Always You Page 18

  He was very near to her. He could smell the sweetness of her hair, of the perfume she was wearing, like a cloud of flowers. He could sense the warmth and vibrant femininity of her in the darkness. Moreover, his eyes were adjusting, and he could just barely discern the shape of her less than three feet from him.

  “We won’t be staying long,” he said harshly. “I’ll break the door down.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Cal discerned the shimmer of her hair just ahead of him. He bumped into her deliberately, not hard, just hard enough to throw her slightly off-balance. He seized her securely in his arms as she started to stumble. “Sorry. Can’t see a damned thing in here.”

  “I can,” she retorted icily, glaring up at him. “I can see the smug grin on your face. It’s perfectly clear. Now let me go and do something useful.”

  “Such as?”

  “Break down that door.”

  “First answer a question, Melora.”

  She gritted her teeth. Through the darkness she could smell the clean scent of him, a scent like that of the pines and the sage-carpeted prairie, a warm, muskily male, thoroughly reassuring and arousing scent. The grip of his hands upon her arms reminded her of his strength—but also of his gentleness. She felt strangely alert and keyed up as the darkness seemed to enclose them in a world of sense and musk, far, far removed from everything and everyone else.

  And because of this, she suddenly felt trapped. Trapped and used and manipulated.

  He wouldn’t dance with her or be civil to her at the barbecue, and now he expected—what? That she would fall into his arms? Cry like a ninny? Wait for him to rescue her from the big, bad barn?

  “Ask your stupid question, Cal, and then help me break down the door!” she snapped.

  Faintly she saw him grin. “Why did you say you came out here to the barn?”

  His breath was warm against the top of her head, rustling her curls. One hand let go of her arm and slid up to trace the delicate line of her jaw. She bit her lip.

  “They said you were hurt, that you needed help—Oh, never mind,” she cried crossly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It might,” he muttered softly.

  Confused and irritated beyond all patience, she broke away from him then. But as she whirled back toward the door and began pounding and trying with all her might to shove it open, Cal came up beside her, joining his efforts to hers. For several moments they shouted and banged upon the wood without speaking to each other.

  Then Cal rammed his shoulder against the door. Over and over again. But the old weathered barn held fast. Quinn O’Malley had built it solid.

  “I give up.” Cal grimaced, rubbing his bruised shoulder. “Unless we can find something to batter it down, we’ll have to wait until they decide to come back for us.”

  “I refuse to sit here and do nothing. Help me tinder a light so that we can see what we have to work with!” Melora demanded.

  “If you want to tinder a light, go right ahead,” Cal invited her grimly. “Just don’t tinder a fire. As for me, I think I’ll rest a bit. My shoulder hurts.”

  “My hero!” Her eyes flashed scorn.

  She yelped as he swatted her on the bottom. “Cal Holden, you stop that.”

  “Who’s going to make me?”

  “I am. Oh, you...” She struck out blindly at him as he swatted her again, but Cal, laughing, caught her wrists.

  “Come on, Melora. Might as well give up fighting and just wait for them to come back.” He began dragging her across the barn, slowly, since neither of them could make out where they were headed. “Here, sit down and take a load off.”

  He hauled her down on his lap, atop a bale of hay, and she immediately tried to roll off, but Cal grasped her firmly and held her pinned between his knees.

  “I said take a load off,” he repeated in a steely tone, wrapping his arms around her so that she had no hope of escape.

  “Since when do I take orders from you, Mr. Cal Holden?” she gasped furiously, struggling against him, even though she knew it was useless.

  He was strong. Far stronger than she. And the feel of his thighs pressed against her, of his arms encircling her, made her weak. Her hairpins loosened, and several thick gold curls tumbled free, cascading around her face and brushing against him as she struggled. He held her tighter.

  She felt hot and dusty and helpless—and more than a little furious. She tried to ignore the heat streaking through her, to concentrate on her annoyance. Surely by now her beautiful blue dress was covered with bits of hay and was hopelessly wrinkled and crumpled.

  “You do know how to show a girl a good time,” she panted. “No wonder you’ve never had a girl. You have no idea how to go about—”

  Before she could finish, he rolled her over and covered her body with the full length of his, his weight and strength imprisoning her against the hay. Gasping, Melora fought a wave of alarm. Maybe she’d gone too far. Maybe she’d taunted Cal about never having had a girl once too often. She wriggled helplessly beneath him, peering upward, trying to discern his hard, stern features through the blackness.

  “Cal, what do you think you’re doing—” she began furiously, but he silenced her with his mouth. The kiss was not gentle. It was sudden and fierce, a kiss so hungry and shattering that her breath caught in her throat. She whimpered as his mouth took hers, not with tenderness but with heat and urgency. A wildness tore through her, rolling through and through as his mouth devoured and explored. And then there was an undercurrent of something else, something she could not name. It might have been need.

  Her whimper turned into a moan, not a moan of dismay, but one of pleasure, of passion as he continued to deepen the kiss. He was teasing her, tormenting her, doing it expertly, without mercy.

  Melora felt herself drowning in that kiss, even as it ignited her. She didn’t want to respond this way to Cal Holden. He was rude. He was infuriating. He didn’t know how to treat a woman.

  But he surely knew how to kiss one.

  Against her will, trembling from her shoulders to her ankles, she felt herself respond. Her lips defied her, softening, opening to welcome his, blossoming beneath his mouth like the petals of a rose.

  Cal tangled his hands in her hair. Need blazed through him. He knew he should stop now, while he still could. He’d made up his mind to steer clear of Melora Deane, to keep his distance. For both their sakes. Yet all his resolutions had gone up in smoke the moment he’d pulled her down on his lap. That unplanned, thoughtless act had brought a rush of responses that he knew he’d regret.

  But he couldn’t regret this one kiss—one wild, unfettered, ferocious kiss. She tasted sweeter and deeper than wine, hotter than whiskey. His fingers tightened on her hair, crushing the velvet curls, winding through them as if he would bury his hands in the smooth, glowing strands that flowed past her shoulders like wild golden honey. She was in his blood now. Maybe one shattering, all-encompassing kiss would get her out.

  Melora quivered as Cal’s tongue glided past her teeth, snaked inside her mouth. Oh, what he was doing to her. She felt a low, rich explosion of pleasure. Then a cry broke from the back of her throat as Cal began to explore her mouth, his tongue slipping in and out, slowly, purposefully. An ache burst inside her, spreading warmth and an odd tingling tightness. It swept from her breasts to her nipples and downward past her hips to the core of her womanhood.

  He was driving her mad. She’d never felt like this before. Wyatt’s kisses had been warm and pleasant—she’d enjoyed them, savored them—but with Cal it was different, a far, far cry from anything she’d experienced before. Or anything in her innocence that she’d imagined.

  “Melora, you’re wrong.” Cal’s voice was deep and husky when he at last allowed both of them breath. “Dead wrong.”

  Dazed, she could only gaze at him for a moment with eyes that were smoky with passion. “About what?” she managed to say at last in a voice so faint she wondered if he could hear the words. She was dizzy from the kiss.
Dizzy and confused and thickheaded. Her chest rose and fell, her breasts pushed helplessly against the warm, muscled wall of his chest, and beneath the soft gown her nipples felt hard and tingly.

  In answer he brushed a thumb gently across her cheek, smoothing back a strand of flyaway hair. Then he shifted his weight slightly, draping his legs more firmly across hers. The hardness of his arousal was all too apparent to her as he held her sprawled beneath him.

  “It may be true that I’ve never had a girl. But I’ve had a woman. Many women. Don’t think I’m a tenderfoot when it comes to making love.”

  “I don’t... I didn’t... I wouldn’t... I never—”

  “Thing is,” he said, kissing her eyelids very gently, then leaning back to gaze intently down into her wide eyes, “I wonder if you’ve had many men... any men.”

  “I’m not going to answer that question.” Indignation and alarm made her struggle anew. “Cal, let me up right now.”

  “Sure,” he said easily, his breath warm on her cheeks. But he made no move to let her go. Instead he nibbled at the corner of her ear, sending a flame of sensation through Melora that seemed to her would set the hay on fire. “If you want me to,” Cal added smoothly.

  A wild, throbbing ache took possession of her as his mouth branded kisses across her helpless throat. It was torture, sweet torture. She had to get away from him, so she could think, so she could wrest back control of her own body, which was betraying her as it never had before. “I want you to,” she gasped. “I do. So let me up. Right now... right this very—”

  But he cut her off with another kiss, this one gentle, teasingly gentle. His lips cradled hers; his tongue traced the curved outline of her full lips. She moaned with the pure sweetness of it, and her kiss answered his with a fervency that betrayed her. When he lifted his head, she could see the gleaming intensity of his eyes. They pierced even the darkness.

  “Melora...”

  “Wh-what?’’

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “Something you’ve probably heard before.”

  She moistened her lips, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead as he continued to press those kisses upon her bare flesh, first her cheeks, then her nose, then covering her mouth again while at the same time his hand slid to her breast, making her gasp with a dazed pleasure as he cupped it with warm, gentle fingers.

  “Cal...”

  “This is what I need to tell you. I think you’re beautiful, Melora. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “You do?” she whispered, flabbergasted and immensely pleased. And immensely distracted by the things he was doing to her.

  “I know you’ve heard it a thousand times, but—”

  “I’ve never heard it from you,” she said softly, then drew in her breath with a start as his thumb caught and caressed her nipple.

  Intense pleasure soared through her. She was drowning in it. In the darkness they stared into each other’s eyes. Cal swallowed hard, trying to remember all his noble resolutions where she was concerned. Desperately he reminded himself yet again that he’d made up his mind to stay away, to protect her from her own vulnerability. And to protect himself from being a fool.

  But right now all those reasons and tensions and arguments were fuzzy and dim. Right now all he could see was the shimmer of hair that made sunshine look pale, the glow of eyes so huge and compelling he could not have torn his gaze away to save his life. He felt her exquisite body tremble beneath him. Melora breathed softly, pulsing with sensuous warmth, with a feminine vitality that drew him inexorably to her, that made his groin ache and his blood boil.

  Easy, he warned himself. Go easy. He summoned up the shreds of his usual self-control and forced himself to speak calmly, deliberately, despite the urgent hunger sweeping through him.

  “Say so now, Melora, if you want me to let you go.” He kissed her roughly. “I will, if you tell me to—but, Princess, tell me right now.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  Cal sucked in his breath. “Don’t what?” he asked in a low tone.

  “Don’t let me go,” she said softly, and then she was swept up into arms that threatened to crush her but didn’t, and the tide of emotions that broke through her was like nothing she’d ever felt before.

  “Don’t ever let me go,” she begged, fervent and desperate as his mouth descended upon her again, and her breasts tingled beneath his touch.

  “Not a chance, Princess. Don’t even think about it.”

  Melora was beyond thought. Her arms encircled him. They wrapped around his shoulders, gripping for dear life, her fingers scraping, digging into muscle. His body moved over hers, arousing every inch of her as she felt the hardness and power of him.

  There was no more thought. No more hesitation. Just the sweet, blinding urgency that made the very air in the dark, hay-scented barn quiver. Melora felt wonder as Cal’s fingers slid swiftly over the buttons of her gown. He flung them open with the ease of a man who’d had much practice doing such things, all the while locking his eyes with hers and sipping urgently from her lips. As her bodice fell open, his eyes darkened to green slate.

  “Did I say beautiful?” he muttered, nearly yanking the camisole off her. “Melora, sweet, you’re exquisite.”

  Her breasts were creamy, full, and generous; her nipples dark and taut, rigid beneath his fingers. Cal lost himself in the pleasure of touching her, of learning the secrets of her body, of watching the silken desire slide through her eyes, glisten, and glow.

  Her breasts throbbed with a sweet pain that would have been agony if it had not been bliss. The way he looked at her, touched her, the intent gleam of his gaze sent a ripple of desire through Melora that was so fierce it hurt her throat and her eyelids. As Cal’s hands did magical things to her breasts and his mouth tantalized her lips, she suddenly felt a stab of jealousy toward all the women he had known before, whoever they were, wherever they were.

  Hungry to block them out, to make him hers, she was swept up suddenly then in need that shook her to her core. With a small sound she reached for him; her fingers tugged his shirt from his trousers and yanked it off almost as recklessly as he had removed her camisole.

  Cal grinned, then took her by the shoulders. “Eager little devil, aren’t you?” he murmured against her lips. Their mouths clung; tongues danced. While their mouths played, Cal unbuckled his belt.

  Melora couldn’t help the blush that rushed into her cheeks at his words, but she was already leaning back, staring through the dimness at his wide, magnificent chest. She wished it were daylight so that she could see him, all of him. But the darkness was welcoming, too, splendid and musky and mysterious, with just the two of them and the magical touch of him, and the scent of him, and the way he made her body sing.

  Her eyes had adjusted enough now to the lack of light so that she could make out what she wanted to see. Her hands swept out to caress the crisp mahogany hair across his chest, her fingers shyly traced his nipples, played across his muscles.

  Her throat felt dry as Cal caught her to him again, filled his hands with the fullness of her breasts, swept small, hot kisses across her face, down her neck, down her arms.

  A hunger trembled through her, grew, intensified. It was a hunger she didn’t fully understand, but as Cal lowered his mouth to her breast, found the taut crimson peak, and tasted it, she moaned with starvation. With a craving that only increased as his hands skimmed her body, exploring, massaging, as his mouth teased and tasted, as his eyes burned through hers.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said, his breath warm upon her neck.

  “I’m not. Only a little.”

  It was true, she thought as she raced with him to some wild, unknown destination that beckoned tantalizingly just beyond reach. The fear was there, but it was small compared with the need. Trust flowed through her, encouraged by his every gentle, pleasurable touch. This was Cal, who had cradled her during the storm, who had res
cued her from Jethro and Strong. What flowed between her and Cal, what had always flowed between them, was not the stuff of fear. It was wild, sweet, powerful. As powerful as the earth and the mountains. And every bit as natural.

  White fire raged through her as Cal’s rough hands stripped her naked and found their way to every inch of her, all the soft, secret places that no man had ever touched before. She quivered as his hand brushed between her thighs, nestling there, probing and discovering while all the while he kissed her, his mouth hot and demanding upon her lips. Melora thought the fire he stoked would singe her to ashes, but the fire did not destroy; it shimmered and burned like the splendid rays of the sun.

  Cal groaned low in his throat as she wound slim arms around his neck and pulled him closer, arcing against him. His whole body was taut with hunger for her, even as he fought the fierce driving need. Impatience lashed him, but he fought it, chained it, for fear of hurting her.

  With the whores he had known, there had been pleasure—easy, grunting pleasure. But nothing more. Only the simple, uncomplicated pleasure of animal satisfaction and release.

  With Melora, each touch, each kiss, the sensation of her perfumed hair tickling his skin as he bent to kiss her, the skimming of her long, slender fingers down his back all aroused feelings so deep and intense they rocked through and through him, grinding him heart and soul.

  When she reached out trembling fingers that brushed down his torso, past his hips, to touch his manhood shyly, Cal groaned and went still.

  “Ohh. Oh.” She jerked her hand back in shock, and he felt the hot blush stealing through her entire body.

  “Go ahead, Melora. Yes, that’s right. Go ahead, Princess, that feels good. So good.”

  She wanted him to feel good, as good as he made her feel. More boldly she reached out again. She smiled, pleased and eager as she heard his sharp intake of breath. While her lips groped for his, sweet and giving, she glided her hand over his hot engorged shaft, caressing and exploring the length of him. Her breath came in short gasps as he strained against her and his own hand guided hers, teaching her the rhythm.