Seduced (17 page)

And in the lamplight, he looked heavenly as well. Strong and lean and solid. She touched the muscles of his stomach, her fingertips dancing over the ridges. His hand touched her breast, followed the slope to her nipple, and she found the distance between them was not to her liking. She pulled him closer, met him halfway, hungry for more of his surprising mouth, and he obliged, bending his head to kiss her. His hands cupped her breasts, skated over her waist. Down over her hips to curve around her bottom. She gasped against his lips, surprised at the touch, and he pulled her closer, harder. And the anger simmering in her veins, her powerlessness over her life, found a brilliant release and she arched against him harder, rubbing herself against the erect flesh in his pants. He groaned and dropped his mouth to her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her throat, her chest and then, to her surprise, he pulled her nipple into his mouth through the thin cotton of her nightgown. She jumped and gasped, her fingernails biting into his skin.

Her violence begat his and he used his teeth against her and shocking sharp pleasure rippled and unfurled and she found herself pushing harder against him. Wanting more from him.

Bolder than she’d ever been, she reached her hand between them and pressed into the front of his pants. Surely he would understand and take it from there. But no, he seemed content to lick and suck her breasts, making her crazy. Mad.

“Cole,” she gasped.

He dropped to his knees on the ground, pressing hot, wet kisses to her stomach. His tongue touched her belly button, dipped inside.

She jumped away, but he held her, his hands at her bottom. And she could not move.

He breathed against the brown hair between her legs and she twitched, again trying to get away from him.

“What are you doing?”

“This isn’t something you’ve done before?”

She wanted to tell him that most of her experience involved kissing, a hand at her breast and varying degrees of discomfort. This was wholly new.

“No,” she breathed. “Who does this?”

“I do.”

And then he touched her. There. Not just on the hair. But inside. Inside where she could feel her own wetness. His finger slipped along the fold of her, to the entrance of her body, and she felt a breathless . . . absence. As if she wanted that finger inside of her, but instead he slipped away, to the top of her fold. Where the knot of nerves she was so often aware of while kissing, or horseback riding or dancing—waited.

The calloused edge of his finger against the knot made her jerk, and the entire inside of her body felt that touch. And then he did it again. And again, long slow slides that both hurt and felt good.

“I don’t . . . I don’t like that,” she said.

“Give it a second,” he breathed, his attention locked on her. His finger moved faster, his other hand spread her open a bit and she knew he was watching. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and wondered why he couldn’t just be more like Christopher, let her trap him into marriage and be done with it.

But then, suddenly, there was another sensation and she looked down to see him kissing her. There. And his finger . . . oh, his finger was inside of her. And the knot of nerves was being tormented by his tongue, and she couldn’t feel her legs any longer, and the top of her skull was tingling and the ground seemed to move beneath her feet and something . . . something was happening. Something wild and scary, and she pushed at his shoulders, but he gripped her harder, closer. His tongue, his fingers, that wicked, wicked mouth of his would not be deterred, and suddenly she was crying out and falling and breaking apart. And it was terrifying and wonderful all at the same time.

“Cole!” she cried, and bent forward, over him. Her hand was in his hair, pressing him to her, and then he was helping her, easing her down onto his lap, her legs spread over his bent knees, her face buried in his neck.

Slowly, he ran his hand up and down her back, over her spine in big wide swaths. Tears bit into her eyes. She’d never been so undone and then so comforted. Ever.

“That’s never happened before,” she said.

“Did you like it?”

She laughed and nodded, her face still in the warm crease of his neck. He was sweating and she sipped at where moisture had gathered in the tendons of his shoulder. She kissed his collarbone. The top of his chest. The fur there tickled her nose and she pressed her whole face into him.

His breathing hitched and beneath her she felt his erection.

“Can I . . . I would like to do that to you,” she said.

Cole swore under his breath.

“You don’t want that?”

“I want that very much.”

He carefully moved her off his lap and set her down on the ground.

On her knees beside him, she fumbled with the buckle to his belt and he took off his pants, easing them down his legs. His erection was pink and hard, rising up from a dark cloud of hair, arching up against his belly. He braced one hand behind him and put the other around his erection.

He stroked it and she felt desire build in her again. This was so base. So raw . . . but also . . . so exciting. It was as if he were showing her everything. There were no secrets in this. No pretenses. It was in fact the most honest she'd been in years.

We are together in this
. That's what he'd said, and she understood that completely in this moment.

No other intimacy in her life had been like this.

“What do you call it?” she asked, suddenly emboldened by this freedom.

“A cock.”

She said the word and he groaned. Smiling, she said it again. And then her fingers touched the head of his cock, over his fist. It was soft and damp from a small hole at the top. His whole body jerked.

“This . . . “ He laughed. “This will not take long.”

She shook her head, unhappy with that idea. “I want it to take all night,” she whispered. “The day, too.” Hours, days of this freedom would not be enough.

This was the sort of freedom she longed for. Her sister could go out in the world, make her own way. She wanted to stay in this barn and map this pleasure. Map this country of sensation between them.

He bit his lip, arching against her hand. His fingers took hers, showed her what he liked. The rough touch. The squeeze at the bottom. He showed her how to gather the dampness from the top and spread it over the thick stem of him.

“Lick your hand,” he told her. And she did, staring into his eyes as she did it. He was beautiful with his desire.

Her palm wet, she put it back over him and that helped, but it dried up too soon and she lifted her hand to lick it again, but he grabbed her wrist and pushed her hand down.

“Use what's between your legs,” he whispered.

Oh, the fire in her was so hot. And everything between them was feeding it. She put her fingers in the slit between her legs, gasping at the touch.

“Have you ever done that?” he whispered.

“What?” she gasped, having found that knot of nerves that he'd used to bring her that stunning release.

“Touched yourself like that.”

She shook her head.

“Next time,” he breathed and took her hand again, applying her slippery fingers back to his cock.

“Faster,” he told her. The muscles of his belly were clenching and releasing. She could hear his breath sawing in his lungs. “Harder.” He groaned and she, so excited, couldn't stop staring at him.

He cried out her name and grabbed her hand, holding it hard against him, and she felt a sudden gush of hot liquid in her palm.

For a few moments the only sound was their panting. And then he found his shirt and used it to wipe up her hands, the slick stain on his belly.

She sat on her knees next to him feeling . . . undone. Cracked and broken in places. The great bravery required of her right now was not in trusting this man. Trusting Cole was easy. It was trusting herself that was the problem.

“I lied,” she whispered.

“When?”

“I am not barren inside.” She could not look at him. In fact, she had to turn away, sudden strange tears rising up in her eyes. This was the truth she had to be so cold to protect. But he touched her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“I do feel more. I feel so much more, but . . . “ Her voice broke. Her eyes closed. “I'm so scared.”

He grabbed her arms, his face suddenly fierce, his hands rougher than she’d ever experienced. She gasped, caught by him.

“What do you want, Melody?” She blinked, stunned, and he gave her a little shake. “This is not a hard question. Tell me what you want.”

“To . . . care for my sister—” But even as she said it, it wasn't the truth. Not anymore. Annie did not need her care.

“You. Melody. For yourself. What do you want?”

You.

It was a whisper in the back of her head, a ludicrous thing to say and she would not say it. Could not.

I want to be who I am when I’m with you.

I want you to kiss me again. Hold me. Touch me. Everything I feel I want you to make real in my body.

I want to feel a happiness greater than my fear of pain.

“I want to stay,” she said.

“Why? Because you are scared? Desperate?”

“No. Because I like it here. I am safe here. Happy. Here.”

“With me?”

Oh, she burned. Horrified anger stiffened her limbs, hardened her heart. “What games do you play at, Cole?” she snapped. “I asked you to marry me.”

“Why didn’t you ask my brother? You must have thought about it. Considered which brother would be the most grateful, the easiest to manipulate into offering his hand.”

She struggled to pull out of his hands, but he held her firm and she glared at him, panting.

“Tell me why me,” he whispered, leaning into her face. His brown eyes pierced her skin and she did not have any protection against him. “Why me?”

“Because you handed me that gun! You gave me the key to my own freedom,” she cried. “And I like the way you are with the seeds. I like the way you played the harmonica. And when you looked at me I thought . . . I thought you saw me. All of me, the way no one ever has. And I thought I saw you. And I liked everything I saw.”

His hands gentled on her arms, easing up to cup her shoulders and then her face. Her hair was tangled in his fingers but it was such a small pain it barely registered in all of the pain she was feeling.

“I would be honored to marry you,” he murmured.

Stunned, she blinked. “You will?”

“You brought me out here to force my hand, didn’t you? I am just doing what you want.”

“I rescind my hand.”

“That I cannot allow.”

“I will not marry a man who cares nothing for me. I have done that once before.”

“You think I care nothing for you?” His eyes blazed and she realized she’d made him angry. Angry enough that he reminded her of the man who first came into this clearing. The bounty hunter.

“I’m sure I don’t know—”

“You took care of my brother. You took care of your sister. You brought seeds across this country to remind you of home. And you shared them with me. You lay down in the flowers and I wish more than I can say that I had lain down with you. I am astounded by you. Amazed. I’ve never met a woman as strong as you. As beautiful as you. You made me dream again, Melody. You made me remember the good things buried beneath all the bad. For that alone I am yours. I willingly walked into your trap, Melody.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, unembarrassed that she’d done what she could to try and control her fate. She was a woman and this was the means she had available to her. “I don’t find any of this funny.”

“I am not laughing.”

“You’re smiling as if you know something I don’t.”

“I’m happy.” He took her hand and put it on his chest, where she felt the hard thump of his heart. “I am told people smile when they are happy.”

She lifted her fingers to his mouth, touching the dimples caused by his smile. He lifted his hands to hers and forced the ends into a small curve until the smile became real and she laughed into his hand.

“Why did you make me wait?”

“I didn’t want you to choose me because you were scared of the alternatives. Perhaps it was pride, but I want more than that.”

“More,” she whispered. “You are keen on that word.”

His kiss told her just how keen he was. Just how unfinished this act was between them. She wrapped her arms around his neck hard, her breasts pressed against his chest, and he groaned. His tongue swept deep into her mouth and between her legs she ached with emptiness.

He pushed her away. “I want to tell our family before I make love to you,” he said. “I want to give you the chance to be married in a church in Denver, if that is what you want.”

“I want you, Cole. I want . . . to make love to you. I am no virgin you need to protect.”

A soft breath of air escaped him and he cupped her face in his hand. “If I could stop you from ever thinking that sort of thing again, I would.”

She sat there on her knees, clutching his face, and all she wanted was to kiss him. Those lips . . . she was fascinated by those lips. Years of kissing them and she would not be satisfied.

She put her fingers into his dark, silky hair, patting it down in places, as her mother had done with her father.

She thought of her life before, of all that comfort that she'd loved. And how she had never, not in her worst nightmares, ever guessed at how fragile it all was. And now, in this cave, all too painfully aware of how hard it had been just to survive, she felt her happiness so acutely she couldn't breathe for its unexpected beauty.

“Is this love?” she whispered.

“Maybe. Maybe the beginning of it.” He kissed her nose and her cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered shut as he ran his lips over her eyelashes. “Perhaps we are preparing the seeds. The soil.”

“Having faith in the weather?” She laughed.

“I have faith in you,” he whispered, and it was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her.

“I have faith in you, too.”

Their kiss was sweet. Sweeter than honey.

“My sister . . .”

“Stays with us. She's your family, I know how important she is.”