The Seduction of Roxanne

by Linda Jones

  He had never been overcome by sensation before, had never thrown out all rational thought and allowed his body to rule. But with Roxanne's last whispered love me, all Cyrus's good intentions flew away.

  Weak and trembly from the sensations that had wracked her body as Calvin touched her, Roxanne knew it wasn't enough. An emptiness plagued her still, a throbbing need to have him inside her. They were unfinished, undone, and she wasn't about to let him go.

  She stroked the rock-hard ridge beneath his trousers, and told him everything she felt and everything she wanted, and then she whispered, "Love me."

  He groaned, in pain and desire. His hand joined hers over the buttons that kept him from her, and she thought, for a moment, that he was going to unfasten those buttons and take her here where they stood, fast and hard. His hand stilled, then he manacled her wrists and removed them from his body.

  "We can't,” he said. “Not tonight."

  He kissed her, and she could feel a faint tremble in his lips. That and his deep, ragged breathing told her how near he was to losing control, how much he wanted her. Her heart swelled with a new surge of love. He wanted her.

  She hooked one leg around his and held him close, feeling the hard ridge beneath his trousers, the erection that had pressed against her as he held her tight. He groaned hoarsely above her, and captured her mouth again for a deep kiss that made her insides wobble.

  With all her heart and soul, she knew he wanted her; and she was ready to give him everything a woman had to offer. Everything. And still he resisted.

  "Love me,” she whispered.

  He shuddered. “Not tonight,” he whispered huskily. “We have a thousand nights like this stretching before us, and then a thousand more.” His breath came ragged and unsteady, every word an effort. “I won't take you on the ground, and I won't sneak like a thief into your bedroom to take something that isn't rightfully mine."

  "I am yours,” she whispered.

  "Not yet,” he muttered.

  He held her tight, his head close to hers, his body very still. It was as if she could feel him taking control of his body, fighting what he wanted. A sweet, caring man, he waited for their wedding night.

  Roxanne didn't want to wait. After all these years of numbness, she was alive again; she felt, she desired, she loved. She wanted Calvin to throw caution to the wind, to lose himself in sensation and need and love as she had, until nothing else mattered. Nothing.

  She began to blindly unfasten his trousers, to move aside the heavy fabric that kept him from her. He protested, a small, low, grunting sound from deep in his throat. Fumbling with the buttons as she kissed his neck, she moved slowly and deliberately. He did want her. She was his.

  The fastenings taken care of, she slipped her hand into his trousers to touch the hard length that had been pressing against her all night. She stroked him, as he had stroked her, with loving, teasing, erotic fingers. He groaned hoarsely above her, and captured her mouth for a deep kiss before they lowered their bodies to the ground.

  Slipping her fingers beneath his waistband, she pushed his trousers over his hips, then reached down to touch his freed manhood. She quivered as she withdrew her hand from between their bodies, ready to become one with the man who had courted and wooed her, ready to take into her body the man who had brought her back into life. She wanted to see him above her, but the night was too dark. Behind closed eyes she tried to picture beautiful, fair-haired Calvin, but her fickle mind betrayed her and it was a dark head of hair she saw, moss green, too-serious eyes as if they hovered above, watching her.

  Cradled between her legs, hot and hard and ready, he hesitated. The tip of his manhood touched her with an insistent caress, but he didn't push. Already her body pulsed, aching, ready to accept him. She arched her back and lifted her hips so that he began to enter her, so that the tip of his hardness teased her entrance. She put aside all visions, thoughts of fair hair and dark, blue eyes and green, until there was only sensation. Only feeling.

  And still he waited. “Love me,” she whispered, and the last of his hesitation fled and with a low moan he surged to enter her, to fill her waiting body.

  It was as if she'd waited all her life for this moment, the sensation of him filling and stretching her felt so right. He rocked above and inside her, withdrawing slightly and then pushing himself deeper than before, repeating the process until he stroked her each time with the full length of his hardness.

  The world faded to nothing and there was only his body and hers, the sensations they created together, this night, this moment in time. Her hips rocked against his as he pounded against and into her again and again. Together they searched and climbed, breathless, sweating, mindless.

  Slight tremors teased her, lightning-like flashes that coursed fleetingly through her body until at last release claimed her, wrenching her body apart with unearthly power and a pleasure so intense she cried out.

  He drove deep one last time, shuddering above her as he found the same wonderful climax that continued to wash like dying waves through her body.

  She closed her eyes as he drifted down to cover her, to rest his hot, sweaty, wonderful body against hers. He lay very still atop her, too still, perhaps. She lifted her hand to lay it on the back of his head. His hat had fallen off long ago, exactly when she couldn't say, and her fingers fell on silky, short hair.

  "Oh,” she whispered weakly. “You cut your hair."

  He stiffened and lifted his head. “This afternoon,” he whispered. “I hope you don't mind."

  "Makes no difference to me,” she sighed as she ran her fingers through the short strands. “I just wish I could see you,” she said. “When we make love next time I want a hundred candles.” Her voice was teasing, but she was halfway serious. “I want to see you when you become a part of me, to look into your eyes when you touch me."

  She must've said something wrong, because he pulled away from her, lifting his body from hers, repairing his clothing quickly.

  "I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I never should've...."

  Roxanne sat up quickly. Before her she saw nothing more than a figure of a man, a dark crouching shape with his head down as he picked up his hat and placed it on his head. “What do you mean you're sorry?"

  A tender hand touched her face. “I meant to wait, to kiss you and hold you and nothing more."

  Again she thought of Cyrus, and her mind's betrayal angered her. Her own brain played nasty tricks on her, making her see and hear and think things she should not. She was Calvin's woman now, in every way. Her heart did a strange little flip in her chest.

  She took the hand at her cheek and brought it to her mouth for a quick kiss. “If you hadn't loved me as you did, I would've spent the entire night aching and hurt and wondering what I did wrong. I don't know why you're afraid to look me in the eye when you say loving things and when you touch me, but whatever the reason ... together we can make it better."

  He took her hands in his and helped her to her feet, straightening her wrapper and tying the sash at her waist as she stood before him. Again, his head was down, the collar of his duster was up, his hat was low over his eyes. Even though her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dark, she still couldn't see him.

  She cocked her head to one side, hoping for a peek at his beautiful face. She saw nothing before he spun her around and held her tight against him, her back against his chest, his arms snugly around her.

  "Are you happy, Roxanne?” he whispered, and she could hear the touch of hillbilly in his voice. Just a touch.

  "Yes.” She smiled in the dark.

  "Then I can't be sorry."

  He kissed her shoulder, feathered small kisses on her neck, and then he whispered in her ear. “I love you,” the words so soft they were almost lost in the breeze that wafted by.

  She hadn't thought anything would make this night more wonderful, but with those three breathy words her world was perfect. “Oh, Calvin, I—"

  A hand raised quickly, and he laid two fi
ngers over her mouth.

  "Don't say it,” he insisted. “Not tonight.” His hands fell away from her body, the movement of those long arms slow, reluctant. “Stay right there for a minute,” he whispered.

  Roxanne closed her eyes and took a deep breath of cool air. Her mouth curved into a small smile. He loved her. Who could deny the deep feeling in those whispered words, the heart she heard in his voice? Her entire body tingled. Maybe Calvin would carry her to her bed and make love to her again. She wanted to make love to him all night and into the morning, to wake to his face in the sunlight. She waited, but all was silent. Too silent.

  She turned around and stepped from beneath the balcony. The night was so dark he could've been standing just a few feet away and she might not see him. “Calvin?” she whispered. All was still, and she knew, a heartbeat later, that he was gone.

  Cyrus laughed as he strode down the street toward the saloon. The sound wasn't one of pleasure or mirth; it was, in fact, very close to insane.

  What had he done? Ah, there was no way out of this one. Sooner or later Roxanne would find out that he had been the one to kiss her, to touch her, to bury himself inside her; Calvin would find out, and one of them would kill him.

  If only she hadn't touched him, stroked him, held him. If only she hadn't whispered love me.... Dammit, he wasn't a goddamn saint!

  Belatedly, a horrifying thought brought him to a momentary standstill in the middle of the street. What if Calvin and Roxanne married soon, and a few months later a baby was born? All his life he'd wonder if it was his, and that child—his or not—would tie him to this place forever. It was a suffocating thought.

  He resumed his slow trek to Nickels’ Saloon. After their fast and furious lovemaking, he'd actually broken down and told Roxanne he loved her, whispering the too true words in her ear. Then he'd had to silence her. He didn't want to hear her say, I love you, Calvin. Dammit.

  Calvin sat at the bar, right where Cyrus had left him, still leaning over a half empty glass of whiskey. Cyrus slipped off the boy's duster and hat and retrieved his vest and dark brown hat before heading to the bar.

  "Come on, kid,” he said huskily, laying a hand on Calvin's shoulder. “I'll walk you home."

  Calvin protested weakly, even as he left the bar and Cyrus handed him his hat and helped him into his duster and they walked through the batwing doors. When they were on the boardwalk, Calvin stopped without warning, planting himself with feet spread wide. He only swayed a little.

  "I'm gettin’ hitched.” He slurred the words that shot a knife through Cyrus's heart.

  "Of course you are.” That was the plan, after all.

  Cyrus had to tug on Calvin's duster to get the kid moving, and he very casually flicked away a few strands of grass at the same time. They walked to the boarding house, a trip of several blocks. Calvin tried to turn in the wrong direction a couple of times, but Cyrus was there to stop him and turn him about with an impatient hand and a muttered curse.

  Finally, they reached the boarding house. Calvin said goodnight as he climbed the stairs to the front door, but Cyrus came along. They opened the front door quietly, and climbed the stairs with as much stealth as you could reasonably expect from two big men. Calvin only stumbled once, at the top of the staircase. If Cyrus hadn't been right behind him, the kid might've fallen all the way to the plank floor below.

  Calvin opened the door to his room, and Cyrus caught the kid again as he started to fall.

  "Calvin,” Cyrus said as he closed the door. “Do you have a razor and a pair of scissors?"

  Calvin closed one eye suspiciously. “Sure. What for?"

  "You need a haircut."

  Calvin touched his fair curls. “I do?"

  Cyrus nodded. “You do."

  "If you say so."

  Cyrus placed a hard-backed chair in the middle of the room, and Calvin fetched the necessary implements from the dresser before lowering himself heavily to the too-small chair.

  Trying to buy time—a few days, a few hours—Cyrus began to snip, fashioning the curls into a short style close to his own.

  "Are you sober enough to remember a few instructions?” he asked as he cut.

  "I think so,” Calvin grumbled.

  Blond curls fell to Calvin's shoulders and to the floor.

  "When you talk to Roxanne tomorrow, she might mention a few letters you wrote to her while you were away."

  Calvin turned his head and Cyrus barely missed snipping his ear. “I didn't write no letters."

  Cyrus grabbed the kid's head with both hands and forced him to face front again. “I know that. I wrote a few letters for you."

  Calvin tried to look over his shoulder again, and Cyrus righted his head again. “You shouldn'ta done that,” Calvin said morosely.

  "You're right,” Cyrus snapped. “I shouldn'ta. But I did."

  Calvin shook his head.

  "Hold still!” Cyrus commanded.

  "Did you put more sweet talk in them letters?” Calvin asked, still at last.

  "Yes,” Cyrus snapped as he snipped away. The job was almost done. When Roxanne saw Calvin she'd think he was the one she'd been with tonight. If she spoke to him....

  Calvin sighed, tired and drunk. “I wish you hadn't done that."

  "So do I,” Cyrus muttered.

  "I told you I'm gettin’ hitched—"

  "I know, I know,” Cyrus said as he brushed the last of Calvin's curls onto the floor. Calvin and Roxanne would make a handsome couple, wouldn't they? Tall and beautiful and happy, they would have a fairy tale wedding and an even happier life. “Listen carefully. When you speak to Roxanne tomorrow, she might mention something ... strange about my visit tonight. Whatever she says, change the subject.” He could only hope that Roxanne would be too reserved to say anything specific.

  A pleasant shudder rippled through his body. She hadn't been reserved tonight, not in the least. She hadn't hesitated to touch him, to tell him what she wanted.... Her response had been passionate and daring, intoxicating and unexpected.

  Calvin raised a hand to his newly shortened hair. “Yeah, I need to talk to Roxanne tomorrow.” He sounded as if he really didn't want to speak to her. “I shoulda done it tonight, but I was too ... too scared, I reckon."

  Cyrus felt a rush of impatience. Was he going to have to propose for the kid, too? “No reason to be scared,” he said.

  Calvin stood and shucked off his shirt. “You know, Sheriff,” he said sleepily. “I figured it'd be a long while before I found the right woman and settled down. Funny how things work out, ain't it?"

  Cyrus opened the door as Calvin sat on the side of the bed and tugged off his boots. “Ain't it,” he whispered as he pulled the door shut.

  Roxanne clutched her pillow and sprawled across the bed. She still tingled, warm and satisfied, hours after Calvin had gone.

  She wished he could be with her now, stretched out beside her on the bed, perhaps holding her as he slept. If he were here maybe he would even love her again, slow and sweet this time.

  Her eyes drifted closed. Behind her eyelids beautiful pictures flitted and teased her, and she smiled. She saw starlight on a white hat as Calvin hesitated at the edge of the yard, felt his skin beneath her fingertips and the deliriously wonderful pressure as he'd touched her intimately, the wonderful pressure and completeness as he'd surged to fill her. She heard, again, his soft moans in her ears, his softly whispered words. Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul. His soft I love you.

  She touched her lips, where Calvin had kissed her again and again and again ... and as she did something strange happened.

  She thought, once more, of Cyrus.

  Her smile faded and her eyes flew open. What was wrong with her? Calvin was everything a woman could want; handsome, sweet, adoring, a wonderful man who wanted what she did. His love letters had touched her heart, his whispered words had healed her. He dreamed of a farm of their own, children, a life together. He was a wonderful lover.

  Cyrus Berger
on was a solitary, cheerless man who turned his nose up at the very idea of marriage. Just as well. As marriage material he was definitely unsuitable. It's true he was a good man, a good friend, even—but he wore a gun, he thought children were nothing more than an awful bother, and ... and ... and besides, she didn't love him. She did not love him.

  She frowned, angry with herself. Just because she thought of Cyrus at the oddest times, just because the memory of that one kiss lingered until she could sometimes think of nothing else, that didn't mean ... that didn't mean anything at all.

  She pulled the pillow over her head and stifled a scream. Calvin loved her; she loved him.

  So why was she suddenly sure that tonight she'd made a terrible mistake?

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  Chapter Thirteen

  She rarely met Calvin on her walk to school, but when she approached the business section and saw him standing at the side of the road, obviously waiting for her, she grinned widely and increased her step. Cutting her eyes from side to side she checked to see if they were alone. Unfortunately, she saw many citizens of Paris up and about, getting ready for another day.

  Last night's momentary doubts were gone. Loving Calvin had not been a mistake. Their coming together only clarified what she already knew in her heart; this was the only man for her.

  He took off his hat when she drew near, and she smiled at the sight of his newly shortened hair. She wasn't sure that the severe cut suited him, but it didn't matter. He was beautiful, still. Oh, how well she remembered running her fingers through those short, silky strands.

  "Good morning,” she said, and the greeting sounded somehow intimate, even though they stood in the middle of town in full view of anyone who cared to watch.

  "Mornin,'” he said, glancing down at his feet as she smiled at him. “We need to talk, and I just couldn't wait another minute."

  Her heart swelled, and she set aside any last little niggling doubts she might've had, any reservations. This was the man she wanted, the life she needed. Calvin bit his lower lip anxiously and cast a sideways glance in her direction, shy as always but apparently determined to have his say. Obviously last night meant as much to him as it did to her, and finally he was going to tell her how he felt face to face, by the light of day.