Her eyebrow shot up. Without stopping to think, she closed her hand over his rigid length. “What do you think?” She demanded.
“Geez—” he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. She sprawled across him, all curving limbs and sweet skin. He pushed away the dress strap that somehow had twisted about her wrist. She wriggled out of his grasp. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“If you think I’m going to sit here,” she broke off, to tug at his boot. “Buck naked all by myself, oof, then you’re dreaming.” The boot came loose and she tossed it aside.
A laugh strangled in Jefferson’s throat. She was a slender nymph. Creamy skinned, bending over his feet and presenting him with a glorious view of her nude figure. “I am dreaming,” he muttered. The other boot slid free, and he pulled her back into his arms, finding her lips with his. “You deserve candlelight and wine,” he said finally, all toying aside.
Pressing her hand against his chest, she pushed herself up until she was straddling his waist. The seductive breeze drifted over them and she lifted her arms to pull her ponytail free. Her hair swung down over her shoulders. “We have moonlight and clover,” she told him, encompassing their private moonlit haven with an outstretched arm. “Nothing could be more perfect,” she added, her voice low.
Her hands flitted over the jeans that were still more on than off. She was an enchanting mixture of bravado and shyness. He knew he didn’t deserve this stolen moment with her. He’d end up hurting her. No matter what emotions she spoke of, no matter what she believed, or felt, or thought she felt, he knew she should be saving it all for a man worthy of her. Lord knew that he wasn’t that man. Sooner or later she’d learn that and it would destroy him. He wove their fingers together. “Come here.”
She leaned over him, her eyes widening when her breasts pressed against his chest. Swallowing a groan, he rolled them to their sides. But for tonight, at least, she was his.
Emily didn’t even notice the edge of fabric beneath her back as Jefferson nudged her over. The dry humor had left his face. As had the tinge of annoyance, leaving his sharply etched features taut with desire.
This was Jefferson, she reminded herself. The same man she’d always loved. Her nervousness subsided, and she reached out to pull at his jeans. He helped her and then tossed them out of the way.
Leaning on his arm, he looked down at her. She knew he took pleasure in the sight. His dark eyes burned over her just as surely as his hands. As surely as the unyielding flesh brush ing her thigh. This time the color that burned beneath her skin wasn’t from embarrassment. She slid her palms over his biceps, feeling the muscles bunch.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
She did, and drew in her breath when he laid his palm low over her flat stomach. She had to bite her tongue to keep silent the thought that whirled through her mind. What if she became pregnant? What if they created a baby that would nestle and grow right there inside here, beneath the very spot where his hand now rested? Like a flowering vine, the idea grew. Bloomed. A whimper rose in her throat.
His head lowered over her breast, and his palm slid across her thigh. Her smooth legs impatiently sought out his hair-roughened ones.
“Easy,” he murmured, notching his thigh between hers. Then his hand moved, lingering over the patch of soft curls, and unbearable tension coiled within her as his palm gently pressed, his fingers slowly delved.
Her breath carried his name.
It took every ounce of self-control within him to keep the pace slow. Soft sounds fell from her lips and her hands clutched at him, pulling him down. She cradled him sweetly and he bit back a groan as he brushed against that wet heat. He was not a small man, and she was so little in his arms. So delicate. Bracing his weight on his arms, he paused at her entrance, seducing them both with the tantalizing contact.
“Now, look at me,” he whispered. He wanted to see her eyes when they joined. His heart in his throat, he watched her heavy lids slowly lift. Bottomless pools looked up at him, so trusting. So filled with love that his throat tightened. Slowly, so slowly, he pressed forward into that heavenly heat.
Her teeth closed over the tip of her tongue and her eyes widened. Her fingertips dug into his arms. He felt the barrier guarding her virginity. He sucked in his breath. “Why didn’t you say…”
“I told you there was no one. Don’t stop,” she pleaded. “Oh, Jefferson, please don’t stop.”
He folded his arms next to her head and leaned his forehead against hers. His chest heaved under his restraint. “Honey, I couldn’t stop even if a bomb exploded next to us.” He flexed his hips infinitesimally, and her breath became a hiss.
“Please.” Her hands slid over his hips. “I need you inside,” she cried.
Jefferson needed it, too. More than his next breath. He slipped his hand behind her knee, pulling it up.
Instinctively, she bent her other knee, opening herself to him. Her hands scrabbled at his hips, slipping over the hard curve of buttocks. She lifted herself to him, gasping against his chest as if she’d impaled herself on his flesh. But the pain was a minor companion to the thunderous pleasure.
In his head Jefferson began counting backward. By sevens. When he thought he could speak coherently, he asked if she was okay.
Wordlessly, she nodded. And moved in such a way that rockets went off behind his eyeballs. Sweat broke out on his brow. He’d never last. And she deserved far more from him. He shifted his weight, pulling her over him. Once again, she straddled him. With one obviously major difference this time.
“You like?” His hands settled on her hips as he gently guided her movements until her instincts soon took over.
She nodded, jerkily. She felt like a cork in a champagne bottle, wrapped way too firmly. Far too tightly. She rocked against him, feeling his strength deep inside, reaching right up to her heart. She cried out his name. Her arms and legs trembled.
“I…can’t…Help me…”
“It’s okay,” he soothed, even though his voice was rough. On her hips, his hands were strong. Safe.
She bit her lip. She couldn’t breathe. She moaned his name, nearly incoherent.
“Ah, honey,” he growled, sitting up, keeping her firmly in his lap. Her inner muscles gloved him, and he guided her, ruthlessly controlling himself. It was her. Always her. He worked his hand between them and slid his finger over that sweet spot.
His name was a keening cry from her that he swallowed with his lips as she convulsed over him. Lights exploded in his head as her pleasure ignited his. “Emily—”
She trembled against him, her mouth open against his chest. His control flew out the window and he rolled her over, burying himself within her.
She was everything he wanted in this world.
It was his last coherent thought before he spilled himself deep inside her.
Chapter Ten
They’d slept. The knowledge hovered in the back of Emily’s mind as she slowly drifted awake. There was no sense of unfamiliarity. No moments, however brief, of wondering where she was. Or why a long, masculine arm was lying heavily across her waist, its wide palm cupping her breast. At some point he must have covered them with their discarded clothing. Her lips tilted into a soft smile, and she turned to face him, huddling against his warmth as the sky slowly lightened with the approaching dawn.
Jefferson breathed deeply and pushed her head down onto his shoulder. “Quit squirming,” he mumbled sleepily.
“I thought you were sleeping.” She pressed a kiss to his collarbone.
“I was.”
She smiled again and curled closer to him. She loved the way he held her. Loved the way he’d rinsed her panties in the swimming hole to gently wipe her thighs after the first time. Loved the way he’d tenderly woken her later with a slow, easy loving as different and fulfilling as the first time had been. She slipped her hand behind his neck and ran her fingers through his hair.
“Ow,” he complained a moment later when her finger caught in a tan
gle.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
He opened one eye. “I’m cutting it all off,” he informed her balefully.
“I’ll still love you,” she warned him lightly. “I’d love you even if you were bald.”
“Empty promises,” he grunted. “Squire’s still got a full head of hair, and if heredity has anything to do with it…”
At the mention of his father, the teasing glint in Emily’s eye died. “Jefferson—”
“No,” he warned abruptly, knowing what was coming.
She frowned at him and sat up, pulling the skirt of her dress over her shoulders like a shawl.
Jefferson saw that she had sprigs of grass and pieces of crushed leaves stuck in her tangled hair. And even though they’d already made love twice, he found himself wanting her all over again. Worse than ever.
“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on between you two?”
Jefferson just shook his head and reached for her. But she eluded his grasp, falling to her back and rolling away. He caught the strap of her dress and pulled. She abruptly let loose and he tossed the dress aside. “Come here.”
“No,” she laughed, dodging his hands. “I’ll make a deal,” she offered.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t do deals.”
Her lips pursed. “Ooh, don’t you sound the tough man.”
“Don’t you sound the brave woman, sitting safely five feet away.”
She grinned. “I’m no fool.” She scrambled back another foot, avoiding his quick reach. “Ah-ah-ah.”
Jefferson shrugged and lay back. He folded his arms beneath his head and relaxed, for all the world like a man sunning himself on a beach instead of sprawling alongside a small swimming hole in the early Wyoming dawn.
“Here’s my deal,” she said, her dark eyes studying him.
Beneath his lashes, he watched her watch him. Saw the way her eyes glided, stopped, held, then glided again. It was the most amazing thing. The way he got turned on by seeing her get turned on.
“I’ll come over there,” she pointed to the crumpled grass where she’d lain next to him. “And you’ll tell me why there’s such a rift between you and your father.” She picked a leaf out of her hair and slowly tore it into little pieces.
“Okay,” she tossed the leaf aside when he didn’t respond, and crawled a foot closer. “I’ll come over there, and you’ll tell me what you’ve been doing for the past few years. Why you’re having nightmares.”
The ground was getting hard. He rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. Her nipples were the color of delicate strawberries. Now he knew they tasted even sweeter.
“Okay,” she offered again, her cheeks coloring as she realized the direction of his avid stare. “I’ll come over there, and you’ll tell me where you went when you left San Diego.”
He smiled faintly.
She huffed and crawled closer yet. “Okay. I’ll come over there, and you’ll tell me why you have that scar there on your hip.”
He glanced down, absently noting the surgical scar.
Her lips pursed. “Okay, I’ll come over there, and—”
His hands closed over her waist and he pulled her down beside him. “You’re already here.”
“And, you’ll tell me that last night was the absolute-best, most-fantastic, most-incredible experience you’ve ever had.”
“Ah, well that’s easy, then,” he smiled. Then chuckled. And realized it was an unfamiliar sensation. “Last night was the absolute-best, most-fantastic, most-incredible experience you’ve ever had. Both times,” he added.
She punched him in the shoulder. And dragged his head down to hers. “You should smile more often,” she murmured against his lips.
He kissed her until she clung to him like a wet blanket. “Last night,” he told her, tumbling her onto her back, “was the most incredible experience I’ve ever had in my life.”
“And you want to do it again and again and again,” she grinned even while her cheeks flushed pink.
“And I want to do it again and again and again,” he repeated obediently. Truthfully. “But you,” he said as he touched her intimately, “are probably sore.”
She blushed even brighter. “Geez Louise, Jefferson—”
“Don’t be embarrassed.” He kissed the curve of her neck. “There’re other ways, you know.”
“Oh?” Her voice was faint, and he liked to think it had something to do with the delicate marauding down below. “I, uh, suppose,” she broke off, her throat working as she swallowed. “You’re going to show me?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
She moistened her lips, her eyes glittering between her narrowed lashes. “You’re decadent,” she murmured.
“You’re beautiful,” he returned, kissing the curve of her breast.
Delightful moments later, she dug her fingertips into his unyielding back. “Inside,” she begged softly. But he held himself back, filling her gently with a long finger instead.
“It’s not the same,” she protested faintly, arching into his palm and closing her fingers over him in return.
He groaned on a half laugh. “No. But it’s not bad.”
Long, exquisite minutes passed. And eventually, Emily collapsed breathlessly onto the grass. Just before she slipped back into sleep, she had to admit that he’d been right.
“Hey. Time to wake up, sleepyhead.”
Emily opened her eyes, squinting against the sunlight. Jefferson was standing above her buttoning up his jeans.
She yawned and stretched.
Jefferson groaned and glanced aside. “Don’t tempt me,” he said and tossed her dress onto her belly.
She pointed her toes, then flexed them. Lord, she was stiff. “This camping-out stuff has some drawbacks,” she grumbled. She pulled the dress over her head and stood up. “Where’s the rest of my, uh…clothes?”
Jefferson looked around. “Back there,” he pointed to the splash of lace hanging haphazardly from a small lilac branch. He left them hanging there though, and picked up her sandals instead. “Here,” he said, turning back to her, grinning slightly.
She was staring at him, aghast. Ignoring the sandals in his hand, she pushed at him, scooting behind him. “What the hell is that?”
Jefferson mentally kicked himself. He glanced at his denim shirt, lying uselessly beneath a tree. He’d been so wrapped up in her that he’d stupidly forgotten the vicious scar on his back that he’d kept her from seeing so far.
She slipped underneath his arm, her fingers running frantically over his ribs. “Emily, don’t—”
But she’d already found it again. The small circle of scar tissue riding just beneath a rib. “That was a bullet wound,” she realized aloud.
She went behind him again and traced the ragged edge of scar tissue below his shoulder blade. He flinched, as if burned. He turned to see her hands lifted in bewilderment. “How…what?” She asked.
Just a little while longer. He wanted more time before the rich, shining trust that filled her eyes each time she looked at him would disappear forever.
“Don’t you dare tell me it’s nothing,” she warned, her tight voice shaking. “Or that you got that…that thing in some little accident. People don’t usually shoot at bridge builders, do they?”
Had it been too much to ask for just a little more time?
“Of course they don’t!” She answered her own question. “And if you’ve spent so much as a minute helping to build a bridge, I’ll eat my hat. I’ll bet you weren’t really on that oil tanker, either.”
“Find a hat and start nibbling,” he said.
She shot him a look tight with disbelief. And hurt. “Who pays your salary?”
“Whoever I happen to be working for.”
“Do you ever give a straight answer to anyone?”
“Ah, Em—”
“Don’t ‘Ah, Em’ me,” she snapped. “I want to know whether the man I’m in love with really exists. Or whether this Jefferson,” she waved
her hand at him, “is just another persona you’ve assumed. Who are you?”
“I exist, all right. I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen. What you see is what you get, sweetheart. And if you don’t like it, then that’s too damn bad. Did it ever occur to you that it might not be any of your business?”
She jerked as if he’d slapped her. Suddenly all the barriers that were between them, all the distance he’d created over the past several years, all came crashing to place between them. As if they hadn’t just shared the most momentous night of their lives together. He cursed himself for ten kinds of a bastard.
Her hair slid over her face as she snatched the shoes from him. But whether she hid it from him or not, he knew the expression of pain that would be in her eyes.
Emily ached to ask him the million questions flying in her mind. She pushed her feet into the shoes. Jefferson had been shot. She wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about wounds of that nature, but having been raised on a ranch, she wasn’t entirely naive about firearms, either. Judging by the angle of the scar on his chest and the exit wound on his back, it was a wonder he hadn’t died.
Just the idea was enough to send nausea careening through her. She reached out and leaned her head against a tree. Only by slowly breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth was she slowly able to conquer the nausea. When she could raise her head without it spinning, she turned around to see him standing in the same spot, watching her. “When…how long ago, did you,” she whispered, “get shot?”
His beautiful, deeply blue orbs were flat. Expressionless.
“How long?” Her voice rose and she strode over to him, shoving his chest. “You can at least answer that!”
The corner of his lips tightened. “Two years ago.”
Two years. “And this?” She touched the crescent scar near his eye. “And this?” Her fingertip traced the narrow ridge on his jaw. “Are these from two years ago, also? How about the scar on your hip? That one was a surgical incision. Wasn’t it? What happened to you? Oh.” she said, waving her arms in frustration. “Don’t bother. I know you’re not going to answer me.”
Pleading filled her dark eyes, despite her caustic words. He wished he could tell her. He wished he were a better man. A braver man.
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