by Cait London
“I think you’ve had things your way for too long. Maybe I’ve decided to make your life miserable,” she answered too sweetly.
“Maybe you already have,” he muttered, wishing he could take her in his arms and kiss her again, to fill the need to hold her close and protect her.
Paloma straightened her shoulders and placed her hands on her waist “Good.”
Rio ran his hand through his hair and studied her. “So here we are,” he said, testing her mood.
“I can leave at any time,” she said firmly, setting the rules between them.
“You can. You’d be taking my heart, though, and I’m likely to come after it—and you.”
Paloma threw up her hands again. “How could you just say things like that? How can you just tell Lily and Lettie and every other woman who threw herself at you today that you were taken and that Tyrell was coming home and that he was available?”
“Because I am taken and Tyrell isn’t married and he is coming home. He never stays long, but this time he just may. Else says it’s time for him to come home to stay, and she’s usually right” He walked to her and held out the box. “I want you to have this. Else brought it to the rodeo for you.”
When she didn’t move and he noted her confused expression, the emotions warring in those beautiful sky-blue eyes, Rio removed his mother’s crocheted shawl from the box and draped it around Paloma’s shoulders. He lifted her hair over the soft blue fabric and smoothed the black, gleaming length. “It’s blue, like your eyes, honey. She’d want you to have it.”
Paloma’s hands caressed the soft shawl. “She must have been a lovely woman. She’s raised a loving, close family who treasures her memory.”
“Elizabeth Blaylock was a good woman. A strong one, like you.” Rio couldn’t resist placing his arms around Paloma, and after that heartbeat of resistance, she gave herself into his keeping, her arms going around his shoulders, fiercely locking him to her. Rio held her close against him, where she belonged, and Paloma’s face nestled against his throat. He tensed when she kissed him lightly, just that one shy offering, then again. He met her lips as they lifted to his, soared with the knowledge that she trusted him, that her coming to him was too sweet for words. Her body taut against his, Paloma opened her lips, fiery hot and hungry, and he dived into the sweet taste.
Beneath his hand, her breast was soft and delicate, made to be cherished. He couldn’t resist smoothing her silky skin, caressing her, his heart racing when the sweet little groan rose from her throat. “I’m glad you came back last night, honey.”
He couldn’t lose her, not when he’d found his heart, his life. When Paloma locked her arms around him tightly, Rio knew that she was experimenting, testing them both He waited for her next move, the slant of her lips on his, her fingers moving in his hair, winnowing through it. She bit his lip lightly, and Rio bit hers, staring into her wide blue eyes. “You’re so warm,” she whispered. “And you’re shaking.”
“You do that to me.”
Paloma searched his face. She traced his eyebrows, his lashes, and Rio stood absolutely still, aware that Paloma was just discovering what ran between them. Watching him, she slid her hand into his shirt, smoothing his chest. “Your heart is racing.”
“So is yours.” A very good sign, Rio thought, and unable to resist, took her other breast into his keeping. She fit perfectly into his palms.
Paloma looked down at his hands cradling her breasts, cherishing them. Closing her eyes with an unsteady sigh, she placed her hands over his, pressing him closer. “I’m so flightened.”
“Take it easy, honey. You’ll do just fine.” Rio bent to kiss her lightly and held her close against him. There, wrapped in her warmth and scents, the contrast of her warm sleek hair against the soft rose petals, Rio found the peace he’d wanted for a lifetime.
Seven
“Your hands are on my bottom, Rio,” Paloma noted quietly, moments later.
“Mmm. Now I wonder how that happened,” he said, not surprised at all.
“You’re aroused and you want to make love,” she stated flatly after Rio had lifted her to the counter and eased between her jeaned legs.
“That’s putting it bluntly. But the need is there, that’s for sure,” he said between long, sweet kisses. He caressed her thighs and closed them around his hips.
“How often does this need...ah...arise?” she asked curiously, reminding him that she was still shy of him, and that she was inexperienced.
“Just about every time I look at you,” he answered truthfully. He touched her lightly, just there where the material was slightly damp and warm between her legs.
She inhaled sharply and her body seemed to ripple, a flush rising from her throat. “I find that shocking.”
“Yes, shocking.” Rio couldn’t help chuckling at her astonished expression.
“I will not tolerate you laughing at me,” Paloma said darkly, her blue eyes narrowing. “Apologize.”
Rio’s teeth flashed against his darkly tanned skin, laughter crinkling around his eyes. He ran a teasing finger down her nose. “I’m truly sorry, slim,” he said too sincerely.
“Is that so?” Paloma trembled with delight as she stood. She fought the smile bubbling inside her, the need to tease and play with Rio. She really shouldn’t feel so carefree, so young and feminine. Paloma inhaled and braced herself to defy her rigid training; she wanted to flirt and laugh and taste life. Standing close to her, his hands pushed into his back pockets—what would Rio do if...?
She’d never teased, tested or pushed, and suddenly Rio stood there, a long-legged, rangy perfect opportunity. Wondering what he would do, she reached for the full glass of water next to the sink, and slowly poured it over his head. The droplets flowed down his hair, plopped to his face and dripped off his nose.
He blew away the drop clinging to his nose, his eyes narrowing. “You’re asking for it, you know. That’s twice you’ve dumped water on me today. Now that was a little embarrassing in front of my brothers. Logan called me a sissy—Damn, I’ve got water in my boots again.”
He sat on a chair, tugged off his boots and stood, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. He tossed it to the wet floor challenging her with a narrowed look as she stood. “I think it’s time we see just who’s the boss of this outfit.”
“Big talk, cowboy.” She edged along the counter, away from him, freeing the wild happy grin inside her.
When Rio took one step toward her, she backed away. “Now look at that,” he said urgently, looking over her shoulder.
She turned, scanning the empty house and stacked furniture. “What?”
“Man, you’re easy,” he whooped and snagged his arm around her. His other arm went beneath her knees and he carried her to his bed, dumping her on it.
Paloma flattened on the old quilt, eyeing him. She didn’t trust his grin. “Don’t you dare.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “But you know I’m going to—”
Rio dived onto the bed, looped a leg around hers and began tickling her. When she was gasping for breath, struggling against him, he tugged up her shirt and placed his mouth against her stomach, blowing and rubbing and growling. “Say ‘uncle.’ Say you’re sorry,” he ordered as she arched and laughed and twisted beneath him.
She’d never been so carefree, so full of life, her skin tingling. Out of breath from laughing, she managed, “Gee, I’m truly sorry, Uncle Rio.”
He snorted at her false surrender. Summoning her strength, Paloma pushed against him hard. Rio slid aside, balanced on the side of the bed and began to slide slowly, still holding her.
“Let go, you—”
“Sweetheart? Honey? Darling?” he prompted as they slid gently to the floor.
This time she snorted, wrapped snugly in the old quilt with him. “You’re heavy.”
Rio’s fingers slid along her cheek, his expression warm and thoughtful. “You’re pretty like that, all flushed, and your eyes warm with laughter. You remind me of the morning dew on the ro
ses. Fresh and sweet and all woman.”
His soft, slow words snared her, caught her poised between delight and wonder. With his hair tousled and damp, Rio looked inviting and comfortable. She couldn’t resist reaching to smooth that single spear of hair across his forehead. “Do you always tickle women until they’re out of breath from laughing?”
“I like to hear you laugh, blue eyes.” He lowered his face to rest against her throat and shoulder. An odd peace curled within Paloma as she gathered him closer, rubbing his rippling back with her palms. She trembled with the knowledge that this powerful creature rested so trustingly within her keeping. She’d trained herself not to be greedy, but with Rio, she wondered if she wouldn’t want everything. The tenderness sweeping through her, the need to hold and keep close, startled her. Against her throat, Rio whispered, “I’d be honored if you’d come to the dance with me.”
She’d never been asked so sweetly, but then she’d never had a formal date. Not one. It was about time, though she wouldn’t let Rio know that her experience was so lacking.
At Jasmine’s community hall, Paloma braced herself for one more performance, pretending that she was glad to be in the midst of the crowd, surrounded by Blaylocks. She couldn’t bear to leave their mother’s shawl and had wrapped it around her shoulders. She twined the blue weave in her fingers and let it comfort her, as if it were a gift from mother to daughter. But though the shawl belonged in this family setting, Paloma felt she didn’t She tensed against Rio’s arm, looped around her waist She tried not to be nervous as they walked along the tables loaded with casseroles and salads and desserts. The incredible aromas snared her and she realized that she’d heaped her plate high. Accustomed to polite professional dinners, platters of dainty hors d’oeuvres, entrees where presentation was all, fine wine and conversations about classical music, Paloma wondered why she was here. She knew how to be cool and professional, to present herself to potential backers; she didn’t know how to make small talk about favorite recipes or housecleaning tips, or ask about crops.
This was what Boone loved, the intimacy of the small town, the children playing tag around their parents’ legs. While the small band tuned up in one corner of the immense hall, she stared at the mound of black olives Rio had just spooned on top of the delicious-looking potato salad.
“I need to leave,” she whispered to him as one olive rolled down into the Greek salad. She was like that olive, on a path apart. She was different from the rest who had stayed in one place and loved, all their lives.
“Why? Aren’t you feeling well?” he asked, immediately concerned. His free hand lifted to her forehead, testing for fever. Placing his plate aside, he took her wrist, clocking her pulse.
From beneath his hand, Paloma stared up at him. The last person to test her forehead for fever had been Boone. “Stop that,” she said under her breath. tempered by years of public appearances. “People will see.”
“So what? It’s time someone took care of you.” He bent close to her, scanning her face, then his gaze lowered to her stomach. “Do you always eat this much? You plowed right through those pancakes last night. Maybe you’ve just got indigestion. You must have eaten three plates of food at the rodeo.”
“My digestion is fine. I was hungry, okay? And by the way, it’s not nice to comment on a lady’s appetite.” She backed slightly away from him, unused to being questioned about her health habits. She’d always eaten very little, but the fresh country air had nudged her appetite. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“If you’re pregnant, I’d like that,” he bent to whisper close to her ear.
When her hand shook, the olive that had rolled from the rest, plopped to the floor. “No. I’d know.
“I meant what I said that night at the cabin, sweetheart,” he said quietly, studying her as a slow heat moved up her cheeks.
One look at Rio’s serious expression told her that he wasn’t teasing, and the thought terrified her. “I’m upset, that’s all. This is my first date. You brought me here. Get me out.”
“Can’t. We haven’t eaten. That’s real butter for Mary’s homemade bread. I don’t suppose you’ve ever milked a cow.” Rio’s dark, warm eyes caressed her. “I’m your first date? That makes me special, doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t tickled me until I couldn’t breathe. Just wait. I’ll get you.”
“Mmm,” he drawled sensuously. Rio’s hand slid to pat her bottom beneath the shawl “I’d like that. You’re getting me excited, ma’am. My heart is palpitating, and I’m fairly quivering with anticipation. I feel faint. By the way, my mother’s shawl looks good on you. It’s an exact match for those blue eyes.”
She scowled at him and wondered why a man like Rio would enjoy cuddling her. She reached for her iced tea but missed, brushing the glass with her hand. Rio reached to steady it before it toppled. “You’re very good at compliments. I’m wearing your white shirt and my black jeans, not a dinner dress. My traveling dress is at the cabin and you shrank my sweater.”
“You look better than a banana ice-cream split on a hot summer night,” Rio said simply, guiding her to a table, and this time Paloma’s heart palpitated. He pulled out her chair and waited. According to Kallista, the Blaylock males had been trained from an early age to be courteous to women. Though Paloma tensed each time he opened doors for her and guided her with his hand on her back, the gestures pleased her at a level she didn’t understand
“I’m used to seating myself, Rio. There’s no need for all this fuss.”
“Oh, but there is. I want to.”
She looked at Rio’s set expression and knew in this instance, he wouldn’t budge. She sat and smoothed the old soft shawl and wondered if his mother had felt so treasured and feminine. The other Blaylock men were busy with children on their hips, and Kallista’s hand rested gently through the loop of her husband’s arm. The gesture was old-fashioned and delighted Paloma; she looked closely at Rio. “Are you squiring me?”
He almost choked on his iced tea. “I’m trying.”
“To what purpose?” She had to know everything now, hurrying to learn about life experiences she hadn’t known.
“Marriage,” he stated firmly, returning her curious gaze. “Marriage. Home. Children.”
“But I’m not marriage material, Rio,” she began earnestly. She felt as if she were taking a wrongful place in the beauty of this warm family and community. “I don’t know anything about families. I’ve never had one.”
“You worry too much,” he said finally.
“Who do you think takes care of me? I like to worry. I like nice scheduled events. I like to be prepared—” She closed her lips over the lasagna Rio had placed into her mouth; the delicious taste reminded her that she’d taken her last meal at noon. She had planned to eat a little, then make her excuses. But after a few bites of country food, she couldn’t resist the second helpings Rio just placed in front of her. “These are real potatoes, aren’t they? Not the instant kind?”
Rio laughed. “Lady, you can eat.”
She resented her appetite, which had never lodged pounds on her tall, restless and rangy body. Used to fast-food restaurants, she couldn’t resist the delicious potluck dishes. “I haven’t had many homecooked meals.”
Rio lifted a fork laden with lasagna to her lips, his expiression darkening, focusing on the movement of her mouth as she took the tidbit.
Startled by the sensual impact of Rio’s offering, the darkening tense expression, Paloma wondered if a reciprocal action from her would distract him. She methodically placed a wedge of roast chicken on her fork and lifted it slowly. His measured acceptance of her laden fork sent pleasure ricocheting through her. Rio studied her so intently that a jolt of sheer desire slammed into her. Ashamed that she could react so devastatingly to him, remembering how beautifully he had touched her that night, Paloma lowered her eyes. Only Rio could cause her to blush, to feel so feminine and desired.
His fingertip eased he
r hair away from her ear and he leaned close to whisper. “I’d like to take you outside and lay you down beneath me in the pickup. I’d like to kiss those sassy lips and put my hands on your breasts and taste the moonlight on your skin. I’d like to feel you hot and tight around me, your breath coming in short quick gasps and hear those noises you make in your throat. I want to feel your breasts, soft and perfect, against me, feel your heart kick up and race like a trapped butterfly. Then when you’re drowsy and quiet and the heat is slowly dying, I’d like to start all over again.”
Paloma stiffened as his teeth gently bit her earlobe and her world tilted and whirled. Her body responded immediately, cords contracting low in her stomach. She realized that her cheeks had flushed, her pulse leaping to the wild, heated look Rio shot down at her breasts. He moved a fold of the shawl away from her, and in that instant, Paloma wished he would pick her up and carry her outside. She wanted to taste him just as he’d said, to—
Rio blinked, staring at her chest, his expression shocked. “You’re not wearing a bra. Slim, you...are...not wearing a bra,” he repeated.
“Sometimes I don’t. There’s not much there to worry about.” She studied his outraged expression and his hurried adjustment of her shawl over her breasts.
“Now that is something to worry about What’s there is perfect You’d let other men hold you against them and feel that?”
Neil came to sit across the table from her. “You’re looking fine tonight, Paloma... all rosy and warm,” he drawled and winked at her. “Save a dance for me?”
“Her dance card is full.” Rio’s tone said he wasn’t sharing. He looked warily at her shawl. His fingers laced with hers, very pale against his dark and scarred skin, as much a contrast as their lives.
She stared at him, the very first man who cared enough to be jealous over her. His jaw was clenched and that nasty gleam in his eyes sent a threatening message to Neil. Because Rio looked nettled, she couldn’t resist Paloma raised her hand, patted his cheek and said, “There, there, buckaroo.”
