"I wasn't suggesting it. I wanted to get it out in the open. So we knew where we stood. That you'd get the Flying W back on its feet so when you sold out you'd collect some money and could go back to your PR job in Chicago."
"You can't believe that. That I'd sell the Flying W?" She blinked against a sharp sting in her eyes. "How could you think I'd walk away from the Flying W? You've always known I wanted to ranch, that the Flying W is my ranch. I'll spell it out, Dave: I'm not selling the Flying W. Not any of it–if I'd been willing to sell some of it I could have adjusted the percentage of my acres to qualify for the grant, or I could have used the money to buy irrigation equipment myself and we wouldn't have been in this–" Her hand fluttered in a futile attempt to grab the right word for what had happened between them, "–this thing."
Dave's right hand clamped over her wrist, holding it still, while he steered the slowing truck on the empty highway with his left hand.
"Are you telling me that ranching's your dream? That it's what you want to do?"
"Of course it is. Why do you think I've spent years reading up on ranching improvements. How do you think I knew about new irrigation methods and test crops and getting your own power from turbines?"
He squeezed his eyes closed. "I've been a fool. I should have listened to my mother."
"What are you talking about?"
He was grinning as he released her hand and hit the accelerator.
"About periods of adjustment and unanswered questions and balanced polarities."
"Okay, now you've really lost me."
"What? You've never heard about how Indian Paintbrush represents balanced polarities?"
He went on, talking about essences, and yin and yang and other things she never would have expected to hear from Dave Currick, until he stopped the truck by the house, and turned off the engine. After a moment of staring straight ahead, he turned his head toward her. With the lights off and the crescent moon obscured by clouds the light was uncertain at best. So how could she be sure–sure right down to her bones–of what she saw in his eyes? Because she wanted to see it?
"It's, uh, getting late."
She reached behind her for the door handle, not able to break his look, but seeking an escape. The door swung open and she went with it, just missing tumbling ignobly in the dust. Without checking his reaction or waiting for him she hurried inside through the kitchen door, using her key.
But when she reached the corner where the kitchen, the entry hall and the family room met, she stopped. The automatic lights had come on, leaving the area lit as it had been the first night they'd come back together to the Slash-C, their wedding night.
Dave came up behind her, but didn't touch her.
"It was a nice evening, Matty. Thank you."
He sounded oddly formal, like he was bringing her home from a date. With the twist that he was thanking her, and of course that he would not get in his truck and drive away. He'd walk down the hall and go to sleep in his big bed, not 25 feet from where she would go to bed.
She turned toward him, but also backed up a step, finding herself propped against the back of the couch, as she had been that first night. Although this time there was no anger between them. She swallowed.
"You're welcome, Dave. I enjoyed it, too."
He cut her safety margin to less than a foot. "It's customary to end an evening like this with a kiss."
"Yes," she breathed. Fearing he might misinterpret that–or might interpret it correctly–she added, "It is. Customary, I mean."
"Shouldn't break with custom. That's the sort of thing that leads to the downfall of civilizations."
Well, when he put it that way, it was a patriotic duty. "We can't have that."
"No, we can't. So what are you going to do about it?"
"Me?"
"You asked me out, remember?"
"I wouldn't say I asked you out, not like–"
He interrupted with a deep sigh. "Matty, with civilization on the line, you're going to argue? Guess I'll have to take care of this myself."
Her lips were lifting into a smile when he did.
The kiss caught fire like the smile had been kindling. No, more like the entire evening had been kindling. Cords of kindling made of touches, looks, thoughts, all piled up waiting for the first spark to light the bonfire. And it did.
Because she couldn't do anything else if her life depended on it, she opened to his deep kiss, sinking back against the couch. But his arms gathered her up, holding her against him even as he delved into her mouth. He turned them once so he was against the couch.
After a time that could only be gauged by the weakness of her knees, he eased the kiss, lining her swollen lips with his tongue, darting inside, then back, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth, then taking the kiss deep and involved again.
Lack of oxygen forced a slight let-up, though he held her just as tight, and she had her arms wrapped around his neck. Dave leaned his forehead against hers, and she felt his ragged breath across her skin.
"I want you, Matty." His voice was even more of a graveled rumble than usual. "You should know that. And you should know how much I want you."
More shaken than she wanted to admit, she tried his teasing sarcasm. "If you give me some cliche now about how you want me more than you've ever wanted a woman before, Dave, I'll–"
"I won't. Because it's not true. I have wanted a woman this much before."
"Oh." Her throat burned with some acid. "I'm not surprised. It's like I said, six years can teach you a lot."
"Matty." He started pushing her jacket off her shoulders. She hadn't intended to cooperate, but somehow she was shrugging out of the jacket. He tossed it onto the couch behind them.
"It's to be expected that we'd have other, uh, experiences and some–"
"Matty."
"–of them were bound to be pretty darned good. I mean, it would be sad, if they weren't, right?"
"Matty." He turned them again, and when she leaned back this time she discovered they'd reached the end of the couch. It didn't matter because he was still holding her flush against him. When had he taken his jacket off? But he must have, because now it was only the softness of his shirt that separated her hands from the firmness of his skin.
"After all, we were kids when we were together. What did we know about–"
He slid a hand up into her hair to cup the back of her skull and held her still while he kissed her with a ruthlessness she'd never have expected of Dave.
"You, Matty." He slid his tongue between her lips again, in a long, slow thrust that was not subtle nor open to misinterpretation, before repeating. "You."
She tilted her head to kiss under his jaw, then down his throat, touching her tongue lightly to his Adam's apple. He swallowed convulsively and dropped his head back as she continued her open-mouthed exploration. Slipping first one button then another free and sliding the cotton back, she reached the hollow between his shoulder and collarbone. He'd always liked this spot. She licked it, then opened her mouth and sucked lightly. She liked it too, because he made that sound deep in his chest he was making now, more a rumble than a purr. She felt the vibrations echo inside her, spreading deeper and wider.
She was in danger. Deep danger. Right at the edge of losing thought and will and being left with only feeling. She scrambled back a fraction of an inch or so.
He slowly brought his head down and spread his hands across her buttocks and rocked against her, letting her feel his hardness.
"You're the woman I've wanted this much before, Matty. Every night you've slept under this roof."
Her back arched, brushing the tips of her breasts against his chest. Desire pulsed through her. She met his eyes and didn't try to hide it.
"Matty." His voice was rougher than usual, strumming over her nerves. "Make love with me."
CHAPTER TWELVE
He saw her answer in her eyes and wasn't going to give her time to reconsider. There'd been too much time between them. Much, muc
h too much time.
He twisted, bringing them down to the couch at the same time he maintained the contact all along their bodies. But something was sliding out from under them, maybe the universe.
They landed on the soft, old rug, partially caught in the canyon between the couch and the chest, with Matty on top of him, a giggle escaping her. She spread her hands on his chest, inside where his shirt was open and seemed inclined to push off him. He wasn't going to allow that.
With one hand he shoved the chest, leaving them a wide wedge of space. With the other arm he captured her, pivoting and turning at the same time, so their legs tangled and he ended above her. If she'd had any doubts about his desire before, she couldn't now, because he was flush in the cradle of her legs, pulsing and pushing despite the layers of clothes between them.
He set to work remedying that. It wasn't elegant, because he wasn't willing to be separated from her long enough to make the tugging of fabric, the sliding of zippers, the yanking of material anything but urgently awkward. He didn't care.
He was greedy. Not content to wring every pleasure from each of her touches. He needed more. He needed her naked.
She had doubts. He knew that, could see it, though he didn't know precisely what the doubts were. It didn't matter. He'd answer them, he'd take care of them. As he'd always taken care of Matty. As he always would.
The phrase taking care of Matty snagged in his mind.
He swore under his breath and raised up enough to jerk his jeans off the corner of the chest where they'd been dumped. Digging in the pocket was almost more than he could manage. At last he had the packet and was tearing it open. He levered away from her only the amount absolutely necessary.
"Dave, I can help–"
"No." It would be no help. He did it himself, only sparing a little oxygen for curses at how long it seemed to take.
He rolled back to her, bending one knee to push slightly against the inside of her leg.
"Matty."
She answered the plea and opened to him. He was breathing fire, sucking it in in short, shallow gasps. He positioned himself, thinking he'd take it slow.
It was the last thought he had.
She wrapped her legs around him and took him inside her. Deep. Complete. Right.
They held like that for an instant that captured eternity.
He drew back to nearly the point of leaving her, then stroked in with one motion.
Matty made a sound, a sound he'd dreamt about too many nights to count, and there were no more measured movements, no more control.
Matty's hands were on him. Urging him to her, as if there was any chance in this life that he would do anything else. He heard her breathing change, felt the rhythm of it in puffs across his skin. And he felt the tremors start deep inside her, where she surrounded him, held him. Each tremor a pulsing stroke that left him no choices–if he'd ever had any. There was no slow.
Fast and wild. No time to breathe. Just climbing straight up, hotter and tighter and higher and–
She screamed his name, and the waves of its echo pushed him over the edge after her.
He didn't move for a long time.
At last, Dave rolled to his back, but with his side pressed against hers, one of his legs still trailed across hers. From the corner of his eye he was aware of clothes strewn around the otherwise familiar room.
Like those pieces of clothing, he was limp, bound to stay in whatever position he had landed in until something lifted him up.
Beside him, Matty drew in a deep, shaky breath. "My."
Dave rolled his head to look at her.
"That's all–" He had to stop to pull more oxygen into his depleted lungs. "–you're going to say? My?"
"I..." She took two more quick breaths, then offered. "Oh, my?"
"That's better." His chuckle held relief. It had never been like this for him before, not even with her. He didn't want to be alone in that "never before." He crooked his arm above his head, and his fingers found strands of her hair spread out against the rug, stroking softly.
"I didn't expect..." Although her breathing was starting to return to normal, Matty didn't finish the thought.
"What?"
"That it would be like that."
"Like what?"
Matty heard something in his voice that made her both more aware of her own vulnerability, and wondering if he had similar feelings.
"I didn't think it could be like it used to be for us, but this was...even more." She turned to tip her head, touching her forehead against his.
"Yeah, it was." He brushed her hair back from her face, then stroked it. "Why didn't you think it could be like it used to be?"
"We were such kids. I thought...you know, rampaging hormones and all that. You know what they say, about how you can't ever recapture the impact of those first experiences, because so much of it's the heady rush of discovery and exploration."
"Is that what they say?"
"I'm sure I read it somewhere."
"Uh-huh. Couldn't be that you're making this up, now could it?"
If she'd decided during the past six years that the reason it had been so good with Dave was that it had been their first experiences and they'd been awash in hormones, she wasn't ready to give up that cloak of self-protection. Especially not since that metaphorical cloak was all she was wearing.
"Well, it makes sense when you think of it. Those first times, you're not only discovering the other person, you're discovering the fear and wonder and excitement of making love. Of sex. That's pretty powerful stuff, you know."
"I know."
Two raw, low words. They sent a tremor through her that reminded her of all the parts of her body that reacted to that powerful urge. The obvious ones certainly made their reaction known, but a crazy heat also pulsed at the inside of her elbows, as well as an urge to arch her neck and curl her toes, along with the odd prickling at the tip of her fingers.
"But consider this," Dave was going on, and she could have thought that he was totally unaware of her response...except he chose that moment to take her arm from where it rested at her far side, draw it across both of them, then lift his head to lick and kiss the exact, heated spot on the inside of her elbow that craved his caress.
"Consider what?" she gasped.
"Hmmm? Oh. Consider that after those first few times, you're older and wiser. You have the value of experience. You can set aside nerves. You might even be said to have some...technique."
She shook her head. "That doesn't match up to the exhilaration of fear and wonder and excitement."
"I've got another theory for you to consider, then. Maybe it's just us. You and me."
He bent his head over her arm once more, and she looked at the disorder of his thick brown hair while his tongue teased her skin.
"More likely it's a carryover from when we were kids," she said, oddly reluctant to let that theory go. "Plus, the fact of us being thrown together like we have been."
"So you're saying it's nostalgia and proximity and enforced abstinence, huh? Is that a multiple choice or all of 'em taken together?"
"I don't know," she said crossly. What was he doing, treating this like a scientist looking at a bug? Especially when what was building inside her once more did not mesh well with her idea of scientists or bugs. "Take your pick. Or maybe it was because we've never done it in a bed like normal people. It could be just the novelty of it."
"Guess there's only one way to tell." He came up on his elbow, and looked down at her. "But before we do. In case we find out it was nostalgia–" He kissed her. "–or proximity–" And again, sliding his tongue past her lips before backing away enough to say, "Or curiosity or–novelty or–"
She kissed him. "Enforced abstinence."
"Right. I want something else before we take the risk of bursting the bubble."
"What?"
Not that it mattered. Was there anything she wouldn't give him at this moment?
He stroked one hand from her shoulder, ac
ross her breasts, then lower, following it with his mouth. His lips covered her nipple and the touch of his tongue brought her hips off the floor.
"That first time," he said, raising his head enough to look into her eyes, "well, we were in kind of a hurry. And next time, we'll be testing that hypothesis of yours and it could be it'll be a grave letdown for both of us. So this time..." He stroked his hand up the inside of her thigh, pressing gently for entrance. She gave it. "I want to watch you, Matty. I want to see you shatter. Just for me."
* * * *
"Matty."
"Hmm."
"It's time for bed."
She burrowed deeper into Dave's shoulder, then slid her bare foot up his calf. "This is fine."
"No. You were right before."
That got her eyes to open.
"We need to test this in a bed. To make sure it's not the novelty."
* * * *
"It wasn't the novelty," she said when she could breathe again.
"Nope. Guess we'll just have to face it, Matty. It's us." He rolled to his back, taking her with him.
She found that hollow above his collarbone again, tasted the salt on his skin and reveled in the hitch in his breathing. He stroked his hand down her back, over her hip, and then up under her hair to her neck, a long, lazy glide of his palm over her skin.
"I truly didn't bargain for this when I asked you to marry me for two years, Dave. It makes things even more complicated."
"Mmm." He was obviously drifting toward sleep. "No. Makes things simple. We stay together."
* * * *
She was gone.
He sensed it before he even came fully awake, even before he swept an arm across the empty sheets, still warm from her body.
He swore as he sat up. She'd run out on him. Just like when they were kids. Just like the night they got married. Well, dammit, this time he wasn't going to be easy-going, reasonable Dave. This time she was going to explain what the hell she meant by taking off. This time she was going to tell him exactly what she was thinking, if he had to damn well tie her to a chair while she did it.
He jerked on his clothes, muttering curses under his breath all the while, and headed out to saddle Brandeis.
* * * *
Tears blurred Matty's vision, but she didn't need to see because Juno was picking her way along the familiar trail without a hitch.
What she needed to do was think.
Almost a Bride (Wyoming Wildflowers Book 1) Page 17
