Forbidden Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Three

by Jane Bonander

  Suddenly she was in his arms, and he kissed her, deep, long and hard, kisses that were wet and slippery. He dragged her back and forth against him, her nipples grazing his chest. His hand moved down to unfasten his jeans, and suddenly that hard part of him was there, pressing against her belly.

  Reaching down between them, she touched him, felt the heat of his root, the moistness of the tip and knew that from this moment on, her life would be changed.

  With a cry of pain-filled pleasure, she tumbled backward onto the blanket, bringing him with her. He touched her again, rubbing the wet folds gently until he found the spot that nearly sent her skyward. She cried out again, shaking with a need she would never understand, until finally, finally, he lowered himself over her and pressed into her.

  Some vague feelings of discomfort centered inside as he pushed against her virginity, but she plunged upward, voicing a small cry at the brief, sharp burst of pain. Then he was inside, moving deeply, stroking slowly. She caught his rhythm and moved with him, wrapping her legs around him to hold him close.

  Suddenly an incredible intensity began low in her pelvis, drawing her toward something wonderful, breathless, yet frightening. She knew it would relieve the incredible itch, but she also sensed she would lose control.

  “Don’t fight it, Molly.” Buck continued to pump slowly, in and out. He reached between them and touched that wildly sensitive nub again, sending her skyward.

  Her body tightened as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled over her. He plunged on, driving deep, his movements becoming more rapid until finally he, too, tensed above her.

  She threw herself at him and held him tight, suddenly unable to speak. No matter what he did to her from this night on, he could never hurt her. He’d given her something she would remember for the rest of her life. If she never tasted such pleasure again, she would be satisfied.

  She felt him tuck the blanket in around them and pull her close against his chest. His hand came around her and caressed her breasts. She thought it would be soothing, but all it did was make her want him to love her again.

  Twelve

  Molly awakened before dawn, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. She felt wonderful … The feeling didn’t last.

  Guilt suddenly invaded every pore. Moving to leave the sleeping roll, she winced, sucking in her breath at the soreness between her legs. She stood and went to what remained of the rain pool so she could wash herself. After ripping off another piece of Buck’s shirt, she dipped it into the water and pressed it against her womanhood.

  She gasped quietly as the cold water touched her raw skin. Soon, though, it became soothing, and closing her eyes briefly, she sighed. She brought the cloth away and saw the blood. The visible, viable remains of her night of passion. It wasn’t that she’d hoped it had all been a dream; she knew herself better than that. But now, as daylight approached, she was filled with shame.

  She slipped into her underwear and skirt, all the while asking herself how last night could have happened. What kind of woman vows to marry one man, then, without a conscious thought, sleeps with another?

  Charles. Heaven help her, she hadn’t even given the man a thought. Not once. Not once while she and Buck were making love had she even considered Charles. If she had, she certainly would have stopped. Probably dead in her tracks. Even now, she was filled with guilt at her shameless behavior. It didn’t matter that on some deep, hidden level she’d always wondered what making love with Buck would be like. She’d betrayed Charles’s trust, and she hated herself for it.

  But the deed was done. She couldn’t go back and change it, and she couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. She pulled on her new rabbit moccasins and clumsily tied the thong around her ankle. Her wrist still hurt. She was afraid it was healing wrong. It had recently dawned on her that she might not be able to play the piano again. At least, not the way she’d played it before. She didn’t want to think much about that just yet. She just hoped there wasn’t too much damage. Speaking of damage …

  She glanced at Buck. He was still asleep. She allowed herself a lazy look. His black stubble was darker this morning. But last night … She shuddered, remembering how it had scratched the soft places he’d kissed. Stop it.

  She crept to his saddlebags and dug around for something to eat, finding a dry biscuit and a dried up apple in the bottom of one of the bags. As she nibbled on the biscuit, she took the apple over to Thunder.

  The animal nickered as she neared, and she pressed the apple against his large soft lips. He gently took it from her, brushing her palm with the soft hairs that surrounded his mouth.

  “You’ll be his friend for life.”

  She jumped at the sound of Buck’s voice but didn’t turn. She couldn’t face him. Suddenly she felt him behind her, so close the hairs on the back of her neck stood out.

  “Don’t touch me, Buck.” It was an order that she truly meant, for if he touched her, she wasn’t sure she could push him away. And if she couldn’t push him away, she would be destroying what little self-respect she had left.

  He swore on a hiss of breath, then walked away. “I hadn’t intended to.”

  She left Thunder and went in search of her hairbrush. The first thing she had to do was bury her feelings for Buck. Just like that? Oh, it wouldn’t be easy, but she’d have to find a way.

  As she brushed the snarls from her hair, she knew what she had to do. She couldn’t wait any longer to tell Charles about herself. It had to be the first thing she did when she got back to the ranch. She hit a huge snarl, and the brush flew out of her hand. She made a face. Telling Charles would be the first thing she did after she had a bath and a shampoo. Once she’d told him, if he still wanted to marry her, she would promise to make him a good wife. She’d seen his prejudices firsthand and knew they existed. But deep in her heart, she still didn’t want to believe that Charles was a thief and a crook. She tossed Buck a bitter glance, angry at him for concocting that story.

  Buck poked at the fire and stole glances at Molly’s stiff back. They’d made love three times during the night, and each time she’d been eager and delicious. Hot and sexual. Carnal, if he were really to describe it. In spite of what she tried to be, Molly Lindquist was a woman who could enjoy passion, both giving and receiving. But then, buried somewhere deep in his mind, he’d always known that.

  All during this trip back to the ranch, he’d watched her. She’d become an addiction, and hell, if there was one thing he knew inside and out, it was addiction. Every morning, the first thing he thought about was her. How she moved, how her sweet fanny jiggled inside her drawers when she walked. How her bountiful breasts surged above the modest neckline of her camisole. How arousing the soft, inner surface of her arms were, and how he’d always wanted to plant kisses there—as well as many, many other explicit places.

  His dreams had been riddled with seductions, yet no matter how enticing they’d been, he’d thought that since they were only dreams, they would never withstand the harshness of reality. How wrong he was….

  Now, as he watched her, his gaze moving over her gently flared hips, desire sprang into his groin again. Before last night, he could always stifle the physical urge he had for her. But after loving her, tasting her, feeling the exquisite softness of her body, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to quash his feelings again. She was no ordinary woman. No matter how wild she’d been as a girl, he’d known she was a sensual thing. He’d been damned pleased that no one had tasted her sweetness before he had. Especially pleased that “Campion the Ass” hadn’t gotten past her prim exterior to plunder what he didn’t deserve. Buck knew he couldn’t have her, but he sure as hell didn’t want Campion to have her, either.

  On some visceral level, he’d known what she would feel like beneath him. He’d known how she would taste, what little sounds she’d make as she neared her climax. He’d buried himself in her, wanting to brand her with his own scent, mark her for himself. Once they’d begun, there had been no tu
rning back. Even as he’d told her it wasn’t too late to stop, he’d known it already was.

  And now, there would be nothing. There could be nothing. He’d somehow have to be content with memories of the night they’d just shared. He swore as he thought about it, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. Hell, it would never be enough. But somehow, it would have to be. He wondered how two people who seemed to be so right for each other could be so wrong.

  All day they’d ridden in silence. Thunder had carried both of them, and Buck had appeared anxious to get back to the ranch, for they moved quickly over the ground, not even stopping for lunch.

  It wasn’t possible to ride behind Buck and not touch him. Molly leaned into him, her head resting in the middle of his back, telling herself it was only to keep from sliding off. She sighed. So, this would be the end. They’d never even had a beginning. That should have told her something. When there’s no beginning and no end, there’s nothing. In spite of her good intentions, she found herself thinking about him one last time.

  He’d been gentle with her but had become impassioned at her invitation. Even now, when she professed to despise him for everything, the memory of their night together made her want him again. Maybe … maybe if she thought about it enough, she’d get it out of her system. Maybe then, she’d get sick of thinking about it and get sick of him…. Then again, she thought on a shaky sigh, maybe she wouldn’t. But she could want him until hell froze over, and he was still the wrong man for her. He’d told her that before. And she knew it. Yet, there was a part of her that wanted to fight for him, because what they had together was so rare, so complete, so … permanent. But she had her plans. If they didn’t work out, maybe …

  Resting her forehead against his back, she let her mind return to the night before … again. He’d touched, probed and stroked her everywhere. He’d been gentle and forceful, savage and tender. Every part of her had come alive, even as it was coming alive now, just thinking about it. The last time they’d made love, he’d lifted her up, and she’d straddled him. His hands had fondled her breasts, and she’d bent over so he could take each nipple into his mouth. Oh, never in her wildest dreams had she imagined such bliss. The untamed, uncontrollable urge to ride him was natural, like she’d been waiting a lifetime to do it.

  She squirmed behind him, letting her hand drop below his waist. A thrill shot through her; he was hard. Quickly she pulled her hand away, settling it sedately above his waist. But she’d already heard his sharp intake of breath.

  “Watch where you put your hand, Molly.” His voice was raspy and harsh. The sexy sound nearly drove her over the edge.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to behave. She tried to think about Charles, and what she would tell him. It wasn’t possible to rehearse a speech for Charles, not when she was pressed so close against Buck’s back.

  Suddenly, she wanted to bawl. For herself, for Buck, for what might have been. How simple it would have been for her to feel for Charles what she felt for Buck. It didn’t seem quite fair that things hadn’t worked out that way. For all of Charles’s handsomeness and graciousness, his overtures had turned her cold.

  She had to rid herself of these feelings, and soon. She needed her strength to face Charles. Everything she felt for Buck had to be expunged, erased. Even if she felt no desire for Charles, she had to admit she’d have to pretend, once they were married. She allowed herself to think the worst: What if she discovered he truly was a crook, what then? The future she’d planned for so long would disappear. She’d have to start over … somewhere.

  Tears pressed the backs of her eyes, the weakness making her so angry, she punched Buck’s back with her fist.

  He jumped, surprised by the attack. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Damn you! I was fine until you came along,” she accused, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’d hidden all of these disgusting feelings for years. I didn’t have any trouble burying them and keeping them buried, until you showed up in my life, ruining all my plans, making me not even trust the man I planned to marry. Damn you, Buck Randall.” She gulped back tears. “And another thing. I hate all the crying I’ve done these past weeks. Do you realize how long it’s been since I’ve cried? Do you?”

  He mumbled something she couldn’t understand, then pulled Thunder to a stop. “Get it out of your system, Molly. It’s not far to the ranch.” He turned slightly and stared at her.

  “What’s wrong? Why did you stop?”

  He studied the bare expanse of flesh above her camisole. “I can’t take you to your fiancé like that. Where’s, that shawl the whore gave you?”

  She glanced down at her very visible cleavage and blushed. Funny how it hadn’t bothered her until he mentioned it, although she’d felt him eyeing it often enough. “I think it’s in the saddlebag.”

  “Hell, let’s hope so.” He dismounted and dug through the bags until he found it. He handed it to her.

  She took it and draped it over her shoulders. “Thank you for thinking of that,” she said quietly.

  Sucking in a shaky breath, she wondered how in the bloody hell she was going to live the rest of her life without this infuriating, thoughtful, exasperating, tender, angry man.

  All of her tears, tantrums and carryings-on had turned her into someone she didn’t even like. She didn’t deserve Charles. She didn’t deserve the things he wanted to give her. She didn’t deserve the happiness she had yearned for. She was, without a doubt, the most awful kind of woman. She lusted after one man, and still planned to marry another. How had this happened?

  Pulling herself together, she sat up straight, held on to the back of the saddle and prayed they’d get to the ranch soon.

  “Molly?”

  “Now, what?” she asked wearily.

  “Don’t say anything to Charles about Che. Let me take care of it.”

  She nodded, almost gratefully.

  The minute the dogs heralded their arrival in the yard, Sage Reno came from the barn to greet them. He ambled toward them, grinning like a fool.

  “Goddamn, Buck, I’m glad you’re back.” He helped Molly down. “You all right, ma’am? We sure were worried about you.”

  “Thank you, Sage. I’m … I’m fine, thank you.” She looked toward the house, relieved, yet confused when Charles hurried down the steps.

  Behind her, Sage spoke quietly to Buck. “A message from Nita,” he said under his breath. “She needs to see you right away.”

  Something inside Molly collapsed when she heard Sage’s words. The tenuous facade she’d put in place just moments before crumbled, and when she saw Charles racing across the yard toward her, she met him halfway and flung herself at him, hugging him tightly, hoping to block out her feelings of emptiness.

  “Charles! Oh, Charles, I thought I’d never see you again!” Charles was solicitous and caring. His concern compounded her own personal guilt.

  “I knew you could do it, Randall!” Charles held Molly against him. She closed her eyes, trying to feel grateful to be back in the safety of Charles’s embrace. But it was hard. Hard to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Where’s Nicolette?” she asked against his chest. “I’ve missed her, too.”

  Charles pulled away and gently steered her toward the house. “She’s still visiting Chelsea. She should be back in a few days.”

  It might have been Molly’s imagination, but she felt unspoken tension burning between them. Maybe it was just her incredible feelings of frustration and guilt.

  “We have much to talk about, darling,” Charles whispered, squeezing her waist.

  Oh, he didn’t know how much. “But, Charles, I’m … I’m exhausted, and I’d love a bath. Couldn’t it wait until later? Perhaps tomorrow morning?”

  “Of course, darling. I’m sorry. Of course you’re exhausted. How selfish of me.” He squeezed her again, bringing her close. “I’ve just missed you more than you’ll ever know,�
�� he whispered against her ear. “They didn’t …” He seemed unable to get the words out as he looked at her shawl-covered shoulders. She was grateful Buck had thought to cover her. “They … they didn’t … hurt you, did they, darling?”

  Though he’d generously tiptoed around the question, she felt herself flush anyway. “No, Charles. They didn’t … hurt me.” But Buck did. That bastard Buck, who, after awakening all my desires, is now on his way to see his whore. She was sick to her stomach, and so mad she wanted to throw things.

  He glanced up the stairs. “The women are filling the tub. Go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Grateful, she dragged herself up the stairs.

  Angelita was waiting in her room. “Here, senorita, let me help you.” She took Molly’s ragged underwear and helped her pin her hair on top of her head. The woman’s eyes were warmer than they had been the last time they’d talked. She sucked in a hiss of breath when she saw Molly’s bruised ribs.

  “What happened, senorita?”

  Molly looked at them in the mirror, noting the bruises were a positively vile shade of yellowish purple. “Oh, it’s really nothing. It doesn’t hurt that much anymore.”

  Angelita muttered angrily. “No, I don’t think it is nothing. I think it is something. Something very bad happened to you.”

  “Don’t worry about my bruises, Angelita. They’re already healing. But,” she added unwrapping the filthy bandage from her wrist, “I … think this is broken.”

  Angelita frowned as she probed it, causing Molly to gasp. “Si, I think you are right. I will set it properly after your bath.”

  “Thank you, Angelita.”

  The woman nodded. “You have been through much, I can tell.”

  Suddenly, Molly felt the inane, helpless tears slide down her cheeks. “Yes.” She’d been through a lot of anguish, but much of it had been of her own making. She gave herself a hard shake and stepped into the tub.