Only His

by Lowell, Elizabeth

  “Mint,” he whispered against her mouth, smiling. “Share more of it with me.”

  She hesitated, then whispered, “How?”

  “Lick your lips.”

  Automatically, Willow obeyed. She didn’t understand the sudden narrowing of Caleb’s golden eyes as he watched.

  “Again.”

  As he spoke, he lowered his head until he could follow the hesitant progress of her tongue with his own. She trembled and her hands gripped the hard strength of his forearms, but she didn’t withdraw.

  “Mint,” Caleb said in a low voice. Talons of passion sank into him, raking him with need. “God, I’ll never taste mint again without remembering this. Lick my lips, sweet woman. I love the taste of you.”

  “Caleb,” Willow whispered.

  It was all she could say.

  “Don’t remember how?” he murmured. “It’s all right. I don’t mind showing you.”

  Lightly, he ran his tongue over Willow’s trembling lips before he eased gently inside, stroking the soft inner surfaces of her smile in a lingering caress that taught Willow just how sensitive her lips could be. Motionless but for the wild beating of her heart, she wished the moment would never end.

  And, for a time, it didn’t.

  “Your turn,” Caleb said finally against Willow’s mouth.

  She made a low sound of disappointment that told Caleb just how much she had enjoyed being caressed by his tongue.

  “Something wrong?” he teased.

  “I didn’t want the kiss to end,” Willow admitted softly.

  “That still wasn’t what I’d call a kiss.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  “No.” Caleb’s mouth eased over Willow’s for an instant. His tongue flicked out, tasting her. “But we’re getting there, honey. We’re getting there. Now lick my lips.”

  Hesitantly, Willow obeyed. At first she barely touched Caleb. The darting caresses could have been born from shyness or could have been the result of an experienced woman’s knowledge of how to tease a hungry man. Motionless, Caleb waited with a hunter’s patience, knowing that sensual teasing worked both ways with a girl as passionate as Willow.

  And he had no doubt of her passion. The flashes of it she had revealed were a lure greater than her sun-bright hair and sweetly curving body. The passion in her called to him relentlessly, a siren song of ecstasy and release.

  After a few quick touches, Willow grew bolder. Her tongue lingered, tracing Caleb’s slow, lazy smile. She discovered that his lips were as smooth and warm as satin left in the sun. The rim of his mouth was as sensitive as her own, for she distinctly felt the shudder of response that went through him when she circled his lips with the tip of her tongue. The knowledge that she could affect his powerful body to that extent made something deep within her uncurl and stretch like a cat awakening. Sensations pierced her as passion rose and prowled through her on unsheathed claws.

  Without knowing it, Willow leaned closer to the seductive strength and heat of the man who held her face so gently between his hands. Her tongue caressed him again slowly, thoroughly, eased daringly between his lips, learning the sleek resilience of his inner surfaces, returning to trace again the intriguing difference in textures, tasting him and herself at the same time, the piquant flavor of mint intermingled with a man’s heat.

  When Willow finally lifted her head, Caleb’s eyes were closed but for glittering slits of gold.

  “Was that a kiss?” she whispered.

  “Not quite,” he said in a husky voice.

  “Did I miss something?”

  “Open your mouth and I’ll show you.”

  “What?”

  “That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that.”

  With a smooth movement of his head, Caleb bent and captured Willow’s mouth. The tip of his tongue skimmed the inner surfaces of her lips in a caress that became more exciting each time she felt it. When his tongue slid between her teeth and tasted her with a new intimacy, she stiffened, then let out her breath raggedly.

  “Almost there,” Caleb said, his mouth against Willow’s. “Open more for me, honey. Let me taste that sweet, teasing tongue of yours.”

  For an instant Willow hesitated, but the temptation of Caleb’s mouth overcame her shyness.

  “A little more,” he coaxed, looking down at her deep rose lips with a hunger he couldn’t conceal. “Just a little more…yes, let me see you, taste you…”

  Caleb’s words ended in a groan as his mouth fitted seamlessly over Willow’s parted lips. The velvet penetration of his tongue was both a shock and a revelation to her. The slow withdrawal followed by an even deeper penetration wrung a tiny cry from the back of her throat.

  The sound made every muscle in Caleb’s big body tighten. Slowly, thoroughly, he continued seducing Willow’s mouth, teasing and caressing her tongue, luring her into his own mouth, showing her how exciting a kiss could be. The languid dance of seduction and retreat continued until Willow knew nothing but the frantic beating of her heart and the taste of Caleb spreading through her like fire after a lifetime of cold. She slid her hands from his forearms to his shoulders and from there around his neck, pulling him closer. His arms came around her in return, gathering her against his chest until her nipples nestled against hard muscle.

  Pleasure rippled through Willow as her breasts tightened in a rush, making her tremble. The pressure of Caleb’s hands increased, arching her more and more deeply into the embrace, shifting her against his body with sinuous motions. She made another sound of pleasure and instinctively opened her mouth farther, wanting more of his taste, his heat, the sweet friction of his tongue caressing her. The strength of him was an incredible lure, for he fitted perfectly against the untried hungers of her own body.

  The kiss changed, deepening with each broken breath Willow took, each helpless movement of her body. Her sensuality seared through Caleb, shaking him. He had never known a woman to respond so completely to a kiss, a fire spiraling hotly upward, burning out of control. Nor had he known what intense passion he himself was capable of, fierce heat and hunger claiming him, shutting out the world.

  Caleb forgot the game of seduction and retreat he had been playing, forgot caution, forgot everything but the girl twisting like fire in his arms, burning him alive. His hands kneaded from her back to her hips, ravishing and cherishing her in long strokes. His tongue mated with hers in wild, seething silence and his fingers sought the smoldering center of her.

  The clothes Willow wore were no barrier to Caleb’s passionate seeking, for her pantelets had no seam between her legs. With a thick sound of satisfaction, Caleb slid his fingers between layers of thin cotton. He caressed the soft, hot nest of hair at the apex of her thighs and then he touched the even softer, hotter flesh beneath.

  Willow stiffened in shock. Reflexively she struggled against Caleb, clamping her legs together and grabbing his hand, trying to push him away. It was like trying to push away a mountain.

  “No, Caleb, please don’t!”

  “It’s all right,” he said thickly. “I won’t hurt you. Your’re so soft, so hot, perfect for me.”

  His hand flexed and his fingertips slid over her with shocking intimacy.

  “No, you said just kisses. Oh God, Caleb, please, please, no!”

  For an instant Caleb stared down into Willow’s frantic face as they both measured the futility of her struggles against his much greater strength. Where he was touching her she was sultry, yielding, weeping passionately for him. The temptation to take her despite her words was so great that he could feel himself yielding, sinking into the silky fire of her body.

  Willow sensed the overwhelming power of Caleb’s body, looked at his savage gold eyes, and prayed that he was a man of his word.

  “Caleb,” she whispered. “You promised. Please. Stop.”

  Abruptly, Caleb pushed away and surged to his feet, furious with Willow for refusing what her body so plainly wanted and equally furious with himself for wanting her so much he
had lost his head. For a long, crackling moment he looked at her.

  “Fancy, lady,” he finally said through his teeth, “some day you’ll be on your knees in front of me againt—but you won’t be begging me to stop.”

  Caleb turned on his heel and walked away, leaving his flat, cold promise to echo in the silence.

  9

  A s Caleb had predicted, rain came again to the mountains. The sound of it was welcomed by Willow, for the silence had become oppressive.

  Caleb hadn’t been in camp when she had finally gathered her dry clothes and her courage and had returned to the fire. All seven horses still grazed in the meadow, silently telling her that, wherever Caleb had gone, he would be back. The horses couldn’t tell Willow when, however. She gathered edible greens in the meadow and tried to forget what it had been like to be kissed by Caleb Black until the world burst into fire and he was the burning center of it.

  Forgetting was impossible. Flashes of memory and sensation splintered through Willow at odd moments, making her shiver with pleasure and yearning.

  Rain began to fall while the last scarlet flush of evening still stained the western sky. Willow retreated to the shelter the western sky. Willow retreated to the shelter and changed into her trail clothes. She sat in the doorway and watched for a figure striding through the twilight rain. No one came. Finally she curried up across the entrance and fell asleep.

  When Willow woke up, she was between the blankets and Caleb was sharpening his knife while chunks of meat roasted over the fire. The sky was iridescent with a pink, rain-scrubbed dawn. Though she made neither sound nor motion to tell Caleb that she was awake, somehow he knew. He turned and looked toward the shelter.

  “Coffee’s hot,” he said, looking back at the whetstone in his hands. The big blade of his hunting knife flashed as he stroked it over the stone. “You’ve got fifteen minutes until we ride. Hear me?”

  Willow’s heart sank at the cold distance in his voice. “Yes, I hear you.”

  When she returned from the forest, Caleb handed her a stick with a chunk of roasted meat skewered on it. Saying nothing, he went back to honing his knife. Automatically, she bit into the meat.

  “Fresh venison,” Willow said, surprised.

  Caleb grunted.

  “But I didn’t hear a shot,” she pressed, wondering how far Caleb had walked to hunt deer. Gunfire carried for miles between the stone peaks.

  “I didn’t use a gun.”

  “Then how…?” She glared at him. “Caleb Black, you aren’t going to tell me you caught a deer the same way you caught those silly trout!”

  “Not quite, southern lady.” Steel sang huskily against stone. “I used the knife.”

  “You threw it?”

  “That would be a damn fool thing to do, and despite the evidence yesterday, I’m not a damn fool.”

  Willow flushed and tried to apologize. “Caleb, I didn’t mean—”

  “I stalked the buck until I was close enough to cut its throat,” Caleb continued, ignoring her attempt to speak.

  Her eyes widened in shock. “You what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “But that’s impossible.”

  “You keep telling yourself that while you eat your venison. But don’t take too long over it. We’ve got a high pass to cross before it rains again.”

  Calmly, Caleb tested the knife’s edge against the hair on his forearm. The blade was sharp enough to shave with. Satisfied, he returned the knife to its sheath, reached for the shotgun, and began methodically taking it apart an cleaning it.

  Willow ate breakfast while she watched Caleb clean the shotgun, rifle, and six-gun. Clearly he was a man at home with the weapons. He worked quickly yet thoroughly, with an economy of motion that was fascinating to her. The skill, precision, and delicacy of his big hands made memories splinter inside her, showering her with sensations.

  “Caleb,” she began huskily.

  “Southern lady, do you suppose you could be bothered to get off your rump and groom your own horse? The kisses were nice enough, but I’m still not standing in line to be your maid.”

  Caleb’s voice stung like a whip, making Willow angry at herself and at him. “That’s good, because I’m not standing in line for your kisses, either?”

  She dropped her half-eaten venison in the fire and stalked out to the meadow.

  Willow made no attempt to speak to Caleb again. They left the meadow in a silence broken only by the creak of saddles and the rhythmic beating of hooves. An hour into the ride, he reined in at the top of a long rise and let the horses blow while he carefully searched the area ahead with his spyglass. Then he took out his journal and filled in more of the blank spaces on the map he had been keeping of their route since Canyon City. When he finished, Willow still hadn’t come alongside. Impatiently he turned Trey and rode back to her.

  “Come up where you can see,” he said.

  Willow urged Dove to the top of the ridge. The view from there was breathtaking. Willow sat in rapt silence, looking out over the land.

  Before her, a clearing in the forest stretched for miles between widely separated ranges of mountains. Aspen and evergreens defined the creases of the land and the flanks of the mountains, but most of the open area was covered in grass and wild flowers. A cobalt blue river coiled lazily through the park. Beaver ponds shimmered in shades of emerald and blue. Towering above it all, dominating even the untouched magnificence of the sky, were dark, ice-shattered peaks. Snow frosted the higher altitudes, gradually thickening into the glittering white of year-round icefields.

  “See over to the left, where those two peaks look like a dog with one chewed ear?” Caleb asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I want you to ride along the left side of the park, heading for the peak that looks chewed. If you see anything you don’t like, run for the forest. If anyone comes after you, use the shotgun on whatever is within range.”

  Willow looked from the mountains to the man who was sitting on his horse only few feet away from her, yet even the remote peaks seemed closer.

  “Where…” her voice tore. She cleared her throat and tried again, forcing herself to be clam when the thought of being abandoned made her shake. “After the peak, where do I go?”

  The fear in Willow’s voice was too raw to hide completely. Caleb heard it and knew what she was thinking.

  “I’m not cutting and running,” he said coldly. “Maybe that’s how the men you’re used to act, but I’m not one of your fancy men, am I? When I give my word I keep it.”

  Looking everywhere but at Caleb’s savage yellow eyes, Willow nodded.

  “When I was out hunting, I saw signs of a deer kill,” Caleb continued in a clipped voice. “Maybe a day old, maybe more. Wolves had been at it, but I could tell it was killed by a man.”

  “Indians?”

  “Renegades,” Caleb said flatly. “Some horses were shod and some were barefoot. Only bunch I know like that are Comanchero ‘traders’. Raiders is more like it. They have a lot of Taos lightning with them.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tangle-leg, tarantula juice, booze,” he explained impatiently.

  “Oh, whiskey.”

  Caleb grunted. “Call it what you will, they had so much of it they left a half-inch in one of the bottles.”

  Willow frowned. She had heard of Comancheros, and none of what she had heard was good. They were indeed renegades of the worst sort—a mixture of white and Mexican outlaws, tribeless Indians, and halfbreeds who bowed to neither white nor Indian law.

  “Don’t Comancheros usually stay farther south?” she asked hopefully.

  “Only when the Army chases them there. There’s damn all worth stealing in the Mexican desert, and a lot of Comancheros looking to steal it. The Army has been too busy fighting rebels to waste any time on Indians and raiders, but now that the War Between the States is over, the Army is back. Things will get real lively before the Utes are herded onto some reservation. While the Army
is busy, the Comancheros will scavenge around the edges like the coyotes they are.”

  Uneasily, Willow looked at the open space stretching before her, mile upon mile of beautiful grassland that must certainly be a natural gathering point for people riding through the rugged mountains, looking for easy passage.

  “Pretty, isn’t?” Caleb asked, watching the land with a faint possessiveness. “You can’t see it from here, but there’s a year-round stream coming down off that rocky ridge. A man could put a house in over there and have a clear field of fire on three sides and country only a mountain goat could cross on the fourth. The water is sweet and plentiful.”

  The mixture of emotions in Caleb’s voice made Willow turn from the land to him. He loved the land. Even as he described its dangers, his voice caressed its possibilities.

  “If a man built his house in the right place, he wouldn’t have to get shot to fill a bucket.” Caleb continued. “Cattle could graze the high country in summer and hay could be cut from the lowlands for the winter. After a few years of hard work, a man would have himself as fine a spread as any Virginia gentleman ever did.”

  Willow looked at the country again, but this time through Caleb’s eyes, seeing places to be ambushed or to hide, places that could be defended and others that would be easily overrun.

  “Do you always think like that?” she asked.

  “I’ve wanted to raise cattle for ten years. It’s just a matter of finding the right place and getting the money to begin.”

  “No, I meant do you always think about fighting?”

  Caleb gave Willow a sideways look that was part amusement and mostly disbelief. “Southern lady, anyone who wants to survive out here thinks like that. It’s second nature, like remembering landmarks in front and in back of you, because everything looks different going than it did coming. But coming or going, this is as pretty a land as God ever made, and wild enough to be home to the devil himself. If a man doesn’t keep his eyes peeled and his ears pricked out here, he’ll end up stone cold dead.”