Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings Page 5

  “Open your eyes!”

  She did so, their emerald depths glittering, defiant.

  “You can’t be any Mrs. Dylan.”

  “I am Mrs. Dylan,” she whispered. There was a film of wetness on her eyes. Tears. She wasn’t going to let them fall. “I swear to you, I am a Mrs.”

  “Mr. Dylan was an abstainer?” he asked mockingly. He was still furious with her, furious for what she had allowed him to do, furious with himself for having done it. Furious for wanting her so desperately even now.…

  “Mr. Dylan died,” she said flatly.

  “Damn you, Jessica!” he swore at her suddenly. “We could have stopped this at any time. Now the damage is done—”

  “There is no damage!” she cried. “I did what I chose—”

  “Because you will not go home where you should be?” he asked.

  “I—”

  “Have it your way, Mrs. Dylan!”

  Indeed, the damage was done, and he was as explosive as gunpowder, fevered, in agony. He cupped her chin in his hand and found her lips once again. He kissed her hard, deeply—near savagely—and began to move inside her. What cry she might have emitted was swallowed by his lips. His hands roamed freely over her body, cupping her buttocks, holding her, guiding her, stroking her soft flesh. Her hands fell upon his flesh, nails biting into his shoulders. Her lips soothed his wounds. She seemed to sheathe him with warmth and wetness, her body a sweet glove, her warmth a golden fire. His hunger built, the speed of his thrusts multiplied. No matter that he had tried to take care, and perhaps it mattered no longer. Her gasped breaths were escaping sweetly by his ear, coming faster and faster. She moved beneath him, body held too tightly to his by the force of his hand upon her buttocks, yet melding so sensually to his, naturally finding his rhythm, his hunger. He whispered to her, assured her, led her, lifted her. The fire exploded inside of him and he knifed even more deeply into her, shaking with the force of the climax that had seized him. He eased himself again and again into her and from her, watching her face, but her eyes were closed again. Before he would move from her, take himself from her, he needed to see her.

  “Look at me.”

  She did so. Eyes still liquid. Her face still pale. Her lips trembling just slightly.

  “Damn you, I never meant to hurt you—”

  “You didn’t hurt me. Well,” she murmured, her eyes falling, “perhaps—a little. But—”

  He groaned, falling to her side at last. She was struggling for the covers. He kept the weight of his body hard upon them.

  It was too late for her to cover up now. Too late, because he was so damned aggravated, so furious. And more.

  He was entrapped. Just as if she had cast some gold-and-fire net around him, a fragile web that, nonetheless, held him powerless. He couldn’t leave her.

  Blade had touched her, had her, held her. He wanted her again and again. He wanted to teach her that there could be so much more. He wanted to feel the movement, the heat of her kiss upon him, the liquid movement of her limbs. He wanted to know her—what went on in her mind, what gave her reckless courage and raw determination. …

  “It was my choice!” Jessica said angrily. He could hear the pain in her words, and he winced.

  He came up on an elbow, staring at her. “I wouldn’t have been in here if I had known!” he nearly roared.

  “Shh!” she whispered as wild alarm filled her eyes.

  He gritted his teeth. “So you don’t mind sleeping with a half-breed, you just don’t want the world knowing about it?”

  She inhaled sharply between her teeth. Then, she tried to leap away. He dragged her back, the weight of his body pinning her to the bed when she struggled.

  “Damn you—” Blade said again. He could feel her lie still, rigidly still, her emerald eyes staring into his, her face so very beautiful, so very proud.

  “How dare you!” she said angrily. “Don’t blame me for whatever chips you carry on your shoulders!”

  He started. He had never really known that he carried a chip on his shoulder. He’d spent his life being proud of being Sioux. But his father had been a fine man, too, a good man, a strong one, a fair one. And he’d lived in his white father’s world for a long time. He’d learned that there were many men and women who considered any Indian a savage, a different breed, untamed, uncivilized. And so he’d spent most of his life making damned sure that everything he did, he did the best it could be done.

  Once, his fastidiousness had made him invaluable to Quantrill, and when he walked away from Quantrill’s white man’s savagery, he had used his running, shooting and fighting abilities to fight with Mosby in the East, in the Shenandoah. He’d known all along that the Union generals were determined to hang Mosby’s men when they caught them, and so he had been determined never to get caught. It hadn’t mattered. If they’d known him from before, he’d have had a price on his head. He hadn’t planned on staying with Quantrill long, it was just that Quantrill had been the one after the Red Legs, the Kansas Jayhawkers.

  He had learned early a certain stoicism. That had helped him on the day. His Rebel troops had lain down their arms. Surrendered. Surrender had meant that it was time to go after those men again. The men who had stripped him of his life.

  Blade rolled his weight from her once again, stepping to the floor. Naked, he padded to the window in the silence of the night. Jessica went for her sheets, instinctively. He could see her movement from the corner of his eye.

  From somewhere near, a wolf howled. He saw Jessica shiver, yet he didn’t think it was from the strange cry of the wolf. How could she be such a damned strong-willed woman and yet seem so achingly vulnerable and beautiful, binding slender ribbons inexorably around his soul? She made him want her again. Made feelings beat within him once again, just looking at her there. He knew that if he touched her …

  “Damn you!” he said softly, to the night.

  “Why!” she cried, a note of passion in her voice. “You can turn now and walk away. You won, I lost, remember? I always pay my debts. You’re free. You can leave whenever you want. I’ve paid—”

  He swung on her. “Paid? I think I said for the night. It’s only half over, the best that I can see!”

  Jessica fell silent, a blush staining her cheeks. Blade strode to the bed, newly aroused, and not giving a damn that she would see his hardness. She had nothing against half-breeds and she was willing to sell her soul to stay. She wanted to play the game no matter how rough it became.

  He wrenched the sheets from her and straddled her. She clenched her jaw, her eyes flashing, her hands coming up against his chest. But he caught them.

  “One month,” he told her. “You wanted me, you’ve got me. One month. So you manage to do whatever it is you have to do out here in that amount of time.”

  “But—”

  “What is it that you’re so determined to do?” he demanded.

  Emerald eyes locked with his. “Land,” she said softly. Her lashes swept over her eyes, then her gaze met his once again. “I want to claim the land. It was my husband’s.”

  She was lying—or at least, she wasn’t telling him everything, Blade thought. “One month,” he said. “Then you’re on your own.”

  “I’ll pay you well—”

  “Damned right,” he said very softly. “Here’s the deal. You get me. And, Mrs. Dylan, I get you.”

  “You’ve had—”

  “A taste,” he murmured, and bent down. Slowly, slowly he captured her lips. Teased them, played with them. He waited for her mouth to part, to accept his sensual invasion, to return the touch, sweet motion by sweet motion. …

  Her arms wound around him, and he made love to her again.

  So slowly. So sensually, teaching, exploring, discovering. Touching, laving, still tasting, whispering, having.… Becoming one with her. Bronze flesh against ivory, slick, fluid. Hungry. Creating a storm, a sweet tempest, bringing her with him until she writhed so erotically beneath him.

  And wh
en he finished, he captured her lips to keep silent the cry he had wrung from her being. She lay beside him, dazed, panting, flushed. Then she turned away.

  “No!” she whispered.

  “A month,” he reminded her. His arms around her then, he pulled her to him gently. She was so warm, silken still. It seemed just as sweet to hold her. And she did not pull away. She paid her debts—

  And kept her bargains, so it seemed.

  Golden strands of hair softly entangled him. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he had done. A month. Had he cast them both into the fiery pits of hell …? Or the sweetest heights of heaven?

  Chapter Six

  Jessica woke early, as she was accustomed to doing, yet it seemed that her eyelids were heavy, that it was hard to open them. Her lashes fluttered. The first thing she saw was his hand. Large, powerful, long-fingered, bronzed, nails clipped, not manicured, but clean. It lay around her waist, holding her close against his body.

  She closed her eyes tightly again, recalling the night, assuring herself that she must be absolutely horrible, yet not feeling that she was in the least. She had to get to the land, she reminded herself. She was determined to get to the land, and maybe she had been willing to pay almost any price to get there.

  But … this price hadn’t quite occurred to her until she had first seen McKenna. And no matter what she tried to tell herself, a certain fire had stirred and burned deep within her from that moment. He was beyond a doubt the most intriguing man she had ever seen. He was perhaps an inch or two over six feet, lithe, graceful, silent, his every movement one of perfect ease—startling in a man with such broad shoulders, such fine, taut muscle structure, she thought. He was straight as oak and hard as stone, his face something handsomely chiseled from granite. His sleek, thick, pitch-black hair and ebony eyes were a striking giveaway to his Indian heritage, while the hard planes of his face somehow combined white and Indian characteristics into a visage that was arresting, strikingly handsome, and still so very rugged. He had fascinated her from the first seconds she had seen him. When she heard him speak, she felt tremors steal down her spine. When he looked directly at her, she felt fire seep into her bones.

  She’d never felt anything quite like it before in her life. Ever. She’d been in love, or, rather, she had loved, and perhaps there was a difference. Charlie had been a part of her life forever. She had known him so very well. It was circumstance that had come between them, war that had split them apart.

  And yet … As much as she had loved Charlie, as much as she was here on his behalf, she had never begun to feel for Charlie what she did for this man.

  A hard throbbing suddenly began within her heart. Well, she had won. She had lost … and then won. He’d told her that he’d come with her for a month. That was all she would need. But then, in a month …

  She swallowed hard, not wanting to waken him. She wanted to rise and dress, to hide herself. Morning’s light could be so harsh. She started trembling each time she remembered just how he had made her feel. Turning crimson, Jessica prayed that no one else in Mrs. Peabody’s boardinghouse had heard how he had made her feel.

  One month. She had him. He had her. Could he really want her so much? she wondered. He had been so damned furious with her innocence, or perhaps it had been her lack of expertise or—

  No. He hadn’t wanted an involvement, she reasoned, and men always seemed to think that any inexperienced woman had to be after more than she was willing to say.

  He would never understand. She owed Charlie, she had to get to the land and stay there long enough to find his papers. And she would have done anything … with this man. She couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t explain what Blade had touched within her.

  She drew away, easing from the bed. She winced somewhat as she tried to walk, hurrying across the room to the washbowl to drench and cool her face. She shivered in the brisk morning air, washing her throat, breasts, arms. She dropped the cloth at last, turning to open her trunk, which Shorty had brought by at dinnertime last night. She withdrew a corset, pantalets, a petticoat and a cool calico dress. Although it was cool now, she was certain the afternoon would be warm. She had just stepped into the pantalets when her eyes fell upon him. He hadn’t made a sound or a motion, but his black eyes were on her and she flushed, suddenly certain that he had been awake, watching her, since she first had risen. They were enigmatic eyes, so Stygian dark, so piercing and demanding. She lowered her lashes quickly, trying to draw the dress over her head before she had tied the pantalets.

  He laughed and came swiftly to his feet. She could feel him at her back, pulling up her dress, finding the lace on her pantalets and pulling it into a sturdy tie. She quickly smoothed the calico down, her cheeks still flushed. Eyes downcast, she murmured swiftly, “I have to pick up a few things I had ordered last night. My land isn’t far from here. I’d like to start out right after breakfast, if that’s all right. If—”

  She hesitated. He was still at her back. She swung around and felt tremors all over again because he simply had such a beautiful body. Tall, bronzed, his chest devoid of hair, glistening even by daylight with taut muscle. She swallowed hard. “You, er, need to get dressed.”

  He nodded, offering her a dry smile that caused her to blush all over again. She had started all this by bursting into his bath. She shouldn’t be dismayed by his nakedness.

  “That is,” she murmured softly, “if you haven’t changed your mind. You—you did say that you’d come.”

  “Hmm. You’ve got me. I’ve got you.”

  She exhaled, a shaky sound of relief. Then she spun around quickly. “I’m just going to go downstairs—” She broke off, her eyes going wide. “The—”

  “Bed next door,” Blade finished for her. “Don’t worry, I’ll go mess it up. I’m not too sure what we can do about this one.”

  “Do?” she murmured, then glanced at the sheets that gave away everything. “Oh …”

  “I can just steal them,” he offered politely.

  “Oh, yes, that should go unnoticed!”

  He grinned and laughed. “We’ll put a bandage on your hand. You can say that you cut it opening a letter last night or something.”

  “Will it—work?”

  “Better than nothing, I imagine,” he assured her. He turned and left her, crossing through the door that connected their rooms, returning to hers with a swatch of clean, white linen cloth. She stood still while he wrapped her hand. She was painfully aware of his very natural nakedness once again, and she stiffened as she breathed in the sensual scent of him. His eyes were suddenly on hers. “What’s wrong?”

  “You—you really need to get dressed. You—”

  “Look ready?” he suggested, laughing. She bit her lip, lashes sweeping over her eyes.

  “There you go again, just dying to give me a good right to the jaw,” he said.

  She sighed. “I didn’t say that you look ready to—”

  “But I am—always,” he assured her huskily.

  Her eyes flew open. “Braggart!” she accused him, and he started to laugh again. He finished wrapping her hand, then suddenly drew her into his arms.

  “Want to test me?”

  “No!” she exclaimed. But, God, his touch … What was the magic? How could he be so fierce and so tender? Jessica pondered.

  Such a stranger … while she was beginning to feel that she knew him so very well.

  His lips touched upon hers. She struggled against him. “There’s business—”

  “Debts to be paid!” he agreed.

  “Here—I mean, now?”

  He laughed softly again, releasing her. She saw in his black eyes that he had been teasing her, taunting her all along. He didn’t need to force anything. He had lots of time. That was the agreement. And she did always pay her debts.

  “Go on down,” he told her. “Do what you have to do. I’ll be ready when you are.”

  Jessica spun around and hurriedly left the room. She met Mrs. Peabody on the
landing at the foot of the stairs. “Good morning, Jessica, dear. Oh, no! Your hand, dear! What did you do?”

  “Oh, it’s just a scratch. I cut it with my letter opener. I’m fine. I’m afraid I was on the bed, though, and there are a few spots of blood.” And she had to be the color of blood by now, too. Would such a lame story fly? What was Mrs. Peabody going to do, accuse her of lying? Of misconduct beneath her roof?

  “Don’t you worry about that at all,” Mrs. Peabody said. “Jane will get them out with lemon juice. I’m just so concerned about your hand.”

  “It’s nothing, really. I swear it.” It was nothing—that was honest enough, Jessica reasoned.

  “All right, dear, I won’t press it. How did you sleep?”

  “Wonderfully. I wish I could stay longer,” Jessica said. Well, it wasn’t a lie. Once she had fallen asleep, she had slept like the dead. And she did wish that she could stay longer. Mrs. Peabody had made a beautiful home out here in the wilderness. It was comfortable, warm. So incredible after what she had been through traveling.

  “Why don’t you stay another night before moving on, dear? I’m sure you’ll hit problems and hard work aplenty once you leave. One day of rest might be just the thing you need.”

  One more night in this proper place with McKenna? She didn’t think so. Just the thought made fresh color seem to fly to her cheeks. And she only had McKenna for a month. One month.

  She shook her head. “I—I really can’t, Mrs. Peabody, though I would love to.”

  “I understand, dear. You want to get going to your own home.”

  “Yes. But it’s not even a full day’s ride from here. I’ll be back often enough. In fact, I’ll be back next week for a few days to buy cattle.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’ll be expecting you.”

  “And Mr. McKenna,” Jessica said softly.

  Mrs. Peabody had begun to move her portly body when she turned back, smiling. “Pardon, dear?”

  “Mr. McKenna has graciously consented to work for me for the next few weeks.” Mrs. Peabody was staring at her. “I—I’ve had a great deal of trouble ever since I started on my way here. He bailed me out twice, so … well, I seem to need someone.”