at Dylan, who had bent to kiss Eden goodbye. She said something to him that Darcie couldn’t hear. Then he straightened and crossed the room to her. “I’ll call tomorrow, Gran,” she said. “Rest before you go home.”
