by Lisa Bingham
“Me, too,” he answered, even as a part of him wanted to say, “I love it here with you.” But he figured that would sound too sappy. Damn. If only he had Bodey’s finesse in charming the ladies. “We probably should get you inside before the mosquitoes make a meal of you.”
She grimaced, unconsciously scratching her thigh. Then her stomach rumbled and she laughed. “Apparently, the mosquitoes aren’t the only ones who are hungry.”
He kissed her again. “Then let’s feed you, too.”
She tried to sit up, floundered, and grabbed for Elam. His body instantly reacted, but he refused to give in to the hunger for her that still raged inside him. He’d feed her first. Then, they could make love again.
“There are towels in the cabin next to the sink. Not great ones, but they’ll do until our clothes can dry.” His gaze flicked to the willow overhead where P.D. had draped their things so they could dry by morning. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“My drawers. When you took them off me, I just kicked free. That means …”
She started to giggle, “That they’re down at the bottom of the lake. Told you you’d need an extra pair.”
Since they’d neared the bank, her toes hit the bottom and she wriggled free, moving to the shore. “See if you can find them. I’ll gather the sandwiches from the saddlebags.”
Still cursing, Elam dove under the water, feeling blindly with his hands—knowing it was probably a lost cause, but not relishing going commando with two days left in the competition.
He spent at least twenty minutes diving beneath the surface and returning again for air. In that time, P.D. had taken the saddlebags inside, dressed in her spare set of underwear, and returned to sit on the bank to watch him.
Finally, his fingers brushed against the waterlogged fabric, and he snagged them, then kicked toward the surface. By the time he waded out of the water, she was unabashedly staring.
The lantern rested just inside the cabin, but a beam of light bathed her in gold. And damned if she didn’t look like the pioneer bride she pretended to be with the light piercing through the fabric of her chemise and pantalets, and her hair neatly plaited and held together with a scrap of ribbon. But it was the way she watched him, no holds barred, her eyes filled with raw desire for him, that nearly brought him to his knees.
“Nice tan,” she said, indicating the demarcation line below his navel and the spot where the waistband of his jeans rested.
He was already beginning to respond to her blatant regard, but he managed to grin. “There are some things that shouldn’t be hanging loose around power tools.”
“Amen to that.”
She stood, offering him a small washcloth. “Sorry, I used the towel.”
He regarded the scrap of fabric. Throwing his underwear onto the ground, he growled, “Maybe I should use something else to dry myself off.”
She squealed when he started to chase her. But her resistance was short-lived. At the steps of the cabin, she suddenly turned, jumping into his arms rather than running away.
He caught her easily, holding her tightly as she dipped her head for a kiss. And there it was again, the thunderous need that rushed through him like spring runoff whenever she touched him.
Blindly, he carried her into the cabin and slammed the door shut with his foot. Then, he allowed her to slide down the length of his body.
“Hungry?” she murmured.
“Uh-huh.” He kissed her again. He could tell that she was a woman who liked kissing. And there was a spot, just behind her ear …
Just as he’d thought, her eyes flickered shut and her breath escaped in a shudder.
“You are a dangerous man, Elam Taggart,” she whispered. “My wild Desperado.”
He chuckled against her neck, moving lower to the spot where her throat joined her shoulder. Another of the secret places that drove her crazy.
“That’s what they used to call you in town,” she said, the words barely audible.
“It sounds like something from an old John Wayne movie.”
“Mmm.” Her lashes were closed now. He loved that about her, too, the way she closed her eyes to heighten the experience. “Or my own private cowboy.”
He laughed again. Dear sweet heaven above, before meeting her, he probably hadn’t laughed in years. “Your what?”
She tugged at his hair, forcing him to lift his head. Her eyes were blue and sparkling in the lantern light.
“You know …”
Kiss.
“Save a horse …”
Kiss.
“Ride a cowboy.”
Holy, holy hell.
Then she was pulling him toward the iron bedstead in the corner—not that he put up any objections. In fact, he didn’t know how he was going to keep from exploding when she pushed him onto the mattress, then straddled his stomach.
When she bent to kiss him, the chemise gaped, giving him a perfect view of her full breasts. Then, his eyes slammed closed as she kissed him—fiercely, hungrily.
His arms wrapped around her body, but she shook him free, sitting up, eyeing him with careful deliberation. Then she pulled at the ribbon of her chemise, allowing it to gape. There were tiny hooks and eyes that held it closed, and he forgot to breathe as she released them one … by one … by one …
The placket gaped open to reveal the ripeness of her breasts. She didn’t bother to shrug out of the garment. Instead, her hands moved to the button at the back of her pantalets, leaning forward as she did to whisper against his lips.
“Did you know that Victorian women wore crotchless pantalets?”
He moaned at the mere idea.
“Just imagine. All that prim fussiness on the outside”—she pressed a kiss to his jaw—“all that repression”—she touched the tip of her tongue to his throat—“and underneath, sheer wantonness …”
Unable to help himself, he clutched at her, turning so that he lay above her. And then, they were fumbling to remove the lace-festooned underdrawers. But when he would have entered her, she forced him onto his back again.
She shook her finger, making a tsking sound. “I get to ride my cowboy, remember?”
He groaned, sure that he’d never seen anything so arousing in his entire life as Prairie Dawn Raines wearing nothing but a gaping chemise. Then, his eyes closed as she reached for a condom, readied him, then positioned herself above him.
In one slow thrust, he buried himself in her soft, slick heat.
Just as P.D. had promised, she began to ride him, slowly at first, then with wild abandon. When he would have assisted, she held his hands above his head, testing him to his utter limits, until finally, he felt her arch back and she cried out with her release.
His own was swift to follow as he bucked against her, his climax so intense that he literally saw stars behind his eyes. Then, from far, far away, he felt P.D. wilt, her body melting against his as if she were made of silk.
“Whoa, boy,” she murmured almost unintelligibly against his chest.
Not even bothering to open his eyes … Elam laughed.
*
MUCH, much later, P.D. crawled from the bed and reached for the saddlebags. “Ready for a sandwich?”
She watched as Elam stretched like a languid cat, the muscles of his arms and stomach tightening deliciously before he relaxed again.
“I think we can do better than that,” he said, rolling from the bed.
While P.D. set out paper plates and water bottles, Elam rummaged through the cupboards. He took out a bag of corn chips, a bottle of homemade salsa, two kinds of pickles, a can of olives, and a box of Twinkies. He set them on the table, then banged through several drawers before coming up with a can opener and utensils.
“It’s not Vern’s but it’ll do for tonight,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair as he moved to the opposite chair.
P.D. groaned in sheer delight at the selection. “I’ve never been so happy to see junk food in my entire life.”
A
s the lamplight flickered, they laughed and dined on their makeshift banquet. But once their hunger was slaked, a different hunger began to rise. One that P.D. could see blossoming behind Elam’s eyes like heat lightning.
She’d just opened a Twinkie, and without thinking, she broke it in half, scooped out the cream with a finger, and slid it into his mouth. As he sucked it free, an answering tugging came from deep in her body.
“I do believe that you have thoroughly corrupted me, Mr. Taggart.”
He smiled, finally releasing her finger. “I think it’s the other way around.”
She reached out a hand, pushing back a strand of his hair. Since their swim in the pond, it hung around his face in riotous waves.
Elam grimaced.
“I need a haircut. Badly.”
She shrugged. “It’s not exactly military issue. Some men like it long.”
He frowned. “It’s a damned nuisance.”
“Then why did you grow it out?”
He seemed to consider his answer before saying, “I don’t think it was a conscious choice. I think I was … hiding.”
His stark honesty struck her to the core. There was such vulnerability to his answer, yet such strength. As if he trusted her enough to be privy to his emotions.
“I could cut it for you if you’d like.”
His brows rose. “Would that be a good idea or a bad one?”
She pretended to slug him in the shoulder. “I used to cut my father’s hair all the time. I mean, it won’t exactly be a salon fluff and curl, but I can give you a standard male hairstyle.”
“All right.”
He’d surprised her by accepting, but now that she’d talked herself into the corner, she wasn’t about to renege on her offer.
“’Course, then your beard will seem shaggy.”
“We have a razor,” he stated.
Her lips lifted in a slow smile as she remembered the single-bladed razor. Hadn’t she read somewhere that one of the top male fantasies was to have a woman shave him?
It took only a minute to gather the scissors P.D. had inadvertently kept from the herb challenge, the shaving soap, strop, and razor. Moving onto the porch, Elam took a seat on the metal chair while she repositioned the lantern.
She ran a comb through his hair, gently separating the tangled strands. Then, she began to trim the long waves. Soon, her efforts became a kind of meditation as she absorbed the silky texture of his hair, the snip of the scissors, the whisper of the comb. Bit by bit, the tangled curls fell to the ground, the breeze stirring them beneath her feet. With each new section she removed, a whole new Elam emerged, one with blunt bone structure and deep-set eyes.
When she’d finished trimming his hair, she took several moments, staring hard, adjusting herself to the more powerful man who had taken Elam’s place. But then again, she thought as her fingers smoothed the dark strands away from his brow, maybe that man had always been there, hiding, just as Elam had said.
If she’d seen him this way on that very first morning, would she have allowed Bodey to ask for his help?
No. Probably not. Because this was the face of a man who was definitely out of her league.
But even as the thought appeared, Elam linked his hands behind her back and looked at her, his eyes smoldering with awareness, and she was able to quickly reassure herself that nothing had changed. Just because she’d cut his hair, that didn’t mean she’d altered the man inside.
But the doubts persisted as she rubbed the shaving soap on his cheeks and jaw. She inched closer, and he tipped his head upward, his throat smooth and vulnerable. After sharpening the blade, P.D. moved slowly, carefully, not wanting to cause him any undue pain, wanting to please him with her efforts.
But if she’d thought that the cutting of his hair had revealed a totally different man, she was completely unprepared for the one beneath the beard. Elam’s jaw was square and firm. His chin revealed the faintest cleft in the middle.
And his mouth. How was she supposed to resist him now? Even knowing that someday he could break her heart?
Unable to stand it another minute, she didn’t even bother to wipe off the rest of the soap. Instead, she bent to kiss him, needing to reassure herself that—even if they might eventually part—it wouldn’t be tonight. Tonight, he was hers and she would absorb every ounce of joy and laughter and passion. Then, much like squirrels stockpiled food for the cold weather to come, she would store up her memories up for the emotional winter that was sure to follow.
When Elam lifted her and carried her into the cabin, she didn’t protest. This time, their lovemaking was slow, each caress lingering and sweet. He memorized every square inch of her body, first with his fingers, then his eyes, his lips. When the lantern flickered and died from lack of fuel, he didn’t pause, whispering sweet nothings against her skin. And when he finally slid inside her, he was determined to bring her to her release again and again and again. Until finally, when she was sure she couldn’t stand another minute of pleasure, her body took over, exploding around him. Only then did he take his own release, his fingers laced with hers as he thrust deeply into her body.
Later, exhausted, she allowed him to draw her tightly against his chest. Her body pounded in an echo of her passion, and she discovered she didn’t have the energy to breathe, let alone move.
“I don’t want to fall asleep,” she whispered, struggling to keep her eyes open, not wanting this evening to end. She didn’t want to return to the real world with its distractions and responsibilities.
Elam stroked her back. “I know.”
“Thank you, Elam.” Weariness tugged at her, drawing her deep into its depths.
“For what?” she thought she heard from very far away.
“For”—she sighed—“you.”
SIXTEEN
IT was still dark outside when Elam awakened P.D. with a kiss on her shoulder.
“Unless we want to greet Henry in the altogether,” he whispered against her silken skin, “we’d better get going. We’ve got the pond for washing and our clothes should be dry by now. But we’ve got to hurry.”
Elam was sure that P.D. caught the wisdom of his words, but it still took several minutes for her to roll out of bed and follow him outside. He was already in the water when she touched a toe to the ripples and shivered.
“It’s better to surrender all at once rather than a little at a time.”
She gingerly waded into the water.
He swam toward her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into the middle of the pond. She rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes closing again. Elam loved that about her, the way that she curled into him for warmth and for comfort. The way there was no artifice to her emotions, no coyness, no hidden agenda.
Which left the possibility of hurting her that much greater. He was ready to see where things could go between them, sure. But when it came to something more … permanent.
He couldn’t do that again. He could never do that again.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Wake up.”
He took the bar of lemon soap he’d brought with him into the pond and held it under her nose.
“We have about ten minutes before it starts getting light.”
She made a sleepy sound deep in her throat. Then the citrus scent pierced the fog of her weariness, because she suddenly jerked her head up. “When will Henry be here?”
“Any minute.”
Her feet suddenly churned and she grabbed the soap. She washed haphazardly, then tossed him the bar.
Elam barely managed to catch it since all of his attention had been on watching P.D. Enough light had begun to peek over the horizon that he could see the velvety expanse of her skin and the waves of her hair spread over her back. But when she hurried onto the bank and gathered the tresses over one shoulder to wring out the water, Elam swore. Stretching across her shoulder blades was the huge blue-black shape of a bruise.
When she looked at him in surprise, he became acutely aware of
the scrapes and cuts and bruises that covered her whole body.
He left the water in ground-eating strides. “Geez, P.D. Why didn’t you tell me you’d been hurt this badly?”
He gingerly traced the bruise on her back, then wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. “If you’d told me—”
“If I’d told you, you would have kept me at arm’s length,” she said, twisting to face him. “And that was the last place I wanted you to be.”
She rose on tiptoe, and try as he might to control himself, Elam felt an immediate response. But the low rumble of a distant engine spurred them both into action.
Elam, who was used to being called into action at a moment’s notice, was the first to dress. He helped P.D. to lace up her corset again, then ran interference while she ducked into the cabin to finish putting on her clothes.
Within seconds, Henry’s truck turned down the lane. With what Elam knew was deliberate slowness, Henry parked under the willows, giving Elam enough time to tidy up outside and pack their things into the saddlebags. When he finally approached the cabin, Elam had donned his holsters, stowed their belongings in the buggy, and was hitching up the horse.
“Ollie-ollie-oxen-free!” Henry called out.
“Morning, Henry.”
Henry altered his course away from the building and approached Elam.
“How was your night?”
The old dog was fishing, but Elam refused to take the bait. “We slept well, thanks.”
Henry chuckled. “I hope not.”
Before Elam could respond, he waved a familiar yellow envelope in the air. “This is for you.” He lifted his pocket watch and squinted. “Just about time.”
Elam finished hitching up the buggy and moved to their spare mount.
“Only two more days,” Henry said, making idle conversation. “Then, whatcha plan on doin’?”
After throwing the saddle blanket over the quarter horse, Elam shot him a glance. “What do you mean? Same as usual. Work on the ranch will be heating up and there’ll be a whole new set of colts to break.”
“Life’s not just ’bout work. You should know that by now.”
Elam couldn’t prevent a quick glance toward the cabin. “I know that, Henry.”
