shoulders, nearly falling from them, that conformed to the rise of her
breasts, then fell to the floor. Her hair was a river of dating, honeyed
light that caressed and embraced her, waving around her shoulders and
falling almost to her waist. Her eyes. When he came close, he saw that
they were not coal-black at all, but so deeply colored in the near
darkness that they appeared to be a rich and hypnotic purple.
He held still. He watched her and tried to find the fight words, the
words that would get her to leave. She would hate him for humiliating
and rejecting her, but maybe that would be better than what he wanted.
To own her, to have all of her, to teach her everything she wanted to
know so thoroughly that she would forget everything but the feel of him
beside her.
"Come here then," he said hoarsely.
She still seemed to pause. Like a sprite, like a night witch or angel,
he knew not which. A rueful curve came to her lips, and she said softly,
"Jamie?"
"What?"
"Where did you take your bath?"
He smiled, too.
"At the livery stables. Not at the saloon."
"Thank you," she murmured, then she took a step toward him, and another
step, and she was in his arms.
His mouth closed upon hers, and he let his hands wander where they
would. He had tried to do the decent thing. And it hadn't worked. So
now. She was fragrant, like a drug. He breathed in the scent of her hair
and the scent of her flesh. He kissed her lips and her earlobe, and he
pressed his tongue against the surge of her pulse at her throat, and he
took her lips again, savoring the caress of her tongue, feeling the rise
of heat and need and the rampant beat in his loins as the thrusts of
their tongues became ever more erotic and telling. He stroked her body
through the flannel, caressing her breast, finding the peak and
massaging it to a hard pebble with his thumb and fingers. Then he cried
out and lowered his mouth upon her, his teeth grazing the fullness of
her breast and the hard peak through the fabric, the dampness of his
mouth pervading it and bringing whispers and whimpers to her lips.
She braced herself upon his shoulders, and cried out, falling against
him.
Trembling, he lifted her and set her on the cocoon of sheet and quilt in
the hay. Then he stood over her, watching her. He ripped away the
kerchief at his throat and slowly undid the buttons of his shirt. He
watched her all the while, but her eyes did not close. He threw his
shirt upon the hay, and pulled off his boots and socks, unbuckled his
gun belt and then his pants belt and finally peeled away the last of his
clothing. Her eyes closed at last, but not before her cheeks had taken
on a dusky hue.
"You can still run," he told her harshly.
She shook her head. Her hair lay spread across the quilt and sheet and
dangled into the hay around them. He knelt before 'her and set his hand
upon the hem of her gown, pushing it up.
She had beautiful feet. Small, the toenails neatly manicured. Her ankles
were trim. Her calves were shapely.
He paused to press kisses against her kneecaps, then he continued,
thrusting the gown up to her hips where he paused because his breath had
caught. The entire length of her legs was fine and beautiful, and her
hips were seducflared. Her waist was very narrow, and she was endowed
with the same touch of honey hair to add even greater purity and
innocence to her beauty.
That very touch of purity seemed to be driving him insane. A ragged
pulse beat at his groin, and in his mind, and raged throughout his fin-
gem and his limbs and all of his body. He buried his face Ilgainst her
belly, and a harsh sound escaped him, a cry of ~onging, of need, of
desperate desire.
Some soft sound esi~aped her, and she gasped when his lips moved upon
her fi~h, when he turned his head against her, his hair teasing the
flesh of her abdomen, then his kiss and lips caressing it As he kissed
her he continued to push the gown up. The flannel raked over her
breasts, over her hardened nipples.
He rose and knelt over her again, taking each breast fully into his
mouth.
She was alabaster, as perfect as marble with the dusky, rose-tipped
peaks, so hard, so compelling, drawing his body into a tighter, harder
knot all the while, exciting him to an ungodly high with the mere
whisper of her breath, the tiny gasps that escaped her, the sultry,
sensual way her body moved against him. Such little movements, as if she
was afraid, as if she discovered the haunting rhythms of making love.
He paused, meeting her eyes. Half-closed eyes--dazed, damp, luminous and
honest--meeting his. Her gaze fell upon his naked and aroused body, and
her eyes widened again. They met his again, and the beautiful flush of
rose came to her cheeks. He reached for her gown and pulled it over her
shoulders, and they knelt facing each other. She threw her arms shyly
around him, but that served to press them together, all their nakedness,
and he felt her breasts upon his chest as thoroughly as he knew that she
felt the ripple of his muscle and the blinding heat that led him now.
He pressed her into the quilt, down, down, into the hay. He crawled over
her again, seizing hold of her lips, kissing her until her breath came
raggedly, until her breasts rose and fell heatedly in his hands, until
she trembled wherever he touched her. Then he kissed her breasts again,
fascinated by the shape and texture and by the perfect marble beauty. He
lowered himself against her, near blinded by his own need yet driven to
see that she felt no pain, that she savored this time between them as he
did, that she remember the passion; the desperation, the aching, longing
need.
He kissed her between her breasts, then strayed down the length of her
breastbone. He touched her ribs with the tip of his tongue and delved
deeply into her navel the same way. And then he dropped his head still
lower. He felt her legs quiver and a quickening within her and heard the
soft, 159 shocked protest on her lips. But he ignored her and made love
completely to her, delving into the very femininity of her. She cried
out, this time not so softly. He laced his fin gets with hers and
touched and delved ever deeper. He brought the searing, damp heat of his
kiss and earess to the very bud of her desire. Her fingers tightened
painfully around his, but he wedged himself firmly_ between her thighs
and tenderly caressed her. She whimpered, tossing her head so her hair
spread out like a burst of sunrise. And still he drank ever more deeply
of her sweet scent and taste, until he could feel the pulse of desire
rising within her.
He crawled atop her then, discovering her eyes dosed, her face ashen.
And yet her fingers dug into his shoulders, and when he carefully
lowered himself over her and pushed slowly within her, he found her damp
and welcoming. He watched her face even as he thrust past the portals of
her innocence, and she never cried out or murmured a single protest or
whimper.
He sheathed himself slowly inside her, then he held and caught hold of
her chin.
Her eyes flew open, so large and dark, then they fluttered closed again
as he took her lips and caressed her with long, slow, leisurely
kisses--taking all of her mouth, exploring, tasting, savoring. And as he
kissed her he began to move within her, strokes as soft as velvet, slow
and evoea- five, coercive.
He felt something give within her when the pain had ~ faded and the new
pleasure began. There was an easing of her arms around him, and her