Winter's Touch

by Hudson, Janis Reams

  “You didn’t wake me, the storm did. Come here.” He scooped her into his arms and stood. “Let’s get you warm.”

  His only thought in taking her to his room and climbing beneath the covers with her was to warm her. She was too shaken for anything else, and her terror certainly did not arouse his passion. But it was sweet, so damn sweet, to feel her curl into his arms and snuggle her cold nose into the crook of his neck.

  “That’s it,” he whispered against her ear. “Get warm, honey. I’ve got you now. The storm won’t hurt you.” He kept talking—speaking low but not whispering, knowing Gussie wouldn’t hear his voice over the noise of the wind and rain. He talked about anything and nothing, hoping the sound of his voice would ease her.

  “You should see your brother work those mustangs. Have you seen him work with horses? I guess you probably have. I’ve never seen anything like it, myself.”

  While he spoke, he absently threaded his fingers into her braids, undoing them.

  “That boy can take an ornery, green-broke mustang that would just as soon kick and buck as eat, and he can have him trotting around the corral with a saddle, bridle, and rider like it was some old gray mare taking the family to church for the hundredth year in a row. It’s sheer magic what Hunter can do with a horse.”

  With her hair freed from its braids, it spread across his hands like heavy silk. He brought a handful up to his face and inhaled the smell of flowers. “Are you getting warm yet?”

  “Aye. Thank you.”

  “Feel like talking?” he asked quietly.

  “Are you running out of things to say?” There was a smile in her voice.

  He chuckled. “Just about.” He sobered and brushed his nose across her cheek. “You’re not scared anymore, are you? I promise you’re safe.”

  She rolled onto her back and let out a long breath. “’Tis not for myself that I fear storms.”

  “Then what? Talk to me, Winter Fawn. Tell me.”

  She was silent a long moment before speaking. “My mother was killed by lightning. I saw it happen.”

  Carson tightened his hold on her. “How old were you?”

  “Twelve. I was playing at the creek, but I should have been helping her pack. She came after me. If she hadn’t come after me…”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You have to know that.”

  “A week later Da got on his horse and rode out. There was a storm then, too. He just rode away and didna come back for two years, and then only for a few days. I hate storms,” she said with feeling. “Storms take people away.”

  “Ah, honey, I’m sorry.” He kissed the delicate skin beside her eye. “Come to think of it, it was storming the night my mother died, too.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was fifteen. It was the night Bess was born.”

  “Oh, no. Bess never knew her mother at all?”

  “No. Nor our father, either, really. He just couldn’t find it in himself to go on after Mother died. He lasted until Bess was about four, then he heard about the gold rush out here, and that was the last we saw of him until he came home to fight in the war.”

  “Our fathers, it seems, have a lot in common.”

  “That’s what Dad told me. He said that was what drew him and your father into friendship. They had lost their wives and run out on their children, and they both felt guilty as hell about it.”

  If he hadn’t had his face so close to hers he might not have heard her small sniff.

  “Winter Fawn?” He brushed a finger across her cheek and felt wetness. “Now I’ve made you sad. I’m sorry.” He pulled her close and stroked her back. It was then that he realized she wore a thin night gown, and nothing else. And she was in his arms. In his bed.

  His body’s response to the realization was swift and unmistakable. He sifted away to keep her from feeling his arousal.

  “No,” she whispered, pushing her thigh firmly against him. “Don’t go.”

  Carson barely stifled a moan when she pressed against him. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do.” She kissed his chin, his jaw, his cheek. “Give me something else think about next time it storms. Something other than my fears.”

  Her light, feathery kisses, her knee against his groin, and her hand splayed across his bare chest. Simple things, yet they had his heart pounding and his lungs wondering what happened to the air in the room.

  A clap of thunder directly overhead shook the house.

  Winter Fawn flinched and latched on to Carson.

  “I won’t have it said that I took advantage of your fear.”

  She pressed herself flush against his chest. “Then show me how to take advantage of yours.”

  God, the feel of her breasts against him was heaven. “You’re doing just fine without my help.”

  “I canna do it alone,” she protested breathlessly. “Show me, Carson. Show me how to make you feel the things I felt that morning in the mountains.”

  He knew he shouldn’t. She was afraid, vulnerable. But when the next flash of lightning lit the room and he saw her face, he saw no fear there. He saw a hunger to match his own. With a low groan, he gave in and kissed her.

  She responded instantly, honestly. The taste of her, the feel of her tongue sliding against his, played havoc with his mind, not to mention his body.

  Easy, easy, he warned himself. He had to think. There was something…did this mean…?

  No, he couldn’t fool himself into thinking her eagerness for him meant that she had changed her mind and decided to marry him. This might be his one chance to make love with her. Fear of losing her drove him on, when reason should have stopped him.

  But there was no room for reason, no time for thought. There was only Winter Fawn, and the storm, both driving him on, pounding in his blood. He kissed his way down her neck and lower until, through the thin fabric of her gown, he found one tight, beaded nipple.

  When his mouth closed over the tip of her breast, Winter Fawn nearly screamed, the pleasure was so startling, so intense. She had wanted to feel what she had felt before, but this was more, so much more. And she wanted it, wanted it all, for she feared this might be the only time he would give in to her need and his.

  When he pulled his mouth away, she moaned in protest. “Don’t stop.”

  Instead of answering, he kissed his way down the slope of her breast and up the other until he reached that peak. This time when he latched onto her and suckled, she arched clear off the bed. It was magic. He suckled at her breast, and she felt it in her womb, a hot tingling, a yawning emptiness that demanded filling.

  She whispered his name and ran her hands frantically over the hot, smooth skin on his back.

  His name on her lips touched something deep inside Carson. God, how he wanted her. And she was his. For this night, this moment, she was his.

  With hands that weren’t quite steady, he pulled her gown up and off over her head. Now he could feel all of her, and he did, tracing his hands greedily across her flesh. “God, you’re so soft. So perfect.”

  He didn’t give her the time or opportunity to speak. He had to taste her mouth again, wanted it, needed it. Was starved for it.

  He felt her hands at the waist of his pants. She fumbled at the fastenings. He tore his mouth from hers and tried to see her face in the darkness.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “Be sure, Winter Fawn.”

  Her hands cupped his cheeks. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life. This is right, what we do here. I feel the rightness of it.”

  God, so did he, and he hoped he wasn’t just fooling himself. He hoped she thought it was so right, so good between them, that she never wanted to leave him. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words for fear of her answer.

  He reached for the fastenings on his pants, undid them. He pushed the pants down and kicked them off onto the floor.

  Now there was only flesh against flesh, and it was exquisite. His blood pumped hotter, his heart beat faster. He ran
a hand over the curve of her hip, down the outside of one thigh, up the inside. He tortured them both by stopping short and moving to the other thigh. Down the inside, up the outside. Then he took her mouth with his and made the trip in reverse.

  Again and again he stroked his hand between her thighs, each time going higher, closer to the core of her. She began to move, to shift against his hand, to whimper against his lips.

  “Is this what you want?” he whispered, trailing one finger up to touch the heat of her.

  Winter Fawn gasped and arched into his touch. “You know it is. More. Please.” She flexed her hips again. “More.”

  It was a plea Carson could not resist. He cupped her between her legs and felt her scalding heat. He tested her with one finger and found her ready.

  Shifting and settling his hips between her thighs, he tensed at the thought of hurting her.

  She flexed her hips and made him forget.

  He eased into her, grinding his teeth to keep from taking her in one violent thrust of need. He couldn’t…couldn’t.

  Winter Fawn felt him there at her entrance. There was fear, of the unknown. There was a slight discomfort that took away some of the pleasure. But there was something else, something stronger than either of those. A primitive need inside her, a hollow emptiness that throbbed and begged to be filled by him, with him.

  And then he thrust more fully into her, and the pain surprised her. She tensed against it, even as she tightened her arms around him.

  “Easy, honey,” he murmured, his breath coming hard against her ear. “If you can relax, it’ll feel good again.”

  Carson said the words to reassure himself as much as her. She was so tight. He’d never been a woman’s first before. The thought aroused a mixture of feelings in him. Pride, humility. Honor that she would trust him with this most precious gift. Fear that he might wake up any minute and find that she was only a dream.

  He felt her muscles gradually relax and pushed himself farther inside her. This time she took him more easily. But she still wasn’t there, wasn’t mindless with wanting him, and that’s where he wanted her. It was where he wanted himself. Mindless. So he wouldn’t have to think about what might happen tomorrow.

  Very deliberately, he drove them both wild with a fierce, hungry kiss. Soon he didn’t have to try for mindlessness. It was upon him before he realized it. She was kissing him back and moving beneath him. She was taking all of him, and giving him back more than he’d ever dreamed possible.

  He had come to this ranch looking for peace. He’d searched for it in the ruins of their plantation, across the plains, and into the mountains. And it was here all along, inside the woman who gave herself to him. Winter Fawn was his peace. And she was burning him alive, heating his blood, stealing his breath, and teasing him with the release to come.

  He pulled away, then thrust again. In and out, faster, harder. She met him thrust for thrust. Even over his own excitement he could feel the climax build inside her. Higher, higher they climbed together toward the peak.

  And then they were there, flying off the edge of the earth into blackness that was somehow filled with brilliant colors. Flying higher, holding tighter, until there was nothing to cling to but each other.

  Much later, when Carson’s mind cleared, he realized he must be crushing her. Holding her close, he rolled to his side and took her with him. She was limp as a wet dishrag.

  Alarmed, he stroked her face. “Winter Fawn?”

  Her chest heaved on a long, quiet sigh. “Hmm?”

  He chuckled and relaxed. “Just checking to see if you were still alive.”

  She answered his laugh with one of her own. “I’m not sure. Am I supposed to be?”

  Twice more they made love to the sound of rain drumming hard on the roof. Each time, he surrounded her, filled her, and took her to the stars and back in his arms. Each time, he filled her with glory. Each time, she fell more deeply in love with him. And each time, her heart broke a little bit more.

  Was there no hope for them? No way for her to set it in her mind that her giving in to him would not hurt him or his family? Would not, in the end, end up ripping her own heart out?

  Joining their bodies together seemed to be the only way to still the fearsome questions inside her, so each time he came to her, she welcomed him.

  It was nearly dawn when Winter Fawn finally admitted to herself that she must return to her bed or risk offending Gussie and shocking the girls.

  Carson climbed from the bed with her and pulled her close. It felt glorious to be held against him this way. The hair on his chest teased her cheek; the hair on his thighs, his legs. The kiss he placed on the top of her head was so sweet and tender it brought tears to her eyes.

  “I must go,” she whispered.

  “Winter Fawn, if we were mar—”

  “Shh.” She placed her fingers over his mouth. “Do not say it, please.”

  He twisted his head away from her hand. “You told your father you’d think about it.”

  “Aye. And I am. I will.”

  “We could have this every night, if you’d let us.”

  Winter Fawn closed her eyes and lay her head against his chest again. Nothing would please her more than to lie in his arms all night, every night for the rest of her life. She wanted it so badly.

  Was he right? Could it work between them, even if he didn’t love her?

  Was Hunter right that she should let the others make their own decisions? That she should not worry about the consequences?

  It was all so painfully confusing. “I must go.”

  She meant to plant a brief kiss on his cheek, but he turned his head and captured her mouth with his.

  That fast, and her knees were weak with wanting him again. Before she could give in, she broke free and pulled open the door. She was halfway to the stairs when she heard him.

  There was laughter in his voice. “You might want this.”

  With a gasp, Winter Fawn raced back and grabbed her night gown from his fingers.

  Winter Fawn had never felt more awkward or shy in her life as she did later that morning when the men—Carson—came in for breakfast. One look at him, at the knowing, intimate look in his eyes, and she felt the blood rush to her face. She did not dare look at him again. Nor did she dare look at anyone else, for fear they would read in her eyes all that she and Carson had shared during the night.

  She was not ashamed of her night with him. But it was too private a thing to share with anyone. She wanted to hold it to herself and keep the memories safe. For those memories might be all she had one day soon.

  “Lass?”

  She looked up at her father. “Aye?”

  He stared hard at her for a moment, and she felt her face heat. He looked at Carson, who met his gaze squarely.

  “By damn,” Innes muttered. He looked back at Winter Fawn. “By bloody damn.”

  He knew! One look at her face and her father knew.

  “You!” He jabbed a finger at Carson’s chest. “Ootside, mon.” He stood so fast his chair toppled over. He paid it no mind as he stomped out the door with a final, “Now!”

  Carson gave Winter Fawn a slight smile and a shrug. “Excuse me, ladies.” He carefully placed his fork beside his plate, and then laid down the red checkered napkin that had been on his lap.

  “Carson,” Winter Fawn said, “no.”

  He reached over and patted her hand. “It’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

  “What on earth?” Gussie looked from Winter Fawn to Carson. As Carson rose and followed Innes outside, her mouth opened, then closed. Her face went carefully blank.

  “What’s going on?” Bess asked.

  Megan frowned. “Is Mr. Mac mad at Daddy?”

  “Just never you mind,” Gussie said. “Eat your breakfast.”

  Winter Fawn could not sit still while her father berated Carson for something she had urged. She tossed down her napkin and raced after them. They were several yards from the house, squared off at ea
ch other like two rams about to butt heads.

  “Ye bloody bastard,” Innes bellowed, right before he punched Carson in the jaw.

  “Da! No!” she cried.

  Carson stumbled back beneath the force of the blow. He put a hand to his jaw, then wiggled his jaw back and forth to see if it still worked. “Feel better?”

  “No, by God, I don’t. Did she change her mind? Are ye getting married?”

  “Da! Stop it. You’ve no call to talk to him like that.”

  “No call? The bloody bastard takes advantage of ma own wee lassie, and I’ve no call?”

  She advanced on her father. “I’m no a wee lassie, and haven’t been for years. You lost the right to your outrage long ago when you rode away and left us to be raised by Grandmother. And if there was any advantage taken last night, it was me doin’ the takin’, not that it’s any of your concern.”

  He looked Carson up and down.

  Carson was hard pressed not to whoop with laughter. It really wasn’t funny. Really it wasn’t. He’d just been caught, albeit not directly in the act, of doing unspeakable things with the man’s daughter. But Winter Fawn’s claim of having taken advantage of him, and the shocked look of disbelief on her father’s face, nearly did him in. Giving Winter Fawn a quick wink, he held his hands out to his sides and told her father, “I would never contradict a lady. What can I say? She overpowered me.”

  Winter Fawn clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. It wasn’t funny, she told herself. It was horrible! It was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to her.

  “I somehow doot that,” her father snarled at Carson.

  Funny, horrible, and embarrassing the situation might be, but her father had not been there for her since the spring of her twelfth year. She would not tolerate his condemnation of Carson, or of herself. “Doot it all you want,” she said heatedly. “But ‘tis the truth.”

  “Ye’ll be marryin’ him now, and that’s a fact. If he’ll still have ye.”

  “I’ll have her,” Carson stated firmly.

  Winter Fawn ignored him and gaped at her father. “I’ll be doin’ no such thing. Not on your say-so, I won’t.”